Part 12 (1/2)

A LIGHTNING-ROD TO PROTECT A GUILTY CONSCIENCE!

One term in the Illinois State legislature only whetted the predestined politician for a seat again at that table, though it was not he who won the loaves and the fishes. He was to speak at Springfield, the more gloriously welcomed as he was prominent in the movement hereafter realized, of changing the capital from Vandalia to this more energetic town.

The meeting had foreboded ill, as a serious wrangle between two of the preceding speakers threatened to end in a challenge to a duel, still a fas.h.i.+onable diversion. But Lincoln intervened with a speech so enthralling that the hearers forgot the dispute and heard him out with rapture. He had found the proper way to manage his voice, never musical, by controlling the nasal tw.a.n.g into a monotonous but audible sharpness, ”carrying” to a great distance. He was followed by one George Forquer (Farquhar or Forquier), a facing-both-ways, profit-taking politician, who had achieved his end by obtaining an office. This was the land-office register at this town. He had been a prominent Whig representative in 1834. The turncoat a.s.sailed Lincoln bitterly (much as Pitt was derided in his beginning) and had begun his piece by announcing that ”the young man (Lincoln) must be taken down.”

As if to live up to the lucrative berth, Mr. Forquer had finished a frame-house--Springfield still had log houses, and not only in the environs, either!--and to cap the novelty, had that other new feature, a lightning-rod, put upon it. The object of the slur at youth had listened to the diatribe, flattering only so far as he was singled out.

Mr. Joshua F. Speed, a bosom friend of Lincoln, reports the retort as follows:

”The gentleman says that 'this young man must be taken down.' It is for you, not for me, to say whether I am up or down. The gentleman has alluded to my being a young man; I am older in years than in the tricks and trades of politicians.

”I desire to live, and I desire place and distinction as a politician; but I would rather die now than, like the gentleman, live to see the day that I would have to erect a lightning-rod to protect a guilty conscience from an offended G.o.d!”

Mr. Speed says that the reply was characterized by great force and dignity. The happy image of the lightning-rod for a conscience has pa.s.sed into the fixed-star stage of a household word throughout the West.

FIRING ON A FLEA FOR A SQUIRREL.

In 1841, while serving a term in the Illinois legislature, Lincoln was the longest of the Sangamon representatives, distinguished as the Long Nine. They were much hampered by an old member who tried to put a stopper upon any measure on the set ground that it was ”un-con-sti-tu-tional.” Lincoln was selected to ”spike his gun.”

A measure was introduced benefiting the Sangamon district, so that its electee might befittingly push it, and defend it. He was warrantably its usher when the habitual interrupter bawled his stereotyped:

”Unconst.i.tutional!”

The ”quasher” is reported as follows in the local press, if not in the journal of the House, which one need not, perhaps, consult:

”Mr. Speaker,” said the son of the Sangamon Vale, ”the attack of the member from Wabash County upon the un-con-sti-tu-tion-al-i-ty of this measure reminds me of an old friend of mine.

”He k a peculiar-looking old fellow, with s.h.a.ggy, overhanging eyebrows, and a pair of spectacles under them. (This description fitted the Wabash member, at whom all gaze was directed.)

”One morning just after the old soul got up, he imagined he saw a gray squirrel on a tree near his house. So he took down his rifle, and fired at the squirrel, as he believed, but the squirrel paid no attention to the shot. He loaded and fired again and again, until, at the thirteenth shot, he set down his gun impatiently, and said to his boy, looking on:

”'Boy, there's something wrong about this rifle.'

”'Rifle's all right--I know it is,' answered the boy; 'but where's your squirrel?'

”'Don't you see him, humped up about half-way up the tree?' inquired the old man, peering over his spectacles and getting mystified.

”'No, I don't,' responded the boy; and then turning and looking into his father's face, he exclaimed: 'Yes, I spy your squirrel! You have been firing at a flea on your own brow!'”