Mrs. Jane Martin Johns of Decatur, died recently at the age of ninety-two. Her mind was clear and her memory precise. She has left this, among other memories of Lincoln, as a reminder that he was a gentleman, and that at times he showed the finest discrimination and good taste:
"When I first knew Mr. Lincoln, he was forty years old; had been a member of the state legislature and of congress; had traveled the circuit with men of culture and refinement; had met great statesmen and elegant gentlemen; and the ungainliness of the pioneer, if he ever had it, had worn off and his manner was that of a gentleman of the old school, unaffected, unostentatious, who arose at once when a lady entered the room, and whose courtly manners would put to shame the easy-going indifference to etiquette which marks the twentieth century gentleman.
"His dress, like his manner, was suited to the occasion, but was evidently a subject to which he gave little thought. It was certainly unmarked by any notable peculiarity. It was the fashion of the day for men to wear large shawls and Mr. Lincoln's shawl, very large, very soft, and very fine, is the only article of his dress that has left the faintest impression on my memory. He wore it folded lengthwise (three and one-half yards long) in scarf fashion over his shoulders, caught together under the chin with an immense safety-pin. One end of the shawl was thrown across his breast and over the shoulder, as he walked up the steps of the Macon House one day in December, 1849.
"Court was in session in Decatur, Judge David Davis presiding. The hotel, where I was living temporarily, was kept by David Krone and his good lady, whose popularity extended over the fourteen counties of the Eighth Judicial District.
"Court week was always anticipated with great interest by the people of the county seat. It was customary for the entire bar of the district to follow the court from county to county, every man either seeking new business, or as counsel in cases already on the docket. The date of their arrival at any particular county seat could not be definitely fixed, as the judge held court at his pleasure, usually trying to finish all the business ahead before he migrated to the next station.
"He was followed by a curious crowd. Lawyers, clients, witnesses, itinerant peddlers, showmen, and gamblers filled the towns to overflowing. It was no unusual thing for men who had no business in the court, to follow from town to town merely seeking entertainment. Social events of any moment were wont to be arranged for court week, as the harvest time when strangers could be taken in. Taverns were crowded and the hospitality of the people was taxed to the utmost limit.
"To the men of the town, who always crowded the court house, the examination of witnesses and the speeches of the lawyers furnished an intellectual treat, for there were giants at that bar. There was David Davis, the companionable judge, who knew the law and who loved a laugh. And there were Stephen Logan the scholarly, and Stuart the shrewd and kindly, Swett the clever, and Browning the handsome, and Lamon the amusing, and Weldon and Gridley and Parks and Harmon and Ficklin and Linder and Whitney and Oliver L. Davis, and the best beloved Abraham Lincoln. Some of them traveled to only two or three counties, but Judge Davis, Mr. Lincoln and Leonard Swett went the whole circuit; Davis because he had to, Lincoln because he loved it, and Swett because he loved their company.
"The Macon House was an oasis in the wilderness of miserable inns at which they were usually compelled to 'put in.' In Decatur they found clean beds, good bread and an abundance of the good things of the season, administered by a genial landlady who greeted them all as friends.
"It was in court week that my piano, after a long journey by steamer down the Ohio and up the Wabash to Crawfordsville, Ind., and thence by wagon, arrived in Decatur. The wagon was backed up to the steps at the front door of the Macon House and the question of how to unload it and get it into the house was a puzzling one. Not a man except the landlord was to be found, but he soon solved the problem. "Court will soon adjourn and there will be plenty of men," and almost as he spoke the crowd began to appear. They gathered curiously around the wagon that blocked the entrance. Landlord Krone explained:
"'There is a piano in that box that this woman here wants someone to help unload. Who will lend a hand?'
"A tall gentleman stepped forward and, throwing off a big gray Scotch shawl, exclaimed, 'Come on, Swett, you are the next biggest man.'
"That was my first meeting with Abraham Lincoln.
"After a few moments' consultation with the driver of the wagon, Mr. Lincoln went into the basement where Mr. Krone had a carpenter shop, and returned with two heavy timbers across his shoulders. With them he established communication between the wagon and the front door steps. The piano was unloaded with the assistance of Mr. Linder and Mr. Swett, amid jokes and jeers galore, most of the jeers coming from little Judge Logan.
"Before the legs had been screwed into place, dinner was announced, and the men hurried to the back porch where two tin wash basins, a long roller towel and a coarse comb, fastened to the wall by a long string, afforded toilet accommodations for all guests. When dinner was served, 'Mother Krone' placed a roast of beef in front of Dr. Trowbridge to be carved and exclaimed, 'Men, if you can't get your teeth through this beef you will have to fall back on the sausage. I agreed to try roasting it without parboiling it, and I am afraid it will be tougher than it was yesterday, and that was bad enough.'
"The beef, however, proved to be tender and juicy and was highly praised by the guests. I recall this incident because Mr. Lincoln once reminded me of it, saying that 'that was the time he learned that roast beef ought not to be boiled.'
"After dinner, Mr. Lincoln superintended the setting up of the piano, even to seeing that it stood squarely in the center of the wall space allotted it, and then received my thanks with a polite bow and asked: 'Are you expecting to follow the court and give concerts?' The immense relief expressed on his countenance, when he was assured that he would not be called upon to repeat the performance was very laughable.
"'Then may we have one tune before we go?' he asked, and I played 'Rosin the Bow,' with variations.
"Someone shouted, 'Come on, boys, the judge will be waiting,' and after I had assured them that if they desired it, I would give my 'first and only concert on this circuit' when they returned to the hotel in the evening, the crowd dispersed.
"Here I wish to note that in the crowd that had assembled to watch the unloading of the piano, the members of the bar, Mr. Lincoln's friends and equals, always addressed him as 'Mr. Lincoln,' while to the rabble and hangers-on he was often 'Abe.'
"The piano was a 'Gilbert,' made in Boston, and its fame extended far and wide. It was visited by people from all over the state, stage coach passengers frequently 'holding the stage' while they went down to the other tavern (the Harrell House was the stage office) to see and hear the novel instrument.
"That evening a notable crowd assembled in the parlor of the Macon House. Judge Davis, who did not put up with Landlord Krone but was the guest of Mrs. A. A. Powers, came in after supper; and practically all of the bar of the Eighth Judicial District was present at what I suppose we would now call a recital. I found that Mr. Charles Brown, a wealthy landowner and stock dealer of McLean County, not only sang but played a little and I called on him for assistance.
"The program, as I remember it, will illustrate the style of music in vogue at that period.
"For show pieces, I played the 'Battle of Prague' and the 'Carnival of Venice,' then followed with 'Washington's March,' 'Come Haste to the Wedding,' and 'Woodup Quick Step' to convince the audience that I did know a tune or two. For tragedy, I sang Henry Russel's 'Maniac' and 'The Ship on Fire,' and then made their blood run cold with the wild wail of the 'Irish Mother's Lament.' For comic, we sang 'The Widdy McGee' and 'I Won't Be a Nun,' topping off with 'Old Dan Tucker,' 'Lucy Long,' and 'Jim Crow,' the crowd joining in the chorus. These were followed by more serious music. Mr. Brown and Mr. Swett joined me in the duet 'Moonlight, Music, Love, and Flowers,' 'Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep,' 'Pilgrim Fathers,' 'Bonaparte's Grave,' and 'Kathleen Mavourneen.' Each and all met with applause.
"As a finale, I sang 'He Doeth All Things Well,' after which Mr. Lincoln, in a very grave manner, thanked me for the evening's entertainment, and said: 'Don't let us spoil that song by any other music tonight.' Many times afterwards I sang that song for Mr. Lincoln and for Governor Oglesby, with whom it was also a favorite."
Another limitation must be found in Lincoln's morbid cautiousness. Herndon tells us that his very walk gave the impression of craftiness; that it was not the product of deceit, but only of a caution so excessive that it became something more than second nature. He was secretive to a marked degree. When he seemed to be confidential it was in minor matters, or matters on which he had already made up his mind and intended soon to make a public statement. Whatever may be the true story of his engagement to Mary Todd and of those stormy and obscure months between "that fatal first of January, 1840," and the date of their wedding, November 4, 1842, Lincoln's letters to Speed show an excess of caution that was positively abnormal. That it was a mark of insanity has been vigorously denied and with much apparent reason; but if it was not the mark of acute mental aberration, it was the manifestation of a permanent mental trait. Such a nature, which debated like Hamlet the question of suicide and actually printed a brief article which was later cut from the files of the Springfield paper—probably by Lincoln himself—which lingered shivering on the brink of matrimony like the "timorous mortal" of whom Lincoln was taught to sing, must have hesitated long before coming to such a confident poise between alternating faith and doubt as that he could have stood before the altar of a Presbyterian church in Springfield or in Washington and taken upon him the vows of church membership.
Different writers have attempted to account for Lincoln's failure to affiliate with the church wholly on the basis of his being greater than the churches. I quote from one of these characteristic addresses, and one that is in many respects excellent:
"Perhaps his religious nature was so broad that it could not be compassed within the limits of any particular creed or system of doctrines. Perhaps he saw the soul of truth so clearly that he could not accept any one of them as a complete and final revelation of truth. Perhaps he so clearly realized that all religious creeds and systems have their roots in human nature that he could look upon the Christian system as the only deposit of truth committed to the children of men. Perhaps his conception of Deity was so vast that he could not see all the Divine attributes manifest in the historic Christ. Perhaps he felt that some of the doctrines of Christianity, as they were formulated and preached in his day, would be a hindrance rather than a help to his religious faith, so clear was his vision of the things which are unseen and eternal, and so close was his relation to the Author of his being. Perhaps he felt no need of a daysman or mediator, because he himself knew the Lord face to face."—Milton R. Scott: Lincoln, Was He an Inspired Prophet?, pp. 55-57.
There is a measure of truth in this presentation of one side of the case, but it is not the whole truth. Lincoln did not possess this supposed clarity of vision of all spiritual truth. Some things he saw clearly, but his faith and vision had each of them marked and undeniable limitations.
In his widely popular and in many respects excellent oration on Lincoln, Bishop Fowler said:
"Let us analyze Mr. Lincoln if we are able. This task is difficult on account of his symmetry. He was so much like a sphere that he projected farthest in every direction. His comprehension is to us impossible on account of his immensity, for a man can be comprehended only by his peers" (p. 28).
He found the same difficulty in estimating Grant. "It is difficult to analyze General Grant, because he is so simple and complete. Like Lincoln, he is like a sphere; approached from any side he seems to project farthest toward you. Try to divide, and each section is like all the rest. Cut him through, and he is all the way through alike" (p. 127).
I do not think that this is correct concerning Grant, and it certainly is not true concerning Lincoln. He was not a sphere; he was angular or he was nothing.[57] In endeavoring to assess his religious convictions, we are liable to encounter contradictions. But there is a certain inconsistent consistency in those contradictions. There are certain kinds of contradictions which we do not encounter, and certain which, encountering, may be interpreted in the light of certain underlying agreements.