the details of the war and directed the multitudinous movements in the various departments with a sagacity, wise judgment and determination which finally brought victory out of impending defeat and saved the Union. General Keep says: "The elements of selfishness and ferocity, which are not unusual with first-class military chiefs, were wholly foreign to Mr. Lincoln's nature. Nevertheless, there was not one of his most trusted warlike counsellors in the beginning of the war, who equalled him in military sagacity."

CHAPTER XVI.

Ir is an old saying that " Circumstances make the man," and it is also true that man impresses much of his character upon his surroundings. As the foot imprints its form upon the sand, man impresses his character upon his environment and moulds it to the peculiarities of his taste and temperament. The very

rooms in which a man of affairs does his work will bear the stamp of his activity and be suggestive of his presence.

This was true of Mr. Lincoln to an unusual degree. He always dressed plainly and made no attempt at personal adornment. The conventional garb of society sat awkwardly upon his long gaunt body. He was most at ease when most simply clad and was always glad to exchange his dress suit for his working clothes. His mind seemed to be far above the petty details of dress and chafed when compelled to give attention to them.

In the furnishing of his house his tastes were equally simple. The old kitchen, where the whole family were wont to gather around the fireplace and read or work by the bright blaze, was to him the most comfortable room in the house.

He never felt at home in the broad and ornate rooms of the White House and spent the most of the time in his office, which he often spoke of as his "workshop."

Mr. Arnold thus describes this historic room:

"It was about 25x40 feet in size. In the centre on the west was a large, white marble fireplace, with big, old-fashioned brass andirons and a large, high brass fender. A wood fire was burning in cool weather. The large windows opened upon the beautiful lawn to the south with a view of the unfinished Washington Monument, the Smithsonian Institute, the Potomac, Alexandria and down the river towards Mount Vernon. Across the river were Arlington Heights and Arlington House, late residence of Robert E. Lee. On the hills around, during nearly all his administration, were the white tents of soldiers and field fortifications and camps, and in every direction could be seen the brilliant colors of the national flag. The furniture of this room consisted of a large oak table, covered with cloth, extending north and south, and it was around this table that the Cabinet sat when it held its meetings. Near the end of the table and between the windows was another table, on the west side of which the President sat in a large arm-chair, and at this table he wrote. A tall desk with pigeonholes for papers stood against the south wall. The only books usually found in this room were the Bible, the Constitution of the United States and a copy of Shakespeare. There were a few chairs and two plain hair-covered sofas. There were two or three map frames from which hung military maps on which the position and movements of the armies were traced. There was an old and discolored engraving of General Jackson on the mantel and a later photograph of John Bright. Doors opened into this room from the room of the Secretary, and from the outside hall run

ning east and west across the house. A bell-cord within reach of his hand extended to the Secretary's office. A messenger stood at the door opening from the hall, who took in the cards and names of the visitors. Here in this plain room Mr. Lincoln spent most of his time while President. Here he received every one, from the Chief Justice and Lieutenant General to the private soldier and humblest citizen. Custom had fixed certain rules of precedence and the order in which official visits should be received. Members of the Cabinet and the high officers of the Army and Navy were generally admitted promptly. Senators and Representatives were received in the order of their arrival. Sometimes there would be a crowd of Members of Congress awaiting their turn. While thus waiting, the loud ringing laugh of Mr. Lincoln -in which he would be joined by those inside, but which was rather provoking to those outside-would be heard by the waiting and impatient crowd. Here, day after day, from early morning till late at night, Lincoln sat, listened, talked and decided. He was patient, just, considerate and hopeful. The people came to him as to a father. He saw every one, and many wasted his precious time. All classes approached him with familiarity. This incessant labor, the study of the great problems he had to decide, the worry of constant importunity, the quarrels of the officers of the army, the care, anxiety and responsibility of his position, wore upon his vigorous frame." Mr. Deming in commenting upon his personal appearance, says: "As the world has rung with ridicule of the ungainliness of his manners, I may be permitted to say, that without any pretensions to super

fine polish, they were frank, cordial and dignified, without rudeness, without offense and without any violation of the proprieties and etiquettes of his high position. To borrow one of his own conversational phrases, he did not brag on deportment.' He stood and moved and bowed without affectation, and without obtrusive awkwardness, pretty much as nature prompted, and as if he regarded carriage about as bad a criterion as color, of the genuine nobility of the soul."

The White House was constantly thronged with office-seekers, men and women with complaints or advice to proffer, and people with private or public business to transact, until the weary President was hardly given time to attend to the more important demands upon him. He was gentle and sympathetic with those in trouble and quick to help, if possible. He listened patiently to honest complaints, but was quick to detect dishonesty and selfishness, and bitter and scathing in his denunciation of it.

Among the callers at the White House, one day, was an officer who had been cashiered from the service. He had prepared an elaborate defense of himself, which he consumed much time in reading to the President. When he had finished, Mr. Lincoln replied that, even upon his own statement of the case, the facts would not warrant Executive interference. Disappointed and considerably crestfallen, the man withdrew.

A few days afterwards, he made a second attempt to alter the President's convictions, going over substantially the same ground, and occupying about the same space of time, but without accomplishing his end.