The Washington dailies,—the “Chronicle,” “Republican,” and “Star,”—were usually laid upon his table, and I think he was in the habit of glancing at the telegraphic reports of these; but rarely beyond this. All war news of importance, of course, reached him previous to its publication. He had, therefore, little occasion to consult newspapers on this account. The Private Secretaries, however, usually kept him informed of the principal subjects discussed editorially in the leading organs of the country.
The journals I became most familiar with, in the Secretaries’ quarters, besides those mentioned, were the Philadelphia “Press” and “North American;” the Baltimore “American” and “Sun;” the New York “Tribune,” “Evening Post,” “Independent,” “Times,” “Herald,” and “World;” the Albany “Evening Journal;” the Boston “Advertiser,” “Journal,” and “Transcript;” the Chicago “Tribune” and “Journal,” (the latter valued chiefly for the letters of its war correspondent, B. F. Taylor); the St. Louis “Republican” and “Democrat;” and the Cincinnati “Gazette” and “Commercial.”
Violent criticism, attacks, and denunciations, coming either from radicals or conservatives, rarely ruffled the President, if they reached his ears. It must have been in connection with something of this kind, that he once told me this story. “Some years ago,” said he, “a couple of ‘emigrants,’ fresh from the ‘Emerald Isle,’ seeking labor, were making their way toward the West. Coming suddenly, one evening, upon a pond of water, they were greeted with a grand chorus of bull-frogs,—a kind of music they had never before heard. ‘B-a-u-m!’—‘B-a-u-m!’ Overcome with terror, they clutched their ‘shillelahs,’ and crept cautiously forward, straining their eyes in every direction, to catch a glimpse of the enemy; but he was not to be found! At last a happy idea seized the foremost one,—he sprang to his companion and exclaimed, ‘And sure, Jamie! it is my opinion it’s nothing but a “noise!”’”
On a certain occasion, the President was induced by a committee of gentlemen to examine a newly invented “repeating” gun; the peculiarity of which was, that it prevented the escape of gas. After due inspection, he said: “Well, I believe this really does what it is represented to do. Now have any of you heard of any machine, or invention, for preventing the escape of ‘gas’ from newspaper establishments?”
One afternoon he came into the studio, while Mrs. Secretary Welles and a party of friends were viewing the picture. Mrs. Welles said that she “understood from the newspapers that the work was nearly completed; which appeared to be far from the truth.” In reply, I made the common place remark, that the “papers” were not always “reliable.” “That is to say, Mrs. Welles,” broke in the President, “they ‘lie,’ and then they ‘re-lie!’”
At one of the “levees,” in the winter of 1864, during a lull in the hand-shaking, Mr. Lincoln was addressed by two lady friends, one of whom is the wife of a gentleman subsequently called into the Cabinet. Turning to them with a weary air, he remarked that it was a relief to have now and then those to talk to who had no favors to ask. The lady referred to is a radical,—a New Yorker by birth, but for many years a resident of the West. She replied, playfully, “Mr. President, I have one request to make.” “Ah!” said he, at once looking grave. “Well, what is it?” “That you suppress the infamous ‘Chicago Times,’” was the rejoinder. After a brief pause, Mr. Lincoln asked her if she had ever tried to imagine how she would have felt, in some former administration to which she was opposed, if her favorite newspaper had been seized by the government, and suppressed. The lady replied that it was not a parallel case; that in circumstances like those then existing, when the nation was struggling for its very life, such utterances as were daily put forth in that journal should be suppressed by the strong hand of authority; that the cause of loyalty and good government demanded it. “I fear you do not fully comprehend,” returned the President, “the danger of abridging the liberties of the people. Nothing but the very sternest necessity can ever justify it. A government had better go to the very extreme of toleration, than to do aught that could be construed into an interference with, or to jeopardize in any degree, the common rights of its citizens.”
XLIX.
A morning or two after the visit of Mr. Greeley, I was called upon by a gentleman, who requested my assistance in securing a brief interview with the President, for the purpose of presenting him with an elaborate pen-and-ink “allegorical, symbolic” representation of the “Emancipation Proclamation;” which, in a massive carved frame, had been purchased at a recent “Sanitary Fair,” in one of the large cities, by a committee of gentlemen, expressly for this object. The composition contained a tree, representing Liberty; a portrait of Mr. Lincoln; soldiers, monitors, broken fetters, etc.; together with the text of the proclamation, all executed with a pen. Artistically speaking, such works have no value,—they are simply interesting, as curiosities. Mr. Lincoln kindly accorded the desired opportunity to make the presentation, which occupied but a few moments, and was in the usual form. He accepted the testimonial, he said, not for himself, but in behalf of “the cause in which all were engaged.” When the group dispersed, I remained with the President. He returned to his desk; while I examined curiously the pen work, which was exceedingly minute in detail. “This is quite wonderful!” I said, at length. Mr. Lincoln looked up from his papers; “Yes,” he rejoined; “it is what I call ingenious nonsense!”
The evening following this affair, on entering the President’s office, about eleven o’clock, I found him alone, seated at the long table, with a large pile of military commissions before him, which he was signing one by one. As I sat down beside him, he presently remarked, “I do not, as you see, pretend to read over these documents. I see that Stanton has signed them, so I conclude they are all right.” Pausing here, he read a portion of one, beginning with the name of the individual, “—— —— is hereby appointed adjutant-general, with the rank of captain, etc. E. M. Stanton, Secretary of War.” “There,” said he, appending his own signature in the opposite corner; “that fixes him out.” Thus he went on chatting and writing, until he had finished the lot; then, rising from his chair, he stretched himself, and said, “Well, I have got that job husked out; now I guess I will go over to the War Department before I go to bed, and see if there is any news.” Walking over with him at his request,—to divert his mind, I repeated a story told me the night previous concerning a ‘contraband’ who had fallen into the hands of some good pious people, and was being taught by them to read and pray. Going off by himself one day, he was overheard to commence a prayer by the introduction of himself as “Jim Williams—a berry good nigga’ to wash windows; ’spec’s you know me now?’”
An amusing illustration of the fact that whatever the nature of an incident related to the President, it never failed to remind him of something similar, followed. After a hearty laugh at what he called this “direct way of putting the case,” he said: “The story that suggests to me, has no resemblance to it save in the ‘washing windows’ part. A lady in Philadelphia had a pet poodle dog, which mysteriously disappeared. Rewards were offered for him, and a great ado made without effect. Some weeks passed, and all hope of the favorite’s return had been given up, when a servant brought him in one day, in the filthiest condition imaginable. The lady was overjoyed to see her pet again, but horrified at his appearance. ‘Where did you find him?’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh,’ replied the man, very unconcernedly, ‘a negro down the street had him tied to the end of a pole, swabbing windows.’”