nted the Republicans of
Illinois to follow Greeley's advice: "Forgive the past." He wanted to
make the most among them of his really noble revolt against the
attempt of his party to fasten an unjust constitution on Kansas.
Lincoln would not allow him to bask for an instant in the sun of that
revolt. He crowded him step by step through his party's record, and
compelled him to face what he called the "profound central truth" of
the Republican party, "slavery is wrong and ought to be dealt with as
wrong."

But it was at once evident that Douglas did not mean to
meet the issue squarely. He called the doctrine of Lincoln's
"house-divided-against-itself" speech "sectionalism"; his charge of
conspiracy "false"; his talk of the wrong of slavery extension
"abolitionism." This went on for a month. Then Lincoln resolved to
force Douglas to meet his arguments, and challenged him to a series of
joint debates. Douglas was not pleased. His reply to the challenge was
irritable, even slightly insolent. To those of his friends who talked
with him privately of the contest, he said: "I do not feel, between
you and me, that I want to go into this debate. The whole country
knows me, and has me measured. Lincoln, as regards myself, is
comparatively unknown, and if he gets the best of this debate,--and I
want to say he is the ablest man the Republicans have got,--I shall
lose everything and Lincoln will gain everything. Should I win, I
shall gain but little. I do not want to go into a debate with Abe."
Publicly, however, he carried off the prospect confidently, even
jauntily. "Mr. Lincoln," he said patronizingly, "is a kind, amiable,
intelligent gentleman." In the meantime his constituents boasted
loudly of the fine spectacle they were going to give the State--"the
Little Giant chawing up Old Abe!"

Many of Lincoln's friends looked forward to the encounter with
foreboding. Often, in spite of their best intentions, they showed
anxiety. "Shortly before the first debate came off at Ottawa," says
Judge H. W. Beckwith of Danville, Ill., "I passed the Chenery House,
then the principal hotel in Springfield. The lobby was crowded with
partisan leaders from various sections of the State, and Mr. Lincoln,
from his greater height, was seen above the surging mass that clung
about him like a swarm of bees to their ruler. He looked careworn, but
he met the crowd patiently and kindly, shaking hands, answering
questions, and receiving assurances of support