October 4, 1863
This rainy evening I take up my pen again.
There are no accidents in my philosophy. Every effect must have its cause. The past is the cause of the present, and the present will be the cause of the future.
All these are links in the endless chain stretching from the infinite to the finite.
Probably it is to be my lot to go on in a twilight, feeling and reasoning my way through life, as questioning, doubting Thomas did. But in my poor, maimed, withered way bear with me as I go on seeking for a faith that was with him of olden times, who exclaimed "Help thou my unbelief."
I do not see that I am more astray-though perhaps in a different direction-than others whose points of view differ widely from each other in the sectarian denominations. They all claim to be Christians, and interpret their several creeds as infallible ones. I doubt the possibility, or propriety, of settling the religion of Jesus Christ in the models of man-man creeds and dogmas.
It was a spirit in the life that He laid stress on and taught, if I read aright. I know I see it to be so with me... The fundamental truths reported in the four Gospels as from the lips of Jesus, and that I first heard from the lips of my mother, are settled and fixed moral precepts with me. I have concluded to dismiss from my mind the debatable wrangles that once perplexed me with distractions that stirred up but never absolutely settled anything. I have tossed them aside with the doubtful differences which divide denominations. I have ceased to follow such discussions or be interested in them. I cannot without mental reservations assent to long and complicated creeds and catechisms.
The White House
I had a visitor this morning who needed to be reassured. He is a trembling old man from Arkansas, a local politician. After spelling out some good news for his benefit I told him this anecdote... I think it worked very well...
An eccentric old bachelor lived in the Hoosier state and was famous for seeing big bugaboos in everything. He lived with an elder brother and one day went out hunting.
His brother heard him firing back in the cornfield and went out to see what was the matter. He found him loading and firing into the top of a tree. Not being able to dis- cover anything in the tree, he asked his brother what he was firing at. "A squirrel," the man said, and kept on firing. His brother thought there was some humbug about the matter and looked him over carefully and found a big louse crawling about on one of his eyelashes.
Executive Mansion
October 12, 1863
After my nomination Springfield filled with ox carts, wagons, buggies, horsemen, trainloads of folk. Fifty- thousand poured into my little town. Hordes jammed the street in front of my house, yelling "Speech...speech!"
I greeted them, said a few words, joked.
Reporters swarmed around me. Friends came and went. I forgot to stable the horse, forgot to milk the cow. Mary scolded me for forgetting my supper.
Tad got lost in the crowd.
Wind blew, dust blew.
It seems very amusing to me now. Unreal.
Streets were lit with burning tar barrels and torches.
People sang, paraded the streets.
" Ole Abe Lincoln came out of the wilderness,
Out of the wilderness, out of the wilderness..."
I turned in mighty late that night, yet singers were still singing, singing "Gentle Annie" and other favorites.
October 13, 1863
Before leaving for Washington, I went to my office to say good-bye to Billy Herndon. It wasn't easy climbing that stair. It was difficult to say good-bye to my old partner and friend. I gathered up some books and papers and laid them on the big table. I stretched out on the old couch, with the buffalo robe under me.
"How long have we been working together, Billy?"
"Over sixteen years," he replied.
"We've never had a cross word all that time, have we?"
He nodded.
"That's right."
I asked him to retain our old shingle, on its rusty hinges.
"If I live, I'll be coming back, and then we'll go on as if nothing had ever happened."
At the bottom of the stairs, we shook hands.
In keeping with my philosophy I felt certain that I would never return to Springfield.
October 21, 1863
White House
Library
The unfinished dome on the White House continues to trouble me. The incompletion has become a symbol. I peer through its maw and it seems a war wound. When will it be finished? And when it has been completed will the union of the North and South begin? A carpenter tips his hat: "Good morning, Mr. President." Throughout the morning I have heard hammers and saws. Patience, I tell myself. A wise man invented patience. The emancipation of man will require great patience.
It is pleasant writing in the library. I will return again.
Here is a book, on my desk, entitled Sparta. I believe that the Spartans were often respected for their courage.
What is it men fear most? Death?
Ten men will have ten answers.
From the days of the Spartans men have floundered over freedom-spelling it a hundred different ways! The Iroquois had their idea of freedom. The Pilgrim had his.