of his
life came to him in manhood but with no whit of its sweetness gone.
Sweet Anne Rutledge! There are those who remember her well, and to
this day in speaking of her, their eyes fill with tears. A lady who
knew her says: "Miss Rutledge had auburn hair, blue eyes, and a fair
complexion. She was pretty, rather slender, and good-hearted, beloved
by all who knew her."

Before Lincoln loved her, she had a sad experience with another man.
About the time that he came to New Salem, a young man named John
McNeil drifted in from one of the Eastern States. He worked hard, was
plucky and industrious, and soon accumulated a little property. He met
Anne Rutledge when she was but seventeen and still in school, and he
began to pay her especial attention which at last culminated in their
engagement.

He was about going back to New York for a visit and leaving he told
Anne that his name was not McNeil, but McNamar--that he had changed
his name so that his dependent family might not follow him and settle
down upon him before he was able to support them. Now that he was in
a position to aid his parents, brothers, and sisters, he was going
back to do it and upon his return would make Anne his wife.

For a long time she did not hear from him at all, and gossip was rife
in New Salem. His letters became more formal and less frequent and
finally ceased altogether. The girl's proud spirit compelled her to
hold her head high amid the impertinent questions of the neighbors.

Lincoln had heard of the strange conduct of McNeil and concluding that
there was now no tie between Miss Rutledge and her quondam lover, he
began his own siege in earnest. Anne consented at last to marry him
provided he gave her time to write to McNamar and obtain a release
from the pledge which she felt was still binding upon her.

She wrote, but there was no answer and at last she definitely accepted
Lincoln.

It was necessary for him to complete his law studies, and after that,
he said, "Nothing on God's footstool shall keep us apart."

He worked happily but a sore conflict seemed to be raging in Anne's
tender heart and conscience, and finally the strain told upon her to
such an extent that when she was attacked by a fever, she had little
strength to resist it.

The summer waned and Anne's life ebbed with it. At the very end of her
illness, when all visitors were forbidden, she insisted upon seeing
Lincoln. He went to her--and closed the door between them and