His greatest fault was his inability to suppress his sympathies. He once said, "If I have one vice, it is not being able to say 'No.' And I consider it a vice. Thank God for not making me a woman. I presume if He had He would have made me just as ugly as I am, and nobody would ever have tempted me."
On another occasion he said, "Some of our generals complain that I impair discipline and encourage insubordination in the army by my pardons and respites; but it rests me after a hard day's work if I can find some good cause for saving a man's life; and I go to bed happy as I think how joyous the signing of my name will make him and his family and his friends."
And with a happy smile beaming upon his careworn face, he again signed his name that saved another life. It was his theory that when a man is sincerely penitent for his misdeeds and gives satisfactory evidence of it, he can safely be pardoned.
An old lady came to him with tears in her eyes to express her gratitude for the pardon of her son, a truant soldier.
"Good-by, Mr. Lincoln," she said; "I shall probably never see you again until we meet in heaven."
He was deeply moved. He took her right hand in both of his and said, "I am afraid with all my troubles I shall never get to that resting-place you speak of; but if I do, I am sure I shall find you. That you wish me to get there is, I believe, the best wish you could make for me. Good-by."
To his oldest and most intimate friend he said, "Speed, die when I may, I want it said of me by those who know me best, that I always plucked a thistle and planted a flower when I thought a flower would grow."
His greatness consisted not in his eloquence as an orator, nor his shrewdness as a lawyer, nor his tact as a diplomatist, nor his genius in planning and directing military affairs, nor his executive ability, but in his absolute self-control, his unselfishness, the full maturity of his wisdom, the strength of his convictions, his sound judgment, his absolute integrity, his unwavering adherence to the principles of truth, justice, and honor, his humanity, his love of country, his sublime faith in the people and in Republican institutions. He was without malice or the spirit of resentment, without envy or jealousy, and he suppressed his passions to a degree beyond that of most men. He entered the Presidency with an inadequate conception of his own responsibilities, but when he saw his duty he did it with courage, endurance, magnanimity, and unselfish devotion. In his eulogy of Lincoln, uttered a few days after the assassination, Ralph Waldo Emerson said,—
"He grew according to the need; his mind mastered the problem of the day; and as the problem grew so did his comprehension of it. Rarely was a man so fitted to the event.
"In four years—four years of battle days—his endurance, his fertility and resources, his magnanimity, were sorely tried and never found wanting. There, by his courage, his justice, his even temper, his fertile counsel, his humanity, he stood a heroic figure in the centre of an heroic epoch."