“This subject of patriotism is in a fair way of being more thoroughly ventilated than it ever was before. Everybody appears to admit that patriotism is a virtue, and that a man should love his country. But the question arises at every corner, What is our country?” The topic is illustrated by watery hypotheses from Smith, Jones, and Thomson, and the editor adds some strong milk to the water with—“Can he claim the title of patriot if he loves his state only, and confesses no obligation to the rest of the confederacy?”
For men who have progressed far enough in constitutional law and patriotism to call the Union a confederacy we have strong hopes. Further on, under heading, “The Southern Confederacy,” we are advised that “the President has nominated”—so and so—“to his cabinet.” Then follows “President Davis’s Inaugural”—not the President we are looking for. Then come “Snake Stories,” “Aunt Maria,” “The Mazed Fiddler,” “Romance by Lever”—pleasant reading for perilous times—until, at last, our search is ended, our patience rewarded, and at page 144, in the number of March 2, 1861, we have a full-length portrait of Abraham Lincoln, President-elect of the United States. It is
A REMARKABLE PICTURE.
It is indeed a picture so remarkable that we would advise every American who voted for Mr. Lincoln, every American who, whether he voted for or against him, yet credited him with the reputation of being at least a decent person, and every man, of whatever nationality, who considered him not positively a degraded loafer—we would advise all such, if they can find a copy of Harper’s Weekly: A Journal of Civilization, of
March 2, 1861, to contemplate and study that picture, and then form their opinion of the Christianity and the patriotism of the men who, at that crisis of the country’s fate, and in that dangerous hour of feverish excitement and political passion, could, in cold blood, spread such a firebrand sketch broadcast through the land. We further commend this counsel more especially to those present readers and approvers of the Journal of Civilization who cherish the memory of a murdered President whom they remember as at least blameless in life, pure in character, kind of heart, charitable in impulse, and noble in patriotism.
We will endeavor to describe the drawing. Mr. Lincoln is represented, in a room at the Astor House, standing, or rather staggering, under the influence of liquor, with a just emptied glass in his hand. He is surrounded by four boon companions, two of them with drunken leer and Bardolphian noses; a third in the background looks vacantly on with expression of maudlin stupidity; while the fourth, like the rest, glass in hand, stands at the open window, and—partially sobered by the shock—gazes at a passing funeral procession. On the moving hearse, accompanied by mourners and decked with solemn black plumes, are inscribed the words:
Union,
Constitution.
Under this work of art—a wretched, scratchy woodcut—we read:
OUR PRESIDENTIAL MERRYMAN.