Lincoln, the unknown

86•LINCOLN THE UNKNOWNclient had dropped in and Lincoln was propounding thelaw, or else the cloud of despondency had passed away,and he was busy in the recital of an Indiana story to whistleoff the recollections of the morning's gloom. Noon havingarrived I would depart homeward for my dinner. Returningwithin an hour, I would find him still in the office,although his home stood but a few squares away,—lunchingon a sliceof cheese and a handful of crackers which,in my absence, he had brought up from a store below.Separating for the day at five or six o'clock in the evening,I would still leave him behind, either sitting on a box at thefoot of the stairway, entertaining a few loungers, or killingtime in the same way on the court-house steps. A light inthe office after dark attested his presence there till latealong in the night, when, after all the world had gone tosleep, the tall form of the man destined to be the nation'sPresident could have seen strolling along in the shadowsof trees and buildings, and quietly slipping in through thedoor of a modest frame house, which it pleased the world,in a conventional way, to call his home.Some persons may insist that this picture is too highlycolored. If so, I can only answer, they do not know thefacts.Once Mrs. Lincoln attacked her husband so savagely, andkept it up so long, that even he— "with malice toward none;with charity for all"—even he lost his self-control, and seizingher by the arm, he forced her across the kitchen and pushedher toward the door, saying: "You're ruining my life. You'remaking a hell of this home. Now, damn you, you get out of it."