In the party that attended Lincoln in the Senatorial campaign was the Hon. Andrew Shuman, afterwards Lieutenant-Governor of Illinois and one of the veteran journalists of Chicago.  Mr. Shuman was detailed to report the joint debates for his paper; and he accompanied Lincoln through nearly all of the campaign, travelling with him by night—­sometimes occupying the same room, and when in crowded quarters the same bed.  He thus saw much of Lincoln, and had the best of opportunities for studying his character; not only hearing all his public speeches, but having long conversations with him in private, and listening to the stories, anecdotes, and gay or grave discourse by which the journeys and the frequent “waits” were enlivened.  The group consisted of several gentlemen, including Norman B. Judd of Chicago, afterwards a member of Congress; Robert R. Hitt, who was Lincoln’s shorthand reporter, afterwards member of Congress from Illinois; Mr. Villard, later the President of the Northern Pacific Railroad, then a newspaper correspondent; Mr. Shuman; and, at various times, other politicians and journalists.  Of this party Lincoln was always the leading spirit in conversation.  He would tell stories himself, and draw out stories from others; and his laugh, though not the loudest, was always the heartiest.  Then he would pass to soberer themes, and discuss them with a tinge of that melancholy which, however he might be surrounded, never seemed far distant from him.  At night, stopping at the country tavern or at some friend’s house, the evenings would be spent in discussion and story-telling, or perhaps in a humorous review of the events of the day; and after retiring, Lincoln would entertain his companion, often far into the night, discoursing on many varied subjects,—­politics, literature, views of human life and character, or the prominent men and measures then before the country.

One day, according to Governor Shuman, Lincoln had been announced to speak in a town in the extreme southern part of Illinois, in the very heart of “Egypt,” where there was a strong pro-slavery sentiment; and it was feared there might be trouble, as Lincoln’s anti-slavery tendencies were well known.  To make matters worse, a party of Kentuckians and Missourians had come over to attend the meeting, and it was noised about that they would not allow Lincoln to speak.  He heard of it, and both he and his friends were somewhat apprehensive of trouble.  The place of the meeting was a grove in the edge of the town, the speakers occupying an improvised stand.  The gathering was a large one, and it had every appearance of a Southern crowd.  It was customary in those times for the men in that section of the country to carry pistols and ugly-looking knives strapped to their persons, on public occasions.  It was a semi-barbarous community, and their hatred of the Abolitionists, as they called all anti-slavery men, was as intense as was their love of bad whiskey.  Lincoln privately