then he said to me, “how is it going in the field?” i said, “we sometimes get discouraged.” and he said: “it is all right. we are going to win out now. we are getting very near the light. no man ought to wish to be president of the united states, and i will be glad when i get through; the tad and i are going out to springfield, illinois. i have bought a farm out there and i don’t care if i again earn only twenty-five cents a day. tad has a mule team, and we are going to plant onions.”
then he asked me, “were you brought up on a farm?” i said, “yes; in the berkshire hills of massachusetts.” he then threw his leg over the corner of the big chair and said, “i have heard many a time, ever since i was young, that up there in those hills you have to sharpen the noses of the sheep in order to get down to the grass between the rocks.” he was so familiar, so everyday, so farmer-like, that i felt right at home with him at once.
he then took hold of another roll of paper, and looked up at me and said, “good morning.” i took the hint then and got up and went out. after i had gotten out i could not realize i had seen the president of the united states at all. but a few days later, when still in the city, i saw the crowd pass through the east room by the coffin of abraham lincoln, and when i looked at the upturned face of the murdered president i felt then that the man i had seen such a short time before, who, so simple a man, so plain a man, was one of the greatest men that god ever raised up to lead a nation on to ultimate liberty. yet he was only “old abe” to his neighbors. when they had the second funeral, i was invited among others, and went out to see that some coffin put back in the tomb at springfield. around t
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