Threads of Grey and Gold

“What I have said I will most positively abide by, provided you wish it. My opinion is that you would better not do it. You have not been accustomed to hardship, and it may be more severe than you now imagine.

“I know you are capable of thinking correctly upon any subject and if you deliberate maturely upon this before you decide, then I am willing to abide by your decision.”

Matters went on in this way for about three months; then they met again, seemingly without making any progress. On the day they parted, Lincoln wrote her another letter, evidently to make his own position clear and put the burden of decision upon her.

“If you feel yourself in any degree bound to me [he said], I am now willing to release you, provided you wish it; while, on the other hand, I am willing and even anxious, to bind you faster, if I can be convinced that it will in any considerable degree add to your happiness. This, indeed, is the whole question with me. Nothing would make me more miserable than to believe you miserable – nothing more happy than to know you were so.”

In spite of his evident sincerity, it is not surprising to learn that a little later, Miss Owens definitely refused him. In April, of the following year, Lincoln wrote to his friend, Mrs. L. H. Browning, giving a full account of this grotesque courtship:

“I finally was forced to give it up [he wrote] at which I very unexpectedly found myself mortified almost beyond endurance.

“I was mortified it seemed to me in a hundred different ways. My vanity was deeply wounded by the reflection that I had so long been too stupid to discover her intentions, and at the same time never doubting that I understood them perfectly; and also, that she, whom I had taught myself to believe nobody else would have, had actually rejected me, with all my fancied greatness.

“And then to cap the whole, I then, for the first time, began to suspect that I was really a little in love with her. But let it all go. I’ll try and outlive it. Others have been made fools of by the girls; but this can never with truth be said of me. I most emphatically in this instance made a fool of myself. I have now come to the conclusion never again to think of marrying, and for this reason I can never be satisfied with any one who would be blockhead enough to have me!”

The gist of the matter seems to be that at heart Lincoln hesitated at matrimony, as other men have done, both before and since his time. In his letter to Mrs. Browning he speaks of his efforts to “put off the evil day for a time, which I really dreaded as much, perhaps more, than an Irishman does the halter!”

But in 1839 Miss Mary Todd came to live with her sister, Mrs. Ninian Edwards, at Springfield. She was in her twenty-first year, and is described as “of average height and compactly built.” She had a well-rounded face, rich dark brown hair, and bluish grey eyes. No picture of her fails to show the full, well-developed chin, which, more than any other feature is an evidence of determination. She was strong, proud, passionate, gifted with a keen sense of the ridiculous, well educated, and swayed only by her own imperious will.

Lincoln was attracted at once, and strangely enough, Stephen A. Douglas crossed his wooing. For a time the two men were rivals, the pursuit waxing more furious day by day. Some one asked Miss Todd which of them she intended to marry, and she answered laughingly: “The one who has the best chance of becoming President!”

She is said, however, to have refused the “Little Giant” on account of his lax morality and after that the coast was clear for Lincoln. Miss Todd’s sister tells us that “he was charmed by Mary’s wit and fascinated by her quick sagacity, her will, her nature, and culture.” “I have happened in the room,” she says, “where they were sitting, often and often, and Mary led the conversation. Lincoln would listen, and gaze on her as if drawn by some superior power – irresistibly so; he listened, but scarcely ever said a word.”

The affair naturally culminated in an engagement, and the course of love was running smoothly, when a distracting element appeared in the shape of Miss Matilda Edwards, the sister of Mrs. Edwards’s husband. She was young and fair, and Lincoln was pleased with her appearance. For a time he tried to go on as before, but his feelings were too strong to be concealed. Mr. Edwards endeavoured to get his sister to marry Lincoln’s friend, Speed, but she refused both Speed and Douglas.

It is said that Lincoln once went to Miss Todd’s house, intending to break the engagement, but his real love proved too strong to allow him to do it.

His friend, Speed, thus describes the conclusion of this episode. “Well, old fellow,” I said, “did you do as you intended?”

“Yes, I did,” responded Lincoln thoughtfully, “and when I told Mary I did not love her, she, wringing her hands, said something about the deceiver being himself deceived.”

“What else did you say?”

“To tell you the truth, Speed, it was too much for me. I found the tears trickling down my own cheeks. I caught her in my arms and kissed her.”

“And that’s how you broke the engagement. Your conduct was tantamount to a renewal of it!”

And indeed this was true, and the lovers again considered the time of marriage.

There is a story by Herndon to the effect that a wedding was arranged for the first day of January, 1841, and then when the hour came Lincoln did not appear, and was found wandering alone in the woods plunged in the deepest melancholy – a melancholy bordering upon insanity.

This story, however, has no foundation; in fact, most competent witnesses agree that no such marriage date was fixed, although some date may have been considered.

It is certain, however, that the relations between Lincoln and Miss Todd were broken off for a time. He did go to Kentucky for a while, but this trip certainly was not due to insanity. Lincoln was never so mindless as some of his biographers would have us believe, and the breaking of the engagement was due to perfectly natural causes – the difference in temperament of the lovers, and Lincoln’s inclination to procrastinate. After a time the strained relations gradually improved. They met occasionally in the parlor of a friend, Mrs. Francis, and it was through Miss Todd that the duel with Shields came about.

She wielded a ready and a sarcastic pen, and safely hidden behind a pseudonym and the promise of the editor, she wrote a series of satirical articles for the local paper, entitled: “Letters from Lost Townships.” In one of these she touched up Mr. Shields, the Auditor of State, to such good purpose that believing that Lincoln had written the article, he challenged him to a duel. Lincoln accepted the challenge and chose “cavalry broadswords” as the weapons, but the intervention of friends prevented any fighting, although he always spoke of the affair as his “duel.”

As a result of this altercation with Shields, Miss Todd and the future President came again into close friendship, and a marriage was decided upon.

The license was secured, the minister sent for, and on November 4, 1842, they became man and wife.

It is not surprising that more or less unhappiness obtained in their married life, for Mrs. Lincoln was a woman of strong character, proud, fiery, and determined. Her husband was subject to strange moods and impulses, and the great task which God had committed to him made him less amenable to family cares.

That married life which began at the Globe Tavern was destined to end at the White House, after years of vicissitude and serious national trouble. Children were born unto them, and all but the eldest died. Great responsibilities were laid upon Lincoln and even though he met them bravely it was inevitable that his family should also suffer.

Upon the face of the Commander-in-chief rested nearly always a mighty sadness, except when it was occasionally illumined by his wonderful smile, or when the light of his sublime faith banished the clouds.

Storm and stress, suffering and heartache, reverses and defeat were the portion of the Leader, and when Victory at last perched upon the National standard, her beautiful feet were all drabbled in blood, and the most terrible war on the world’s records passed down into history. In the hour of triumph, with his great purpose nobly fulfilled, death came to the great Captain.

The United Republic is his monument, and that rugged, yet gracious figure, hallowed by martyrdom, stands before the eyes of his countrymen forever serene and calm, while his memory lingers like a benediction in the hearts of both friend and foe.

Silent Thanksgiving

She is standing alone by the window —
A woman, faded and old,
But the wrinkled face was lovely once,
And the silvered hair was gold.
As out in the darkness, the snow-flakes
Are falling so softly and slow,
Her thoughts fly back to the summer of life,
And the scenes of long ago.

Before the dim eyes, a picture comes,
She has seen it again and again;
The tears steal over the faded cheeks,
And the lips that quiver with pain,
For she hears once more the trumpet call
And sees the battle array
As they march to the hills with gleaming swords —
Can she ever forget that day?

She has given her boy to the land she loves,
How hard it had been to part!
And to-night she stands at the window alone,
With a new-made grave in her heart.
And yet, it’s the day of Thanksgiving —
But her child, her darling was slain
By the shot and shell of the rebel guns —
Can she ever be thankful again?

She thinks once more of his fair young face,
And the cannon’s murderous roll,
While hatred springs in her passionate heart,
And bitterness into her soul.
Then out of the death-like stillness
There comes a battle-cry —
The song that led those marching feet
To conquer, or to die.