There was an unusual quiver on his lips and a still more unusual tear on his shriveled cheek.  His solemn manner, his long silence, were as full of melancholy eloquence as any words he could have uttered."(13) At length, he spoke:  “My friends, no one not in my situation can appreciate my feeling of sadness at this parting.  To this place and the kindness of these people, I owe everything.  Here I have lived a quarter of a century, and have passed from a young to an old man.  Here my children have been born and one is buried.  I now leave, not knowing when or whether ever, I may return, with a task before me greater than that which rested upon Washington.  Without the assistance of that Divine Being who ever attended him, I can not succeed.  With that assistance, I can not fail.  Trusting in Him who can go with me and remain with you, and be everywhere for good, let us confidently hope that all will yet be well.  To His care commending you, as I hope in your prayers you will commend me, I bid you an affectionate farewell."(14)

XIV.  THE STRANGE NEW MAN

There is a period of sixteen months—­from February, 1861, to a day in June, 1862,—­when Lincoln is the most singular, the most problematic of statesmen.  Out of this period he issues with apparent abruptness, the final Lincoln, with a place among the few consummate masters of state-craft.  During the sixteen months, his genius comes and goes.  His confidence, whether in himself or in others, is an uncertain quantity.  At times he is bold, even rash; at others, irresolute.  The constant factor in his mood all this while is his amazing humility.  He seems to have forgotten his own existence.  As a person with likes and dislikes, with personal hopes and fears, he has vanished.  He is but an afflicted and perplexed mind, struggling desperately to save his country.  A selfless man, he may be truly called through months of torment which made him over from a theoretical to a practical statesman.  He entered this period a literary man who had been elevated almost by accident to the position of a leader in politics.  After many blunders, after doubt, hesitation and pain, he came forth from this stern ordeal a powerful man of action.

The impression which he made on the country at the opening of this period was unfortunate.  The very power that had hitherto been the making of him—­the literary power, revealing to men in wonderfully convincing form the ideas which they felt within them but could not utter—­this had deserted him.  Explain the psychology of it any way you will, there is the fact!  The speeches Lincoln made on the way to Washington during the latter part of February were appallingly unlike himself.  His mind had suddenly fallen dumb.  He had nothing to say.  The gloom, the desolation that had penetrated his soul, somehow, for the moment, made him commonplace.  When he talked—­as convention required him to do at all his stopping places—­his words were