utter a single
sentence that might be heard above the din, passed on and for a moment
disappeared.

The sentence was pregnant with meaning. The man bore a commission from
God on high! He said: "A house divided against itself cannot stand. I
believe this Government cannot endure permanently half free and half
slave. I do not expect the Union to be dissolved; I do not expect the
house to fall; but I do expect it will cease to be divided." He was
Abraham Lincoln.

How shall I describe him to you? Shall I do so as he appeared to me,
when I first saw him immediately on his arrival in the national capital,
the chosen president of the United States, his appearance quite as
strange as the story of his life, which was then but half known and half
told, or shall I use the words of another and a more graphic
wordpainter?

In January, 1861, Colonel A. K. McClure, of Pennsylvania, journeyed to
Springfield, Illinois, to meet and confer with the man he had done so
much to elect, but whom he had never personally known. "I went directly
from the depot to Lincoln's house," says Colonel McClure, "and rang the
bell, which was answered by Lincoln, himself, opening the door. I doubt
whether I wholly concealed my disappointment at meeting him. Tall,
gaunt, ungainly, ill-clad, with a homeliness of manner that was unique
in itself, I confess that my heart sank within me as I remembered that
this was the man chosen by a great nation to become its ruler in the
gravest period of its history. I remember his dress as if it were but
yesterday--snuff-colored and slouchy pantaloons; open black vest, held
by a few brass buttons; straight or evening dress coat, with tightly
fitting sleeves to exaggerate his long, bony arms, all supplemented by
an awkwardness that was uncommon among men of intelligence. Such was the
picture I met in the person of Abraham Lincoln. We sat down in his
plainly furnished parlor and were uninterrupted during the nearly four
hours I remained with him, and little by little, as his earnestness,
sincerity, and candor were developed in conversation, I forgot all the
grotesque qualities which so confounded me when I first greeted him.
Before half an hour had passed I learned not only to respect, but,
indeed, to reverence the man."

A graphic portrait, truly, and not unlike. I recall him, two months
later, a little less uncouth, a little better dressed, but in
singularity and in angularity much the same. All the world now takes