That rare gift which in the every-day affairs of life is called tact and in statecraft is known as diplomacy was possessed by Abraham Lincoln to a degree that was remarkable for a man of his meagre education and limited experience. Before his nomination to the Presidency his fame and activity had been almost exclusively provincial, and in a province which had not yet grown out of the formative period; but he was a profound student of human nature, and possessed a quality called sagacity, which is the nearest approach to wisdom and is a gift of nature. This knowledge and quality were developed during his political life. A successful politician must be a diplomatist and a statesman. The English language lacks terms to describe men of Lincoln's attainments. The French, Spaniards, and Germans have definitions for different grades of politicians, while the English are limited to that single word, and apply it to every person who participates in political affairs, from a ward-worker in the slums of the cities to an occupant of the Executive chair of the nation. William McKinley, like Abraham Lincoln, was a consummate politician and at the same time a statesman and a diplomatist. The dictionary definition of the latter is "a man who has dexterity or skill in managing negotiations of any kind;" and diplomacy, by the same authority, is "artful management with a view of securing advantages."

According to this definition, Lincoln, as a diplomatist, was unsurpassed in his generation either at home or abroad, as the history of the foreign relations of our government during his administration will show. He guided the foreign policy of the United States from 1861 to 1865 as closely as he directed its military campaigns until 1864, when he yielded the responsibility to General Grant; and, although the public gave the credit to Seward, the members of the Cabinet, the foreign committees of the Senate and the House of Representatives, and others intimately associated with that branch of the administration recognized his genius in all the larger attributes of diplomacy. The untrained lawyer from the prairies without hesitation assumed the responsibility of conducting the foreign policy of the government in the most critical period of its existence, and revised the diplomatic correspondence of his Secretary of State, who had the reputation of being one of the most subtle and far-sighted statesmen of his age. But the developments showed that Lincoln alone had a complete grasp of a situation unprecedented in our history.

He was a diplomatist by nature, and developed the talent early. When a boy, he was selected as umpire at wrestling-matches, cock-fights, horse- and foot-races, and other rude sports of the neighborhood because his associates had confidence in his judgment and honesty. Because he had tact, in addition to those qualities, he was the peacemaker and court of appeals in quarrels; the referee in disputes; the arbiter in controversies concerning literature, theology, woodcraft, and morals. His decisions were rarely, if ever, questioned. He had a rule for evading difficulties which was expressed in a homely remark to Mr. Seward, who jokingly remarked at a Cabinet meeting one day,—

"Mr. President, I hear that you turned out for a colored woman on a muddy crossing the other day."

"I don't remember," answered Lincoln, musingly; "but I think it very likely, for I have always made it a rule that if people won't turn out for me I will for them. If I didn't there would be a collision."

And he always avoided collisions. It was not because he lacked courage or confidence. Obstinacy is often mistaken for courage, and, as one of Lincoln's advisers remarked, "Political graveyards are filled with buried ambitions and crushed hopes because of that mistake, which Mr. Lincoln never made." He never allowed an antagonist to fathom his thoughts or to see the line along which he was working. He gave way in matters of small importance to secure a firmer position to fight a more important battle. He overcame obstacles and escaped entanglements by the exercise of this faculty called diplomacy, without surrendering a principle or making an important concession.

General Fry, who was Provost-Marshal of the War Department and received daily instructions from the President in regard to the draft for troops, which was one of the most embarrassing and perplexing questions that arose during the war, illustrates this peculiar trait by an anecdote. He says,—

"Upon one occasion the Governor of a State came to my office bristling with complaints in relation to the number of troops required from his State, the details for drafting the men, and the plan of compulsory service in general. I found it impossible to satisfy his demands, and accompanied him to the Secretary of War's office, whence, after a stormy interview with Stanton, he went alone to press his ultimatum upon the highest authority. After I had waited anxiously for some hours, expecting important orders or decisions from the President, or at least a summons to the White House for explanation, the Governor returned, and said, with a pleasant smile, that he was going home by the next train, and merely dropped in en route to say good-by. Neither the business he came upon nor his interview with the President was alluded to.

"As soon as I could see Lincoln, I said, 'Mr. President, I am very anxious to learn how you disposed of Governor ——. He went to your office from the War Department in a towering rage. I suppose you found it necessary to make large concessions to him, as he returned from you entirely satisfied.'

"'Oh, no,' he replied, 'I did not concede anything. You know how that Illinois farmer managed the big log that lay in the middle of his field? To the inquiries of his neighbors, one Sunday, he announced that he had got rid of the big log. "Got rid of it!" said they, "how did you do it? It was too big to haul out, too knotty to split, and too wet and soggy to burn; what did you do?" "Well, now, boys," replied the farmer, "if you won't divulge the secret, I'll tell you how I got rid of it. I ploughed around it." Now,' said Lincoln, 'don't tell anybody, but that's the way I got rid of Governor ——. I ploughed around him, but it took me three mortal hours to do it, and I was afraid every moment he'd see what I was at.'"

Those who were associated with Lincoln noticed the rapid development of his diplomatic talent. In meeting emergencies he constantly surprised them by the manifestation of a capacity to grapple with hidden and unknown difficulties that could have been possessed only by so strong and deep a nature. His secretaries testify that he could receive any kind of tidings without emotion or variation in face and manner. "He never seemed to hear anything with reference to itself," one of them described it, "but solely with a quick forward grasping for the consequences; for what must be done next. The announcement of a defeat or disaster did not bring to him the blow only, but rather the consideration of a counter-stroke. With a calm, sublime reliance upon God and the everlasting principles of right, he was able to conduct the nation through the most tremendous civil war ever waged and never committed a serious mistake."

Lincoln was pre-eminently a Democrat because he believed in a government of the people by the people for the people. His early training, his contact with "the plain people," as he loved to call them, his knowledge of their prejudices and preferences, their habits of thought and methods of judgment, enabled him to judge accurately of public opinion, and his deep sympathy with them gave him confidence that whatever met their approval was right and just. That explains his loyal obedience to the will of the majority, his refusal to adopt radical measures, and his strength of purpose when he believed that his plans would be approved by them. His critics asserted that his procrastination with McClellan, his postponement of the emancipation of the slaves, and his apparent reluctance to act upon measures which were considered necessary to the salvation of the country were signs of weakness and cowardice; but no man ever showed greater courage when he felt that he was right.

When Lincoln came to Washington he had no experience in diplomacy or statesmanship; as an attorney, he had dealt only with local and State statutes; as a legislator, his experience was limited to provincial affairs; his only knowledge of the operations of the general government was acquired during the two years he was in Congress and from books that he read. He had never argued a case before the Supreme Court, he had never studied international law, he knew nothing of the organization of armies, and he was unfamiliar with the relations between the Chief Executive and his Cabinet; but we have seen in Chapter V. how promptly, firmly, and conclusively, and at the same time with what tact and diplomacy, he rebuked Seward's suggestion that he should surrender the prerogatives of his office to the Secretary of State, how positive yet how gentle was his treatment of FrÉmont, and how thorough his knowledge of the laws of nations is disclosed by his correspondence concerning the movement of troops through Maryland and Virginia, regarding the suspension of the writ of habeas corpus, the arrest of Vallandigham, and especially in connection with the Emancipation Proclamation.

President Lincoln made it a rule never to deny or explain any charge against himself, nor to reply to an attack, except when the fortunes of his country seemed to be involved; and when he did make a reply it was always complete and satisfactory.

Almost the very moment that he crossed the threshold of the White House Lincoln was confronted with the gravest diplomatic problem of his experience, and its solution required not only knowledge of precedent but skill in argument. The claim of the Confederacy to be recognized as a nation by the powers of Europe had practically been waived by President Buchanan when he admitted that the Federal government had no authority to keep a State in the Union if it desired to secede. This admission had been confirmed by the apparent acquiescence in the withdrawal of South Carolina and other States; by the organization of the Confederacy at Montgomery without interference or protest; by the failure to reinforce Fort Sumter; and by Buchanan's practical abdication of executive power when, in his message of January 8, 1861, he threw the entire responsibility of the situation upon Congress.

All through these rapid and radical changes the foreign powers received no official explanation or information from the Department of State at Washington, and were left to draw their own inferences from the news which appeared in the public press, until February 28, when Jeremiah S. Black, for a few weeks Secretary of State, issued a circular instructing our representatives at foreign capitals that the government of the United States had not relinquished its constitutional jurisdiction anywhere within its territory and did not intend to do so. In the same circular he gave instructions that a recognition of the Confederacy must not be allowed. Upon assuming the duties of Secretary of State, Mr. Seward hastily confirmed these instructions and expressed the confidence of the President in the speedy suppression of the Rebellion and the restoration of the unity and harmony of the nation. From France and England came non-committal and unsatisfactory replies, and before Mr. Adams, who had been appointed minister to England, could arrive in London, an unfriendly ministry issued a proclamation of neutrality practically recognizing the Confederate States as an independent government and conceding it the privileges of a belligerent power. Thus, before it had a single ship afloat, its fleets were tendered the hospitality of the British ports on terms of equality with the fleets of the United States. France at once imitated this precipitate action, which was prompted by the desire of the British manufacturers to secure free trade and cheap cotton. The Emperor of the French was actuated by confidence that a division of the American Union would aid in the advancement of his plans to erect an empire in Mexico.

Exasperated by the injustice of this action, Mr. Seward wrote Mr. Adams a despatch which would have imperilled our relations with Great Britain had it been delivered in its original form. Fortunately, the President had enjoined the Secretary of State not to send anything of importance without first submitting it to him; hence Lincoln was able to modify what Mr. Seward's inflammable temper had suggested and at the same time add to the force and the dignity of the despatch. A comparison of the text of the original with the final copy as sent to the American legation at London demonstrates the superiority of Lincoln's judgment as well as his mastery of the language of diplomacy. It is remarkable that a mind untrained to consider the consequences of international discourtesy and a hand unaccustomed to frame the phrases of diplomacy should have been so apt and so skilful in removing the sting from the indignant paragraphs of an experienced statesman without diminishing their tone, or force, or dignity.

If the letter, as it came from the hands of Mr. Seward, had been delivered at the British Foreign Office according to instructions, Mr. Adams would have burned his bridges behind him. He would have placed himself in the attitude of breaking off intercourse, and thus made it impossible for him to use any further influence or even to ascertain the disposition and intention of the British government. The only thing left for him would have been to close the legation and return to the United States. Lincoln's modifications left him free to manage a delicate situation as circumstances and his own judgment indicated. He was not only left within the range of personal and diplomatic courtesy, but by Lincoln's clever phrasing the burden of proof was thrown upon the British government.

This skilful use of terms until that time unfamiliar to Lincoln has always excited the admiration of philologists and diplomatists because of the nice sense he displayed of the shades of meaning and the effect of adding emphasis and improving the courtesy of expression at the same time. The comprehensive knowledge of the situation and the appreciation of the results which might follow seem almost supernatural in a man who had been only three months in office, was entirely without experience in diplomacy, had never before prepared a diplomatic note, and whose mind was perplexed about home affairs. The highest authorities have pronounced it the work of a master, as showing a freedom of knowledge of and insight into foreign affairs, a skill in shaping phrases, a delicate sense of propriety, an appreciation of the methods of diplomatic dealings, and a penetration which entitled the President to the highest honors of statesmanship.

And thus was a misunderstanding and perhaps a war with England avoided by a simple change in terms and phrases. We can only conjecture what might have happened; but, had Seward's despatch been sent as originally written, it would probably have resulted in the formal recognition and the success of the Southern Confederacy.

During the first term of General Grant's administration, Mr. Fish, then Secretary of State, brought the original manuscript to a Cabinet meeting, and it excited so much interest that Mr. Boutwell proposed to have twelve fac-similes made by the photographer of the Treasury Department. Twelve copies were taken and the negative then destroyed.

It was not long before the government was again involved in a complication with Great Britain owing to the zeal of Captain Charles Wilkes, of the gunboat "San Jacinto," who overhauled the British mail steamer "Trent" and took from the passenger cabin ex-Senators J.M. Mason and John Slidell, who had been accredited by the Confederate government as envoys to the European courts, and had managed to elude the blockade and sail from Havana. The British government, people, and press regarded the act as a violation of international law and an outrage upon the British flag, and preparations for war were begun, while Lord Lyons, the British minister at Washington, was instructed to close his legation and return to England unless the prisoners were released and a satisfactory apology offered within seven days.

If it had not been for the kindly sympathy of Queen Victoria, President Lincoln would not have been allowed to apologize; but with her own hand she modified the instructions to Lord Lyons and gave our government an opportunity to withdraw from an untenable position. The situation was exceedingly embarrassing and critical, because the action of Captain Wilkes was not only applauded by the public, but it was officially approved by the Secretary of the Navy, and the House of Representatives unanimously passed a resolution commending him for his brave and patriotic conduct.

While the President and his Cabinet no doubt admired Captain Wilkes for the qualities he had displayed, they were placed in a serious dilemma because of the energetic and peremptory demands of the British government. The President took the matter into his own hands, and the most experienced diplomatist or the most skilful lawyer could not have prepared a clearer, stronger, more dignified, or courteous despatch than he wrote for Mr. Seward's signature, suggesting that the matter be submitted to friendly arbitration.

"The President is unwilling to believe," he wrote, "that Her Majesty's government will press for a categorical answer upon what appears to him to be only a partial record in the making up of which he has been allowed no part. He is reluctant to volunteer his view of the case, with no assurance that Her Majesty's government will consent to hear him; yet this much he directs me to say, that this government has intended no affront to the British flag or to the British nation; nor has it intended to force into discussion an embarrassing question; all of which is evident by the fact hereby asserted, that the act complained of was done by the officer without orders from, or expectation of, the government. But, being done, it was no longer left to us to consider whether we might not, to avoid a controversy, waive an unimportant though a strict right; because we, too, as well as Great Britain, have a people justly jealous of their rights, and in whose presence our government could undo the act complained of only upon a fair showing that it was wrong, or at least very questionable. The United States government and people are still willing to make reparation upon such showing.

"Accordingly, I am instructed by the President to inquire whether Her Majesty's government will hear the United States upon the matter in question. The President desires, among other things, to bring into view, and have considered, the existing rebellion in the United States; the position Great Britain has assumed, including Her Majesty's proclamation in relation thereto; the relation the persons whose seizure is the subject of complaint bore to the United States, and the object of their voyage at the time they were seized; the knowledge which the master of the 'Trent' had of their relation to the United States, and of the object of their voyage, at the time he received them on board for the voyage; the place of the seizure; and the precedents and respective positions assumed in analogous cases between Great Britain and the United States.

"Upon a submission containing the foregoing facts, with those set forth in the before-mentioned despatch to your lordship, together with all other facts which either party may deem material, I am instructed to say the government of the United States will, if agreed to by Her Majesty's government, go to such friendly arbitration as is usual among nations, and will abide the award."

This despatch was not sent; nor was it ever submitted to the Cabinet. Before the opportunity arrived the President was convinced of the danger of temporizing. Eight thousand troops were despatched from London to Canada, a British fleet was ordered to American waters, and the export of arms and ammunition from Great Britain was forbidden. The President's cool judgment and common sense also taught him that the position of our government was untenable, and, with his keen perceptions as a lawyer, he saw how the United States could honorably withdraw and at the same time use the incident to its own advantage and get the better of the controversy.

"We must stick to American principles concerning the rights of neutrals," he said. "We fought Great Britain for insisting by theory and practice on the right to do precisely what Captain Wilkes has done. If Great Britain shall now protest against the act and demand their release, we must give them up and apologize for the act as a violation of our own doctrines, and thus forever bind her over to keep the peace in relation to neutrals, and so acknowledge that she has been wrong for sixty years."

Mr. Seward prepared a long and remarkable presentation of the case of the United States which is considered one of the ablest of his many state papers. He admitted that Captain Wilkes had done wrong and had exceeded his instructions, but asserted that "this government has neither meditated, nor practised, nor approved any deliberate wrong in the transaction to which they have called its attention, and, on the contrary, that what has happened has been simply an inadvertency, consisting in the departure by the naval officer, free from any wrongful motive, from a rule uncertainly established, and probably by the several parties concerned either imperfectly understood or entirely unknown. For this error the British government has a right to expect the same reparation that we, as an independent state, should expect from Great Britain or any other friendly nation in a similar case.... If I decide this case in favor of my own government, I must disavow its most cherished principles, and reverse and forever abandon its essential policy. The country cannot afford the sacrifice. If I maintain those principles and adhere to that policy, I must surrender the case itself.... The four persons in question are now held in military custody at Fort Warren, in the State of Massachusetts. They will be cheerfully liberated."

Thus, through Lincoln's penetration and judgment, a great international peril was not only averted, but Great Britain was forced to relinquish her own contentions and adopt the American doctrine respecting this class of neutral rights. There were frequent matters of controversy between the British Foreign Office and the Department of State at Washington during the four years of war because of the systematic violation of the neutrality laws by English subjects, and they were aggravated by the unconcealed sympathy of the British people with the Confederate States. Our government was ably represented in London by Charles Francis Adams, in whom Lincoln had great confidence, and his voluminous instructions from time to time, although prepared by Secretary Seward, were always carefully revised by the President. Altogether, the diplomatic correspondence during that period, both in matters of controversy and particularly concerning offers of mediation in our affairs made by the European powers, shows a diplomatic penetration and skill which excite the admiration of students.

Among other perplexing questions with which he was compelled to deal was the invasion of Mexico and the attempt to establish an empire at the city of the Montezumas. The President took the most positive and determined ground in support of the Monroe doctrine—more advanced than had been attempted at that time. He expressed an unqualified disapproval of the French invasion; and, although he was not in a position to intervene with force, lost no opportunity of making known to the other powers of Europe, and through our minister in Paris to the Emperor of France himself, that the movement to erect a monarchy on American soil was repugnant to the United States. To strengthen his position he suggested that Governor Dennison, who was to be chairman of the Baltimore Convention in 1864, give a strong endorsement of the Monroe doctrine in his opening speech, and that the Convention adopt a resolution declaring that the people of the United States would not permit the overthrow of a republican government or the establishment of a monarchy upon the Western continent. Early in 1865 Lincoln and Secretary Seward received three peace commissioners from the Confederacy—Stephens, Hunter, and Campbell,—who wanted the President to recognize the Southern Confederacy as a foreign government. Mr. Hunter urged this very strongly, declaring that the recognition of Jefferson Davis's official authority to make a treaty was an indispensable step to peace, and referred to the correspondence between King Charles I. and his Parliament as a trustworthy precedent. When Mr. Hunter made this point, Lincoln looked up quickly and remarked,—

"Upon questions of history I must refer you to Mr. Seward, for he is posted on such things and I do not profess to be; but it is my distinct recollection that, as a result of that correspondence, Charles lost his head."

One of the most remarkable examples of Lincoln's tact and diplomacy is found in his treatment of a Cabinet crisis in December, 1862, when the danger of a permanent division of the Republican party into two hostile factions seemed imminent and unavoidable. As the reader has already learned from this narrative, the Cabinet was never harmonious or united. It was divided by personal jealousies and rivalries as well as by differences concerning matters of policy from the day of the inauguration. Gradually Mr. Seward became the leader of the conservative and Mr. Chase of the radical element of the Republican party, and while both conducted the business of their departments with patriotism, ability, and skill, they were not only mutually hostile, but suspected each other's motives. From a very early day Mr. Chase became an outspoken candidate for the Presidential nomination against Lincoln, and his criticism, as we have learned in Chapter V., included his fellow-members of the Cabinet. Mr. Seward, on the other hand, was loyal to the President, but had given great offence to the radical element of his party by some of his published despatches and private utterances, particularly one diplomatic note in which he had included the antislavery men with the secessionists as responsible for bringing on the war. The dissatisfaction was aggravated by other offences to such a degree that the Republicans of the Senate called a caucus to consider the matter and passed a resolution demanding the dismissal of Mr. Seward from the Cabinet. The cooler members of the Senate succeeded in having this action reconsidered and a substitute resolution adopted requesting a reconstruction of the official family. The meaning and intention of the caucus, however, could not be concealed by this indefinite resolution, and as soon as Mr. Seward learned of the proceeding, he and his son, who was Assistant Secretary of State, tendered their resignations. The President tucked them into a pigeonhole of his desk without comment.

The following morning a caucus committee waited upon the President and presented the resolution, each Senator, in turn, submitting his personal views as to the unfitness of the Secretary of State to remain in the administration, chiefly because of his lack of interest in antislavery measures under consideration which they considered essential to a successful prosecution of the war. Lincoln listened to them with respectful attention, asked an opportunity for reflection, and invited them to return to the White House in the evening for his reply. He called the Cabinet, except Mr. Seward, together at the same hour, and when the committee and the ministers met each was greatly surprised to see the others.

The President remarked that he thought it best to fight it out and have it over, and was determined that every point of difference between them should be exposed and explained before his guests separated. He read the resolution of the caucus and then called upon the Senators to explain themselves, which they did with earnestness. The Cabinet replied with equal candor,—all except Secretary Chase, who found himself in a very embarrassing position, because he had been chiefly instrumental in creating the dissatisfaction by misrepresenting the opinions of Seward and the rest of his colleagues to his friends in the Senate. He could not deny it, for the witnesses were present; nor could he defend himself for doing so. He could only protest against being entrapped in a mortifying predicament and express his regret that he had attended the meeting. Without malice, but with the hope of correcting the bad habits of his Secretary of the Treasury, the President had made sure that he should be present.

When everybody had said all that he had to say, Lincoln astonished them by announcing that he intended to take a vote, and he put the question directly whether, after the explanations which had been heard, Mr. Seward should be excused. Senators Grimes, Trumbull, Sumner, and Pomeroy voted "Yes," Senator Harris "No," and Senators Collamer, Fessenden, and Howard declined to vote. Mr. Wade, the other member of the committee, was absent.

The President decided that the vote had been in favor of Mr. Seward. While the Senators realized that the President had outwitted them, they, nevertheless, left the White House satisfied that Seward's position was untenable, and that after this incident he would be compelled voluntarily to retire from the Cabinet. As the committee was leaving the President's room, Senator Trumbull, with great vehemence, accused Mr. Chase of double-dealing, and the latter, having no defence to the charge, tendered his resignation the following morning, and was very much surprised at the alacrity with which the President received it.

When the Cabinet retired, Lincoln took the resignation of Mr. Seward from his desk and, holding it up beside that of Mr. Chase, remarked to a personal friend to whom he had briefly sketched the situation,— "Now I can ride. I have got a pumpkin in each end of my bag."

A few moments after he sat down at his desk, with his own hand made two copies of the following note, and sent one to Mr. Seward and the other to Mr. Chase by messenger:

"You have respectively tendered me your resignation as Secretary of State and Secretary of the Treasury of the United States. I am apprized of the circumstances which render this course personally desirable to each of you; but, after the most anxious consideration, my deliberate judgment is that the public interest does not admit of it. I therefore have to request that you will resume the duties of your departments respectively."

Mr. Seward at once recognized the situation and wrote the President, saying, "I have cheerfully resumed the functions of this department in obedience to your command," and sent a copy of the note to the Secretary of the Treasury.

Mr. Chase, however, was not so frank. He realized that he had made a serious mistake, and by his duplicity had lost the confidence of the Republican leaders of the Senate as well as that of his colleagues in the Cabinet. He suspected that Mr. Seward had somehow obtained an advantage of him, and he was not sure which way he had better turn; so he asked time for reflection, and finally wrote a long letter to the President explaining his situation and his views, and concluded by saying that he thought both Mr. Seward and himself had better retire. He did not send the letter at once, but held it until the following day; and when he learned that Seward's resignation was withdrawn, enclosed it in another note stating that, while he had not changed his views, he was ready to resume his post or to retire from it if, in the judgment of the President, the success of the administration might be promoted thereby.

This was the end of the episode. The President had cleared up the misunderstanding between the Cabinet and the Senate and the members of his own official family by a novel expedient which is often adopted to reconcile quarrels between children, but was altogether new in diplomacy and statesmanship. Both sides to the controversy were conscious that they had placed themselves in the wrong, and, even under their chagrin, must have recognized the humor of the situation and the diplomatic skill with which Lincoln had handled it. The President himself was very proud of his triumph.

"I do not see how it could have been better," he said afterwards. "If I had yielded to the storm and dismissed Seward, the thing would all have slumped over one way, and we should have been left with a scanty handful of supporters. When Chase gave in his resignation I saw that the game was in my hands, and I put it through."

In this case and frequently throughout his administration the President resorted to the old-fashioned and homely but sensible methods that were commonly resorted to on the frontier to settle controversies between neighbors when the courts were scattered and litigation was considered disreputable. They were new in the administration of a government, but were none the less effective.

Lincoln frequently showed that he could easily avoid a direct answer and evade inquisitive visitors when he thought it was impolitic to make known his opinions. One of the latter wanted to know his opinion of Sheridan, who had just come from the West to take command of the cavalry under Grant. Said Lincoln,—

"I will tell you just what kind of a chap he is. He is one of those long-armed fellows with short legs that can scratch his shins without having to stoop over to do so."

One day, when the vain boasting of a certain general was the subject of discussion, Lincoln was "reminded" of a farmer out in Illinois who was in the habit of bragging about everything he did and had and saw, and particularly about his crops. While driving along the road during the haying season, he noticed one of his neighbors hauling a load of hay into his barn. He could not resist the opportunity, and commenced to brag about the size of his hay crop, which, as usual, he asserted to be larger and better than any ever before known in the county. After he had finished he asked what kind of a crop his neighbor had put in.

"The biggest crop you ever see!" was the prompt reply. "I've got so much hay I don't know what to do with it. I've piled up all I can out-doors and am going to put the rest of it in the barn."

Robert Dale Owen, the spiritualist, once read the President a long manuscript on an abstruse subject with which that rather erratic person loved to deal. Lincoln listened patiently until the author asked for his opinion, when he replied, with a yawn,—

"Well, for those who like that sort of thing, I should think it is just about the sort of thing they would like."

While Lincoln was always very patient, he often adopted droll methods for getting rid of bores. The late Justice Cartter of the Supreme Court of the District of Columbia used to relate an incident of a Philadelphia man who called at the White House so frequently and took up so much of the President's time that the latter finally lost his patience. One day when the gentleman was particularly verbose and persistent, and refused to leave, although he knew that important delegations were waiting, Lincoln arose, walked over to a wardrobe in the corner of the cabinet chamber, and took a bottle from a shelf. Looking gravely at his visitor, whose head was very bald, he remarked,—

"Did you ever try this stuff for your hair?"

"No, sir, I never did."

"Well," remarked Lincoln, "I advise you to try it, and I will give you this bottle. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Keep it up. They say it will make hair grow on a pumpkin. Now take it and come back in eight or ten months and tell me how it works."

The astonished Philadelphian left the room instantly without a word, carrying the bottle in his hand, and Judge Cartter, coming in with the next delegation, found the President doubled up with laughter at the success of his strategy. Before he could proceed to business the story had to be told.

"His skill in parrying troublesome questions was wonderful," said Mr. Chauncey M. Depew. "I was in Washington at a critical period of the war, when the late John Ganson, of Buffalo, one of the ablest lawyers in our State, and who, though elected as a Democrat, supported all Mr. Lincoln's war measures, called on him for explanations. Mr. Ganson was very bald, with a perfectly smooth face, and had a most direct and aggressive way of stating his views or of demanding what he thought he was entitled to. He said,—

"'Mr. Lincoln, I have supported all of your measures and think I am entitled to your confidence. We are voting and acting in the dark in Congress, and I demand to know—I think I have the right to ask and to know—what is the present situation and what are the prospects and conditions of the several campaigns and armies.'

"Mr. Lincoln looked at him quizzically for a moment, and then said, 'Ganson, how clean you shave!'

"Most men would have been offended, but Ganson was too broad and intelligent a man not to see the point and retire at once, satisfied, from the field."

Senator Fessenden came from the Capitol, one day, in a terrible rage because Mr. Lincoln had made certain promises, in matters of patronage, which he considered unjust to himself, and reproached and denounced the President in intemperate language. Mr. Lincoln made no explanation or reply, but listened calmly until the fury of the storm was spent, when, in his droll way, he inquired,—

"You are an Episcopalian, aren't you, Fessenden?"

"Yes, sir. I belong to that church."

"I thought so. You Episcopalians all swear alike. Seward is an Episcopalian; Stanton is a Presbyterian. You ought to hear him swear." And he continued to describe the several varieties of swearing and the nice distinctions between different kinds of profanity in the most philosophical manner, until Fessenden's fury was extinguished and he could discuss the reasons for the offensive appointment in a rational manner.

A visitor once asked Lincoln how many men the rebels had in the field.

He replied, very seriously, "Twelve hundred thousand, according to the best authority."

"Good heavens!"

"Yes, sir, twelve hundred thousand—no doubt of it. You see, all of our generals, when they get whipped, say the enemy outnumbers them from three or five to one, and I must believe them. We have four hundred thousand men in the field, and three times four make twelve. Don't you see it?"

When the Sherman expedition which captured Port Royal went out there was a great curiosity to know where it had gone. A person with ungovernable curiosity asked the President the destination.

"Will you keep it entirely secret?" asked the President.

"Oh, yes, upon my honor."

"Well," said the President, "I will tell you." Assuming an air of great mystery, and drawing the man close to him, he kept him waiting the revelation with great anxiety, and then said in a loud whisper, which was heard all over the room, "The expedition has gone to—sea."

A gentleman asked Lincoln to give him a pass through the Federal lines in order to visit Richmond. "I should be very happy to oblige you," said the President, "if my passes were respected; but the fact is, within the past two years I have given passes to Richmond to two hundred and fifty thousand men and not one has got there yet."

A New York firm applied to Lincoln some years before he became President for information as to the financial standing of one of his neighbors. This was the answer:

"Yours of the 10th received. First of all, he has a wife and baby; together they ought to be worth $500,000 to any man. Secondly, he has an office in which there is a table worth $1.50 and three chairs worth, say, $1. Last of all there is in one corner a large rat hole, which will bear looking into. Respectfully,

"A. Lincoln."

A certain Senator once called at the White House to persuade Lincoln to issue an order to the Secretary of War to pay a constituent of his a considerable sum of money for services which clearly he had not rendered, the amount being claimed on the ground that he would have rendered them if he had been permitted to do so. Lincoln heard the statement of facts and the argument with his usual patience and rendered his decision as follows:

"Years ago when imprisonment for debt was legal in some States a poor fellow was sent to jail by his creditors and compelled to serve out his debt at the rate of a dollar and a half per day. Knowing the exact amount of the debt, he carefully calculated the time he would be required to serve. When the sentence had expired he informed his jailer of the fact, and asked to be released. The jailer insisted upon keeping him four days longer. Upon making up his statement, however, he found that the man was right, and that he had served four days longer than his sentence required. The prisoner then demanded not only a receipt in full of his debt, but also payment for four days' extra service, amounting to six dollars, which he declared the county owed him.

"Now," said Lincoln, "I think your client has just about as good a claim for the money as he had."

"I am very much of your opinion, Mr. President," said the Senator, soberly, as he retired.

Mr. Charles A. Dana, Assistant Secretary of War, says, "A spy whom we employed to report to us the proceedings of the Confederate government and its agents, and who passed continually between Richmond and St. Catherines, reporting at the War Department upon the way, had come in from Canada and had put into my hands an important despatch from Mr. Clement C. Clay, Jr., addressed to Mr. Benjamin. Of course the seal was broken and the paper read immediately. It showed unequivocally that the Confederate agents in Canada were making use of that country as a starting-point for warlike raids which were to be directed against frontier towns like St. Albans in Vermont. Mr. Stanton thought it important that this despatch should be retained as a ground of reclamation to be addressed to the British government. It was on a Sunday that it arrived, and he was confined to his house by a cold. At his direction I went over to the President and made an appointment with him to be at the Secretary's office after church. At the appointed time he was there, and I read the despatch to them. Mr. Stanton stated the reasons why it should be retained, and before deciding the question Mr. Lincoln turned to me, saying,—

"'Well, Dana?'

"I observed to them that this was a very important channel of communication, and that if we stopped such a despatch as this it was at the risk of never obtaining any more information through that means. "'Oh,' said the President, 'I think you can manage that. Capture the messenger, take the despatch from him by force, put him in prison, and then let him escape. If he has made Benjamin and Clay believe his lies so far, he won't have any difficulty in telling them new ones that will answer for this case.'

"This direction was obeyed. The paper was sealed up again and was delivered to its bearer. General Augur, who commanded the District, was directed to look for a Confederate messenger at such a place on the road that evening. The man was arrested, brought to the War Department, searched, the paper found upon him and identified, and he was committed to the Old Capitol Prison. He made his escape about a week later, being fired upon by the guard. A large reward for his capture was advertised in various papers East and West, and when he reached St. Catherines with his arm in a sling, wounded by a bullet which had passed through it, his story was believed by Messrs. Clay and Jacob Thompson, or, at any rate, if they had any doubts upon the subject, they were not strong enough to prevent his carrying their messages afterward.

"The last time I saw Mr. Lincoln to speak with him," continued Mr. Dana, "was in the afternoon of the day of his murder. The same Jacob Thompson was the subject of our conversation. I had received a report from the Provost-Marshal of Portland, Maine, saying that Jacob Thompson was to be in that town that night for the purpose of taking the steamer for Liverpool, and what orders had the Department to give? I carried the telegram to Mr. Stanton. He said promptly, 'Arrest him;' but as I was leaving his room he called me back, adding, 'You had better take it over to the President.' It was now between four and five o'clock in the afternoon and business at the White House was completed for the day. I found Mr. Lincoln with his coat off, in a closet attached to his office, washing his hands. 'Halloo, Dana,' said he, as I opened the door, 'what is it now?' 'Well, sir,' I said, 'here is the Provost-Marshal of Portland, who reports that Jacob Thompson is to be in that town to-night, and inquires what orders we have to give.' 'What does Stanton say?' he asked.

'Arrest him,' I replied. 'Well,' he continued, drawling his words, 'I rather guess not. When you have an elephant on hand, and he wants to run away, better let him run.'"

When a friend brought to his attention the fact that Secretary Chase was seeking the nomination for President, the President accepted the announcement with the utmost good-humor, and said,—

"My half-brother was once ploughing corn on a Kentucky farm. I was driving the horse and he holding the plough. The horse was lazy, but on one occasion rushed across the field so fast that I, even with my long legs, could hardly keep pace with him. On reaching the end of the furrow, I found an enormous chin-fly fastened upon him, and knocked him off. My brother asked me what I did that for. I told him I didn't want the old horse bitten in that way. 'Why,' said he, 'that's what makes him go.' If Mr. Chase has a Presidential chin-fly biting him, I'm not going to knock him off, if it will only make his department go."

Coming into the President's room one day, Mr. Stanton said that he had received a telegram from General Mitchell, in Alabama, asking instructions. He did not quite understand the situation down there, but, having full confidence in Mitchell's judgment, had answered, "All right; go ahead."

"Now, Mr. President," he added, "if I have made an error, I shall have to get you to countermand the order."

"Once at the cross-roads down in Kentucky, when I was a boy, a particularly fine horse was to be sold," replied Lincoln. "They had a small boy to ride him up and down. One man whispered to the boy as he went by, 'Look here, boy, hain't that horse got splints?' The boy replied, 'Mister, I don't know what splints is; but if it's good for him he's got it, and if it ain't good for him he ain't got it.' Now," added Lincoln, "I understand that if this is good for Mitchell it's all right, but if it's not I have got to countermand it."

To a deputation who urged that his Cabinet should be reconstructed after the retirement of Secretary Cameron, the President told this story: "Gentlemen, when I was a young man I used to know very well one Joe Wilson, who built himself a log cabin not far from where I lived. Joe was very fond of eggs and chickens, and he took a very great deal of pains in fitting up a poultry shed. Having at length got together a choice lot of young fowls,—of which he was very proud,—he began to be much annoyed by the depredations of those little black-and-white-spotted animals which it is not necessary to name. One night Joe was awakened by an unusual cackling and fluttering among his chickens. Getting up, he crept out to see what was going on. It was a bright moonlight night, and he soon caught sight of half a dozen of the little pests, which, with their dam, were running in and out of the shadow of the shed. Very wrathy, Joe put a double charge into his old musket and thought he would 'clean Out' the whole tribe at one shot. Somehow he only killed one, and the balance scampered off across the field. In telling the story Joe would always pause here and hold his nose. 'Why didn't you follow them up and kill the rest?' inquired his neighbors. 'Blast it,' said Joe, 'it was eleven weeks before I got over killin' one. If you want any more skirmishing in that line you can do it yourselves!'"

On one occasion some of Lincoln's friends were talking of the diminutive stature of Stephen A. Douglas, and an argument as to the proper length of a man's legs. During the discussion Lincoln came in, and it was agreed that the question should be referred to him for decision.

"Well," said he, reflectively, "I should think a man's legs ought to be long enough to reach from his body to the ground."

A day or two before his inauguration a delegation of merchants and bankers who had been sent to the Peace Congress called upon Lincoln to remonstrate against the use of force to restrain the South, and to plead for a conciliatory policy towards the slave-holders. Mr. William E. Dodge declared that the whole world was anxiously awaiting the inaugural address, and added, "It is for you, sir, to say whether the nation shall be plunged into bankruptcy, and whether the grass shall grow in the streets of our commercial cities."

"Then I say it shall not," Lincoln answered coolly, with a twinkle in his eye. "If it depends upon me, the grass will not grow anywhere except in the fields and meadows."

"Then you must yield to the just demands of the South," declared Mr. Dodge." You must leave her to control her own institutions. You will admit slave States into the Union on the same conditions as free States. You will not go to war on account of slavery."

A sad but stern expression swept over Lincoln's face. "I do not know that I understand your meaning, Mr. Dodge," he answered, without raising his voice; "nor do I know what my acts or my opinions may be in the future, beyond this. If I ever come to the great office of the President of the United States, I shall take an oath. I shall swear that I will faithfully execute the office of the President of the United States, and that I will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. That is a great and solemn duty. With the support of the people and the assistance of the Almighty I shall undertake to perform it. It is not the Constitution as I should like to have it, but as it is, that is to be defended. The Constitution will be preserved and defended until it is enforced and obeyed in every part of every one of the United States. It must be so respected, obeyed, and enforced and defended, let the grass grow where it may."

In 1862 the people of New York City feared bombardment by Confederate cruisers, and public meetings were held to consider the gravity of the situation. Finally a delegation of fifty gentlemen, representing hundreds of millions of dollars, was selected to go to Washington and persuade the President to detail a gunboat to protect their property. David Davis, while on the Supreme Bench, went to the White House and presented them to the President.

Mr. Lincoln heard them attentively, much impressed, apparently, by the "hundreds of millions." When they had concluded, he said,—

"Gentlemen, I am, by the Constitution, Commander-in-Chief of the Army and the Navy of the United States, and as a matter of law I can order anything to be done that is practicable to be done. I am in command of the gunboats and ships of war; but, as a matter of fact, I do not know exactly where they are. I presume they are actively engaged, and it therefore is impossible for me to furnish you a gunboat. The credit of the government is at a very low ebb; greenbacks are not worth more than forty or fifty cents on the dollar, and in this condition of things, if I were worth half as much as you gentlemen are represented to be, and as badly frightened as you seem to be, I would build a gunboat and give it to the government."

Judge Davis said he never saw one hundred millions sink to such insignificant proportions as it did when the delegation left the White House.