It was like Lincoln in his relations with women to get the cart before the horse so to speak.  The points upon which they disagreed came up for consideration.  She could not think as he did on the subject of slavery and the kindred one of State Rights.  His manners were not like hers.  He was thirty-one years old that summer.  It was rather late in life to undertake any great change in his manners.  They grew naturally out of one’s history and character.  He could be kind and gentle in his way.  But, mainly, his manners would have to be like the rugged limbs of the oak.  The grace and elegance of the water-willow and the white birch were not for him.  It saddened him to conclude that he would have to be for a long time just what he was—­crude, awkward, unlearned in the graces and amenities of cultivated people.  He rightly judged that his crudeness would be a constant source of irritation to the proud Mary.  As their acquaintance progressed the truth of his conviction grew more apparent.  This, however, did not so much concern him as her lack of sympathy with some of his deepest motives.  He decided that, after all, he did not love her and that to marry her would be committing a great Wrong.

Some of the unhappiest days of his life followed.  His conscience gave him no rest.  He knew not what to do.  He told a friend that if his misery were equally distributed to the whole human race each would have a troublesome burden.  He was wont to take long walks into the country with “Mr. Nimble” those days often carrying the boy on his shoulders.  It is likely that the little lad was a great comfort to him.  He wrote a letter to Miss Todd in which he reviewed the history of his thinking on the subject of their marriage and frankly but tenderly stated his conviction that it would imperil her happiness to marry him.  Before sending it he submitted the letter to his friend Speed.

The latter read it over and looked very grave.

“What do you think of it?” Lincoln asked.

“I would never send a letter like that to a lady,” Speed answered.  “If you feel as you say go and tell her so, but don’t put it in a letter.”

Lincoln went to see her that evening and returned to his friend in a more cheerful mood.

“Did you tell her?” Speed asked.

“Yes, I told her.”

“What happened?”

“She burst out crying and I threw my arms around her and kissed her and that settled it.  We are going to be married.”

What an illustration of the humanity and chivalry of Honest Abe was in the proceeding!

“I’m sure you’ll get along all right together,” said Speed.  “Your spirit is jealous of any one likely to get in its way.  But she won’t.  She’ll fall in line and do what she can to help you.”

Now a little before this time Henry Brimstead and other creditors of Davis had gone to Chicago in the matter of the satisfaction of their judgment against him.  Henry had driven a wagon across the prairies and, returning, had brought Bim and her mother to his home and then to Springfield.  It was while they were there that Harry had come down to Chicago out of the woods in a condition of health which had alarmed his physician.  The latter had put him on a steamboat and sent him east.  He was bound for the mountain country in northern New York.