the universities, but of the universe; the Mississippi of Eloquence,
uncultivated, stupendous, enriched by sweeping into the innumerable
side bayous and creeks.

Elected and re-elected President, he continued to be a surprise to
those who shrank from levity. Lincoln was their puzzle; for he had
a sweet sauce for every "roast," and showed the smile of invigoration
to every croaking prophet. His state papers suited the war tragedies,
but still he delighted the people with those tales, tagging all the
events of what may be called the Lincoln era. The camp and the press
echoed them though the Cabinet frowned--secretaries said that they
exposed the illustrious speaker to charges of "clownishness and
buffoonery."

But this perennial good-humor--perfectly poised by the people--
alleviated the strain of withstanding that terrible avalanche
threatening to dismember and obliterate the States and bury all
the virtues and principles of our forefathers.

Even his official letters were in the same vein. Regarding the one to
England which meant war, he asked of Secretary Seward if its language
would be comprehended by our minister at the Victorian court, and added
dryly: "Will James, the coachman at the door--will he understand it?"
Receiving the answer, he nodded grimly and said: "Then it goes!"
It went, and there was no war with the Bull.

Time has refuted the purblind purists, the chilly "wet-blankets"; and
the Lincoln stories, bright, penetrative, piquant, and pertinent are
our classics. Hand in hand with "Father Abraham," the President next
to Washington in greatness, walks "Old Abe, the Story-teller."