“The opening of the play of ‘King Richard the Third’ seems to me often entirely misapprehended. It is quite common for an actor to come upon the stage, and, in a sophomoric style, to begin with a flourish:—
“‘Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York,
And all the clouds that lowered upon our house,
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried!’
Now,” said he, “this is all wrong. Richard, you remember, had been, and was then, plotting the destruction of his brothers, to make room for himself. Outwardly, the most loyal to the newly crowned king, secretly he could scarcely contain his impatience at the obstacles still in the way of his own elevation. He appears upon the stage, just after the crowning of Edward, burning with repressed hate and jealousy. The prologue is the utterance of the most intense bitterness and satire.”
Then, unconsciously assuming the character, Mr. Lincoln repeated, also from memory, Richard’s soliloquy, rendering it with a degree of force and power that made it seem like a new creation to me. Though familiar with the passage from boyhood, I can truly say that never till that moment had I fully appreciated its spirit. I could not refrain from laying down my palette and brushes, and applauding heartily, upon his conclusion, saying, at the same time, half in earnest, that I was not sure but that he had made a mistake in the choice of a profession, considerably, as may be imagined, to his amusement. Mr. Sinclair has since repeatedly said to me that he never heard these choice passages of Shakspeare rendered with more effect by the most famous of modern actors.
Mr. Lincoln’s memory was very remarkable. With the multitude of visitors whom he saw daily, I was often amazed at the readiness with which he recalled faces and events and even names. At one of the afternoon receptions, a stranger shook hands with him, and, as he did so, remarked, casually, that he was elected to Congress about the time Mr. Lincoln’s term as representative expired. “Yes,” said the President, “you are from ——,” mentioning the State. “I remember reading of your election in a newspaper one morning on a steamboat going down to Mount Vernon.” At another time a gentleman addressed him, saying, “I presume, Mr. President, that you have forgotten me?” “No,” was the prompt reply, “your name is Flood. I saw you last, twelve years ago, at ——,” naming the place and the occasion. “I am glad to see,” he continued, “that the Flood flows on.” Subsequent to his reëlection a deputation of bankers from various sections were introduced one day by the Secretary of the Treasury. After a few moments’ general conversation, Mr. Lincoln turned to one of them, and said: “Your district did not give me so strong a vote at the last election as it did in 1860.” “I think, sir, that you must be mistaken,” replied the banker. “I have the impression that your majority was considerably increased at the last election.” “No,” rejoined the President, “you fell off about six hundred votes.” Then taking down from the bookcase the official canvass of 1860 and 1864, he referred to the vote of the district named, and proved to be quite right in his assertion.
During this interview,—related to me by one of the party, Mr. P——, of Chelsea, Mass.,—a member of the delegation referred to the severity of the tax laid by Congress upon the State Banks. “Now,” said Mr. Lincoln, “that reminds me of a circumstance that took place in a neighborhood where I lived when I was a boy. In the spring of the year the farmers were very fond of the dish which they called greens, though the fashionable name for it nowadays is spinach, I believe. One day after dinner, a large family were taken very ill. The doctor was called in, who attributed it to the greens, of which all had freely partaken. Living in the family was a half-witted boy named Jake. On a subsequent occasion, when greens had been gathered for dinner, the head of the house said: ‘Now, boys, before running any further risk in this thing, we will first try them on Jake. If he stands it, we are all right.’ And just so, I suppose,” said Mr. Lincoln, “Congress thought of the State Banks!”