The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, May 23, 1897, Page 21

4 THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, MAY 23, 1897 19 HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED REMINISCENCES OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN Now that & movement is in progress to erect a Lincoln monument in Golden Gate Park the public is eager to read almost any incidents that may be related of the life and character of the ~onderful man whose memory it is proposed thus to honor. In fact, the time is a long way off vhen the American people will cease to be interested in anything per- taining to the life and character of Abraham Lincoln. It is with this fact o view that I now present some reminiscences of that great man, who was the most unique racter in the history of bis country. 1t was my z00d fortune to be raised ina portion of Iilinois contiguous to Lincaln’s old “stamping ground,” and to have a slight personal acquaintance with him from the time when he first became conspicuous as a political speaker to the day of his untimely deatb. I saw him at various times and under a variety of cireumstances, botn previous to his election to the Presidency and aiterward. He was a man who compelled others to almost unconsciously become absorbed in the study of his peculiar char- acteristics, The first time 1 ever saw him I also saw Stephen A. Douglas, and ou that occasion incident occurred that forcibly illustrated Line coln’s natural keenness at repartee. It was in the fall of 1854 or 1855, 1 am not quite positive as to the date. Some great publ bition was in progress at Soringfield, Ili., and the town contained a Ja percentage of visitors. Lincoln and Douglas were there, and the respective friends of those popular men arranged to have a speech from each of them. The meetings were held in the daytime, so that visitin mers might conveniently attend. The place s:lected was Representative H in the old State House. It was before the anti- y element in the Whig and Democratic parties had crystallized into blican party. Lincoln was still a stanch Whig of the Henry The country was intensely interested in the slavery ques- rsequence of the repeal of the Missouri Compromise, by which possible for slavery to be established in the then Terri- nd Nebraska whenever they should adopt State consti- admitted into the Union. Douglas was the chief cham- repeal, and on this he based his pet theory of ‘popular He was ready and anxious to defend lis theory on the never cccasion offered. And he did it with great earnestness mate skill. But in the Whig party of the North there was a slavery element, which, though not committed to aboli- d with alarm the steady ehcroachments of the slave and would under no conditions acquiesce in the introduction of power, the institution of human slavery into territory which was supposed to be forever dedicated to freedom. The men who composed this element had no mntention of interfering with the institution where it then existed, but they wished to keep it n those limits, and they hoped at no distant day to see it placed where, as Mr. Lincoln afterward expressed it, “the public mind would Test in the belief that it was in the course of ultimate extinction.” In the front rank of the anti-slavery Whigs stood Abraham Lincoln, and he had reasons for anti-slavery principles wh'ch he was neither ashamed nor airaid to promulg On the occasion referred to Mr. Douglas addressed an immense mass-meeting 1n the forenoon, Mr. Lincoln being in the au- dience, listening carefully and “taking notes.”” Douglas spoke eloquently and fervently, iaying a foundation of error and building thereupon a su- perstructure of sophisiry well calculated to deceive superficial minds. He was listened fo respectiully by Whigs and wildly apptauded by Demo- crats. In the course of his speech Le asserted that ‘‘the Whigs were all dead.” In the afternoon, by appointment, Lincoln replied to the “Little Gi " The audience compietely filled the room, there being quite a sprinkling of Democrats present. For some time before beginning to speak Lincoln sat on the platform with onty his homely face visible to the nce above the high desk before him. On being introduced he arose from his chair and proceeded to straighten himself up. For a few sece onds I wondered when and where his head would cease its ascent. Butat last it did, and ‘‘Honest Old Abe”’ stood before us. After the applause with which he was greeted had measurably subsided the speaker said: “ellow-citizens: My friend Mr. Douglas made the startling an- ement to-day that the Whigs were all dead. If this be so, fellow- ns, you will now experience the novelty of hearing a speech from a man! And Isuppose you might properiy say, in the language of the old bymn: “Hark, from the tomb, 2 ¢oleful sound " expected sally of wit set the zudience fairly wild with delight, brough:i them into full sympathy with the speaker. As soon s the proionged laughter and cheers would permit him again to be heard, n proceeded to discuss the merits of the speech made by the elo- ent champion of *popular sovereignty.” He analyzed the arguments and tore open the sopbistries of his opponent in a masteriy manner, owing by imcontrovertibie facts now danzerous to human liberty were > teachings of Douglas snd his coadjutors. For incisive logic, sohd facts, sparkling wit and thrilling eloquence Lincoln’s speech greatly ex- celled anything I bad ever heard from the stump, It stamped him as a tatesman of commanding abiiity, and more than one person who d to him was afterward heard to say, “Old Abe will yet be Presi- of the United States,” although it is not supposable that Lincoln bimself at that time Lad any such expectation. During the memorable campaign of 1856, when the first Republican candidate for President, John C.Frement, was running against Bu- an, Lincoln went into Pike County and made one speech to an out- r mass-meeting at Pittstield, the county seat. The people turned out a 1 q ing his historical facts and stern logic with appropriate anecdotes, told in his quaint style, that often convulsea the vast audience with langhter. I well remember one of his most striking comparisons. In alluding to the “‘popular sovereignty'’ theorv of Mr. Douglas with reference to the slavery question Lincoln declared that the theory as embodied in the Douglas Kansas-Nebraska bill was very “‘thin and weak.” “It reminds me,” he added, “‘of homeopathic broth, which, as I have been informed, 15 made by boiling down the shadow of a starved pigeon.” This was only one among numerous witticisms with which his great speech was interlarded. The closing portion of it, however, was full of pathos and patriotic sentiment, stirring the hearts of his hearers to such a degree that many eyes became moistened with tears that could not be skillful use of fact, earnestness of manner and thrilling pathos in public addresses I have never heard Lincoln’s equal. His every movement, ges- ture, tone and facial expression was calculated to carry conviction to the minds of his hearers. To sum up in one sentence his qualities as a pub- lic speaker, he was the'most convincing orator I ever listened to. His power to win converts to whatever cause he espoused was immense., He inspired everybody he talked to with confidence in his honesty and abso- lute sincerity. « Many stories have been related showing Lincoln's familiar off-hand style of private conversation. I remember that on one occasion when he was prominently before the people as a probable United States Senator he happened to spend an hour in a hotel iz the quiet town of Griggsv ille, restrained. A glee club then sang *'Dixie.” Itwas the first time Lincoln had ever heard it and he declared it was the best tune he had ever lis- tened to. As a public speaker Mr. Lincoln was as unique as he was in other phases of nis character. I have heard nearly every one of the great ora- tors who have appeared on the stage of action in thig'country during the past thirty-five years. Several of them excelled Lincoln in a few particu- lars, but not in all the elements of charming oratory. Lincoln's public utterances lacked such auxiliaries as the polishea manners of Charles Sumner, the unimpassioned eloquence of Wendell Phillips, the scathing Il Several Tllinoisians, old and young, the writer among them, pathered in the hotel lobby to meet him and enjoy a chat. After “Old Abe’’ bad been sitting some time on a rustic chair, with his long legs curled up beneath it, he suddenly paused in the conversation, passed one hand over his rather rough face and springing to his, feet exclaimed: “Gentlemen, beford that stage comes for me I must attend to a little matter that seems to require it. If you will all excuse me I think I’ll go out and hunt a barber-shop.” He went out and “hunted” for the desired shop, found it and soon returned with his face smoothly shaven and resumed the conversation. From the boat’s deck I discerned the tall, gaunt form of “Old Abe,” as he stood on the levee watching the steamer’s crew while they were lugging freight on board, working like galley siaves and being cursed every moment by the brutal mate. Going ashore I enjoyed a pleasant chat with the future war President, who was in Beardstown looking after some law business and had walked down to the river simply 1o see the steamer and her people. Iremember only one phase of bis talk on that occasion. It related to the boat's crew.: He freely expressed his disgust at the tyranny of the mate and his tender sympathy for white slaves, whose lives apparently were devoid of all enjoyment save tnat which pertains to the mere animal. These expressions showed the humani- tarian insiincts of the man and were an index to that creat, warm, brave heart which subsequently won for him the title of the “Great Emancipator.” T attended the Republican National Convention in the Wigwam at Chicago in May, 1869, and heard the deafening applause that shook the building when “Old Abe” was declared the nominee. During the cam- Daign that followed I met Lincoln once only. It was in the United States court where he had a motion pending. He was calm, cool and apparently unconscious that the eyes of the Nation were upon him. The next time I saw Lincoln, alive, was at the White Honse at Wash- ington, in the fall of 1864. He had served the people as President one term, and was then a candidate for re-election. While strolling through the White House grounds I learned thata military band was about to serenade the Prosident. So I went to the north veranda of the Executive Mansion, where the band played several popular airs. In due time the President came out, bowed to the throng, and, iu response to an irresistible clamor, made a brief speech in his characteristic vein. But he looked gard and care-worn. There was an expression of sadness on his face, as if the shadow of somae terrible calamity yet to come had fallen uvon the man who carried in his heart the burdens of the Nation. Sitting on the veranda close to where the President stood, I happened to notice his feet. In the side of his right boot wasa hole nearly an inch long, through which his white sock was plainly visible. This harmless gap simply con- firmed the popular belief that “Old Abe’ was inclined to be careless in his dress. He no doubt was careless as to details, though he was certainly neat and cleanly. The next and last time I looked upon the face of Abraham Lincoln it was cold in death. It wasin April, 1865. His remains were Iying in state at the City Hall, New York, and the Nation was in mourning. Of course everybody in and near the city desired to take a look at the remains of the martyrea President, but only a small percentage of the hundreds of thousands who attempted was successtul, although the body lay in state for about two days, if my memory serves me. By standaing in the proces- sion two hours and a half, at the risk of being crushed, I succeeded in gaining access to the death cnamber, where I beheld the cold, bloodless form of that great man whose trazic death by the hand of a cowardly assassin had weighted the hearts of the people with sorrow unspeaka'sle, The form of the martyr, the burial outfit, the uniforms and gleaming bayonets of the soldier guards, feebly illuminated by a few gas-jets over- head, formed a weird scene of oppressive sadness such as must have raade a lasting impression on the mind of every person who silently moved past the head of the casket and gazed for a moment on thatonce luminous but now expressionless face. During the period while the funeral-car wasbeing conveyed, by a cir- cuitous route, from Washington to Chicago and thence to Springfield, an incident of special interest resulting from the assassination occurred in Brooklyn. Rev. Henry Ward Beecher had been appointed by Presiaent Lincoln a member of a special commission to visi¢ Charleston and, with imposing ceremonies, re-erect the stars and stripeson the ramparts of Fort Sumter. The Commissioners performed that pleasant task, but pe- fore they returned home the President was murdered. The first Sunday after Mr. Beecher's return he delivered a discourse in the nature of a funeral sermon over the deceasea President. The occasion drew to Ply- mouth Church perhaps forty times as many people as could possibly get inside the building. Policemen in and around the house were kept busy trying to prevent people from crushing each other in their eagerness to force their way in. Iwas one of the fortnnate persons who effected an entrance. The eulogy delivered by Mr. Beecher was grandly eloquent, pathetic and touching. He was at his best and he made the most of the remarkable opportunity. He paid a glowing tribute to the martyred President, and with his resonant voice, tremulous with emotion, so stirred the hearts of that great audience tnat nearly all present wept asif they were in attendanceat the obsequies of some dearly loved personal friend. The New York funeral demonstration over the murdered President was another never-to-be-torzotten event. From the St. Nicholas Hotel I obtained an unobstructed view of the great cortege while it moved slowly through Broadway, bearing the rencains to a railroad station for convey- ance toward their final resting place. Uncounted thousands of spectators viewed the solemn pageant, which was one of tae largest and most impos- ing the world. has everseen. Numerousand variegated were the emblems of mourning borne by individuals and organizations. But not one was more rouching, not one more deeply impressive than the simple emblem carried on a piece of draped iramework by a dozen colored men. It was a beautiful white monument. made of ight material, with four sides. On each side was the representation of a dial, with the hands pointing to 22 minutes past 7 o’clock—the hour at whicn the great soul of the martyr had passed out of its shattered prison into the broader realms and clearer light of an eternal day. Beneath each dial were the words, “The Darkest our in Our Country's History.” 5 And so it was. For when Abraham Lincoln died the Nation lost a and near, and the speaker’s audience was computed by acres ratber than by numbers. He spoke for more than two hours, interspers- invective of Roscoe Conkling or Robert G. Ingersoli and the rolling thun- der of Stephen A. Douglas or Andrew Johnson. But for effective logic, Once while I was journeying by steamboat down the Illinois River the boat landed at Beardstown and remained there an hour or more. model President, the cause of justice one of its bravest champions, and humanity one of its truest friends. Raven Hovr. Somewhere, not far away, the Presidio | ond I understood how men could forget | eyes shine as the men kept glad time to Privates a,t the Presidio Talk of ‘ band was pliying, and as the strains of | that living was pleasant and charge in the [ the music iu their work. Their Ambitions. He stood and carefully trimmed the blossoming rosebush with a pair of im- mense shears, at the samo time fariously yankee Doodle.” ! m didn’t disconcert him in he siouch hat was secur d on his head and the dusty and | what faded jeans made him quitea | «que figure against the background | of glossy, dry leaves and tendrils. And all around the sun-ki | ces smiled up from the brown earth and | ved and nodded so fantastically in the | ong sea b ecze that one could not help k that nature had tired of sighing and was playing caprices for the eye. presenily the figure by the rosebush vou a reporter?” he asked. ourse,” I answered. “What are Practical gardener,” he replied, laconi- “0Oh! 1 thought you belonged here.'” *Well, 1do,” be said, taking a piece of twine from his pocketand preparing to tie up a refractory and extremely thorny- | looking bush, “but 'm a gardener, just | the same.” *‘And are you allowed to keep in prac- { tice?” | “Allowed?’ he exclaimed, looking at | me with vity. “Well, I'm paid, of course. | You don’t suppose people Work for love, do you?’ “Bometimes,” 1 sighed. { He laughed. ““We don’t here,” he said. “‘We are paid for every day’s work we do. Of course, we love it, too; we have pleas- ant companions, are treated well, and, best of all, we are serving our country. You see,” he said, seating himself ona stake and leaning against the fence, *‘this | is the proposition exactly: A man ought | 10 be loyal enough 1o serve his country in some way, either as a good citizen in time of peace or in the way that we are doinr.” | “What do those who have no trades do?” Tasked. “Does time not hang heay- | 5 on their hands?” “Every one does something. We are not idle and indolent, as most people sup- pose. Why, there are men here with as nigh purposes in life as any one could ever have. There are students here among the privates, men who could not bave the time to studv in any other call- ing or anywhere else.”’ Students?” *Yes; one writes poetry, another (two, I think) intends goinz on the stage. Others follow other lines of intellectual and artistic pursuit.” So there is ambition among the men in vlue, and love and loyalty and something above and beyond the ordinary routine of the Presidio life. “Why don’t you go up and see the boys? " suggested the gardeneras 1 turned away. ‘They’rean interesting lot of fel. lows.” So 1 went up the well-kept walks and past the brown buildings, With their wide verandas fronting the smooth lawns and gardens, Men in cavalry uniform passed by, hurryinz here and there, tall, well- formed and sunburned. Men with | beavy evebrows the badge of the infantry on stood in groups talkiag or walked to and fro. The guards paced up and down thoughtfully. A man was burrying up the walk and he passed me and went on up the hill. He carried on his shoulder a long pine box. ““Where is he going?” I asked of one who stood near me. He saluted. “One of our comrades is dead,” hs said. “He is supplying him with the last thing that he needs.” The voice was so deep and pleasant and the reply so unusual in an utter stranger that I, T doabt not, iooked my surprise. “I am rather a stranger here,’” I ven- tured. “Do you have many deaths?”’ “Not many,” he replied; “few, compara- tively, considering the number of human beings; but ceath is & pieasant thing. It troubles me sometimes to think thatno matter how mary years I worked and struggled and studied here, I could not | unravel the mystery which is perfecily pluin to the first poor devil who dies.’ “Is it so hard then to wait for that knowledge?” I asked. “There is much on earth 10 Jearn. You will have the solu- | tion of that mystery always to look for- Wi d to.” “True,” he said; “I am really in no hurry o pass over. Dying is the only thing a man really has a cinch on. “Are you fond of character studv?”’ he asked. “I thought yod would be,”’ he added hastily, “and it is my bobby. You see that fellow coming down the rosd? Weil, he always reminas me of Shake- speare’s soldier in ‘As You Like It.’ A soldier Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard. Jello!)um honor, sudden and quick in quar- rel, Seeking the bubble reputation even at the cannon’s mouth. *‘He would bea hero in a time of war. Ofien I imagine seeing him in the heat ot battle, with that heavy jaw set, and those lowered. People are born for certain things—only they don’t always find out what they are until it’s too late. There are some people who were born to answer that deseription, and born to be right here and he is one of them.” We walked on slowly up the road, he pausing now and then to speak to some companion, and again rejoining me and describing the life of this one and that, ““It Is wonderful,” he said, “‘quite won- derful, how soon one learns to tell first how people have lived and are living, After all, humanity is transparent, or rather,” he said, correcting himself, **how plainly their thoughts and actions are shown. Time acts the part of the small boy. She makes a nuisance of herself by tracing on our faces, from the time of in- nocent babyhood, the result of each thought and action. Shedoesit by means of lines—‘Nature’s shorthand,”” he said, lsuczhing at the idea—*and it is not hard to read either, ifone learns & few signs, I thanked himas I turned togo. He had given me a glimpse of oases where I could only seea plain, and had spoken well of his fellow-men. music floated out ali around us and oft to | 1ace of the cannon. sea I felt the inspiration. Just for a sec- | How much there is in living that we And Isaw the faces brighten and the | never see! JEAN MoRRIS. That Mexine Elliott has some views of her own on how & woman should dress is demonstrated with completeness and picturesque- ness on the stage. Itistrue that her examples are necessarily on an abnormal seale, insofar as the stage is rather & magnified portrayal of everyday life in regard to clothes as well as to other things. But there is the same fleld for the exercise of taste and discrimination on the stage that there is off the stage; and an actress who excels in costuming before the footlights is pretty certain to be a woman who excels in stylish and becoming appareling on the street or in the drawing-room. ” s % We have all witnessed Miss Elliott’s taste fn dress on the stage, but a new favor to the feminine readers of THE CALL is here granted by the 1ady in a signed article giving the principles which guide hes in dressing so becomingly. The skeiches which accompany this article were drawn from photographs taken by a CALL artist in Golden Gate Park, where the tal- ented actress was met riding her wheel cne morning this week, and where she Kraciously posed in response to a request for some illustra- tions to accompany her written views, Maxine Elliott Gives Her Views Concerning Dress. views on dress? Dear, dear! I'm they would be no “goturior to cry as sore Mrs. Malaprop has said. It you will allow the eagle to scream a little, I must declare that in my opinion American women are the best dressed as 2 class, but with most of us it is a case of we propose and the’ dressmakers dispose. Individually, my experience has been that the frocks we plan so carefully never quite come up to our roseate expectations, ex- cept in that Mecca of Americans, Paris, and in Brussels, which, by the way, is quite the nicest place to buy clothes in that I know, if one’s pocket-book has a limit. Brussels is infinitely cheaper than Paris, and they have all the latest models from Paquin, ~Felix, Raudinitz and Doucet. I am seriously contemplating a raid this summer upon those fascinating little shops in the Rue Montzgne de la Cour. ‘I have often been asked whether or not Iam personally responsible for the de- signing and supervision of the making of my stage gowns. tha if one strives to bave the smallest indi- viduality it is an absolute necessity to so do, is it not? Be the modiste ever so tasteful one gets so well acquainted with one’s own good and bad points, so to speak, that in the frantic endeaver to hide the bad and accentuate the good we must devote time and attention to the matter. To the masculine mind this is a woman’s idea of “*enjoying’’ berself; but a friend of mine feelingly says “to be a well-dressed woman you must be a very industrious one,” and she voices my opinion. Personally, I like very simple clothes, but, unfortunately, that is a taste which has a more depleting effect upon our poor little pocket-books than to bedeck our- selves with fuss and feathers and gew- gaws would have. A simple own to ba effective must bear the imprint of a master hand. It is very gratifying to me to note that my costumes in “An American Citizen” are so much admired, for I planned them mostly my- self. 1 never wear anything unsuitable to me, even though it be considered extremely stylish. A woman who wishes to be thought well dressed must first find out what is and what is not becoming to her and dress accordingly. Of course it does not follow that because one looks well in white satin and swansdown it is neces- sary to wear them on ail occasions. Peculiarity in dress is never in good taste, nor can a woman expect to be stylish who entirely ignores the prevailing fashion. I believe in following the dic- tates of fashion as nearly as possible without sacrificing too much of one’s own individuality. It is not necesssry to look like a French fashiou-plate to be well dressed. It has been asked of me more than once what in my estimation is the most prac- tical bicycle suit. Ah! the bicycle! This is a most interesting subject to talk about, but my idea of the dress to wear will be, I think, both uninteresting and unim- portant, but nevertheless, in my opinion, the first requisite is to be “comfy,” 1sn’t it? To this I must say that | Persona'ly, I much prefer the dividea skirt, fairly short, with bloomers—horrible word—of India silk beneath. They are very light, of course, and that is something to be considered these warm days. I have often heard people express a dislike for the divided skirt because of a sort of—well, betrousered effect, but that is obviated entirely if the skirt be perfectly cut. Talking of the bicvcle, we are all bicycle mad, but my enthusiasm is tempered by a wholesome respect for its capacity to hit back. At present I am eligible for the position of tattooed lady, and the more proficient I become the more I seem to get whacked—that is the only word that expresses it, I assure you. Young en- thusiasm stil! burns within me, however, and a bicycle tour is one of the joys in prospective of our summer vacation. «COME UNTO ME.” Oft when the tide of life runs low, And brain end soul are sick with doubt, And life seems 1ull of grief and woe, And mocking devils jeer and flout, 1 turn unto my Lord in prayor, 1 know his strength than mine is best, And lo! A sweet volce thrills the air— * Come unto e, ye weary laden, And I will give you rest.” Sometimes the night is very dark, The way is rough and wounds my feet, And iife lies stretched out wan and stark; The winds blow fierce and falls the sleet. 1 fear, and fearing, fain would fall Beneath the shadows’ dire distress, But that I hear my Savior call— “ Come unto Me, ye weary laden, And T will give you rest.” And often when the waters roll And surge and foam around me here, And threaten to engulf my soul, Roaring and rol'ing swift and near, My strongest efforts seem in vain. How can 1 ’scape so hard oppressea? And then I hear that voice again—: “ Comse unto Me, ye weary iaden, And I will give you rest.” Some days my burden bears me down; 1 cannot see the far-off skies: The grim, gray cross obscures the crown, Andin my heart hope faints and dies, But leaps to life when, sweet and low, With love and mercy full expressed, These words across the silence go— “ Come unto Me, ye weary laden, And I will give you rest.”” Yes, Lord, T come to thee in all The evils that afllict my day, And at thy feet repentant fall, For doubts that daunt and fears that slay Gjve unto me, O give me more, The strength to bear, the longing best, Extend thy shield my face before, For I indsed am weary !aden, And come to thee for rest. HAMILTON JAY. —_————— A Massachusetts man has found a new use for air on a bicycle, his devica cone sisting of a pneumatic handle formed of a double rubber casing, or pad, to surround the ordinary handle and having a valve for infletin —————— Bicycles are carried free on the French railways when passengers accompany them. A sou, however, is charged for the check,