paper in England had the whole speech down.
“And when the vote came to be taken—for
in England it is customary for audiences to express
their decision on the subject under discussion—you
would have thought it was a tropical thunder-storm
that swept through the hall as the Ayes were thundered,
while the Nays were an insignificant and contemptible
minority. It had all gone on our side, and such
enthusiasm I never saw.”
It has been repeatedly stated, and to this day is
generally believed,—is so stated in several
of Mr. Lincoln’s biographies, I believe,—that
Mr. Beecher went to England at the President’s
request, and for the purpose of making a speaking
tour. The best answer is that given by Mr. Beecher
himself.
“It has been asked,” said
he, “whether I was sent by the government.
The government took no stock in me at that time.
I had been pounding Lincoln in the earlier years
of the war, and I don’t believe there was
a man down there, unless it was Mr. Chase, who would
have trusted me with anything. At any rate, I
went on my own responsibility.”
But in referring to Abolition orators, and especially
orators whose experience it was to encounter mobs,
the writer desires to pay a tribute to one of them
whose name he does not even know.
A meeting that was called to organize an Anti-Slavery
society in New York City was broken up by a mob.
All of those in attendance made their escape except
one negro. He was caught and his captors thought
it would be a capital joke to make him personify one
of the big Abolitionists. He was lifted to the
platform and directed to imagine himself an Anti-Slavery
leader and make an Abolition speech. The fellow
proved to be equal to the occasion. He proceeded
to assert the right of his race to the privileges
of human beings with force and eloquence. His
hearers listened with amazement, and possibly with
something like admiration, until, realizing that the
joke was on them, they pulled him from the platform
and kicked him from the building.
LINCOLN AND DOUGLAS
In speaking of the orators and oratory that were evolved
by the Slavery issue, there are two names that cannot
be omitted. These are Abraham Lincoln and Stephen
A. Douglas. It was the good fortune of the writer
to be an eye and ear witness of the closing bout, at
Alton, Illinois, between those two political champions
in their great debate of 1858. The contrast between
the men was remarkable. Lincoln was very tall
and spare, standing up, when speaking, straight and
stiff. Douglas was short and stumpy, a regular
roly-poly man. Lincoln’s face was calm
and meek, almost immobile. He referred to it in
his address as “my rather melancholy face.”
Although plain and somewhat rugged, I never regarded
Lincoln’s face as homely. I saw him many
times and talked with him, after the occasion now
referred to. It was a good face, and had many
winning lines. Douglas’s countenance, on
the other hand, was leonine and full of expression.
His was a handsome face. When lighted up by the
excitement of debate it could not fail to impress
an audience.
