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THE FIRST STEP TO THE WHITE HOUSE.—THE "SHIRTSLEEVE COURT IN THE CORN FIELD."—MR. LINCOLN’S REFUSAL OF A WELL-EARNED FEE.

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In my last week’s sketch of Lincoln I wanted to emphasize the fact that his trip to New Orleans in a flatboat, when he first saw in that city the horrors of slavery, was the first round in the ladder that led him to the president’s chair. If he had not gone to New Orleans he would never have seen husbands and wives and parents and little children separated forever at the auction block, and it is not likely that his great heart would ever have been fired as it was with a deathless hatred of "the infamy of infamies."

Then if he had not gone with a flatboat down the Sangamon en route to New Orleans, he would never have piloted that steamboat up the Sangamon to Springfield. It was this incident that put him on the track for the legislature. That step logically led him on to Congress, then to fight with Douglas for a seat in the senate, then to the triumphant march to the presidency. It was all step by step on the ladder of fame from the flatboat to the president’s chair.

I had a quarter section of land, two miles south of Macomb, that came to me from my father’s estate. It was a fine quarter, but there was a little defect in the title, which could be remedied by the evidence of a man named Hagerty, who lived six miles

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west of Springfield and who knew the facts I wished to prove. I had noticed in the papers that court was in session at Springfield, and as court convened but twice a year I immediately started for that place. Which was sixty miles from my home. I found my witness and took him with me. On arriving at Springfield we went directly to Mr. Lincoln’s office, which was over a store on the west side of the square. I think the office was about fourteen feet square and contained two tables, two book cases and four or five chairs, while the floor was perfectly bare. I told Mr. Lincoln my business and showed him my title papers, which he looked over and then remarked to me, "I am sorry to have to tell you that you are a little too late, for this court adjourned this morning and does not convene again for six months, and Judge Thomas has gone home. He lives on his farm a mile east of the public square, but," said he, "we will go and see him and see if anything can be done for you." I told him I would get a carriage and we would drive out, but he said, "No; I can walk if you can." I said I would just as soon walk as ride and before we started he pulled off his coat and laid it on a chair, taking from the pocket a large bandana silk handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from his face, as it was a very warm day in August. He struck off across the public square in his shirt sleeves with the red handkerchief in one hand and my bundle of papers in the other while my witness and I followed.

We soon came to Judge Thomas’ residence, which was a one-story frame house. Mr. Lincoln knocked at the door—at that time there were no door bells—and the judge’s wife came to the door. Mr. Lincoln asked if the judge was at home and she replied that he had gone to the north part of the farm, where they had a tenant house, to help his men put up a corn crib. She said if we went the main road it would be about a half-mile, but we could cut across the corn field and it would not be more than a quarter of a mile. Mr. Lincoln said if she would show us the path we would take the short cut, so she came out of the house and showed us where a path struck off across the field from their barn. We followed this path, Mr. Lincoln in the lead, and myself and witness following in Indian file, and soon came to where the

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judge and his men were raising a log house about 12x20 feet in size, which was to serve as a corn crib and hog house. Mr. Lincoln told Judge Thomas how I had come from Fulton county and brought my witness to town just after court had adjourned, and said he thought he would come out and see if anything could be done. The judge looked over the title papers and said he guessed they could fix it up, so he swore my witness, with whom he was acquainted, and procuring a pen and ink from his tenant fixed the papers.

The judge and all the balance of us were in our shirt sleeves, and Mr. Lincoln remarked to the judge that it was a kind of a shirt-sleeve court. "Yes," replied the judge, "a shirt-sleeve court in a corn field." After the business had been transacted Mr. Lincoln asked Judge Thomas if he did not want some help in rolling up the logs, and the judge replied that there were two logs that were pretty heavy and he would like to have us help roll them up. So before we left we help roll these logs up, Mr. Lincoln steering one end and the judge the other. I offered to pay the judge for taking the deposition of my witness, but he said he guessed I had helped with the raising enough to pay for that and would take nothing for his work. When we got back to Lincoln’s office in town I think we had walked at least three miles. Mr. Lincoln put my papers in a large envelope with the name "Stuart & Lincoln" printed at the top. "Now," said he, "when you go home put those papers on record and you will have a good title to your land."

I then took out my pocket book to pay him and supposed he would charge me about $10, as I knew he was always moderate in his charges. "Now, Mr. Lincoln," said I, "how much shall I pay you for this work and the long walk through the hot sun and dust?" He paused for a moment and took the big silk handkerchief and wiped the perspiration off that was running down his face, and said: "I guess I will not charge you anything for that. I will let it go on the old score." When he said that it broke me all up and I could not keep the tears from running down my face, for I could recall many instances where he had been so good and kind to me when I was carrying the mail; then

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for him to say he would charge me nothing for this work was more kindness than I could stand. I suppose that what he meant by the old score was that I had occasionally helped him in his store and postoffice and my father had assisted him some when he got the postoffice.

Now, there is something a little remarkable in the history of those two men who worked together rolling up those two logs. It showed that the prominent men of that time were not too proud to engage in common labor. Judge Jesse B. Thomas, who was engaged at one end of the log, had served as representative in the Territorial Legislature of Illinois, had been twice elected to the United States Senate, once as a supreme judge, and was a member of the constitutional convention that framed the first constitution of Illinois, and had done more and had exerted a greater influence toward making the State of Illinois a slave state than any other man. While the man at the other end of the log was Abraham Lincoln, who afterwards served in the Legislature, in Congress, and as President of the United States, and who did more to banish slavery from the United States than any other man.

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