ELIZABETHKECKLEY

Behind the Scenes, Or, Thirty Years a Slave, and Four Years in the White House

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Contents

BEHIND THE SCENES

Preface 3Chapter I. Where I was born 7Chapter II. Girlhood and its Sorrows 13Chapter III. How I gained my Freedom 19Chapter IV. In the Family of Senator Jefferson Davis 28Chapter V. My Introduction to Mrs. Lincoln 34Chapter VI. Willie Lincoln's Death-bed 41Chapter VII. Washington in 1862-3 50Chapter VIII. Candid Opinions 57Chapter IX. Behind the Scenes 62Chapter X. The Second Inauguration 68Chapter XI. The Assassination of President Lincoln 77Chapter XII. Mrs. Lincoln leaves the White House 89Chapter XIII. The Origin of the Rivalry between Mr. Douglas and Mr. Lincol 101Chapter XIV. Old Friends 106Chapter XV. The Secret History of Mrs. Lincoln's Wardrobe in New York 119Appendix--Letters from Mrs. Lincoln to Mrs. Keckley 147

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BEHIND THE SCENES. 

BY

ELIZABETH KECKLEY, FORMERLY A SLAVE, BUT MORE RECENTLY MODISTE, AND FRIEND TO MRS. ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

OR, THIRTY YEARS A SLAVE, AND FOUR YEARS INTHE WHITE HOUSE. 

NEW YORK:G. W. Carleton & Co. , Publishers. M DCCC LXVIII. 

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PREFACE

I have often been asked to write my life, as those who know me know thatit has been an eventful one. At last I have acceded to the importunitiesof my friends, and have hastily sketched some of the striking incidentsthat go to make up my history. My life, so full of romance, may soundlike a dream to the matter-of-fact reader, nevertheless everything Ihave written is strictly true; much has been omitted, but nothing hasbeen exaggerated. In writing as I have done, I am well aware that I haveinvited criticism; but before the critic judges harshly, let myexplanation be carefully read and weighed. If I have portrayed the darkside of slavery, I also have painted the bright side. The good that Ihave said of human servitude should be thrown into the scales with theevil that I have said of it. I have kind, true-hearted friends in theSouth as well as in the North, and I would not wound those Southernfriends by sweeping condemnation, simply because I was once a slave. They were not so much responsible for the curse under which I was born, as the God of nature and the fathers who framed the Constitution for theUnited States. The law descended to them, and it was but natural thatthey should recognize it, since it manifestly was their interest to doso. And yet a wrong was inflicted upon me; a cruel custom deprived me ofmy liberty, and since I was robbed of my dearest right, I would not havebeen human had I not rebelled against the robbery. God rules theUniverse. I was a feeble instrument in His hands, and through me and theenslaved millions of my race, one of the problems was solved thatbelongs to the great problem of human destiny; and the solution wasdeveloped so gradually that there was no great convulsion of theharmonies of natural laws. A solemn truth was thrown to the surface, andwhat is better still, it was recognized as a truth by those who giveforce to moral laws. An act may be wrong, but unless the ruling powerrecognizes the wrong, it is useless to hope for a correction of it. Principles may be right, but they are not established within an hour. The masses are slow to reason, and each principle, to acquire moralforce, must come to us from the fire of the crucible; the fire mayinflict unjust punishment, but then it purifies and renders stronger theprinciple, not in itself, but in the eyes of those who arrogate judgmentto themselves. When the war of the Revolution established theindependence of the American colonies, an evil was perpetuated, slaverywas more firmly established; and since the evil had been planted, itmust pass through certain stages before it could be eradicated. In fact, we give but little thought to the plant of evil until it grows to suchmonstrous proportions that it overshadows important interests; then theefforts to destroy it become earnest. As one of the victims of slavery Idrank of the bitter water; but then, since destiny willed it so, andsince I aided in bringing a solemn truth to the surface _as a truth_, perhaps I have no right to complain. Here, as in all things pertainingto life, I can afford to be charitable. 

It may be charged that I have written too freely on some questions, especially in regard to Mrs. Lincoln. I do not think so; at least I havebeen prompted by the purest motive. Mrs. Lincoln, by her own acts, forced herself into notoriety. She stepped beyond the formal lines whichhedge about a private life, and invited public criticism. The peoplehave judged her harshly, and no woman was ever more traduced in thepublic prints of the country. The people knew nothing of the secrethistory of her transactions, therefore they judged her by what wasthrown to the surface. For an act may be wrong judged purely by itself, but when the motive that prompted the act is understood, it is construeddifferently. I lay it down as an axiom, that only that is criminal inthe sight of God where crime is meditated. Mrs. Lincoln may have beenimprudent, but since her intentions were good, she should be judged morekindly than she has been. But the world do not know what her intentionswere; they have only been made acquainted with her acts without knowingwhat feeling guided her actions. If the world are to judge her as I havejudged her, they must be introduced to the secret history of hertransactions. The veil of mystery must be drawn aside; the origin of afact must be brought to light with the naked fact itself. If I havebetrayed confidence in anything I have published, it has been to placeMrs. Lincoln in a better light before the world. A breach of trust--ifbreach it can be called--of this kind is always excusable. My owncharacter, as well as the character of Mrs. Lincoln, is at stake, sinceI have been intimately associated with that lady in the most eventfulperiods of her life. I have been her confidante, and if evil charges arelaid at her door, they also must be laid at mine, since I have been aparty to all her movements. To defend myself I must defend the lady thatI have served. The world have judged Mrs. Lincoln by the facts whichfloat upon the surface, and through her have partially judged me, andthe only way to convince them that wrong was not meditated is to explainthe motives that actuated us. I have written nothing that can place Mrs. Lincoln in a worse light before the world than the light in which shenow stands, therefore the secret history that I publish can do her noharm. I have excluded everything of a personal character from herletters; the extracts introduced only refer to public men, and are suchas to throw light upon her unfortunate adventure in New York. Theseletters were not written for publication, for which reason they are allthe more valuable; they are the frank overflowings of the heart, theoutcropping of impulse, the key to genuine motives. They prove themotive to have been pure, and if they shall help to stifle the voice ofcalumny, I am content. I do not forget, before the public journalsvilified Mrs. Lincoln, that ladies who moved in the Washington circle inwhich she moved, freely canvassed her character among themselves. Theygloated over many a tale of scandal that grew out of gossip in their owncircle. If these ladies, could say everything bad of the wife of thePresident, why should I not be permitted to lay her secret history bare, especially when that history plainly shows that her life, like alllives, has its good side as well as its bad side! None of us areperfect, for which reason we should heed the voice of charity when itwhispers in our ears, "Do not magnify the imperfections of others. " HadMrs. Lincoln's acts never become public property, I should not havepublished to the world the secret chapters of her life. I am not thespecial champion of the widow of our lamented President; the reader ofthe pages which follow will discover that I have written with the utmostfrankness in regard to her--have exposed her faults as well as given hercredit for honest motives. I wish the world to judge her as she is, freefrom the exaggerations of praise or scandal, since I have beenassociated with her in so many things that have provoked hostilecriticism; and the judgment that the world may pass upon her, I flattermyself, will present my own actions in a better light. 

 ELIZABETH KECKLEY. 14 Carroll Place, New York, March 14, 1868. 

CHAPTER I

WHERE I WAS BORN

My life has been an eventful one. I was born a slave--was the child ofslave parents--therefore I came upon the earth free in God-like thought, but fettered in action. My birthplace was Dinwiddie Court-House, inVirginia. My recollections of childhood are distinct, perhaps for thereason that many stirring incidents are associated with that period. Iam now on the shady side of forty, and as I sit alone in my room thebrain is busy, and a rapidly moving panorama brings scene after scenebefore me, some pleasant and others sad; and when I thus greet oldfamiliar faces, I often find myself wondering if I am not living thepast over again. The visions are so terribly distinct that I almostimagine them to be real. Hour after hour I sit while the scenes arebeing shifted; and as I gaze upon the panorama of the past, I realizehow crowded with incidents my life has been. Every day seems like aromance within itself, and the years grow into ponderous volumes. As Icannot condense, I must omit many strange passages in my history. Fromsuch a wilderness of events it is difficult to make a selection, but asI am not writing altogether the history of myself, I will confine mystory to the most important incidents which I believe influenced themoulding of my character. As I glance over the crowded sea of the past, these incidents stand forth prominently, the guide-posts of memory. Ipresume that I must have been four years old when I first began toremember; at least, I cannot now recall anything occurring previous tothis period. My master, Col. A. Burwell, was somewhat unsettled in hisbusiness affairs, and while I was yet an infant he made severalremovals. While living at Hampton Sidney College, Prince Edward County, Va. , Mrs. Burwell gave birth to a daughter, a sweet, black-eyed baby, my earliest and fondest pet. To take care of this baby was my firstduty. True, I was but a child myself--only four years old--but then Ihad been raised in a hardy school--had been taught to rely upon myself, and to prepare myself to render assistance to others. The lesson was nota bitter one, for I was too young to indulge in philosophy, and theprecepts that I then treasured and practised I believe developed thoseprinciples of character which have enabled me to triumph over so manydifficulties. Notwithstanding all the wrongs that slavery heaped uponme, I can bless it for one thing--youth's important lesson ofself-reliance. The baby was named Elizabeth, and it was pleasant to meto be assigned a duty in connection with it, for the discharge of thatduty transferred me from the rude cabin to the household of my master. My simple attire was a short dress and a little white apron. My oldmistress encouraged me in rocking the cradle, by telling me that if Iwould watch over the baby well, keep the flies out of its face, and notlet it cry, I should be its little maid. This was a golden promise, andI required no better inducement for the faithful performance of my task. I began to rock the cradle most industriously, when lo! out pitchedlittle pet on the floor. I instantly cried out, "Oh! the baby is on thefloor;" and, not knowing what to do, I seized the fire-shovel in myperplexity, and was trying to shovel up my tender charge, when mymistress called to me to let the child alone, and then ordered that I betaken out and lashed for my carelessness. The blows were notadministered with a light hand, I assure you, and doubtless the severityof the lashing has made me remember the incident so well. This was thefirst time I was punished in this cruel way, but not the last. Theblack-eyed baby that I called my pet grew into a self-willed girl, andin after years was the cause of much trouble to me. I grew strong andhealthy, and, notwithstanding I knit socks and attended to various kindsof work, I was repeatedly told, when even fourteen years old, that Iwould never be worth my salt. When I was eight, Mr. Burwell's familyconsisted of six sons and four daughters, with a large family ofservants. My mother was kind and forbearing; Mrs. Burwell a hardtask-master; and as mother had so much work to do in making clothes, etc. , for the family, besides the slaves, I determined to render her allthe assistance in my power, and in rendering her such assistance myyoung energies were taxed to the utmost. I was my mother's only child, which made her love for me all the stronger. I did not know much of myfather, for he was the slave of another man, and when Mr. Burwell movedfrom Dinwiddie he was separated from us, and only allowed to visit mymother twice a year--during the Easter holidays and Christmas. At lastMr. Burwell determined to reward my mother, by making an arrangementwith the owner of my father, by which the separation of my parents couldbe brought to an end. It was a bright day, indeed, for my mother when itwas announced that my father was coming to live with us. The old wearylook faded from her face, and she worked as if her heart was in everytask. But the golden days did not last long. The radiant dream faded alltoo soon. 

In the morning my father called me to him and kissed me, then held meout at arms' length as if he were regarding his child with pride. "Sheis growing into a large fine girl, " he remarked to my mother. "I dun nowhich I like best, you or Lizzie, as both are so dear to me. " Mymother's name was Agnes, and my father delighted to call me his "LittleLizzie. " While yet my father and mother were speaking hopefully, joyfully of the future, Mr. Burwell came to the cabin, with a letter inhis hand. He was a kind master in some things, and as gently as possibleinformed my parents that they must part; for in two hours my father mustjoin his master at Dinwiddie, and go with him to the West, where he haddetermined to make his future home. The announcement fell upon thelittle circle in that rude-log cabin like a thunderbolt. I can rememberthe scene as if it were but yesterday;--how my father cried out againstthe cruel separation; his last kiss; his wild straining of my mother tohis bosom; the solemn prayer to Heaven; the tears and sobs--the fearfulanguish of broken hearts. The last kiss, the last good-by; and he, myfather, was gone, gone forever. The shadow eclipsed the sunshine, andlove brought despair. The parting was eternal. The cloud had no silverlining, but I trust that it will be all silver in heaven. We who arecrushed to earth with heavy chains, who travel a weary, rugged, thornyroad, groping through midnight darkness on earth, earn our right toenjoy the sunshine in the great hereafter. At the grave, at least, weshould be permitted to lay our burdens down, that a new world, a worldof brightness, may open to us. The light that is denied us here shouldgrow into a flood of effulgence beyond the dark, mysterious shadows ofdeath. Deep as was the distress of my mother in parting with my father, her sorrow did not screen her from insult. My old mistress said to her:"Stop your nonsense; there is no necessity for you putting on airs. Yourhusband is not the only slave that has been sold from his family, andyou are not the only one that has had to part. There are plenty more menabout here, and if you want a husband so badly, stop your crying and goand find another. " To these unfeeling words my mother made no reply. Sheturned away in stoical silence, with a curl of that loathing scorn uponher lips which swelled in her heart. 

My father and mother never met again in this world. They kept up aregular correspondence for years, and the most precious mementoes of myexistence are the faded old letters that he wrote, full of love, andalways hoping that the future would bring brighter days. In nearly everyletter is a message for me. "Tell my darling little Lizzie, " he writes, "to be a good girl, and to learn her book. Kiss her for me, and tell herthat I will come to see her some day. " Thus he wrote time and again, buthe never came. He lived in hope, but died without ever seeing his wifeand child. 

I note a few extracts from one of my father's letters to my mother, following copy literally:

 "SHELBYVILE, Sept. 6, 1833. 

 "MRS. AGNES HOBBS

 "Dear Wife: My dear biloved wife I am more than glad to meet with opportun[i]ty writee thes few lines to you by my Mistress who ar now about starterng to virginia, and sevl others of my old friends are with her; in compeney Mrs. Ann Rus the wife of master Thos Rus and Dan Woodiard and his family and I am very sorry that I havn the chance to go with them as I feele Determid to see you If life last again. I am now here and out at this pleace so I am not abble to get of at this time. I am write well and hearty and all the rest of masters family. I heard this eveng by Mistress that ar just from theree all sends love to you and all my old frends. I am a living in a town called Shelbyville and I have wrote a greate many letters since Ive beene here and almost been reeady to my selfe that its out of the question to write any more at tall: my dear wife I dont feeld no whys like giving out writing to you as yet and I hope when you get this letter that you be Inncougege to write me a letter. I am well satisfied at my living at this place I am a making money for my own benifit and I hope that its to yours also If I live to see Nexct year I shall heve my own time from master by giving him 100 and twenty Dollars a year and I thinke I shall be doing good bisness at that and heve something more thean all that. I hope with gods helpe that I may be abble to rejoys with you on the earth and In heaven lets meet when will I am detemnid to nuver stope praying, not in this earth and I hope to praise god In glory there weel meet to part no more forever. So my dear wife I hope to meet you In paradase to prase god forever * * * * * I want Elizabeth to be a good girl and not to thinke that becasue I am bound so fare that gods not abble to open the way * * * *

 "GEORGE PLEASANT, "_Hobbs a servant of Grum_. "

The last letter that my mother received from my father was datedShelbyville, Tennessee, March 20, 1839. He writes in a cheerful strain, and hopes to see her soon. Alas! he looked forward to a meeting in vain. Year after year the one great hope swelled in his heart, but the hopewas only realized beyond the dark portals of the grave. 

When I was about seven years old I witnessed, for the first time, thesale of a human being. We were living at Prince Edward, in Virginia, andmaster had just purchased his hogs for the winter, for which he wasunable to pay in full. To escape from his embarrassment it was necessaryto sell one of the slaves. Little Joe, the son of the cook, was selectedas the victim. His mother was ordered to dress him up in his Sundayclothes, and send him to the house. He came in with a bright face, wasplaced in the scales, and was sold, like the hogs, at so much per pound. His mother was kept in ignorance of the transaction, but her suspicionswere aroused. When her son started for Petersburgh in the wagon, thetruth began to dawn upon her mind, and she pleaded piteously that herboy should not be taken from her; but master quieted her by telling herthat he was simply going to town with the wagon, and would be back inthe morning. Morning came, but little Joe did not return to his mother. Morning after morning passed, and the mother went down to the gravewithout ever seeing her child again. One day she was whipped forgrieving for her lost boy. Colonel Burwell never liked to see one of hisslaves wear a sorrowful face, and those who offended in this particularway were always punished. Alas! the sunny face of the slave is notalways an indication of sunshine in the heart. Colonel Burwell at onetime owned about seventy slaves, all of which were sold, and in amajority of instances wives were separated from husbands and childrenfrom their parents. Slavery in the Border States forty years ago wasdifferent from what it was twenty years ago. Time seemed to soften thehearts of master and mistress, and to insure kinder and more humanetreatment to bondsmen and bondswomen. When I was quite a child, anincident occurred which my mother afterward impressed more strongly onmy mind. One of my uncles, a slave of Colonel Burwell, lost a pair ofploughlines, and when the loss was made known the master gave him a newpair, and told him that if he did not take care of them he would punishhim severely. In a few weeks the second pair of lines was stolen, and myuncle hung himself rather than meet the displeasure of his master. Mymother went to the spring in the morning for a pail of water, and onlooking up into the willow tree which shaded the bubbling crystalstream, she discovered the lifeless form of her brother suspendedbeneath one of the strong branches. Rather than be punished the wayColonel Burwell punished his servants, he took his own life. Slavery hadits dark side as well as its bright side. 

CHAPTER II

GIRLHOOD AND ITS SORROWS

I must pass rapidly over the stirring events of my early life. When Iwas about fourteen years old I went to live with my master's eldest son, a Presbyterian minister. His salary was small, and he was burdened witha helpless wife, a girl that he had married in the humble walks of life. She was morbidly sensitive, and imagined that I regarded her withcontemptuous feelings because she was of poor parentage. I was theironly servant, and a gracious loan at that. They were not able to buy me, so my old master sought to render them assistance by allowing them thebenefit of my services. From the very first I did the work of threeservants, and yet I was scolded and regarded with distrust. The yearspassed slowly, and I continued to serve them, and at the same time grewinto strong, healthy womanhood. I was nearly eighteen when we removedfrom Virginia to Hillsboro', North Carolina, where young Mr. Burwelltook charge of a church. The salary was small, and we still had topractise the closest economy. Mr. Bingham, a hard, cruel man, thevillage schoolmaster, was a member of my young master's church, and hewas a frequent visitor to the parsonage. She whom I called mistressseemed to be desirous to wreak vengeance on me for something, andBingham became her ready tool. During this time my master was unusuallykind to me; he was naturally a good-hearted man, but was influenced byhis wife. It was Saturday evening, and while I was bending over the bed, watching the baby that I had just hushed into slumber, Mr. Bingham cameto the door and asked me to go with him to his study. Wondering what hemeant by his strange request, I followed him, and when we had enteredthe study he closed the door, and in his blunt way remarked: "Lizzie, Iam going to flog you. " I was thunderstruck, and tried to think if I hadbeen remiss in anything. I could not recollect of doing anything todeserve punishment, and with surprise exclaimed: "Whip me, Mr. Bingham!what for?"

"No matter, " he replied, "I am going to whip you, so take down yourdress this instant. "

Recollect, I was eighteen years of age, was a woman fully developed, andyet this man coolly bade me take down my dress. I drew myself upproudly, firmly, and said: "No, Mr. Bingham, I shall not take down mydress before you. Moreover, you shall not whip me unless you prove thestronger. Nobody has a right to whip me but my own master, and nobodyshall do so if I can prevent it. "

My words seemed to exasperate him. He seized a rope, caught me roughly, and tried to tie me. I resisted with all my strength, but he was thestronger of the two, and after a hard struggle succeeded in binding myhands and tearing my dress from my back. Then he picked up a rawhide, and began to ply it freely over my shoulders. With steady hand andpractised eye he would raise the instrument of torture, nerve himselffor a blow, and with fearful force the rawhide descended upon thequivering flesh. It cut the skin, raised great welts, and the warm bloodtrickled down my back. Oh God! I can feel the torture now--the terrible, excruciating agony of those moments. I did not scream; I was too proudto let my tormentor know what I was suffering. I closed my lips firmly, that not even a groan might escape from them, and I stood like a statuewhile the keen lash cut deep into my flesh. As soon as I was released, stunned with pain, bruised and bleeding, I went home and rushed into thepresence of the pastor and his wife, wildly exclaiming: "Master Robert, why did you let Mr. Bingham flog me? What have I done that I should beso punished?"

"Go away, " he gruffly answered, "do not bother me. "

I would not be put off thus. "What _have_ I done? I _will_ know why Ihave been flogged. "

I saw his cheeks flush with anger, but I did not move. He rose to hisfeet, and on my refusing to go without an explanation, seized a chair, struck me, and felled me to the floor. I rose, bewildered, almost deadwith pain, crept to my room, dressed my bruised arms and back as best Icould, and then lay down, but not to sleep. No, I could not sleep, for Iwas suffering mental as well as bodily torture. My spirit rebelledagainst the unjustness that had been inflicted upon me, and though Itried to smother my anger and to forgive those who had been so cruel tome, it was impossible. The next morning I was more calm, and I believethat I could then have forgiven everything for the sake of one kindword. But the kind word was not proffered, and it may be possible that Igrew somewhat wayward and sullen. Though I had faults, I know now, as Ifelt then, harshness was the poorest inducement for the correction ofthem. It seems that Mr. Bingham had pledged himself to Mrs. Burwell tosubdue what he called my "stubborn pride. " On Friday following theSaturday on which I was so savagely beaten, Mr. Bingham again directedme come to his study. I went, but with the determination to offerresistance should he attempt to flog me again. On entering the room Ifound him prepared with a new rope and a new cowhide. I told him that Iwas ready to die, but that he could not conquer me. In struggling withhim I bit his finger severely, when he seized a heavy stick and beat mewith it in a shameful manner. Again I went home sore and bleeding, butwith pride as strong and defiant as ever. The following Thursday Mr. Bingham again tried to conquer me, but in vain. We struggled, and hestruck me many savage blows. As I stood bleeding before him, nearlyexhausted with his efforts, he burst into tears, and declared that itwould be a sin to beat me any more. My suffering at last subdued hishard heart; he asked my forgiveness, and afterwards was an altered man. He was never known to strike one of his servants from that day forward. Mr. Burwell, he who preached the love of Heaven, who glorified theprecepts and examples of Christ, who expounded the Holy ScripturesSabbath after Sabbath from the pulpit, when Mr. Bingham refused to whipme any more, was urged by his wife to punish me himself. One morning hewent to the wood-pile, took an oak broom, cut the handle off, and withthis heavy handle attempted to conquer me. I fought him, but he provedthe strongest. At the sight of my bleeding form, his wife fell upon herknees and begged him to desist. My distress even touched her cold, jealous heart. I was so badly bruised that I was unable to leave my bedfor five days. I will not dwell upon the bitter anguish of these hours, for even the thought of them now makes me shudder. The Rev. Mr. Burwellwas not yet satisfied. He resolved to make another attempt to subdue myproud, rebellious spirit--made the attempt and again failed, when hetold me, with an air of penitence, that he should never strike meanother blow; and faithfully he kept his word. These revolting scenescreated a great sensation at the time, were the talk of the town andneighborhood, and I flatter myself that the actions of those who hadconspired against me were not viewed in a light to reflect much creditupon them. 

The savage efforts to subdue my pride were not the only things thatbrought me suffering and deep mortification during my residence atHillsboro'. I was regarded as fair-looking for one of my race, and forfour years a white man--I spare the world his name--had base designsupon me. I do not care to dwell upon this subject, for it is one that isfraught with pain. Suffice it to say, that he persecuted me for fouryears, and I--I--became a mother. The child of which he was the fatherwas the only child that I ever brought into the world. If my poor boyever suffered any humiliating pangs on account of birth, he could notblame his mother, for God knows that she did not wish to give him life;he must blame the edicts of that society which deemed it no crime toundermine the virtue of girls in my then position. 

Among the old letters preserved by my mother I find the following, written by myself while at Hillsboro'. In this connection I desire tostate that Rev. Robert Burwell is now living[A] at Charlotte, NorthCarolina:--

 "HILLSBORO', April 10, 1838. 

 "MY DEAR MOTHER:--I have been intending to write to you for a long time, but numerous things have prevented, and for that reason you must excuse me. 

 "I thought very hard of you for not writing to me, but hope that you will answer this letter as soon as you receive it, and tell me how you like Marsfield, and if you have seen any of old acquaintances, or if you yet know any of the brick-house people who I think so much of. I want to hear of the family at home very much, indeed. I really believe you and all the family have forgotten me, if not I certainly should have heard from some of you since you left Boyton, if it was only a line; nevertheless I love you all very dearly, and shall, although I may never see you again, nor do I ever expect to. Miss Anna is going to Petersburgh next winter, but she says that she does not intend take me; what reason she has for leaving me I cannot tell. I have often wished that I lived where I knew I never could see you, for then I would not have my hopes raised, and to be disappointed in this manner; however, it is said that a bad beginning makes a good ending, but I hardly expect to see that happy day at this place. Give my love to all the family, both white and black. I was very much obliged to you for the presents you sent me last summer, though it is quite late in the day to be thanking for them. Tell Aunt Bella that I was very much obliged to her for her present; I have been so particular with it that I have only worn it once. 

 "There have been six weddings since October; the most respectable one was about a fortnight ago; I was asked to be the first attendant, but, as usual with all my expectations, I was disappointed, for on the wedding-day I felt more like being locked up in a three-cornered box than attending a wedding. About a week before Christmas I was bridesmaid for Ann Nash; when the night came I was in quite a trouble; I did not know whether my frock was clean or dirty; I only had a week's notice, and the body and sleeves to make, and only one hour every night to work on it, so you can see with these troubles to overcome my chance was rather slim. I must now close, although I could fill ten pages with my griefs and misfortunes; no tongue could express them as I feel; don't forget me though; and answer my letters soon. I will write you again, and would write more now, but Miss Anna says it is time I had finished. Tell Miss Elizabeth that I wish she would make haste and get married, for mistress says that I belong to her when she gets married. 

 "I wish you would send me a pretty frock this summer; if you will send it to Mrs. Robertson's Miss Bet will send it to me. 

 "Farewell, darling mother. 

 "Your affectionate daughter, "ELIZABETH HOBBS. "

[Footnote A: March, 1868. ]

CHAPTER III

HOW I GAINED MY FREEDOM

The years passed and brought many changes to me, but on these I will notdwell, as I wish to hasten to the most interesting part of my story. Mytroubles in North Carolina were brought to an end by my unexpectedreturn to Virginia, where I lived with Mr. Garland, who had married MissAnn[e] Burwell, one of my old master's daughters. His life was not aprosperous one, and after struggling with the world for several years heleft his native State, a disappointed man. He moved to St. Louis, hopingto improve his fortune in the West; but ill luck followed him there, andhe seemed to be unable to escape from the influence of the evil star ofhis destiny. When his family, myself included, joined him in his newhome on the banks of the Mississippi, we found him so poor that he wasunable to pay the dues on a letter advertised as in the post-office forhim. The necessities of the family were so great, that it was proposedto place my mother out at service. The idea was shocking to me. Everygray hair in her old head was dear to me, and I could not bear thethought of her going to work for strangers. She had been raised in thefamily, had watched the growth of each child from infancy to maturity;they had been the objects of her kindest care, and she was wound roundabout them as the vine winds itself about the rugged oak. They had beenthe central figures in her dream of life--a dream beautiful to her, since she had basked in the sunshine of no other. And now they proposedto destroy each tendril of affection, to cloud the sunshine of herexistence when the day was drawing to a close, when the shadows ofsolemn night were rapidly approaching. My mother, my poor aged mother, go among strangers to toil for a living! No, a thousand times no! Iwould rather work my fingers to the bone, bend over my sewing till thefilm of blindness gathered in my eyes; nay, even beg from street tostreet. I told Mr. Garland so, and he gave me permission to see what Icould do. I was fortunate in obtaining work, and in a short time I hadacquired something of a reputation as a seamstress and dress-maker. Thebest ladies in St. Louis were my patrons, and when my reputation wasonce established I never lacked for orders. With my needle I kept breadin the mouths of seventeen persons for two years and five months. WhileI was working so hard that others might live in comparative comfort, andmove in those circles of society to which their birth gave thementrance, the thought often occurred to me whether I was really worth mysalt or not; and then perhaps the lips curled with a bitter sneer. Itmay seem strange that I should place so much emphasis upon wordsthoughtlessly, idly spoken; but then we do many strange things in life, and cannot always explain the motives that actuate us. The heavy taskwas too much for me, and my health began to give way. About this timeMr. Keckley, whom I had met in Virginia, and learned to regard with morethan friendship, came to St. Louis. He sought my hand in marriage, andfor a long time I refused to consider his proposal; for I could not bearthe thought of bringing children into slavery--of adding one singlerecruit to the millions bound to hopeless servitude, fettered andshackled with chains stronger and heavier than manacles of iron. I madea proposition to buy myself and son; the proposition was bluntlydeclined, and I was commanded never to broach the subject again. I wouldnot be put off thus, for hope pointed to a freer, brighter life in thefuture. Why should my son be held in slavery? I often asked myself. Hecame into the world through no will of mine, and yet, God only knows howI loved him. The Anglo-Saxon blood as well as the African flowed in hisveins; the two currents commingled--one singing of freedom, the othersilent and sullen with generations of despair. Why should not theAnglo-Saxon triumph--why should it be weighed down with the rich bloodtypical of the tropics? Must the life-current of one race bind the otherrace in chains as strong and enduring as if there had been noAnglo-Saxon taint? By the laws of God and nature, as interpreted byman, one-half of my boy was free, and why should not this fairbirthright of freedom remove the curse from the other half--raise itinto the bright, joyous sunshine of liberty? I could not answer thesequestions of my heart that almost maddened me, and I learned to regardhuman philosophy with distrust. Much as I respected the authority of mymaster, I could not remain silent on a subject that so nearly concernedme. One day, when I insisted on knowing whether he would permit me topurchase myself, and what price I must pay for myself, he turned to mein a petulant manner, thrust his hand into his pocket, drew forth abright silver quarter of a dollar, and proffering it to me, said:

"Lizzie, I have told you often not to trouble me with such a question. If you really wish to leave me, take this: it will pay the passage ofyourself and boy on the ferry-boat, and when you are on the other sideof the river you will be free. It is the cheapest way that I know of toaccomplish what you desire. "

I looked at him in astonishment, and earnestly replied: "No, master, Ido not wish to be free in such a manner. If such had been my wish, Ishould never have troubled you about obtaining your consent to mypurchasing myself. I can cross the river any day, as you well know, andhave frequently done so, but will never leave you in such a manner. Bythe laws of the land I am your slave--you are my master, and I will onlybe free by such means as the laws of the country provide. " He expectedthis answer, and I knew that he was pleased. Some time afterwards hetold me that he had reconsidered the question; that I had served hisfamily faithfully; that I deserved my freedom, and that he would take$1200 for myself and boy. 

This was joyful intelligence for me, and the reflection of hope gave asilver lining to the dark cloud of my life--faint, it is true, but stilla silver lining. 

Taking a prospective glance at liberty, I consented to marry. Thewedding was a great event in the family. The ceremony took place in theparlor, in the presence of the family and a number of guests. Mr. Garland gave me away, and the pastor, Bishop Hawks, performed theceremony, who had solemnized the bridals of Mr. G. 's own children. Theday was a happy one, but it faded all too soon. Mr. Keckley--let mespeak kindly of his faults--proved dissipated, and a burden instead of ahelp-mate. More than all, I learned that he was a slave instead of afree man, as he represented himself to be. With the simple explanationthat I lived with him eight years, let charity draw around him themantle of silence. 

I went to work in earnest to purchase my freedom, but the years passed, and I was still a slave. Mr. Garland's family claimed so much of myattention--in fact, I supported them--that I was not able to accumulateanything. In the mean time Mr. Garland died, and Mr. Burwell, aMississippi planter, came to St. Louis to settle up the estate. He was akind-hearted man, and said I should be free, and would afford me everyfacility to raise the necessary amount to pay the price of my liberty. Several schemes were urged upon me by my friends. At last I formed aresolution to go to New York, state my case, and appeal to thebenevolence of the people. The plan seemed feasible, and I madepreparations to carry it out. When I was almost ready to turn my facenorthward, Mrs. Garland told me that she would require the names of sixgentlemen who would vouch for my return, and become responsible for theamount at which I was valued. I had many friends in St. Louis, and as Ibelieved that they had confidence in me, I felt that I could readilyobtain the names desired. I started out, stated my case, and obtainedfive signatures to the paper, and my heart throbbed with pleasure, for Idid not believe that the sixth would refuse me. I called, he listenedpatiently, then remarked:

"Yes, yes, Lizzie; the scheme is a fair one, and you shall have my name. But I shall bid you good-by when you start. "

"Good-by for a short time, " I ventured to add. 

"No, good-by for all time, " and he looked at me as if he would read myvery soul with his eyes. 

I was startled. "What do you mean, Mr. Farrow? Surely you do not thinkthat I do not mean to come back?"

"No. "

"No, what then?"

"Simply this: you _mean_ to come back, that is, you _mean_ so _now_, butyou never will. When you reach New York the abolitionists will tell youwhat savages we are, and they will prevail on you to stay there; and weshall never see you again. "

"But I assure you, Mr. Farrow, you are mistaken. I not only _mean_ tocome back, but _will_ come back, and pay every cent of the twelvehundred dollars for myself and child. "

I was beginning to feel sick at heart, for I could not accept thesignature of this man when he had no faith in my pledges. No; slavery, eternal slavery rather than be regarded with distrust by those whoserespect I esteemed. 

"But--I am not mistaken, " he persisted. "Time will show. When you startfor the North I shall bid you good-by. "

The heart grew heavy. Every ray of sunshine was eclipsed. With humbledpride, weary step, tearful face, and a dull, aching pain, I left thehouse. I walked along the street mechanically. The cloud had no silverlining now. The rosebuds of hope had withered and died without liftingup their heads to receive the dew kiss of morning. There was no morningfor me--all was night, dark night. 

I reached my own home, and weeping threw myself upon the bed. My trunkwas packed, my luncheon was prepared by mother, the cars were ready tobear me where I would not hear the clank of chains, where I wouldbreathe the free, invigorating breezes of the glorious North. I haddreamed such a happy dream, in imagination had drunk of the water, thepure, sweet crystal water of life, but now--now--the flowers hadwithered before my eyes; darkness had settled down upon me like a pall, and I was left alone with cruel mocking shadows. 

The first paroxysm of grief was scarcely over, when a carriage stoppedin front of the house; Mrs. Le Bourgois, one of my kind patrons, got outof it and entered the door. She seemed to bring sunshine with herhandsome cheery face. She came to where I was, and in her sweet waysaid:

"Lizzie, I hear that you are going to New York to beg for money to buyyour freedom. I have been thinking over the matter, and told Ma it wouldbe a shame to allow you to go North to _beg_ for what we should _give_you. You have many friends in St. Louis, and I am going to raise thetwelve hundred dollars required among them. I have two hundred dollarsput away for a present; am indebted to you one hundred dollars; motherowes you fifty dollars, and will add another fifty to it; and as I donot want the present, I will make the money a present to you. Don'tstart for New York now until I see what I can do among your friends. "

Like a ray of sunshine she came, and like a ray of sunshine she wentaway. The flowers no longer were withered, drooping. Again they seemedto bud and grow in fragrance and beauty. Mrs. Le Bourgois, God bless herdear good heart, was more than successful. The twelve hundred dollarswere raised, and at last my son and myself were free. Free, free! what aglorious ring to the word. Free! the bitter heart-struggle was over. Free! the soul could go out to heaven and to God with no chains to clogits flight or pull it down. Free! the earth wore a brighter look, andthe very stars seemed to sing with joy. Yes, free! free by the laws ofman and the smile of God--and Heaven bless them who made me so!

The following, copied from the original papers, contain, in brief, thehistory of my emancipation:--

 "I promise to give Lizzie and her son George their freedom, on the payment of $1200. 

 "ANNE P. GARLAND. 

 "June 27, 1855. "

 "LIZZY:--I send you this note to sign for the sum of $75, and when I give you the whole amount you will then sign the other note for $100. 

 "ELLEN M. DOAN. 

 "In the paper you will find $25; see it is all right before the girl leaves. "

 "I have received of Lizzy Keckley $950, which I have deposited with Darby & Barksdale for her--$600 on the 21st July, $300 on the 27th and 28th of July, and $50 on 13th August, 1855. 

 "I have and shall make use of said money for Lizzy's benefit, and hereby guarantee to her one per cent. Per month--as much more as can be made she shall have. The one per cent. , as it may be checked out, I will be responsible for myself, as well as for the whole amount, when it shall be needed by her. 

 "WILLIS L. WILLIAMS. 

 "ST. LOUIS, 13th August, 1855. "

 "Know all men by these presents, that for and in consideration of the love and affection we bear towards our sister, Anne P. Garland, of St. Louis, Missouri, and for the further consideration of $5 in hand paid, we hereby sell and convey unto her, the said Anne P. Garland, a negro woman named Lizzie, and a negro boy, her son, named George; said Lizzie now resides at St. Louis, and is a seamstress, known there as Lizzie Garland, the wife of a yellow man named James, and called James Keckley; said George is a bright mulatto boy, and is known in St. Louis as Garland's George. We warrant these two slaves to be slaves for life, but make no representations as to age or health. 

 "Witness our hands and seals, this 10th day of August, 1855. 

 "JAS. R. PUTNAM, [L. S. ] "E. M. PUTNAM, [L. S. ] "A. BURWELL, [L. S. ]"

 "THE STATE OF MISSISSIPPI, WARREN COUNTY, CITY OF VICKSBURG. } _SS. _

 "Be it remembered, that on the tenth day of August, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty-five, before me, Francis N. Steele, a Commissioner, resident in the city of Vicksburg, duly commissioned and qualified by the executive authority, and under the laws of the State of Missouri, to take the acknowledgment of deeds, etc. , to be used or recorded therein, personally appeared James R. Putnam and E. M. Putnam, his wife, and Armistead Burwell, to me known to be the individuals named in, and who executed the foregoing conveyance, and acknowledged that they executed the same for the purposes therein mentioned; and the E. M. Putnam being by me examined apart from her husband, and being fully acquainted with the contents of the foregoing conveyance, acknowledged that she executed the same freely, and relinquished her dower, and any other claim she might have in and to the property therein mentioned, freely, and without fear, compulsion, or undue influence of her said husband. 

 "In witness whereof I have hereunto set my hand and affixed my official seal, this 10th day of August, A. D. 1855. 

 [L. S. ] "F. N. STEELE, "_Commissioner for Missouri_. "

 "Know all men that I, Anne P. Garland, of the County and City of St. Louis, State of Missouri, for and in consideration of the sum of $1200, to me in hand paid this day in cash, hereby emancipate my negro woman Lizzie, and her son George; the said Lizzie is known in St. Louis as the wife of James, who is called James Keckley; is of light complexion, about 37 years of age, by trade a dress-maker, and called by those who know her Garland's Lizzie. The said boy, George, is the only child of Lizzie, is about 16 years of age, and is almost white, and called by those who know him Garland's George. 

 "Witness my hand and seal, this 13th day of November, 1855. 

 "ANNE P. GARLAND, [L. S. ] "Witness:--JOHN WICKHAM, "WILLIS L. WILLIAMS. "

 _In St. Louis Circuit Court, October Term, 1855. November 15, 1855. _ "STATE OF MISSOURI, COUNTY OF ST. LOUIS. } _SS. _

 "Be it remembered, that on this fifteenth day of November, eighteen hundred and fifty-five, in open court came John Wickham and Willis L. Williams, these two subscribing witnesses, examined under oath to that effect, proved the execution and acknowledgment of said deed by Anne P. Garland to Lizzie and her son George, which said proof of acknowledgment is entered on the record of the court of that day. 

 "In testimony whereof I hereto set my hand and affix the seal of said court, at office in the City of St. Louis, the day and year last aforesaid. 

 [L. S. ] "WM. J. HAMMOND, _Clerk_. "

 "STATE OF MISSOURI, COUNTY OF ST. LOUIS. } _SS. _

 "I, Wm. J. Hammond, Clerk of the Circuit Court within and for the county aforesaid, certify the foregoing to be a true copy of a deed of emancipation from Anne P. Garland to Lizzie and her son George, as fully as the same remain in my office. 

 "In testimony whereof I hereto set my hand and affix the seal of said court, at office in the City of St. Louis, this fifteenth day of November, 1855. 

 "WM. J. HAMMOND, _Clerk_. "By WM. A. PENNINGTON, D. C. "

 "STATE OF MISSOURI, COUNTY OF ST. LOUIS. } _SS. _

 "I, the undersigned Recorder of said county, certify that the foregoing instrument of writing was filed for record in my office on the 14th day of November, 1855; it is truly recorded in Book No. 169, page 288. 

 "Witness my hand and official seal, date last aforesaid. 

 [L. S. ] "C. KEEMLE, _Recorder_. "

CHAPTER IV

IN THE FAMILY OF SENATOR JEFFERSON DAVIS

The twelve hundred dollars with which I purchased the freedom of myselfand son I consented to accept only as a loan. I went to work in earnest, and in a short time paid every cent that was so kindly advanced by mylady patrons of St. Louis. All this time my husband was a source oftrouble to me, and a burden. Too close occupation with my needle had itseffects upon my health, and feeling exhausted with work, I determined tomake a change. I had a conversation with Mr. Keckley; informed him thatsince he persisted in dissipation we must separate; that I was goingNorth, and that I should never live with him again, at least until I hadgood evidence of his reform. He was rapidly debasing himself, andalthough I was willing to work for him, I was not willing to share hisdegradation. Poor man; he had his faults, but over these faults deathhas drawn a veil. My husband is now sleeping in his grave, and in thesilent grave I would bury all unpleasant memories of him. 

I left St. Louis in the spring of 1860, taking the cars direct forBaltimore, where I stopped six weeks, attempting to realize a sum ofmoney by forming classes of young colored women, and teaching them mysystem of cutting and fitting dresses. The scheme was not successful, for after six weeks of labor and vexation, I left Baltimore withscarcely money enough to pay my fare to Washington. Arriving in thecapital, I sought and obtained work at two dollars and a half per day. However, as I was notified that I could only remain in the city ten dayswithout obtaining a license to do so, such being the law, and as I didnot know whom to apply to for assistance, I was sorely troubled. I alsohad to have some one vouch to the authorities that I was a free woman. My means were too scanty, and my profession too precarious to warrant mypurchasing [a] license. In my perplexity I called on a lady for whom Iwas sewing, Miss Ringold, a member of Gen. Mason's family, fromVirginia. I stated my case, and she kindly volunteered to render me allthe assistance in her power. She called on Mayor Burritt with me, andMiss Ringold succeeded in making an arrangement for me to remain inWashington without paying the sum required for a license; moreover, Iwas not to be molested. I rented apartments in a good locality, and soonhad a good run of custom. The summer passed, winter came, and I wasstill in Washington. Mrs. Davis, wife of Senator Jefferson Davis, camefrom the South in November of 1860, with her husband. Learning that Mrs. Davis wanted a modiste, I presented myself, and was employed by her onthe recommendation of one of my patrons and her intimate friend, Mrs. Captain Hetsill. I went to the house to work, but finding that they weresuch late risers, and as I had to fit many dresses on Mrs. Davis, I toldher that I should prefer giving half the day to her, working the otherin my own room for some of my other lady patrons. Mrs. D. Consented tothe proposition, and it was arranged that I should come to her own houseevery day after 12 M. It was the winter before the breaking out of thatfierce and bloody war between the two sections of the country; and asMr. Davis occupied a leading position, his house was the resort ofpoliticians and statesmen from the South. Almost every night, as Ilearned from the servants and other members of the family, secretmeetings were held at the house; and some of these meetings wereprotracted to a very late hour. The prospects of war were freelydiscussed in my presence by Mr. And Mrs. Davis and their friends. Theholidays were approaching, and Mrs. Davis kept me busy in manufacturingarticles of dress for herself and children. She desired to present Mr. Davis on Christmas with a handsome dressing-gown. The material waspurchased, and for weeks the work had been under way. Christmas evecame, and the gown had been laid aside so often that it was stillunfinished. I saw that Mrs. D. Was anxious to have it completed, so Ivolunteered to remain and work on it. Wearily the hours dragged on, butthere was no rest for my busy fingers. I persevered in my task, notwithstanding my head was aching. Mrs. Davis was busy in the adjoiningroom, arranging the Christmas tree for the children. I looked at theclock, and the hands pointed to a quarter of twelve. I was arranging thecords on the gown when the Senator came in; he looked somewhat careworn, and his step seemed to be a little nervous. He leaned against the door, and expressed his admiration of the Christmas tree, but there was nosmile on his face. Turning round, he saw me sitting in the adjoiningroom, and quickly exclaimed:

"That you, Lizzie! why are you here so late? Still at work; I hope thatMrs. Davis is not too exacting!"

"No, sir, " I answered. "Mrs. Davis was very anxious to have this gownfinished to-night, and I volunteered to remain and complete it. "

"Well, well, the case must be urgent, " and he came slowly towards me, took the gown in his hand, and asked the color of the silk, as he saidthe gas-light was so deceptive to his old eyes. 

"It is a drab changeable silk, Mr. Davis, " I answered; and might haveadded that it was rich and handsome, but did not, well knowing that hewould make the discovery in the morning. 

He smiled curiously, but turned and walked from the room without anotherquestion. He inferred that the gown was for him, that it was to be theChristmas present from his wife, and he did not wish to destroy thepleasure that she would experience in believing that the gift wouldprove a surprise. In this respect, as in many others, he always appearedto me as a thoughtful, considerate man in the domestic circle. As theclock struck twelve I finished the gown, little dreaming of the futurethat was before it. It was worn, I have not the shadow of a doubt, byMr. Davis during the stormy years that he was the President of theConfederate States. 

The holidays passed, and before the close of January the war wasdiscussed in Mr. Davis's family as an event certain to happen in thefuture. Mrs. Davis was warmly attached to Washington, and I often heardher say that she disliked the idea of breaking up old associations, andgoing South to suffer from trouble and deprivation. One day, whilediscussing the question in my presence with one of her intimatefriends, she exclaimed: "I would rather remain in Washington and bekicked about, than go South and be Mrs. President. " Her friend expressedsurprise at the remark, and Mrs. Davis insisted that the opinion was anhonest one. 

While dressing her one day, she said to me: "Lizzie, you are so veryhandy that I should like to take you South with me. "

"When do you go South, Mrs. Davis?" I inquired. 

"Oh, I cannot tell just now, but it will be soon. You know there isgoing to be war, Lizzie?"

"No!"

"But I tell you yes. "

"Who will go to war?" I asked. 

"The North and South, " was her ready reply. "The Southern people willnot submit to the humiliating demands of the Abolition party; they willfight first. "

"And which do you think will whip?"

"The South, of course. The South is impulsive, is in earnest, and theSouthern soldiers will fight to conquer. The North will yield, when itsees the South is in earnest, rather than engage in a long and bloodywar. "

"But, Mrs. Davis, are you certain that there will be war?"

"Certain!--I know it. You had better go South with me; I will take goodcare of you. Besides, when the war breaks out, the colored people willsuffer in the North. The Northern people will look upon them as thecause of the war, and I fear, in their exasperation, will be inclined totreat you harshly. Then, I may come back to Washington in a few months, and live in the White House. The Southern people talk of choosing Mr. Davis for their President. In fact, it may be considered settled that hewill be their President. As soon as we go South and secede from theother States, we will raise an army and march on Washington, and then Ishall live in the White House. "

I was bewildered with what I heard. I had served Mrs. Davis faithfully, and she had learned to place the greatest confidence in me. At first Iwas almost tempted to go South with her, for her reasoning seemedplausible. At the time the conversation was closed, with my promise toconsider the question. 

I thought over the question much, and the more I thought the lessinclined I felt to accept the proposition so kindly made by Mrs. Davis. I knew the North to be strong, and believed that the people would fightfor the flag that they pretended to venerate so highly. The Republicanparty had just emerged from a heated campaign, flushed with victory, andI could not think that the hosts composing the party would quietly yieldall they had gained in the Presidential canvass. A show of war from theSouth, I felt, would lead to actual war in the North; and with the twosections bitterly arrayed against each other, I preferred to cast my lotamong the people of the North. 

I parted with Mrs. Davis kindly, half promising to join her in the Southif further deliberation should induce me to change my views. A few weeksbefore she left Washington I made two chintz wrappers for her. She saidthat she must give up expensive dressing for a while; and that she, withthe Southern people, now that war was imminent, must learn to practiselessons of economy. She left some fine needle-work in my hands, which Ifinished, and forwarded to her at Montgomery, Alabama, in the month ofJune, through the assistance of Mrs. Emory, one of her oldest and bestfriends. 

Since bidding them good-by at Washington, early in the year 1860, I havenever met any of the Davis family. Years of excitement, years ofbloodshed, and hundreds of thousands of graves intervene between themonths I spent in the family and now. The years have brought manychanges; and in view of these terrible changes even I, who was once aslave, who have been punished with the cruel lash, who have experiencedthe heart and soul tortures of a slave's life, can say to Mr. JeffersonDavis, "Peace! you have suffered! Go in peace. "

In the winter of 1865 I was in Chicago, and one day visited the greatcharity fair held for the benefit of the families of those soldiers whowere killed or wounded during the war. In one part of the building was awax figure of Jefferson Davis, wearing over his other garments the dressin which it was reported that he was captured. There was always a greatcrowd around this figure, and I was naturally attracted towards it. Iworked my way to the figure, and in examining the dress made thepleasing discovery that it was one of the chintz wrappers that I hadmade for Mrs. Davis, a short time before she departed from Washingtonfor the South. When it was announced that I recognized the dress as onethat I had made for the wife of the late Confederate President there wasgreat cheering and excitement, and I at once became the object of thedeepest curiosity. Great crowds followed me, and in order to escape fromthe embarrassing situation I left the building. 

I believe it now is pretty well established that Mr. Davis had on awater-proof cloak instead of a dress, as first reported, when he wascaptured. This does not invalidate any portion of my story. The dress onthe wax figure at the fair in Chicago unquestionably was one of thechintz wrappers that I made for Mrs. Davis in January, 1860, inWashington; and I infer, since it was not found on the body of thefugitive President of the South, it was taken from the trunks of Mrs. Davis, captured at the same time. Be this as it may, the coincidence isnone the less striking and curious. 

CHAPTER V

MY INTRODUCTION TO MRS. LINCOLN

Ever since arriving in Washington I had a great desire to work for theladies of the White House, and to accomplish this end I was ready tomake almost any sacrifice consistent with propriety. Work came inslowly, and I was beginning to feel very much embarrassed, for I did notknow how I was to meet the bills staring me in the face. It is true, thebills were small, but then they were formidable to me, who had little ornothing to pay them with. While in this situation I called at theRingolds, where I met Mrs. Captain Lee. Mrs. L. Was in a state borderingon excitement, as the great event of the season, the dinner-party givenin honor of the Prince of Wales, was soon to come off, and she must havea dress suitable for the occasion. The silk had been purchased, but adress-maker had not yet been found. Miss Ringold recommended me, and Ireceived the order to make the dress. When I called on Mrs. Lee the nextday, her husband was in the room, and handing me a roll of bank bills, amounting to one hundred dollars, he requested me to purchase thetrimmings, and to spare no expense in making a selection. With the moneyin my pocket I went out in the street, entered the store of Harper &Mitchell, and asked to look at their laces. Mr. Harper waited on mehimself, and was polite and kind. When I asked permission to carry thelaces to Mrs. Lee, in order to learn whether she could approve myselection or not, he gave a ready assent. When I reminded him that I wasa stranger, and that the goods were valuable, he remarked that he wasnot afraid to trust me--that he believed my face was the index to anhonest heart. It was pleasant to be spoken to thus, and I shall neverforget the kind words of Mr. Harper. I often recall them, for they areassociated with the dawn of a brighter period in my dark life. Ipurchased the trimmings, and Mr. Harper allowed me a commission oftwenty-five dollars on the purchase. The dress was done in time, and itgave complete satisfaction. Mrs. Lee attracted great attention at thedinner-party, and her elegant dress proved a good card for me. Ireceived numerous orders, and was relieved from all pecuniaryembarrassments. One of my patrons was Mrs. Gen. McClean, a daughter ofGen. Sumner. One day when I was very busy, Mrs. McC. Drove up to myapartments, came in where I was engaged with my needle, and in heremphatic way said:

"Lizzie, I am invited to dine at Willard's on next Sunday, andpositively I have not a dress fit to wear on the occasion. I have justpurchased material, and you must commence work on it right away. "

"But Mrs. McClean, " I replied, "I have more work now promised than I cando. It is impossible for me to make a dress for you to wear on Sundaynext. "

"Pshaw! Nothing is impossible. I must have the dress made by Sunday;"and she spoke with some impatience. 

"I am sorry, " I began, but she interrupted me. 

"Now don't say no again. I tell you that you must make the dress. I haveoften heard you say that you would like to work for the ladies of theWhite House. Well, I have it in my power to obtain you this privilege. Iknow Mrs. Lincoln well, and you shall make a dress for her provided youfinish mine in time to wear at dinner on Sunday. "

The inducement was the best that could have been offered. I wouldundertake the dress if I should have to sit up all night--every night, to make my pledge good. I sent out and employed assistants, and, aftermuch worry and trouble, the dress was completed to the satisfaction ofMrs. McClean. It appears that Mrs. Lincoln had upset a cup of coffee onthe dress she designed wearing on the evening of the reception after theinauguration of Abraham Lincoln as President of the United States, whichrendered it necessary that she should have a new one for the occasion. On asking Mrs. McClean who her dress-maker was, that lady promptlyinformed her, "Lizzie Keckley. "

"Lizzie Keckley? The name is familiar to me. She used to work for someof my lady friends in St. Louis, and they spoke well of her. Can yourecommend her to me?"

"With confidence. Shall I send her to you?"

"If you please. I shall feel under many obligations for your kindness. "

The next Sunday Mrs. McClean sent me a message to call at her house atfour o'clock P. M. , that day. As she did not state why I was to call, Idetermined to wait till Monday morning. Monday morning came, and nineo'clock found me at Mrs. McC. 's house. The streets of the capital werethronged with people, for this was Inauguration day. A new President, aman of the people from the broad prairies of the West, was to accept thesolemn oath of office, was to assume the responsibilities attached tothe high position of Chief Magistrate of the United States. Never wassuch deep interest felt in the inauguration proceedings as was felttoday; for threats of assassination had been made, and every breeze fromthe South came heavily laden with the rumors of war. Around Willard'shotel swayed an excited crowd, and it was with the utmost difficultythat I worked my way to the house on the opposite side of the street, occupied by the McCleans. Mrs. McClean was out, but presently an aide onGeneral McClean's staff called, and informed me that I was wanted atWillard's. I crossed the street, and on entering the hotel was met byMrs. McClean, who greeted me:

"Lizzie, why did you not come yesterday, as I requested? Mrs. Lincolnwanted to see you, but I fear that now you are too late. "

"I am sorry, Mrs. McClean. You did not say what you wanted with meyesterday, so I judged that this morning would do as well. "

"You should have come yesterday, " she insisted. "Go up to Mrs. Lincoln'sroom"--giving me the number--"she may find use for you yet. "

With a nervous step I passed on, and knocked at Mrs. Lincoln's door. Acheery voice bade me come in, and a lady, inclined to stoutness, aboutforty years of age, stood before me. 

"You are Lizzie Keckley, I believe. "

I bowed assent. 

"The dress-maker that Mrs. McClean recommended?"

"Yes, madam. "

"Very well; I have not time to talk to you now, but would like to haveyou call at the White House, at eight o'clock to-morrow morning, where Ishall then be. "

I bowed myself out of the room, and returned to my apartments. The daypassed slowly, for I could not help but speculate in relation to theappointed interview for the morrow. My long-cherished hope was about tobe realized, and I could not rest. 

Tuesday morning, at eight o'clock, I crossed the threshold of the WhiteHouse for the first time. I was shown into a waiting-room, and informedthat Mrs. Lincoln was at breakfast. In the waiting-room I found no lessthan three mantua-makers waiting for an interview with the wife of thenew President. It seems that Mrs. Lincoln had told several of her ladyfriends that she had urgent need for a dress-maker, and that each ofthese friends had sent her mantua-maker to the White House. Hope fell atonce. With so many rivals for the position sought after, I regarded mychances for success as extremely doubtful. I was the last one summonedto Mrs. Lincoln's presence. All the others had a hearing, and weredismissed. I went up-stairs timidly, and entering the room with nervousstep, discovered the wife of the President standing by a window, lookingout, and engaged in lively conversation with a lady, Mrs. Grimsly, as Iafterwards learned. Mrs. L. Came forward, and greeted me warmly. 

"You have come at last. Mrs. Keckley, who have you worked for in thecity?"

"Among others, Mrs. Senator Davis has been one of my best patrons, " wasmy reply. 

"Mrs. Davis! So you have worked for her, have you? Of course you gavesatisfaction; so far, good. Can you do my work?"

"Yes, Mrs. Lincoln. Will you have much work for me to do?"

"That, Mrs. Keckley, will depend altogether upon your prices. I trustthat your terms are reasonable. I cannot afford to be extravagant. Weare just from the West, and are poor. If you do not charge too much, Ishall be able to give you all my work. "

"I do not think there will be any difficulty about charges, Mrs. Lincoln; my terms are reasonable. "

"Well, if you will work cheap, you shall have plenty to do. I can'tafford to pay big prices, so I frankly tell you so in the beginning. "

The terms were satisfactorily arranged, and I measured Mrs. Lincoln, took the dress with me, a bright rose-colored moiré-antique, andreturned the next day to fit it on her. A number of ladies were in theroom, all making preparations for the levee to come off on Friday night. These ladies, I learned, were relatives of Mrs. L. 's, --Mrs. Edwards andMrs. Kellogg, her own sisters, and Elizabeth Edwards and Julia Baker, her nieces. Mrs. Lincoln this morning was dressed in a cashmere wrapper, quilted down the front; and she wore a simple head-dress. The otherladies wore morning robes. 

I was hard at work on the dress, when I was informed that the levee hadbeen postponed from Friday night till Tuesday night. This, of course, gave me more time to complete my task. Mrs. Lincoln sent for me, andsuggested some alteration in style, which was made. She also requestedthat I make a waist of blue watered silk for Mrs. Grimsly, as work onthe dress would not require all my time. 

Tuesday evening came, and I had taken the last stitches on the dress. Ifolded it and carried it to the White House, with the waist for Mrs. Grimsly. When I went up-stairs, I found the ladies in a terrible stateof excitement. Mrs. Lincoln was protesting that she could not go down, for the reason that she had nothing to wear. 

"Mrs. Keckley, you have disappointed me--deceived me. Why do you bringmy dress at this late hour?"

"Because I have just finished it, and I thought I should be in time. "

"But you are not in time, Mrs. Keckley; you have bitterly disappointedme. I have no time now to dress, and, what is more, I will not dress, and go down-stairs. "

"I am sorry if I have disappointed you, Mrs. Lincoln, for I intended tobe in time. Will you let me dress you? I can have you ready in a fewminutes. "

"No, I won't be dressed. I will stay in my room. Mr. Lincoln can go downwith the other ladies. "

"But there is plenty of time for you to dress, Mary, " joined in Mrs. Grimsly and Mrs. Edwards. "Let Mrs. Keckley assist you, and she willsoon have you ready. "

Thus urged, she consented. I dressed her hair, and arranged the dress onher. It fitted nicely, and she was pleased. Mr. Lincoln came in, threwhimself on the sofa, laughed with Willie and little Tad, and thencommenced pulling on his gloves, quoting poetry all the while. 

"You seem to be in a poetical mood to-night, " said his wife. 

"Yes, mother, these are poetical times, " was his pleasant reply. "Ideclare, you look charming in that dress. Mrs. Keckley has met withgreat success. " And then he proceeded to compliment the other ladies. 

Mrs. Lincoln looked elegant in her rose-colored moiré-antique. She worea pearl necklace, pearl ear-rings, pearl bracelets, and red roses in herhair. Mrs. Baker was dressed in lemon-colored silk; Mrs. Kellogg in adrab silk, ashes of rose; Mrs. Edwards in a brown and black silk; MissEdwards in crimson, and Mrs. Grimsly in blue watered silk. Just beforestarting downstairs, Mrs. Lincoln's lace handkerchief was the object ofsearch. It had been displaced by Tad, who was mischievous, and hard torestrain. The handkerchief found, all became serene. Mrs. Lincoln tookthe President's arm, and with smiling face led the train below. I wassurprised at her grace and composure. I had heard so much, in currentand malicious report, of her low life, of her ignorance and vulgarity, that I expected to see her embarrassed on this occasion. Report, I soonsaw, was wrong. No queen, accustomed to the usages of royalty all herlife, could have comported herself with more calmness and dignity thandid the wife of the President. She was confident and self-possessed, andconfidence always gives grace. 

This levee was a brilliant one, and the only one of the season. I becamethe regular modiste of Mrs. Lincoln. I made fifteen or sixteen dressesfor her during the spring and early part of the summer, when she leftWashington; spending the hot weather at Saratoga, Long Branch, and otherplaces. In the mean time I was employed by Mrs. Senator Douglas, one ofthe loveliest ladies that I ever met, Mrs. Secretary Wells, Mrs. Secretary Stanton, and others. Mrs. Douglas always dressed in deepmourning, with excellent taste, and several of the leading ladies ofWashington society were extremely jealous of her superior attractions. 

CHAPTER VI

WILLIE LINCOLN'S DEATH-BED

Mrs. Lincoln returned to Washington in November, and again duty calledme to the White House. The war was now in progress, and every daybrought stirring news from the front--the front, where the Gray opposedthe Blue, where flashed the bright sabre in the sunshine, where wereheard the angry notes of battle, the deep roar of cannon, and thefearful rattle of musketry; where new graves were being made every day, where brother forgot a mother's early blessing and sought the lifebloodof brother, and friend raised the deadly knife against friend. Oh, thefront, with its stirring battle-scenes! Oh, the front, with its ghastlyheaps of dead! The life of the nation was at stake; and when the landwas full of sorrow, there could not be much gayety at the capital. Thedays passed quietly with me. I soon learned that some people had anintense desire to penetrate the inner circle of the White House. NoPresident and his family, heretofore occupying this mansion, everexcited so much curiosity as the present incumbents. Mr. Lincoln hadgrown up in the wilds of the West, and evil report had said much of himand his wife. The polite world was shocked, and the tendency toexaggerate intensified curiosity. As soon as it was known that I was themodiste of Mrs. Lincoln, parties crowded around and affected friendshipfor me, hoping to induce me to betray the secrets of the domesticcircle. One day a woman, I will not call her a lady, drove up to myrooms, gave me an order to make a dress, and insisted on partly payingme in advance. She called on me every day, and was exceedingly kind. When she came to take her dress away, she cautiously remarked:

"Mrs. Keckley, you know Mrs. Lincoln?"

"Yes. "

"You are her modiste; are you not?"

"Yes. "

"You know her very well; do you not?"

"I am with her every day or two. "

"Don't you think you would have some influence with her?"

"I cannot say. Mrs. Lincoln, I presume, would listen to anything Ishould suggest, but whether she would be influenced by a suggestion ofmine is another question. "

"I am sure that you could influence her, Mrs. Keckley. Now listen; Ihave a proposition to make. I have a great desire to become an inmate ofthe White House. I have heard so much of Mr. Lincoln's goodness that Ishould like to be near him; and if I can enter the White House no otherway, I am willing to go as a menial. My dear Mrs. Keckley, will you notrecommend me to Mrs. Lincoln as a friend of yours out of employment, andask her to take me as a chambermaid? If you will do this you shall bewell rewarded. It may be worth several thousand dollars to you in time. "

I looked at the woman in amazement. A bribe, and to betray theconfidence of my employer! Turning to her with a glance of scorn, Isaid:

"Madam, you are mistaken in regard to my character. Sooner than betraythe trust of a friend, I would throw myself into the Potomac river. I amnot so base as that. Pardon me, but there is the door, and I trust thatyou will never enter my room again. "

She sprang to her feet in deep confusion, and passed through the door, murmuring: "Very well; you will live to regret your action today. "

"Never, never!" I exclaimed, and closed the door after her with a bang. I afterwards learned that this woman was an actress, and that her objectwas to enter the White House as a servant, learn its secrets, and thenpublish a scandal to the world. I do not give her name, for suchpublicity would wound the sensitive feelings of friends, who would haveto share her disgrace, without being responsible for her faults. Isimply record the incident to show how I often was approached byunprincipled parties. It is unnecessary to say that I indignantlyrefused every bribe offered. 

The first public appearance of Mrs. Lincoln that winter was at thereception on New Year's Day. This reception was shortly followed by abrilliant levee. The day after the levee I went to the White House, andwhile fitting a dress to Mrs. Lincoln, she said:

"Lizabeth"--she had learned to drop the E--"Lizabeth, I have an idea. These are war times, and we must be as economical as possible. You knowthe President is expected to give a series of state dinners everywinter, and these dinners are very costly; Now I want to avoid thisexpense; and my idea is, that if I give three large receptions, thestate dinners can be scratched from the programme. What do you think, Lizabeth?"

"I think that you are right, Mrs. Lincoln. "

"I am glad to hear you say so. If I can make Mr. Lincoln take the sameview of the case, I shall not fail to put the idea into practice. "

Before I left her room that day, Mr. Lincoln came in. She at once statedthe case to him. He pondered the question a few moments beforeanswering. 

"Mother, I am afraid your plan will not work. "

"But it _will_ work, if you will only determine that it _shall_ work. "

"It is breaking in on the regular custom, " he mildly replied. 

"But you forget, father, these are war times, and old customs can bedone away with for the once. The idea is economical, you must admit. "

"Yes, mother, but we must think of something besides economy. "

"I do think of something else. Public receptions are more democraticthan stupid state dinners--are more in keeping with the spirit of theinstitutions of our country, as you would say if called upon to make astump speech. There are a great many strangers in the city, foreignersand others, whom we can entertain at our receptions, but whom we cannotinvite to our dinners. "

"I believe you are right, mother. You argue the point well. I think thatwe shall have to decide on the receptions. "

So the day was carried. The question was decided, and arrangements weremade for the first reception. It now was January, and cards were issuedfor February. 

The children, Tad and Willie, were constantly receiving presents. Williewas so delighted with a little pony, that he insisted on riding it everyday. The weather was changeable, and exposure resulted in a severe cold, which deepened into fever. He was very sick, and I was summoned to hisbedside. It was sad to see the poor boy suffer. Always of a delicateconstitution, he could not resist the strong inroads of disease. Thedays dragged wearily by, and he grew weaker and more shadow-like. He washis mother's favorite child, and she doted on him. It grieved her heartsorely to see him suffer. When able to be about, he was almostconstantly by her side. When I would go in her room, almost always Ifound blue-eyed Willie there, reading from an open book, or curled up ina chair with pencil and paper in hand. He had decidedly a literarytaste, and was a studious boy. A short time before his death he wrotethis simple little poem:

 "WASHINGTON, D. C. , October 30, 1861. 

 DEAR SIR:--I enclose you my first attempt at poetry. 

 "Yours truly, "WM. W. LINCOLN. 

 "_To the Editor of the National Republican. _"

 LINES ON THE DEATH OF COLONEL EDWARD BAKER. 

 THERE was no patriot like Baker, So noble and so true; He fell as a soldier on the field, His face to the sky of blue. 

 His voice is silent in the hall Which oft his presence graced; No more he'll hear the loud acclaim Which rang from place to place. 

 No squeamish notions filled his breast, _The Union_ was his theme; "_No surrender and no compromise_, " His day-thought and night's dream. 

 His Country has _her_ part to pay To'rds those he has left behind; His widow and his children all, She must always keep in mind. 

Finding that Willie continued to grow worse, Mrs. Lincoln determined towithdraw her cards of invitation and postpone the reception. Mr. Lincolnthought that the cards had better not be withdrawn. At least he advisedthat the doctor be consulted before any steps were taken. AccordinglyDr. Stone was called in. He pronounced Willie better, and said thatthere was every reason for an early recovery. He thought, since theinvitations had been issued, it would be best to go on with thereception. Willie, he insisted, was in no immediate danger. Mrs. Lincolnwas guided by these counsels, and no postponement was announced. On theevening of the reception Willie was suddenly taken worse. His mother satby his bedside a long while, holding his feverish hand in her own, andwatching his labored breathing. The doctor claimed there was no causefor alarm. I arranged Mrs. Lincoln's hair, then assisted her to dress. Her dress was white satin, trimmed with black lace. The trail was verylong, and as she swept through the room, Mr. Lincoln was standing withhis back to the fire, his hands behind him, and his eyes on the carpet. His face wore a thoughtful, solemn look. The rustling of the satin dressattracted his attention. He looked at it a few moments; then, in hisquaint, quiet way remarked--

"Whew! our cat has a long tail to-night. "

Mrs. Lincoln did not reply. The President added:

"Mother, it is my opinion, if some of that tail was nearer the head, itwould be in better style;" and he glanced at her bare arms and neck. Shehad a beautiful neck and arm, and low dresses were becoming to her. Sheturned away with a look of offended dignity, and presently took thePresident's arm, and both went down-stairs to their guests, leaving mealone with the sick boy. 

The reception was a large and brilliant one, and the rich notes of theMarine Band in the apartments below came to the sick-room in soft, subdued murmurs, like the wild, faint sobbing of far-off spirits. Someof the young people had suggested dancing, but Mr. Lincoln met thesuggestion with an emphatic veto. The brilliance of the scene could notdispel the sadness that rested upon the face of Mrs. Lincoln. During theevening she came upstairs several times, and stood by the bedside of thesuffering boy. She loved him with a mother's heart, and her anxiety wasgreat. The night passed slowly; morning came, and Willie was worse. Helingered a few days, and died. God called the beautiful spirit home, andthe house of joy was turned into the house of mourning. I was worn outwith watching, and was not in the room when Willie died, but wasimmediately sent for. I assisted in washing him and dressing him, andthen laid him on the bed, when Mr. Lincoln came in. I never saw a man sobowed down with grief. He came to the bed, lifted the cover from theface of his child, gazed at it long and earnestly, murmuring, "My poorboy, he was too good for this earth. God has called him home. I knowthat he is much better off in heaven, but then we loved him so. It ishard, hard to have him die!"

Great sobs choked his utterance. He buried his head in his hands, andhis tall frame was convulsed with emotion. I stood at the foot of thebed, my eyes full of tears, looking at the man in silent, awe-strickenwonder. His grief unnerved him, and made him a weak, passive child. Idid not dream that his rugged nature could be so moved. I shall neverforget those solemn moments--genius and greatness weeping over love'sidol lost. There is a grandeur as well as a simplicity about the picturethat will never fade. With me it is immortal--I really believe that Ishall carry it with me across the dark, mysterious river of death. 

Mrs. Lincoln's grief was inconsolable. The pale face of her dead boythrew her into convulsions. Around him love's tendrils had been twined, and now that he was dressed for the tomb, it was like tearing thetendrils out of the heart by their roots. Willie, she often said, ifspared by Providence, would be the hope and stay of her old age. ButProvidence had not spared him. The light faded from his eyes, and thedeath-dew had gathered on his brow. 

In one of her paroxysms of grief the President kindly bent over hiswife, took her by the arm, and gently led her to the window. With astately, solemn gesture, he pointed to the lunatic asylum. 

"Mother, do you see that large white building on the hill yonder? Tryand control your grief, or it will drive you mad, and we may have tosend you there. "

Mrs. Lincoln was so completely overwhelmed with sorrow that she did notattend the funeral. Willie was laid to rest in the cemetery, and theWhite House was draped in mourning. Black crape everywhere met the eye, contrasting strangely with the gay and brilliant colors of a few daysbefore. Party dresses were laid aside, and every one who crossed thethreshold of the Presidential mansion spoke in subdued tones when theythought of the sweet boy at rest--

"Under the sod and the dew. "

Previous to this I had lost my son. Leaving Wilberforce, he went to thebattle-field with the three months troops, and was killed inMissouri--found his grave on the battle-field where the gallant GeneralLyon fell. It was a sad blow to me, and the kind womanly letter thatMrs. Lincoln wrote to me when she heard of my bereavement was full ofgolden words of comfort. 

Nathaniel Parker Willis, the genial poet, now sleeping in his grave, wrote this beautiful sketch of Willie Lincoln, after the sad death ofthe bright-eyed boy:

"This little fellow had his acquaintances among his father's friends, and I chanced to be one of them. He never failed to seek me out in thecrowd, shake hands, and make some pleasant remark; and this, in a boy often years of age, was, to say the least, endearing to a stranger. But hehad more than mere affectionateness. His self-possession--_aplomb_, asthe French call it--was extraordinary. I was one day passing the WhiteHouse, when he was outside with a play-fellow on the side-walk. Mr. Seward drove in, with Prince Napoleon and two of his suite in thecarriage; and, in a mock-heroic way--terms of intimacy evidentlyexisting between the boy and the Secretary--the official gentleman tookoff his hat, and the Napoleon did the same, all making the young PrincePresident a ceremonious salute. Not a bit staggered with the homage, Willie drew himself up to his full height, took off his little cap withgraceful self-possession, and bowed down formally to the ground, like alittle ambassador. They drove past, and he went on unconcernedly withhis play: the impromptu readiness and good judgment being clearly apart of his nature. His genial and open expression of countenance wasnone the less ingenuous and fearless for a certain tincture of fun; andit was in this mingling of qualities that he so faithfully resembled hisfather. 

"With all the splendor that was around this little fellow in his newhome, he was so bravely and beautifully _himself_--and that only. A wildflower transplanted from the prairie to the hot-house, he retained hisprairie habits, unalterably pure and simple, till he died. His leadingtrait seemed to be a fearless and kindly frankness, willing thateverything should be as different as it pleased, but resting unmoved inhis own conscious single-heartedness. I found I was studying himirresistibly, as one of the sweet problems of childhood that the worldis blessed with in rare places; and the news of his death (I was absentfrom Washington, on a visit to my own children, at the time) came to melike a knell heard unexpectedly at a merry-making. 

"On the day of the funeral I went before the hour, to take a nearfarewell look at the dear boy; for they had embalmed him to send home tothe West--to sleep under the sod of his own valley--and the coffin-lidwas to be closed before the service. The family had just taken theirleave of him, and the servants and nurses were seeing him for the lasttime--and with tears and sobs wholly unrestrained, for he was loved likean idol by every one of them. He lay with eyes closed--his brown hairparted as we had known it--pale in the slumber of death; but otherwiseunchanged, for he was dressed as if for the evening, and held in one ofhis hands, crossed upon his breast, a bunch of exquisite flowers--amessage coming from his mother, while we were looking upon him, thatthose flowers might be preserved for her. She was lying sick in her bed, worn out with grief and over-watching. 

"The funeral was very touching. Of the entertainments in the East Roomthe boy had been--for those who now assembled more especially--a mostlife-giving variation. With his bright face, and his apt greetings andreplies, he was remembered in every part of that crimson-curtained hall, built only for pleasure--of all the crowds, each night, certainly theone least likely to be death's first mark. He was his father'sfavorite. They were intimates--often seen hand in hand. And there satthe man, with a burden on his brain at which the world marvels--bent nowwith the load at both heart and brain--staggering under a blow like thetaking from him of his child! His men of power sat aroundhim--McClellan, with a moist eye when he bowed to the prayer, as I couldsee from where I stood; and Chase and Seward, with their austerefeatures at work; and senators, and ambassadors, and soldiers, allstruggling with their tears--great hearts sorrowing with the Presidentas a stricken man and a brother. That God may give him strength for allhis burdens is, I am sure, at present the prayer of a nation. "

This sketch was very much admired by Mrs. Lincoln. I copy it from thescrap-book in which she pasted it, with many tears, with her own hands. 

CHAPTER VII

WASHINGTON IN 1862-3

In the summer of 1862, freedmen began to flock into Washington fromMaryland and Virginia. They came with a great hope in their hearts, andwith all their worldly goods on their backs. Fresh from the bonds ofslavery, fresh from the benighted regions of the plantation, they cameto the Capital looking for liberty, and many of them not knowing it whenthey found it. Many good friends reached forth kind hands, but the Northis not warm and impulsive. For one kind word spoken, two harsh ones wereuttered; there was something repelling in the atmosphere, and the brightjoyous dreams of freedom to the slave faded--were sadly altered, in thepresence of that stern, practical mother, reality. Instead of flowerypaths, days of perpetual sunshine, and bowers hanging with golden fruit, the road was rugged and full of thorns, the sunshine was eclipsed byshadows, and the mute appeals for help too often were answered by coldneglect. Poor dusky children of slavery, men and women of my ownrace--the transition from slavery to freedom was too sudden for you! Thebright dreams were too rudely dispelled; you were not prepared for thenew life that opened before you, and the great masses of the Northlearned to look upon your helplessness with indifference--learned tospeak of you as an idle, dependent race. Reason should have promptedkinder thoughts. Charity is ever kind. 

One fair summer evening I was walking the streets of Washington, accompanied by a friend, when a band of music was heard in the distance. We wondered what it could mean, and curiosity prompted us to find outits meaning. We quickened our steps, and discovered that it came fromthe house of Mrs. Farnham. The yard was brilliantly lighted, ladies andgentlemen were moving about, and the band was playing some of itssweetest airs. We approached the sentinel on duty at the gate, and askedwhat was going on. He told us that it was a festival given for thebenefit of the sick and wounded soldiers in the city. This suggested anidea to me. If the white people can give festivals to raise funds forthe relief of suffering soldiers, why should not the well-to-do coloredpeople go to work to do something for the benefit of the sufferingblacks? I could not rest. The thought was ever present with me, and thenext Sunday I made a suggestion in the colored church, that a society ofcolored people be formed to labor for the benefit of the unfortunatefreedmen. The idea proved popular, and in two weeks "the ContrabandRelief Association" was organized, with forty working members. 

In September of 1862, Mrs. Lincoln left Washington for New York, andrequested me to follow her in a few days, and join her at theMetropolitan Hotel. I was glad of the opportunity to do so, for Ithought that in New York I would be able to do something in theinterests of our society. Armed with credentials, I took the train forNew York, and went to the Metropolitan, where Mrs. Lincoln had securedaccommodations for me. The next morning I told Mrs. Lincoln of myproject; and she immediately headed my list with a subscription of $200. I circulated among the colored people, and got them thoroughlyinterested in the subject, when I was called to Boston by Mrs. Lincoln, who wished to visit her son Robert, attending college in that city. Imet Mr. Wendell Phillips, and other Boston philanthropists, who gave meall the assistance in their power. We held a mass meeting at the ColoredBaptist Church, Rev. Mr. Grimes, in Boston, raised a sum of money, andorganized there a branch society. The society was organized by Mrs. Grimes, wife of the pastor, assisted by Mrs. Martin, wife of Rev. StellaMartin. This branch of the main society, during the war, was able tosend us over eighty large boxes of goods, contributed exclusively by thecolored people of Boston. Returning to New York, we held a successfulmeeting at the Shiloh Church, Rev. Henry Highland Garnet, pastor. TheMetropolitan Hotel, at that time as now, employed colored help. Isuggested the object of my mission to Robert Thompson, Steward of theHotel, who immediately raised quite a sum of money among the dining-roomwaiters. Mr. Frederick Douglass contributed $200, besides lecturing forus. Other prominent colored men sent in liberal contributions. FromEngland[B] a large quantity of stores was received. Mrs. Lincoln madefrequent contributions, as also did the President. In 1863 I wasre-elected President of the Association, which office I continue tohold. 

For two years after Willie's death the White House was the scene of nofashionable display. The memory of the dead boy was duly respected. Insome things Mrs. Lincoln was an altered woman. Sometimes, when in herroom, with no one present but myself, the mere mention of Willie's namewould excite her emotion, and any trifling memento that recalled himwould move her to tears. She could not bear to look upon his picture;and after his death she never crossed the threshold of the Guest's Roomin which he died, or the Green Room in which he was embalmed. There wassomething supernatural in her dread of these things, and something thatshe could not explain. Tad's nature was the opposite of Willie's, and hewas always regarded as his father's favorite child. His black eyesfairly sparkled with mischief. 

The war progressed, fair fields had been stained with blood, thousandsof brave men had fallen, and thousands of eyes were weeping for thefallen at home. There were desolate hearthstones in the South as well asin the North, and as the people of my race watched the sanguinarystruggle, the ebb and flow of the tide of battle, they lifted theirfaces Zionward, as if they hoped to catch a glimpse of the Promised Landbeyond the sulphureous clouds of smoke which shifted now and then but toreveal ghastly rows of new-made graves. Sometimes the very life of thenation seemed to tremble with the fierce shock of arms. In 1863 theConfederates were flushed with victory, and sometimes it looked as ifthe proud flag of the Union, the glorious old Stars and Stripes, mustyield half its nationality to the tri-barred flag that floated grandlyover long columns of gray. These were sad, anxious days to Mr. Lincoln, and those who saw the man in privacy only could tell how much hesuffered. One day he came into the room where I was fitting a dress onMrs. Lincoln. His step was slow and heavy, and his face sad. Like atired child he threw himself upon a sofa, and shaded his eyes with hishands. He was a complete picture of dejection. Mrs. Lincoln, observinghis troubled look, asked:

"Where have you been, father?"

"To the War Department, " was the brief, almost sullen answer. 

"Any news?"

"Yes, plenty of news, but no good news. It is dark, dark everywhere. "

He reached forth one of his long arms, and took a small Bible from astand near the head of the sofa, opened the pages of the holy book, andsoon was absorbed in reading them. A quarter of an hour passed, and onglancing at the sofa the face of the President seemed more cheerful. Thedejected look was gone, and the countenance was lighted up with newresolution and hope. The change was so marked that I could not butwonder at it, and wonder led to the desire to know what book of theBible afforded so much comfort to the reader. Making the search for amissing article an excuse, I walked gently around the sofa, and lookinginto the open book, I discovered that Mr. Lincoln was reading thatdivine comforter, Job. He read with Christian eagerness, and the courageand hope that he derived from the inspired pages made him a new man. Ialmost imagined that I could hear the Lord speaking to him from out thewhirlwind of battle: "Gird up thy loins now like a man: I will demand ofthee, and declare thou unto me. " What a sublime picture was this! Aruler of a mighty nation going to the pages of the Bible with simpleChristian earnestness for comfort and courage, and finding both in thedarkest hours of a nation's calamity. Ponder it, O ye scoffers at God'sHoly Word, and then hang your heads for very shame!

Frequent letters were received warning Mr. Lincoln of assassination, buthe never gave a second thought to the mysterious warnings. The letters, however, sorely troubled his wife. She seemed to read impending dangerin every rustling leaf, in every whisper of the wind. 

"Where are you going now, father?" she would say to him, as she observedhim putting on his overshoes and shawl. 

"I am going over to the War Department, mother, to try and learn somenews. "

"But, father, you should not go out alone. You know you are surroundedwith danger. "

"All imagination. What does any one want to harm me for? Don't worryabout me, mother, as if I were a little child, for no one is going tomolest me;" and with a confident, unsuspecting air he would close thedoor behind him, descend the stairs, and pass out to his lonely walk. 

For weeks, when trouble was anticipated, friends of the President wouldsleep in the White House to guard him from danger. 

Robert would come home every few months, bringing new joy to the familycircle. He was very anxious to quit school and enter the army, but themove was sternly opposed by his mother. 

"We have lost one son, and his loss is as much as I can bear, withoutbeing called upon to make another sacrifice, " she would say, when thesubject was under discussion. 

"But many a poor mother has given up all her sons, " mildly suggested Mr. Lincoln, "and our son is not more dear to us than the sons of otherpeople are to their mothers. "

"That may be; but I cannot bear to have Robert exposed to danger. Hisservices are not required in the field, and the sacrifice would be aneedless one. "

"The services of every man who loves his country are required in thiswar. You should take a liberal instead of a selfish view of thequestion, mother. "

Argument at last prevailed, and permission was granted Robert to enterthe army. With the rank of Captain and A. D. C. He went to the field, and remained in the army till the close of the war. 

I well recollect a little incident that gave me a clearer insight intoRobert's character. He was at home at the time the Tom Thumb combinationwas at Washington. The marriage of little Hopo'-my-thumb--CharlesStratton--to Miss Warren created no little excitement in the world, andthe people of Washington participated in the general curiosity. Some ofMrs. Lincoln's friends made her believe that it was the duty of Mrs. Lincoln to show some attention to the remarkable dwarfs. Tom Thumb hadbeen caressed by royalty in the Old World, and why should not the wifeof the President of his native country smile upon him also? Verily, dutyis one of the greatest bugbears in life. A hasty reception was arranged, and cards of invitation issued. I had dressed Mrs. Lincoln, and she wasready to go below and receive her guests, when Robert entered hismother's room. 

"You are at leisure this afternoon, are you not, Robert?"

"Yes, mother. "

"Of course, then, you will dress and come down-stairs. "

"No, mother, I do not propose to assist in entertaining Tom Thumb. Mynotions of duty, perhaps, are somewhat different from yours. "

Robert had a lofty soul, and he could not stoop to all of the folliesand absurdities of the ephemeral current of fashionable life. 

Mrs. Lincoln's love for her husband sometimes prompted her to act verystrangely. She was extremely jealous of him, and if a lady desired tocourt her displeasure, she could select no surer way to do it than topay marked attention to the President. These little jealous freaks oftenwere a source of perplexity to Mr. Lincoln. If it was a reception forwhich they were dressing, he would come into her room to conduct herdownstairs, and while pulling on his gloves ask, with a merry twinkle inhis eyes:

"Well, mother, who must I talk with to-night--shall it be Mrs. D. ?"

"That deceitful woman! No, you shall not listen to her flattery. "

"Well, then, what do you say to Miss C. ? She is too young and handsometo practise deceit. "

"Young and handsome, you call her! You should not judge beauty for me. No, she is in league with Mrs. D. , and you shall not talk with her. "

"Well, mother, I must talk with some one. Is there any one that you donot object to?" trying to button his glove, with a mock expression ofgravity. 

"I don't know as it is necessary that you should talk to anybody inparticular. You know well enough, Mr. Lincoln, that I do not approve ofyour flirtations with silly women, just as if you were a beardless boy, fresh from school. "

"But, mother, I insist that I must talk with somebody. I can't standaround like a simpleton, and say nothing. If you will not tell me who Imay talk with, please tell me who I may _not_ talk with. "

"There is Mrs. D. And Miss C. In particular. I detest them both. Mrs. B. Also will come around you, but you need not listen to her flattery. These are the ones in particular. "

"Very well, mother; now that we have settled the question to yoursatisfaction, we will go down-stairs;" and always with stately dignity, he proffered his arm and led the way. 

[Footnote B: The Sheffield Anti-Slavery Society of England contributed through Mr. Frederick Douglass, to the Freedmen's Relief Association, $24. 00; Aberdeen Ladies' Society, $40. 00; Anti-Slavery Society of Edinburgh, Scotland, $48. 00; Friends at Bristol, England, $176. 00; Birmingham Negro's Friend Society, $50. 00. Also received through Mr. Charles R. Douglass, from the Birmingham Society, $33. 00. ]

CHAPTER VIII

CANDID OPINIONS

Often Mr. And Mrs. Lincoln discussed the relations of Cabinet officers, and gentlemen prominent in politics, in my presence. I soon learned thatthe wife of the President had no love for Mr. Salmon P. Chase, at thattime Secretary of the Treasury. She was well versed in human character, was somewhat suspicious of those by whom she was surrounded, and oftenher judgment was correct. Her intuition about the sincerity ofindividuals was more accurate than that of her husband. She lookedbeyond, and read the reflection of action in the future. Her hostilityto Mr. Chase was very bitter. She claimed that he was a selfishpolitician instead of a true patriot, and warned Mr. Lincoln not totrust him too far. The daughter of the Secretary was quite a belle inWashington, and Mrs. Lincoln, who was jealous of the popularity ofothers, had no desire to build up her social position through politicalfavor to her father. Miss Chase, now Mrs. Senator Sprague, was a lovelywoman, and was worthy of all the admiration she received. Mr. Lincolnwas more confiding than his wife. He never suspected the fidelity ofthose who claimed to be his friends. Honest to the very core himself, and frank as a child, he never dreamed of questioning the sincerity ofothers. 

"Father, I do wish that you would inquire a little into the motives ofChase, " said his wife one day. 

The President was lying carelessly upon a sofa, holding a newspaper inhis hands. "Mother, you are too suspicious. I give you credit forsagacity, but you are disposed to magnify trifles. Chase is a patriot, and one of my best friends. "

"Yes, one of your best friends because it is his interest to be so. Heis anything for Chase. If he thought he could make anything by it, hewould betray you to-morrow. "

"I fear that you are prejudiced against the man, mother. I know that youdo him injustice. "

"Mr. Lincoln, you are either blind or will not see. I am not the onlyone that has warned you against him. "

"True, I receive letters daily from all parts of the country, telling menot to trust Chase; but then these letters are written by the politicalenemies of the Secretary, and it would be unjust and foolish to pay anyattention to them. "

"Very well, you will find out some day, if you live long enough, that Ihave read the man correctly. I only hope that your eyes may not beopened to the truth when it is too late. " The President, as far as Icould judge from his conversation with his wife, continued to confide inMr. Chase to the time of his tragic death. 

Mrs. Lincoln was especially severe on Mr. Wm. H. Seward, Secretary ofState. She but rarely lost an opportunity to say an unkind word of him. 

One morning I went to the White House earlier than usual. Mr. Lincolnwas sitting in a chair, reading a paper, stroking with one hand the headof little Tad. I was basting a dress for Mrs. Lincoln. A servantentered, and handed the President a letter just brought by a messenger. He broke the seal, and when he had read the contents his wife asked:

"Who is the letter from, father?"

"Seward; I must go over and see him today. "

"Seward! I wish you had nothing to do with that man. He cannot betrusted. "

"You say the same of Chase. If I listened to you, I should soon bewithout a Cabinet. "

"Better be without it than to confide in some of the men that you do. Seward is worse than Chase. He has no principle. "

"Mother, you are mistaken; your prejudices are so violent that you donot stop to reason. Seward is an able man, and the country as well asmyself can trust him. "

"Father, you are too honest for this world! You should have been born asaint. You will generally find it a safe rule to distrust adisappointed, ambitious politician. It makes me mad to see you sit stilland let that hypocrite, Seward, twine you around his finger as if youwere a skein of thread. "

"It is useless to argue the question, mother. You cannot change myopinion. "

Mrs. Lincoln prided herself upon her ability to read character. She wasshrewd and far-seeing, and had no patience with the frank, confidingnature of the President. 

When Andrew Johnson was urged for military Governor of Tennessee, Mrs. Lincoln bitterly opposed the appointment. 

"He is a demagogue, " she said, almost fiercely, "and if you place him inpower, Mr. Lincoln, mark my words, you will rue it some day. "

General McClellan, when made Commander-in-Chief, was the idol of thesoldiers, and never was a general more universally popular. "He is ahumbug, " remarked Mrs. Lincoln one day in my presence. 

"What makes you think so, mother?" good-naturedly inquired thePresident. 

"Because he talks so much and does so little. If I had the power I wouldvery soon take off his head, and put some energetic man in his place. "

"But I regard McClellan as a patriot and an able soldier. He has beenmuch embarrassed. The troops are raw, and the subordinate officersinclined to be rebellious. There are too many politicians in the armywith shoulder-straps. McClellan is young and popular, and they arejealous of him. They will kill him off if they can. "

"McClellan can make plenty of excuse for himself, therefore he needs noadvocate in you. If he would only do something, and not promise so much, I might learn to have a little faith in him. I tell you he is a humbug, and you will have to find some man to take his place, that is, if youwish to conquer the South. "

Mrs. Lincoln could not tolerate General Grant. "He is a butcher, " shewould often say, "and is not fit to be at the head of an army. "

"But he has been very successful in the field, " argued the President. 

"Yes, he generally manages to claim a victory, but such a victory! Heloses two men to the enemy's one. He has no management, no regard forlife. If the war should continue four years longer, and he should remainin power, he would depopulate the North. I could fight an army as wellmyself. According to his tactics, there is nothing under the heavens todo but to march a new line of men up in front of the rebel breastworksto be shot down as fast as they take their position, and keep marchinguntil the enemy grows tired of the slaughter. Grant, I repeat, is anobstinate fool and a butcher. "

"Well, mother, supposing that we give you command of the army. No doubtyou would do much better than any general that has been tried. " Therewas a twinkle in the eyes, and a ring of irony in the voice. 

I have often heard Mrs. Lincoln say that if Grant should ever be electedPresident of the United States she would desire to leave the country, and remain absent during his term of office. 

It was well known that Mrs. Lincoln's brothers were in the Confederatearmy, and for this reason it was often charged that her sympathies werewith the South. Those who made the hasty charge were never more widelymistaken. 

One morning, on my way to the White House, I heard that CaptainAlexander Todd, one of her brothers, had been killed. I did not like toinform Mrs. Lincoln of his death, judging that it would be painful newsto her. I had been in her room but a few minutes when she said, withapparent unconcern, "Lizzie, I have just heard that one of my brothershas been killed in the war. "

"I also heard the same, Mrs. Lincoln, but hesitated to speak of it, forfear the subject would be a painful one to you. "

"You need not hesitate. Of course, it is but natural that I should feelfor one so nearly related to me, but not to the extent that you suppose. He made his choice long ago. He decided against my husband, and throughhim against me. He has been fighting against us; and since he chose tobe our deadly enemy, I see no special reason why I should bitterly mournhis death. "

I felt relieved, and in subsequent conversations learned that Mrs. Lincoln had no sympathy for the South. "Why should I sympathize with therebels, " she would say; "are they not against me? They would hang myhusband to-morrow if it was in their power, and perhaps gibbet me withhim. How then can I sympathize with a people at war with me and mine?"She always objected to being thought Southern in feeling. 

Mr. Lincoln was generous by nature, and though his whole heart was inthe war, he could not but respect the valor of those opposed to him. Hissoul was too great for the narrow, selfish views of partisanship. Braveby nature himself, he honored bravery in others, even his foes. Time andagain I have heard him speak in the highest terms of the soldierlyqualities of such brave Confederate generals as Lee, Stonewall Jackson, and Joseph E. Johns[t]on. Jackson was his ideal soldier. "He is a brave, honest Presbyterian soldier, " were his words; "what a pity that weshould have to fight such a gallant fellow! If we only had such a man tolead the armies of the North, the country would not be appalled with somany disasters. "

As this is a rambling chapter, I will here record an incident showinghis feeling toward Robert E. Lee. The very morning of the day on whichhe was assassinated, his son, Capt. Robert Lincoln, came into the roomwith a portrait of General Lee in his hand. The President took thepicture, laid it on a table before him, scanned the face thoughtfully, and said: "It is a good face; it is the face of a noble, noble, braveman. I am glad that the war is over at last. " Looking up at Robert, hecontinued: "Well, my son, you have returned safely from the front. Thewar is now closed, and we soon will live in peace with the brave menthat have been fighting against us. I trust that the era of good feelinghas returned with the war, and that henceforth we shall live in peace. Now listen to me, Robert: you must lay aside your uniform, and return tocollege. I wish you to read law for three years, and at the end of thattime I hope that we will be able to tell whether you will make a lawyeror not. " His face was more cheerful than I had seen it for a long while, and he seemed to be in a generous, forgiving mood. 

CHAPTER IX

BEHIND THE SCENES

Some of the freedmen and freedwomen had exaggerated ideas of liberty. Tothem it was a beautiful vision, a land of sunshine, rest and gloriouspromise. They flocked to Washington, and since their extravagant hopeswere not realized, it was but natural that many of them should bitterlyfeel their disappointment. The colored people are wedded toassociations, and when you destroy these you destroy half of thehappiness of their lives. They make a home, and are so fond of it thatthey prefer it, squalid though it be, to the comparative ease and luxuryof a shifting, roaming life. Well, the emancipated slaves, in comingNorth, left old associations behind them, and the love for the past wasso strong that they could not find much beauty in the new life sosuddenly opened to them. Thousands of the disappointed, huddled togetherin camps, fretted and pined like children for the "good old times. " Invisiting them in the interests of the Relief Society of which I waspresident, they would crowd around me with pitiful stories of distress. Often I heard them declare that they would rather go back to slavery inthe South, and be with their old masters, than to enjoy the freedom ofthe North. I believe they were sincere in these declarations, becausedependence had become a part of their second nature, and independencebrought with it the cares and vexations of poverty. 

I was very much amused one day at the grave complaints of a good old, simple-minded woman, fresh from a life of servitude. She had neverventured beyond a plantation until coming North. The change was tooradical for her, and she could not exactly understand it. She thought, as many others thought, that Mr. And Mrs. Lincoln were the government, and that the President and his wife had nothing to do but to supply theextravagant wants of every one that applied to them. The wants of thisold woman, however, were not very extravagant. 

"Why, Missus Keckley, " said she to me one day, "I is been here eightmonths, and Missus Lingom an't even give me one shife. Bliss God, childen, if I had ar know dat de Government, and Mister and MissusGovernment, was going to do dat ar way, I neber would 'ave comed here inGod's wurld. My old missus us't gib me two shifes eber year. "

I could not restrain a laugh at the grave manner in which this good oldwoman entered her protest. Her idea of freedom was two or more oldshifts every year. Northern readers may not fully recognize the pith ofthe joke. On the Southern plantation, the mistress, according toestablished custom, every year made a present of certain under-garmentsto her slaves, which articles were always anxiously looked forward to, and thankfully received. The old woman had been in the habit ofreceiving annually two shifts from her mistress, and she thought thewife of the President of the United States very mean for overlookingthis established custom of the plantation. 

While some of the emancipated blacks pined for the old associations ofslavery, and refused to help themselves, others went to work withcommendable energy, and planned with remarkable forethought. They builtthemselves cabins, and each family cultivated for itself a small patchof ground. The colored people are fond of domestic life, and with themdomestication means happy children, a fat pig, a dozen or more chickens, and a garden. Whoever visits the Freedmen's Village now in the vicinityof Washington will discover all of these evidences of prosperity andhappiness. The schools are objects of much interest. Good teachers, white and colored, are employed, and whole brigades of bright-eyed duskychildren are there taught the common branches of education. Thesechildren are studious, and the teachers inform me that their advancementis rapid. I number among my personal friends twelve colored girlsemployed as teachers in the schools at Washington. The Colored MissionSabbath School, established through the influence of Gen. Brown at theFifteenth Street Presbyterian Church, is always an object of greatinterest to the residents of the Capital, as well as to the hundreds ofstrangers visiting the city. 

In 1864 the receptions again commenced at the White House. For the firsttwo years of Mr. Lincoln's administration, the President selected a ladyto join in the promenade with him, which left Mrs. Lincoln free tochoose an escort from among the distinguished gentlemen that alwayssurrounded her on such occasions. This custom at last was discontinuedby Mrs. Lincoln. 

"Lizabeth!"--I was sewing in her room, and she was seated in acomfortable arm-chair--"Lizabeth, I have been thinking over a littlematter. As you are well aware, the President, at every reception, selects a lady to lead the promenade with him. Now it occurs to me thatthis custom is an absurd one. On such occasions our guests recognize theposition of the President as first of all; consequently, he takes thelead in everything; well, now, if they recognize his position theyshould also recognize mine. I am his wife, and should lead with him. Andyet he offers his arm to any other lady in the room, making her firstwith him and placing me second. The custom is an absurd one, and I meanto abolish it. The dignity that I owe to my position, as Mrs. President, demands that I should not hesitate any longer to act. "

Mrs. Lincoln kept her word. Ever after this, she either led thepromenade with the President, or the President walked alone or with agentleman. The change was much remarked, but the reason why it was made, I believe, was never generally known. 

In 1864 much doubt existed in regard to the re-election of Mr. Lincoln, and the White House was besieged by all grades of politicians. Mrs. Lincoln was often blamed for having a certain class of men around her. 

"I have an object in view, Lizabeth, " she said to me in reference tothis matter. "In a political canvass it is policy to cultivate everyelement of strength. These men have influence, and we require influenceto re-elect Mr. Lincoln. I will be clever to them until after theelection, and then, if we remain at the White House, I will drop everyone of them, and let them know very plainly that I only made tools ofthem. They are an unprincipled set, and I don't mind a littledouble-dealing with them. "

"Does Mr. Lincoln know what your purpose is?" I asked. 

"God! no; he would never sanction such a proceeding, so I keep him inthe dark, and will tell him of it when all is over. He is too honest totake the proper care of his own interests, so I feel it to be my duty toelectioneer for him. "

Mr. Lincoln, as every one knows, was far from handsome. He was notadmired for his graceful figure and finely moulded face, but for thenobility of his soul and the greatness of his heart. His wife wasdifferent. He was wholly unselfish in every respect, and I believe thathe loved the mother of his children very tenderly. He asked nothing butaffection from her, but did not always receive it. When in one of herwayward impulsive moods, she was apt to say and do things that woundedhim deeply. If he had not loved her, she would have been powerless tocloud his thoughtful face, or gild it with a ray of sunshine as shepleased. We are indifferent to those we do not love, and certainly thePresident was not indifferent to his wife. She often wounded him inunguarded moments, but calm reflection never failed to bring regret. 

Mrs. Lincoln was extremely anxious that her husband should be re-electedPresident of the United States. In endeavoring to make a displaybecoming her exalted position, she had to incur many expenses. Mr. Lincoln's salary was inadequate to meet them, and she was forced to runin debt, hoping that good fortune would favor her, and enable her toextricate herself from an embarrassing situation. She bought the mostexpensive goods on credit, and in the summer of 1864 enormous unpaidbills stared her in the face. 

"What do you think about the election, Lizabeth?" she said to me onemorning. 

"I think that Mr. Lincoln will remain in the White House four yearslonger, " I replied, looking up from my work. 

"What makes you think so? Somehow I have learned to fear that he will bedefeated. "

"Because he has been tried, and has proved faithful to the bestinterests of the country. The people of the North recognize in him anhonest man, and they are willing to confide in him, at least until thewar has been brought to a close. The Southern people made his election apretext for rebellion, and now to replace him by some one else, afteryears of sanguinary war, would look too much like a surrender of theNorth. So, Mr. Lincoln is certain to be re-elected. He represents aprinciple, and to maintain this principle the loyal people of the loyalStates will vote for him, even if he had no merits to commend him. "

"Your view is a plausible one, Lizabeth, and your confidence gives menew hope. If he should be defeated, I do not know what would become ofus all. To me, to him, there is more at stake in this election than hedreams of. "

"What can you mean, Mrs. Lincoln? I do not comprehend. "

"Simply this. I have contracted large debts, of which he knows nothing, and which he will be unable to pay if he is defeated. "

"What are your debts, Mrs. Lincoln?"

"They consist chiefly of store bills. I owe altogether abouttwenty-seven thousand dollars; the principal portion at Stewart's, inNew York. You understand, Lizabeth, that Mr. Lincoln has but little ideaof the expense of a woman's wardrobe. He glances at my rich dresses, andis happy in the belief that the few hundred dollars that I obtain fromhim supply all my wants. I must dress in costly materials. The peoplescrutinize every article that I wear with critical curiosity. The veryfact of having grown up in the West, subjects me to more searchingobservation. To keep up appearances, I must have money--more than Mr. Lincoln can spare for me. He is too honest to make a penny outside ofhis salary; consequently I had, and still have, no alternative but torun in debt. "

"And Mr. Lincoln does not even suspect how much you owe?"

"God, no!"--this was a favorite expression of hers--"and I would nothave him suspect. If he knew that his wife was involved to the extentthat she is, the knowledge would drive him mad. He is so sincere andstraightforward himself, that he is shocked by the duplicity of others. He does not know a thing about any debts and I value his happiness, notto speak of my own, too much to allow him to know anything. This iswhat troubles me so much. If he is re-elected, I can keep him inignorance of my affairs; but if he is defeated, then the bills will besent in, and he will know all;" and something like a hysterical sobescaped her. 

Mrs. Lincoln sometimes feared that the politicians would get hold of theparticulars of her debts, and use them in the Presidential campaignagainst her husband; and when this thought occurred to her, she wasalmost crazy with anxiety and fear. 

When in one of these excited moods, she would fiercely exclaim--

"The Republican politicians must pay my debts. Hundreds of them aregetting immensely rich off the patronage of my husband, and it is butfair that they should help me out of my embarrassment. I will make ademand of them, and when I tell them the facts they cannot refuse toadvance whatever money I require. "

CHAPTER X

THE SECOND INAUGURATION

Mrs. Lincoln came to my apartments one day towards the close of thesummer of 1864, to consult me in relation to a dress. And here let meremark, I never approved of ladies, attached to the Presidentialhousehold, coming to my rooms. I always thought that it would be moreconsistent with their dignity to send for me, and let me come to them, instead of their coming to me. I may have peculiar notions about somethings, and this may be regarded as one of them. No matter, I haverecorded my opinion. I cannot forget the associations of my early life. Well, Mrs. Lincoln came to my rooms, and, as usual, she had much to sayabout the Presidential election. 

After some conversation, she asked: "Lizzie, where do you think I willbe this time next summer?"

"Why, in the White House, of course. "

"I cannot believe so. I have no hope of the re-election of Mr. Lincoln. The canvass is a heated one, the people begin to murmur at the war, andevery vile charge is brought against my husband. "

"No matter, " I replied, "Mr. Lincoln will be re-elected. I am soconfident of it, that I am tempted to ask a favor of you. "

"A favor! Well, if we remain in the White House I shall be able to doyou many favors. What is the special favor?"

"Simply this, Mrs. Lincoln--I should like for you to make me a presentof the right-hand glove that the President wears at the first publicreception after his second inaugural. "

"You shall have it in welcome. It will be so filthy when he pulls itoff, I shall be tempted to take the tongs and put it in the fire. Icannot imagine, Lizabeth, what you want with such a glove. "

"I shall cherish it as a precious memento of the second inauguration ofthe man who has done so much for my race. He has been a Jehovah to mypeople--has lifted them out of bondage, and directed their footstepsfrom darkness into light. I shall keep the glove, and hand it down toposterity. "

"You have some strange ideas, Lizabeth. Never mind, you shall have theglove; that is, if Mr. Lincoln continues President after the 4th ofMarch next. "

I held Mrs. Lincoln to her promise. That glove is now in my possession, bearing the marks of the thousands of hands that grasped the honest handof Mr. Lincoln on that eventful night. Alas! it has become a prouder, sadder memento than I ever dreamed--prior to making the request--itwould be. 

In due time the election came off, and all of my predictions wereverified. The loyal States decided that Mr. Lincoln should continue atthe nation's helm. Autumn faded, winter dragged slowly by, and still thecountry resounded with the clash of arms. The South was suffering, yetsuffering was borne with heroic determination, and the army continued topresent a bold, defiant front. With the first early breath of spring, thousands of people gathered in Washington to witness the secondinauguration of Abraham Lincoln as President of the United States. Itwas a stirring day in the National Capital, and one that will never fadefrom the memory of those who witnessed the imposing ceremonies. Themorning was dark and gloomy; clouds hung like a pall in the sky, as ifportending some great disaster. But when the President stepped forwardto receive the oath of office, the clouds parted, and a ray of sunshinestreamed from the heavens to fall upon and gild his face. It is alsosaid that a brilliant star was seen at noon-day. It was the noon-day oflife with Mr. Lincoln, and the star, as viewed in the light ofsubsequent events, was emblematic of a summons from on high. This wasSaturday, and on Monday evening I went to the White House to dress Mrs. Lincoln for the first grand levee. While arranging Mrs. L. 's hair, thePresident came in. It was the first time I had seen him since theinauguration, and I went up to him, proffering my hand with words ofcongratulation. 

He grasped my outstretched hand warmly, and held it while he spoke:"Thank you. Well, Madam Elizabeth"--he always called me MadamElizabeth--"I don't know whether I should feel thankful or not. Theposition brings with it many trials. We do not know what we are destinedto pass through. But God will be with us all. I put my trust in God. " Hedropped my hand, and with solemn face walked across the room and tookhis seat on the sofa. Prior to this I had congratulated Mrs. Lincoln, and she had answered with a sigh, "Thank you, Elizabeth; but now that wehave won the position, I almost wish it were otherwise. Poor Mr. Lincolnis looking so broken-hearted, so completely worn out, I fear he will notget through the next four years. " Was it a presentiment that made hertake a sad view of the future? News from the front was never morecheering. On every side the Confederates were losing ground, and thelines of blue were advancing in triumph. As I would look out my windowalmost every day, I could see the artillery going past on its way to theopen space of ground, to fire a salute in honor of some new victory. From every point came glorious news of the success of the soldiers thatfought for the Union. And yet, in their private chamber, away from thecurious eyes of the world, the President and his wife wore sad, anxiousfaces. 

I finished dressing Mrs. Lincoln, and she took the President's arm andwent below. It was one of the largest receptions ever held inWashington. Thousands crowded the halls and rooms of the White House, eager to shake Mr. Lincoln by his hand, and receive a gracious smilefrom his wife. The jam was terrible, and the enthusiasm great. ThePresident's hand was well shaken, and the next day, on visiting Mrs. Lincoln, I received the soiled glove that Mr. Lincoln had worn on hisright hand that night. 

Many colored people were in Washington, and large numbers had desired toattend the levee, but orders were issued not to admit them. A gentleman, a member of Congress, on his way to the White House, recognized Mr. Frederick Douglass, the eloquent colored orator, on the outskirts of thecrowd. 

"How do you do, Mr. Douglass? A fearful jam to-night. You are going in, of course?"

"No--that is, no to your last question. "

"Not going in to shake the President by the hand! Why, pray?"

"The best reason in the world. Strict orders have been issued not toadmit people of color. "

"It is a shame, Mr. Douglass, that you should thus be placed under ban. Never mind; wait here, and I will see what can be done. "

The gentleman entered the White House, and working his way to thePresident, asked permission to introduce Mr. Douglass to him. 

"Certainly, " said Mr. Lincoln. "Bring Mr. Douglass in, by all means. Ishall be glad to meet him. "

The gentleman returned, and soon Mr. Douglass stood face to face withthe President. Mr. Lincoln pressed his hand warmly, saying: "Mr. Douglass, I am glad to meet you. I have long admired your course, and Ivalue your opinions highly. "

Mr. Douglass was very proud of the manner in which Mr. Lincoln receivedhim. On leaving the White House he came to a friend's house where areception was being held, and he related the incident with greatpleasure to myself and others. 

On the Monday following the reception at the White House, everybody wasbusy preparing for the grand inaugural ball to come off that night. Iwas in Mrs. Lincoln's room the greater portion of the day. Whiledressing her that night, the President came in, and I remarked to himhow much Mr. Douglass had been pleased on the night he was presented toMr. Lincoln. Mrs. L. At once turned to her husband with the inquiry, "Father, why was not Mr. Douglass introduced to me?"

"I do not know. I thought he was presented. "

"But he was not. "

"It must have been an oversight then, mother; I am sorry you did notmeet him. "

I finished dressing her for the ball, and accompanied her to the door. She was dressed magnificently, and entered the ball-room leaning on thearm of Senator Sumner, a gentleman that she very much admired. Mr. Lincoln walked into the ball-room accompanied by two gentlemen. Thisball closed the season. It was the last time that the President and hiswife ever appeared in public. 

Some days after, Mrs. Lincoln, with a party of friends, went to CityPoint on a visit. 

Mrs. Lincoln had returned to Washington prior to the 2d of April. OnMonday, April 3d, Mrs. Secretary Harlan came into my room with materialfor a dress. While conversing with her, I saw artillery pass the window;and as it was on its way to fire a salute, I inferred that good news hadbeen received at the War Department. My reception-room was on one sideof the street, and my work-room on the other side. Inquiring the causeof the demonstration, we were told that Richmond had fallen. Mrs. Harlantook one of my hands in each of her own, and we rejoiced together. I ranacross to my work-room, and on entering it, discovered that the girls inmy employ also had heard the good news. They were particularly elated, as it was reported that the rebel capital had surrendered to coloredtroops. I had promised my employees a holiday when Richmond should fall;and now that Richmond had fallen, they reminded me of my promise. 

I recrossed to my reception-room, and Mrs. Harlan told me that the goodnews was enough for her--she could afford to wait for her dress, and togive the girls a holiday and a treat, by all means. She returned to herhouse, and I joined my girls in the joy of the long-promised holiday. Wewandered about the streets of the city with happy faces, and heartsoverflowing with joy. The clerks in the various departments also enjoyeda holiday, and they improved it by getting gloriously fuddled. Towardsevening I saw S. , and many other usually clear-headed men, in thestreet, in a confused, uncertain state of mind. 

Mrs. Lincoln had invited me to accompany her to City Point. I went tothe White House, and told her that if she intended to return, I wouldregard it as a privilege to go with her, as City Point was nearPetersburg, my old home. Mrs. L. Said she designed returning, and wouldbe delighted to take me with her; so it was arranged that I shouldaccompany her. 

A few days after we were on board the steamer, _en route_ for CityPoint. Mrs. Lincoln was joined by Mrs. Secretary Harlan and daughter, Senator Sumner, and several other gentlemen. 

Prior to this, Mr. Lincoln had started for City Point, and before wereached our destination he had visited Richmond, Petersburg, and otherpoints. We arrived on Friday, and Mrs. Lincoln was much disappointedwhen she learned that the President had visited the late Confederatecapital, as she had greatly desired to be with him when he entered theconquered stronghold. It was immediately arranged that the entire partyon board the River Queen should visit Richmond, and other points, withthe President. The next morning, after the arrangement was perfected, wewere steaming up James River--the river that so long had beenimpassable, even to our gunboats. The air was balmy, and the banks ofthe river were beautiful, and fragrant with the first sweet blossoms ofspring. For hours I stood on deck, breathing the pure air, and viewingthe landscape on either side of the majestically flowing river. Herestretched fair fields, emblematic of peace--and here deserted camps andfrowning forts, speaking of the stern vicissitudes of war. Alas! howmany changes had taken place since my eye had wandered over the classicfields of dear old Virginia! A birthplace is always dear, no matterunder what circumstances you were born, since it revives in memory thegolden hours of childhood, free from philosophy, and the warm kiss of amother. I wondered if I should catch a glimpse of a familiar face; Iwondered what had become of those I once knew; had they fallen inbattle, been scattered by the relentless tide of war, or were they stillliving as they lived when last I saw them? I wondered, now that Richmondhad fallen, and Virginia been restored to the clustering stars of theUnion, if the people would come together in the bonds of peace; and as Igazed and wondered, the River Queen rapidly carried us to ourdestination. 

The Presidential party were all curiosity on entering Richmond. Theydrove about the streets of the city, and examined every object ofinterest. The Capitol presented a desolate appearance--desks broken, andpapers scattered promiscuously in the hurried flight of the ConfederateCongress. I picked up a number of papers, and, by curious coincidence, the resolution prohibiting all free colored people from entering theState of Virginia. In the Senate chamber I sat in the chair thatJefferson Davis sometimes occupied; also in the chair of theVice-President, Alexander H. Stephens. We paid a visit to the mansionoccupied by Mr. Davis and family during the war, and the ladies whowere in charge of it scowled darkly upon our party as we passed throughand inspected the different rooms. After a delightful visit we returnedto City Point. 

That night, in the cabin of the River Queen, smiling faces gatheredaround the dinner-table. One of the guests was a young officer attachedto the Sanitary Commission. He was seated near Mrs. Lincoln, and, by wayof pleasantry, remarked: "Mrs. Lincoln, you should have seen thePresident the other day, on his triumphal entry into Richmond. He wasthe cynosure of all eyes. The ladies kissed their hands to him, andgreeted him with the waving of handkerchiefs. He is quite a hero whensurrounded by pretty young ladies. "

The young officer suddenly paused with a look of embarrassment. Mrs. Lincoln turned to him with flashing eyes, with the remark that hisfamiliarity was offensive to her. Quite a scene followed, and I do notthink that the Captain who incurred Mrs. Lincoln's displeasure will everforget that memorable evening in the cabin of the River Queen, at CityPoint. 

Saturday morning the whole party decided to visit Petersburg, and I wasonly too eager to accompany them. 

When we arrived at the city, numbers crowded around the train, and alittle ragged negro boy ventured timidly into the car occupied by Mr. Lincoln and immediate friends, and in replying to numerous questions, used the word "tote. "

"Tote, " remarked Mr. Lincoln; "what do you mean by tote?"

"Why, massa, to tote um on your back. "

"Very definite, my son; I presume when you tote a thing, you carry it. By the way, Sumner, " turning to the Senator, "what is the origin oftote?"

"Its origin is said to be African. The Latin word _totum_, from _totus_, means all--an entire body--the whole. "

"But my young friend here did not mean an entire body, or anything ofthe kind, when he said he would tote my things for me, " interrupted thePresident. 

"Very true, " continued the Senator. "He used the word tote in theAfrican sense, to carry, to bear. Tote in this sense is defined in ourstandard dictionaries as a colloquial word of the Southern States, usedespecially by the negroes. "

"Then you regard the word as a good one?"

"Not elegant, certainly. For myself, I should prefer a better word; butsince it has been established by usage, I cannot refuse to recognizeit. "

Thus the conversation proceeded in pleasant style. 

Getting out of the car, the President and those with him went to visitthe forts and other scenes, while I wandered off by myself in search ofthose whom I had known in other days. War, grim-visaged war, I soondiscovered had brought many changes to the city so well known to me inthe days of my youth. I found a number of old friends, but the greaterportion of the population were strange to me. The scenes suggestedpainful memories, and I was not sorry to turn my back again upon thecity. A large, peculiarly shaped oak tree, I well remember, attractedthe particular attention of the President; it grew upon the outskirts ofPetersburg, and as he had discovered it on his first visit, a few daysprevious to the second, he insisted that the party should go with him totake a look at the isolated and magnificent specimen of the statelygrandeur of the forest. Every member of the party was only too willingto accede to the President's request, and the visit to the oak was made, and much enjoyed. 

On our return to City Point from Petersburg the train moved slowly, andthe President, observing a terrapin basking in the warm sunshine on thewayside, had the conductor stop the train, and one of the brakemen bringthe terrapin in to him. The movements of the ungainly little animalseemed to delight him, and he amused himself with it until we reachedJames River, where our steamer lay. Tad stood near, and joined in thehappy laugh with his father. 

For a week the River Queen remained in James River, anchored the greaterportion of the time at City Point, and a pleasant and memorable week wasit to all on board. During the whole of this time a yacht lay in thestream about a quarter of a mile distant, and its peculiar movementsattracted the attention of all on board. General Grant and Mrs. Grantwere on our steamer several times, and many distinguished officers ofthe army also were entertained by the President and his party. 

Mr. Lincoln, when not off on an excursion of any kind, lounged aboutthe boat, talking familiarly with every one that approached him. 

The day before we started on our journey back to Washington, Mr. Lincolnwas engaged in reviewing the troops in camp. He returned to the boat inthe evening, with a tired, weary look. 

"Mother, " he said to his wife, "I have shaken so many hands to-day thatmy arms ache tonight. I almost wish that I could go to bed now. "

As the twilight shadows deepened the lamps were lighted, and the boatwas brilliantly illuminated; as it lay in the river, decked withmany-colored lights, it looked like an enchanted floating palace. Amilitary band was on board, and as the hours lengthened into night itdiscoursed sweet music. Many officers came on board to say good-by, andthe scene was a brilliant one indeed. About 10 o'clock Mr. Lincoln wascalled upon to make a speech. Rising to his feet, he said:

"You must excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. I am too tired to speakto-night. On next Tuesday night I make a speech in Washington, at whichtime you will learn all I have to say. And now, by way of parting fromthe brave soldiers of our gallant army, I call upon the band to playDixie. It has always been a favorite of mine, and since we have capturedit, we have a perfect right to enjoy it. " On taking his seat the band atonce struck up with Dixie, that sweet, inspiring air; and when the musicdied away, there were clapping of hands and other manifestations ofapplause. 

At 11 o'clock the last good-by was spoken, the lights were taken down, the River Queen rounded out into the water and we were on our way backto Washington. We arrived at the Capital at 6 o'clock on Sunday evening, where the party separated, each going to his and her own home. This wasone of the most delightful trips of my life, and I always revert to itwith feelings of genuine pleasure. 

CHAPTER XI

THE ASSASSINATION OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN

I had never heard Mr. Lincoln make a public speech, and, knowing the manso well, was very anxious to hear him. On the morning of the Tuesdayafter our return from City Point, Mrs. Lincoln came to my apartments, and before she drove away I asked permission to come to the White Housethat night and hear Mr. Lincoln speak. 

"Certainly, Lizabeth; if you take any interest in political speeches, come and listen in welcome. "

"Thank you, Mrs. Lincoln. May I trespass further on your kindness byasking permission to bring a friend with me?"

"Yes, bring your friend also. By the way, come in time to dress mebefore the speaking commences. "

"I will be in time. You may rely upon that. Good morning, " I added, asshe swept from my room, and, passing out into the street, entered hercarriage and drove away. 

About 7 o'clock that evening I entered the White House. As I wentup-stairs I glanced into Mr. Lincoln's room through the half-open door, and seated by a desk was the President, looking over his notes andmuttering to himself. His face was thoughtful, his manner abstracted, and I knew, as I paused a moment to watch him, that he was rehearsingthe part that he was to play in the great drama soon to commence. 

Proceeding to Mrs. Lincoln's apartment, I worked with busy fingers, andin a short time her toilette was completed. 

Great crowds began to gather in front of the White House, and loud callswere made for the President. The band stopped playing, and as headvanced to the centre window over the door to make his address, Ilooked out, and never saw such a mass of heads before. It was like ablack, gently swelling sea. The swaying motion of the crowd, in the dimuncertain light, was like the rising and falling of billows--like theebb and flow of the tide upon the stranded shore of the ocean. Close tothe house the faces were plainly discernible, but they faded into mereghostly outlines on the outskirts of the assembly; and what added to theweird, spectral beauty of the scene, was the confused hum of voices thatrose above the sea of forms, sounding like the subdued, sullen roar ofan ocean storm, or the wind soughing through the dark lonely forest. Itwas a grand and imposing scene, and when the President, with pale faceand his soul flashing through his eyes, advanced to speak, he lookedmore like a demigod than a man crowned with the fleeting days ofmortality. 

The moment the President appeared at the window he was greeted with astorm of applause, and voices re-echoed the cry, "A light! a light!"

A lamp was brought, and little Tad at once rushed to his father's side, exclaiming:

"Let me hold the light, Papa! let me hold the light!"

Mrs. Lincoln directed that the wish of her son be gratified, and thelamp was transferred to his hands. The father and son standing there inthe presence of thousands of free citizens, the one lost in a chain ofeloquent ideas, the other looking up into the speaking face with aproud, manly look, formed a beautiful and striking tableau. 

There were a number of distinguished gentlemen, as well as ladies, inthe room, nearly all of whom remarked the picture. 

I stood a short distance from Mr. Lincoln, and as the light from thelamp fell full upon him, making him stand out boldly in the darkness, asudden thought struck me, and I whispered to the friend at my side:

"What an easy matter would it be to kill the President, as he standsthere! He could be shot down from the crowd, and no one be able to tellwho fired the shot. "

I do not know what put such an idea into my head, unless it was thesudden remembrance of the many warnings that Mr. Lincoln had received. 

The next day, I made mention to Mrs. Lincoln of the idea that hadimpressed me so strangely the night before, and she replied with a sigh:

"Yes, yes, Mr. Lincoln's life is always exposed. Ah, no one knows whatit is to live in constant dread of some fearful tragedy. The Presidenthas been warned so often, that I tremble for him on every publicoccasion. I have a presentiment that he will meet with a sudden andviolent end. I pray God to protect my beloved husband from the hands ofthe assassin. "

Mr. Lincoln was fond of pets. He had two goats that knew the sound ofhis voice, and when he called them they would come bounding to his side. In the warm bright days, he and Tad would sometimes play in the yardwith these goats, for an hour at a time. One Saturday afternoon I wentto the White House to dress Mrs. Lincoln. I had nearly completed my taskwhen the President came in. It was a bright day, and walking to thewindow, he looked down into the yard, smiled, and, turning to me, asked:

"Madam Elizabeth, you are fond of pets, are you not?"

"O yes, sir, " I answered. 

"Well, come here and look at my two goats. I believe they are thekindest and best goats in the world. See how they sniff the clear air, and skip and play in the sunshine. Whew! what a jump, " he exclaimed asone of the goats made a lofty spring. "Madam Elizabeth, did you everbefore see such an active goat?" Musing a moment, he continued: "Hefeeds on my bounty, and jumps with joy. Do you think we could call him abounty-jumper? But I flatter the bounty-jumper. My goat is far abovehim. I would rather wear his horns and hairy coat through life, thandemean myself to the level of the man who plunders the national treasuryin the name of patriotism. The man who enlists into the service for aconsideration, and deserts the moment he receives his money but torepeat the play, is bad enough; but the men who manipulate the grandmachine and who simply make the bounty-jumper their agent in anoutrageous fraud are far worse. They are beneath the worms that crawl inthe dark hidden places of earth. "

His lips curled with haughty scorn, and a cloud was gathering on hisbrow. Only a moment the shadow rested on his face. Just then both goatslooked up at the window and shook their heads as if they would say "Howd'ye do, old friend?"

"See, Madam Elizabeth, " exclaimed the President in a tone of enthusiasm, "my pets recognize me. How earnestly they look! There they go again;what jolly fun!" and he laughed outright as the goats bounded swiftly tothe other side of the yard. Just then Mrs. Lincoln called out, "Come, Lizabeth; if I get ready to go down this evening I must finish dressingmyself, or you must stop staring at those silly goats. "

Mrs. Lincoln was not fond of pets, and she could not understand how Mr. Lincoln could take so much delight in his goats. After Willie's death, she could not bear the sight of anything he loved, not even a flower. Costly bouquets were presented to her, but she turned from them with ashudder, and either placed them in a room where she could not see them, or threw them out of the window. She gave all of Willie'stoys--everything connected with him--away, as she said she could notlook upon them without thinking of her poor dead boy, and to think ofhim, in his white shroud and cold grave, was maddening. I never in mylife saw a more peculiarly constituted woman. Search the world over, andyou will not find her counterpart. After Mr. Lincoln's death, the goatsthat he loved so well were given away--I believe to Mrs. Lee, _née_ MissBlair, one of the few ladies with whom Mrs. Lincoln was on intimateterms in Washington. 

During my residence in the Capital I made my home with Mr. And Mrs. Walker Lewis, people of my own race, and friends in the truest sense ofthe word. 

The days passed without any incident of particular note disturbing thecurrent of life. On Friday morning, April 14th--alas! what American doesnot remember the day--I saw Mrs. Lincoln but for a moment. She told methat she was to attend the theatre that night with the President, but Iwas not summoned to assist her in making her toilette. Sherman had sweptfrom the northern border of Georgia through the heart of the Confederacydown to the sea, striking the death-blow to the rebellion. Grant hadpursued General Lee beyond Richmond, and the army of Virginia, that hadmade such stubborn resistance, was crumbling to pieces. Fort Sumter hadfallen;--the stronghold first wrenched from the Union; and which hadbraved the fury of Federal guns for so many years, was restored to theUnion; the end of the war was near at hand, and the great pulse of theloyal North thrilled with joy. The dark war-cloud was fading, and awhite-robed angel seemed to hover in the sky, whispering "Peace--peaceon earth, good-will toward men!" Sons, brothers, fathers, friends, sweethearts were coming home. Soon the white tents would be folded, thevolunteer army be disbanded, and tranquillity again reign. Happy, happyday!--happy at least to those who fought under the banner of the Union. There was great rejoicing throughout the North. From the Atlantic to thePacific, flags were gayly thrown to the breeze, and at night every cityblazed with its tens of thousand lights. But scarcely had the fireworksceased to play, and the lights been taken down from the windows, whenthe lightning flashed the most appalling news over the magnetic wires. "The President has been murdered!" spoke the swift-winged messenger, andthe loud huzza died upon the lips. A nation suddenly paused in the midstof festivity, and stood paralyzed with horror--transfixed with awe. 

Oh, memorable day! Oh, memorable night! Never before was joy soviolently contrasted with sorrow. 

At 11 o'clock at night I was awakened by an old friend and neighbor, Miss M. Brown, with the startling intelligence that the entire Cabinethad been assassinated, and Mr. Lincoln shot, but not mortally wounded. When I heard the words I felt as if the blood had been frozen in myveins, and that my lungs must collapse for the want of air. Mr. Lincolnshot! the Cabinet assassinated! What could it mean? The streets werealive with wondering, awe-stricken people. Rumors flew thick and fast, and the wildest reports came with every new arrival. The words wererepeated with blanched cheeks and quivering lips. I waked Mr. And Mrs. Lewis, and told them that the President was shot, and that I must go tothe White House. I could not remain in a state of uncertainty. I feltthat the house would not hold me. They tried to quiet me, but gentlewords could not calm the wild tempest. They quickly dressed themselves, and we sallied out into the street to drift with the excited throng. Wewalked rapidly towards the White House, and on our way passed theresidence of Secretary Seward, which was surrounded by armed soldiers, keeping back all intruders with the point of the bayonet. We hurried on, and as we approached the White House, saw that it too was surroundedwith soldiers. Every entrance was strongly guarded, and no one waspermitted to pass. The guard at the gate told us that Mr. Lincoln hadnot been brought home, but refused to give any other information. Moreexcited than ever, we wandered down the street. Grief and anxiety weremaking me weak, and as we joined the outskirts of a large crowd, I beganto feel as meek and humble as a penitent child. A gray-haired old manwas passing. I caught a glimpse of his face, and it seemed so full ofkindness and sorrow that I gently touched his arm, and imploringlyasked:

"Will you please, sir, to tell me whether Mr. Lincoln is dead or not?"

"Not dead, " he replied, "but dying. God help us!" and with a heavy stephe passed on. 

"Not dead, but dying! then indeed God help us!"

We learned that the President was mortally wounded--that he had beenshot down in his box at the theatre, and that he was not expected tolive till morning; when we returned home with heavy hearts. I could notsleep. I wanted to go to Mrs. Lincoln, as I pictured her wild withgrief; but then I did not know where to find her, and I must wait tillmorning. Never did the hours drag so slowly. Every moment seemed an age, and I could do nothing but walk about and hold my arms in mental agony. 

Morning came at last, and a sad morning was it. The flags that floatedso gayly yesterday now were draped in black, and hung in silent folds athalf-mast. The President was dead, and a nation was mourning for him. Every house was draped in black, and every face wore a solemn look. People spoke in subdued tones, and glided whisperingly, wonderingly, silently about the streets. 

About eleven o'clock on Saturday morning a carriage drove up to thedoor, and a messenger asked for "Elizabeth Keckley. "

"Who wants her?" I asked. 

"I come from Mrs. Lincoln. If you are Mrs. Keckley, come with meimmediately to the White House. "

I hastily put on my shawl and bonnet, and was driven at a rapid rate tothe White House. Everything about the building was sad and solemn. I wasquickly shown to Mrs. Lincoln's room, and on entering, saw Mrs. L. Tossing uneasily about upon a bed. The room was darkened, and the onlyperson in it besides the widow of the President was Mrs. SecretaryWelles, who had spent the night with her. Bowing to Mrs. Welles, I wentto the bedside. 

"Why did you not come to me last night, Elizabeth--I sent for you?" Mrs. Lincoln asked in a low whisper. 

"I did try to come to you, but I could not find you, " I answered, as Ilaid my hand upon her hot brow. 

I afterwards learned, that when she had partially recovered from thefirst shock of the terrible tragedy in the theatre, Mrs. Welles asked:

"Is there no one, Mrs. Lincoln, that you desire to have with you in thisterrible affliction?"

"Yes, send for Elizabeth Keckley. I want her just as soon as she can bebrought here. "

Three messengers, it appears, were successively despatched for me, butall of them mistook the number and failed to find me. 

Shortly after entering the room on Saturday morning, Mrs. Welles excusedherself, as she said she must go to her own family, and I was left alonewith Mrs. Lincoln. 

She was nearly exhausted with grief, and when she became a little quiet, I asked and received permission to go into the Guests' Room, where thebody of the President lay in state. When I crossed the threshold of theroom, I could not help recalling the day on which I had seen littleWillie lying in his coffin where the body of his father now lay. Iremembered how the President had wept over the pale beautiful face ofhis gifted boy, and now the President himself was dead. The last time Isaw him he spoke kindly to me, but alas! the lips would never moveagain. The light had faded from his eyes, and when the light went outthe soul went with it. What a noble soul was his--noble in all the nobleattributes of God! Never did I enter the solemn chamber of death withsuch palpitating heart and trembling footsteps as I entered it that day. No common mortal had died. The Moses of my people had fallen in the hourof his triumph. Fame had woven her choicest chaplet for his brow. Thoughthe brow was cold and pale in death, the chaplet should not fade, forGod had studded it with the glory of the eternal stars. 

When I entered the room, the members of the Cabinet and manydistinguished officers of the army were grouped around the body of theirfallen chief. They made room for me, and, approaching the body, I liftedthe white cloth from the white face of the man that I had worshipped asan idol--looked upon as a demi-god. Notwithstanding the violence of thedeath of the President, there was something beautiful as well as grandlysolemn in the expression of the placid face. There lurked the sweetnessand gentleness of childhood, and the stately grandeur of godlikeintellect. I gazed long at the face, and turned away with tears in myeyes and a choking sensation in my throat. Ah! never was man so widelymourned before. The whole world bowed their heads in grief when AbrahamLincoln died. 

Returning to Mrs. Lincoln's room, I found her in a new paroxysm ofgrief. Robert was bending over his mother with tender affection, andlittle Tad was crouched at the foot of the bed with a world of agony inhis young face. I shall never forget the scene--the wails of a brokenheart, the unearthly shrieks, the terrible convulsions, the wild, tempestuous outbursts of grief from the soul. I bathed Mrs. Lincoln'shead with cold water, and soothed the terrible tornado as best I could. Tad's grief at his father's death was as great as the grief of hismother, but her terrible outbursts awed the boy into silence. Sometimeshe would throw his arms around her neck, and exclaim, between his brokensobs, "Don't cry so, Mamma! don't cry, or you will make me cry, too! Youwill break my heart. "

Mrs. Lincoln could not bear to hear Tad cry, and when he would plead toher not to break his heart, she would calm herself with a great effort, and clasp her child in her arms. 

Every room in the White House was darkened, and every one spoke insubdued tones, and moved about with muffled tread. The very atmospherebreathed of the great sorrow which weighed heavily upon each heart. Mrs. Lincoln never left her room, and while the body of her husband was beingborne in solemn state from the Atlantic to the broad prairies of theWest, she was weeping with her fatherless children in her privatechamber. She denied admittance to almost every one, and I was her onlycompanion, except her children, in the days of her great sorrow. 

There were many surmises as to who was implicated with J. Wilkes Boothin the assassination of the President. A new messenger had accompaniedMr. And Mrs. Lincoln to the theatre on that terrible Friday night. Itwas the duty of this messenger to stand at the door of the box duringthe performance, and thus guard the inmates from all intrusion. Itappears that the messenger was carried away by the play, and soneglected his duty that Booth gained easy admission to the box. Mrs. Lincoln firmly believed that this messenger was implicated in theassassination plot. 

One night I was lying on a lounge near the bed occupied by Mrs. Lincoln. One of the servants entering the room, Mrs. L. Asked:

"Who is on watch to-night?"

"The new messenger, " was the reply. 

"What! the man who attended us to the theatre on the night my dear, goodhusband was murdered! He, I believe, is one of the murderers. Tell himto come in to me. "

The messenger had overheard Mrs. Lincoln's words through the half-opendoor, and when he came in he was trembling violently. 

She turned to him fiercely: "So you are on guard to-night--on guard inthe White House after helping to murder the President!"

"Pardon me, but I did not help to murder the President. I could neverstoop to murder--much less to the murder of so good and great a man asthe President. "

"But it appears that you _did_ stoop to murder. "

"No, no! don't say that, " he broke in. "God knows that I am innocent. "

"I don't believe you. Why were you not at the door to keep the assassinout when he rushed into the box?"

"I did wrong, I admit, and I have bitterly repented it, but I did nothelp to kill the President. I did not believe that any one would try tokill so good a man in such a public place, and the belief made mecareless. I was attracted by the play, and did not see the assassinenter the box. "

"But you should have seen him. You had no business to be careless. Ishall always believe that you are guilty. Hush! I shan't hear anotherword, " she exclaimed, as the messenger essayed to reply. "Go now andkeep your watch, " she added, with an imperious wave of her hand. Withmechanical step and white face the messenger left the room, and Mrs. Lincoln fell back on her pillow, covered her face with her hands, andcommenced sobbing. 

Robert was very tender to his mother in the days of her sorrow. 

He suffered deeply, as his haggard face indicated, but he was ever manlyand collected when in the presence of his mother. Mrs. Lincoln wasextremely nervous, and she refused to have anybody about her but myself. Many ladies called, but she received none of them. Had she been lesssecluded in her grief, perhaps she would have had many warmer friendsto-day than she has. But far be it from me to harshly judge the sorrowof any one. Could the ladies who called to condole with Mrs. Lincoln, after the death of her husband, and who were denied admittance to herchamber, have seen how completely prostrated she was with grief, theywould have learned to speak more kindly of her. Often at night, when Tadwould hear her sobbing, he would get up, and come to her bed in hiswhite sleeping-clothes: "Don't cry, Mamma; I cannot sleep if you cry!Papa was good, and he has gone to heaven. He is happy there. He is withGod and brother Willie. Don't cry, Mamma, or I will cry too. "

The closing appeal always proved the most effectual, as Mrs. Lincolncould not bear to hear her child cry. 

Tad had been petted by his father, but petting could not spoil such amanly nature as his. He seemed to realize that he was the son of aPresident--to realize it in its loftiest and noblest sense. One morning, while being dressed, he looked up at his nurse, and said: "Pa is dead. I can hardly believe that I shall never see him again. I must learn totake care of myself now. " He looked thoughtful a moment, then added, "Yes, Pa is dead, and I am only Tad Lincoln now, little Tad, like otherlittle boys. I am not a President's son now. I won't have many presentsany more. Well, I will try and be a good boy, and will hope to go someday to Pa and brother Willie, in heaven. " He was a brave, manly child, and knew that influence had passed out of their hands with the death ofhis father, and that his position in life was altered. He seemed to feelthat people petted him, and gave him presents, because they wanted toplease the President of the United States. From that period forward hebecame more independent, and in a short time learned to dispense withthe services of a nurse. While in Chicago, I saw him get out his clothesone Sunday morning and dress himself, and the change was such a greatone to me--for while in the White House, servants obeyed his every nodand bid--that I could scarcely refrain from shedding tears. Had hisfather lived, I knew it would have been different with his favorite boy. Tad roomed with Robert, and he always took pride in pleasing hisbrother. 

After the Committee had started West with the body of the President, there was quite a breeze of excitement for a few days as to where theremains should be interred. Secretary Stanton and others held frequentconferences with Robert, Mr. Todd, Mrs. Lincoln's cousin, and Dr. Henry, an old schoolmate and friend of Mr. Lincoln. The city authorities ofSpringfield had purchased a beautiful plat of ground in a prosperousportion of the city, and work was rapidly progressing on the tomb, whenMrs. Lincoln made strenuous objection to the location. She declared thatshe would stop the body in Chicago before it should be laid to rest inthe lot purchased for the purpose by the City of Springfield. She gaveas a reason, that it was her desire to be laid by the side of herhusband when she died, and that such would be out of the question in apublic place of the kind. As is well known, the difficulty was finallysettled by placing the remains of the President in the family vault atOak Ridge, a charming spot for the home of the dead. 

After the President's funeral Mrs. Lincoln rallied, and began to makepreparations to leave the White House. One day she suddenly exclaimed:"God, Elizabeth, what a change! Did ever woman have to suffer so muchand experience so great a change? I had an ambition to be Mrs. President; that ambition has been gratified, and now I must step downfrom the pedestal. My poor husband! had he never been President, hemight be living to-day. Alas! all is over with me!"

Folding her arms for a few moments, she rocked back and forth, thencommenced again, more vehemently than ever: "My God, Elizabeth, I cannever go back to Springfield! no, never, until I go in my shroud to belaid by my dear husband's side, and may Heaven speed that day! I shouldlike to live for my sons, but life is so full of misery that I wouldrather die. " And then she would go off into a fit of hysterics. 

CHAPTER XII

MRS. LINCOLN LEAVES THE WHITE HOUSE

For five weeks Mrs. Lincoln was confined to her room. Packing affordedquite a relief, as it so closely occupied us that we had not much timefor lamentation. 

Letters of condolence were received from all parts of the country, andeven from foreign potentates, but Mr. Andrew Johnson, the successor ofMr. Lincoln, never called on the widow, or even so much as wrote a lineexpressing sympathy for her grief and the loss of her husband. Robertcalled on him one day to tell him that his mother would turn the WhiteHouse over to him in a few days, and he never even so much as inquiredafter their welfare. Mrs. Lincoln firmly believes that Mr. Johnson wasconcerned in the assassination plot. 

In packing, Mrs. Lincoln gave away everything intimately connected withthe President, as she said that she could not bear to be reminded of thepast. The articles were given to those who were regarded as the warmestof Mr. Lincoln's admirers. All of the presents passed through my hands. The dress that Mrs. Lincoln wore on the night of the assassination wasgiven to Mrs. Slade, the wife of an old and faithful messenger. Thecloak, stained with the President's blood, was given to me, as also wasthe bonnet worn on the same memorable night. Afterwards I received thecomb and brush that Mr. Lincoln used during his residence at the WhiteHouse. With this same comb and brush I had often combed his head. Whenalmost ready to go down to a reception, he would turn to me with aquizzical look: "Well, Madam Elizabeth, will you brush my bristles downto-night?"

"Yes, Mr. Lincoln. "

Then he would take his seat in an easy-chair, and sit quietly while Iarranged his hair. As may well be imagined, I was only too glad toaccept this comb and brush from the hands of Mrs. Lincoln. The cloak, bonnet, comb, and brush, the glove worn at the first reception after thesecond inaugural, and Mr. Lincoln's over-shoes, also given to me, I havesince donated for the benefit of Wilberforce University, a coloredcollege near Xenia, Ohio, destroyed by fire on the night that thePresident was murdered. 

There was much surmise, when Mrs. Lincoln left the White House, what herfifty or sixty boxes, not to count her score of trunks, could contain. Had the government not been so liberal in furnishing the boxes, it ispossible that there would have been less demand for so muchtransportation. The boxes were loosely packed, and many of them witharticles not worth carrying away. Mrs. Lincoln had a passion forhoarding old things, believing, with Toodles, that they were "handy tohave about the house. "

The bonnets that she brought with her from Springfield, in addition toevery one purchased during her residence in Washington, were packed inthe boxes, and transported to Chicago. She remarked that she might finduse for the material some day, and it was prudent to look to the future. I am sorry to say that Mrs. Lincoln's foresight in regard to the futurewas only confined to cast-off clothing, as she owed, at the time of thePresident's death, different store bills amounting to seventy thousanddollars. Mr. Lincoln knew nothing of these bills, and the only happyfeature of his assassination was that he died in ignorance of them. Hadhe known to what extent his wife was involved, the fact would haveembittered the only pleasant moments of his life. I disclose this secretin regard to Mrs. Lincoln's debts, in order to explain why she shouldsubsequently have labored under pecuniary embarrassment. The children, as well as herself, had received a vast number of presents during Mr. Lincoln's administration, and these presents constituted a large item inthe contents of the boxes. The only article of furniture, so far as Iknow, taken away from the White House by Mrs. Lincoln, was a littledressing-stand used by the President. I recollect hearing him say oneday:

"Mother, this little stand is so handy, and suits me so well, that I donot know how I shall get along without it when we move away from here. "He was standing before a mirror, brushing his hair, when he made theremark. 

"Well, father, " Mrs. Lincoln replied, "if you like the stand so well, wewill take it with us when we go away. "

"Not for the world, " he exclaimed; but she interrupted him:

"I should like to know what difference it makes if we put a better onein its place. "

"That alters the question. If you will put a stand in its place worthtwice as much as this one, and the Commissioner consents, then I have noobjection. "

Mrs. Lincoln remembered these words, and, with the consent of theCommissioner, took the stand to Chicago with her for the benefit oflittle Tad. Another stand, I must not forget to add, was put in itsplace. 

It is charged that a great deal of furniture was lost from the WhiteHouse during Mr. Lincoln's occupation of it. Very true, and it can beaccounted for in this way: In some respects, to put the case veryplainly, Mrs. Lincoln was "penny wise and pound foolish. " When she movedinto the White House, she discharged the Steward, whose business it wasto look after the affairs of the household. When the Steward wasdismissed, there was no one to superintend affairs, and the servantscarried away many pieces of furniture. In this manner the furniturerapidly disappeared. 

Robert was frequently in the room where the boxes were being packed, andhe tried without avail to influence his mother to set fire to her vaststores of old goods. "What are you going to do with that old dress, mother?" he would ask. 

"Never mind, Robert, I will find use for it. You do not understand thisbusiness. "

"And what is more, I hope I never may understand it. I wish to heaventhe car would take fire in which you place these boxes fortransportation to Chicago, and burn all of your old plunder up;" andthen, with an impatient gesture, he would turn on his heel and leave theroom. 

"Robert is so impetuous, " his mother would say to me, after the closingof the door. "He never thinks about the future. Well, I hope that hewill get over his boyish notions in time. "

Many of the articles that Mrs. Lincoln took away from the White Housewere given, after her arrival in Chicago, for the benefit of charityfairs. 

At last everything was packed, and the day for departure for the Westcame. I can never forget that day; it was so unlike the day when thebody of the President was borne from the hall in grand and solemn state. Then thousands gathered to bow the head in reverence as the plumedhearse drove down the line. There was all the pomp of militarydisplay--drooping flags, battalions with reversed arms, and bandsplaying dirge-like airs. Now, the wife of the President was leaving theWhite House, and there was scarcely a friend to tell her good-by. Shepassed down the public stairway, entered her carriage, and quietly droveto the depot where we took the cars. The silence was almost painful. 

It had been arranged that I should go to Chicago. When Mrs. Lincolnfirst suggested her plan, I strongly objected; but I had been with herso long, that she had acquired great power over me. 

"I cannot go West with you, Mrs. Lincoln, " I said, when the idea wasfirst advanced. 

"But you must go to Chicago with me, Elizabeth; I cannot do withoutyou. "

"You forget my business, Mrs. Lincoln. I cannot leave it. Just now Ihave the spring trousseau to make for Mrs. Douglas, and I have promisedto have it done in less than a week. "

"Never mind. Mrs. Douglas can get some one else to make her trousseau. You may find it to your interest to go. I am very poor now, but ifCongress makes an appropriation for my benefit, you shall be wellrewarded. "

"It is not the reward, but--" I commenced, by way of reply, but shestopped me:

"Now don't say another word about it, if you do not wish to distress me. I have determined that you shall go to Chicago with me, and you _must_go. "

When Mrs. Douglas learned that Mrs. Lincoln wished me to accompany herWest, she sent me word:

"Never mind me. Do all you can for Mrs. Lincoln. My heart's sympathy iswith her. "

Finding that no excuse would be accepted, I made preparations to go toChicago with Mrs. L. 

The green car had specially been chartered for us, and in this we wereconveyed to the West. Dr. Henry accompanied us, and he was remarkablyattentive and kind. The first night out, Mrs. Lincoln had a severeheadache; and while I was bathing her temples, she said to me:

"Lizabeth, you are my best and kindest friend, and I love you as my bestfriend. I wish it were in my power to make you comfortable for thebalance of your days. If Congress provides for me, depend upon it, Iwill provide for you. "

The trip was devoid of interest. We arrived in Chicago without accidentor delay, and apartments were secured for us at the Tremont House, wherewe remained one week. At the expiration of this time Mrs. Lincolndecided that living at the hotel was attended with too much expense, soit was arranged that we should go to the country. Rooms were selected atHyde Park, a summer resort. 

Robert and Tad accompanied their mother to Hyde Park. We arrived about 3o'clock in the afternoon of Saturday. The place had just been opened thesummer before, and there was a newness about everything. Theaccommodations were not first-class, the rooms being small and plainlyfurnished. It was a lively day for us all. Robert occupied himselfunpacking his books, and arranging them on the shelves in the corner ofhis small but neat room. I assisted him, he talking pleasantly all thewhile. When we were through, he folded his arms, stood off a littledistance from the mantel, with an abstracted look as if he were thinkingof the great change in his fortunes--contrasting the present with thepast. Turning to me, he asked: "Well, Mrs. Keckley, how do you like ournew quarters?"

"This is a delightful place, and I think you will pass your timepleasantly, " I answered. 

He looked at me with a quizzical smile, then remarked: "You call it adelightful place! Well, perhaps it is. Since you do not have to stayhere, you can safely say as much about the charming situation as youplease. I presume that I must put up with it, as mother's pleasure mustbe consulted before my own. But candidly, I would almost as soon bedead as be compelled to remain three months in this dreary house. "

He seemed to feel what he said, and going to the window, he looked outupon the view with moody countenance. I passed into Mrs. Lincoln's room, and found her lying upon the bed, sobbing as if her heart would break. 

"What a dreary place, Lizzie! And to think that I should be compelled tolive here, because I have not the means to live elsewhere. Ah! what asad change has come to us all. " I had listened to her sobbing for eightweeks, therefore I was never surprised to find her in tears. Tad was theonly cheerful one of the party. He was a child of sunshine, and nothingseemed to dampen the ardor of his spirits. 

Sunday was a very quiet day. I looked out of my window in the morning, upon the beautiful lake that formed one of the most delightful viewsfrom the house. The wind was just strong enough to ripple the broadbosom of the water, and each ripple caught a jewel from the sunshine, and threw it sparkling up towards the sky. Here and there a sail-boatsilently glided into view, or sank below the faint blue line that markedthe horizon--glided and melted away like the spectral shadows thatsometimes haunt the white snow-fields in the cold, tranquil light of awinter's moon. As I stood by my window that morning, looking out uponthe lake, my thoughts were etherealized--the reflected sunbeamssuggested visions of crowns studded with the jewels of eternal life, andI wondered how any one could call Hyde Park a dreary place. I had seenso much trouble in my life, that I was willing to fold my arms and sinkinto a passive slumber--slumber anywhere, so the great longing of thesoul was gratified--rest. 

Robert spent the day in his room with his books, while I remained inMrs. Lincoln's room, talking with her, contrasting the present with thepast, and drawing plans for the future. She held no communication, byletter or otherwise, with any of her relatives or old friends, sayingthat she wished to lead a secluded life for the summer. Old faces, sheclaimed, would only bring back memories of scenes that she desired toforget; and new faces, she felt assured, could not sympathize with herdistress, or add to the comforts of her situation. 

On Monday morning, Robert was getting ready to ride into Chicago, asbusiness called him to the city. 

"Where you goin', brother Bob?"--Tad generally called Robert, brotherBob. 

"Only into town!" was the brief reply. 

"Mayn't I go with you?"

"Ask mother. I think that she will say no. "

Just then Mrs. Lincoln came in, and Tad ran to her, with the eagerquestion:

"Oh, Ma! can't I go to town with brother Bob? I want to go so badly. "

"Go to town! No; you must stay and keep me company. Besides, I havedetermined that you shall get a lesson every day, and I am going tocommence to-day with you. "

"I don't want to get a lesson--I won't get a lesson, " broke in theimpetuous boy. "I don't want to learn my book; I want to go to town!"

"I suppose you want to grow up to be a great dunce. Hush, Tad; you shallnot go to town until you have said a lesson;" and the mother lookedresolute. 

"May I go after I learn my book?" was the next question. 

"Yes; if Robert will wait for you. "

"Oh, Bob will wait; won't you, Bob?"

"No, I cannot wait; but the landlord is going in this afternoon, and youcan go with him. You must do as mother tells you, Tad. You are gettingto be a big boy now, and must start to school next fall; and you wouldnot like to go to school without knowing how to read. "

"Where's my book, Ma? Get my book quick. I will say my lesson, " and hejumped about the room, boisterously, boy-like. 

"Be quiet, Tad. Here is your book, and we will now begin the firstlesson, " said his mother, as she seated herself in an easy-chair. 

Tad had always been much humored by his parents, especially by hisfather. He suffered from a slight impediment in his speech, and hadnever been made to go to school; consequently his book knowledge wasvery limited. I knew that his education had been neglected, but had noidea he was so deficient as the first lesson at Hyde Park proved him tobe. 

Drawing a low chair to his mother's side, he opened his book, and beganto slowly spell the first word, "A-P-E. "

"Well, what does A-p-e spell?"

"Monkey, " was the instant rejoinder. The word was illustrated by a smallwood-cut of an ape, which looked to Tad's eyes very much like a monkey;and his pronunciation was guided by the picture, and not by the soundsof the different letters. 

"Nonsense!" exclaimed his mother. "A-p-e does not spell monkey. "

"Does spell monkey! Isn't that a monkey?" and Tad pointed triumphantlyto the picture. 

"No, it is not a monkey. "

"Not a monkey! what is it, then?"

"An ape. "

"An ape! 'taint an ape. Don't I know a monkey when I see it?"

"No, if you say that is a monkey. "

"I do know a monkey. I've seen lots of them in the street with theorgans. I know a monkey better than you do, 'cause I always go out intothe street to see them when they come by, and you don't. "

"But, Tad, listen to me. An ape is a species of the monkey. It lookslike a monkey, but it is not a monkey. "

"It shouldn't look like a monkey, then. Here, Yib"--he always called meYib--"isn't this a monkey, and don't A-p-e spell monkey? Ma don't knowanything about it;" and he thrust his book into my face in an earnest, excited manner. 

I could not longer restrain myself, and burst out laughing. Tad lookedvery much offended, and I hastened to say: "I beg your pardon, MasterTad; I hope that you will excuse my want of politeness. "

He bowed his head in a patronizing way, and returned to the originalquestion: "Isn't this a monkey? Don't A-p-e spell monkey?"

"No, Tad; your mother is right. A-p-e spells ape. "

"You don't know as much as Ma. Both of you don't know anything;" andMaster Tad's eyes flashed with indignation. 

Robert entered the room, and the question was referred to him. Aftermany explanations, he succeeded in convincing Tad that A-p-e does notspell monkey, and the balance of the lesson was got over with lessdifficulty. 

Whenever I think of this incident I am tempted to laugh; and then itoccurs to me that had Tad been a negro boy, not the son of a President, and so difficult to instruct, he would have been called thick-skulled, and would have been held up as an example of the inferiority of race. Iknow many full negro boys, able to read and write, who are not olderthan Tad Lincoln was when he persisted that A-p-e spelt monkey. Do notimagine that I desire to reflect upon the intellect of little Tad. Notat all; he is a bright boy, a son that will do honor to the genius andgreatness of his father; I only mean to say that some incidents areabout as damaging to one side of the question as to the other. If acolored boy appears dull, so does a white boy sometimes; and if a wholerace is judged by a single example of apparent dulness, another raceshould be judged by a similar example. 

I returned to Washington, with Mrs. Lincoln's best wishes for my successin business. The journey was devoid of incident. After resting a fewdays, I called at the White House, and transacted some business for Mrs. Lincoln. I had no desire to enter the house, for everything about itbitterly reminded me of the past; and when I came out of the door, Ihoped that I had crossed the threshold for the last time. I was asked bysome of my friends if I had sent my business cards to Mr. Johnson'sfamily, and my answer was that I had not, as I had no desire to work forthe President's family. Mr. Johnson was no friend to Mr. Lincoln, and hehad failed to treat Mrs. Lincoln, in the hour of her greatest sorrow, with even common courtesy. 

Having promised to make a spring trousseau for Mrs. Senator Douglas assoon as I should return from Chicago, I called on her to meet theengagement. She appeared pleased to see me, and in greeting me, asked, with evident surprise:

"Why, Keckley"--she always called me Keckley--"is this you? I did notknow you were coming back. It was reported that you designed remainingwith Mrs. Lincoln all summer. "

"Mrs. Lincoln would have been glad to have kept me with her had she beenable. "

"Able! What do you mean by that?"

"Simply this: Already she is laboring under pecuniary embarrassment, andwas only able to pay my expenses, and allow me nothing for my time. "

"You surprise me. I thought she was left in good circumstances. "

"So many think, it appears. Mrs. Lincoln, I assure you, is nowpractising the closest economy. I must do something for myself, Mrs. Douglas, so I have come back to Washington to open my shop. "

The next day I collected my assistants, and my business went on asusual. Orders came in more rapidly than I could fill them. One day, inthe middle of the month of June, the girl who was attending the doorcame into the cutting-room, where I was hard at work:

"Mrs. Keckley, there is a lady below, who wants to see you. "

"Who is she?"

"I don't know. I did not learn her name. "

"Is her face familiar? Does she look like a regular customer?"

"No, she is a stranger. I don't think she was ever here before. She camein an open carriage, with a black woman for an attendant. "

"It may be the wife of one of Johnson's new secretaries. Do go down, Mrs. Keckley, " exclaimed my work-girls in a chorus. I went below, and onentering the parlor, a plainly dressed lady rose to her feet, and asked:

"Is this the dressmaker?"

"Yes, I am a dressmaker. "

"Mrs. Keckley?"

"Yes. "

"Mrs. Lincoln's former dressmaker, were you not?"

"Yes, I worked for Mrs. Lincoln. "

"Are you very busy now?"

"Very, indeed. "

"Can you do anything for me?"

"That depends upon what is to be done, and when it is to be done. "

"Well, say one dress now, and several others a few weeks later. "

"I can make one dress for you now, but no more. I cannot finish the onefor you in less than three weeks. "

"That will answer. I am Mrs. Patterson, the daughter of PresidentJohnson. I expect my sister, Mrs. Stover, here in three weeks, and thedress is for her. We are both the same size, and you can fit the dressto me. "

The terms were satisfactorily arranged, and after measuring Mrs. Patterson, she bade me good morning, entered her carriage, and droveaway. 

When I went up-stairs into the work-room, the girls were anxious tolearn who my visitor was. 

"It was Mrs. Patterson, the daughter of President Johnson, " I answered, in response to several questions. 

"What! the daughter of our good Moses. Are you going to work for her?"

"I have taken her order. "

"I fear that Johnson will prove a poor Moses, and I would not work forany of the family, " remarked one of the girls. None of them appeared tolike Mr. Lincoln's successor. 

I finished the dress for Mrs. Patterson, and it gave satisfaction. Iafterwards learned that both Mrs. Patterson and Mrs. Stover werekindhearted, plain, unassuming women, making no pretensions to elegance. One day when I called at the White House, in relation to some work thatI was doing for them, I found Mrs. Patterson busily at work with asewing-machine. The sight was a novel one to me for the White House, foras long as I remained with Mrs. Lincoln, I do not recollect ever havingseen her with a needle in her hand. The last work done for the Johnsonsby me were two dresses, one for each of the sisters. Mrs. Pattersonsubsequently wrote me a note, requesting me to cut and fit a dress forher; to which I replied that I never cut and fitted work to be made upoutside of my work-room. This brought our business relations to anabrupt end. 

The months passed, and my business prospered. I continually receivedletters from Mrs. Lincoln, and as the anniversary of her husband's deathapproached, she wrote in a sadder strain. Before I left Chicago she hadexacted the promise that should Congress make an appropriation for herbenefit, I must join her in the West, and go with her to visit the tombof the President for the first time. The appropriation was made one ofthe conditions of my visit, for without relief from Congress she wouldbe unable to bear my expenses. The appropriation was not made; and so Iwas unable to join Mrs. Lincoln at the appointed time. She wrote me thather plan was to leave Chicago in the morning with Tad, reach Springfieldat night, stop at one of the hotels, drive out to Oak Ridge the nextday, and take the train for Chicago the same evening, thus avoiding ameeting with any of her old friends. This plan, as she afterwards wroteme, was carried out. When the second anniversary approached, PresidentJohnson and party were "swinging round the circle, " and as they were tovisit Chicago, she was especially anxious to be away from the city whenthey should arrive; accordingly she hurried off to Springfield, andspent the time in weeping over the tomb where repose the hallowed ashesof her husband. 

During all this time I was asked many questions about Mrs. Lincoln, someprompted by friendship, but a greater number by curiosity; but my briefanswers, I fear, were not always accepted as the most satisfactory. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE ORIGIN OF THE RIVALRY BETWEEN MR. DOUGLAS AND MR. LINCOLN

Mrs. Lincoln from her girlhood up had an ambition to become the wife ofa President. When a little girl, as I was told by one of her sisters, she was disposed to be a little noisy at times, and was self-willed. Oneday she was romping about the room, making more noise than the nerves ofher grandmother could stand. The old lady looked over her spectacles, and said, in a commanding tone:

"Sit down, Mary. Do be quiet. What on earth do you suppose will becomeof you if you go on this way?"

"Oh, I will be the wife of a President some day, " carelessly answeredthe petted child. 

Mrs. Lincoln, as Miss Mary Todd, was quite a belle in Springfield, Illinois, and from all accounts she was fond of flirting. She generallymanaged to keep a half-dozen gentlemen biting at the hook that shebaited so temptingly for them. The world, if I mistake not, are notaware that the rivalry between Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Stephen A. Douglascommenced over the hand of Miss Mary Todd. The young lady was ambitious, and she smiled more sweetly upon Mr. Douglas and Mr. Lincoln than any ofher other admirers, as they were regarded as rising men. She played herpart so well that neither of the rivals for a long time could tell whowould win the day. Mr. Douglas first proposed for her hand, and shediscarded him. The young man urged his suit boldly:

"Mary, you do not know what you are refusing. You have always had anambition to become the wife of a President of the United States. Pardonthe egotism, but I fear that in refusing my hand to-night you havethrown away your best chance to ever rule in the White House. "

"I do not understand you, Mr. Douglas. "

"Then I will speak more plainly. You know, Mary, that I am ambitiouslike yourself, and something seems to whisper in my ear, 'You will bePresident some day. ' Depend upon it, I shall make a stubborn fight towin the proud position. "

"You have my best wishes, Mr. Douglas; still I cannot consent to be yourwife. I shall become Mrs. President, or I am the victim of falseprophets, but it will not be as Mrs. Douglas. "

I have this little chapter in a romantic history from the lips of Mrs. Lincoln herself. 

At one of the receptions at the White House, shortly after the firstinauguration, Mrs. Lincoln joined in the promenade with Senator Douglas. He was holding a bouquet that had been presented to her, and as theymoved along he said:

"Mary, it reminds me of old times to have you lean upon my arm. "

"You refer to the days of our youth. I must do you the credit, Mr. Douglas, to say, that you were a gallant beau. "

"Not only a beau, but a lover. Do you remember the night our flirtationwas brought to an end?"

"Distinctly. You now see that I was right. I am Mrs. President, but notMrs. Douglas. "

"True, you have reached the goal before me, but I do not despair. Mrs. Douglas--a nobler woman does not live--if I am spared, may possiblysucceed you as Mrs. President. "

A few evenings after Mr. Douglas had been discarded, Mr. Lincoln made aformal proposal for the hand of Miss Todd, but it appears that the younglady was not willing to capitulate at once. She believed that she couldsend her lover adrift to-day and win him back to-morrow. 

"You are bold, Mr. Lincoln. "

"Love makes me bold. "

"You honor me, pardon me, but I cannot consent to be your wife. "

"Is this your final answer, Miss Todd?" and the suitor rose nervously tohis feet. 

"I do not often jest, Mr. Lincoln. Why should I reconsider to-morrow mydecision of to-day. "

"Excuse me. Your answer is sufficient. I was led to hope that I mightbecome dearer to you than a friend, but the hope, it seems, has provedan idle one. I have the honor to say good night, Miss Todd, " and pale, yet calm, Mr. Lincoln bowed himself out of the room. 

He rushed to his office in a frantic state of mind. Dr. Henry, his mostintimate friend, happened to come in, and was surprised to see the younglawyer walking the floor in an agitated manner. 

"What is the matter, Lincoln? You look desperate. "

"Matter! I am sick of the world. It is a heartless, deceitful world, andI care not how soon I am out of it. "

"You rave. What has happened? Have you been quarrelling with yoursweetheart?"

"Quarrel! I wish to God it was a quarrel, for then I could look forwardto reconciliation; the girl has refused to become my wife, after leadingme to believe that she loved me. She is a heartless coquette. "

"Don't give up the conquest so easily. Cheer up, man, you may succeedyet. Perhaps she is only testing your love. "

"No! I believe that she is going to marry Douglas. If she does I willblow my brains out. "

"Nonsense! That would not mend matters. Your brains were given to youfor different use. Come, we will go to your room now. Go to bed andsleep on the question, and you will get up feeling stronger to-morrow;"and Dr. Henry took the arm of his friend Lincoln, led him home, and sawhim safely in bed. 

The next morning the doctor called at Mr. Lincoln's room, and found thathis friend had passed a restless night. Excitement had brought on fever, which threatened to assume a violent form, as the cause of theexcitement still remained. Several days passed, and Mr. Lincoln wasconfined to his bed. Dr. Henry at once determined to call on Miss Todd, and find out how desperate the case was. Miss Todd was glad to see him, and she was deeply distressed to learn that Mr. Lincoln was ill. Shewished to go to him at once, but the Doctor reminded her that she wasthe cause of his illness. She frankly acknowledged her folly, sayingthat she only desired to test the sincerity of Mr. Lincoln's love, thathe was the idol of her heart, and that she would become his wife. 

The Doctor returned with joyful news to his patient. The intelligenceproved the best remedy for the disease. Mutual explanations followed, and in a few months Mr. Lincoln led Miss Todd to the altar in triumph. 

I learned these facts from Dr. Henry and Mrs. Lincoln. I believe them tobe facts, and as such have recorded them. They do not agree with Mr. Herndon's story, that Mr. Lincoln never loved but one woman, and thatwoman was Ann Rutledge; but then Mr. Herndon's story must be looked uponas a pleasant piece of fiction. When it appeared, Mrs. Lincoln feltshocked that one who pretended to be the friend of her dead husbandshould deliberately seek to blacken his memory. Mr. Lincoln was far toohonest a man to marry a woman that he did not love. He was a kind and anindulgent husband, and when he saw faults in his wife he excused them ashe would excuse the impulsive acts of a child. In fact, Mrs. Lincoln wasnever more pleased than when the President called her his child-wife. 

Before closing this rambling chapter I desire to refer to anotherincident. 

After the death of my son, Miss Mary Welsh, a dear friend, one of my oldSt. Louis patrons, called to see me, and on broaching the cause of mygrief, she condoled with me. She knew that I had looked forward to theday when my son would be a support to me--knew that he was to become theprop and main-stay of my old age, and knowing this, she advised me toapply for a pension. I disliked the idea very much, and told herso--told her that I did not want to make money out of his death. Sheexplained away all of my objections--argued that Congress had made anappropriation for the specific purpose of giving a pension to everywidow who should lose an only son in the war, and insisted that I shouldhave my rights. She was so enthusiastic in the matter that she went tosee Hon. Owen Lovejoy, then a member of the House from Illinois, andlaid my case before him. Mr. Lovejoy was very kind, and said as I wasentitled to the pension, I should have it, even if he had to bring thesubject before Congress. I did not desire public agitation, and Mr. Lovejoy prepared my claim and laid it before the Commissioners. In themeantime he left Washington, and Mr. Joseph Lovejoy, his brother, prosecuted the claim for me, and finally succeeded in securing me apension of eight dollars per month. Mr. Joseph Lovejoy was inclined tothe Democratic party, and he pressed my claim with great earnestness; hehoped that the claim would not be allowed, as he said the rejection ofit would make capital for his party. Nevertheless the pension wasgranted, and I am none the less thankful to Mr. Joseph Lovejoy for hiskindness to me, and interest in my welfare. 

CHAPTER XIV

OLD FRIENDS

In order to introduce a pleasant chapter of my life, I must take aslight retrospective glance. Mrs. Ann[e] Garland, the mistress from whomI purchased my freedom in St. Louis, had five daughters, all lovely, attractive girls. I used to take pride in dressing the two eldest, MissMary and Miss Carrie, for parties. Though the family labored underpecuniary embarrassment, I worked for these two young girls, and theywere always able to present a good appearance in society. They were muchadmired, and both made the best matches of the season. Miss Mary marriedDr. Pappan, and Miss Carrie, Dr. John Farrow. I loved them bothtenderly, and they were warmly attached to me. Both are now dead, andwhen the death-film was gathering in the eyes, each called for me andasked to die in my arms. Miss Carrie did not long survive her sister, and I wept many tears over the death-beds of the two lovely flowers thathad blossomed so sweetly beneath my eyes. Each breathed her last in thearms that had sheltered them so often in the bright rosy period of life. My mother took care of my son, and Miss Nannie Garland, the fourthdaughter, when a wee thing, became my especial charge. She slept in mybed, and I watched over her as if she had been my own child. She calledme Yiddie, and I could not have loved her more tenderly had she been thesister of my unfortunate boy. She was about twelve years old when Ipurchased my freedom, and resigned my charge to other hands. After Mr. Garland's death, the widow moved to Vicksburg, Mississippi, and I lostsight of the family for a few years. My mother accompanied them toVicksburg, where she died. I made two visits to Vicksburg as a freewoman, the object of my second visit being to look after the feweffects left by my mother. As I did not visit my mother's grave at thetime, the Garlands were much surprised, but I offered no explanation. The reason is not difficult to understand. My mother was buried in apublic ground, and the marks of her grave, as I learned, were so obscurethat the spot could not be readily designated. To look upon a grave, andnot feel certain whose ashes repose beneath the sod, is painful, and thedoubt which mystifies you, weakens the force, if not the purity, of thelove-offering from the heart. Memory preserved a sunny picture of mymother's face, and I did not wish to weave sombre threads--threadssuggestive of a deserted grave-yard--into it, and thus impair itsbeauty. After spending a few weeks with the family, I returned to St. Louis, and then came North. The war broke out, and I lost all trace ofthe Garlands. Often, during my residence in Washington, I recalled thepast, and wondered what had become of those who claimed my first dutyand my first love. When I would mention their names and express interestin their welfare, my Northern friends would roll up their eyes insurprise. 

"Why, Lizzie, how can you have a kind thought for those who inflicted aterrible wrong upon you by keeping you in bondage?" they would ask. 

"You forget the past is dear to every one, for to the past belongs thatgolden period, the days of childhood. The past is a mirror that reflectsthe chief incidents of my life. To surrender it is to surrender thegreatest part of my existence--early impressions, friends, and thegraves of my father, my mother, and my son. These people are associatedwith everything that memory holds dear, and so long as memory provesfaithful, it is but natural that I should sigh to see them once more. "

"But they have forgotten you. They are too selfish to give a singlethought to you, now that you no longer are their slave. "

"Perhaps so, but I cannot believe it. You do not know the Southernpeople as well as I do--how warm is the attachment between master andslave. "

My Northern friends could not understand the feeling, thereforeexplanation was next to useless. They would listen with impatience, andremark at the close, with a shrug of the shoulders, "You have somestrange notions, Lizzie. "

In the fall of 1865 a lady called on me at my apartments in Washington. Her face looked familiar, but I could not place her. When I entered theroom, she came towards me eagerly:

"You are surprised to see me, I know. I am just from Lynchburg, and whenI left cousin Ann[e] I promised to call and see you if I came toWashington. I am here, you see, according to promise. "

I was more bewildered than ever. 

"Cousin Ann[e]! Pardon me--"

"Oh, I see you do not recognize me. I am Mrs. General Longstreet, butyou knew me when a girl as Bettie Garland. "

"Bettie Garland! And is this indeed you? I am so glad to see you. Wheredoes Miss Ann[e] live now?" I always called my last mistress, MissAnn[e]. 

"Ah! I thought you could not forget old friends. Cousin Ann[e] is livingin Lynchburg. All the family are in Virginia. They moved to the oldState during the war. Fannie is dead. Nannie has grown into a woman andis married to General Meem. Hugh was killed in the war, and now onlySpot, Maggie, and Nannie are left. "

"Fannie, dead! and poor Hugh! You bring sad news as well as pleasant. And so my little pet is married? I can hardly believe it; she was only achild when I saw her last. "

"Yes, Nannie is married to a noble man. General Meem belongs to one ofthe best families in Virginia. They are now living at Rude's Hill, upbeyond Winchester, in the Shenandoah Valley. All of them want to see youvery badly. "

"I should be delighted to go to them. Miss Bettie, I can hardly realizethat you are the wife of General Longstreet; and just think, you are nowsitting in the very chair and the very room where Mrs. Lincoln has oftensat!"

She laughed: "The change is a great one, Lizzie; we little dream to-daywhat to-morrow will bring forth. Well, we must take a philosophical viewof life. After fighting so long against the Yankees, General Longstreetis now in Washington, sueing for pardon, and we propose to live inpeace with the United States again. "

I had many questions to ask her about old friends, and the time passedrapidly. She greeted me with the frankness that she had always extendedto me, and I was transported to days of the long-ago. Her stay inWashington was brief, as the General arranged his business, and theyleft the capital the next day. 

Mrs. Longstreet gave me the Garlands' address, and I wrote to them, expressing the hope that I would be able to see them before long. Inreply came letters full of tender sympathy and affection. In the winterof 1865, Miss Nannie wrote to me that she had the best husband in theworld; that they designed going to housekeeping in the spring, and thatthey would be glad to have me make them a visit in July, 1866. She sentme a pressing invitation. "You must come to me, dear Lizzie, " she wrote. "We are now living at Rude's Hill. I am dying to see you. Ma, Maggie, Spot, and Minnie, sister Mary's child, are with me, and you only areneeded to make the circle complete. Come; I will not take no for ananswer. "

I was anxious to go myself, and when I received the urgent invitation Iconcluded to go at once, and I wrote them to expect me in August. On the10th of August I left Washington for Virginia, taking the train forHarper's Ferry. The journey was attended with several disappointments. We arrived at Harper's Ferry in the night, and being asleep at the time, I was carried to the station beyond, where I had to wait and take thereturn train. After returning to Harper's Ferry, where I changed carsfor Winchester, I missed the train, and was detained another day. FromWinchester the only way to reach Rude's Hill was by a line of stages. Wecommenced the weary drive in the evening, and rode all night. A younggentleman in the stage said that he knew General Meem well, and that hewould tell me when we reached the place. Relying upon him, I went tosleep, and it appears that the polite young gentleman followed myexample. About four o'clock in the morning one of the passengers shookme, and asked:

"Aunty, don't you want to get out at Rude's Hill?"

I started up, rubbing my eyes. "Yes. Are we there?"

"More than there. We have passed it. "

"Passed it!"

"Yes. It is six miles back. You should not sleep so soundly, Aunty. "

"Why _did_ you not tell me sooner? I am _so_ anxious to be there. "

"Fact is, I forgot it. Never mind. Get out at this village, and you canfind conveyance back. "

The village, New Market, was in a dilapidated condition; everythingabout it spoke plainly of the sad destruction of war. Getting out of thestage I went into a house, by courtesy named a hotel, where I obtained acup of coffee. 

"Is there no conveyance from here to Rude's Hill?" I asked. 

"Yes; the stage returns this evening, " answered the landlord. 

"This evening! I want to go as soon as possible. I should die if I hadto stay all day in this lonely place. "

A colored man behind the bar, seeing how earnest I was, came forward, and informed me that he would drive me over to General Meem's place inan hour. This was joyful news, and I urged him to get ready to start assoon as possible. 

While standing in the door of the hotel, impatiently waiting for mycolored friend to drive round with his little wagon, a fat old ladywaddled across the street and greeted me. 

"Ain't you Lizzie?"

"Yes, " I answered, surprised that she should know my name. 

"I thought so. They have been expecting you at Rude's Hill every day fortwo weeks, and they do but little but talk about you. Mrs. Meem was intown yesterday, and she said that she expected you this week certain. They will be mighty glad to see you. Why, will you believe it! theyactually have kept a light burning in the front window every night forten nights, in order that you might not go by the place should youarrive in the night. "

"Thank you. It is pleasant to know that I am expected. I fell asleep inthe stage, and failed to see the light, so am here instead of at Rude'sHill. "

Just then the colored man drove up with the wagon, and I got in withhim, and was soon on the road to General Meem's country-seat. 

As we drove up to Rude's Hill, I observed a young man standing in theyard, and believing it to be Spot, whom I had not seen for eight years, I beckoned to him. With an exclamation of joy, he came running towardsme. His movements attracted the attention of the family, and in a minutethe door was crowded with anxious, inquiring faces. "It is Lizzie! It isLizzie!" was the happy cry from all parties. In my eagerness to get tothem, I stepped from the wagon to the top of the stile, intending tomake a triumphant leap into the yard; but, alas! my exultation wasbrief. My hoop-skirt caught on one of the posts, and I fell sprawlinginto the yard. Spot reached me first and picked me up, only to put meinto the arms of Miss Nannie, her sister Maggie, and Mrs. Garland. Couldmy friends of the North have seen that meeting, they would never havedoubted again that the mistress had any affection for her former slave. I was carried to the house in triumph. In the parlor I was divested ofmy things, and placed in an easy-chair before a bright fire. Theservants looked on in amazement. 

"Lizzie, you are not changed a bit. You look as young as when you leftus in St. Louis, years ago, " and Mrs. Meem, my foster child, kissed meagain. 

"Here, Lizzie, this is Minnie, Minnie Pappan, sister Mary's child. Hasn't she grown?" and Miss Maggie led a tall, queenly lady up to me. 

"Minnie! Poor dear Miss Mary's child! I can hardly believe it. She wasonly a baby when I saw her last. It makes me feel old to see how largeshe has grown. Miss Minnie, you are larger than--your mother was--yourdear mother whom I held in my arms when she died;" and I brushed a tearfrom each of my eyes. 

"Have you had your breakfast, Lizzie?" asked Mrs. Garland. 

"No, she has not, " exclaimed her children in a chorus. "I will get herbreakfast for her, " and Nannie, Maggie, and Minnie started for thekitchen. 

"It is not necessary that all should go, " said Mrs. Garland. "Here isthe cook, she will get breakfast ready. "

But the three did not heed her. All rushed to the kitchen, and soonbrought me a nice hot breakfast. 

While I was eating, the cook remarked: "I declar, I nebber did seepeople carry on so. Wonder if I should go off and stay two or threeyears, if all ob you wud hug and kiss me so when I cum back?"

After I had finished my breakfast, General Meem came in. He greeted mewarmly. "Lizzie, I am very glad to see you. I feel that you are an oldacquaintance, I have heard so much of you through my wife, her sister, and her mother. Welcome to Rude's Hill. "

I was much pleased with his appearance, and closer acquaintance provedhim to be a model gentleman. 

Rude's Hill, during the war, was once occupied by General StonewallJackson for his head-quarters, which gave more than ordinary interest tothe place. The location was delightful, but the marks of war could beseen everywhere on the plantation. General Meem was engaged in planting, and he employed a large number of servants to assist him in his work. About a mile from Rude's Hill was Mount Airy, the elegant country-seatof the General's brother. The two families visited each other a greatdeal, and as both entertained plenty of company, the Autumn monthspassed pleasantly. I was comfortably quartered at Rude's Hill, and wasshown every attention. We sewed together, talking of old times, andevery day either drove out, or rode on horseback. The room in which Isat in the daytime was the room that General Jackson always slept in, and people came from far and near to look at it. General Jackson was theideal soldier of the Southern people, and they worshipped him as anidol. Every visitor would tear a splinter from the walls or windows ofthe room, to take away and treasure as a priceless relic. 

It did not take me long to discover that I was an object of greatcuriosity in the neighborhood. My association with Mrs. Lincoln, and myattachment for the Garlands, whose slave I had once been, clothed mewith romantic interest. 

Colonel Harry Gilmore, well known as a partisan leader in Maryland andVirginia during the war, was a frequent visitor at Mount Airy and Rude'sHill. One day I accompanied a party to a tournament, and General Meemlaughed pleasantly over the change that had come to me in so short atime. 

"Why, Lizzie, you are riding with Colonel Gilmore. Just think of thechange from Lincoln to Gilmore! It sounds like a dream. But then thechange is an evidence of the peaceful feeling of this country; a change, I trust, that augurs brighter days for us all. "

I had many long talks with Mrs. Garland, in one of which I asked whathad become of the only sister of my mother, formerly maid to Mrs. G'smother. 

"She is dead, Lizzie. Has been dead for some years. A maid in the oldtime meant something different from what we understand by a maid at thepresent time. Your aunt used to scrub the floor and milk a cow now andthen, as well as attend to the orders of my mother. My mother was severewith her slaves in some respects, but then her heart was full ofkindness. She had your aunt punished one day, and not liking hersorrowful look, she made two extravagant promises in order to effect areconciliation, both of which were accepted. On condition that her maidwould look cheerful, and be good and friendly with her, the mistresstold her she might go to church the following Sunday, and that she wouldgive her a silk dress to wear on the occasion. Now my mother had but onesilk dress in the world, silk not being so plenty in those days as it isnow, and yet she gave this dress to her maid to make friends with her. Two weeks afterward mother was sent for to spend the day at a neighbor'shouse, and on inspecting her wardrobe, discovered that she had no dressfit to wear in company. She had but one alternative, and that was toappeal to the generosity of your aunt Charlotte. Charlotte was summoned, and enlightened in regard to the situation; the maid proffered to loanthe silk dress to her mistress for the occasion, and the mistress wasonly too glad to accept. She made her appearance at the socialgathering, duly arrayed in the silk that her maid had worn to church onthe preceding Sunday. "

We laughed over the incident, when Mrs. Garland said: "Lizzie, duringthe entire war I used to think of you every day, and have longed to seeyou so much. When we heard you were with Mrs. Lincoln, the people usedto tell me that I was foolish to think of ever seeing you again--thatyour head must be completely turned. But I knew your heart, and couldnot believe that you would forget us. I always argued that you wouldcome and see us some day. "

"You judged me rightly, Miss Ann[e]. How could I forget you whom I hadgrown up with from infancy. Northern people used to tell me that youwould forget me, but I told them I knew better, and hoped on. "

"Ah! love is too strong to be blown away like gossamer threads. Thechain is strong enough to bind life even to the world beyond the grave. Do you always feel kindly towards me, Lizzie?"

"To tell you candidly, Miss Ann[e], I have but one unkind thought, andthat is, that you did not give me the advantages of a good education. What I have learned has been the study of after years. "

"You are right. I did not look at things then as I do now. I have alwaysregretted that you were not educated when a girl. But you have notsuffered much on this score, since you get along in the world betterthan we who enjoyed every educational advantage in childhood. "

I remained five weeks at Rude's Hill, and they were five of the mostdelightful weeks of my life. I designed going direct to Richmond, butthe cholera was reported to be raging in that city, so I took the trainfor Baltimore. In Baltimore I stopped with Mrs. Annette Jordan. Mrs. Garland had given me a letter to Mrs. Douglas Gordon, who introduced meto several Baltimore ladies, among others Mrs. Doctor Thomas, who saidto me, with tears in her eyes: "Lizzie, you deserve to meet with successfor having been so kind to our friends in the days of the past. I wishthere were more women in the world like you. I will always do whatlittle I can to promote your welfare. "

After remaining in Baltimore a few days, I came to the conclusion that Icould do better in Washington; so I returned to the capital, andreopened my business. 

In the spring of 1867, Miss Maggie Garland paid a visit to Baltimore. Before leaving Virginia she said to some of her friends in Lynchburgthat she designed going by Washington to see Lizzie. Her friendsridiculed the idea, but she persisted:

"I love Lizzie next to mother. She has been a mother to us all. Half thepleasure of my visit is that I will be able to see her. "

She wrote me a letter, saying that she designed visiting me, asking ifit would be agreeable. I replied, "Yes, come by all means. I shall be soglad to see you. "

She came and stayed at my rooms, and expressed surprise to find me socomfortably fixed. 

I can not do better than conclude this chapter with two letters from mydear young friends, the first from Mrs. General Meem, and the secondfrom Miss Maggie Garland. These letters show the goodness of theirhearts and the frankness of their natures. I trust that they will notobject to the publicity that I give them:

 "RUDE'S HILL, Sept. 14, 1867. 

 "MY DEAR LIZZIE:--I am nearly ashamed of myself for neglecting to acknowledge the receipt of your letter, and the very acceptable box of patterns, some weeks ago; but you will pardon my remissness, I know, for you can imagine what a busy time I've had all summer, with a house full of company most of the time, and with very inefficient servants, and in some departments _none at all_; so I have had to be at times dining-room servant, house-maid, and the last and most difficult, dairy-maid. But I have turned that department over to our gardener, who, though as green at the business as myself, seems willing to learn, and has been doing the milking all summer. These are a _few_ of the reasons why I have not written to you before, for I hope you will always believe that you occupy a large place in my memory and affection, whether I write to you or not; and such a poor correspondent as yourself ought not to complain. Mother, Mag, Uncle John, and Spot are still with us; the former will pass the winter with me, but the others all talk of leaving before long. The approach of winter always scatters our guests, and we have to spend the long, dreary winters alone. But we are to have the railroad to Mt. Jackson by Christmas, perhaps sooner; and then, if we can raise the wind, we can spend a portion of the winter in the city, and I hope you will find time to come up and _spend the day_ with me, as we will be near neighbors. I so seldom indulge in the pleasant task of writing letters that I scarcely know what will interest my correspondent, but I flatter myself that _you_ will be glad to hear anything and everything about us all, so I'll begin with the children. Hugh has improved a great deal, and is acknowledged to be the smartest child and the finest looking in the State; he talks as plainly as I do, and just as understandingly as a child of ten years old; his nurse often says we need not set our hearts on that child, he is too smart ever to be raised; but I trust his _badness_ will save him, for he is terribly spoilt, as such interesting children are bound to be. Miss Eliza, no longer called _Jane_, is getting to be a little 'star girl, ' as her Papa calls her; she is just learning to walk, and says a good many words quite plainly. You would never take her for the same little _cry-baby_ of last summer, and she is a little beauty too--as white as the driven snow, with the most beautiful blue eyes, and long, dark lashes you ever saw. She will set _somebody_ crazy if she grows up to be as lovely as she now promises to be. My dear good husband has been, like myself, run to death this summer; but it agrees with him, and I never saw him looking better. He has fallen off a little, which is a great improvement, I think. He often speaks of you, and wonders if you were sufficiently pleased with your visit last summer to repeat it. I hope so, for we will always be glad to welcome you to Rude's Hill, whenever you have time to come; provided, of course, you have the wish also. Spot expects to hang out his shingle in St. Louis next winter. His health is greatly improved, though he is still very thin, and very, very much like dear father. Mag has promised to teach a little cousin of ours, who lives in Nelson County, until February, and will leave here in two weeks to commence her labors. I hate to see her leave, but she is bent on it, and our winters are so unattractive that I do not like to insist on her shutting herself up all winter with three old people. She will have very pleasant society at Cousin Buller's, and will perhaps spend the rest of the winter with Aunt Pris, if Uncle Armistead remains in Binghampton, New York, as he talks of doing. Do write to me before you get too busy with your fall and winter work; I am so anxious to hear all your plans, and about your stay in New York. By the by, I will have to direct this to Washington, as I do not know your New York address. I suppose your friends will forward it. If you are going to remain any length of time in New York, send me your address, and I will write again. * * I have somehow made out a long letter, though there is not much in it, and I hope you will do the same before long. _All_ send love. 

 "Yours affectionately, "N. R. G. MEEM. 

 "My pen and ink are both so wretched that I fear you will find some difficulty in making out this scratch; but _put on your specks_, and what you can't read, just guess at. I enclose a very poor likeness of Hugh taken last spring; don't show it to anybody, for I assure you there is scarcely the faintest resemblance to him now in it. 

 "N. R. G. M. "

I give only a few extracts from the pleasant letter from Miss MaggieGarland. The reader will observe that she signs herself "Your child, Mag, " an expression of love warmly appreciated by me:

 "SEDDES, Dec. 17, 1867. 

 "So many months have passed, my dear Lizzie, since I was cheered by a sight of your welcome handwriting, that I must find out what is the matter, and see if I can't persuade you to write me a few lines. Whatever comes, 'weal or woe, ' you know I shall always love you, and I have no idea of letting you forget me; so just make up your mind to write me a nice long letter, and tell me what you are doing with yourself this cold weather. I am buried in the wilds of Amherst, and the cold, chilling blasts of December come whistling around, and tell us plainly that the reign of the snow-king has begun in good earnest. Since October I have been teaching for my cousin, Mr. Claiborne, and although I am very happy, and every one is so kind to me, I shall not be sorry when the day comes when I shall shut up school-books forever. None of 'Miss Ann[e]'s' children were cut out for 'school-marms, ' were they, Yiddie? I am sure I was only made to ride in my carriage, and play on the piano. Don't you think so? * * * You must write me where you are, so I can stop and see you on my way North; for you know, dear Lizzie, no one can take your place in my heart. I expect to spend the Christmas holidays in Lynchburg. It will be very gay there, and I will be glad enough to take a good dance. This is a short letter to send you after such a long silence, but 'tis too cold to write. Let me hear from you very soon. 

 "Your child MAG. 

 "Please write, for I long to hear from you. "

CHAPTER XV

THE SECRET HISTORY OF MRS. LINCOLN'S WARDROBE IN NEW YORK

In March, 1867, Mrs. Lincoln wrote to me from Chicago that, as herincome was insufficient to meet her expenses, she would be obliged togive up her house in the city, and return to boarding. She said that shehad struggled long enough to keep up appearances, and that the mask mustbe thrown aside. "I have not the means, " she wrote, "to meet theexpenses of even a first-class boarding-house, and must sell out andsecure cheap rooms at some place in the country. It will not bestartling news to you, my dear Lizzie, to learn that I must sell aportion of my wardrobe to add to my resources, so as to enable me tolive decently, for you remember what I told you in Washington, as wellas what you understood before you left me here in Chicago. I cannot liveon $1, 700 a year, and as I have many costly things which I shall neverwear, I might as well turn them into money, and thus add to my income, and make my circumstances easier. It is humiliating to be placed in sucha position, but, as I am in the position, I must extricate myself asbest I can. Now, Lizzie, I want to ask a favor of you. It is imperativethat I should do something for my relief, and I want you to meet me inNew York, between the 30th of August and the 5th of September next, toassist me in disposing of a portion of my wardrobe. "

I knew that Mrs. Lincoln's income was small, and also knew that she hadmany valuable dresses, which could be of no value to her, packed away inboxes and trunks. I was confident that she would never wear the dressesagain, and thought that, since her need was urgent, it would be wellenough to dispose of them quietly, and believed that New York was thebest place to transact a delicate business of the kind. She was the wifeof Abraham Lincoln, the man who had done so much for my race, and Icould refuse to do nothing for her, calculated to advance her interests. I consented to render Mrs. Lincoln all the assistance in my power, andmany letters passed between us in regard to the best way to proceed. Itwas finally arranged that I should meet her in New York about the middleof September. While thinking over this question, I remembered anincident of the White House. When we were packing up to leave Washingtonfor Chicago, she said to me, one morning:

"Lizzie, I may see the day when I shall be obliged to sell a portion ofmy wardrobe. If Congress does not do something for me, then my dressessome day may have to go to bring food into my mouth, and the mouths ofmy children. "

I also remembered of Mrs. L. Having said to me at different times, inthe years of 1863 and '4, that her expensive dresses might prove ofgreat assistance to her some day. 

"In what way, Mrs. Lincoln? I do not understand, " I ejaculated, thefirst time she made the remark to me. 

"Very simple to understand. Mr. Lincoln is so generous that he will notsave anything from his salary, and I expect that we will leave the WhiteHouse poorer than when we came into it; and should such be the case, Iwill have no further need for an expensive wardrobe, and it will bepolicy to sell it off. "

I thought at the time that Mrs. Lincoln was borrowing trouble from thefuture, and little dreamed that the event which she so dimlyforeshadowed would ever come to pass. 

I closed my business about the 10th of September, and made everyarrangement to leave Washington on the mission proposed. On the 15th ofSeptember I received a letter from Mrs. Lincoln, postmarked Chicago, saying that she should leave the city so as to reach New York on thenight of the 17th, and directing me to precede her to the metropolis, and secure rooms for her at the St. Denis Hotel in the name of Mrs. Clarke, as her visit was to be _incog. _ The contents of the letter werestartling to me. I had never heard of the St. Denis, and thereforepresumed that it could not be a first-class house. And I could notunderstand why Mrs. Lincoln should travel, without protection, under anassumed name. I knew that it would be impossible for me to engage roomsat a strange hotel for a person whom the proprietors knew nothing about. I could not write to Mrs. Lincoln, since she would be on the road to NewYork before a letter could possibly reach Chicago. I could not telegraphher, for the business was of too delicate a character to be trusted tothe wires that would whisper the secret to every curious operator alongthe line. In my embarrassment, I caught at a slender thread of hope, andtried to derive consolation from it. I knew Mrs. Lincoln to beindecisive about some things, and I hoped that she might change her mindin regard to the strange programme proposed, and at the last momentdespatch me to this effect. The 16th, and then the 17th of Septemberpassed, and no despatch reached me, so on the 18th I made all haste totake the train for New York. After an anxious ride, I reached the cityin the evening, and when I stood alone in the streets of the greatmetropolis, my heart sank within me. I was in an embarrassing situation, and scarcely knew how to act. I did not know where the St. Denis Hotelwas, and was not certain that I should find Mrs. Lincoln there after Ishould go to it. I walked up to Broadway, and got into a stage going uptown, with the intention of keeping a close look-out for the hotel inquestion. A kind-looking gentleman occupied the seat next to me, and Iventured to inquire of him:

"If you please, sir, can you tell me where the St. Denis Hotel is?"

"Yes; we ride past it in the stage. I will point it out to you when wecome to it. "

"Thank you, sir. "

The stage rattled up the street, and after a while the gentleman lookedout of the window and said:

"This is the St. Denis. Do you wish to get out here?"

"Thank you. Yes, sir. "

He pulled the strap, and the next minute I was standing on the pavement. I pulled a bell at the ladies' entrance to the hotel, and a boy comingto the door, I asked:

"Is a lady by the name of Mrs. Clarke stopping here? She came lastnight, I believe. "

"I do not know. I will ask at the office;" and I was left alone. 

The boy came back and said:

"Yes, Mrs. Clarke is here. Do you want to see her?"

"Yes. "

"Well, just walk round there. She is down here now. "

I did not know where "round there" exactly was, but I concluded to goforward. 

I stopped, however, thinking that the lady might be in the parlor withcompany; and pulling out a card, asked the boy to take it to her. Sheheard me talking, and came into the hall to see herself. 

"My dear Lizzie, I am so glad to see you, " she exclaimed, coming forwardand giving me her hand. "I have just received your note"--I had writtenher that I should join her on the 18th--"and have been trying to get aroom for you. Your note has been here all day, but it was neverdelivered until to-night. Come in here, until I find out about yourroom;" and she led me into the office. 

The clerk, like all modern hotel clerks, was exquisitely arrayed, highlyperfumed, and too self-important to be obliging, or even courteous. 

"This is the woman I told you about. I want a good room for her, " Mrs. Lincoln said to the clerk. 

"We have no room for her, madam, " was the pointed rejoinder. 

"But she must have a room. She is a friend of mine, and I want a roomfor her adjoining mine. "

"We have no room for her on your floor. "

"That is strange, sir. I tell you that she is a friend of mine, and I amsure you could not give a room to a more worthy person. "

"Friend of yours, or not, I tell you we have no room for her on yourfloor. I can find a place for her on the fifth floor. "

"That, sir, I presume, will be a vast improvement on my room. Well, ifshe goes to the fifth floor, I shall go too, sir. What is good enoughfor her is good enough for me. "

"Very well, madam. Shall I give you adjoining rooms, and send yourbaggage up?"

"Yes, and have it done in a hurry. Let the boy show us up. Come, Elizabeth, " and Mrs. L. Turned from the clerk with a haughty glance, andwe commenced climbing the stairs. I thought we should never reach thetop; and when we did reach the fifth story, what accommodations! Littlethree-cornered rooms, scantily furnished. I never expected to see thewidow of President Lincoln in such dingy, humble quarters. 

"How provoking!" Mrs. Lincoln exclaimed, sitting down on a chair when wehad reached the top, and panting from the effects of the climbing. "Ideclare, I never saw such unaccommodating people. Just to think of themsticking us away up here in the attic. I will give them a regular goingover in the morning. "

"But you forget. They do not know you. Mrs. Lincoln would be treateddifferently from Mrs. Clarke. "

"True, I do forget. Well, I suppose I shall have to put up with theannoyances. Why did you not come to me yesterday, Lizzie? I was almostcrazy when I reached here last night, and found you had not arrived. Isat down and wrote you a note--I felt so badly--imploring you to come tome immediately. "

This note was afterwards sent to me from Washington. It reads asfollows:

 ST. DENIS HOTEL, BROADWAY, N. Y. 

 "Wednesday, Sept. 17th. 

 "MY DEAR LIZZIE:--I arrived _here_ last evening in utter despair _at not_ finding you. I am frightened to death, being here alone. Come, I pray you, by _next_ train. Inquire for

 "MRS. CLARKE, "Room 94, 5th or 6th Story. 

 * * * * *

 "House so crowded could not get another spot. I wrote you especially to meet me here last evening; it makes me wild to think of being here alone. Come by _next train_, without fail. 

 "Your friend, "MRS. LINCOLN. 

 * * * * *

 "I am booked Mrs. Clarke; inquire for _no other person_. _Come, come, come. _ I will pay your expenses when you arrive here. I shall not leave here or change my room until you come. 

 "Your friend, M. L. 

 "Do not leave this house without seeing me. 

 "_Come!_"

I transcribe the letter literally. 

In reply to Mrs. Lincoln's last question, I explained what has alreadybeen explained to the reader, that I was in hope she would change hermind, and knew that it would be impossible to secure the rooms requestedfor a person unknown to the proprietors or attachés of the hotel. 

The explanation seemed to satisfy her. Turning to me suddenly, sheexclaimed:

"You have not had your dinner, Lizzie, and must be hungry. I nearlyforgot about it in the joy of seeing you. You must go down to the tableright away. "

She pulled the bell-rope, and a servant appearing, she ordered him togive me my dinner. I followed him down-stairs, and he led me into thedining-hall, and seated me at a table in one corner of the room. I wasgiving my order, when the steward came forward and gruffly said:

"You are in the wrong room. "

"I was brought here by the waiter, " I replied. 

"It makes no difference; I will find you another place where you can eatyour dinner. "

I got up from the table and followed him, and when outside of the door, said to him:

"It is very strange that you should permit me to be seated at the tablein the dining-room only for the sake of ordering me to leave it the nextmoment. "

"Are you not Mrs. Clarke's servant?" was his abrupt question. 

"I am with Mrs. Clarke. "

"It is all the same; servants are not allowed to eat in the largedining-room. Here, this way; you must take your dinner in the servants'hall. "

Hungry and humiliated as I was, I was willing to follow to any place toget my dinner, for I had been riding all day, and had not tasted amouthful since early morning. 

On reaching the servants' hall we found the door of the room locked. Thewaiter left me standing in the passage while he went to inform the clerkof the fact. 

In a few minutes the obsequious clerk came blustering down the hall:

"Did you come out of the street, or from Mrs. Clarke's room?"

"From Mrs. Clarke's room, " I meekly answered. My gentle words seemed toquiet him, and then he explained:

"It is after the regular hour for dinner. The room is locked up, andAnnie has gone out with the key. "

My pride would not let me stand longer in the hall. 

"Very well, " I remarked, as I began climbing the stairs, "I will tellMrs. Clarke that I cannot get any dinner. "

He looked after me, with a scowl on his face:

"You need not put on airs! I understand the whole thing. "

I said nothing, but continued to climb the stairs, thinking to myself:"Well, if you understand the whole thing, it is strange that you shouldput the widow of ex-President Abraham Lincoln in a three-cornered roomin the attic of this miserable hotel. "

When I reached Mrs. Lincoln's rooms, tears of humiliation and vexationwere in my eyes. 

"What is the matter, Lizzie?" she asked. 

"I cannot get any dinner. "

"Cannot get any dinner! What do you mean?"

I then told her of all that had transpired below. 

"The insolent, overbearing people!" she fiercely exclaimed. "Never mind, Lizzie, you shall have your dinner. Put on your bonnet and shawl. "

"What for?"

"What for! Why, we will go out of the hotel, and get you something toeat where they know how to behave decently;" and Mrs. Lincoln alreadywas tying the strings of her bonnet before the glass. 

Her impulsiveness alarmed me. 

"Surely, Mrs. Lincoln, you do not intend to go out on the streetto-night?"

"Yes I do. Do you suppose I am going to have you starve, when we canfind something to eat on every corner?"

"But you forget. You are here as Mrs. Clarke and not as Mrs. Lincoln. You came alone, and the people already suspect that everything is notright. If you go outside of the hotel to-night, they will accept thefact as evidence against you. "

"Nonsense; what do you suppose I care for what these low-bred peoplethink? Put on your things. "

"No, Mrs. Lincoln, I shall not go outside of the hotel to-night, for Irealize your situation, if you do not. Mrs. Lincoln has no reason tocare what these people may say about her as Mrs. Lincoln, but she shouldbe prudent, and give them no opportunity to say anything about her asMrs. Clarke. "

It was with difficulty I could convince her that she should act withcaution. She was so frank and impulsive that she never once thought thather actions might be misconstrued. It did not occur to her that shemight order dinner to be served in my room, so I went to bed without amouthful to eat. 

The next morning Mrs. Lincoln knocked at my door before six o'clock:

"Come, Elizabeth, get up, I know you must be hungry. Dress yourselfquickly and we will go out and get some breakfast. I was unable to sleeplast night for thinking of you being forced to go to bed withoutanything to eat. "

I dressed myself as quickly as I could, and together we went out andtook breakfast, at a restaurant on Broadway, some place between 609 andthe St. Denis Hotel. I do not give the number, as I prefer leaving it toconjecture. Of one thing I am certain--the proprietor of the restaurantlittle dreamed who one of his guests was that morning. 

After breakfast we walked up Broadway, and entering Union Square Park, took a seat on one of the benches under the trees, watched the childrenat play, and talked over the situation. Mrs. Lincoln told me: "Lizzie, yesterday morning I called for the _Herald_ at the breakfast table, andon looking over the list of diamond brokers advertised, I selected thefirm of W. H. Brady & Co. , 609 Broadway. After breakfast I walked downto the house, and tried to sell them a lot of jewelry. I gave my name asMrs. Clarke. I first saw Mr. Judd, a member of the firm, a very pleasantgentleman. We were unable to agree about the price. He went back intothe office, where a stout gentleman was seated at the desk, but I couldnot hear what he said. [I know now what was said, and so shall thereader, in parentheses. Mr. Brady has since told me that he remarked toMr. Judd that the woman must be crazy to ask such outrageous prices, and to get rid of her as soon as possible. ] Soon after Mr. Judd cameback to the counter, another gentleman, Mr. Keyes, as I have sincelearned, a silent partner in the house, entered the store. He came tothe counter, and in looking over my jewelry discovered my name inside ofone of the rings. I had forgotten the ring, and when I saw him lookingat the name so earnestly, I snatched the bauble from him and put it intomy pocket. I hastily gathered up my jewelry, and started out. They askedfor my address, and I left my card, Mrs. Clarke, at the St. Denis Hotel. They are to call to see me this forenoon, when I shall enter intonegotiations with them. "

Scarcely had we returned to the hotel when Mr. Keyes called, and Mrs. Clarke disclosed to him that she was Mrs. Lincoln. He was much elated tofind his surmise correct. Mrs. L. Exhibited to him a large number ofshawls, dresses, and fine laces, and told him that she was compelled tosell them in order to live. He was an earnest Republican, was muchaffected by her story, and denounced the ingratitude of the governmentin the severest terms. She complained to him of the treatment she hadreceived at the St. Denis, and he advised her to move to another hotelforthwith. She readily consented, and as she wanted to be in anout-of-the-way place where she would not be recognized by any of her oldfriends, he recommended the Earle Hotel in Canal street. 

On the way down to the hotel that morning she acceded to a suggestionmade by me, and supported by Mr. Keyes, that she confide in thelandlord, and give him her name without registering, so as to ensure theproper respect. Unfortunately, the Earle Hotel was full, and we had toselect another place. We drove to the Union Place Hotel, where wesecured rooms for Mrs. Clarke, Mrs. Lincoln changing her mind, deemingit would not be prudent to disclose her real name to any one. After wehad become settled in our new quarters, Messrs. Keyes and Brady calledfrequently on Mrs. Lincoln, and held long conferences with her. Theyadvised her to pursue the course she did, and were sanguine of success. Mrs. Lincoln was very anxious to dispose of her things, and return toChicago as quickly and quietly as possible; but they presented the casein a different light, and, I regret to say, she was guided by theircounsel. "Pooh, " said Mr. Brady, "place your affairs in our hands, andwe will raise you at least $100, 000 in a few weeks. The people will notpermit the widow of Abraham Lincoln to suffer; they will come to herrescue when they know she is in want. "

The argument seemed plausible, and Mrs. Lincoln quietly acceded to theproposals of Keyes and Brady. 

We remained quietly at the Union Place Hotel for a few days. On SundayMrs. Lincoln accepted the use of a private carriage, and accompanied byme, she drove out to Central Park. We did not enjoy the ride much, asthe carriage was a close one, and we could not throw open the window forfear of being recognized by some one of the many thousands in the Park. Mrs. Lincoln wore a heavy veil so as to more effectually conceal herface. We came near being run into, and we had a spasm of alarm, for anaccident would have exposed us to public gaze, and of course themasquerade would have been at an end. On Tuesday I hunted up a number ofdealers in secondhand clothing, and had them call at the hotel byappointment. Mrs. Lincoln soon discovered that they were hard people todrive a bargain with, so on Thursday we got into a close carriage, taking a bundle of dresses and shawls with us, and drove to a number ofstores on Seventh Avenue, where an attempt was made to dispose of aportion of the wardrobe. The dealers wanted the goods for little ornothing, and we found it a hard matter to drive a bargain with them. Mrs. Lincoln met the dealers squarely, but all of her tact andshrewdness failed to accomplish much. I do not care to dwell upon thisportion of my story. Let it answer to say, that we returned to the hotelmore disgusted than ever with the business in which we were engaged. There was much curiosity at the hotel in relation to us, as ourmovements were watched, and we were regarded with suspicion. Our trunksin the main hall below were examined daily, and curiosity was morekeenly excited when the argus-eyed reporters for the press traced Mrs. Lincoln's name on the cover of one of her trunks. The letters had beenrubbed out, but the faint outlines remained, and these outlines onlyserved to stimulate curiosity. Messrs. Keyes and Brady called often, andthey made Mrs. Lincoln believe that, if she would write certain lettersfor them to show to prominent politicians, they could raise a large sumof money for her. They argued that the Republican party would neverpermit it to be said that the wife of Abraham Lincoln was in want; thatthe leaders of the party would make heavy advances rather than have itpublished to the world that Mrs. Lincoln's poverty compelled her to sellher wardrobe. Mrs. L. 's wants were urgent, as she had to borrow $600from Keyes and Brady, and she was willing to adopt any scheme whichpromised to place a good bank account to her credit. At different timesin her room at the Union Place Hotel she wrote the following letters:

 CHICAGO, Sept. 18, 1867. 

 "MR. BRADY, _Commission Broker, No. 609 Broadway, New York_:

 "I have this day sent to you personal property, which I am compelled to part with, and which you will find of considerable value. The articles consist of four camels' hair shawls, one lace dress and shawl, a parasol cover, a diamond ring, two dress patterns, some furs, etc. 

 "Please have them appraised, and confer by letter with me. 

 Very respectfully, "MRS. LINCOLN. "

 "CHICAGO, ----. 

 "MR BRADY _No 609 Broadway, N. Y. City_

 "**** DEAR SIR:--The articles I am sending you to dispose of were gifts of dear friends, which only urgent necessity compels me to part with, and I am especially anxious that they shall not be sacrificed. 

 "The circumstances are peculiar, and painfully embarrassing; therefore I hope you will endeavor to realize as much as possible for them. Hoping to hear from you, I remain, very respectfully, "MRS. A. LINCOLN. "

 "Sept. 25, 1867. 

 "W. H. BRADY, ESQ. :--My great, great sorrow and loss have made me painfully sensitive, but as my feelings and pecuniary comforts were never regarded or even recognized in the midst of my overwhelming bereavement--_now_ that I am pressed in a most startling manner for means of subsistence, I do not know why I should shrink from an opportunity of improving my trying position. 

 "Being assured that all you do will be appropriately executed, and in a manner that will not startle me very greatly, and excite as little comment as possible, again I shall leave all in your hands. 

 "I am passing through a very painful ordeal, which the country, in remembrance of my noble and devoted husband, should have spared me. 

 "I remain, with great respect, very truly, "MRS. LINCOLN. 

 "P. S. --As you mention that my goods have been valued at over $24, 000, I will be willing to make a reduction of $8, 000, and relinquish them for $16, 000. If this is not accomplished, I will continue to sell and advertise largely until every article is sold. 

 "I must have means to live, at least in a medium comfortable state. 

 "M. L. "

The letters are dated Chicago, and addressed to Mr. Brady, though everyone of them was written in New York; for when Mrs. L. Left the West forthe East, she had settled upon no definite plan of action. Mr. Bradyproposed to show the letters to certain politicians, and ask for moneyon a threat to publish them if his demands, as Mrs. Lincoln's agent, were not complied with. When writing the letters I stood at Mrs. Lincoln's elbow, and suggested that they be couched in the mildestlanguage possible. 

"Never mind, Lizzie, " she said; "anything to raise the wind. One mightas well be killed for a sheep as a lamb. "

This latter expression was a favorite one of hers; she meaning by it, that if one must be punished for an act, such as theft for instance, that the punishment would be no more severe if a sheep were takeninstead of a lamb. 

Mr. Brady exhibited the letters quite freely, but the parties to whomthey were shown refused to make any advances. Meanwhile our stay at theUnion Place Hotel excited so much curiosity, that a sudden movement wasrendered expedient to avoid discovery. We sent the large trunks to 609Broadway, packed the smaller ones, paid our bills at the hotel, and onemorning hastily departed for the country, where we remained three days. The movement was successful. The keen-eyed reporters for the dailypapers were thrown off the scent, and when we returned to the city wetook rooms at the Brandreth House, where Mrs. Lincoln registered as"Mrs. Morris. " I had desired her to go to the Metropolitan Hotel, andconfide in the proprietors, as the Messrs. Leland had always been verykind to her, treating her with distinguished courtesy whenever she wastheir guest; but this she refused to do. 

Several days passed, and Messrs. Brady and Keyes were forced toacknowledge that their scheme was a failure. The letters had been shownto various parties, but every one declined to act. Aside from a fewdresses sold at small prices to secondhand dealers, Mrs. Lincoln'swardrobe was still in her possession. Her visit to New York had proveddisastrous, and she was goaded into more desperate measures. Money shemust have, and to obtain it she proposed to play a bolder game. She gaveMr. Brady permission to place her wardrobe on exhibition for sale, andauthorized him to publish the letters in the _World_. 

After coming to this determination, she packed her trunks to return toChicago. I accompanied her to the depot, and told her good-by, on thevery morning that the letters appeared in the _World_. Mrs. Lincolnwrote me the incidents of the journey, and the letter describes thestory more graphically than I could hope to do. I suppress manypassages, as they are of too confidential a nature to be given to thepublic:

 "CHICAGO, October 6th. 

 "My DEAR LIZZIE:--My ink is like myself and my spirits failing, so I write you to-day with a pencil. I had a solitary ride to this place, as you may imagine, varied by one or two amusing incidents. I found, after you left me, I could not continue in the car in which you left me, owing to every seat's berth being engaged; so, being simple _Mrs. Clarke_, I had to eat 'humble-pie' in a car less commodious. My thoughts were too much with my 'dry goods and interests' at 609 Broadway, to care much for my surroundings, as uncomfortable as they were. In front of me sat a middle-aged, gray-haired, respectable-looking gentleman, who, for the whole morning, had the page of the _World_ before him which contained my letters and business concerns. About four hours before arriving at Chicago, a consequential-looking man, of formidable size, seated himself by him, and it appears they were entirely unknown to each other. The well-fed looking individual opened the conversation with the man who had read the _World_ so attentively, and the conversation soon grew warm and earnest. The war and its devastation engaged them. The bluffy individual, doubtless a Republican who had pocketed his many thousands, spoke of the widows of the land, made so by the war. My reading man remarked to him:

 "'Are you aware that Mrs. Lincoln is in indigent circumstances, and has to sell her clothing and jewelry to gain means to make life more endurable?'

 "The well-conditioned man replied: 'I do not blame her for selling her clothing, if she wishes it. I suppose _when sold_ she will convert the proceeds into five-twenties to enable her to have means to be buried. '

 "The _World_ man turned towards him with a searching glance, and replied, with the haughtiest manner: 'That woman is not dead yet. '

 "The discomfited individual looked down, never spoke another word, and in half an hour left his seat, and did not return. 

 "I give you word for word as the conversation occurred. May it be found through the execution of my friends, Messrs. Brady and Keyes, that 'that woman is not yet dead, ' and being alive, she speaketh and gaineth valuable hearers. Such is life! Those who have been injured, how gladly the injurer would consign them to mother earth and forgetfulness! Hoping I should not be recognized at Fort Wayne, I thought I would get out at dinner for a cup of tea. * * * will show you what a creature of _fate_ I am, as miserable as it sometimes is. I went into the dining-room alone; and was ushered up to the table, where, at its head, sat a very elegant-looking gentleman--at his side a middle-aged lady. My black veil was doubled over my face. I had taken my seat next to him--he at the head of the table, I at his left hand. I immediately _felt_ a pair of eyes was gazing at me. I looked him full in the face, and the glance was earnestly returned. I sipped my water, and said: 'Mr. S. , is this indeed you?' His face was as pale as the table-cloth. We entered into conversation, when I asked him how long since he had left Chicago. He replied, 'Two weeks since. ' He said, 'How strange you should be on the train and I not know it!'

 "As soon as I could escape from the table, I did so by saying, 'I must secure a cup of tea for a lady friend with me who has a head-ache. ' I had scarcely returned to the car, when he entered it with a cup of tea borne by his own aristocratic hands. I was a good deal annoyed by seeing him, and he was so agitated that he spilled half of the cup over my _elegantly gloved_ hands. _He_ looked very sad, and I fancied 609 Broadway occupied his thoughts. I apologized for the absent lady who wished the cup, by saying that 'in my absence she had slipped out for it. ' His heart was in his eyes, notwithstanding my veiled face. Pity for me, I fear, has something to do with all this. I never saw his manner _so_ gentle and sad. This was nearly evening, and I did not see him again, as he returned to the lady, who was his sister-in-law from the East. * * * What evil spirit possessed me to go out and get that cup of tea? When he left me, _woman-like_ I tossed the cup of tea out of the window, and tucked my head down and shed _bitter tears_. * * At the depot my darling little Taddie was waiting for me, and his voice never sounded so sweet. * * * My dear Lizzie, do visit Mr. Brady each morning at nine o'clock, and urge them all you can. I see by the papers Stewart has returned. To-morrow I will send the invoice of goods, which please to not give up. How much I miss you, tongue cannot tell. Forget my fright and nervousness of the evening before. Of course you were as innocent as a child in all you did. I consider you my best living friend, and I am struggling to be enabled some day to repay you. Write me often, as you promised. 

 "Always truly yours, "M. L. "

It is not necessary for me to dwell upon the public history of Mrs. Lincoln's unfortunate venture. The question has been discussed in allthe newspapers of the land, and these discussions are so recent that itwould be useless to introduce them in these pages, even if I had aninclination to do so. The following, from the New York _EveningExpress_, briefly tells the story:

"The attraction for ladies, and the curious and speculative of the othersex in this city, just now, is the grand exposition of Lincoln dressesat the office of Mr. Brady, on Broadway, a few doors south of Houstonstreet. The publicity given to the articles on exhibition and for salehas excited the public curiosity, and hundreds of people, principallywomen with considerable leisure moments at disposal, daily throng therooms of Mr. Brady, and give himself and his shop-woman more to do thaneither bargained for, when a lady, with face concealed with a veil, called and arranged for the sale of the superabundant clothing of adistinguished and titled, but nameless lady. Twenty-five dresses, foldedor tossed about by frequent examinations, lie exposed upon a closedpiano, and upon a lounge; shawls rich and rare are displayed upon thebacks of chairs, but the more exacting obtain a better view and closerinspection by the lady attendant throwing them occasionally upon hershoulders, just to oblige, so that their appearance on promenade mightbe seen and admired. Furs, laces, and jewelry are in a glass case, butthe 'four thousand dollars in gold' point outfit is kept in apaste-board box, and only shown on special request. 

"The feeling of the majority of visitors is adverse to the course Mrs. Lincoln has thought proper to pursue, and the criticisms are as severeas the cavillings are persistent at the quality of some of the dresses. These latter are labelled at Mrs. Lincoln's own estimate, and pricesrange from $25 to $75--about 50 per cent less than cost. Some of them, if not worn long, have been worn much; they are jagged under the armsand at the bottom of the skirt, stains are on the lining, and otherobjections present themselves to those who oscillate between the dressesand dollars, 'notwithstanding they have been worn by Madam Lincoln, ' asa lady who looked from behind a pair of gold spectacles remarked. Otherdresses, however, have scarcely been worn--one, perhaps, while Mrs. Lincoln sat for her picture, and from one the basting threads had notyet been removed. The general testimony is that the wearing apparel ishigh-priced, and some of the examiners say that the cost-figures musthave been put on by the dressmakers; or, if such was not the case, thatgold was 250 when they were purchased, and is now but 140--so that adress for which $150 was paid at the rate of high figures cannot becalled cheap at half that sum, after it has been worn considerable, andperhaps passed out of fashion. The peculiarity of the dresses is thatthe most of them are cut low-necked--a taste which some ladies attributeto Mrs. Lincoln's appreciation of her own bust. 

"On Saturday last an offer was made for all the dresses. The figurenamed was less than the aggregate estimate placed on them. Mr. Brady, however, having no discretionary power, he declined to close thebargain, but notified Mrs. Lincoln by mail. Of course, as yet, no replyhas been received. Mrs. L. Desires that the auction should be deferredtill the 31st of the present month, and efforts made to dispose of thearticles at private sale up to that time. 

"A Mrs. C-- called on Mr. Brady this morning, and examined minutely eachshawl. Before leaving the lady said that, at the time when there was ahesitancy about the President issuing the Emancipation Proclamation, shesent to Mrs. Lincoln an ashes-of-rose shawl, which was manufactured inChina, forwarded to France, and thence to Mrs. C--, in New York. Theshawl, the lady remarked, was a very handsome one, and should it comeinto the hands of Mr. Brady to be sold, would like to be made aware ofthe fact, so as to obtain possession again. Mr. Brady promised toacquaint the ashes-of-rose donor, if the prized article should be amongthe two trunks of goods now on the way from Chicago. "

So many erroneous reports were circulated, that I made a correctstatement to one of the editors of the New York _Evening News_. Thearticle based upon the memoranda furnished by me appeared in the _News_of Oct. 12, 1867. I reproduce a portion of it in this connection:

"Mrs. Lincoln feels sorely aggrieved at many of the harsh criticismsthat have been passed upon her for travelling incognito. She claims thatshe adopted this course from motives of delicacy, desiring to avoidpublicity. While here, she spoke to but two former acquaintances, andthese two gentlemen whom she met on Broadway. Hundreds passed her whohad courted her good graces when she reigned supreme at the White House, but there was no recognition. It was not because she had changed much inpersonal appearance, but was merely owing to the heavy crape veil thathid her features from view. 

"She seeks to defend her course while in this city--and with much force, too. Adverting to the fact that the Empress of France frequentlydisposes of her cast-off wardrobe, and publicly too, without beingsubjected to any unkind remarks regarding its propriety, she claims thesame immunity here as is accorded in Paris to Eugenie. As regards herobscurity while in this city, she says that foreigners of note andposition frequently come to our stores, and under assumed names travelfrom point to point throughout our vast domain, to avoid recognition andthe inconveniences resulting from being known, though it even be in theform of honors. For herself she regards quiet preferable to ostentatiousshow, which would have cost her much indirectly, if not directly; andthis she felt herself unable to bear, according to the measure of herpresent state of finances. 

"In a recent letter to her bosom friend, Mrs. Elizabeth Keckley, Mrs. Lincoln pathetically remarks, 'Elizabeth, if evil come from this, prayfor my deliverance, as I did it for the best. ' This referred to heraction in placing her personal effects before the public for sale, andto the harsh remarks that have been made thereon by some whom she hadformerly regarded as her friends. 

"As to the articles which belonged to Mr. Lincoln, they can all beaccounted for in a manner satisfactory even to an over-critical public. During the time Mr. Lincoln was in office he was the recipient ofseveral canes. After his death one was given to the Hon. Charles Sumner;another to Fred. Douglass; another to the Rev. H. H. Garnet of thiscity, and another to Mr. Wm. Slade, the present steward of the WhiteHouse, who, in Mr. Lincoln's lifetime, was his messenger. Thisgentleman also received some of Mr. Lincoln's apparel, among which washis heavy gray shawl. Several other of the messengers employed about theWhite House came in for a share of the deceased President's effects. 

"The shepherd plaid shawl which Mr. Lincoln wore during the milderweather, and which was rendered somewhat memorable as forming part ofhis famous disguise, together with the Scotch cap, when he wended hisway secretly to the Capitol to be inaugurated as President, was given toDr. Abbot, of Canada, who had been one of his warmest friends. Duringthe war this gentleman, as a surgeon in the United States army, was inWashington in charge of a hospital, and thus became acquainted with thehead of the nation. 

"His watch, his penknife, his gold pencil, and his glasses are now inpossession of his son Robert. Nearly all else than these few things havepassed out of the family, as Mrs. Lincoln did not wish to retain them. But all were freely given away, and not an article was parted with formoney. 

"The Rev. Dr. Gurley of Washington was the spiritual adviser of thePresident and his family. They attended his church. When little 'Willie'died, he officiated at the funeral. He was a most intimate friend of thefamily, and when Mr. Lincoln lay upon his death-bed Mr. Gurley was byhis side. He, as his clergyman, performed the funeral rites upon thebody of the deceased President, when it lay cold in death at the City ofWashington. He received the hat worn last by Mr. Lincoln, as we havebefore stated, and it is still retained by him. 

"The dress that was worn by Mrs. Lincoln on the night of theassassination was presented to Mrs. Wm. Slade. It is a black silk with alittle white stripe. Most of the other articles that adorned Mrs. Lincoln on that fatal night became the property of Mrs. Keckley. She hasthe most of them carefully stowed away, and intends keeping them duringher life as mementos of a mournful event. The principal articles amongthese are the earrings, the bonnet, and the velvet cloak. The writer ofthis saw the latter on Thursday. It bears most palpable marks of theassassination, being completely bespattered with blood, that has driedupon its surface, and which can never be removed. 

"A few words as regard the disposition and habits of Mrs. Lincoln. Sheis no longer the sprightly body she was when her very presence illumedthe White House with gayety. Now she is sad and sedate, seekingseclusion, and maintaining communication merely with her most intimatepersonal friends. The most of her time she devotes to instructivereading within the walls of her boudoir. Laying her book asidespasmodically, she places her hand upon her forehead, as if ruminatingupon something momentous. Then her hand wanders amid her heavy tresses, while she ponders for but a few seconds--then, by a sudden start, sheapproaches her writing-stand, seizes a pen, and indites a few hastylines to some trusty friend, upon the troubles that weigh so heavilyupon her. Speedily it is sent to the post-office; but, hardly has themail departed from the city before she regrets her hasty letter, andwould give much to recall it. But, too late, it is gone, and probablythe secrets it contains are not confidentially kept by the party to whomit was addressed, and soon it furnishes inexhaustible material forgossip-loving people. 

"As some citizens have expressed themselves desirous of aiding Mrs. Lincoln, a subscription-book was opened at the office of her agent, Mr. Brady, No. 609 Broadway, this morning. There is no limitation as to theamount which may be given, though there was a proposition that a dollarshould be contributed by each person who came forward to inspect thegoods. Had each person who handled these articles given this sum, ahandsome amount would already have been realized. 

"The colored people are moving in this matter. They intend to take upcollections in their churches for the benefit of Mrs. Lincoln. They areenthusiastic, and a trifle from every African in this city would, in theaggregate, swell into an immense sum, which would be doubly acceptableto Mrs. Lincoln. It would satisfy her that the black people still havethe memory of her deceased husband fresh in their minds. 

"The goods still remain exposed to sale, but it is now announced thatthey will be sold at public auction on the 30th of this month, unlessthey be disposed of before that at private sale. "

It is stated in the article that the "colored people are moving in thismatter. " The colored people were surprised to hear of Mrs. Lincoln'spoverty, and the news of her distress called forth strong sympathy fromtheir warm, generous hearts. Rev. H. H. Garnet, of New York City, andMr. Frederick Douglass, of Rochester, N. Y. , proposed to lecture inbehalf of the widow of the lamented President, and schemes were on footto raise a large sum of money by contribution. The colored peoplerecognized Abraham Lincoln as their great friend, and they were anxiousto show their kind interest in the welfare of his family in some waymore earnest and substantial than simple words. I wrote Mrs. Lincolnwhat we proposed to do, and she promptly replied, declining to receiveaid from the colored people. I showed her letter to Mr. Garnet and Mr. Douglass, and the whole project was at once abandoned. She afterwardsconsented to receive contributions from my people, but as the servicesof Messrs. Douglass, Garnet, and others had been refused when firstoffered, they declined to take an active part in the scheme; so nothingwas ever done. The following letters were written before Mrs. Lincolndeclined to receive aid from the colored people:

 "183 BLEECKER ST. , NEW YORK, October 16th, 1867. "J. H. BRADY, ESQ. :--

 "I have just received your favor, together with the circulars. I will do all that lies in my power, but I fear that will not be as much as you anticipate. I think, however, that a contribution from the colored people of New York will be worth something in a moral point of view, and likely that will be the most that will be accomplished in the undertaking. I am thoroughly with you in the work, although but little may be done. 

 "I am truly yours, "HENRY HIGHLAND GARNET. 

 "P. S. --I think it would be well if you would drop a line to Mr. Frederick Douglass, at Rochester, New York. 

 "H. H. G. "

 "ROCHESTER, Oct. 18, 1867. 

 "MY DEAR MRS. KECKLEY:--You judge me rightly--I am willing to do what I can to place the widow of our martyr President in the affluent position which her relation to that good man and to the country entitles her to. But I doubt the wisdom of getting up a series of lectures for that purpose; that is just the last thing that should be done. Still, if the thing is done, it should be done on a grand scale. The best speakers in the country should be secured for the purpose. You should not place me at the head nor at the foot of the list, but sandwich me between, for thus out of the way, it would not give _color_ to the idea. I am to speak in Newark on Wednesday evening next, and will endeavor to see you on the subject. Of course, if it would not be too much to ask, I would gladly see Mrs. Lincoln, if this could be done in a quiet way without the reporters getting hold of it, and using it in some way to the prejudice of that already much abused lady. As I shall see you soon, there is less reason to write you at length. 

 "I am, dear madam, "With high respect, "Very truly yours, "FREDERICK DOUGLASS. "

 "POTTSVILLE, Oct. 29, 1867. 

 "MY DEAR MRS. KECKLEY:--You know the drift of my views concerning the subscription for Mrs. Lincoln. Yet I wish to place them more distinctly before you, so that, if you have occasion to refer to me in connection with the matter, you can do so with accuracy and certainty. 

 "It is due Mrs. Lincoln that she should be indemnified, as far as money can do so, for the loss of her beloved husband. Honor, gratitude, and a manly sympathy, all say yes to this. I am willing to go farther than this, and say that Mrs. Lincoln herself should be the judge of the amount which shall be deemed sufficient, believing that she would not transcend reasonable limits. The obligation resting on the nation at large is great and increasing, but especially does it become colored men to recognize that obligation. It was the hand of Abraham Lincoln that broke the fetters of our enslaved people, and let them out of the house of bondage. When he was slain, our great benefactor fell, and left his wife and children to the care of those for whom he gave up all. Shame on the man or woman who, under such circumstances, would grudge a few paltry dollars, to smooth the pathway of such a widow! All this, and more, I feel and believe. But such is the condition of this question, owing to party feeling, and personal animosities now mixed up with it, that we are compelled to consider these in the effort we are making to obtain subscriptions. 

 "Now, about the meeting in Cooper Institute; I hold that that meeting should only be held in concert with other movements. It is bad generalship to put into the field only a fraction of your army when you have no means to prevent their being cut to pieces. It is gallant to go forth single-handed, but is it wise? I want to see something more than the spiteful _Herald_ behind me when I step forward in this cause at the Cooper Institute. Let Mr. Brady out with his circulars, with his list of commanding names, let the _Herald_ and _Tribune_ give a united blast upon their bugles, let the city be placarded, and the doors of Cooper Institute be flung wide open, and the people, without regard to party, come up to the discharge of this national duty. 

 "Don't let the cause be made ridiculous by failure at the outset. Mr. Garnet and I could bear any mortification of this kind; but the cause could not. And our cause must not be damaged by any such generalship, which would place us in the van unsupported. 

 "I shall be at home by Saturday; please write me and let me know how matters are proceeding. Show this letter to Messrs. Brady and Garnet. 

 "I am, dear madam, "Very truly yours, "FREDERICK DOUGLASS. "

 "ROCHESTER, Oct. 30, 1867. 

 "MY DEAR MRS. KECKLEY:--It is just possible that I may not take New York in my route homeward. In that case please write me directly at Rochester, and let me know fully how the subscription business is proceeding. The meeting here last night was a grand success. I speak again this evening, and perhaps at Reading tomorrow evening. My kind regards to all who think of me at 21, including Mrs. Lawrence. 

 "Very truly yours, "FREDK. DOUGLASS. "

 "ROCHESTER, Nov. 10, 1867. 

 "MY DEAR MRS. KECKLEY:--I very easily read your handwriting. With practice you will not only write legibly but elegantly; so no more apologies for _bad_ writing. Penmanship has always been one of my own deficiencies, and I know how to sympathize with you. 

 "I am just home, and find your letter awaiting me. You should have received an earlier answer but for this absence. I am sorry it will be impossible for me to see you before I go to Washington. I am leaving home this week for Ohio, and shall go from Ohio to Washington. I shall be in New York a day or two after my visit to Washington, and will see you there. Any public demonstration in which it will be desirable for me to take part, ought to come off the last of this month or the first of next. I thank you sincerely for the note containing a published letter of dear Mrs. Lincoln; both letters do credit to the excellent lady. I prize her beautiful letter to me very highly. It is the letter of a refined and spirited lady, let the world say what it will of her. I would write her a word of acknowledgment but for fear to burden her with correspondence. I am glad that Mr. Garnet and yourself saw Mr. Greeley, and that he takes the right view of the matter; but we want more than right views, and delay is death to the movement. What you now want is action and cooperation. If Mr. Brady does not for any reason find himself able to move the machinery, somebody else should be found to take his place; he made a good impression on me when I saw him, but I have not seen the promised simultaneous movement of which we spoke when together. This whole thing should be in the hands of some recognized solid man in New York. No man would be better than Mr. Greeley; no man in the State is more laughed at, and yet no man is more respected and trusted; a dollar placed in his hands would be as safe for the purpose as in a burglar-proof safe, and what is better still, everybody believes this. This testimonial must be more than a negro testimonial. It is a great national duty. Mr. Lincoln did everything for the black man, but he did it not for the black man's sake, but for the nation's sake. His life was given for the nation; but for being President, Mr. Lincoln would have been alive, and Mrs. Lincoln would have been a wife, and not a widow as now. Do all you can, dear Mrs. Keckley--nobody can do more than you in removing the mountains of prejudice towards that good lady, and opening the way of success in the plan. 

 "I am, dear madam, very truly yours, "FREDERICK DOUGLASS. "

Many persons called at 609 Broadway to examine Mrs. Lincoln's wardrobe, but as curiosity prompted each visit, but few articles were sold. Messrs. Brady & Keyes were not very energetic, and, as will be seen bythe letters of Mrs. Lincoln, published in the Appendix, that ladyultimately lost all confidence in them. It was proposed to sendcirculars, stating Mrs. Lincoln's wants, and appealing to the generosityof the people for aid, broad-cast over the country; but the schemefailed. Messrs. Brady & Keyes were unable to obtain the names ofprominent men, whom the people had confidence in, for the circular, togive character and responsibility to the movement--so the whole thingwas abandoned. With the Rev. Mr. Garnet, I called on Mr. Greeley, at theoffice of the _Tribune_, in connection with this scheme. Mr. Greeleyreceived us kindly, and listened patiently to our proposals--then said:

"I shall take pleasure in rendering you what assistance I can, but themovement must be engineered by responsible parties. Messrs. Brady &Keyes are not the men to be at the head of it. Nobody knows who theyare, or what they are. Place the matter in the hands of those that thepeople know and have some confidence in, and then there will be a chancefor success. "

We thanked Mr. Greeley for his advice, for we believed it to be goodadvice, and bowed ourselves out of his room. When Messrs. Brady & Keyeswere informed of the result of our interview, they became very muchexcited, and denounced Mr. Greeley as "an old fool. " This put an end tothe circular movement. The enterprise was nipped in the bud, and withthe bud withered Mrs. Lincoln's last hope for success. A portion of thewardrobe was then taken to Providence, to be exhibited, but without herconsent. Mr. Brady remarked that the exhibition would bring in money, and as money must be raised, this was the last resort. He was of theimpression that Mrs. Lincoln would approve of any movement, so it endedin success. This, at least, is a charitable view to take of the subject. Had the exhibition succeeded in Providence, it is my opinion that theagents of Brady & Keyes would now be travelling over the country, exposing Mrs. Lincoln's wardrobe to the view of the curious, at so muchper head. As is well known, the city authorities refused to allow theexhibition to take place in Providence; therefore Mr. Brady returned toNew York with the goods, and the travelling show scheme, like thecircular scheme, was abandoned. Weeks lengthened into months, and atMrs. Lincoln's urgent request I remained in New York, to look after herinterests. When she left the city I engaged quiet lodgings in a privatefamily, where I remained about two months, when I moved to 14 CarrollPlace, and became one of the regular boarders of the house. Mrs. Lincoln's venture proved so disastrous that she was unable to reward mefor my services, and I was compelled to take in sewing to pay for mydaily bread. My New York expedition has made me richer in experience, but poorer in purse. During the entire winter I have worked early andlate, and practised the closest economy. Mrs. Lincoln's businessdemanded much of my time, and it was a constant source of trouble to me. When Mrs. L. Left for the West, I expected to be able to return toWashington in one week from the day; but unforeseen difficulties arose, and I have been detained in the city for several months. As I am writingthe concluding pages of this book, I have succeeded in closing up Mrs. Lincoln's imprudent business arrangement at 609 Broadway. The firm ofBrady & Keyes is dissolved, and Mr. Keyes has adjusted the account. Thestory is told in a few words. On the 4th of March I received thefollowing invoice from Mr. Keyes:

"March 4, '68. 

"_Invoice of articles sent to Mrs. A. Lincoln:_

 1 Trunk. 1 Lace dress. 1 do. Do. Flounced. 5 Lace shawls. 3 Camel hair shawls. 1 Lace parasol cover. 1 do. Handkerchief. 1 Sable boa. 1 White do. 1 Set furs. 2 Paisley shawls. 2 Gold bracelets. 16 Dresses. 2 Opera cloaks. 1 Purple shawl. 1 Feather cape. 28 yds. Silk. 

ARTICLES SOLD. 

 1 Diamond ring. 3 Small do. 1 Set furs. 1 Camel hair shawl. 1 Red do. 2 Dresses. 1 Child's shawl. 1 Lace Chantilly shawl. "

The charges of the firm amounted to eight hundred dollars. Mrs. Lincolnsent me a check for this amount. I handed this check to Mr. Keyes, andhe gave me the following receipt:

 "Received, New York, March 4, 1868, of Mrs. Abraham Lincoln, eight hundred and twenty dollars by draft on American National Bank, New York. 

 "S. C. KEYES. "

I packed the articles invoiced, and expressed the trunks to Mrs. Lincoln at Chicago. I then demanded and received a receipt worded asfollows:

 "Received, New York, March 4, 1868, of Mrs. Abraham Lincoln, eight hundred and twenty dollars in full of all demands of every kind up to date. 

 "S. C. KEYES. "

This closed up the business, and with it I close the imperfect story ofmy somewhat romantic life. I have experienced many ups and downs, butstill am stout of heart. The labor of a lifetime has brought me nothingin a pecuniary way. I have worked hard, but fortune, fickle dame, hasnot smiled upon me. If poverty did not weigh me down as it does, I wouldnot now be toiling by day with my needle, and writing by night, in theplain little room on the fourth floor of No. 14 Carroll Place. And yet Ihave learned to love the garret-like room. Here, with Mrs. AmeliaLancaster as my only companion, I have spent many pleasant hours, aswell as sad ones, and every chair looks like an old friend. In memory Ihave travelled through the shadows and the sunshine of the past, and thebare walls are associated with the visions that have come to me from thelong-ago. As I love the children of memory, so I love every article inthis room, for each has become a part of memory itself. Though poor inworldly goods, I am rich in friendships, and friends are a recompensefor all the woes of the darkest pages of life. For sweet friendship'ssake, I can bear more burdens than I have borne. 

The letters appended from Mrs. Lincoln to myself throw a flood of lightupon the history of the "old clothes" speculation in New York. 

APPENDIX

LETTERS FROM MRS. LINCOLN TO MRS. KECKLEY. 

"CHICAGO, Sunday Morning, Oct. 6. 

"MY DEAR LIZZIE:--I am writing this morning with a broken heart after asleepless night of great mental suffering. R. Came up last evening likea maniac, and almost threatening his life, looking like death, becausethe letters of the _World_ were published in yesterday's paper. I couldnot refrain from weeping when I saw him so miserable. But yet, my deargood Lizzie, was it not to protect myself and help others--and was notmy motive and action of the purest kind? Pray for me that this cup ofaffliction may pass from me, or be sanctified to me. I weep whilst I amwriting. * * * * I pray for death this morning. Only my darling Taddieprevents my taking my life. I shall have to endure a round of newspaperabuse from the Republicans because I dared venture to relieve a few ofmy wants. Tell Mr. Brady and Keyes not to have a line of mine once morein print. I am nearly losing my reason. 

 "Your friend, "M. L. "

"CHICAGO, Oct. 8. 

"MY DEAR LIZZIE:--Bowed down with suffering and anguish, again I writeyou. As we might have expected, the Republicans are falsifying me, anddoing _just_ as they did when they prevented the Congressionalappropriation. Mrs. ---- knows something about these same people. As herhusband is _living_ they dare not utter all they would desire to speak. You know yourself how innocently I have acted, and from the best andpurest motives. They will _howl_ on to prevent my disposing of mythings. What a _vile, vile_ set they are! The _Tribune_ here, Mr. White's paper, wrote a very beautiful editorial yesterday in my behalf;yet knowing that I have been deprived of my rights by the party, Isuppose I would be _mobbed_ if I ventured out. What a world of anguishthis is--and how I have been made to suffer! * * * You would notrecognize me now. The glass shows me a pale, wretched, haggard face, andmy dresses are like bags on me. And all because I was doing what I feltto be my duty. Our minister, Mr. Swazey, called on me yesterday and saidI had done perfectly right. Mrs. F-- says every one speaks in the sameway. The politicians, knowing they have deprived me of my just rights, would prefer to see me starve, rather than dispose of my things. Theywill prevent the sale of anything, so I have telegraphed for them. Ihope you have received from B. The letters I have consigned to his care. See to this. Show none of them. Write me every day. 

 "M. L. "

"CHICAGO, Wednesday, October 9th. 

"MY DEAR LIZZIE:--It appears as if the fiends had let loose, for theRepublican papers are tearing me to pieces in this border ruffian West. If I had committed murder in every city in this _blessed_ Union, I couldnot be more traduced. And you know how innocent I have been of theintention of doing wrong. A piece in the morning _Tribune_, signed 'B, 'pretending to be a lady, says there is no doubt Mrs. L. --_is_deranged--has been for years past, and will end her life in a lunaticasylum. They would doubtless like me to begin it _now_. Mr. S. , a verykind, sympathizing minister, has been with me this morning, and has nowgone to see Mr. Medill, of the _Tribune_, to know if _he_ sanctioned hispaper publishing such an article. * * * Pray for me, dear Lizzie, for Iam very miserable and broken-hearted. Since writing this, I have justreceived a letter from Mr. Keyes, begging and pleading with me to allowthem to use my name for donations. I think I will consent. * *

 "Truly yours, M. L. "

"CHICAGO, Sunday, Oct. 13. 

"MY DEAR LIZZIE:--I am greatly disappointed, having only received oneletter from you since we parted, which was dated the day after. Dayafter day I sent to Mrs. F. For letters. After your promise of writingto me every other day, I can scarcely understand it. I hope to-morrowwill bring me a letter from you. How much I miss you cannot beexpressed. I hope you have arrived safely in Washington, and will tellme everything. * * * Was there ever such cruel newspaper abuse lavishedupon an unoffending woman as has been showered upon my devoted head? Thepeople of this ungrateful country are like the 'dogs in the manger;'will neither do anything themselves, nor allow me to improve my owncondition. What a Government we have! All their abuse lavished upon meonly lowers themselves in the estimation of all true-hearted people. TheSpringfield _Journal_ had an editorial a few days since, with theimportant information that Mrs. Lincoln had been known to be _deranged_for years, and should be _pitied_ for all her _strange acts_. I shouldhave been _all right_ if I had allowed _them_ to take possession of theWhite House. In the comfortable stealings by contracts from theGovernment, these low creatures are allowed to hurl their maliciouswrath at me, with no one to defend me or protect me, if I should starve. These people injure themselves far more than they could do me, by theirlies and villany. Their aim is to prevent my goods being sold, oranything being done for me. _In this_, I very much fear, they havesucceeded. 

"Write me, my dear friend, your candid opinion about everything. Iwished to be made better off, quite as much to improve your condition aswell as for myself. * * * Two weeks ago, dear Lizzie, we were in that_den_ of discomfort and dirt. _Now_ we are far asunder. Every other day, for the past week, I have had a chill, brought on by excitement andsuffering of mind. In the midst of it I have moved into my winterquarters, and am now very comfortably situated. My parlor and bedroomare very sweetly furnished. I am lodged in a handsome house, a verykind, good, _quiet_ family, and their meals are excellent. I considermyself fortunate in all this. I feel assured that the Republicans, who, to cover up their own perfidy and neglect, have used every villanousfalsehood in their power to injure me--I fear they have _more_ thansucceeded, but if their day of reckoning does not come in this world, it_will surely_ in the next. * * * *

"_Saturday. _--I have determined to shed no more tears over all theircruel falsehoods, yet, just now, I feel almost forsaken by God andman--except by the _latter_ to be vilified. Write me all that Keyes andBrady think of the result. For myself, after _such_ abuse, I _expect_nothing. Oh! that I could see you. Write me, dear Lizzie, if only aline; I cannot understand your silence. Hereafter direct your letters toMrs. A. Lincoln, 460 West Washington street, Chicago, Ill. , care of D. Cole. Remember 460. I am always so anxious to hear from you, I amfeeling so _friendless_ in the world. I remain always your affectionatefriend. 

 M. L. "

POSTSCRIPT TO LETTER OF OCT. 24. 

"I cannot send this letter off without writing you two little incidentsthat have occurred within the past week. We may call it _justice_rendered for _evil words_, to say the least. There is a paper publishedin Chicago called the _Republican_, owned and published by Springfieldmen. Each morning since my return it has been thrown at my door, filledwith abuse of myself. Four days ago a piece appeared in it, asking 'Whatright had Mrs. L. To diamonds and laces?' Yesterday morning an articleappeared in the same paper, announcing that the day previous, at thehouse of Mr. Bunn (the owner of the paper), in Springfield, Illinois--the house had been entered at 11 in the morning, by burglars, and had been robbed of _five_ diamond rings, and a quantity of finelaces. This morning's paper announces the recovery of these articles. Mr. Bunn, who made his hundreds of thousands off our government, isrunning this paper, and denouncing the wife of the man from whom heobtained his means. I enclose you the article about the recovery of thegoods. A few years ago he had a _small grocery_ in S----. These factscan be authenticated. Another case in point: The evening I left my houseto come here, the young daughter of one of my neighbors in the sameblock, was in a house not a square off, and in a childish manner wasregretting that I could not retain my house. The man in the house said:'Why waste your tears and regrets on Mrs. Lincoln?' An hour afterwardthe husband and wife went out to make a call, doubtless to gossip aboutme; on their return they found their young boy had almost blindedhimself with gunpowder. Who will say that the cry of the 'widow andfatherless' is disregarded in _His_ sight! If man is not merciful, Godwill be in his own time. 

 M. L. "

"CHICAGO, October 29. 

"MY DEAR LIZZIE:--I received a very pleasant note from Mr. F. Douglasson yesterday. I will reply to it this morning, and enclose it to you tohand or send him immediately. In this morning's _Tribune_ there was alittle article _evidently_ designed to make capital _against_ me justnow--that _three_ of my brothers were in the Southern army during thewar. If they had been friendly with me they might have said they were_half_ brothers of Mrs. L. , whom she had not known since they wereinfants; and as she left Kentucky at an early age her sympathies wereentirely Republican--that her feelings were entirely with the Northduring the war, and always. I never failed to urge my husband to be an_extreme_ Republican, and now, in the day of my trouble, you see how_this_ very party is trying to work against me. Tell Mr. Douglass, andevery one, how deeply my feelings were enlisted in the cause of freedom. Why _harp_ upon these _half_ brothers, whom I never knew since they wereinfants, and scarcely then, for my early home was truly at a _boarding_school. Write to him all this, and talk it to every one else. If wesucceed I will soon send you enough for a very large supply of trimmingmaterial for the winter. 

 Truly, "M. L. "

"CHICAGO, Nov. 2nd. 

"MY DEAR LIZZIE:--Your letter of last Wednesday is received, and Icannot refrain from expressing my surprise that before now K. And B. Didnot go out in _search_ of names, and have sent forth all thosecirculars. Their conduct is becoming mysterious. We have heard enough of_their talk_--it is time now they should be _acting_. Their delay, Ifear, has ruined the business. The circulars should all have been outbefore the _election_. I cannot understand their slowness. As Mr. Greeley's home is in New York, he could certainly have been found had he_been sought_; and there are plenty of other good men in New York, aswell as himself. I venture to say, that _before_ the election not acircular will be sent out. I begin to think they are making a politicalbusiness of _my clothes_, and not for _my_ benefit either. Their delayin acting is becoming very suspicious. Their slow, bad management is_ruining_ every prospect of success. I fear you are only losing yourtime in New York, and that I shall be left _in debt_ for what I am owingthe firm. I have written to K. And B. , and they do nothing that Irequest. I want neither Mr. Douglass nor Garnet to lecture in my behalf. The conduct in New York is disgusting me with the whole business. Icannot understand what they have been about. Their delay has only giventhe enemies time to _gather_ strength; what does it all mean? Of coursegive the lady at 609 permission to sell the dresses cheaper. * * * I amfeeling wretchedly over the slowness and _do-nothing_ style of B. & K. Ibelieve in my heart I am being used as a tool for party purposes; andthey do not design sending out a circular. * * *

 "Your friend, M. L. "

"CHICAGO, Nov. 9, 1867. 

"MY DEAR LIZZIE:--* * * Did you receive a letter a few days since, withone enclosed for F. Douglass? also a printed letter of mine, which Iwished him to read? Do write me every other day at least, I am so_nervous and miserable_. And Lizzie, dear, I fear we have not the_least_ chance of success. _Do_ remain in New York a little longer, andoccupy yourself with the sewing of your friends. _Then_ I shall be ableto learn _some_thing about my business. In _your heart_ you know therewill be no success. _Why_ do you not candidly express yourself to me?Write me, if only a few lines, and that very frequently. R. Called up onyesterday, with Judge Davis. * * * R. Goes with Judge D. On Tuesday, tosettle the estate, which will give us each about $25, 000, with theincome I told you of, $1, 700 a year for each of us. You made a mistakeabout my house costing $2, 700--it was $1, 700. The $22, 000 Congress gaveme I spent for house and furniture, which, owing to the smallness of myincome, I was obliged to leave. I mention about the division of theestate to you, dear Lizzie, because when it is done the _papers_ willharp upon it. You can explain everything in New York; please do so toevery one. Please see H. G. , if it should come out in the papers. I hadhoped, if something was gained, to have immediately placed _you_ in morepleasant circumstances. Do urge F. D. To add his name to the circular;also get them to have Beecher's. There must not be an hour's delay inthis. R. Is very spiteful at present, and I think hurries up thedivision to _cross_ my purposes. He mentioned yesterday that he wasgoing to the Rocky Mountains so soon as Edgar Welles joined him. He isvery _deep_. * * * Write me, _do_, when you receive this. Your silencepains me. 

 "Truly yours, "M. L. "

"CHICAGO, NOV. 9. 

"MY DEAR LIZZIE:--I closed and sent off my letter before I had finishedall I had to say. Do not hint to K. Or B. , or any one else, my doubts ofthem, _only watch them_. As to S. So many falsehoods are told in thepapers that all the stuff about his wife and himself may be untrue. Ihope it may prove so. I received a letter from Keyes this morning. Ibelieve I wrote you that I had. How hard it is that I cannot see andtalk with you in this time of great, _great_ trouble. I feel as if I hadnot a friend in the world save yourself. * * I sometimes wish myself outof this world of sorrow and care. I fear my fine articles at B. 's aregetting pulled to pieces and soiled. I do not wish you to leave N. Y. Without having the finest articles packed up and returned to me. The_single_ white camel's hair shawl and the two Paisleys I wish returnedto me, if none of them are sold. Do you think there is the least chanceof _their_ being sold? I will give you a list of the articles I wishreturned to me from Mr. Brady's before _you leave_ New York forWashington. 

 "1 Camel's hair shawl, double black centre. 1 Camel's hair shawl, double white centre. 1 Single white camel's hair shawl. 2 Paisley shawls--white. 1 Pair bracelets and diamond ring. 1 Fine lace handkerchief. 3 Black lace shawls. 2 Black lama shawls. 1 Dress, silk unmade, white and black. 1 White boa. 1 Russian sable boa. 1 Russian sable cape. 1 A. Sable cape, cuffs and muff. 1 Chinchilla set. 

"The lace dress, flounce, and shawl, if there is no possibility of theirbeing sold. Also all other fine articles return me, save the dresseswhich, with prices lowered, may be sold. * *

 "M. L. "

"CHICAGO, Nov. 15, '67. 

"MY DEAR KECKLEY;--Your last letter has been received, and believe me, Iduly appreciate your great interest in my affairs. I hope the day _may_arrive when I can return your kindness in _more_ than words. As you areaware of my beloved husband's great indulgence to me in pecuniarymatters, thereby allowing me to indulge in bestowing favors on thosewhom I considered worthy of it, it is in this respect I feel chiefly thehumiliation of my small circumscribed income. If Congress, or theNation, had given me the four years' salary, I should have been able tolive as the widow of the great President Lincoln should, with sufficientmeans to give liberally to all benevolent objects, and at my deathshould have left at least half of it to the freedmen, for the liberty ofwhom his precious sacred life was sacrificed. The men who prevented_this_ being done by their villanous unscrupulous falsehoods, are nofriends of the colored race, and, as you well know, have led Johnson onin his wicked course. 

"'_God is just_, ' and the day of retribution will come to all such, ifnot in this world, in the great hereafter, to which those hoary-headedsinners are so rapidly hastening, with an innocent conscience. I did notfeel it necessary to raise my weak woman's voice against thepersecutions that have assailed me emanating from the tongues of suchmen as Weed & Co. I have felt that their infamous false lives was asufficient vindication of my character. They have never forgiven me forstanding between my pure and noble husband and themselves, when, fortheir own vile purposes, they would have led him into error. _All this_the country knows, and why should I dwell longer on it? In the blissfulhome where my worshipped husband dwells God is ever merciful, and it isthe consolation of my broken heart that my darling husband is everretaining the devoted love which he always so abundantly manifested forhis wife and children in this life. I feel assured his watchful, lovingeyes are always watching over us, and he is fully aware of the wrong andinjustice permitted his family by a country he lost his life inprotecting. I write earnestly, because I feel very deeply. It appears tome a very remarkable coincidence, that most of the good feelingregarding my straitened circumstances proceeds from the colored people, in whose cause my noble husband was so largely interested. Whether weare successful or not, Mr. F. Douglass and Mr. Garnet will always havemy most grateful thanks. They are very noble men. If any _favorable_results should crown their efforts, you may well believe at my death, whatever sum it may be, will be bequeathed to the colored people, whoare very near my heart. In yesterday's paper it was announced that Gov. Andrew's family were having $100, 000 contributed to them. Gov. A. Was agood man, but what did _he_ do compared to President Lincoln? Right andleft the latter gave, when he had but little to bestow, and inconsequence his family are now feeling it; yet for my life I would notrecall a dollar he ever gave. Yet his favorite expression, when I haveplayfully alluded to the 'rainy day' that might be in store for _himselfand his own_ on several occasions, he has looked at me so earnestly andreplied, 'Cast your bread upon the waters. ' Although the petty sum of$22, 000 was an insufficient return for Congress to make me, andallowanced to its meagreness by men who traduced and vilified the lovedwife of the great man who _made them_, and from whom they amassed greatfortunes--for _Weed, and Seward, and R. _ did this last. And yet, _allthis_ was permitted by an American people, who owed _their_ remaining anation to my husband! I have dwelt too long on this painful subject, butwhen I have been compelled from a pitiful income to make aboarding-house of my home, as I now am doing, think you that it doesnot rankle in my heart?

"Fortunately, with my husband's great, great love for me--the knowledgeof this future for his petted and idolized wife was spared him, and yetI feel in my heart _he_ knows it all. Mr. Sumner, the intimate friend ofbetter days, called to see me two or three weeks since--he who had beenan habitué of the White House--both the rooms of the President and myown reception-room, in either place he was always sure of a heartfeltwelcome; my present situation must have struck a painful chord in hisnoble, sympathizing heart. And yet, when I endeavored to ameliorate mycondition, the cry has been so fearful against me as to cause me toforget my own identity, and suppose I had plundered the nation, indeed, and committed murder. This, certainly, cannot be America, 'the land ofthe _free_, ' the 'home of the _brave_. ' The evening before Mr. Sumner'slast call I had received Mr. Douglass's letter; I mentioned thecircumstance to Mr. Sumner, who replied: 'Mr. Frederick Douglass is avery noble, talented man, and I know of no one who writes a morebeautiful letter. ' I am sending you a long letter, Lizzie, but I rely agreat deal on your indulgence. My fear is that you will not be able todecipher the scrawl written so hastily. 

 "I remain, truly yours, "MARY LINCOLN. "

"CHICAGO, Nov. 17. 

"MY DEAR LIZZIE:--By the time you receive this note, you will doubtlessfind the papers _raving_ over the large income which we are each _said_to have. Knowing exactly the amount we each will have, which I havealready informed you, I was going to say, I have been shocked at the_fabulous_ sum set down to each, but I have learned not to be surprisedat anything. Of course it is gotten up to defeat success. _You_ will_now_ see the necessity for those circulars being issued weeks since. Ienclose you a scrap from yesterday's _Times_ of C. , marked No. 1; alsoNo. 2, to-day's _Times_. The sum of $11, 000 has been subtracted intwenty-four hours from the same paper. If it continues for a few dayslonger, it will soon be right. It is a secesh paper--says Congress gaveme $25, 000 as a _present_, besides $20, 000 of remaining salary. The$25, 000 _you_ know to be utterly false. You can show this note to B. &K. , also the scraps sent. Let no one see them but themselves, and thenburn them. It is all just as I expected--that when the division tookplace, a 'mountain would be made of a mole-hill. ' And I fear it willsucceed in injuring the premeditated plans. If the _war rages_, the_Evening News_ might simply say that the sum assigned each was false, that $75, 000 was the sum the administrator, Judge Davis, filed his bondsfor. But by all means _my authority_ must not be given. And then the_Evening News_ can descant on the $25, 000 each, with income of $1, 700each, and Mrs. Lincoln's share, she not being able to touch any of hersons' portion. My _word_ or _testimony_ must not appear in the article;only the paper must speak _decidedly_. It must be managed veryjudiciously, and without a day's delay. 

 "Yours truly, "M. L. "

"Nov 17--(Private for yourself). 

"LIZZIE:--Show the note enclosed with this to B. & K. ; do not let themretain it an instant after reading, nor the printed articles. I knewthese falsehoods would be circulated when the estate was divided. What_has_ been the cause of the delay about the circulars? I fear, betweenourselves, we have reason to distrust those men, ----. Whatever is raisedby the colored people, I solemnly give my word, at my death it shall_all_, every cent, be returned to them. And out of the sum, if it is$50, 000, _you_ shall have $5, 000 at my death; and I cannot live long, suffering as I am now doing. If $25, 000 is raised by your people, youshall have the sum at my death; and in either event, the $25, 000 raised, or $50, 000, I will give you $300 a year, and the promised sum at mydeath. It will make your life easier. I have more faith in F. D. 's andG. 's efforts, than in B. & K. , I assure you. This division has beentrumped up just now through spite. * * I have written to Judge Davis foran exact statement, which I will send to you when received. Write ifany thing is doing. * * *

 "Truly, "M. L. "

"CHICAGO, November 21. 

"MY DEAR LIZZIE:--Your letter of Tuesday is just received. I have justwritten B. A note of thanks for his kindness; also requesting thearticles of which I gave you a list. Do see Keyes about it; K. Will haveit done. And will you _see_ that they are forwarded to _me_ before _you_leave New York? K. Sent me a telegram on yesterday that eight names wereon the circulars, and that they would be sent out _immediately_. Whatsuccess do you think they will have? By all means assure K. & B. I havegreat confidence in them. These circulars must bring some money. Yourletter made me quite sad. Talk to K. & B. Of the _grateful feelings_ Iexpress towards them. Do pet up B. , and see my things returned to me. Can you not, dear Lizzie, be employed in sewing for some of your ladyfriends in New York until December 1st? If I _ever_ get any money youwill be well remembered, be assured. R. And a party of young men leavefor the Rocky Mountains next Monday, to be absent three weeks. If thecirculars are sent out, of course the _blasts_ will be blown over again. So R. Is out of the way _at the time_, and money comes in, I will notcare. Write the hour you receive this. I hope they will send out 150, 000circulars. Urge K. & B. To do this. 

 "Your friend, "M. L. "

"Saturday Morning, November 23d. 

"MY DEAR LIZZIE:--Although I am suffering with a fearful headacheto-day, yet, as your note of Wednesday is received, I must write. I amgrieved to find that you are so wretchedly low-spirited. * * * OnWednesday, the 20th of November, K. Sent me the telegram I send you. Ifhe is not in earnest, what does it mean? What is the rate of expensesthat B. Has gone to in my business, that he dares to withhold my immenseamount of goods? Do you believe they _intend_ sending out thosecirculars? Of course you will be well rewarded if we have any success, but as to $500 'now, ' I have it not for myself, or any one else. Pray, what does B. Propose to charge for _his expenses_? I pray God there willbe some success, although, dear Lizzie, entirely between ourselves, Ifear I am in villanous hands. As to money, I haven't it for myself justnow, even if nothing comes in. When I get my things back, if ever, from----, I will send you some of those dresses to dispose of atWashington for your own benefit. If we get something, you will find that_promises_ and performance for _this_ life will be forth-coming. * * * *It is _mysterious_ why B. NEVER writes, and K. _once_, perhaps, in threeweeks. All this is very strange. * *

 "M. L. "

"CHICAGO, Sunday, Nov. 24th. 

"MY DEAR LIZZIE:--I wrote you on yesterday and am aware it was not apleasant letter, although I wrote what I fear will turn out to be_truths_. It will be two weeks to-morrow since the legally attestedconsent from me was received by B. And K. , and yet _names_ have not beenobtained for it, when last heard from. * * However, we will soon see forourselves. If you and I are honest in our motives and intentions, it isno reason _all_ the world is so. * * * If I should gain nothingpecuniarily by the loud cry that has been made over my affairs, it hasbeen a losing game indeed. * * * * And the laugh of the world will beagainst me if it turns out as I _now_ think; there is no doubt it willbe _all_ failure. If they had issued those circulars when they shouldhave done, before the election, then it would have been all right. Alas!alas! what a mistake it has all been! I have thought seriously over thewhole business, and know what I am about. I am grateful for the sympathyof Mr. F. Douglass and Mr. Garnet. I see that F. D. Is advertised tolecture in Chicago some time this winter. Tell him, for me, he must calland see me; give him my number. If I had been able to retain a house, Ishould have offered him apartments when he came to C. ; as it is, I haveto content _myself_ with lodgings. An ungrateful country this! I verymuch fear the malignity of Seward, Weed, and R. Will operate in Congressthe coming winter, and that I will be denounced _there_, with theirinfamous and villanous falsehoods. The father of wickedness and lieswill get those men when they 'pass away;' and such fiends as they are, always linger in this mortal sphere. The agitation of mind has very muchimpaired my health. * * * * Why, why was not I taken when my darlinghusband was called from my side? I have been allowed no rest by thosewho, in my desolation, should have protected me. * * * * How dearly Ishould love to see you _this very sad day_. Never, dear Lizzie, think ofmy great nervousness the night before we parted; I had been so harassedwith my fears. * * * *

 "Always yours, "M. L. "

"December 26. 

"MY DEAR LIZZIE:--Your letters just received. I have just written to K. To withdraw the C. Go to him yourself the moment you receive this. Theidea of Congress doing anything is ridiculous. How much ---- couldeffect _if he chose_, through others. Go to B. & K. The moment youreceive this. 

 "Yours, M. L. "

"CHICAGO, December 27. 

"DEAR LIZZIE:--I wrote you a few lines on yesterday. I have twicewritten to Mr. K. To have the C. Stopped. Go and see him on the subject. I believe any more newspaper attacks would _lay me low_ * * * As_influence_ has passed away from me with my husband, my slightest act ismisinterpreted. '_Time makes all things_ right. ' I am positivelysuffering for a decent dress. I see Mr. A. And _some recent_ visitorseyeing my clothing askance. * * Do send my black merino dress to me verysoon; I must dress better in the future. I tremble at the bill that B. &K. May send me, I am so illy prepared to meet any expense. All myarticles not sold must be sent to me. I leave _this_ place _early_ inthe spring; had you better not go with me and share my fortunes, for ayear or more? * * Write. 

 "Yours, etc. , M. L. "

"CLIFTON HOUSE, January 12. 

"MY DEAR LIZZIE:--Your last letter was received a day or two since. Ihave moved my quarters to _this house_, so please direct all yourletters _here_. Why did _you_ not urge them _not_ to take my goods toProvidence? For heaven's sake see K. & B. When you receive this, andhave them immediately returned to me, _with their bill_. I am somiserable I feel like taking my own life. My darling boy, my Taddie_alone_, I _fully_ believe, prevents the deed. Your letter announcingthat my clothes[C] were to be paraded in Europe--those I gave you--hasalmost turned me wild. R. Would go _raving distracted_ if such a thingwas done. If you have the _least regard_ for our reason, pray write tothe bishop that it _must_ not be done. How little did I suppose youwould do _such a thing_; you cannot imagine how much my overwhelmingsorrows would be increased. May kind Heaven turn your heart, and haveyou write that _this_ exhibition must not be attempted. R. Would blastus all if you were to have this project carried out. Do remember _us_ inour unmitigated anguish, and have those clothes, worn on those fearfuloccasions, recalled. * * I am positively dying with a broken heart, andthe probability is that I shall be living but a _very_ short time. Maywe all meet in a better world, where _such grief_ is unknown. Write meall about yourself. I should like you to have about four black widow'scaps, just such as I had made in the fall in New York, sent to me. * * *Of course you would not suppose, if I had you come out here and work forme six weeks, I would not pay your expenses and pay you as you made_each_ dress. The probability is that I shall need _few_ more clothes;my rest, I am inclined to believe, is _near at hand_. Go to B. & K. , andhave my clothes sent me without further publicity. * * * I am feelingtoo weak to write more to-day. Why are you so silent? For the sake of_humanity_, if not _me_ and my children, _do not_ have those blackclothes displayed in Europe. The thought has almost whitened every hairof my head. Write when you receive this. 

 "Your friend, M. L. "

FOOTNOTE:

 [Footnote C: The clothes that I have given for the benefit of Wilberforce College. They have been deeded to Bishop Payne, who will do with them as he thinks best, for the cause to which they are dedicated. The letter on page 366 will explain more fully. ]

"NEW YORK CITY, Jan. 1st, 1868. 

"BISHOP PAYNE, D. D. --DEAR SIR:--Allow me to donate certain valuablerelics, to be exhibited for the benefit of Wilberforce University, wheremy son was educated, and whose life was sacrificed for liberty. Thesesacred relics were presented to me by Mrs. Lincoln, after theassassination of our beloved President. Learning that you werestruggling to get means to complete the college that was burned on theday our great emancipator was assassinated, prompted me to donate, intrust to J. P. Ball (agent for Wilberforce College), the identical cloakand bonnet worn by Mrs. Lincoln on that eventful night. On the cloak canbe seen the life-blood of Abraham Lincoln. This cloak could not bepurchased from me, though many have been the offers for it. I deemed ittoo _sacred_ to sell, but donate it for the cause of educating the fourmillions of slaves liberated by our President, whose private character Irevere. You well know that I had every chance to learn the true man, being constantly in the White House during his whole administration. Ialso donate the glove[D] worn on his precious hand at the last inauguralreception. This glove bears the marks of thousands who shook his hand onthat last and great occasion. This, and many other relics, I hope youwill receive in the name of the Lincoln fund. I also donate the dressworn by Mrs. Lincoln at the last inaugural address of President Lincoln. Please receive these from--

 Your sister in Christ, "L. KECKLEY. "

FOOTNOTE:

 [Footnote D: I have since concluded to retain the glove as a precious _souvenir_ of our beloved President. ]

"CLIFTON HOUSE, Jan. 15, 1868. 

"MY DEAR LIZZIE:--You will think I am sending you a deluge of letters. Iam so very sad today, that I feel that I must write you. I went out lastevening with Tad, on a little business, in a street car, heavily veiled, very imprudently having _my month's living_ in my pocket-book--and, onreturn, found it gone. The loss I deserve for being so careless, but itcomes very hard on poor me. Troubles and misfortunes are fastoverwhelming me; may _the end_ soon come. I lost $82, and quite a newpocket-book. I am very, very anxious about that bill B. & K. May bringin. Do go, dear Lizzie, and implore them to be moderate, for I am in avery narrow place. Tell them, I pray you, of this last loss. As theyhave not been successful (BETWEEN OURSELVES), and only given me greatsorrow and trouble, I think their demand should be very small. (Do notmention this to them. ) _Do_, dear Lizzie, go to 609, and talk to them onthis subject. Let my things be sent to me immediately, and _do_ see toit, that nothing is left behind. I can afford to lose nothing they havehad placed in their hands. I am literally suffering for my black dress. Will you send it to me when you receive this? I am looking very shabby. I hope you have entirely recovered. _Write_ when you receive this. 

 "Very truly yours, M. L. "

"CHICAGO, Feb. 7. 

"MR. BRADY:--I hereby authorize Mrs. Keckley to request my bill fromyou; also my goods. An exact account must be given of everything, andall goods unsold returned to me. Pray hand Mrs. Keckley my bill, withoutfail, immediately. 

 "Respectfully, "MRS. LINCOLN. "

"SATURDAY, Feb. 29. 

"DEAR LIZZIE:--I am only able to sit up long enough to write you a lineand enclose this check to Mr. K. Give it to him when he gives you up mygoods, and require from him an exact inventory of them. I will write youto-morrow. The hour you receive this go to him, get my goods, and donot _give him the check until_ you get the goods, and be sure you get areceipt for the check from him. * * In his account given ten days since, he said we had borrowed $807; now he writes for $820. Ask him what thismeans, and get him to deduct the $13. I cannot understand it. A letterreceived from K. This morning says if the check is not received thefirst of the week, my goods _will be sold_ so do delay not an hour tosee him. * * My diamond ring he writes has been sold; the goods soldhave amounted to $824, and they appropriate all this for their expenses. A precious set, truly. My diamond ring itself cost more than that sum, and I charged them not to sell it under $700. Do get my things safelyreturned to me. * * *

 "Truly, "M. L. "

 * * * * *

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully aspossible, including obsolete and variant spellings.