naturally removed, through the
absorption of the outer man by the inner--that inevitably one thinks of
Shakespeare's change "into something rich and strange."

Along with the weakness, the contradictions of his earlier self, there
had also fallen away from him the mere grossness that had belonged to
him as a peasant. Carpenter is unconditional that in six months of close
intimacy, seeing him in company with all sorts of people, he never heard
from Lincoln an offensive story. He quotes Seward and Lincoln's family
physician to the same effect.(11)

The painter, like many others, was impressed by the tragic cast of his
expression, despite the surface mirth.

"His complexion, at this time, was inclined to sallowness his eyes were
bluish gray in color--always in deep shadow, however, from the upper
lids which were unusually heavy (reminding me in this respect of
Stuart's portrait of Washington) and the expression was remarkably
pensive and tender, often inexpressibly sad, as if the reservoir of
tears lay very near the surface--a fact proved not only by the response
which accounts of suffering and sorrow invariably drew forth, but
by circumstances which would ordinarily affect few men in his
position."(12) As a result of the great strain to which he was subjected
"his demeanor and disposition changed-so gradually that it would be
impossible to say when the change began. . . . He continued always the
same kindly, genial, and cordial spirit he had been at first; but the
boisterous laughter became less frequent, year by year; the eye grew
veiled by constant meditation on momentous subjects; the air of reserve
and detachment from his surroundings increased. He aged with great
rapidity."(13)

Every Saturday afternoon the Marine Band gave an open-air concert in
the grounds of the White House. One afternoon Lincoln appeared upon the
portico. There was instant applause and cries for a speech. "Bowing his
thanks and excusing himself, he stepped back into the retirement of the
circular parlor, remarking (to Carpenter) with a disappointed air, as
he reclined on a sofa, 'I wish they would let me sit there quietly
and enjoy the music.' His kindness to others was unfailing. It was
this harassed statesman who came into the studio one day and found
(Carpenter's) little boy of two summers playing on the floor. A member
of the Cabinet was with him; but laying aside all restraint, he took
the little fellow in his arms and they were soon on