THE CRISIS

By Winston Churchill

BOOK II. 

Volume 3. 

CHAPTER I

RAW MATERIAL

Summer, intolerable summer, was upon the city at last. The families ofits richest citizens had fled. Even at that early day some braved thelong railroad journey to the Atlantic coast. Amongst these were ourfriends the Cluymes, who come not strongly into this history. Some wentto the Virginia Springs. But many, like the Brinsmades and the Russells, the Tiptons and the Hollingsworths, retired to the local paradise oftheir country places on the Bellefontaine road, on the cool heights abovethe river. Thither, as a respite from the hot office, Stephen was ofteninvited by kind Mr. Brinsmade, who sometimes drove him out in his ownbuggy. Likewise he had visited Miss Puss Russell. But Miss VirginiaCarvel he had never seen since the night he had danced with her. This wasbecause, after her return from the young ladies' school at Monticello, she had gone to Glencoe, Glencoe, magic spot, perched high on woodedhighlands. And under these the Meramec, crystal pure, ran lightly on sandand pebble to her bridal with that turbid tyrant, the Father of Waters. 

To reach Glencoe you spent two dirty hours on that railroad which (it wasfondly hoped) would one day stretch to the Pacific Ocean. You generallyspied one of the big Catherwood boys in the train, or their tall sisterMaude. The Catherwoods likewise lived at Glencoe in the summer. And onsome Saturday afternoons a grim figure in a linen duster and a silkskull-cap took a seat in the forward car. That was Judge Whipple, on hisway to spend a quiet Sunday with Colonel Carvel. 

To the surprise of many good people, the Judge had recently formedanother habit. At least once a week he would drop in at the little houseon Olive Street next to Mr. Brinsmade's big one, which was shut up, andtake tea with Mrs. Brice. Afterward he would sit on the little porch overthe garden in the rear, or on the front steps, and watch the bob-tailedhorse-cars go by. His conversation was chiefly addressed to the widow. Rarely to Stephen; whose wholesome respect for his employer had in nowise abated. 

Through the stifling heat of these summer days Stephen sat in the outeroffice, straining at the law. Had it not been for the fact that Mr. Whipple went to his mother's house, despair would have seized him longsince. Apparently his goings-out and his comings-in were noted only byMr. Richter. Truly the Judge's methods were not Harvard methods. And ifthere were pride in the young Bostonian, Mr. Whipple thought he knew thecure for it. 

It was to Richter Stephen owed a debt of gratitude in these days. Hewould often take his midday meal in the down-town beer garden with thequiet German. Then there came a Sunday afternoon (to be marked with a redletter) when Richter transported him into Germany itself. Stephen's eyeswere opened. Richter took him across the Rhine. The Rhine was MarketStreet, and south of that street was a country of which polite Americansociety took no cognizance. 

Here was an epic movement indeed, for South St. Louis was a great soduprooted from the Fatherland and set down in all its vigorous crudity inthe warm black mud of the Mississippi Valley. Here lager beer took theplace of Bourbon, and black bread and sausages of hot rolls and friedchicken. Here were quaint market houses squatting in the middle of widestreets; Lutheran churches, square and uncompromising, and bulky TurnerHalls, where German children were taught the German tongue. Here, in ashady grove of mulberry and locust, two hundred families were spread outat their ease. 

For a while Richter sat in silence, puffing at a meerschaum with a hugebrown bowl. A trick of the mind opened for Stephen one of the historiesin his father's library in Beacon Street, across the pages of which hadflitted the ancestors of this blue-eyed and great-chested Saxon. He sawthem in cathedral forests, with the red hair long upon their bodies. Hesaw terrifying battles with the Roman Empire surging back and forththrough the low countries. He saw a lad of twenty at the head of ruggedlegions clad in wild skins, sweeping Rome out of Gaul. Back in the dimages Richter's fathers must have defended grim Eresburg. And it seemed tohim that in the end the new Republic must profit by this rugged stock, which had good women for wives and mothers, and for fathers men in whoseblood dwelt a fierce patriotism and contempt for cowardice. 

This fancy of ancestry pleased Stephen. He thought of the forefathers ofthose whom he knew, who dwelt north of Market Street. Many, though thisgeneration of the French might know it not, had bled at Calais and atAgincourt, had followed the court of France in clumsy coaches to Bloisand Amboise, or lived in hovels under the castle walls. Others hadcharged after the Black Prince at Poitiers, and fought as serf or noble. In the war of the Roses; had been hatters or tailors in Cromwell'sarmies, or else had sacrificed lands and fortunes for Charles Stuart. These English had toiled, slow but resistless, over the misty Blue Ridgeafter Boone and Harrod to this old St. Louis of the French, theirenemies, whose fur traders and missionaries had long followed the veinsof the vast western wilderness. And now, on to the structure builded bythese two, comes Germany to be welded, to strengthen or to weaken. 

Richter put down his pipe on the table. 

"Stephen, " he said suddenly, "you do not share the prejudice against ushere?"

Stephen flushed. He thought of some vigorous words that Miss Puss Russellhad used on the subject of the Dutch. "

"No, " said he, emphatically. 

"I am glad, " answered Richter, with a note of sadness, in his voice. "Donot despise us before you know more of us. We are still feudal inGermany--of the Middle Ages. The peasant is a serf. He is compelled toserve the lord of the land every year with so much labor of his hands. The small farmers, the 'Gross' and 'Mittel Bauern', we call them, arealso mortgaged to the nobles who tyrannize our Vaterland. Our merchantsare little merchants--shopkeepers, you would say. My poor father, aneducated man, was such. They fought our revolution. "

"And now, " said Stephen, "why do they not keep their hold?"

Richter sighed. 

"We were unused to ruling, " he answered. "We knew not how to act--what todo. You must remember that we were not trained to govern ourselves, asare you of the English race, from children. Those who have been forcenturies ground under heel do not make practical parliamentarians. No;your heritage is liberty--you Americans and English; and we Germans mustdesert our native land to partake of it. "

"And was it not hard to leave?" asked Stephen, gently. 

The eyes of the German filled at the recollection, nor did he seemashamed of his tears. 

"I had a poor old father whose life was broken to save the Vaterland, butnot his spirit, " he cried, "no, not that. My father was born in 1797. Goddirected my grandfather to send him to the Kolnisches gymnasium, wherethe great Jahn taught. Jahn was our Washington, the father of Germanythat is to be. 

"Then our Fatherland was French. Our women wore Parisian clothes, andspoke the language; French immorality and atheism had spread like aplague among us Napoleon the vile had taken the sword of our Frederickfrom Berlin. It was Father Jahn (so we love to call him), it was FatherJahn who founded the 'Turnschulen', that the generations to come mightreturn to simple German ways, --plain fare, high principles, our nativetongue; and the development of the body. The downfall of the fiendNapoleon and the Vaterland united--these two his scholars must havewritten in their hearts. All summer long, in their black caps and linenpantaloons, they would trudge after him, begging a crust here and acheese there, to spread his teachings far and wide under the thatchedroofs. 

"Then came 1811. I have heard my father tell how in the heat of that yeara great red comet burned in the sky, even as that we now see, my friend. God forbid that this portends blood. But in the coming spring the Frenchconscripts filled our sacred land like a swarm of locusts, devouring asthey went. And at their head, with the pomp of Darius, rode thatdestroyer of nations and homes, Napoleon. What was Germany then? Ashes. But the red embers were beneath, fanned by Father Jahn. Napoleon atDresden made our princes weep. Never, even in the days of the Frankishkings, had we been so humbled. He dragged our young men with him toRussia, and left them to die moaning on the frozen wastes, while he droveoff in his sledge. 

"It was the next year that Germany rose. High and low, rich and poor, Jaeger and Landwehr, came flocking into the army, and even the old men, the Landsturm. Russia was an ally, and later, Austria. My father, a lastof sixteen, was in the Landwehr, under the noble Blucher in Silesia, whenthey drove the French into the Katzbach and the Neisse, swollen by therains into torrents. It had rained until the forests were marshes. Powderwould not burn. But Blucher, ah, there was a man! He whipped his greatsabre from under his cloak, crying 'Vorwarts! Vorwarts!' And the Landwehrwith one great shout slew their enemies with the butts of their musketsuntil their arms were weary and the bodies were tossed like logs in thefoaming waters. They called Blucher Marachall Vorwarts!

"Then Napoleon was sent to Elba. But the victors quarrelled amongstthemselves, while Talleyrand and Metternich tore our Vaterland intostrips, and set brother against brother. And our blood, and the grief forthe widows and the fatherless, went for nothing. "

Richter paused to light his pipe. 

"After a while, " he continued presently, "came the German Confederation, with Austria at the head. Rid of Napoleon, we had another despot inMetternich. But the tree which Jahn had planted grew, and its branchesspread. The great master was surrounded by spies. My father had gone toJena University, when he joined the Burschenschaft, or Students' League, of which I will tell you later. It was pledged to the rescue of theVaterland. He was sent to prison for dipping his handkerchief in theblood of Sand, beheaded for liberty at Mannheim. Afterwards he wasliberated, and went to Berlin and married my mother, who died when I wasyoung. Twice again he was in prison because the societies met at hishouse. We were very poor, my friend. You in America know not the meaningof that word. His health broke, and when '48 came, he was an old man. Hishair was white, and he walked the streets with a crutch. But he had saveda little money to send me to Jena. 

"He was proud of me. I was big-boned and fair, like my mother. And when Icame home at the end of a Semester I can see him now, as he would hobbleto the door, wearing the red and black and gold of the Burschenschaft. And he would keep me up half the night-telling him of our 'Schlager'fights with the aristocrats. My father had been a noted swordsman in hisday. "

He stopped abruptly, and colored. For Stephen was staring at the jaggedscar, He had never summoned the courage to ask Richter how he came by it. 

"Schlager fights?" he exclaimed. 

"Broadswords, " answered the German, hastily. "Some day I will tell you ofthem, and of the struggle with the troops in the 'Breite Strasse' inMarch. We lost, as I told you because we knew not how to hold what we hadgained. 

"I left Germany, hoping to make a home here for my poor father. How sadhis face as he kissed me farewell! And he said to me: 'Carl, if ever yournew Vaterland, the good Republic, be in danger, sacrifice all. I havespent my years in bondage, and I say to you that life without liberty isnot worth the living. ' Three months I was gone, and he was dead, withoutthat for which he had striven so bravely. He never knew what it is tohave an abundance of meat. He never knew from one day to the other whenhe would have to embrace me, all he owned, and march away to prison, because he was a patriot. " Richter's voice had fallen low, but now heraised it. "Do you think, my friend, " he cried, "do you think that Iwould not die willingly for this new country if the time should come. Yes, and there are a million like me, once German, now American, who willgive their lives to preserve this Union. For without it the world is notfit to live in. "

Stephen had food for thought as he walked northward through the strangestreets on that summer evening. Here indeed was a force not to bereckoned, and which few had taken into account. 

CHAPTER II

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

It is sometimes instructive to look back and see hour Destiny gave us akick here, and Fate a shove there, that sent us in the right direction atthe proper time. And when Stephen Brice looks backward now, he laughs tothink that he did not suspect the Judge of being an ally of the two whoare mentioned above. The sum total of Mr. Whipple's words and advices tohim that summer had been these. Stephen was dressed more carefully thanusual, in view of a visit to Bellefontaine Road. Whereupon the Judgedemanded whether he were contemplating marriage. Without waiting for areply he pointed to a rope and a slab of limestone on the pavement below, and waved his hand unmistakably toward the Mississippi. 

Miss Russell was of the opinion that Mr. Whipple had once been crossed inlove. 

But we are to speak more particularly of a put-up job, although Stephendid not know this at the time. 

Towards five o'clock of a certain afternoon in August of that year, 1858, Mr. Whipple emerged from his den. Instead of turning to the right, hestrode straight to Stephen's table. His communications were always atrifle startling. This was no exception. 

"Mr. Brice, " said he, "you are to take the six forty-five train on theSt. Louis, Alton, and Chicago road tomorrow morning for Springfield, Illinois. "

"Yes sir. "

"Arriving at Springfield, you are to deliver this envelope into the handsof Mr. Abraham Lincoln, of the law firm of Lincoln & Herndon. "

"Abraham Lincoln!" cried Stephen, rising and straddling his chair. "But, sir--"

"Abraham Lincoln, " interrupted the Judge, forcibly "I try to speakplainly, sir. You are to deliver it into Mr. Lincoln's hands. If he isnot in Springfield, find out where he is and follow him up. Your expenseswill be paid by me. The papers are important. Do you understand, sir?"

Stephen did. And he knew better than to argue the matter with Mr. Whipple. He had read in the Missouri Democrat of this man Lincoln, acountry lawyer who had once been to Congress, and who was even nowdisputing the senatorship of his state with the renowned Douglas. Inspite of their complacent amusement, he had won a little admiration fromconservative citizens who did not believe in the efficacy of JudgeDouglas's Squatter Sovereignty. Likewise this Mr. Lincoln, who had oncebeen a rail-sputter, was uproariously derided by Northern Democratsbecause he had challenged Mr. Douglas to seven debates, to be held atdifferent towns in the state of Illinois. David with his sling and hissmooth round pebble must have had much of the same sympathy and ridicule. 

For Mr. Douglas, Senator and Judge, was a national character, mighty inpolitics, invulnerable in the armor of his oratory. And he was known farand wide as the Little Giant. Those whom he did not conquer with hislogic were impressed by his person. 

Stephen remembered with a thrill that these debates were going on now. One, indeed, had been held, and had appeared in fine print in a corner ofthe Democrat. Perhaps this Lincoln might not be in; Springfield; perhapshe, Stephen Brice, might, by chance, hit upon a debate, and see and hearthe tower of the Democracy, the Honorable Stephen A. Douglas. 

But it is greatly to be feared that our friend Stephen was bored with hiserrand before he arrived at the little wooden station of the Illinoiscapital. Standing on the platform after the train pulled out, he summonedup courage to ask a citizen with no mustache and a beard, which he sweptaway when he spat, where was the office of Lincoln & Herndon. Thestranger spat twice, regarded Mr. Brice pityingly, and finally led him insilence past the picket fence and the New England-looking meeting-houseopposite until they came to the great square on which the State Housesquatted. The State House was a building with much pretension to beauty, built in the classical style, of a yellow stone, with sold white blindsin the high windows and mighty columns capped at the gently slantingroof. But on top of it was reared a crude wooden dome, like a clay headon a marble statue. 

"That there, " said the stranger, "is whar we watches for the CountyDelegations when they come in to a meetin'. " And with this remark, pointing with a stubby thumb up a well-worn stair, he departed beforeStephen could thank him. Stephen paused under the awning, of which therewere many shading the brick pavement, to regard the straggling line ofstores and houses which surrounded and did homage to the yellow pile. Thebrick house in which Mr. Lincoln's office was had decorations above thewindows. Mounting the stair, Stephen found a room bare enough, save for afew chairs and law books, and not a soul in attendance. After sittingawhile by the window, mopping his brow with a handkerchief, he went outon the landing to make inquiries. There he met another citizen in shirtsleeves, like unto the first, in the very act of sweeping his beard outof the way of a dexterous expectoration. 

"Wal, young man, " said he, "who be you lookin' for here?"

"For Mr. Lincoln, " said Stephen. 

At this the gentleman sat down on the dirty top step; and gave vent toquiet but annoying laughter. 

"I reckon you come to the wrong place. "

"I was told this was his office, " said Stephen, with some heat. 

"Whar be you from?" said the citizen, with interest. 

"I don't see what that has to do with it, " answered our friend. 

"Wal, " said the citizen, critically, "if you was from Philadelphy orBoston, you might stand acquitted. "

Stephen was on the point of claiming Boston, but wisely hesitated. 

"I'm from St. Louis, with a message for Mr. Lincoln, " he replied. 

"Ye talk like y e was from down East, " said the citizens who seemed inthe humor for conversation. "I reckon old Abe's' too busy to see you. Say, young man, did you ever hear of Stephen Arnold Douglas, alias theLittle Giant, alias the Idol of our State, sir?"

This was too much for Stephen, who left the citizen without thecompliment of a farewell. Continuing around the square, inquiring for Mr. Lincoln's house, he presently got beyond the stores and burning pavementson to a plank walk, under great shade trees, and past old brick mansionsset well back from the street. At length he paused in front of a woodenhouse of a dirty grayish brown, too high for its length and breadth, withtall shutters of the same color, and a picket fence on top of theretaining wall which lifted the yard above the plank walk. It was an uglyhouse, surely. But an ugly house may look beautiful when surrounded bysuch heavy trees as this was. Their shade was the most inviting thingStephen had seen. A boy of sixteen or so was swinging on the gate, plainly a very mischievous boy, with a round, laughing, sunburned faceand bright eyes. In front of the gate was a shabby carriage with top andside curtains, hitched to a big bay horse. 

"Can you tell me where Mr. Lincoln lives?" inquired Stephen. 

"Well, I guess, " said the boy. "I'm his son, and he lives right here whenhe's at home. But that hasn't been often lately. "

"Where is he?" asked Stephen, beginning to realize the purport of hisconversations with citizens. 

Young Mr. Lincoln mentioned the name of a small town in the northern partof the state, where he said his father would stop that night. He toldStephen that he looked wilted, invited him into the house to have a glassof lemonade, and to join him and another boy in a fishing excursion withthe big bay horse. Stephen told young Mr. Lincoln that he should have totake the first train after his father. 

"Jimmy!" exclaimed the other, enviously, "then you'll hear the Freeportdebate. "

Now it has been said that the day was scorching hot. And when Stephen hadgot back to the wooden station, and had waited an hour for theBloomington express, his anxiety to hear the Freeport debate was not askeen as it might have been. Late in the afternoon he changed atBloomington to the Illinois Central Railroad: The sun fell down behindthe cardboard edge of the prairie, the train rattled on into the north, wrapped in its dust and Smoke, and presently became a long comet, roaringred, to match that other comet which flashed in the sky. 

By this time it may be said that our friend was heartily sick of hismission, He tried to doze; but two men, a farmer and a clerk, got in at away station, and sat behind him. They began to talk about this manLincoln. 

"Shucks, " said the clerk, "think of him opposing the Little Giant. "

"He's right smart, Sam, " said the farmer. "He's got a way of sayin'things that's clear. We boys can foller him. But Steve Douglas, he onlymixes you up. "

His companion guffawed. 

"Because why?" he shouted. "Because you ain't had no education: What doesa rail-sputter like Abe know about this government? Judge Douglas hasworked it all out. He's smart. Let the territories take care ofthemselves. Besides, Abe ain't got no dignity. The fust of this week Iseen him side-tracked down the road here in a caboose, while Doug went byin a special. "

"Abe is a plain man, Sam, " the farmer answered solemnly. "But you watchout for him. "

It was ten o'clock when Stephen descended at his destination. Mercifulnight hid from his view the forlorn station and the ragged town. Thebaggage man told him that Mr. Lincoln was at the tavern. 

That tavern! Will words describe the impression it made on a certainyoung man from Boston! It was long and low and ramshackly and hot thatnight as the inside of a brick-kiln. As he drew near it on the singleplant walk over the black prairie-mud, he saw countrymen and politiciansswarming its narrow porch and narrower hall. Discussions in all keys werein progress, and it, was with vast difficulty that our distracted youngman pushed through and found the landlord, This personage was the coolestof the lot. Confusion was but food for his smiles, importunity butincreased his suavity. And of the seeming hundreds that pressed him, heknew and utilized the Christian name of all. From behind a corner of thebar he held them all at bay, and sent them to quarters like the oldcampaigner he was. 

"Now, Ben, tain't no use gettin' mad. You, and Josh way, an' Will, an'Sam, an' the Cap'n, an' the four Beaver brothers, will all sleep innumber ten. What's that, Franklin? No, sirree, the Honerable Abe, andMister Hill, and Jedge Oglesby is sleepin' in seven. " The smell ofperspiration was stifling as Stephen pushed up to the master of thesituation. "What's that? Supper, young man? Ain't you had no supper?Gosh, I reckon if you can fight your way to the dinin' room, the gals'llgive you some pork and a cup of coffee. "

After a preliminary scuffle with a drunken countryman in mud-caked boots, Mr. Brice presently reached the long table in the dining-room. A sense ofhumor not quite extinct made him smile as he devoured pork chops andgreasy potatoes and heavy apple pie. As he was finishing the pie, hebecame aware of the tavern keeper standing over him. 

"Are you one of them flip Chicagy reporters?" asked that worthy, with asuspicious eye on Stephen's clothes. 

Our friend denied this. 

"You didn't talk jest like 'em. Guess you'll be here, tonight--"

"Yes, " said Stephen, wearily. And he added, outs of force of habit, "Canyou give me a room?"

"I reckon, " was the cheerful reply. "Number ten, There ain't nobody inthere but Ben Billings, and the four Beaver brothers, an' three more. I'll have a shake-down for ye next the north window. "

Stephen's thanks for the hospitality perhaps lacked heartiness. Butperceiving his host still contemplating him, he was emboldened to say:

"Has Mr. Lincoln gone to bed?"

"Who? Old Abe, at half-past ten? Wal I reckon you don't know him. "

Stephen's reflections here on the dignity of the Senatorial candidate ofthe Republican Party in Illinois were novel, at any rate. He thought ofcertain senators he had seen in Massachusetts. 

"The only reason he ain't down here swappin' yarns with the boys, isbecause he's havin' some sort of confab with the Jedge and Joe Medill ofthe 'Chicagy Press' and 'Tribune'. "

"Do you think he would see me?" asked Stephen, eagerly. He was emboldenedby the apparent lack of ceremony of the candidate. The landlord looked athim in some surprise. 

"Wal, I reckon. Jest go up an' knock at the door number seven, and sayTom Wright sent ye. "

"How shall I know Mr. Lincoln?" asked Stephen. 

"Pick out the ugliest man in the room. There ain't nobody I kin think ofuglier than Abe. "

Bearing in mind this succinct description of the candidate, Stephenclimbed the rickety stairs to the low second story. All the bedroom doorswere flung open except one, on which the number 7 was inscribed. Fromwithin came bursts of uproarious laughter, and a summons to enter. 

He pushed open the door, and as soon as his eyes became, accustomed tothe tobacco smoke, he surveyed the room. There was a bowl on the floor, the chair where it belonged being occupied. There was a very inhospitablelooking bed, two shake-downs, and four Windsor chairs in more or lessstate of dilapidation--all occupied likewise. A country glass lamp wasbalanced on a rough shelf, and under it a young man sat absorbed inmaking notes, and apparently oblivious to the noise around him. Everygentleman in the room was collarless, coatless, tieless, and vestless. Some were engaged in fighting gnats and June bugs, while others battledwith mosquitoes--all save the young man who wrote, he being whollyindifferent. 

Stephen picked out the homeliest man in the room. There was no mistakinghim. And, instead of a discussion of the campaign with the othergentlemen, Mr. Lincoln was defending what do you think? Mr. Lincoln wasdefending an occasional and judicious use of swear words. 

"Judge, " said he, "you do an almighty lot of cussing in your speeches, and perhaps it ain't a bad way to keep things stirred up. "

"Well, " said the Judge, "a fellow will rip out something once in a whilebefore he has time to shut it off. "

Mr. Lincoln passed his fingers through his tousled hair. His thick lowerlip crept over in front of the upper one, A gleam stirred in the deep-setgray eyes. 

"Boys, " he asked, "did I ever tell you about Sam'l, the old Quaker'sapprentice?"

There was a chorus of "No's" and "Go ahead, Abe?" The young man who waswriting dropped his pencil. As for Stephen, this long, uncouth man of theplains was beginning to puzzle him. The face, with its crude features anddeep furrows, relaxed into intense soberness. And Mr. Lincoln began hisstory with a slow earnestness that was truly startling, considering thesubject. 

"This apprentice, Judge, was just such an incurable as you. " (Laughter. )"And Sam'l, when he wanted to, could get out as many cusses in a secondas his anvil shot sparks. And the old man used to wrastle with him nightsand speak about punishment, and pray for him in meeting. But it didn't doany good. When anything went wrong, Sam'l had an appropriate word for theoccasion. One day the old man got an inspiration when he was scratchingaround in the dirt for an odd-sized iron. 

"'Sam'l, ' says he, 'I want thee. '

"Sam'l went, and found the old man standing over a big rat hole, wherethe rats came out to feed on the scraps. 

"'Sam'l, ' says he, 'fetch the tongs. '

"Sam'l fetched the tongs. 

"'Now, Sam'l, ' says the old man, 'thou wilt sit here until thou hast arat. Never mind thy dinner. And when thou hast him, if I hear thee swear, thou wilt sit here until thou hast another. Dost thou mind?'"

Here Mr. Lincoln seized two cotton umbrellas, rasped his chair over thebare boor into a corner of the room, and sat hunched over an imaginaryrat hole, for all the world like a gawky Quaker apprentice. And this wasa candidate for the Senate of the United States, who on the morrow was tomeet in debate the renowned and polished Douglas!

"Well, " Mr. Lincoln continued, "that was on a Monday, I reckon, and theboys a-shouting to have their horses shod. Maybe you think they didn'thave some fun with Sam'l. But Sam'l sat there, and sat there, and satthere, and after a while the old man pulled out his dinner-pail. Sam'lnever opened his mouth. First thing you know, snip went the tongs. " Mr. Lincoln turned gravely around. "What do you reckon Sam'l said, Judge?"

The Judge, at random, summoned up a good one, to the delight of theaudience. 

"Judge, " said Mr. Lincoln, with solemnity, "I reckon that's what you'dhave said. Sam'l never said a word, and the old man kept on eating hisdinner. One o'clock came, and the folks began to drop in again, butSam'l, he sat there. 'Long towards night the boys collected 'round thedoor. They were getting kind of interested. Sam'l, he never looked up. "Here Mr. Lincoln bent forward a little, and his voice fell to a loud, drawling whisper. "First thing you know, here come the whiskers peepingup, then the pink eyes a--blinking at the forge, then--!"

"Suddenly he brought the umbrellas together with whack. 

"'By God, ' yells Sam'l, 'I have thee at last!'"

Amid the shouts, Mr. Lincoln stood up, his long body swaying to and froas he lifted high the improvised tongs. They heard a terrified squeal, and there was the rat squirming and wriggling, --it seemed before theirvery eyes. And Stephen forgot the country tavern, the country politician, and was transported straightway into the Quaker's smithy. 

CHAPTER III

IN WHICH STEPHEN LEARNS SOMETHING

It was Mr. Lincoln who brought him back. The astonishing candidate forthe Senate had sunk into his chair, his face relaxed into sadness savefor the sparkle lurking in the eyes. So he sat, immobile, until thelaughter had died down to silence. Then he turned to Stephen. 

"Sonny, " he said, "did you want to see me?"

Stephen was determined to be affable and kind, and (shall we say it?) hewould not make Mr. Lincoln uncomfortable either by a superiority ofEnglish or the certain frigidity of manner which people in the West saidhe had. But he tried to imagine a Massachusetts senator, Mr. Sumner, forinstance, going through the rat story, and couldn't. Somehow, Massachusetts senators hadn't this gift. And yet he was not quite surethat it wasn't a fetching gift. Stephen did not quite like to be called"Sonny. " But he looked into two gray eyes, and at the face, and somethingcurious happened to him. How was he to know that thousands of hiscountrymen were to experience the same sensation?

"Sonny, " said Mr. Lincoln again, "did you want to see me?"

"Yes, sir. " Stephen wondered at the "sir. " It had been involuntary. Hedrew from his inner pocket the envelope which the Judge had given him. 

Mr. Lincoln ripped it open. A document fell out, and a letter. He put thedocument in his tall hat, which was upside down on the floor. As he gotdeeper into the letter, he pursed his mouth, and the lines of his facedeepened in a smile. Then he looked up, grave again. 

Judge Whipple told you to run till you found me, did he, Mr. Brice?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Is the Judge the same old criss-cross, contrary, violent fool that healways was?"

Providence put an answer in Stephen's mouth. 

"He's been very good to me, Mr. Lincoln. "

Mr. Lincoln broke into laughter. 

"Why, he's the biggest-hearted man I know. You know him, Oglesby, --SilasWhipple. But a man has to be a Daniel or a General Putnam to venture intothat den of his. There's only one man in the world who can beard Silas, and he's the finest states-right Southern gentleman you ever saw. I meanColonel Carvel. You've heard of him, Oglesby. Don't they quarrel once ina while, Mr. Brice?"

"They do have occasional arguments, ' said Stephen, amused. 

"Arguments!" cried Mr. Lincoln; "well, I couldn't come as near tofighting every day and stand it. If my dog and Bill's dog across thestreet walked around each other and growled for half a day, and then laydown together, as Carvel and Whipple do, by Jing, I'd put pepper on theirnoses--"

"I reckon Colonel Carvel isn't a fighting man, " said some one, at random. 

Strangely enough, Stephen was seized with a desire to vindicate theColonel's courage. Both Mr. Lincoln and Judge Oglesby forestalled him. 

"Not a fighting man!" exclaimed the Judge. "Why, the other day--"

"Now, Oglesby, " put in Mr. Lincoln, "I wanted to tell that story. "

Stephen had heard it, and so have we. But Mr. Lincoln's imitation of theColonel's drawl brought him a pang like homesickness. 

"'No, suh, I didn't intend to shoot. Not if he had gone off straight. Buthe wriggled and twisted like a rattlesnake, and I just couldn't resist, suh. Then I sent m'nigger Ephum to tell him not to let me catch sight ofhim 'round the Planters' House. Yes, suh, that's what he was. One ofthese damned Yankees who come South and go into nigger-deals andpolitics. "'

Mr. Lincoln glanced at Stephen, and then again at the Judge's letter. Hetook up his silk hat and thrust that, too, into the worn lining, whichwas already filled with papers. He clapped the hat on his head, andbuttoned on his collar. 

"I reckon I'll go for a walk, boys, " he said, "and clear my head, so asto be ready for the Little Giant to-morrow at Freeport. Mr. Brice, do youfeel like walking?"

Stephen, taken aback, said that he did. 

"Now, Abe, this is just durned foolishness, " one of the gentlemenexpostulated. "We want to know if you're going to ask Douglas thatquestion. "

"If you do, you kill yourself, Lincoln, " said another, who Stephenafterwards learned was Mr. Medill, proprietor of the great 'Press andTribune'. 

"I guess I'll risk it, Joe, " said Mr. Lincoln, gravely. Suddenly comesthe quiver about the corners of his mouth and the gray eyes respond. "Boys, " said he, "did you ever hear the story of farmer Bell, down inEgypt? I'll tell it to you, boys, and then perhaps you'll know why I'llask Judge Douglas that question. Farmer Bell had the prize Bartlett peartree, and the prettiest gal in that section. And he thought about thesame of each of 'em. All the boys were after Sue Bell. But there was onlyone who had any chance of getting her, and his name was Jim Rickets. Jimwas the handsomest man in that section. He's been hung since. But Jim hada good deal out of life, --all the appetites, and some of thegratifications. He liked Sue, and he liked a luscious Bartlett. And heintended to have both. And it just so happened that that prize pear treehad a whopper on that year, and old man Bell couldn't talk of anythingelse. 

"Now there was an ugly galoot whose name isn't worth mentioning. He knewhe wasn't in any way fit for Sue, and he liked pears about as well as JimRickets. Well, one night here comes Jim along the road, whistling; tocourt Susan, and there was the ugly galoot a-yearning on the bank underthe pear tree. Jim was all fixed up, and he says to the galoot, 'Let'shave a throw. ' Now the galoot knew old Bell was looking over the fence Sohe says, 'All right, ' and he gives Jim the first shot--Jim fetched downthe big pear, got his teeth in it, and strolled off to the house, kind ofpitiful of the galoot for a, half-witted ass. When he got to the door, there was the old man. 'What are you here for?' says he. 'Why, ' saysRickets, in his off-hand way, for he always had great confidence, 'tofetch Sue. '"

"The old man used to wear brass toes to keep his boots from wearing out, "said Mr. Lincoln, dreamily. 

"You see, " continued Mr. Lincoln, "you see the galoot knew that JimRickets wasn't to be trusted with Susan Bell. "

Some of the gentlemen appeared to see the point of this politicalparable, for they laughed uproariously. The others laughed, too. Thenthey slapped their knees, looked at Mr. Lincoln's face, which wasperfectly sober, and laughed again, a little fainter. Then the Judgelooked as solemn as his title. 

"It won't do, Abe, " said he. "You commit suicide. "

"You'd better stick to the pear, Abe, " said Mr. Medill, "and fightStephen A. Douglas here and now. This isn't any picnic. Do you know whohe is?"

"Why, yes, Joe, " said Mr. Lincoln, amiably. "He's a man with tens ofthousands of blind followers. It's my business to make some of thoseblind followers see. "

By this time Stephen was burning to know the question that Mr. Lincolnwished to ask the Little Giant, and why the other gentlemen were againstit. But Mr. Lincoln surprised him still further in taking him by the arm. Turning to the young reporter, Mr. Hill, who had finished his writing, hesaid:

"Bob, a little air will do you good. I've had enough of the old boys fora while, and I'm going to talk to somebody any own age. "

Stephen was halfway down the corridor when he discovered that he hadforgotten his hat. As he returned he heard somebody say:

"If that ain't just like Abe. He stopped to pull a flea out of hisstocking when he was going to fight that duel with Shields, and now he'swalking with boys before a debate with the smartest man in this country. And there's heaps of things he ought to discuss with us. "

"Reckon we haven't got much to do with it, " said another, half laughing, half rueful. "There's some things Abe won't stand. "

From the stairs Stephen saw Mr. Lincoln threading his way through thecrowd below, laughing at one, pausing to lay his hand on the shoulder ofanother, and replying to a rough sally of a third to make the place atumult of guffaws. But none had the temerity to follow him. When Stephencaught up with him in the little country street, he was talking earnestlyto Mr. Hill, the young reporter of the Press and Tribune. And what do youthink was the subject? The red comet in the sky that night. Stephen keptpace in silence with Mr. Lincoln's strides, another shock in store forhim. This rail-splitter, this postmaster, this flat-boatman, whom he hadnot credited with a knowledge of the New Code, was talking Astronomy. Andstrange to say, Mr. Brice was learning. 

"Bob, " said Mr. Lincoln, "can you elucidate the problem of the threebodies?"

To Stephen's surprise, Mr. Hill elucidated. 

The talk then fell upon novels and stories, a few of which Mr. Lincolnseemed to have read. He spoke, among others, of the "Gold Bug. " "Thestory is grand, " said he, "but it might as well have been written ofRobinson Crusoe's island. What a fellow wants in a book is to know wherehe is. There are not many novels, or ancient works for that matter, thatput you down anywhere. "

"There is that genuine fragment which Cicero has preserved from a lastwork of Aristotle, " said Mr. Hill, slyly. "'If there were beings wholived in the depths & the earth, and could emerge through the openfissures, and could suddenly behold the earth, the sea, and the:--vaultof heaven--'"

"But you--you impostor, " cried Mr. Lincoln, interrupting, "you're givingus Humboldt's Cosmos. "

Mr. Hill owned up, laughing. 

It is remarkable how soon we accustom ourselves to a strange situation. And to Stephen it was no less strange to be walking over a muddy road ofthe prairie with this most singular man and a newspaper correspondent, than it might have been to the sub-terrestrial inhabitant to emerge onthe earth's surface. Stephen's mind was in the process of a chemicalchange: Suddenly it seemed to him as if he had known this tall Illinoisanalways. The whim of the senatorial candidate in choosing him for acompanion he did not then try to account for. 

"Come, Mr. Stephen, " said Mr. Lincoln, presently, "where do you hailfrom?"

"Boston, " said Stephen. 

"No!" said Mr. Lincoln, incredulously. "And how does it happen that youcome to me with a message from a rank Abolitionist lawyer in St. Louis?"

"Is the Judge a friend of yours, sir?" Stephen asked. 

"What!" exclaimed Mr. Lincoln, "didn't he tell you he was?"

"He said nothing at all, sir, except to tell me to travel until I foundyou. "

"I call the Judge a friend of mine, " said Mr. Lincoln. "He may not claimme because I do not believe in putting all slave-owners to the sword. "

"I do not think that Judge Whipple is precisely an Abolitionist, sir. "

"What! And how do you feel, Mr. Stephen?"

Stephen replied in figures. It was rare with him, and he must have caughtit from Mr. Lincoln. 

"I am not for ripping out the dam suddenly, sir, that would drown thenation. I believe that the water can be drained off in some other way. "

Mr. Lincoln's direct answer to this was to give Stephen stinging slapbetween the shoulder-blades. 

"God bless the boy!" he cried. "He has thought it out. Bob, take thatdown for the Press and Tribune as coming from a rising young politicianof St. Louis. "

"Why, " Stephen blurted out, "I--I thought you were an Abolitionist, Mr. Lincoln. "

"Mr. Brice, " said Mr. Lincoln, "I have as much use for the BostonLiberator as I have for the Charleston Courier. You may guess how muchthat is. The question is not whether we shall or shall not have slavery, but whether slavery shall stay where it is, or be extended according toJudge Douglas's ingenious plan. The Judge is for breeding worms. I am forcauterizing the sore so that it shall not spread. But I tell you, Mr. Brice, that this nation cannot exist half slave and half free. "

Was it the slap on the back that opened Stephen's eyes? It was certainthat as they returned to the tavern the man at his side was changed. Heneed not have felt chagrined. Men in high places underestimated Lincoln, or did not estimate him at all. Affection came first. The great warmheart had claimed Stephen as it claimed all who came near it. 

The tavern was deserted save for a few stragglers. Under the dim light atthe bar Mr. Lincoln took off his hat and drew the Judge's letter from thelining. 

"Mr. Stephen, " said he, "would you like to come to Freeport with meto-morrow and hear the debate?"

An hour earlier he would have declined with thanks. But now! Now his facelighted at the prospect, and suddenly fell again. Mr. Lincoln guessed thecause. He laid his hand on the young man's shoulder, and laughed. 

"I reckon you're thinking of what the Judge will say. "

Stephen smiled. 

"I'll take care of the Judge, " said Mr. Lincoln. "I'm not afraid of him. "He drew forth from the inexhaustible hat a slip of paper, and began towrite. 

"There, " said he, when he had finished, "a friend of mine is going toSpringfield in the morning, and he'll send that to the Judge. "

And this is what he had written:--

 "I have borrowed Steve for a day or two, and guarantee to return him a good Republican. A. LINCOLN. "

It is worth remarking that this was the first time Mr. Brice had beencalled "Steve" and had not resented it. 

Stephen was embarrassed. He tried to thank Mr. Lincoln, but thatgentleman's quizzical look cut him short. And the next remark made himgasp. 

"Look here, Steve, " said he, "you know a parlor from a drawing-room. Whatdid you think of me when you saw me to-night?"

Stephen blushed furiously, and his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. 

"I'll tell you, " said Mr. Lincoln, with his characteristic smile, "youthought that you wouldn't pick me out of a bunch of horses to race withthe Senator. "

CHAPTER IV

THE QUESTION

Many times since Abraham Lincoln has been called to that mansion whichGod has reserved for the patriots who have served Him also, Stephen Bricehas thought of that steaming night in the low-ceiled room of the countrytavern, reeking with the smell of coarse food and hot humanity. Heremembers vividly how at first his gorge rose, and recalls how graduallythere crept over him a forgetfulness of the squalidity and discomfort. Then came a space gray with puzzling wonder. Then the dawning of aworship for a very ugly man in a rumpled and ill-made coat. 

You will perceive that there was hope for Stephen. On his shake-down thatnight, oblivious to the snores of his companions and the droning of theinsects, he lay awake. And before his eyes was that strange, marked face, with its deep lines that blended both humor and sadness there. It washomely, and yet Stephen found himself reflecting that honesty was just ashomely, and plain truth. And yet both were beautiful to those who hadlearned to love them. Just so this Mr. Lincoln. 

He fell asleep wondering why Judge Whipple had sent him. 

It was in accord with nature that reaction came with the morning. Such amorning, and such a place!

He was awakened, shivering, by the beat of rain on the roof, andstumbling over the prostrate forms of the four Beaver brothers, reachedthe window. Clouds filled the sky, and Joshway, whose pallet was underthe sill, was in a blessed state of moisture. 

No wonder some of his enthusiasm had trickled away!

He made his toilet in the wet under the pump outside; where he had towait his turn. And he rather wished he were going back to St. Louis. Hehad an early breakfast of fried eggs and underdone bacon, and coffeewhich made him pine for Hester's. The dishes were neither too clean nortoo plentiful, being doused in water as soon as ever they were out ofuse. 

But after breakfast the sun came out, and a crowd collected around thetavern, although the air was chill and the muck deep in the street. Stephen caught glimpses of Mr. Lincoln towering above the knots ofcountry politicians who surrounded him, and every once in a while a knotwould double up with laughter. There was no sign that the senatorialaspirant took the situation seriously; that the coming struggle with hisskilful antagonist was weighing him down in the least. Stephen held alooffrom the groups, thinking that Mr. Lincoln had forgotten him. He decidedto leave for St. Louis on the morning train, and was even pushing towardthe tavern entrance with his bag in his hand, when he was met by Mr. Hill. 

"I had about given you up, Mr. Brice, " he said. "Mr. Lincoln asked me toget hold of you, and bring you to him alive or dead. "

Accordingly Stephen was led to the station, where a long train of twelvecars was pulled up, covered with flags and bunting. On entering one ofthese, he perceived Mr. Lincoln sprawled (he could think of no other wordto fit the attitude) on a seat next the window, and next him was Mr. Medill of the Press and Tribune. The seat just in front was reserved forMr. Hill, who was to make any notes necessary. Mr. Lincoln looked up. Hisappearance was even less attractive than the night before, as he had on adirty gray linen duster. 

"I thought you'd got loose, Steve, " he said, holding out his hand. "Gladto see you. Just you sit down there next to Bob, where I can talk toyou. "

Stephen sat down, diffident, for he knew that there were others in thattrain who would give ten years of their lives for that seat. 

"I've taken a shine to this Bostonian, Joe, " said Mr Lincoln to Mr. Medill. "We've got to catch 'em young to do anything with 'em, you know. Now, Steve, just give me a notion how politics are over in St. Louis. What do they think of our new Republican party? Too bran new for old St. Louis, eh?"

Stephen saw expostulation in Mr. Medill's eyes, and hesitated. And Mr. Lincoln seemed to feel Medill's objections, as by mental telepathy. Buthe said:-- "We'll come to that little matter later, Joe, when the carsstart. "

Naturally, Stephen began uneasily. But under the influence of that kindlyeye he thawed, and forgot himself. He felt that this man was not one tofeign an interest. The shouts of the people on the little platforminterrupted the account, and the engine staggered off with its load. 

"I reckon St. Louis is a nest of Southern Democrats, " Mr. Lincolnremarked, "and not much opposition. "

"There are quite a few Old Line Whigs, sir, " ventured Stephen, smiling. 

"Joe, " said Mr. Lincoln, "did you ever hear Warfield's definition of anOld Line Whig?"

Mr. Medill had not. 

"A man who takes his toddy regularly, and votes the Democratic ticketoccasionally, and who wears ruffled shirts. "

Both of these gentlemen laughed, and two more in the seat behind, who hadan ear to the conversation. 

"But, sir, " said Stephen, seeing that he was expected to go on, "I thinkthat the Republican party will gather a considerable strength there inanother year or two. We have the material for powerful leaders in Mr. Blair and others" (Mr. Lincoln nodded at the name). "We are getting anever increasing population from New England, mostly of young men who willtake kindly to the new party. " And then he added, thinking of hispilgrimage the Sunday before: "South St. Louis is a solid mass ofGermans, who are all antislavery. But they are very foreign still, andhave all their German institutions. "

"The Turner Halls?" Mr. Lincoln surprised him by inquiring. 

"Yes. And I believe that they drill there. "

"Then they will the more easily be turned into soldiers if the timeshould come, " said Mr. Lincoln. And he added quickly, "I pray that it maynot. "

Stephen had cause to remember that observation, and the acumen it showed, long afterward. 

The train made several stops, and at each of them shoals of countrypeople filled the aisles, and paused for a most familiar chat with thesenatorial candidate. Many called him Abe. His appearance was the equalin roughness to theirs, his manner if anything was more democratic, --yetin spite of all this Stephen in them detected a deference which mightalmost be termed a homage. There were many women among them. Had ourfriend been older, he might have known that the presence of good women ina political crowd portends something. As it was, he was surprised. He wasdestined to be still more surprised that day. 

When they had left behind them the shouts of the little down of Dixon, Mr. Lincoln took off his hat, and produced a crumpled and not tooimmaculate scrap of paper from the multitude therein. 

"Now, Joe, " said he, "here are the four questions I intend to ask JudgeDouglas. I am ready for you. Fire away. "

"We don't care anything about the others, " answered Mr. Medill. "But Itell you this. If you ask that second one, you'll never see the UnitedStates Senate. "

"And the Republican party in this state will have had a blow from whichit can scarcely recover, " added Mr. Judd, chairman of the committee. 

Mr. Lincoln did not appear to hear them. His eyes were far away over thewet prairie. 

Stephen held his breath. But neither he, nor Medill, nor Judd, nor Hillguessed at the pregnancy of that moment. How were they to know that thefate of the United States of America was concealed in that Question, --was to be decided on a rough wooden platform that day in the town ofFreeport, Illinois?

But Abraham Lincoln, the uncouth man in the linen duster with the tousledhair, knew it. And the stone that was rejected of the builders was tobecome the corner-stone of the temple. 

Suddenly Mr. Lincoln recalled himself, glanced at the paper, and clearedhis throat. In measured tones, plainly heard above the rush and roar ofthe train, he read the Question:

 "Can the people of a United States Territory, in any lawful way, against the wish of any citizen of the United States, exclude slavery from its limits prior to the formation of a State Constitution?"

Mr. Medill listened intently. 

"Abe, " said he, solemnly, "Douglas will answer yes, or equivocate, andthat is all the assurance these Northern Democrats want to put SteveDouglas in the Senate. They'll snow you under. "

"All right, " answered Mr. Lincoln, quietly. 

"All right?" asked Mr. Medill, reflecting the sheer astonishment of theothers; "then why the devil are you wearing yourself out? And why are wespending our time and money on you?"

Mr. Lincoln laid his hand on Medill's sleeve. 

"Joe, " said he, "a rat in the larder is easier to catch than a rat thathas the run of the cellar. You know, where to set your trap in thelarder. I'll tell you why I'm in this campaign: to catch Douglas now, andkeep him out of the White House in 1860. To save this country of ours, Joe. She's sick. "

There was a silence, broken by two exclamations. 

"But see here, Abe, " said Mr. Medill, as soon as ever he got his breath, "what have we got to show for it? Where do you come in?"

Mr. Lincoln smiled wearily. 

"Nowhere, I reckon, " he answered simply. 

"Good Lord!" said Mr. Judd. 

Mr. Medill gulped. 

"You mean to say, as the candidate of the Republican party, you don'tcare whether you get to the Senate?"

"Not if I can send Steve Douglas there with his wings broken, " was thecalm reply. 

"Suppose he does answer yes, that slavery can be excluded?" said Mr. Judd. 

"Then, " said Mr. Lincoln, "then Douglas loses the vote of the greatslave-holders, the vote of the solid South, that he has been fosteringever since he has had the itch to be President. Without the solid Souththe Little Giant will never live in the White House. And unless I'mmightily mistaken, Steve Douglas has had his aye as far ahead as 1860 forsome time. "

Another silence followed these words. There was a stout man standing inthe aisle, and he spat deftly out of the open window. 

"You may wing Steve Douglas, Abe, " said he, gloomily, "but the gun willkick you over the bluff. "

"Don't worry about me, Ed, " said Mr. Lincoln. "I'm not worth it. "

In a wave of comprehension the significance of all this was revealed toStephen Brice, The grim humor, the sagacious statesmanship, and (best ofall)--the superb self sacrifice of it, struck him suddenly. I think itwas in that hour that he realized the full extent of the wisdom he wasnear, which was like unto Solomon's. 

Shame surged in Stephen's face that he should have misjudged him. He hadcome to patronize. He had remained to worship. And in after years, whenhe thought of this new vital force which became part of him that day, itwas in the terms of Emerson: "Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and everypure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to bemisunderstood. "

How many have conversed with Lincoln before and since, and knew him not!

If an outward and visible sign of Mr. Lincoln's greatness were needed, --he had chosen to speak to them in homely parables. The story of FarmerBell was plain as day. Jim Rickets, who had life all his own way, wasnone other than Stephen A. Douglas, the easily successful. The uglygaloot, who dared to raise his eyes only to the pear, was Mr. Lincolnhimself. And the pear was the Senatorship, which the galoot had deniedhimself to save Susan from being Mr. Rickets' bride. 

Stephen could understand likewise the vehemence of the Republican leaderswho crowded around their candidate and tried to get him to retract thatQuestion. He listened quietly, he answered with a patient smile. Now andthen he threw a story into the midst of this discussion which made themlaugh in spite of themselves. The hopelessness of the case was quiteplain to Mr. Hill, who smiled, and whispered in Stephen's ear: "He hasmade up his mind. They will not budge him an inch, and they know it. "

Finally Mr. Lincoln took the scrap of paper, which was even more dirtyand finger-marked by this time, and handed it to Mr. Hill. The train wasslowing down for Freeport. In the distance, bands could be heard playing, and along the track, line upon line of men and women were cheering andwaving. It was ten o'clock, raw and cold for that time of the year, andthe sun was trying to come out. 

"Bob, " said Mr. Lincoln, "be sure you get that right in your notes. And, Steve, you stick close to me, and you'll see the show. Why, boys, " headded, smiling, "there's the great man's private car, cannon and all. "

All that Stephen saw was a regular day-car on a sidetrack. A brass cannonwas on the tender hitched behind it. 

CHAPTER V

THE CRISIS

Stephen A. Douglas, called the Little Giant on account of his intellect, was a type of man of which our race has had some notable examples, although they are not characteristic. Capable of sacrifice to theircountry, personal ambition is, nevertheless, the mainspring of theiractions. They must either be before the public, or else unhappy. Thistrait gives them a large theatrical strain, and sometimes brands them asadventurers. Their ability saves them from being demagogues. 

In the case of Douglas, he had deliberately renewed some years before theagitation on the spread of slavery, by setting forth a doctrine ofextreme cleverness. This doctrine, like many others of its kind, seemedat first sight to be the balm it pretended, instead of an irritant, as itreally was. It was calculated to deceive all except thinking men, and tosilence all save a merciless logician. And this merciless logician, whowas heaven-sent in time of need, was Abraham Lincoln. 

Mr. Douglas was a juggler, a political prestidigitateur. He did thingsbefore the eyes of the Senate and the nation. His balm for the healing ofthe nation's wounds was a patent medicine so cleverly concocted thatexperts alone could show what was in it. So abstruse and twisted weresome of Mr. Douglas's doctrines that a genius alone might put them intosimple words, for the common people. 

The great panacea for the slavery trouble put forth by Mr. Douglas atthat time was briefly this: that the people of the new territories shoulddecide for themselves, subject to the Constitution, whether they shouldhave slavery or not, and also decide for themselves all other questionsunder the Constitution. Unhappily for Mr. Douglas, there was the famousDred Scott decision, which had set the South wild with joy the yearbefore, and had cast a gloom over the North. The Chief Justice of theUnited States had declared that under the Constitution slaves wereproperty, --and as such every American citizen owning slaves could carrythem about with him wherever he went. Therefore the territoriallegislatures might pass laws until they were dumb, and yet their settlersmight bring with them all the slaves they pleased. 

And yet we must love the Judge. He was a gentleman, a strong man, and apatriot. He was magnanimous, and to his immortal honor be it said thathe, in the end, won the greatest of all struggles. He conquered himself. He put down that mightiest thing that was in him, --his ambition forhimself. And he set up, instead, his ambition for his country. He bore noill-will toward the man whose fate was so strangely linked to his, andwho finally came to that high seat of honor and of martyrdom which hecoveted. We shall love the Judge, and speak of him with reverence, forthat sublime act of kindness before the Capitol in 1861. 

Abraham Lincoln might have prayed on that day of the Freeport debate:

"Forgive him, Lord. He knows not what he does. " Lincoln descried thedanger afar, and threw his body into the breach. 

That which passed before Stephen's eyes, and to which his ears listenedat Freeport, was the Great Republic pressing westward to the Pacific. Hewondered whether some of his Eastern friends who pursed their lips whenthe Wrest was mentioned would have sneered or prayed. A young Englishnobleman who was there that day did not sneer. He was filled instead withsomething like awe at the vigor of this nation which was sprung from theloins of his own. Crudeness he saw, vulgarity he heard, but Force hefelt, and marvelled. 

America was in Freeport that day, the rush of her people and the surpriseof her climate. The rain had ceased, and quickly was come out of thenorthwest a boisterous wind, chilled by the lakes and scented by thehemlocks of the Minnesota forests. The sun smiled and frowned Cloudshurried in the sky, mocking the human hubbub below. Cheering thousandspressed about the station as Mr. Lincoln's train arrived. They hemmed himin his triumphal passage under the great arching trees to the newBrewster House. The Chief Marshal and his aides, great men before, weresuddenly immortal. The county delegations fell into their properprecedence like ministers at a state dinner. "We have faith in Abraham, Yet another County for the Rail-sputter, Abe the Giant-killer, "--so thebanners read. Here, much bedecked, was the Galena Lincoln Club, part ofJoe Davies's shipment. Fifes skirled, and drums throbbed, and the starsand stripes snapped in the breeze. And here was a delegation headed byfifty sturdy ladies on horseback, at whom Stephen gaped like acountryman. Then came carryalls of all ages and degrees, wagons from thiscounty and that county, giddily draped, drawn by horses from one to six, or by mules, their inscriptions addressing their senatorial candidate inall degrees of familiarity, but not contempt. What they seemed proudestof was that he had been a rail-splitter, for nearly all bore afence-rail. 

But stay, what is this wagon with the high sapling flagstaff in themiddle, and the leaves still on it?

 "Westward the Star of Empire takes its way. The girls link on to Lincoln; their mothers were for Clay. "

Here was glory to blind you, --two and thirty maids in red sashes and blueliberty caps with white stars. Each was a state of the Union, and everyone of them was for Abraham, who called them his "Basket of Flowers. "Behind them, most touching of all, sat a thirty-third shackled in chains. That was Kansas. Alas, the men of Kansas was far from being as sorrowfulas the part demanded, --in spite of her instructions she would smile atthe boys. But the appealing inscription she bore, "Set me free" wasgreeted with storms of laughter, the boldest of the young men shoutingthat she was too beautiful to be free, and some of the old men, to theirshame be it said likewise shouted. No false embarrassment troubledKansas. She was openly pleased. But the young men who had brought theirsweethearts to town, and were standing hand in hand with them, forobvious reasons saw nothing: They scarcely dared to look at Kansas, andthose who did were so loudly rebuked that they turned down the sidestreets. 

During this part of the day these loving couples, whose devotion was sopatent to the whole world, were by far the most absorbing to Stephen. Hewatched them having their fortunes told, the young women blushing andcrying, "Say!" and "Ain't he wicked?" and the young men getting theirears boxed for certain remarks. He watched them standing open-mouthed atthe booths and side shows with hands still locked, or again they werechewing cream candy in unison. Or he glanced sidewise at them, seated inthe open places with the world so far below them that even the insistentsound of the fifes and drums rose but faintly to their ears. 

And perhaps, --we shall not say positively, --perhaps Mr. Brice's thoughtswent something like this, "O that love were so simple a matter to all!"But graven on his face was what is called the "Boston scorn. " And noscorn has been known like unto it since the days of Athens. 

So Stephen made the best of his way to the Brewster House, the eleganceand newness of which the citizens of Freeport openly boasted. Mr. Lincolnhad preceded him, and was even then listening to a few remarks of burningpraise by an honorable gentleman. Mr. Lincoln himself made a few remarks, which seemed so simple and rang so true, and were so free from politicalrococo and decoration generally, that even the young men forgot theirsweethearts to listen. Then Mr. Lincoln went into the hotel, and the sunslipped under a black cloud. 

The lobby was full, and rather dirty, since the supply of spittoons wasso far behind the demand. Like the firmament, it was divided into littlebodies which revolved about larger bodies. But there lacked not heresupporters of the Little Giant, and discreet farmers of influence intheir own counties who waited to hear the afternoon's debate beforedeciding. These and others did not hesitate to tell of the magnificenceof the Little Giant's torchlight procession the previous evening. EveryDred-Scottite had carried a torch, and many transparencies, so that thevery glory of it had turned night into day. The Chief Lictor haddistributed these torches with an unheard-of liberality. But there lackednot detractors who swore that John Dibble and other Lincolnites hadapplied for torches for the mere pleasure of carrying them. Since dawnthe delegations had been heralded from the house-tops, and wagered onwhile they were yet as worms far out or the prairie. All the morningthese continued to came in, and form in line to march past theirparticular candidate. The second great event of the day was the event ofthe special over the Galena roar, of sixteen cars and more than athousand pairs of sovereign lungs. With military precision they repairedto the Brewster House, and ahead of then a banner was flung: "WinnebagoCounty for the Tall Sucker. " And the Tall Sucker was on the steps toreceive them. 

But Mr. Douglas, who had arrived the evening before to the booming of twoand thirty guns, had his banners end his bunting, too. The neighborhoodof Freeport was stronghold of Northern Democrats, ardent supporters ofthe Little Giant if once they could believe that he did not intend tobetray them. 

Stephen felt in his bones the coming of a struggle, and was thrilled. Once he smiled at the thought that he had become an active partisan--nay, a worshipper--of the uncouth Lincoln. Terrible suspicion for aBostonian, --had he been carried away? Was his hero, after all, a homespundemagogue? Had he been wise in deciding before he had taught a glimpse ofthe accomplished Douglas, whose name end fame filled the land? Stephendid not waver in his allegiance. But in his heart there lurked a fear ofthe sophisticated Judge and Senator and man of the world whom he had notyet seen. In his notebook he had made a, copy of the Question, and youngMr. Hill discovered him pondering in a corner of the lobby at dinnertime. After dinner they went together to their candidate's room. They found thedoors open and the place packed, and there was Mr. Lincoln's very tallhat towering above those of the other politicians pressed around him. Mr. Lincoln took three strides in Stephen's direction and seized him by theshoulder. 

"Why, Steve, " said he, "I thought you had got away again. " Turning to abig burly man with a good-natures face, who was standing by, he added. "Jim, I want you to look out for this young man. Get him a seat on thestands where he can hear. "

Stephen stuck close to Jim. He never knew what the gentleman's last namewas, or whether he had any. It was but a few minutes' walk to the grovewhere the speaking was to be. And as they made their way thither Mr. Lincoln passed them in a Conestoga wagon drawn by six milk-white horses. Jim informed Stephen that the Little Giant had had a six-horse coach. Thegrove was black with people. Hovering about the hem of the crowd were thesunburned young men in their Sunday best, still clinging fast to thehands of the young women. Bands blared "Columbia, Gem of the Ocean. "Fakirs planted their stands in the way, selling pain-killers and aguecures, watermelons and lemonade, Jugglers juggled, and beggars begged. Jim said that there were sixteen thousand people in that grove. And hetold the truth. 

Stephen now trembled for his champion. He tried to think of himself asfifty years old, with the courage to address sixteen thousand people onsuch a day, and quailed. What a man of affairs it must take to do that!Sixteen thousand people, into each of whose breasts God had put differentemotions and convictions. He had never even imagined such a crowd as thisassembles merely to listen to a political debate. But then he remembered, as they dodged from in front of the horses, what it was not merely apolitical debate: The pulse of nation was here, a great nation strickenwith approaching fever. It was not now a case of excise, but ofexistence. 

This son of toil who had driven his family thirty miles across theprairie, blanketed his tired horses and slept on the ground the nightbefore, who was willing to stand all through the afternoon and listenwith pathetic eagerness to this debate, must be moved by a patriotismdivine. In the breast of that farmer, in the breast of his tired wife whoheld her child by the hand, had been instilled from birth that sublimefervor which is part of their life who inherit the Declaration ofIndependence. Instinctively these men who had fought and won the West hadscented the danger. With the spirit of their ancestors who had left theirfarms to die on the bridge at Concord, or follow Ethan Allen intoTiconderoga, these had come to Freeport. What were three days of bodilydiscomfort! What even the loss of part of a cherished crop, if thenation's existence were at stake and their votes might save it!

In the midst of that heaving human sea rose the bulwarks of a woodenstand. But how to reach it? Jim was evidently a personage. The roughfarmers commonly squeezed a way for him. And when they did not, he madeit with his big body. As they drew near their haven, a great surging asof a tidal wave swept them off their feet. There was a deafening shout, and the stand rocked on its foundations. Before Stephen could collect hiswits, a fierce battle was raging about him. Abolitionist and Democrat, Free Soiler and Squatter Sov, defaced one another in a rush for theplatform. The committeemen and reporters on top of it rose to itsdefence. Well for Stephen that his companion was along. Jim wasrecognized and hauled bodily into the fort, and Stephen after him. Thepopulace were driven off, and when the excitement died down again, hefound himself in the row behind the reporters. Young Mr. Hill pausedwhile sharpening his pencil to wave him a friendly greeting. 

Stephen, craning in his seat, caught sight of Mr. Lincoln slouched intoone of his favorite attitudes, his chin resting in his hand. 

But who is this, erect, compact, aggressive, searching with a confidenteye the wilderness of upturned faces? A personage, truly, to bequestioned timidly, to be approached advisedly. Here indeed was a lion, by the very look of him, master of himself and of others. By reason ofits regularity and masculine strength, a handsome face. A man of theworld to the cut of the coat across the broad shoulders. Here was one tolift a youngster into the realm of emulation, like a character in a play, to arouse dreams of Washington and its senators and great men. For thiswas one to be consulted by the great alone. A figure of dignity andpower, with magnetism to compel moods. Since, when he smiled, you warmedin spite of yourself, and when he frowned the world looked grave. 

The inevitable comparison was come, and Stephen's hero was shrunk oncemore. He drew a deep breath, searched for the word, and gulped. There wasbut the one word. How country Abraham Lincoln looked beside StephenArnold Douglas!

Had the Lord ever before made and set over against each other two suchdifferent men? Yes, for such are the ways of the Lord. 

 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 

The preliminary speaking was in progress, but Stephen neither heard norsaw until he felt the heavy hand of his companion on his knee. 

"There's something mighty strange, like fate, between them two, " he wassaying. "I recklect twenty-five years ago when they was first in theLegislatur' together. A man told me that they was both admitted topractice in the S'preme Court in '39, on the same day, sir. Then you knowthey was nip an' tuck after the same young lady. Abe got her. They'vebeen in Congress together, the Little Giant in the Senate, and now, herethey be in the greatest set of debates the people of this state everheard; Young man, the hand of fate is in this here, mark my words--"

There was a hush, and the waves of that vast human sea were stilled. Aman, lean, angular, with coat-tail: flapping-unfolded like a grotesquefigure at a side-show. 

No confidence was there. Stooping forward, Abraham Lincoln began tospeak, and Stephen Brice hung his head and shuddered. Could this shrillfalsetto be the same voice to which he had listened only that morning?Could this awkward, yellow man with his hands behind his back be he whomhe had worshipped? Ripples of derisive laughter rose here and there, onthe stand and from the crowd. Thrice distilled was the agony of thosemoments!

But what was this feeling that gradually crept over him? Surprise?Cautiously he raised his eyes. The hands were coming around to the front. Suddenly one of them was thrown sharply back, with a determined gesture, the head was raised, --and. --and his shame was for gotten. In its steadwonder was come. But soon he lost even that, for his mind was gone on ajourney. And when again he came to himself and looked upon AbrahamLincoln, this was a man transformed. The voice was no longer shrill. Nay, it was now a powerful instrument which played strangely on those whoheard. Now it rose, and again it fell into tones so low as to start astir which spread and spread, like a ripple in a pond, until it broke onthe very edge of that vast audience. 

 "Can the people of a United States Territory, in any lawful way, against the wish of any citizen of the United States, exclude slavery from its limits prior to the formation of a State Constitution?"

It was out, at last, irrevocably writ in the recording book of History, for better, for worse. Beyond the reach of politician, committee, orcaucus. But what man amongst those who heard and stirred might say thatthese minutes even now basting into eternity held the Crisis of a nationthat is the hope of the world? Not you, Judge Douglas who sit theresmiling. Consternation is a stranger in your heart, --but answer thequestion if you can. Yes, your nimble wit has helped you out of many atight corner. You do not feel the noose--as yet. You do not guess thatyour reply will make or mar the fortunes of your country. It is not youwho can look ahead two short years and see the ship of Democracysplitting on the rocks at Charleston and at Baltimore, when the power ofyour name might have steered her safely. 

But see! what is this man about whom you despise? One by one he is takingthe screws out of the engine which you have invented to run your ship. Look, he holds them in his hands without mixing them, and shows the falseconstruction of its secret parts. 

For Abraham Lincoln dealt with abstruse questions in language so limpidthat many a farmer, dulled by toil, heard and understood and marvelled. The simplicity of the Bible dwells in those speeches, and they are nowclassics in our literature. And the wonder in Stephen's mind was thatthis man who could be a buffoon, whose speech was coarse and whose personunkempt, could prove himself a tower of morality and truth. That hastroubled many another, before and since the debate at Freeport. 

That short hour came all too quickly to an end. And as the Moderator gavethe signal for Mr. Lincoln, it was Stephen's big companion who snappedthe strain, and voiced the sentiment of those about him. 

"By Gosh!" he cried, "he baffles Steve. I didn't think Abe had it inhim. "

The Honorable Stephen A. Douglas, however, seemed anything but baffled ashe rose to reply. As he waited for the cheers which greeted him to dieout, his attitude was easy and indifferent, as a public man's should be. The question seemed not to trouble him in the least. But for StephenBrice the Judge stood there stripped of the glamour that made him, evenas Abraham Lincoln had stripped his doctrine of its paint and colors, andleft it punily naked. 

Standing up, the very person of the Little Giant was contradictory, aswas the man himself. His height was insignificant. But he had the headand shoulders of a lion, and even the lion's roar. What at contrast thering of his deep bass to the tentative falsetto of Mr. Lincoln's openingwords. If Stephen expected the Judge to tremble, he was greatlydisappointed. Mr. Douglas was far from dismay. As if to show the peoplehow lightly he held his opponent's warnings, he made them gape by puttingthings down Mr. Lincoln's shirt-front and taking them out of his mouth:But it appeared to Stephen, listening with all his might, that the Judgewas a trifle more on the defensive than his attitude might lead one toexpect. Was he not among his own Northern Democrats at Freeport? And yetit seemed to give him a keen pleasure to call his hearers "BlackRepublicans. " "Not black, " came from the crowd again and again, and oncea man: shouted, "Couldn't you modify it and call it brown?" "Not a whit!"cried the Judge, and dubbed them "Yankees, " although himself a Vermonterby birth. He implied that most of these Black Republicans desired negrowives. 

But quick, --to the Question, How was the Little Giant, artful in debateas he was, to get over that without offence to the great South? Veryskillfully the judge disposed of the first of the interrogations. Andthen, save for the gusts of wind rustling the trees, the grove might havebeen empty of its thousands, such was the silence that fell. But tighterand tighter they pressed against the stand, until it trembled. 

Oh, Judge, the time of all artful men will come at length. How were youto foresee a certain day under the White Dome of the Capitol? Had yoursight been long, you would have paused before your answer. Had your sightbeen long, you would have seen this ugly Lincoln bareheaded before theNation, and you are holding his hat. Judge Douglas, this act alone hasredeemed your faults. It has given you a nobility of which we did notsuspect you. At the end God gave you strength to be humble, and so youleft the name of a patriot. 

Judge, you thought there was a passage between Scylla and Charybdis whichyour craftiness might overcome. 

"It matters not, " you cried when you answered the Question, "it mattersnot which way the Supreme Court may hereafter decide as to the abstractquestion whether slavery may or may not go into a territory under theConstitution. The people have the lawful means to introduce or to excludeit as they please, for the reason that slavery cannot exist a day or anhour anywhere unless it is supported by local police regulations. "

Judge Douglas, uneasy will you lie to-night, for you have uttered theFreeport Heresy. 

It only remains to be told how Stephen Brice, coming to the BrewsterHouse after the debate, found Mr. Lincoln. On his knee, in transports ofdelight, was a small boy, and Mr. Lincoln was serenely playing on thechild's Jew's-harp. Standing beside him was a proud father who haddragged his son across two counties in a farm wagon, and who was toreturn on the morrow to enter this event in the family Bible. In a cornerof the room were several impatient gentlemen of influence who wished totalk about the Question. 

But when he saw Stephen, Mr. Lincoln looked up with a smile of welcomethat is still, and ever will be, remembered and cherished. 

"Tell Judge Whipple that I have attended to that little matter, Steve, " hesaid. 

"Why, Mr. Lincoln, " he exclaimed, "you have had no time. "

"I have taken the time, " Mr. Lincoln replied, "and I think that I am wellrepaid. Steve, " said he, "unless I'm mightily mistaken, you know a littlemore than you did yesterday. "

"Yes, sir! I do, " said Stephen. 

"Come, Steve, " said Mr. Lincoln, "be honest. Didn't you feel sorry for melast night?"

Stephen flushed scarlet. 

"I never shall again, sir, " he said. 

The wonderful smile, so ready to come and go, flickered and went out. Inits stead on the strange face was ineffable sadness, --the sadness of theworld's tragedies, of Stephen stoned, of Christ crucified. 

"Pray God that you may feel sorry for me again, " he said. 

Awed, the child on his lap was still. The politician had left the room. Mr. Lincoln had kept Stephen's hand in his own. 

"I have hopes of you, Stephen, " he said. "Do not forget me. "

Stephen Brice never has. Why was it that he walked to the station with aheavy heart? It was a sense of the man he had left, who had been and wasto be. This Lincoln of the black loam, who built his neighbor's cabin andhoed his neighbor's corn, who had been storekeeper and postmaster andflat-boatman. Who had followed a rough judge dealing a rough justicearound a rough circuit; who had rolled a local bully in the dirt; rescuedwomen from insult; tended the bedside of many a sick coward who fearedthe Judgment; told coarse stories on barrels by candlelight (but theseare pure beside the vice of great cities); who addressed political mobsin the raw, swooping down from the stump and flinging embroilers east andwest. This physician who was one day to tend the sickbed of the Nation inher agony; whose large hand was to be on her feeble pulse, and whoseknowledge almost divine was to perform the miracle of her healing. So wasit that, the Physician Himself performed His cures, and when work wasdone, died a martyr. 

Abraham Lincoln died in His name

CHAPTER VI

It was nearly noon when Stephen walked into the office the next day, dusty and travel-worn and perspiring. He had come straight from theferry, without going home. And he had visions of a quiet dinner withRichter under the trees at the beer-garden, where he could talk aboutAbraham Lincoln. Had Richter ever heard of Lincoln?

But the young German met him at the top of the stair--and his face wasmore serious than usual, although he showed his magnificent teeth in asmile of welcome. 

"You are a little behind your time, my friend, " said he, "What hashappened you?"

"Didn't the Judge get Mr, Lincoln's message?" asked Stephen, withanxiety. 

The German shrugged his shoulders. 

"Ah, I know not, " he answered, "He has gone is Glencoe. The Judge is ill, Stephen. Doctor Polk says that he has worked all his life too hard. TheDoctor and Colonel Carvel tried to get him to go to Glencoe. But he wouldnot budge until Miss Carvel herself comes all the way from the countryyesterday, and orders him. Ach!" exclaimed Richter, impulsively, "whatwonderful women you have in America! I could lose my head when I think ofMiss Carvel. "

"Miss Carvel was here, you say?" Stephen repeated, in a tone of inquiry. 

"Donner!" said Richter, disgusted, "you don't care. "

Stephen laughed, in spite of himself. 

"Why should I?" he answered. And becoming grave again, added: "Except onJudge Whipple's account. Have you heard from him to-day, Carl?"

"This morning one of Colonel Carvel's servants came for his letters. Hemust be feeling better. I--I pray that he is better, " said Richter, hisvoice breaking. "He has been very good to me. "

Stephen said nothing. But he had been conscious all at once of anaffection for the Judge of which he had not suspected himself. Thatafternoon, on his way home, he stopped at Carvel & Company's to inquire. Mr. Whipple was better, so Mr. Hopper said, and added that he "presumedlikely the Colonel would not be in for a week. " It was then Saturday. Eliphalet was actually in the Colonel's sanctum behind the partition, giving orders to several clerks at the time. He was so prosperous andimportant that he could scarce spare a moment to answer Stephen, who wentaway wondering whether he had been wise to choose the law. 

On Monday, when Stephen called at Carvel & Company's, Eliphalet was toobusy to see him. But Ephum, who went out to Glencoe every night withorders, told him that the "Jedge was wuss, suh. " On Wednesday, therebeing little change, Mrs. Brice ventured to despatch a jelly by Ephum. OnFriday afternoon, when Stephen was deep in Whittlesey and the New Code, he became aware of Ephum standing beside him. In reply to his anxiousquestion Ephum answered:

"I reckon he better, suh. He an' de Colonel done commence wrastlin' 'bouta man name o' Linkum. De Colonel done wrote you dis note, suh. "

It was a very polite note, containing the Colonel's compliments, askingMr. Brice to Glencoe that afternoon with whatever papers or letters theJudge might wish to see. And since there was no convenient train in theevening, Colonel Carvel would feel honored if Mr. Brice would spend thenight. The Colonel mentioned the train on which Mr. Brice was expected. 

The Missouri side of the Mississippi is a very different country from thehot and treeless prairies of Illinois. As Stephen alighted at the littlestation at Glencoe and was driven away by Ned in the Colonel's buggy, hedrew in deep breaths of the sweet air of the Meramec Valley. 

There had been a shower, and the sun glistened on the drops on grass andflowers, and the great trees hung heavy over the clay road. At last theycame to a white gate in the picket fence, in sight of a rambling woodenhouse with a veranda in front covered with honeysuckle. And then he sawthe Colonel, in white marseilles, smoking a cigar. This, indeed, was realcountry. 

As Stephen trod the rough flags between the high grass which led towardthe house, Colonel Carvel rose to his full height and greeted him. 

"You are very welcome, sir, " he said gravely. "The Judge is asleep now, "he added. "I regret to say that we had a little argument this morning, and my daughter tells me it will be well not to excite him again to-day. Jinny is reading to him now, or she would be here to entertain you, Mr. Brice. Jackson!" cried Mr. Carvel, "show Mr. Brice to his room. "

Jackson appeared hurriedly, seized Stephen's bag, and led the wayupstairs through the cool and darkened house to a pretty little room onthe south side, with matting, and roses on the simple dressing-table. After he had sat awhile staring at these, and at the wet flower-gardenfrom between the slats of his shutters, he removed the signs of therailroad upon him, and descended. The Colonel was still on the porch, inhis easy-chair. He had lighted another, cigar, and on the stand besidehim stood two tall glasses, green with the fresh mint. Colonel Carvelrose, and with his own hand offered one to Stephen. 

"Your health, Mr. Brice, " he said, "and I hope you will feel at homehere, sir. Jackson will bring you anything you desire, and should youwish to drive, I shall be delighted to show you the country. "

Stephen drank that julep with reverence, and then the Colonel gave him acigar. He was quite overcome by this treatment of a penniless youngYankee. The Colonel did not talk politics--such was not his notion ofhospitality to a stranger. He talked horse, and no great discernment onStephen's part was needed to perceive that this was Mr. Carvel's hobby. 

"I used to have a stable, Mr. Brice, before they ruined gentleman's sportwith these trotters ten years ago. Yes sir, we used to be at Lexingtonone week, and Louisville the next, and over here on the Ames track afterthat. Did you ever hear of Water Witch and Netty Boone?"

Yes, Stephen had, from Mr. Jack Brinsmade. 

The Colonel's face beamed. 

"Why, sir, " he cried, "that very nigger, Ned, who drove you here from thecars-he used to ride Netty Boone. Would you believe that, Mr. Brice? Hewas the best jockey ever strode a horse on the Elleardsville track here. He wore my yellow and green, sir, until he got to weigh one hundred and aquarter. And I kept him down to that weight a whole year, Mr. Brice. Yes, sirree, a whole year. "

"Kept him down!" said Stephen. 

"Why, yes, sir. I had him wrapped in blankets and set in a chair withholes bored in the seat. Then we lighted a spirit lamp under him. Many atime I took off ten pounds that way. It needs fire to get flesh off anigger, sir. "

He didn't notice his guest's amazement. 

"Then, sir, " he continued, "they introduced these damned trotting races;trotting races are for white trash, Mr. Brice. "

"Pa!"

The Colonel stopped short. Stephen was already on his feet. I wish youcould have seen Miss Virginia Carvel as he saw her then. She wore a whitelawn dress. A tea-tray was in her hand, and her head was tilted back, aswomen are apt to do when they carry a burden. It was so that theseSouthern families, who were so bitter against Abolitionists and Yankees, entertained them when they were poor, and nursed them when they were ill. 

Stephen, for his life, could not utter a word. But Virginia turned to himwith perfect self-possession. 

"He has been boring you with his horses, Mr. Brice, " she said. "Has hetold you what a jockey Ned used to be before he weighed one hundred and aquarter?" (A laugh. ) "Has he given you the points of Water Witch andNetty Boone?" (More laughter, increasing embarrassment for Stephen. ) "Pa, I tell you once more that you will drive every guest from this house. Your jockey talk is intolerable. "

O that you might have a notion of the way in which Virginia pronouncedintolerable. 

Mr. Carvel reached for another cigar asked, "My dear, " he asked, "how isthe Judge?"

"My dear, " said Virginia, smiling, "he is asleep. Mammy Easter is withhim, trying to make out what he is saying. He talks in his sleep, just asyou do--"

"And what is he saying?" demanded the Colonel, interested. 

Virginia set down the tray. 

"'A house divided against itself, '" said Miss Carvel, with a sweep of herarm, "'cannot stand. I believe that this Government cannot endurepermanently, half slave and half free. I do not expect the Union todissolve--I do not expect the house to fall--but I do expect it willcease to be divided. ' Would you like any more?" added Miss Virginia. 

"No, " cried the Colonel, and banged his fist down on the table. "Why, "said he, thoughtfully, stroking the white goatee on his chin, "cuss me ifthat ain't from the speech that country bumpkin, Lincoln, made in Junelast before the Black Republican convention in Illinois. "

Virginia broke again into laughter. And Stephen was very near it, for heloved the Colonel. That gentleman suddenly checked himself in his tirade, and turned to him. 

"I beg your pardon, sir, " he said; "I reckon that you have the samepolitical sentiments as the Judge. Believe me, sir, I would not willinglyoffend a guest. "

Stephen smiled. "I am not offended, sir, " he said. A speech which causedMr. Carvel to bestow a quick glance upon him. But Stephen did not see it. He was looking at Virginia. 

The Colonel rose. 

"You will pardon my absence for a while, sir, " he said. 

"My daughter will entertain you. "

In silence they watched him as he strode off under the trees through tallgrass, a yellow setter at his heels. A strange peace was over Stephen. The shadows of the walnuts and hickories were growing long, and a richcountry was giving up its scent to the evening air. From a cabin behindthe house was wafted the melody of a plantation song. To the young man, after the burnt city, this was paradise. And then he remembered hismother as she must be sitting on the tiny porch in town, and sighed. Onlytwo years ago she had been at their own place at Westbury. 

He looked up, and saw the girl watching him. He dared not think that theexpression he caught was one of sympathy, for it changed instantly. 

"I am afraid you are the silent kind, Mr. Brice, " said she; "I believe itis a Yankee trait. "

Stephen laughed. 

"I have known a great many who were not, " said he, "When they aregarrulous, they are very much so. "

"I should prefer a garrulous one, " said Virginia. 

"I should think a Yankee were bad enough, but a noisy Yankee not to beput up with, " he ventured. 

Virginia did not deign a direct reply to this, save by the corners of hermouth. 

"I wonder, " said she, thoughtfully, "whether it is strength of mind or alack of ideas that makes them silent. "

"It is mostly prudence, " said Mr. Brice. "Prudence is our dominanttrait. "

Virginia fidgeted. Usually she had an easier time. 

"You have not always shown it, " she said, with an innocence which inwomen is often charged with meaning. 

Stephen started. Her antagonism was still there. He would have likedgreatly to know whether she referred to his hasty purchase of Hester, orto his rashness in dancing with her at her party the winter before. 

"We have something left to be thankful for, " he answered. "We are stillcapable of action. "

"On occasions it is violence, " said Virginia, desperately. This man mustnot get ahead of her. 

"It is just as violent, " said he, "as the repressed feeling which promptsit. "

This was a new kind of conversation to Virginia. Of all the young men sheknew, not one had ever ventured into anything of the sort. They wereeither flippant, or sentimental, or both. She was at once flattered andannoyed, flattered, because, as a woman, Stephen had conceded her a mind. Many of the young men she knew had minds, but deemed that these werewasted on women, whose language was generally supposed to be a kind ofchildish twaddle. Even Jack Brinsmade rarely risked his dignity andreputation at an intellectual tilt. This was one of Virginia'sgrievances. She often argued with her father, and, if the truth weretold, had had more than one victory over Judge Whipple. 

Virginia's annoyance came from the fact that she perceived in Stephen anatural and merciless logic, --a faculty for getting at the bottom ofthings. His brain did not seem to be thrown out of gear by local magneticinfluences, --by beauty, for instance. He did not lose his head, as didsome others she knew, at the approach of feminine charms. Here was agrand subject, then, to try the mettle of any woman. One with less mettlewould have given it up. But Virginia thought it would be delightful tobring this particular Yankee to his knees; and--and leave him there. 

"Mr. Brice, " she said, "I have not spoken to you since the night of myparty. I believe we danced together. "

"Yes, we did, " said he, "and I called, but was unfortunate. "

"You called?"

Ah, Virginia!

"They did not tell you!" cried Stephen. 

Now Miss Carvel was complacency itself. 

"Jackson is so careless with cards, " said she, "and very often I do nottake the trouble to read them. "

"I am sorry, " said he, "as I wished for the opportunity to tell you howmuch I enjoyed myself. I have found everybody in St. Louis very kind tostrangers. "

Virginia was nearly disarmed. She remembered how, she had opposed hisconing. But honesty as well as something else prompted her to say: "Itwas my father who invited you. "

Stephen did not reveal the shock his vanity had received. 

"At least you were good enough to dance with me. "

"I could scarcely refuse a guest, " she replied. 

He held up his head. 

"Had I thought it would have given you annoyance, " he said quietly, "Ishould not have asked you. "

"Which would have been a lack of good manners, " said Virginia, biting herlips. 

Stephen answered nothing, but wished himself in St. Louis. He could notcomprehend her cruelty. But, just then, the bell rang for supper, and theColonel appeared around the end of the house. 

It was one of those suppers for which the South is renowned. And when atlength he could induce Stephen to eat no more, Colonel Carvel reached forhis broad-brimmed felt bat, and sat smoking, with his feet against themantle. Virginia, who had talked but little, disappeared with a tray onwhich she had placed with her own hands some dainties to tempt the Judge. 

The Colonel regaled Stephen, when she was gone, with the pedigree andperformance of every horse he had had in his stable. And this was arelief, as it gave him an opportunity to think without interruption uponVirginia's pronounced attitude of dislike. To him it was inconceivablethat a young woman of such qualities as she appeared to have, shouldassail him so persistently for freeing a negress, and so depriving her ofa maid she had set her heart upon. There were other New England young menin society. Mr. Weston and Mr. Carpenter, and more. They were not herparticular friends, to be sure. But they called on her and danced withher, and she had shown them not the least antipathy. But it was toStephen's credit that he did not analyze her further. 

He was reflecting on these things when he got to his room, when therecame a knock at the door. It was Mammy Easter, in bright turban andapron, --was hospitality and comfort in the flesh. 

"Is you got all you need, suh?" she inquired. 

Stephen replied that he had. But Mammy showed no inclination to go, andhe was too polite to shut the door:

"How you like Glencoe, Mistah Bride?"

He was charmed with it. 

"We has some of de fust fam'lies out heah in de summer, " said she. "Butde Colonel, he a'n't much on a gran' place laik in Kaintuck. Shucks, no, suh, dis ain't much of a 'stablishment! Young Massa won't have no lawns, no greenhouses, no nothin'. He say he laik it wil' and simple. He on'ycome out fo' two months, mebbe. But Miss Jinny, she make it lively. Las'week, until the Jedge come we hab dis house chuck full, two-three youngladies in a room, an' five young gemmen on trunnle beds. "

"Until the Judge came?" echoed Stephen. 

"Yassuh. Den Miss Jinny low dey all hatter go. She say she a'n't gwineterhave 'em noun' 'sturbin' a sick man. De Colonel 'monstrated. He done givethe Judge his big room, and he say he and de young men gwine ober toMista, Catherwood's. You a'n't never seen Miss Jinny rise up, suh! Shedes swep' 'em all out" (Mammy emphasized this by rolling her hands) "an'declah she gwine ten' to the Jedge herself. She a'n't never let me bringup one of his meals, suh. " And so she left Stephen with some food forreflection. 

Virginia was very gay at breakfast, and said that the Judge would seeStephen; so he and the Colonel, that gentleman with his hat on, went upto his room. The shutters were thrown open, and the morning sunlightfiltered through the leaves and fell on the four-poster where the Judgesat up, gaunt and grizzled as ever. He smiled at his host, and then triedto destroy immediately the effect of the smile. 

"Well, Judge, " cried the Colonel, taking his hand, "I reckon we talkedtoo much. "

"No such thing, Carvel, " said the Judge, forcibly, "if you hadn't leftthe room, your popular sovereignty would have been in rags in twominutes. "

Stephen sat down in a corner, unobserved, in expectation of a renewal. But at this moment Miss Virginia swept into the room, very cool in a pinkmuslin. 

"Colonel Carvel, " said she, sternly, "I am the doctor's deputy here. Iwas told to keep the peace at any cost. And if you answer back, out yougo, like that!" and she snapped her fingers. 

The Colonel laughed. But the Judge, whose mind was on the argument, continued to mutter defiantly until his eye fell upon Stephen. 

"Well, sir, well, sir, " he said, "you've turned up at last, have you? Isend you off with papers for a man, and I get back a piece of yellowpaper saying that he's borrowed you. What did he do with you, Mr. Brice?"

"He took me to Freeport, sir, where I listened to the most remarkablespeech I ever expect to hear. "

"What!" cried the Judge, "so far from Boston?"

Stephen hesitated, uncertain whether to laugh, until he chanced to lookat Virginia. She had pursed her lips. 

"I was very much surprised, sir, " he said. 

"Humph!" grunted Mr. Whipple, "and what did you chink of that ruffian, Lincoln?"

"He is the most remarkable man that I have ever met, sir, " answeredStephen, with emphasis. 

"Humph!"

It seemed as if the grunt this time had in it something of approval. Stephen had doubt as to the propriety of discussing Mr. Lincoln there, and he reddened. Virginia's expression bore a trace of defiance, and Mr. Carvel stood with his feet apart, thoughtfully stroking his goatee. ButMr. Whipple seemed to have no scruples. 

"So you admired Lincoln, Mr. Brice?" he went on. "You must agree withthat laudatory estimation of him which I read in the Missouri Democrat. "

Stephen fidgeted. 

"I do, sir, most decidedly, " he answered. 

"I should hardly expect a conservative Bostonian, of the class whichrespects property, to have said that. It might possibly be a good thingif more from your town could hear those debates. "

"They will read them, sir; I feel confident of it. "

At this point the Colonel could contain himself no longer. 

"I reckon I might tell the man who wrote that Democrat article a fewthings, if I could find out who he is, " said he. 

"Pa!" said Virginia, warningly. 

But Stephen had turned a fiery red, "I wrote it, Colonel Carvel, " hesaid. 

For a dubious instant of silence Colonel Carvel stared. Then--then heslapped his knees, broke into a storm of laughter, and went out of theroom. He left Stephen in a moist state of discomfiture. 

The Judge had bolted upright from the pillows. 

"You have been neglecting your law, sir, " he cried. 

"I wrote the article at night, " said Stephen, indignantly. 

"Then it must have been Sunday night, Mr. Brice. "

At this point Virginia hid her face in her handkerchief which trembledvisibly. Being a woman, whose ways are unaccountable, the older man tookno notice of her. But being a young woman, and a pretty one, Stephen wasangry. 

"I don't see what right you have to ask me that sir, " he said. 

"The question is withdrawn, Mr. Brice, " said the Judge, "Virginia, youmay strike it from the records. And now, sir, tell me something aboutyour trip. "

Virginia departed. 

An hour later Stephen descended to the veranda, and it was withapprehension that he discerned Mr. Carvel seated under the vines at thefar end. Virginia was perched on the railing. 

To Stephen's surprise the Colonel rose, and, coming toward him, laid akindly hand on his shoulder. 

"Stephen, " said he, "there will be no law until Monday you must stay withus until then. A little rest will do you good. "

Stephen was greatly touched. 

"Thank you, sir, " he said. "I should like to very much. But I can't. "

"Nonsense, " said the Colonel. "I won't let the Judge interfere. "

"It isn't that, sir. I shall have to go by the two o'clock train, Ifear. "

The Colonel turned to Virginia, who, meanwhile, had sat silently by. 

"Jinny, " he said, "we must contrive to keep him. "

She slid off the railing. 

"I'm afraid he is determined, Pa, " she answered. "But perhaps Mr. Bricewould like to see a little of the place before he goes. It is veryprimitive, " she explained, "not much like yours in the East. "

Stephen thanked her, and bowed to the Colonel. And so she led him pastthe low, crooked outbuildings at the back, where he saw old Uncle Benbusy over the preparation of his dinner, and frisky Rosetta, hisdaughter, playing with one of the Colonel's setters. Then Virginia took awell-worn path, on each side of which the high grass bent with its loadof seed, which entered the wood. Oaks and hickories and walnuts andpersimmons spread out in a glade, and the wild grape twistedfantastically around the trunks. All this beauty seemed but a fit settingto the strong girlish figure in the pink frock before him. So absorbedwas he in contemplation of this, and in wondering whether indeed she wereto marry her cousin, Clarence Colfax, that he did not see the wonders ofview unrolling in front of him. She stopped at length beside a greatpatch of wild race bushes. They were on the edge of the bluff, and infront of them a little rustic summer-house, with seats on its five sides. Here Virginia sat down. But Stephen, going to the edge, stood andmarvelled. Far, far below him, down the wooded steep, shot the crystalMeramec, chafing over the shallow gravel beds and tearing headlong at thedeep passes. 

Beyond, the dimpled green hills rose and fell, and the stream ran indigoand silver. A hawk soared over the, water, the only living creature inall that wilderness. 

The glory of the place stirred his blood. And when at length he turned, he saw that the girl was watching him. 

"It is very beautiful, " he said. 

Virginia had taken other young men here, and they had looked only uponher. And yet she was not offended. This sincerity now was as new to heras that with which he had surprised her in the Judge's room. 

And she was not quite at her ease. A reply to those simple words of hiswas impossible. At honest Tom Catherwood in the same situation she wouldhave laughed, Clarence never so much as glanced at scenery. Her repliesto him were either flippant, or else maternal, as to a child. 

A breeze laden with the sweet abundance of that valley stirred her hair. And with that womanly gesture which has been the same through the agesshe put up her hand; deftly tucking in the stray wisp behind. 

She glanced at the New Englander, against whom she had been in strangerebellion since she had first seen him. His face, thinned by the summerin town, was of the sternness of the Puritan. Stephen's features weresharply marked for his age. The will to conquer was there. Yet justicewas in the mouth, and greatness of heart. Conscience was graven on thebroad forehead. The eyes were the blue gray of the flint, kindly yetimperishable. The face was not handsome. 

Struggling, then yielding to the impulse, Virginia let herself be led oninto the years. Sanity was the word that best described him. She saw himtrusted of men, honored of women, feared by the false. She saw him inhigh places, simple, reserved, poised evenly as he was now. 

"Why do you go in this afternoon?" she asked abruptly. 

He started at the change in her tone. 

"I wish that I might stay, " he said regretfully. "But I cannot, MissCarvel. "

He gave no reason. And she was too proud to ask it. Never before had shestooped to urge young men to stay. The difficulty had always been to getthem to go. It was natural, perhaps, that her vanity was wounded. But ithurt her to think that she had made the overture, had tried to conquerwhatever it was that set her against him, and had failed through him. 

"You must find the city attractive. Perhaps, " she added, with a littlelaugh, "perhaps it is Bellefontaine Road. "

"No, " he answered, smiling. 

"Then" (with a touch of derision), "then it is because you cannot miss anafternoon's work. You are that kind. "

"I was not always that kind, " he answered. "I did not work at Harvard. But now I have to or--or starve, " he said. 

For the second time his complete simplicity had disarmed her. He had notappealed to her sympathy, nor had he hinted at the luxury in which he wasbrought up. She would have liked to question Stephen on this former life. But she changed the subject suddenly. 

"What did you really think of Mr. Lincoln?" she asked. 

"I thought him the ugliest man I ever saw, and the handsomest as well. "

"But you admired him?"

"Yes, " said Stephen, gravely. 

"You believe with him that this government cannot exist half slave andhalf free. Then a day will come, Mr. Brice, when you and I shall beforeigners one to the other. "

"You have forgotten, " he said eagerly, "you have forgotten the rest ofthe quotation. 'I do not expect the Union to be dissolved--I do notexpect the house to fall--but cease to be divided. ' It will become allone thing or all the other. "

Virginia laughed. "That seemed to me very equivocal, " said she. "Yourrail-sputter is well named. "

"Will you read the rest of that speech?" he asked

"Judge Whipple is very clever. He has made a convert of you, " sheanswered. 

"The Judge has had nothing to do with it, " cried Stephen. "He is notgiven to discussion with me, and until I went to Springfield had nevermentioned Lincoln's name to me. "

Glancing at her, he surprised a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. Thenshe laughed openly. 

"Why do you suppose that you were sent to Springfield?" she asked. 

"With an important communication for Mr. Lincoln, " he answered. 

"And that most important communication was--your self. There, now, I havetold you, " said Virginia. 

"Was myself? I don't understand. "

Virginia puckered her lips. 

"Then you haven't the sense I thought you had, " she replied impatiently. "Do you know what was in that note? No? Well, a year ago last June thisBlack Republican lawyer whom you are all talking of made a speech beforea convention in Illinois. Judge Whipple has been crazy on the subjectever since--he talks of Lincoln in his sleep; he went to Springfield andspent two days with him, and now he can't rest until you have seen andknown and heard him. So he writes a note to Lincoln and asks him to takeyou to the debate--"

She paused again to laugh at his amazement. 

"But he told me to go to Springfield!" he exclaimed. 

"He told you to find Lincoln. He knew that you would obey his orders, Isuppose. "

"But I didn't know--" Stephen began, trying to come pass within aninstant the memory of his year's experience with Mr. Whipple. 

"You didn't know that he thought anything about you, " said Virginia. "That is his way, Mr. Brice. He has more private charities on his listthan any man in the city except Mr. Brinsmade. Very few know it. Hethinks a great deal of you. But there, " she added, suddenly blushingcrimson, "I am sorry I told you. "

"Why?" he asked. 

She did not answer, but sat tapping the seat with her fingers. And whenshe ventured to look at him, he had fallen into thought. 

"I think it must be time for dinner, " said Virginia, "if you really wishto catch the train. "

The coldness in her voice, rather than her words, aroused him. He rose, took one lingering look at the river, and followed her to the house. 

At dinner, when not talking about his mare, the Colonel was trying topersuade Stephen to remain. Virginia did not join in this, and her fatherthought the young man's refusal sprang from her lack of cordiality. Colonel Carvel himself drove to the station. 

When he returned, he found his daughter sitting idly on the porch. 

"I like that young man, if he is a Yankee, " he declared. 

"I don't, " said Virginia, promptly. 

"My dear, " said her father, voicing the hospitality of the Carvels, "I amsurprised at you. One should never show one's feelings toward a guest. Asmistress of this house it was your duty to press him to stay. "

"He did not want to stay. "

"Do you know why he went, my dear, " asked the Colonel. 

"No, " said Virginia. 

"I asked him, " said the Colonel. 

"Pa! I did not think it of you!" she cried. And then, "What was it?" shedemanded. 

"He said that his mother was alone in town, and needed him. "

Virginia got up without a word, and went into Judge Whipple's room. Andthere the Colonel found her some hours later, reading aloud from ascrap-book certain speeches of Mr. Lincoln's which Judge Whipple had cutfrom newspapers. And the Judge, lying back with his eyes half closed, waslistening in pure delight. Little did he guess at Virginia's penance!