a minute, and I will tell you a story.  You and I, as we have travelled the circuit together attending court, have often seen two men about to fight.  One of them, the big or the little giant, as the case may be, is noisy and boastful; he jumps high in the air, strikes his feet together, smites his fists, brags about what he is going to do, and tries hard to ‘skeer’ the other man.  The other man says not a word; his arms are at his side, his fists are clenched, his teeth set, his head settled firmly on his shoulders; he saves his breath and strength for the struggle. This man will whip, as sure as the fight comes off.  Good-bye, and remember what I say.”

The spirit and purpose with which Lincoln went into the contest are shown also in the following words:  “I shall not ask any favors at all.  Judge Douglas asks me if I wish to push this matter to the point of personal difficulty.  I tell him, No! He did not make a mistake, in one of his early speeches, when he called me an ‘amiable’ man, though perhaps he did when he called me an ‘intelligent’ man.  I again tell him, No! I very much prefer, when this canvass shall be over, however it may result, that we at least part without any bitter recollections of personal difficulties.”

The speeches in these joint discussions were entirely extemporaneous in form, yet they were reported and printed in all the prominent papers in the West, and found eager readers throughout the country.  The voice and manner, which add so much to the effect of a speaker, could not be reproduced on the printed page; nor could full justice be done, in a hasty transcript, to the force and fitness of the language employed.  Still, the impressions of those who heard them at the time, as well as later and cooler analyses of them, have agreed in pronouncing these debates among the most able and interesting on record.  The scenes connected with the different meetings were intensely exciting.  Vast throngs were invariably in attendance, while a whole nation was watching the result.  “At Freeport,” says an observer, “Mr. Douglas appeared in an elegant barouche drawn by four white horses, and was received with great applause.  But when Mr. Lincoln came up, in a ’prairie schooner,’—­an old-fashioned canvas-covered pioneer wagon,—­the enthusiasm of the vast throng was unbounded.”

At Charleston Lincoln opened and closed the day’s debate.  It was the fourth discussion, and there was no more doubt of his ability to sustain the conflict.  According to Mr. Arnold, “Douglas’s reply to Lincoln was mainly a defense.  Lincoln’s close was intensely interesting and dramatic.  His logic and arguments were crushing, and Douglas’s evasions were exposed with a power and clearness that left him utterly discomfited.  Republicans saw it.  Democrats realized it, and a sort of panic seized them, and ran through the crowd of upturned faces.  Douglas realized his defeat, and, as Lincoln’s blows fell fast and heavy, he lost his temper.