The year 1837 is the culmination of the first period of abolitionism in Illinois. Until then, abolitionism was a hated eastern conception. Despite opposition, and somewhat feeding on it, it slowly filtered its way through an almost impervious public sentiment. A small band encountered with heroism, the continuous martyrdom that waits on the protagonist. Few in numbers, zealous in their gospel, superbly confident in the rectitude of their counsel they aroused the spirit of retaliation. Their excessive zeal transcended all other obligations, rendering them indifferent, if not hostile, to the constitutional compact. They stimulated and encouraged to life a corresponding bitterness among the multitude.

It was in those days a mortal offence to call a man an abolitionist. The popular mind scarcely distinguished between men who stole horses and men who freed negroes. They regarded anti-slavery men as robbers, disturbers of the peace, the instigators of arson, and enemies to the Union which gave us as a people liberty and strength. "In testimony of these sentiments, Illinois enacted a 'black code' of most preposterous and cruel severity,—a code that would have been a disgrace to a slave state, and was simply an infamy in a free one. It borrowed the provisions of the most revolting laws known among men, for exiling, selling, beating, bedeviling, and torturing negroes, whether bond or free."[122]

That the opposition of slavery was bothering the people of Sangamon County, is evident from the following resolution adopted at Springfield in 1837 at a public meeting, over which Judge Brown presided:

"Resolved that in the opinion of this meeting the doctrine of the immediate emancipation of the slaves of this country (although promulgated by those who profess to be Christians) is at variance with Christianity, and its tendency is to breed contention, broil and mobs; and the leaders of those calling themselves Abolitionists are designing ambitious men and dangerous members of society and should be shunned by all good citizens."[123]

Illinois would scarcely brook unchained utterance on the darkest question of all the ages,—the "right of one man to eat the bread which another earned." A kind of stifling ostracism awaited the lowly or the towering disciple who spoke in the language of Jefferson, of the fear awakening problem. Every generation has its remorseless method of crucifying its heroes of speech and deed. Business and political interests, social influences and religious affiliations concerted in the crushing of abolitionism. Success might have crowned their effort had prudence been their companion, but they mobbed, maltreated, and even murdered the champions of the new movement. Had madness confounded them, they could not have acted more unwisely. This, more than all the agitation of abolition leaders, quickened the moral vitality of the people. There were many white men who cared little for the slave, but much for the gospel of free speech as old as the Anglo-Saxon race. This fatal policy of brute force finally dictated the doom of a power that long mocked all opposition, that dreamed of an imperial government grander than the vision which "Stout Cortez" beheld when he first stared at the Pacific, "silent on a peak in Darien."

The motives that prompted public sentiment in Illinois to throttle discussion on the slave question, almost baffle understanding. The Lovejoys attacked no vested interest in the State, menaced no substantial rights of person or property. While the Southern States busied themselves with the doctrine that it was the privilege of each State to demean itself as it wished, subject only to the Constitution, as it interpreted that instrument, there was small occasion for a Northern commonwealth to curb its own citizens, to sacrifice ancient and cherished rights for the pleasure of an exacting foreign institution.

The anti-slavery forces with keenness of vision saw the weak point of the enemy's attack, so they ranged themselves round the banner, proclaiming the doctrine of free speech and the sacredness of an unshackled press. Nothing more inherently reveals the weakness of the advocates of slavery, than their morbid fear of free and frank inquiry into its policy and wisdom. In the face of an institution demanding mob power, and the sacrifice of priceless principles, the Abolitionists performed a wholesome public service in contending that then more than ever liberty of discussion should be protected, maintained and hallowed.

Suddenly, in the same year up starts Lincoln the statesman, Lincoln the politician sinks. He possessed the rare gift of concealing his most cherished opinions until the time was ripe for expression. He was aware of the folly of mouthing truths when no good could come therefrom. In this, he was a politician. Still when the occasion called for an act of fortitude, when the solemnity of the hour summoned heroic utterance, as from "heights afar," the sound of his voice was heard and the thrill of his words awakened. In this, he was a supreme statesman.

Strange medley of the ideal and the practical,—at times he appeared the very woof of the visionary, and then stood forth as a petty politician. He was a mystery and a wonder to his contemporaries. They never beheld such a man; they had no standard by which to measure him. First, amazing some by the minuteness of his strategy, he would then startle others by a bold proclamation of immortal truth. There was something elusive in the manifoldness of his nature. The world with childlike simplicity looks for uniformity of action, for consistency. So it was that in later years time-servers called Lincoln the apostle of radicalism, and radicals named him the slave of conservatism.

The legislature instead of branding the black crime of the murder of Lovejoy in 1837, hastened to pass resolutions of sympathy with slavery. No external inducement guided Lincoln to fly in the face of the sentiment of the Legislature, the State and Nation in regard to Abolitionism. His conduct mystifies unless the abiding impress of the incident at New Orleans is fully measured. It was no idle vaunt that stirred him to the declaration that if he ever had the chance he would strike a blow for the enslaved. The testing time was at hand. His oath was "registered in Heaven." It was necessary to join the majority in their defence of slavery, or strike a lonely path in behalf of the enslaved. His soul faced that crisis. No longer helpless, he was widely known, and was distinguished for his services as a political leader. High in position, his act and word carrying weight, he proclaimed his protest. The chance being at hand, he struck slavery a stinging blow. The silence of nearly a decade was broken in words that shall echo for evermore. Only one other representative, Dan Stone, of Sangamon County, dared to sign the following signal dissent that will save him from an oblivion that has already enshrouded those who voted for the successful resolutions:

"They believe that the institution of slavery is founded on both injustice and bad policy, but that the promulgation of abolition doctrines tends rather to increase than abate the evils.

"They believe that the Congress of the United States has no power under the Constitution to interfere with the institution of slavery in the different States.

"They believe that the Congress of the United States has the power, under the Constitution, to abolish slavery in the District of Columbia, but that the power ought not to be exercised, unless at the request of the people of the District.

"The difference between these opinions and those contained in the said resolutions is their reason for entering this protest.

"Dan Stone,
"A. Lincoln.
"Representatives of the County of Sangamon."[124]

The resolutions that passed the General Assembly were still rather conservative for the time and place. The protest of Lincoln is therefore the more significant, as indicating its origin from some deep mental or moral sentiment. Every letter in the protest is weighed. No product of Lincoln is more native to his genius. It is as restrained as a judicial decision. Avoiding unneeded antagonism, it is framed with admirable diplomacy. Radical in thought, still so moderate in expression, it saved his power for further good, not placing him beyond fellowship with his associates. Yet with all its subdued character, with infinite wisdom it made the assault at the weakest point, declaring that slavery was founded, not only on injustice, but bad policy. In the last phrase lurked the sting that was to awaken the self-interest of the North, the same kind of selfishness that solidified the South in defending the institution. Lincoln was among the first to grasp and lay stress on the warp of the issue. He once declared that honest statesmanship was the employment of individual meanness for the public good. When self-interest became enlisted with conscience against the evil, its days were numbered. While Abolitionism was noisily tugging at one of the pillars that supported human bondage, Lincoln serenely forged an argument linking its moral and industrial weakness, an argument that finally shook its very foundation, until the peculiar institution that dominated the destiny of the nation for more than half a century tumbled to destruction. While other men were forced to change their opinions through the malignancy of slavery to keep abreast of public sentiment, Lincoln remained steadfast in his opinions and his policy. At the outset, he foresaw that no institution could last long that rested on injustice and bad policy. Only a change of external conditions separated the man who entered a solemn protest against the iniquity of slavery in a hostile community and the leader who gave life to the momentous act of the nineteenth century.

The period preceding the murder of Lovejoy was an era of unrest. The mob spirit ranged over the land. Thus in commenting upon the murder of the mulatto McIntosh, Lovejoy says: "In Charlestown it burns a Convent over the head of defenseless women; in Baltimore it desecrates the Sabbath, and works all that day in demolishing a private citizen's house; in Vicksburg it hangs up gamblers, three or four in a row; and in St. Louis it forces a man—a hardened wretch certainly, and one that deserves to die, but not thus to die—it forces him from beneath the aegis of our constitution and laws, hurries him to the stake and burns him alive!"[C]

Without doubt, the murder of Lovejoy and similar incidents drew the mind of Lincoln to the discussion of the subject of the preservation of our institutions. For Herndon has left valuable testimony as to the influence of like events on his own opinions. The cruel and uncalled-for murder aroused anti-slavery sentiments, penetrating the college at Jacksonville where he was attending, and both faculty and students were unrestrained in their denunciation. Herndon's father, believing that the college was too strongly permeated with the virus of Abolitionism, forced him to withdraw from the institution. But Herndon declares that it was too late; that the murder of Lovejoy filled him with more desperation than the slave scene in New Orleans did Lincoln. For while the latter believed in non-interference with slavery, as long as the Constitution authorized its existence, Herndon, although acting nominally with the Whig party up to 1853, struck out for Abolitionism pure and simple.[125]

In the fall of 1837, Lincoln addressed the Young Men's Lyceum at Springfield, Illinois, in a formal discourse bearing traces of considerable preparation. The style is fulsome and fanciful, and unlike his own crisp utterance of previous or subsequent periods. For a time he wandered from his natural self and followed the glitter of what he doubtless deemed a more cultivated form of expression. Thus it begins: "In the great journal of things happening under the sun, we, the American people, find our account running under date of the nineteenth century of the Christian era. We find ourselves in the peaceful possession of the fairest portion of the earth as regards extent of territory, fertility of soil and salubrity of climate. We find ourselves under the government of a system of political institutions conducing more essentially to the ends of civil and religious liberty than any of which the history of former times tells us."[126]

It is especially important to take note of Lincoln's attitude of the prevailing mob spirit. His treatment of that theme, his mode and manner and thought, is so like that of the editor of the Alton Observer, that it is reasonable to assume that there was a common origin to the common sentiment. The same scenes and events that stirred the soul of Lovejoy aroused that of Lincoln. His direct onslaught on the mob spirit being largely connected with the slave issue, was an indirect attack on slavery. In this, Lincoln and the Abolitionists stood on the same ground. He extravagantly denounced the malefaction of the mobs, saying that they pervaded the country from New England to Louisiana; and alike sprang up among the pleasure-hunting masters of Southern slaves, and the order-loving citizens of the land of steady habits, that this process of hanging went on from gamblers to negroes, from negroes to white citizens, and from these to strangers, till dead men were seen literally dangling from the boughs of trees upon every roadside. He further insisted that by the operation of this mobocratic spirit, the strongest bulwark of any government might effectually be broken down and destroyed—the attachment of the people. He contended that whenever the vicious portion of population should be permitted to burn churches, ravage provision stores, throw printing presses into rivers, shoot editors, and hang and burn obnoxious persons with impunity, this government could not last.[127]

Under the display of such extravagant expression there is still patriotic apprehensiveness of danger to the national existence. He fought out the solution of the problem unaided until the way seemed clear and plain. To him the remedy was simple—obedience to the law of the land.

"Let reverence for the law be breathed by every American mother to the lisping babe that prattles on her lap; let it be taught in schools, in seminaries and in colleges; let it be written in primers, spelling books, and in almanacs; let it be preached from the pulpit, proclaimed in legislative halls, and enforced in courts of justice. And, in short, let it become the political religion of the nation, and let the old and the young, the rich and the poor, the grave and the gay of all sexes and tongues and colors and conditions, sacrifice unceasingly upon its altars....

"When I so pressingly urge a strict observance of all the laws, let me not be understood as saying there are no bad laws, or that grievances may not arise for the redress of which no legal provisions have been made. I mean to say no such thing. But I do mean to say that although bad laws if they exist, should be repealed as soon as possible, still, while they continue in force, for the sake of example they should be religiously observed. So also in unprovided cases. If such arises, let proper legal provision be made for them with the least possible delay, but till then, if not too intolerable, be borne with."[128]

His remedy bespeaking reverence for the laws, would destroy the rampant spirit in the slavery movement and in abolitionism, so that neither would violate the law of the land, and so that the controversy might be conducted without intruding on the sanctity of the fundamental principles of the Constitution.From this time, Lincoln ceased to be a mere local politician. He became intensely concerned over national questions. Naturally, a man of broad views, he soon threw off the coil of locality, and with zeal invaded the arena of national issues. His mind ranged over the general domain for materials. Local issues were only stepping stones to him. Leaving the valley of minor matters, with exuberant spirits, he rejoicingly entered the new land of larger import, and of broader moment to the weal of the nation. For the first time he encountered extensive questions concerning the very foundations of the Republic.

"Towering genius," he said, "disdains a beaten path. It seeks regions hitherto unexplored. It sees no distinction in adding story to story upon the monuments of fame erected to the memory of others. It denies that it is glory enough to serve under any chief. It scorns to tread in the footsteps of any predecessor, however illustrious. It thirsts and burns for distinction; and if possible, it will have it, whether at the expense of emancipating slaves or enslaving freemen."[129]

We here strike a golden vein in his character. Ranging over the world's activities for an illustration to rival the ambition of towering genius, he finds it in the enslavement or emancipation of a race. Out of the loneliness of his individuality, out of the solemnity of his deliberations, he grew into a great character. It is his own illustration dug out of his mental experience, a product of a mind brooding over a national destiny. He saw with unerring vision, for men did come in his own generation who did not scruple to climb to power upon the back of an enslaved people. The true Lincoln consists not only of the humble man, of homely face, gaunt form, shambling limbs, quaint utterance, rude story and humble way. We may also see him in his early manhood with Titan power, fighting and triumphing over the brute forces of his being, over his ambition, and towering to the greatness of righteous triumph. Conduct is only the shadow of soul struggle. Nearly three decades before the Emancipation, its destiny was determined in no small measure by the events that led to the murder of Lovejoy.