Did Mr. Lincoln regard the address
which he had just delivered to a small and critical audience as a
success? Did he have the faintest glimmer of the brilliant effect which
was to follow? Did he feel the loneliness of the situation--the want of
his loyal Illinois adherents? Did his sinking heart infer that he was
but a speck of humanity to which the great city would never again give a
thought? He was a plain man, an ungainly man; unadorned, apparently
uncultivated, showing the awkwardness of self-conscious rusticity. His
dress that night before a New York audience was the most unbecoming that
a fiend's ingenuity could have devised for a tall, gaunt man--a black
frock coat, ill-setting and too short for him in the body, skirt, and
arms--a rolling collar, low-down, disclosing his long thin, shrivelled
throat uncovered and exposed. No man in all New York appeared that night
more simple, more unassuming, more modest, more unpretentious, more
conscious of his own defects than Abraham Lincoln; and yet we now know
that within his soul there burned the fires of an unbounded ambition,
sustained by a self-reliance and self-esteem that bade him fix his gaze
upon the very pinnacle of American fame and aspire to it in a time so
troubled that its dangers appalled the soul of every American.
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