Lincoln's Yarns and Stories [89]
the "Dream" was never realized, however, as the President did not decapitate any of his Cabinet officers.
It was the idea of the cartoonist to hold Lincoln up as a man who would not countenance failure upon the part of subordinates, but visit the severest punishment upon those commanders who did not win victories. After Burnside's defeat at Fredericksburg, he was relieved by Hooker, who suffered disaster at Chancellorsville; Hooker was relieved by Meade, who won at Gettysburg, but was refused promotion because he did not follow up and crush Lee; Rosecrans was all but defeated at Chickamauga, and gave way to Grant, who, of all the Union commanders, had never suffered defeat. Grant was Lincoln's ideal fighting man, and the "Old Commander" was never superseded.
THERE WAS NO NEED OF A STORY.
Dr. Hovey, of Dansville, New York, thought he would call and see the President.
Upon arriving at the White House he found the President on horseback, ready for a start.
Approaching him, he said:
"President Lincoln, I thought I would call and see you before leaving the city, and hear you tell a story."
The President greeted him pleasantly, and asked where he was from.
"From Western New York."
"Well, that's a good enough country without stories," replied the President, and off he rode.
LINCOLN A MAN OF SIMPLE HABITS.
Lincoln's habits at the White House were as simple as they were at his old home in Illinois.
He never alluded to himself as "President," or as occupying "the Presidency."
His office he always designated as "the place."
"Call me Lincoln," said he to a friend; "Mr. President" had become so very tiresome to him.
"If you see a newsboy down the street, send him up this way," said he to a passenger, as he stood waiting for the morning news at his gate.
Friends cautioned him about exposing himself so openly in the midst of enemies; but he never heeded them.
He frequently walked the streets at night, entirely unprotected; and felt any check upon his movements a great annoyance.
He delighted to see his familiar Western friends; and he gave them always a cordial welcome.
He met them on the old footing, and fell at once into the accustomed habits of talk and story-telling.
An old acquaintance, with his wife, visited Washington. Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln proposed to these friends a ride in the Presidential carriage.
It should be stated in advance that the two men had probably never seen each other with gloves on in their lives, unless when they were used as protection from the cold.
The question of each--Lincoln at the White House, and his friend at the hotel--was, whether he should wear gloves.
Of course the ladies urged gloves; but Lincoln only put his in his pocket, to be used or not, according to the circumstances.
When the Presidential party arrived at the hotel, to take in their friends, they found the gentleman, overcome by his wife's persuasions, very handsomely gloved.
The moment he took his seat he began to draw off the clinging kids, while Lincoln began to draw his on!
"No! no! no!" protested his friend, tugging at his gloves. "It is none of my doings; put up your gloves, Mr. Lincoln."
So the two old friends were on even and easy terms, and had their ride after their old fashion.
HIS LAST SPEECH.
President Lincoln was reading the draft of a speech. Edward, the conservative but dignified butler of the White House, was seen struggling with Tad and trying to drag him back from the window from which was waving a Confederate flag, captured in some fight and given to the boy. Edward conquered and Tad, rushing to find his father, met him coming forward to make, as it proved, his last speech.
The speech began with these words, "We meet this evening, not in sorrow, but in gladness of heart." Having his speech written in loose leaves, and being compelled to hold a candle in the other hand, he would let the loose leaves drop to the floor one by one. "Tad" picked them up as they fell, and impatiently called for more as they fell from his father's hand.
It was the idea of the cartoonist to hold Lincoln up as a man who would not countenance failure upon the part of subordinates, but visit the severest punishment upon those commanders who did not win victories. After Burnside's defeat at Fredericksburg, he was relieved by Hooker, who suffered disaster at Chancellorsville; Hooker was relieved by Meade, who won at Gettysburg, but was refused promotion because he did not follow up and crush Lee; Rosecrans was all but defeated at Chickamauga, and gave way to Grant, who, of all the Union commanders, had never suffered defeat. Grant was Lincoln's ideal fighting man, and the "Old Commander" was never superseded.
THERE WAS NO NEED OF A STORY.
Dr. Hovey, of Dansville, New York, thought he would call and see the President.
Upon arriving at the White House he found the President on horseback, ready for a start.
Approaching him, he said:
"President Lincoln, I thought I would call and see you before leaving the city, and hear you tell a story."
The President greeted him pleasantly, and asked where he was from.
"From Western New York."
"Well, that's a good enough country without stories," replied the President, and off he rode.
LINCOLN A MAN OF SIMPLE HABITS.
Lincoln's habits at the White House were as simple as they were at his old home in Illinois.
He never alluded to himself as "President," or as occupying "the Presidency."
His office he always designated as "the place."
"Call me Lincoln," said he to a friend; "Mr. President" had become so very tiresome to him.
"If you see a newsboy down the street, send him up this way," said he to a passenger, as he stood waiting for the morning news at his gate.
Friends cautioned him about exposing himself so openly in the midst of enemies; but he never heeded them.
He frequently walked the streets at night, entirely unprotected; and felt any check upon his movements a great annoyance.
He delighted to see his familiar Western friends; and he gave them always a cordial welcome.
He met them on the old footing, and fell at once into the accustomed habits of talk and story-telling.
An old acquaintance, with his wife, visited Washington. Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln proposed to these friends a ride in the Presidential carriage.
It should be stated in advance that the two men had probably never seen each other with gloves on in their lives, unless when they were used as protection from the cold.
The question of each--Lincoln at the White House, and his friend at the hotel--was, whether he should wear gloves.
Of course the ladies urged gloves; but Lincoln only put his in his pocket, to be used or not, according to the circumstances.
When the Presidential party arrived at the hotel, to take in their friends, they found the gentleman, overcome by his wife's persuasions, very handsomely gloved.
The moment he took his seat he began to draw off the clinging kids, while Lincoln began to draw his on!
"No! no! no!" protested his friend, tugging at his gloves. "It is none of my doings; put up your gloves, Mr. Lincoln."
So the two old friends were on even and easy terms, and had their ride after their old fashion.
HIS LAST SPEECH.
President Lincoln was reading the draft of a speech. Edward, the conservative but dignified butler of the White House, was seen struggling with Tad and trying to drag him back from the window from which was waving a Confederate flag, captured in some fight and given to the boy. Edward conquered and Tad, rushing to find his father, met him coming forward to make, as it proved, his last speech.
The speech began with these words, "We meet this evening, not in sorrow, but in gladness of heart." Having his speech written in loose leaves, and being compelled to hold a candle in the other hand, he would let the loose leaves drop to the floor one by one. "Tad" picked them up as they fell, and impatiently called for more as they fell from his father's hand.