What were
this man's thoughts when he was left alone? Did a faint shadow of the
future rest upon his soul? Did he feel in some mysterious way that on
that night he had crossed the Rubicon of his life-march--that care and
trouble and political discord, and slander and misrepresentation and
ridicule and public responsibilities, such as hardly ever before
burdened a conscientious soul, coupled with war and defeat and disaster,
were to be thenceforth his portion nearly to his life's end, and that
his end was to be a bloody act which would appall the world and send a
thrill of horror through the hearts of friends and enemies alike, so
that when the woeful tidings came the bravest of the Southern brave
should burst into tears and cry aloud, "Oh! the unhappy South, the
unhappy South!"
The impression left on his companion's mind as he gave a last glance at
him in the street car was that he seemed sad and lonely; and when it was
too late, when the car was beyond call, he blamed himself for not
accompanying Mr. Lincoln to the Astor House--not because he was a
distinguished stranger, but because he seemed a sad and lonely man.
_February 12, 1908_.
CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. LINCOLN
69 Wall St., New York,
February 9, 1860.
_Dear Sir_:
The "Young Men's Central Republican Union" of this city very
cordially desire that you should deliver during the ensuing
month--what I may term--_a political lecture_.
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