Jack Cade and Aaron Burr.
His sympathies were easily stirred by rags in distress. But he was
uncompromising in his detestation of the rich. It was said that he
hated "a biled shirt." He would have nothing to do "with people who wore
broadcloth," though he carefully dressed himself. When, as governor of
Tennessee, he came to Nashville he refused many invitations to take his
first New Year's dinner with a party of toughs at the house of a river
roustabout.

There was nothing of the tough about him, however. His language was
careful and exact. I never heard him utter an oath or tell a risque
story. He passed quite fifteen years in Washington, a total abstainer
from the use of intoxicants. He fell into the occasional-drink habit
during the dark days of the War. But after some costly experience he
dropped it and continued a total abstainer to the end of his days.

He had, indeed, admirable self-control. I do not believe a more
conscientious man ever lived. His judgments were sometimes peculiar, but
they were upright and sincere, having reasons, which he could give with
power and effect, behind them. Yet was he a born politician, crafty to
a degree, and always successful, relying upon a popular following which
never failed him.

In 1860 he supported the quasi-secession Breckenridge and Lane
Presidential ticket, but in 1861 he stood true to the Union, retaining
his seat in the Senate until he was appointed military governor of
Tennessee. Nominated for Vice President on the ticket with Lincoln, in
1864, he was elected, and upon the assassination of Lincoln succeeded to
the Presidency. Having served out his term as President he returned to
Tennessee to engage in the hottest kind of politics, and though at the
outset defeated finally regained his seat in the Senate of the United
States.

He hated Grant with a holy hate. His first act on reentering the Senate
was to deliver an implacably bitter speech against the President. It
was his last public appearance. He went thence to his home in East
Tennessee, gratified and happy, to die in a few weeks.

VII

There used to be a story about Raleigh, in North Carolina, where Andrew
Johnson was born, which whispered that he was a natural son of William
Ruffin, an eminent jurist in the earlier years of the nineteenth
century. It was analogous to the story that Lincoln was the natural son
of various paternities from time to time assigned to him. I had my share
in running that ca