I see that he wanted to be made President to once, and the thought that the nation wouldn’t do it rankled in him.
And the fear that somebody else wuz a goin’ to get higher than he wuz in political life wore on him.
His sharp, piercin’ eyes wuz a watchin’ the ever-shiftin’ horizon of our national affairs, the ever-changin’ winds of public favor, hopin’ they would blow him up into greater prominence, fearin’ they would dash him down into a lower place.
The feverishness of perpetual onrest seemed to be a burnin’ him all the time, and the fear that he should do or say sunthin’ to incur the displeasure of the multitude.
What a time, what a time he wuz a havin’!
You could see it all in his linement; yes, ambition and selfishness had ploughed lots of lines in his handsome face, and ploughed ’em deep.
I used to look at him and then at Cousin John Richard Allen, and contrast the two men in my own mind, and the contrast wuz a big and hefty one.
Now, Cousin John Richard’s face wuz peaceful and serene, though considerable worn-lookin’. He had gin his hull life for the True and Right, had gone right on, no matter how much he wuz misunderstood and despised of men, and labored in season and out of season for the poor and down-trodden of earth, without any hope of earthly reward—nay, with the certainty of the world’s contempt and criticism.
But the blame or praise of the multitude seemed so fur off to him that he could scarcely hear it; the confusin’ babble seemed to him only like a distant murmurous background for the close voice of the Master, who walked with him, and told him what to do from day to day and from hour to hour.
“Blessed are ye if ye hear my voice.”