But no break or riot came. The tall figure gave another relieving
stretch or two of arms and legs; then with moderate pace, and
accompanied by a few unknown-looking persons, ascended the
portico-steps of the Astor House, disappear'd through its broad
entrance--and the dumb-show ended.
I saw Abraham Lincoln often the four years following that date. He
changed rapidly and much during his Presidency--but this scene, and
him in it, are indelibly stamp'd upon my recollection. As I sat on the
top of my omnibus, and had a good view of him, the thought, dim and
inchoate then, has since come out clear enough, that four sorts of
genius, four mighty and primal hands, will be needed to the complete
limning of this man's future portrait--the eyes and brains and
finger-touch of Plutarch and Eschylus and Michel Angelo, assisted by
Rabelais.
And now--(Mr. Lincoln passing on from this scene to Washington, where
he was inaugurated, amid armed cavalry, and sharpshooters at every
point--the first instance of the kind in our history--and I hope it
will be the last)--now the rapid succession of well-known events,
(too well known--I believe, these days, we almost hate to hear them
mention'd)--the national flag fired on at Sumter--the uprising of the
North, in paroxysms of astonishment and rage--the chaos of divided
councils--the call for troops--the first Bull Run--the stunning
cast-down, shock, and dismay of the North--and so in full flood the
secession war. Four years of lurid, bleeding, murky, murderous war.
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