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120 •LINCOLN THE UNKNOWNIf T live I'm coming back some time, and <strong>the</strong>n we'll goright on practising law as if nothing had ever happened."He lingered for a moment as if to take a last look at <strong>the</strong>old quarters, and <strong>the</strong>n passed through <strong>the</strong> door into <strong>the</strong>narrow hallway. I accompanied him downstairs. On <strong>the</strong>way he spoke of <strong>the</strong> unpleasant features surrounding <strong>the</strong>Presidential office. "I am sick of office-holding already,"he complained, "and I shudder when I think of <strong>the</strong> tasksthat are still ahead."<strong>Lincoln</strong> probably was worth about ten thousand dollars at<strong>the</strong> time; but he was so short of cash <strong>the</strong>n that he had toborrow money from his friends to pay for his trip to Washington.The <strong>Lincoln</strong>s spent <strong>the</strong>ir last week in Springfield at <strong>the</strong>Chenery House. The night before <strong>the</strong>y left, <strong>the</strong>ir trunks andboxes were brought down to <strong>the</strong> hotel lobby and <strong>Lincoln</strong> himselfroped <strong>the</strong>m. Then he asked <strong>the</strong> clerk for some of <strong>the</strong> hotelcards, turned <strong>the</strong>m over, and wrote on <strong>the</strong> back: "A. <strong>Lincoln</strong>,Executive Mansion, Washington, D.C.," and tacked <strong>the</strong>m onhis baggage.The next morning, at half-past seven, <strong>the</strong> dilapidated old busbacked up to <strong>the</strong> hotel, and <strong>Lincoln</strong> and his family got in andjolted away to <strong>the</strong> Wabash station, where a special train waswaiting to take <strong>the</strong>m to Washington.It was dark and rainy, but <strong>the</strong> station platform was crowdedwith a thousand or fifteen hundred of his old neighbors. Theyformed a line and slowly filed by <strong>Lincoln</strong>, shaking his greatbony hand. Finally <strong>the</strong> ringing of <strong>the</strong> engine bell warned himthat it was time to go aboard. He entered his private car by <strong>the</strong>front steps and a minute later appeared on <strong>the</strong> rear platform.He had not intended to make a speech. He had told <strong>the</strong> newspaperreporters that it would not be necessary for <strong>the</strong>m to beat <strong>the</strong> station, as he would have nothing to say. However, ashe looked for <strong>the</strong> last time into <strong>the</strong> faces of his old neighbors, hefelt he must say something. The words he uttered that morningin <strong>the</strong> falling rain are not to be compared with those he spokeat Gettysburg, or placed beside <strong>the</strong> sublime spiritual masterpiecethat he pronounced on <strong>the</strong> occasion of his second inauguration.But this farewell speech is as beautiful as one of<strong>the</strong> Psalms of David, and it contains perhaps more of personalemotion and pathos than any o<strong>the</strong>r of <strong>Lincoln</strong>'s addresses.