ions. There is, however, no doubt that in point of social
position and acquirements she stood at this time much above Lincoln.

Upon Lincoln's part it was a peculiar wooing, a series of morbid
misgivings as to the force of his affection, of alternate ardor and
coldness, advances and withdrawals, and every variety of strange
language and freakish behavior. In the course of it, oddly enough, his
omnipresent competitor, Douglas, crossed his path, his rival in love as
well as in politics, and ultimately outstripped by him in each alike.
After many months of this queer, uncertain zigzag progress, it was
arranged that the marriage should take place on January 1, 1841. At the
appointed hour the company gathered, the supper was set out, and the
bride, "bedecked in veil and silken gown, and nervously toying with the
flowers in her hair," according to the graphic description of Mr.
Herndon, sat in her sister's house awaiting the coming of her lover. She
waited, but he came not, and soon his friends were searching the town
for him. Towards morning they found him. Some said that he was insane;
if he was not, he was at least suffering from such a terrible access of
his constitutional gloom that for some time to come it was considered
necessary to watch him closely. His friend Speed took him away upon a
long visit to Kentucky, from which he returned in a much improved mental
condition, but soon again came under the influence of Miss Todd's
attractions.

The memory of the absurd result of the recent effort at marriage
naturally led to the avoidance of publicity concerning the second
undertaking. So nothing was said till the last moment; then the license
was procured, a few friends were hastily notified, and the ceremony was
performed, all within a few hours, on November 4, 1842. A courtship
marked by so many singularities was inevitably prolific of gossip; and
by all this tittle-tattle, in which it is absolutely impossible to
separate probably a little truth from much fiction, the bride suffered
more than the groom. Among other things it was asserted that Lincoln at
last came to the altar most reluctantly. One says that he was "pale and
trembling, as if being driven to slaughter;" another relates that the
little son of a friend, noticing that his toilet had been more carefully
made than usual, asked him where he was going, and that he gloomily
responded: "To hell, I suppose." Probably enough, however, these
anecdotes are apocryphal;