was for his immediate friends to protect him from the incursions of curiosity-seeking and office-seeking visitors, then and afterwards.

But, with all his good-humored and cheerful manner towards those who came, it soon became evident that he did not intend to promise places as readily as a spendthrift, newly come into an inheritance, might spread abroad his gold. He was sublimely wise in his treatment of all who came to him, listening to their "claims" (for all had these) and always manifesting the native kindness that distinguished him. But men who had been on familiar terms with him, who had met him "riding the circuit," had listened to his unfailing good stories, had done his party real service in the late fight, or had been friendly neighbors, soon learned that these were not sufficient to extort from him the promise of a good office when he should be in the place where offices were to be given out. He manifested his generosity towards his opponents by sketching out a programme that included in the office-holders of his administration many who had opposed the Republican party in its very latest canvass. He would have, if possible, one or two Southern men of prominence in his Cabinet; and he would not disturb many, then in office, who had proved themselves honest, faithful, and competent public servants. When this outline of policy was disclosed, some of his friends were not only disappointed, but irritated. Not that they wanted offices for themselves or their associates, but it was contrary to the policy and the practice of the time and of all who had occupied the Presiden

tial office in recent years. Nobody had then even suggested that variety of reform that was afterwards known as the Civil-Service Reform. A Democratic Secretary of State, William L. Marcy, had invented the taking phrase, “To the victors belong the spoils,' and Democratic Presidents, from Andrew Jackson down, had rigidly enforced the doctrine taught by that maxim. President Buchanan had been unusually severe in his treatment of office-holders who differed with him and his administration in matters of political policy. During the time when the schism in the Democratic party was widening the breach between "Lecompton Democrats" and "Anti-Lecompton Democrats," Buchanan and his secretaries had made strict inquisition among all office-holders for those who espoused the cause of Douglas and those who represented what was loosely called Douglas Democracy. In California, for example, David C. Broderick, an Anti-Lecompton Democrat, and a friend of Douglas, had been elected to the United States Senate. The other Senator from that State was William M. Gwin, a Southerner by birth and devoted to the slave-holding interest. All the official patronage of the State was handed over to Gwin, and the recommendations to office by Broderick were treated with contemptuous indifference. In course of time, so furious were the Lecompton Democrats against their opponents within the Democratic party, Broderick was inveigled into a duel by the friends of the Buchanan administration, and was cruelly killed by a judge, who, when the war broke out, became an officer in the Rebel army.

In such a condition of affairs as this, with all the public offices filled with the appointees of a proscriptive and unrelenting partisan administration, most Republican leaders were unable to see why Lincoln should hesitate to make "a clean sweep when he came into power. Of course, those patriotic gentlemen who had expected the rewards of office could not possibly understand why a single Democrat should be allowed to stay in office after the newly elected President should himself be fairly installed; and it is not too much to say that there were many of these applicants who, temporarily, at least, were more concerned about the just disposition of the offices than they were about the condition of the whole country, now trembling on the brink of civil war. Then, again, since matters had grown so grave, thousands of well-meaning people were exceedingly anxious to know what Lincoln proposed to do in case the Southern States should secede from the Union. Would he make any concessions in order to keep them from taking this step? What would he offer them to induce them to stay in the Union? There were many ready to advise the President-elect; and some of them offered the most fantastic counsel. More than one timorous soul proposed that, now that the principle of self-government had been vindicated at the polls, and the people had expressed their hostility to slavery, Lincoln might show his magnanimity and patriotism by resigning the Presidency, and demand a new election on the basis of reconciliation with the South.

But while to some of these more absurd sugges

tions Lincoln gave a ready and decisive answer, on the whole, he maintained the same sagacious silence that he had kept while the canvass for the Presidency was going on. To all comers he said, in effect, that it would be time to indicate what his policy was to be when he had taken office at Washington. He told applicants that his past record, his public utterances, and his speeches ought to make manifest what his course as President would be. Beyond that, he would say nothing. His inaugural address must needs be the first official declaration of his intentions, purposes, wishes, and desires.

Many of these inquisitive inquirers were put off with a comical story or a bit of wise humor; and they did not like it any better that their rebuff should take this shape. They went home and sourly reported that the President-elect was a buffoon, a joker, a merry-andrew. There were not a few who were glad to hear anything to the discredit of Lincoln, and so it came to pass that a grave injustice was done him, long before he took his seat in the Presidential chair. Perhaps Lincoln sometimes made the mistake natural to men of a natural and unaffected turn of mind, and presumed that the goodsense of his visitors would make allowance for an artful sportiveness and fancy. But many of these went away troubled in mind and full of wrong notions of Lincoln. Nobody that ever knew Lincoln could possibly have said of him that he was a trifler or an inveterate joker. He was a serious and deeply grave man, when seriousness and gravity were in order; and much of his playfulness was assumed for

a purpose, or to lighten his load of care and divert his mind from heavy troubles. On the whole, those who knew him best unite in saying that his disposition was a sad one by nature.

How Lincoln regarded religion and religious things at this time may be best illustrated in a report from Mr. Newton Bateman, of Illinois, regarding a conversation he held with Lincoln just before the election of November, 1860. Mr. Bateman was State Superintendent of Public Schools, and occupied an office near the apartment surrendered to Lincoln in the statehouse during the campaign. The Republican Committee had made a careful canvass of the city of Springfield, showing how nearly every man was to vote at the Presidential election. Lincoln turned over the leaves of this book, one day, while Mr. Bateman was in his company, the two men being alone together. Lincoln scanned the list of the Springfield clergymen, and, with a sad face, said that of the twenty all but three were against him, and that very many of the members of the churches of these clergymen were also arrayed on that side.

"I am not a Christian," he said. "God knows I would be one. But I have carefully read the Bible, and I do not so understand this book"; and here he drew a New Testament from his bosom. "These men well know," he continued, "that I am for freedom in the Territories, freedom everywhere as far as the Constitution and the laws will permit, and that my opponents are for slavery. They know this; and yet, with this book in their hands, in the light of which human knowledge cannot live a moment, they