In “The Villain Lincoln,” by R. B. Arnolds, account of Darrel Cumberland.
So we have the dilemma put to us, What to do, when his power must continue two years longer and when the existence of our country may be endangered before he can be replaced by a man of sense. How hard, in order to save the country, to sustain a man who is incompetent.
In “Lincoln Reconsidered,” by David Herbert Donald, letter from George Bancroft to Francis Lieber.
If Abe Lincoln should be reelected for another term of four years of such wretched administration, we hope that a bold hand will be found to plunge the dagger into the tyrant’s heart for the public welfare.
In the “La Crosse Democrat.”
Old Abe Lincoln
God damn your god damned old Hellfired god damned soul to hell god damn you and goddam your god damned family’s god damned hellfired god damned soul to hell and god damnation god damn them and god damn your god damn friends to hell god damn their god damned souls to damnation god damn them.
Holzer, op. cit.
LXXI.
Well, what of it.
No one who has ever done anything worth doing has gone uncriticized. As regards the matter at hand (as regards him), I am, at least, above any— Thus thought Mr. Lincoln.
But then his (our) eyes shut, in a slow remembering sorrow-wince.
hans vollman
LXXII.
Harsh whispers made the rounds in those dreadful days, intimating that all that would have been needed to spare the boy’s life was the basic restraining influence of a parent.
In “The Prairie Torment: Lincoln’s Psychology,” by James Spicer.
Willie was so delighted with a little pony, that he insisted on riding it every day. The weather was changeable, and exposure resulted in a severe cold, which deepened into fever.
Keckley, op. cit.
Why, some asked, was a child riding a pony about in the pouring rain, without a coat?
Spicer, op. cit.
Those of us who knew the Lincoln children personally, and saw them running around the White House like a pair of wild savages, will attest to the fact that this was a household in a state of perpetual bedlam, where indiscriminate permission was confused with filial love.
In “Accidental Jehovah: Will, Focus, and the Great Deed,” by Kristen Toles, account of B. Milbank.
[Lincoln] exercised no government of any kind over his household. His children did much as they pleased. Many of their antics he approved, and he restrained them in nothing. He never reproved them or gave them a fatherly frown.
In “Life of Lincoln,” by William H. Herndon and Jesse W. Weik.
He always said “It [is my] pleasure that my children are free—happy & unrestrained by parental tyranny. Love is the chain whereby to Lock a child to its parents.”
In “Herndon’s Informants,” edited by Douglas L. Wilson and Rodney O. Davis, account of Mary Lincoln.
These children would take down the books—Empty ash buckets—coal ashes—inkstand—papers—gold pens—letters &c. &c in a pile and then dance on the pile. Lincoln would say nothing, so abstracted was he and so blinded to his children’s faults. Had they s—–t in Lincoln’s hat and rubbed it on his boots, he would have laughed and thought it smart.
In “Herndon on Lincoln: Letters,” edited by Douglas L. Wilson and Rodney O. Davis, letter to Jesse K. Weik.
They could have raced past him into a shooting match and he would not have glanced up from his work. For Lincoln (all subsequent hagiography aside) was an ambitious man––nearly monomaniacally so.
In “They Knew Him,” edited by Leonora Morehouse, account of Theodore Blasgen.
[Any] man who thinks that Lincoln calmly gathered his robes about him, waiting for the people to call him, has a very erroneous knowledge of Lincoln. He was always calculating, and always planning ahead. His ambition was a little engine that knew no rest.
In “The Inner World of Abraham Lincoln,” by Michael Burlingame, account of William H. Herndon.
One like myself, who long ago made the decision to put aside worldly aspirations for the gentler pleasures of home and family, and to accept, as part of the bargain, a commensurately less glorious public life, can only imagine the dark cloud that must descend upon one’s head at the thought of what might have happened, had all of one’s attention been, as appropriate, on the essential hearthside matters.
In “Wise Words and Collected Letters from a Grandfather” (unpublished manuscript, edited by Simone Grand, used by permission), by Norman G. Grand.
When a child is lost there is no end to the self-torment a parent may inflict. When we love, and the object of our love is small, weak, and vulnerable, and has looked to us and us alone for protection; and when such protection, for whatever reason, has failed, what consolation (what justification, what defense) may there possibly be?
None.
Doubt will fester as long as we live.
And when one occasion of doubt has been addressed, another and then another will arise in its place.
Milland, op. cit.