LINCOLN ROOM 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 LIBRARY 
 
 MEMORIAL 
 
 the Class of 1901 
 
 founded by 
 
 HARLAN HOYT HORNER 
 
 and 
 
 HENRIETTA CALHOUN HORNER 
 
Cyentle ^r 
 
 nn 
 
Cyentle ~Afnn 
 
 A TALE OF THE SANGAMON 
 
 by 
 W r tfe Wcflatnar 
 
 
 BEACON PUBLICATIONS 
 
 154 NASSAU STREET • NEW YORK, N. Y. 
 
Copyright 1943 
 BEACON PUBLICATIONS 
 
 $1.75 the copy 
 
 PRINTED IN U. S. A. 
 
<o 
 
 473.7/- £.3 
 
 With all due credit and thanks to my 
 Loving Daughter 
 
 BETH McNAMAR DENNIS 
 
 Who kept me attuned to consistency, 
 clearness and scenes of best worth in 
 composing this story of the Sangamon. 
 
 — Myrtle McNamar. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://archive.org/details/gentleanntaleofsOOmcna 
 
u oreu/ort 
 
 As years roll on and this country comes to look back 
 upon the many quaint or stirring events in the lives of our 
 earlier heroes with a more and still more romantic eye, no 
 doubt, the story of the early love affairs of Abraham Lin- 
 coln, one of our most honored statesmen, will also take on 
 undue legendary tendencies which will, in time, eclipse its 
 purity and detract from its simplicity and all for the sake of 
 adding to its novelty and variation. Even now — just one 
 hundred and ten years after the first of its incidents took 
 place — there are many incomplete or exaggerated accounts 
 of it running, from time to time, in the various magazines or 
 other publications of the country, many of them being 
 penned by unscrupulous writers, who have no first hand 
 information regarding the affair but, on the other hand, they 
 do have a burning desire to get before the reading public 
 in any way possible. Social incidents, especially those of a 
 sentimental nature, in the lives of our greater heroes and 
 heroines will ever be happy foundations for the most pleas- 
 ing romance whose notes of truth or fiction will not be de- 
 tectable by the uninformed readers of future years. 
 
 Hence comes the reason for the writing of this semi-clas- 
 sical work entitled "Gentle Ann." Why not hand the un- 
 adorned truth of the story or incidents of the Lincoln-Rut- 
 ledge-McNamar love affair down to future generations in 
 a form that cannot be encroached upon and under or over- 
 narrated by fiction writers? A classic alone, with its slow- 
 to-grasp but lasting hold in the world of literature, will do 
 this. 
 
 In gathering material for this work, the author has found 
 but few pieces of literature written on the subject that can 
 be considered altogether authentic and fewer still that are 
 
 • 7 • 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 altogether correct. However, one correct but very much cur- 
 tailed account of it is the brief sketch given in William H. 
 Herndon's book on the life of Abraham Lincoln. This ac- 
 count is considered authentic because Mr. Herndon visited 
 John McNamar, who, in being Lincoln's rival for the hand of 
 Ann Rutledge, was, of course, one of the principals in the 
 affair, and thus gained his information first hand. The visit 
 took place near Petersburg, Illinois, in 1886. At that time 
 over thirty years had elapsed since the affair had taken place 
 and it is not likely that any other persons had been active 
 in acquiring the true facts of it with a view to setting them 
 down for historical purposes. Even at that late date, with 
 every avenue of celebrity pressed to the utmost with the 
 greater events of his public career, were it ever so widely 
 told, this little incident in the life of the great president 
 would have been considered a very tame affair — one hardly 
 worth looking into to any extent. This leaves the Herndon 
 account coming first and from the only surviving principal 
 at that time. Nor had there been many published accounts 
 of the affair until within the last few decades. But during 
 these last decades every February seems to bring a new set 
 of writers with new versions of the story into the literary 
 field. 
 
 Now, with all the principals of the affair so long since 
 passed away and all of them leaving so few descendants, 
 who would be in possession of the truth, the writer hereof 
 is at a loss to know by what authority or from what source 
 of information these many present-day writers set forth 
 their versions. From whatever source, none of them that 
 the writer has had the pleasure of perusing has given an 
 entirely correct or an entirely complete account of the affair. 
 The general omission is the fact that John McNamar, third 
 person in the triangle of love, returned after a long ab- 
 
 * 8 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 sence to make good his promise of marriage to Ann Rut- 
 ledge before her death in 1835. Such omission is usually 
 followed by a slur upon that gentleman's sincerity in the 
 matter of his betrothal to the maiden, which is not in accord 
 with the truth of the story. Or, if not a direct slur, then the 
 very omission itself tends to an insinuation that McNamar 
 was not sincere. All who knew this John McNamar knew 
 he was not a man of an insincere nature but rather at all 
 times displayed that trait of greater worth and integrity 
 that is, most invariably, characteristic of persons of such 
 purely Scotch strain as his own. 
 
 As to the authenticity of this work, being a daughter-in- 
 law of Andrew McNamar, son of John McNamar, of the 
 Lincoln-Rutledge-McNamar love affair, the writer has ac- 
 quired as nearly first hand information as it is possible for 
 any present day writer to gain. Being a close companion of 
 Andrew McNamar during twenty-five years of family re- 
 lationship up until his death in 1927, the Lincoln-Rutledge- 
 McNamar affair was often discussed and a true knowledge 
 of its many details was gained. Andrew McNamar well re- 
 membered the visit Mr. Herndon paid his father in 1866. 
 He remembered that the purpose of the visit was to discuss 
 the little event in the early life of the elder McNamar in con- 
 nection with that of Abraham Lincoln and Ann Rutledge. 
 He remembered the facts of the story as given to Mr. Hern- 
 don for publication. In most part the interview took place 
 in the yard of John McNamar's home at Concord, near Pet- 
 ersburg, Illinois, that same home site, or portion of it, for 
 sentimental reasons, having been purchased, as the land rec- 
 ords show, from James Rutledge, Ann's father, in 1842, 
 seven years after Ann's death. At the close of the interview 
 Andrew McNamar remembered that his father pointed out 
 the grave of Ann Rutledge in Goodpasture, a plot a short 
 
 • 9 • 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 distance away from the Concord homesite, and said, "Ann 
 Rutledge lies sleeping right over there." 
 
 Andrew McNamar was over twenty years of age at the 
 time of John McNamar and Mr. Herndon's interview, there- 
 fore he was old enough to remember the facts of the story 
 as his father set them forth, also to remember the very few 
 other discussions of the affair that his father had with other 
 persons, few because John McNamar was never prone to 
 speak at all freely of this sad incident of his early life 
 even to the members of his own family. Had it been other- 
 wise or had the few descending members of the McNamar 
 family ever cared to make a draw for publicity, this story 
 long ago would have become common dross in the world 
 of literature. But, to the contrary, the McNamar family 
 has ever taken a modest view of thus having their names 
 connected with that of Abraham Lincoln, and even now, 
 after the second generation has become deceased, the writer 
 feels a reluctance in venturing forth with this story as it 
 is told from the family version. 
 
 Now, with Mr. Herndon's published account at hand to 
 add to the veracity of the personal information that comes 
 by way of a family association, as said before, the writer 
 has been able to portray the incidents and characters of the 
 story in a manner as true to life as it is possible to get 
 them at this one-hundred-year-later date. The scene was 
 personally visited and its general characteristics are in ac- 
 cord with the facts. The characters of Ann Rutledge and 
 John McNamar are especially true to life. Heretofore they 
 have both been many times mis-characterized in the story 
 world and are now ridiculously mis-characterized on the 
 moving picture screen. Most of the minor characters of the 
 story are also true to life, many of the younger ones being 
 remembered by Andrew McNamar as older or middle-aged 
 
 * 10 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 people in his earlier days. The plot and outcome of the 
 story as told in this version is entirely true, though the 
 social scenes and personal discourses, of course, are im- 
 aginary. 
 
 Throughout this work the original spelling and pronun- 
 ciation of the name McNamar — McNamara — has been re- 
 tained merely for the sake of its poetical value to the line. 
 Late writers, like the family, have dropped the final "a" 
 though it appears in all older published versions of the 
 story. 
 
 In conclusion allow the writer of these notes to further 
 state that this poem has not been penned in ignorance of 
 the fact that poetical ethics declare that no real character 
 of history is "great enough" to be written into any of the 
 more illustrious forms of poetry — epic, romance or pastoral. 
 Perhaps not. Nor is the writer of the enclosed work now at- 
 tempting to apologize for this apparent bold side-stepping 
 from the regular order of the art by thus telling the story 
 of Abraham Lincoln's first love affair in metrical form 
 under the title of "Gentle Ann." The "circumscript" in- 
 troduction of the most noted of the real characters in the 
 first stanza of the poem is apology enough for the most 
 critical reader. 
 
 Neither is the author presuming to classify this poem as 
 belonging to any of the greater forms of poetry. The lines 
 simply speak for themselves and though they may not meet 
 the demands of classical law, it remains to be seen whether 
 or not they will meet with approval or strike the fancy of the 
 general reader. Or, again, is this not an age of side-stepping 
 from the long-ruling regular order of many things? Be- 
 sides, the world never had but one Abraham Lincoln! 
 
 W r tie Wcflanar 
 * 11 * 
 
gentle _y^nn 
 
 (Introduction) 
 
 This is a tale of true love, yet a tale that is not born 
 
 of fiction, 
 Gleaned, as it is, from a page, yea a line of our national 
 
 history. 
 This is a true tale of love, yet a tale that employs every 
 
 semblance 
 Of some sweet fable that's drawn from the store of a 
 
 romantic fancy; 
 Nor has it e'er yet been told in a language befitting its 
 
 subjects, 
 Whom circumspectly we name — Ann Rutledge and Abraham 
 
 Lincoln. 
 
 • 13 * 
 
PRELUDE 
 
 These are the scenes we'd review — the meadows and 
 
 deep tangled wildwood, 
 Spreading in graceful array 'long the banks of the 
 
 Sangamon River. 
 Spreading where low fertile hills skirt the stretches of 
 
 Illinois prairies, 
 Lending the landscape an * air of repose and a deep 
 
 picturesqueness. 
 These are the scenes we'd appraise — the hills and the 
 
 rivers and prairies, 
 Draped, as they are, with bright verdure which springs 
 
 ever new and eternal. 
 From the alluvial soil — the branches and bramble and 
 
 leafage 
 Such as comes forth with May, and renews every fold of 
 
 earth's vestments, 
 Then, in the wake of autumnal winds, unresistingly 
 
 drifteth 
 Earthward, and lies with the low that the soil might 
 
 become still more fertile. 
 
 Once, in the midst of this scene, in the midst of its 
 
 primitive grandeur, 
 Nestled a quaint little village — New Salem, restful and 
 
 peaceful, 
 Though it was scarce set apart from the press of the New 
 
 England borders, 
 Though it was sparsely removed from the stress of the 
 
 "Westward Ho" movement; 
 Yet was this village untouched by the hand that would 
 
 bring one confusion, 
 
 • 14 • 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Doomed, though it was, to endure but a moment, we 
 
 might say, then perish. 
 (Counting eternity's years, but a day was decreed to New 
 
 Salem.) 
 But one brief moment in trend to embrace the side-play of 
 
 a drama, 
 Which was too soft to enact with the others — the cold and 
 
 the tragic 
 Scenes that involved the untimely birth and death of a 
 
 nation. 
 Doomed though it was to endure but a moment, we say, 
 
 and then perish, 
 This little village has left the sweetest of memories 
 
 clinging 
 Round our fond hearts, even so as the soft ivy clings to 
 
 a ruin, 
 Ever entwining the name of our greatest and most beloved 
 
 hero, 
 Close with his own name entwining the name of his first 
 
 boyhood sweetheart. 
 
 This is the village they knew — the youth and his 
 
 sweetheart well knew it — 
 Each crooked lane and each dooryard, each dusty path and 
 
 each garden, 
 Laid out in unsurveyed plots, but withal in a happy 
 
 consenting. 
 Happy, for deep in the midst lived the plain simple folk 
 
 who devised it. 
 (Where true simplicity dwelleth the spirit of happiness 
 
 hovers.) 
 Folk who knew this village maid and her lover as none 
 
 other knew them; 
 
 • 15 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Friends who once walked hand in hand with them, and 
 
 shared in the common 
 Joys of their day and their hour, and imposed not a trial 
 
 upon them, 
 Long ere the great hand of fate was lifted against them, 
 
 so harshly 
 Smiting one down in her prime, like the hand of decay 
 
 smote the village; 
 Pressing one on to an end that was even less kindly and 
 
 welcome; 
 Laying one low in her grave that the other might give 
 
 undivided 
 Love to a cause wherein right would be tried against wrong 
 
 to the utmost. 
 Hallow the voice that would name Ann Rutledge and 
 
 Abraham Lincoln. 
 
 This is the Lincoln she knew — a youth barely launched 
 
 in his twenties, 
 Poor as the poorest and lowly, — homely, 'tis said, and 
 
 ungainly; 
 Born so inglorious, and fated to strive for each edification; 
 Tossed by the ill winds of fortune, and prone to a great 
 
 indecision, 
 Yet these inelegant features befell like soft benedictions 
 Into the honest young life, and "Abe" was beloved for 
 
 his goodness. 
 
 This is the Lincoln we know — the great leader and 
 emancipator, 
 Raised from that lowly career to a throne built of honor 
 and justice. 
 
 • 16 • 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Wrought he each step of that throne from the beatitudes 
 
 of the Master, 
 Led by humility's wand, and gaged by simplicity's orders; 
 Truth as his watchword, and courage to stand by the right 
 
 of convictions, 
 Tried and found faithful in all, and a patience that 
 
 passed understanding. 
 Forged he each step of that throne by these named 
 
 Christian graces and mercies; 
 Never one whit of it plied for a self-exaltation or glory. 
 "Charity," yes, and "with malice toward none," and we 
 
 know from the boundless 
 Wisdom of God flowed this reasoning, raised above human 
 
 conception. 
 
 Still lives the Lincoln we know, and in knowing we 
 
 can but adore him; 
 Gone is the Lincoln she knew, yea, and gone is that first 
 
 boyhood sweetheart. 
 Gone are the people they loved, and gone are their homes 
 
 and their customs, 
 Gone are the pathways and lanes, and twice fifty times 
 
 gone are the gardens; 
 Gone with material things which resort to decay in the 
 
 seasons, 
 Else have grown out of themselves and evolved into higher 
 
 dominions. 
 Yet in the eternal trend are the hills and the rivers and 
 
 prairies 
 Rising in praise and murmuring in song of the things 
 
 everlasting; 
 Voices of nature ring on, nor are weakened by years that 
 
 employ them. 
 
 • 17 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Listen ye lovers of rhythm and hear the sweet story they 
 
 tell you — 
 Tell of the tryst and the faith and the high-mindedness of a 
 
 maiden, 
 Who, first in heart, then in spirit, inspired the "Man for 
 
 the Ages." 
 List to the song of her love, and marvel no more at his 
 
 greatness. 
 
 * 18 * 
 
PART ONE 
 
 I 
 
 Deep in the heart of New Salem, overlooking a 
 
 half score of dwellings 
 Stood the "big store," and extended its passers and patrons 
 
 a welcome, 
 Whether they came for a purchase or came for a neighborly 
 
 confab. 
 This was the center of trade and the center of news and 
 
 light gossip. 
 There in the dust and the dews, in the sweep of the sun- 
 shine and shadows, 
 Stood the big store, and its keeper dwelt in a dwarf-like 
 
 annex 
 Built to the rear of the first room; and this was its triple 
 
 dimensions: 
 Fourteen feet full was its frontage, and twice that the 
 
 distance it ran back, 
 Rearing its clap-board roof skyward twenty-one spans to 
 
 a ridge pole 
 Which had been hewn from a butternut log, and mounted 
 
 on rafters 
 Framed from slim hickory saplings. (Mind you, 'twas 
 
 framed with a broad-ax, 
 Never a plane nor a whip-saw was placed to one beam of 
 
 this structure.) 
 Black walnut logs in the rough formed the walls, while 
 
 the floors and the casings 
 Came from the heart of white maple, dressed down and 
 
 fitted so neatly 
 
 * 19 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 One must appall at the hand that could hew to the line 
 
 so exactly. 
 Hanging by staunch wooden hinges one cleated board door 
 
 opened outward 
 Over an uncovered stoop, and forever creaked loudly in 
 
 swinging. 
 Likewise a heavy board window hung firm to the wall and 
 
 swung outward 
 All through the day, but by night it was closed and made 
 
 fast by a slip-board. 
 Crude was this structure, but strong for withstanding hard 
 
 wear and rough weather; 
 Priceless each timber that went to its making in such 
 
 wasteful measures. 
 Pure walnut walls — think of that! Ah, who now could 
 
 afford such housing? 
 
 Crude was this structure but cruder the merchandise 
 that it sheltered. 
 
 Down center aisle of the first room stretched a low bench- 
 legged counter, 
 
 Groaning beneath its great burden of food stuffs, so 
 "hefty" and bulky. 
 
 Bags of corn meal atop bags of buckwheat and bacon 
 and popcorn 
 
 Took up full half the space, while the rest was devoted to 
 staples 
 
 Such as wax candles and resin, and spices too numerous 
 to mention, 
 
 Done up in home style, or loose in job lots, and so art- 
 lessly cluttered 
 
 Barely enough room was left on the board for the balance 
 and measures 
 
 * 20 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Needful to deal out these goods in all fairness to those 
 
 who would purchase. 
 Barrels of ruddy-cheeked apples and sorghum molasses 
 
 and sugar 
 Stood out in prominent view before the long counter, while 
 
 lesser 
 Kegs of sweet cider and salt-pork and soap-fats in turn 
 
 sat before them, 
 Each quickly known by the scent it diffused or the drip of 
 
 its bung-hole. 
 Low hung a shelf on one wall all so heavily laden with 
 
 hardware. 
 Wedges and axes and chisels were there in great numbers, 
 
 and hammers 
 All spanking new from Josh Miller's, the smithy who 
 
 skillfully forged them. 
 Stark in one corner a set of long handled implements 
 
 grimly 
 Forecast long hours of labor to those who were destined 
 
 to use them — 
 Hand rakes and pitch-forks and mattocks, as well as a 
 
 crowbar and canthook; 
 While in the opposite corner a few stripes of sinuous 
 
 rawhides 
 Offered quite suitable cuts for shoe thongs or hame straps 
 
 or whip-cords. 
 High on the opposite wall another shelf ably supported 
 Two or three pieces of linsey and linen and bundles of 
 
 knit goods, 
 Which were the product of cards and looms of the New 
 
 Salem women 
 Who were so ceaseless in toil, but toiled for such small 
 
 compensation. 
 
 • 21 • 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Crude was this store as thus pictured, but it answered the 
 
 needs of its patrons; 
 Therefore they hailed it with pride as the first enterprise 
 
 of the village. 
 Stanchly the business held forth, like the wont of its 
 
 owner and builder. 
 
 Deep in the midst of his wordly possessions sat the 
 
 Scotch merchant — 
 John McNamara, the wealthiest man in all Sangamon 
 
 County, 
 John McNamara, the handsomest man in that Illinois 
 
 village. 
 Handsome was he in face, and handsome in form and in 
 
 manner; 
 Blue o' the eye, ah, and fair o' the hair, he was high- 
 browed and beardless; 
 Tall and erect when he stood so straight o' the limb and 
 
 broad shouldered; 
 Sober and thoughtful alway, nigh to a suggestion of 
 
 sternness, 
 Yet if amused a mere twinkle of eye would bespeak his 
 
 good pleasure. 
 Seldom a song cheered his heart, but ne'er a complaint 
 
 moved his guarded 
 Lips, which were not free of speech, but were not too 
 
 reserved for politeness; 
 Tender and loving? ah nay, but yet not immune to 
 
 compassion, 
 John McNamara was never self-proud, never humble but 
 
 balanced 
 Equal in all ways, and born with a high sense of honor 
 
 and justice. 
 
 • 22 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 First to his neighbor John meted out right, then he 
 
 measured his portion; 
 First was his conscience kept clean, then his good fortune 
 
 considered. 
 
 Throughout the long afternoon, which was stupid with 
 
 summer's intenseness, 
 Sat the Scotch merchant and pondered his goods and 
 
 his meager commissions, 
 Sat on a three-legged stool at the rear of his highly-stocked 
 
 counter, 
 Which left such beggerly space in the store-room for this 
 
 — his own sanctum. 
 Soap-fats had sold below cost, but he'd make the loss back 
 
 on tobacco. 
 Candles had been but a drug on the market, but mill stuffs 
 
 were rising, 
 Even as dry-goods were rising in price, and commanding 
 
 a premium. 
 Thus, it was likely that John would be able to clear, 
 
 perhaps, fifty 
 Dollars that summer, and bring his cash wealth to an 
 
 even two thousand. 
 Thus the Scotch merchant computed the losses and gains 
 
 of the season, 
 Writing them down on a coarse piece of paper that served 
 
 as a ledger. 
 Pensive his thoughts were, nor aroused till a shadow 
 
 appeared in the doorway, 
 Where a soft voice spoke his name and a question from 
 
 out the broad threshold: 
 "Sir, I have come to inquire if you've sold the wool 
 
 neckchief I knitted, 
 
 * 23 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 If so, what price did it bring above your commission for 
 selling?" 
 
 Shyly the speaker approached the deep sanctum where 
 
 sat the Scotch merchant. 
 Questioning eyes searched his face, and questioning lips 
 
 formed the sentence ; 
 Eyes that were blue as the skies overhanging that Illinois 
 
 village, 
 Lips that were red as stains of the berries that grew in 
 
 its hedges; 
 Eyes that were mild as a lamb's but pierced this man 
 
 through to the heart core, 
 Lips that were calm as the day, but excited his deepest 
 
 emotions. 
 Soft was her voice, we have said, but it, too struck a 
 
 chord on his heart strings. 
 Graceful and tall was this maiden, who entered the 
 
 store and addressed him; 
 Brown were the tresses she wore, and gold, like the 
 
 evening's last sunbeam, 
 Which ever casts a deep glow over all that it touches 
 
 and halos; 
 Even so this village maid cast a haloing radiance around 
 
 her, 
 Cast a rapturous spell o'er the heart of that sober Scotch 
 
 merchant, 
 Lifting his finer instincts to meet those of her loftier 
 
 nature. 
 John raised his honest blue eyes and met those of the 
 
 gentle Ann Rutledge. 
 
 * 24 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Quickly he rose to his feet, and politely saluted the 
 maiden, 
 (Ah, 'twas the homage a prince might have paid to his 
 
 most honored princess,) 
 Then, before voicing an answer, he laid down his quill 
 
 and his ledger, 
 Stepped to one side and drew forth a drawer from 
 
 beneath the crude counter, 
 Took from it one silver dollar and placed in the hand 
 
 of the maiden. 
 "This is the net price," he said, "tae oblige ye hae gied 
 
 me great pleasure. 
 Truly I wad that 'twere more, but the market's sae low 
 
 on the knit goods." 
 
 Vr-y^ rV * : - V. r#'^J : < " w * r ' r "'^- ^ "" i 
 
 Instantly Ann's soft blue eyes were awide with 
 
 another inquiry — 
 How could that little gray neckchief command such a 
 
 price for its maker? 
 Twice what she thought it was worth, and real money 
 
 instead of a purchase. 
 Surely this handsome Scotch merchant was more than an 
 
 ordinary broker, 
 Surely this highly-poised man was a master at swinging 
 
 high finance, 
 Though he was not prone to words, and Ann could but 
 
 venture to thank him, 
 Then turn aside to depart, and leave him alone with 
 
 his ledger. 
 Lo! did her heart miss a beat when his stealthy step 
 
 sounded behind her? 
 And, with his hat in his hand, he, in turn, asked an 
 
 unadorned question: 
 
 • 25 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Asked, ah, so guiltless 'o guile, "May I see ye safe 
 
 hame tae the tavern?" 
 Modestly Ann accepted this courtesy, feeling quite 
 
 honored 
 In that a man such as he — the great merchant — should 
 
 care to escort her, 
 Even a maiden like she, and proudly she walked through 
 
 the village 
 Street on the arm of this man, and was envied by more 
 
 than one other 
 Maiden, as John, too, was envied by every young swain 
 
 who espied him. 
 For 'tmust be said that these two were the elite of the town 
 
 of New Salem. 
 
 Leaving the store door ajar, and the goods and money 
 
 unguarded 
 John was at leisure to stroll e'en at will to the end of 
 
 the village. 
 Have we not said that the spirit of honesty dwelt in 
 
 New Salem? 
 And where that spirit abides, comes no harm to a 
 
 neighbor's belongings, 
 Though they are left without guards, nor with locks at- 
 tached to their housings. 
 Silence ensued in the way, for Ann was quite shy, and 
 
 John thoughtful; 
 Nor did he tell her the truth — that the neckchief then 
 
 lay in his leathern 
 Chest, where 'twas destined to stay, forever a most valued 
 
 keepsake, 
 Made by the hands he adored and loved as he'd ne'er 
 
 love another. 
 
 • 26 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Nor did this merchant extract commissions from hands 
 
 such as hers were. 
 "Toilers 'o luve," he called women, "An' by thim na 
 
 mon. wad take profit." 
 
 • 27 * 
 
II 
 
 On down the path the twain strolled, 'twas the path 
 
 to the quaint Rutledge tavern, 
 Which was the maiden's loved home, but not then did 
 
 they enter its doorway. 
 Sharply the hill fell to eastward, and over it spread the 
 
 thin woodland, 
 Secreting many dim paths, and by one this man and 
 
 this maiden 
 Wandered afar to a sycamore grove that o'er-hung the 
 
 swift rapids, 
 Which ever gnaw at the banks of the turbulant Sangamon 
 
 River. 
 Nor can this river here boast of one eddy that might be 
 
 called placid. 
 Whirling and swirling it flows like the surge of human- 
 ity's deluge 
 Moving for aye down the stream of time with its 
 
 uncertain dashings, 
 Knowing not where are the whirlpools, nor where to expect 
 
 the smooth glidings. 
 Much is the Sangamon River renowned for its treacherous 
 
 currents, 
 Though 'tis a favorite haunt for anglers, for idlers and 
 
 lovers. 
 Here in the springtime flowers bloom gayer than those 
 
 that bloom elsewhere, 
 Here in the summer the berries abound on their vines 
 
 more prolific, 
 While, in autumnal seasons, the gorgeous hues of the 
 
 leafage, 
 
 * 28 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Mixed with the more sober shades of the branches and 
 
 ripening fruitage, 
 Rival the tints of the sunset, and allures one and all 
 
 to its arbors. 
 Yet, no one certain attraction enticed John and Ann that 
 
 sweet summer 
 Evening, when all was in tune with the beauties and 
 
 bounties of nature; 
 Neither the blueberry patch, nor the blackberry hedge 
 
 over laden, 
 Turned their steps hence, but the voice of Dame Nature, 
 
 herself, calling softly 
 Unto them, that she might bring them to speak forth the 
 
 secret so surely 
 Lying within their own hearts, but guarded till this 
 
 happy moment. 
 
 Idling along in the cool and the fragrant shades of 
 
 this woodland, 
 Offered a sweet variation to the usually busy Scotch 
 
 merchant. 
 However one hour must go to the unalloyed pleasure 
 
 of courting. 
 One hour — perhaps all the rest would ally that pleasure 
 
 with business. 
 Close by the moss-covered banks that imprisoned the 
 
 deep restless waters, 
 Wedged between two gnarled oaks was a wide rustic 
 
 board, there affording 
 Rest for the wandering ones, who found it resembled a 
 
 settle. 
 This was the unquestioned spot for the question, and this 
 
 was the question 
 
 • 29 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Asked by that man of affairs of that maiden so fair and 
 
 so gentle: 
 "Ann, I dae luve ye, an' wad 'twere o' yir heart tae say 
 
 that ye luve me." 
 Calmly did John state this fact, 'twas the wont of his 
 
 straightforward manner, 
 Looking straight into the maiden's blue eyes, with bluer 
 
 ones further 
 Voicing the words his laconic manner of speaking for- 
 bade him. 
 Nor did he take her white hand, nor presume to approach 
 
 or embrace her, 
 Though arm in arm they had wandered alone to this 
 
 spot and the settle. 
 Primly Ann sat, nor was seemingly moved by this 
 
 sudden avowal, 
 Which was, in truth, a proposal of marriage not wholly 
 
 unforeseen. 
 Long since the maiden had known that the merchant 
 
 admired no other 
 Maid of the village, but ever was casting fond glances 
 
 upon her. 
 (Since the primeval event in courtship has one been 
 
 apparent 
 In which the maiden knew not of the love ere the lover 
 
 declared it? 
 Wise is the damsel, indeed, who will harbor this knowl- 
 edge in silence.) 
 Primly Ann sat, gently smoothing the folds in her snowy 
 
 white apron, 
 While her gaze wandered afar down the drift of the deep 
 
 swirling current. 
 
 • 30 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Dark was that current and turbid, like the dark of a 
 
 heavy veil hanging, 
 Whither no light penetrates to reveal any image behind 
 
 it. 
 Much more the future life mysteries were veiled to this 
 
 maiden's fair vision, 
 But in Divine Providence she now placed her trust and 
 
 simply 
 Turned to her lover and truthfully answered him, "Yes, 
 
 John, I love you." 
 
 Then the Scotch merchant vouchsafed but a few 
 
 further words on the subject. 
 "Yea, 'tmeans that ye'll be my wife, an' I vow that I'll 
 
 cherish ye ever." 
 Now, had his wooing been ardent, a fear would have 
 
 clutched at Ann's heart strings, 
 For, though her love was supreme, and she knew his was 
 
 true and unfailing, 
 Ne'er could she master the awe that beset her whene'er she 
 
 beheld him. 
 (Have we not said John was grave, nigh to a suggestion 
 
 of sternness? 
 Gravity supercedes gentleness when the twain journey 
 
 together. ) 
 
 Happily the two lovers sat through the long sundown 
 hour by the river, 
 Speaking of nothing at length, and not once of their newly- 
 formed compact. 
 Ever they sat, and anon Ann gathered three leaves from 
 the grapevine, 
 
 • 31 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Twined, as it was, 'round the oaks that supported the 
 
 crudely-formed settle. 
 Plucking them, idly she toyed them a moment, then 
 
 carelessly tossed them 
 Into the stream at her feet, to, in turn, let the current toy 
 
 with them. 
 Ponderable is the fact that but two of these leaflets were 
 
 hardy, 
 One but a delicate sprig of greenery inbued with life's 
 
 virtue. 
 Instantly those gloomy waters caught up the frail leaflet 
 
 and drew it 
 Fretfully into the depths to rise nevermore to the surface. 
 Lost was the fragile green thing to the visible world; 
 
 and still more 
 Ponderable is the fact that the two hardy leaves drifted 
 
 outward 
 Into the midst of the stream, where they both rode the 
 
 waves high and nobly, 
 As they were swept far and wide to the bend of the river and 
 
 'round it. 
 Two leaves were launched on their courses, but one leaf 
 
 had perished forever. 
 Sat those two lovers and watched, but in watching, they 
 
 saw no ill omen 
 Imaged in that incident, and, in time, John alone would 
 
 remember. 
 
 Then, as the sun sank to rest, encircled with splendid 
 cloud hangings, 
 Came there no peal of a curfew to tell them of twilight's 
 approaching. 
 
 • 32 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 This was the primitive west irrespective of time-honored 
 
 customs, 
 Heedless of old world traditions, but richly endowed with 
 
 new ideals; 
 Therefore a summon more sweetly impelling than any 
 
 terse curfew 
 Bade the two lovers beware of the hour. 'Twas the clear 
 
 but the distant 
 Call of a little milkmaid, as she tolled the cows home from 
 
 their pastures 
 Over the river, and promptly these lovers arose at the 
 
 summon, 
 Slowly to pass from the scene, wherein all was serene 
 
 but the river. 
 
 Seen were those lovers in passing by none, lest it be 
 
 a lone ax-man, 
 Who had oft watched from afar, and silently loved this 
 
 same maiden ; 
 Watched from his log cabin door, obscure in the deep of 
 
 the woodland, 
 Where a life sustenance eked out for him by the zest of 
 
 his wielding 
 Broad-ax and wedges and maul in the laborous task of 
 
 rail splitting. 
 E'er as the lone ax-man labored and loved in grim silence he 
 
 wondered 
 Why fate had favored him less than the average child of 
 
 her keeping; 
 Favored him less in world riches and favored him less 
 
 in world glory, 
 Favored him least when she came to bestowing her statural 
 
 beauties ; 
 
 * 33 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Wondered without expectation nor hope for the better, 
 
 nor envy 
 As to one happier plight that belonged to his fellow man 
 
 justly. 
 Nor, in these days, was there disconsolation of heart 
 
 because service, 
 Self sacrifice and long suffering appeared as his most 
 
 brilliant prospects. 
 E'en in this day of his youthful embarking was Abraham 
 
 Lincoln 
 Tossed by the taut winds of fate that another might have 
 
 pleasant sailing. 
 Nor would a calm fall for him, lest it fall in the trail 
 
 of a tempest; 
 Neither the gods bring him smiles, lest they be as a 
 
 balm for a tear drop; 
 Never a rose bloom for him, lest it cling to a cross 
 
 overhanging. 
 
 * 34 * 
 
Ill 
 
 Back to the village they came through the deepening 
 
 mists of twilight, 
 Ann, with her lover, and greeting them flickered the 
 
 flame of a taper, 
 Burning with feeble effect on the low window sill of the 
 
 tavern. 
 This was the tavern then known to the few who had 
 
 chanced to survey it. 
 Far now, and wide it is known as the home of the gentle 
 
 Ann Rutledge. 
 Firmly 'twas builded throughout of those same hickory 
 
 logs and black walnut, 
 Of which the "big store" boasted, but far more quaint and 
 
 secluded. 
 Raised in a square it embraced but two ample chambers 
 
 below stairs, 
 One for the living and serving, and one for the family's 
 
 retirement, 
 While overtop them a low attic guest room was built 
 
 'neath the rafters. 
 Handily reached was this guest room by a ladder that 
 
 rested its uprights 
 Hard in the most remote corner below stairs, and lifted 
 
 its utmost 
 Rundle above the dark scuttle agap in the low cross- 
 beamed ceiling. 
 
 These three compartments fulfilled every need of an inn 
 
 at New Salem. 
 Broad, yea and deep was the fire place, yawning beneath 
 
 the high mantle, 
 
 • 35 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Builded of lime stone, milk white in the quarry, but now 
 
 black and grimy 
 From the effects of the many fires that had burned in its 
 
 back-logs; 
 Nor, through the long winter months were the embers once 
 
 dead in the ashes. 
 Stanch were the andirons that held the fore sticks in place, 
 
 while above them 
 Ever the dinner pot simmered in merry accord with the 
 
 kettle. 
 Low on the hearth-stone reposed several Dutch-ovens, 
 
 weighty and squatty. 
 What wholesome viands were here so often prepared, and 
 
 how toothsome! 
 What spicy odors so often went forth into highways and 
 
 byways, 
 Tolling some wayfarer in to a sumptuous meal, and 
 
 prepared him 
 Room in the circle, as one of the family around the great 
 
 table. 
 Bare was the table of cloth, in the scarceness of cotton 
 
 and linen; 
 Yet it was grander by far in its well-surfaced top of white 
 
 maple, 
 Minus one stain or carroding that might have bespoke a 
 
 slack housewife. 
 Father James Rutledge had been duly skillful in drafting 
 
 and framing 
 Armchairs and settle and presses, each fitting its corner 
 
 exactly 
 As did the loom and the spinning wheel happily fit their 
 
 own corners. 
 
 • 36 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Then mother Rutledge, in turn, had been skillful in 
 
 spinning and weaving 
 Fabrics essential to furnish the household with drapery 
 
 and bedding. 
 Ever assisted was she in this task by her dutiful daughter, 
 Who had been reared to a true understanding of home 
 
 economics. 
 Ne'er was a grander accomplishment given for woman's 
 
 acquirement. 
 Comfort and good cheer within marked the hearth of 
 
 the Rutledge farm tavern. 
 Good husbandry marked the outside premises fruitful 
 
 and pleasant. 
 
 Standing aloof from the dooryard the great gloomy 
 
 barn offered ample 
 Room for the cows and sheep of the farmstead, as well 
 
 as the transient 
 Horses and oxen brought hence in pursuit of a possible 
 
 lodging. 
 Thus it was both man and beast received a hospitable 
 
 welcome, 
 Whether they came of great walks or of common repute in 
 
 their travels. 
 Gaily the barnyard was flecked with feathered brigades of 
 
 all species — 
 
 Turkeys and ducks and gray geese, all clamoring loudly 
 
 for notice. 
 Highly important of all was the cock, (in his own 
 
 estimation,) 
 
 Proud as he marshaled his multifold family about with 
 precision. 
 
 • 37 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Great obligations were his, but the greatest of these were 
 
 to herald 
 Unto his keeper the morning. Not once did he fail to 
 
 arouse him. 
 Listlessly wallowed the sow in the luxuries which are 
 
 peculiar 
 Only to pig sties, and wallowed her dozens of offspring 
 
 around her. 
 Somewhat apart from the path that led to the garden, the 
 
 spring house 
 Harbored the wealth of its many milk-crocks and churn 
 
 jars and krout-kegs, 
 Each being constantly cooled by the gush of the fountain 
 
 beneath them. 
 Farther apart and secluded the bee-hives stood teeming 
 
 with workers 
 Such as no men have excelled in ambition and oneness of 
 
 purpose. 
 Thus we have briefly reviewed the tavern — the home of 
 
 Ann Rutledge — 
 Gaily bedecked every summer in hop vines and woodbine 
 
 and roses; 
 Rigorously bound in the winter by snow drifts and glitter- 
 ing ice bands; 
 Distantly viewing to westward the sweep of the prairies 
 
 and woodlands, 
 Viewing distinctly to eastward the river and the homes of 
 
 the village. 
 
 Back to the village they came through the deepening 
 mists of the twilight — 
 Ann and her lover, and straightway passed on to the door 
 of the tavern. 
 
 • 38 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Here John made brief his adieu, and returned to his store 
 
 and his ledger; 
 Nor did he forfeit one sale by this short and expedient 
 
 absence. 
 Ann passed within doors and promptly turned to assisting 
 
 her mother, 
 With that so oft recurring task of preparing the supper. 
 Nor was she moved in one sense by the novelty of her 
 
 betrothal. 
 
 * 39 * 
 
IV 
 
 Pleasantly rose the sun o'er the village and gardens 
 
 amidst it, 
 Brightly sparkled the dew on the hedges and shimmering 
 
 corn fields, 
 Cheerfully warbled the blue bird, high o'er his nest in the 
 
 arbor, 
 Softly the cat bird called to his mate in the odorous 
 
 orchard ; 
 Summer was full, and the Sunday morning was balmy 
 
 and tranquil. 
 One by one, or in chattering groups the people came 
 
 trooping 
 On to the little log school house at the end of the lane 
 
 indistinctly 
 Overlooking the river and the dam by the old Cameron 
 
 grist mill. 
 This was the hour of prayer and praise to the God who 
 
 had given 
 Rest here, and peace to their souls, in the depths of these 
 
 Illinois prairies; 
 No less devout were the prayers because they were voiced 
 
 in a schoolhouse. 
 
 Hither the country folk came — came the Good Pasture 
 farmers, whose families 
 Often times numbered in teens, without counting the hired 
 
 man and housemaid. 
 Also the Clary's groves neighbors came in their cumbersome 
 
 wagons, 
 Drawn in the way by strong oxen, all patiently bearing 
 their neck-yokes. 
 
 • 40 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Hither the village folk came — Bob Johnson, the wheelright 
 
 and family, 
 Armstrongs, whose son was a wrestler, and Morris's folk 
 
 from the tan yard, 
 Martin Wadell, the hatter, and Jack Kelso the goodnatured 
 
 loafer. 
 No chiming bells called them hither, for bells were unknown 
 
 in this region; 
 Nor could this edifice boast of a tower, nor an arch,, but 
 
 extremely 
 Low vaulted gables and eaves overshading its low casted 
 
 windows. 
 Here stood the pulpit, a plain oaken table, devoid of one 
 
 garnish ; 
 (During the week Mentor Graham, the school teacher, 
 
 presided behind it, 
 Dealing the three required R's out to ears often times 
 
 unreceptive.) 
 Here every pew was a crude wooden bench where some 
 
 child hand had chiseled 
 
 Names and initials and likely got punished for such undue 
 
 conduct. 
 No graven images here graced the walls, as of splendid 
 
 cathedrals, 
 Though the blackboard was forever bespangled with most 
 
 childish scrjbblings, 
 Legible hardly to one but the teacher and "scholar" who 
 
 made them. 
 Bare was the floor and loudly resounded each footfall 
 
 upon it. 
 
 Though there was no designed altar in sight, nor a hymn 
 nor a prayer book, 
 
 • 41 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Yet 'twas God's house for the moment, and true were the 
 songs and the praises 
 
 Offered within those bare walls to His honor and glorifica- 
 tion, 
 
 As they'd have been were they offered at the shrine of the 
 most stately temple. 
 
 Gentle Ann Rutledge and John McNamara came hither 
 
 for worship, 
 Crossing the field from her home, with his strong arm 
 
 akimbo supporting 
 Lightly her delicate hand, that her steps might be happily 
 
 guided. 
 Father James Rutledge and Mary in like manner walked 
 
 on before them, 
 As, in the earlier days, did the Puritan fathers and mothers 
 Set the example by leading their children to church in the 
 
 wildwood; 
 But, in the peace of these prairies, no arms were borne 
 
 hence for protection. 
 Ann was attired in a dainty blue gown that befit her so 
 
 neatly 
 Scarce could a wrinkle be seen from the ruffled neck down 
 
 to the waist line, 
 Where 'twas attached to a full gathered skirt that swept 
 
 down to her toe tips, 
 Over a hoop-skirt, that somehow confounded not one of 
 
 her footsteps, 
 Though it persisted in dipping and swerved with her least 
 
 graceful movement. 
 Red was the rose that she wore in her tresses beneath her 
 
 poke-bonnet. 
 John was superb in the suit — the store-suit — he had bought 
 
 • 42 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 up in Springfield. 
 Under his frock coat a gay velvet waistcoat was worn in 
 
 such fashion 
 Almost to cover the stiff pleated bosom attached to his 
 
 shirt front. 
 High was his hat and his stock so big it enveloped his chin 
 
 lines. 
 Ne'er was a handsomer outfit beheld in the town of New 
 
 Salem. 
 Earnestly now every youth came to envy the man who 
 
 possessed it. 
 But not a youth would have envied the Scotch merchant 
 
 one of the worries 
 That had gone into the gaining of means to support such a 
 
 wardrobe. 
 Also James Rutledge and Mary were spruce in their best 
 
 bib and tucker. 
 James wore a hickory-striped shirt, a buckeyed chip hat 
 
 and jean trousers; 
 Mary a gray linsey basque, hoop-skirt and a splint-topped 
 
 sun bonnet. 
 "Clothes were for comfort," they weened, "not for style," 
 
 and no garment was cast off 
 Till it had passed the redeeming graces of patches and 
 
 darnings. 
 But, wist ye now, where's the comfort in hoop-skirts and 
 
 splint-topped sunbonnets, 
 Not once to mention plug hats, and stocks that envelope 
 
 the chin lines? 
 
 Last but not least the young ax-man came hither to 
 worship and duly 
 
 • 43 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Bowed low in prayer with the rest, and lifted his voice 
 
 in their anthems. 
 Poorest of all in spirit, and meek was this "Man for the 
 
 Ages—" 
 (Lo! said the Lord of the meek, that "theirs is the kingdom 
 
 of heaven.") 
 One and all being assembled, the Sabbath-school first came 
 
 to order 
 Under the strains of a song as sung by a host of mixed 
 
 voices — 
 Mixed, yes, and wholly uncultured, but strangely sublime 
 
 and concordant. 
 Following this came the din of a number of classes in 
 
 session, 
 Each with the same special topic expounded in contrary 
 
 logic. 
 Then fell the hush of a long drawn out prayer ere a 
 
 powerful sermon 
 Rang from the pulpit, as Reverend Peter Cartwright ad- 
 dressed them. 
 
 Truly his English was faulty, his poise unrefined and 
 
 his steel-bowed 
 Specks set awry on his nose, while his beard bore the 
 
 symptoms of having 
 Come into contact with nicotine stains, and his coat was 
 
 a misfit; 
 Also his voice was not dulcet, but none of these things 
 
 seemed to matter; 
 Reverend Cartright was sanctified, girded and armed for 
 
 soul-saving, 
 Though from the type of his diction, sometimes it would 
 
 seem soul-condemning. 
 * 44 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Paul's First Epistle to Timothy made up the scriptural 
 
 reading. 
 However one certain passage the Reverend expounded most 
 
 fully— 
 Not to be given to gossip, nor tattling, nor envy, moreover 
 That it was given to woman to "cleave to her place in a 
 
 meetin' " 
 Such as this was, but the husband was entitled to testify 
 
 for her. 
 (Would you not wager that this preacher's wife was a 
 
 dominant woman?) 
 Higher and higher his voice rose, and eloquence waxed into 
 
 heated 
 Argumentation, and dragged out two hours ere the text 
 
 was exhausted. 
 But, in the trend of the discourse, most every head nodded 
 
 its sanction. 
 Henry Onstott, the cooper, being deacon, was prompt with 
 
 his "A-a-a-mens!" 
 As was Esquire Bowling Green, the elder, and both of these 
 
 worthy 
 Laymen were also bewhiskered and also bestained with 
 
 "terbacker." 
 Then, when the last hymn revived them (or aroused them), 
 
 the deacon and elder 
 Sought to discarge their full duty by passing their hats, 
 
 and a dollar 
 Fell as the preacher's good portion for the sermon he'd 
 
 rendered so ably. 
 Thanks for the same and the sumi was set forth in the long 
 
 benediction. 
 This was the manner of seeking God's blessing that fair 
 
 Sunday morning. 
 
 • 45 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Yet, not alone did God's blessing abide, but a smart bit 
 of gossip 
 
 Sprang into being and took root and thrived as the neigh- 
 bors turned homeward, 
 
 Bidding quite fair to excell Holy Writ as a subject for dis- 
 course. 
 
 "Hold on a bit, Sally Lowdy, I'll walk with ya fer 
 
 as the mill dam, 
 Seein' there aint no one with ya, I reckon my company's 
 
 acceptin'?" 
 "Yes'um, 'tis so, Mrs. Lockheart. What a spell of fine 
 
 weather we're havin'." 
 But Mrs. Lockheart was not in the mood to opine on fine 
 
 weather. 
 "Law, did ya see, Mrs. Lowdy, how that store man's a 
 
 courtin' Ann Rutledge? 
 Right to the face of her people — an' 'pears they're smart 
 
 pleased in the bargain!" 
 "Yes'um, I see, Mrs. Lockheart, I swan, I never would 
 
 drempt it! 
 Queer, in these days, how these young folks do marry when 
 
 folks least expect 'em. 
 But John's so handsome and mannerly I reckon she's tickled 
 
 to get him." 
 "Twixt you and me, Mrs. Lowdy, 'taint manners that count, 
 
 but the money; 
 Rutledges always did sot a heap on fine houses and fixin's. 
 Land only knows if they'll get 'em if Ann does tie up to 
 
 that Scotchman, 
 He's powerful close, I've been told, and looks to his al- 
 mighty dollars — " 
 
 • 46 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 "Yes'um, I've hearn, Mrs. Lockheart, but I'm hopin' the 
 
 man that gets Ann'll 
 Treat her as grand as an angel, fer she's all that good 
 
 and deservin'." 
 "Course she's deservin' enough, but that aint ter say that 
 
 she'll get 'im. 
 'Many a slip twixt the cup and the lip' is a mighty true 
 
 proverb." 
 "Yes, I dare say, Mrs. Lockheart, but true love ain't re- 
 
 spectin' of proverbs, 
 Though I do say it's a queer thing, and never does listen 
 
 Be it suffice here to say that the more liberal woman 
 
 was childless, 
 But the less generous one was the mother of eligible 
 
 daughters. 
 Be it remembered, as well, that John was a most worthy 
 
 prospect. 
 Such was the pith of the smart bit of gossip that sprang 
 
 into being, 
 After that season of prayer, which besought the All High 
 
 for His blessings. 
 Such was its wont to employ a full chorus of tongues for 
 
 its spreading, 
 Some of them kind, some ungracious, and some of them 
 
 thoroughly spiteful. 
 
 • 47 • 
 
Throughout the mid summer season, and on through 
 
 the mellowing harvest, 
 John McNamara and gentle Ann Rutledge were seen in 
 
 their frequent 
 Going and coming, both seemingly heedless of any ill 
 
 sayings 
 As to their newly-found friendship, or love, or whatever 
 
 attracted 
 One to the other. The neighbors were slow to decide in 
 
 this instance. 
 But, in due time, they became so accustomed to seeing 
 
 the lovers 
 Walking together, and speaking their names in conjunction, 
 
 they suffered 
 Gossip and rumors to languish, and the fact of their tryst 
 
 was accepted; 
 Much to the pacification of more than — two "meddlesome 
 
 Matties." 
 
 Each Sunday morning John made it his pleasure to 
 see Ann to meeting, 
 
 Each Sunday evening they strolled arm in arm through the 
 verdure-clad meadows, 
 
 Else they found rest in the grove by the river, and dreamed 
 of the future. 
 
 Nor did they ever consider the low, plaintive wail of the 
 water, 
 
 Which ever plunged on its way, among deep, mystic whirl- 
 pools and rapids; 
 
 But rather heeded its ripplings and babblings, which ever 
 entranced them. 
 
 • 48 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 So fancy free were these lovers, so free of all dread and 
 
 forebodings, 
 That ne'er a tumult of nature could quell or detract their 
 
 lightheart song. 
 Such is the gladness of youth, and such its felicitous 
 
 nature. 
 
 Each Monday morning Ann came to the store with the 
 
 eggs and the butter 
 That had exceeded the needs of the week at the Rutledge 
 
 farm tavern; 
 Here she exchanged them for merchandise such as was 
 
 needed, and often 
 John duly reckoned the dozens that came in her basket, 
 
 then shyly 
 Counted the dozens he gave in return as a baker would 
 
 count them. 
 No such accounting, however, was done by this merchant 
 
 when other 
 Customers came with their produce; but dozen for dozen 
 
 he dealt them. 
 "Fair o' the change is nae robbery," he said, and his 
 
 neighbors said of him, 
 "John's word's as good as his oath," and no man ever 
 
 questioned his dealings. 
 Seldom these brief weekday visits permitted one confi- 
 dent moment 
 Unto the lovers, for truly the store was a place for much 
 
 idling; 
 Therefore John walked circumspectly, that scandal should 
 
 not fall upon her 
 Whom he adored, and as strictly he guarded his own repu- 
 tation. 
 
 • 49 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Wisely John planned for the future — to purchase the 
 
 old Rutledge homestead 
 Down by Good Pastures. Of late it had stood quite alone 
 
 and deserted. 
 Happy 'twould make Ann to take her back to the home of 
 
 her childhood, 
 When they were wed, and abide in a home less obliged to 
 
 the public. 
 Now, to accomplish this purpose, 'twould take many sav- 
 ings, for lately 
 Land had quadrupled in value. (The best brought two 
 
 dollars an acre.) 
 But, if the season proved fruitful, perhaps, by good luck, 
 
 John could make it; 
 Though he must now watch his margins, and save a few 
 
 cents on some bushel 
 Purchase, and then add a few cents to some other bushel 
 
 in selling. 
 So must he manage his private affairs with the utmost 
 
 precaution. 
 Where he had heretofore hired Sally Lowdy to attend to 
 
 his washing, 
 Now he must turn his own hand to that menial task, and 
 
 moreover 
 Mind his own cobbling and mending, and smoke cheaper 
 
 grades of tobacco. 
 Ah, indeed, John was frugal, and "looked to his almighty 
 
 dollars." 
 But, 'twould behoove him to be, if his hopes and desires 
 
 were accomplished. 
 Yet, in his pride, John refrained from divulging his plans 
 
 to his sweetheart, 
 
 • 50 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Lest they miscarry, and leave her a victim of gross dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 "Rather nae promise at a', than a promise that can nae 
 be granted," 
 
 Saith this sagacious man, and essayed to live up to this 
 maxim. 
 
 • 51 * 
 
VI 
 
 Then when the mild Indian summer came stilling the 
 wild wake of autumn, 
 
 But for a moment to give meditation to beauties apparent 
 
 Throughout the landscape, where deep russet hues were 
 outvying the emerald — 
 
 Scarlet and red in the woodlands, and yellow and sere on 
 prairies — 
 
 When the noon sun fell oblique on the stubble fields where 
 the bleaching 
 
 Stalks stood awry in the shocks, and the bloom on the 
 rye was exceeding 
 
 Heavy, and hickory nuts shattered to earth, and the crim- 
 son persimmons 
 
 Waited the rigorous frost to give them that rare luscious 
 flavor, 
 
 Also when paw-paws were mellow with age in the grove 
 where the chilly 
 
 Winds swept in whimsical gusts, or fitfully sulled in the 
 branches 
 
 Over the bare maple trunks, lacerated by most recent tap- 
 pings 
 
 From which the life sap had flowed to supply the sweet 
 drip for the stir-off; 
 
 Braving the dark and the dew that befell with the Hallow- 
 een evening, 
 
 Down to the Rutledge farm tavern these same village 
 people came trooping. 
 
 This time a husking bee framed an excuse for a neighbor- 
 hood frolic. 
 
 Hither the grandpas and grandmas and fathers and 
 mothers and children 
 • 52 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Came, as of one generation, to revel in song and in 
 laughter. 
 
 Great preparations ensued for this gala affair at 
 
 the tavern. 
 Long hours of labor assured the plentiousness of the 
 
 banquet, 
 Which was prepared by the Rutledge household assisted by- 
 kindly 
 Neighbors, who lent their advice quite as generously as 
 
 their service. 
 Day after day the hearth fires were constant in baking the 
 
 yeast loaves, 
 Day after day the roasting of savory meats was continued, 
 Day after day the trim rows of pies on the shelves became 
 
 longer; 
 Yet it was worth all these efforts to know that the spread 
 
 would be plenty 
 Fit for a king or a — president, should one perchance to 
 
 be present. 
 
 Under the wide-spreading barn roof the scene had 
 
 been laid since the verdant 
 Fields had been made to give up their yields, which had 
 
 been so abundant. 
 Into the spacious arena, where the hay-mow was heaped 
 
 to the rafters 
 On the one hand, and the stalls were so grimly arrayed on 
 
 the other, 
 Loads upon loads of ripe corn had been heaped and now 
 
 waited the huskers — 
 Ripe, yes and sere, to be sure, but yellow as gold where 
 
 the ripened 
 
 * 53 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Grains burst their fibrous wrappings and flecked the dull 
 
 heap with their shining. 
 Many the youth who had pondered that corn in the field, 
 
 and visioned 
 This very night, and the raptures and joys it would bring, 
 
 and the feasting. 
 Yea, 'twas a foregone conclusion that the cleverest hand 
 
 at the husking 
 Won highest honors, and rated a whole pumpkin pie as a 
 
 premium. 
 These honors generally fell to one — William Green, better 
 
 known as 
 "Slicky Bill Green" because he was clever at driving a 
 
 bargain. 
 So was this Slicky Bill Green the heartiest man when it 
 
 came to 
 Laughter, and halest in song, and his jests were the most 
 
 mirth provoking. 
 Still a more coveted premium was destined to fall to some 
 
 lucky 
 Fellow, but not by a special craft of his hand would he 
 
 win it. 
 This it would be, that whoever found the red ear surely 
 
 hidden 
 Somewhere among the great mass, he also would merit the 
 
 right to 
 Kiss any maiden he pleased to, (Providing the maiden 
 
 should please to.) 
 Needless to say the red ear would be sought like to some 
 
 precious jewel, 
 Made much ado of in sport, till it came to the hand of the 
 
 winner, 
 
 • 54 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Then it would be tossed aside, and lost as a symbol for- 
 ever. 
 
 Though it was seldom the kiss thus bestowed ever lost its 
 symbolic 
 
 Worth, in bespeaking of love, and presaging a graver deed 
 later. 
 
 But were a crooked ear found, 'twas a dead give away that 
 the finder 
 
 Once played the part of a thief in the field ere the crop 
 had been gathered. 
 
 This and much other Tom-foolery forever attended the 
 huskings. 
 
 Glad were the hearts that assembled within those grim 
 
 walls, and made busy 
 Shuffling the corn to the one hand and shuffling the husks 
 
 to the other. 
 Swift were their hands, and their tongues were loosened in 
 
 folk lore and love songs. 
 Now both the lore and the songs were enhanced by the spell 
 
 that the lanterns 
 Cast over all, as they dimly lighted the images 'round 
 
 them, 
 Swung, as they were, by their bales from the cross beams 
 
 and pegs in the girders. 
 Still less distinctly their lights penetrated the outer recesses, 
 Scarcely revealing the horse in his stall, and the ox and 
 
 the heifer, 
 Scarcely, indeed, and so gloomy 'twould lead one to think 
 
 that some awful 
 Goblin-like thing lurked around in the dark of the corners 
 
 and plotted 
 
 * 55 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Mischief against the gay throng arrayed in the pale of those 
 lanterns. 
 
 Many the fair maidens there, with smiles on their lips, 
 
 and with wary 
 Eyes to detect the least glances their best beloved swains 
 
 cast upon them. 
 Many the glances so cast, and reflected by tale-telling 
 
 blushes. 
 Many the matrons who sat by their husbands, and sanc- 
 tioned the boasting 
 Yarns that they spun 'round themselves, as they aired their 
 
 opinions and exploits. 
 Many the juvenile hands that betook of the labor and many 
 Juvenile voices were joined in the singing and hallowed 
 
 and blessed it. 
 Though, in most cases, the grandsires and grand dames 
 
 remained in the tavern, 
 "Minding the babies," they said, but, in truth, they were 
 
 minding their stiffened 
 
 Rheumatic knees, and reviewing the scenes of their long 
 
 ago childhoods, 
 When "Old Virginny" was young and Illinois was a far 
 
 land of promise. 
 Gentle Ann Rutledge, the fairest of hostesses, smiled and 
 
 made welcome 
 Each of her father's guests, and attended their least wish 
 
 and comfort, 
 Seating them, haply, on milkstools or kegs 'round about 
 
 the great corn heap; 
 While father Rutledge, himself, superintended the general 
 
 arrangements. 
 
 * 56 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 John McNamara appeared, and, in spite of his dignified 
 
 bearing, 
 Took, unawarely, the part of a real beau-ideal with the 
 
 ladies. 
 So were the Clary's Grove boys in attendance, with some of 
 
 their sweethearts. 
 Many New Salemites came, and among them the humble 
 
 young ax-man, 
 Casting his lot with the rest in the labor or mirth or the 
 
 story 
 Telling, and bidding for fame in this last, for his stories 
 
 were aptly 
 Told, and unique — but why prat here on one such as 
 
 Abraham Lincoln? 
 
 Many the jugs of sweet cider that came into favor 
 
 that evening. 
 Many the draughts that were drawn, and quaffed with an 
 
 increasing relish. 
 Many the smacks of the lips that sampled the flavors so 
 
 freely. 
 Sparce were the personal favors, save those of the simplest 
 
 nature. 
 John McNamara took pleasure in passing to each lady 
 
 present 
 Toothsome morsels of horehound candy, then rated the 
 
 choicest 
 Sweetbit the country afforded. His compliments went with 
 
 his favors. 
 Ever the daintiest morsel was reserved for the hand of 
 
 Ann Rutledge. 
 So were the young ax-man's pockets bulging with nuts 
 
 from the woodlands, 
 
 * 57 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Fully enough to go 'round to the whole of those people 
 
 assembled, 
 E'en as the love of his heart was enough to enfold that 
 
 whole people. 
 Also, in this case, the best nuts came to the hand of Ann 
 
 Rutledge. 
 
 * 58 * 
 
VII 
 
 Then when each golden-ripe ear had been shorn of its 
 
 silken-lined vestments, 
 Tossed to a heap, and the heaping ears of the swift work- 
 ers numbered 
 Unto bestowing the honors aright, and then graded and 
 
 sorted, 
 Some to be rated as shell corn, and some to be loaded and 
 
 carted 
 Off to the hungering cribs, while the nubbins were cast, 
 
 and the fodder 
 Each into mows — suffice it to say that the labor was 
 
 ended — 
 Forthwith the frolic began, and the feast was the first on 
 
 the program. 
 Also suffice it to say that the spread eclipsed all expec- 
 tations ; 
 And that our Slicky Bill Green, as usual, won greatest 
 
 laurels, 
 Therefore a whole pumpkin pie was placed at his hand 
 
 and disposal. 
 Thus the real play time arrived, and the one spacious 
 
 room of the tavern 
 Now automatically turned to a gala-day seat where a single 
 Fiddler rendered the air sonorous with exquisite music — 
 Deacon Onstott could have made his mark in the world 
 
 had he ever 
 Fiddled for gain or for fame, for his rendition of "Money 
 
 Musk" sounded 
 Quite like a grand opera prelude to those non-censorious 
 
 hearers. 
 
 • 59* 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Still every foot began beating out time when he struck up 
 
 the sprightly 
 "Pop Goes the Weasel," and made it to prelude "The 
 
 Campbells are Coming." 
 Bonnie, ah, sweet were the tunes of that day, and rang true 
 
 to their settings. 
 Nor, to this day, has one ever been lost for its lack of 
 
 enchantment. 
 
 Games were the order of pastime, prevailing till long 
 
 after midnight. 
 Some were enacted with song, such as "Weevily Wheat" 
 
 and "The Miller," 
 Others were simple contestings, where forfeits were paid 
 
 for all failures 
 Which, in redeeming, the owners accomplished some feat 
 
 — perhaps this one — 
 Bow to the bravest one, kneel to the worthy one, and kiss 
 
 the best loved one. 
 This, in most cases was made to apply to some youth who 
 
 was love-sick. 
 Though 'tfell the young ax-man's part, it baffled him not, 
 
 for he straightway 
 Bowed to a ruddy-faced school boy, kneeled to a silvery- 
 haired grandma, 
 Then ceremoniously bended and kissed a wee babe in a 
 
 cradle. 
 (Lo! The ethereal touch disturbed not the child for one 
 
 instant. ) 
 Loud protestations ensued — " 'Taint fair, Abe's a shirkin' 
 
 his bargain!" 
 "No sir, now Abe, you can't do that!" or "Come back 
 
 here, and do that all over!" 
 • 60 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 List to the young ax-man's answer, how timely and 
 
 strangely prophetic: 
 "This I have done representative unto the minds of this 
 
 people, 
 Who, in our midst, can deny that the choices are most 
 
 universal?" 
 One sweeping gesture referred to the act and the folk there 
 
 assembled, 
 One profound bow submitted that act for their justification. 
 Nor could one swear that these choices were not his own, 
 
 spoken by proxy, 
 Therefore the act stood sustained by the justice in charge 
 
 of the forfeits. 
 
 Quickly the incident passed from mind in the zest of 
 
 another. 
 Lukins, the cobbler must jig in his hobbed nailed boots, 
 
 (his own making) 
 If he'd recover the jack knife that stood as the price of 
 
 his failure. 
 Lukins was apt at the jig step, and hob nails to him were 
 
 no drawback. 
 But, ere the first turn was finished, the same protestations 
 
 rebuffed him — 
 "Luke, you're a stompin' the house down!" or "Thar, now 
 
 he's woke up the baby!" 
 Hardly could Lukins give voice to a plea, for his breath 
 
 was exhausted, 
 Hence the young ax-man arose and staged a rebuttal im- 
 promptu. 
 Notice these later remarks, like the first, were most 
 
 strangely prophetic, 
 
 * 61 • 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Though they neglected to mention the innocence of the de- 
 fendant. 
 
 "So has a kiss thus offended this people as well as a jig- 
 step, 
 
 Yet they, themselves, have incurred both offenses, and each 
 with the sequence 
 
 That it befalls them to pass their own judgment upon 
 their own errors. 
 
 Such is the upshot of a half-deduced premise or poor divi- 
 nations ; 
 
 Such is the way when a house is divided against its own 
 mandates." 
 
 (Possibly some of them knew what the jaw breakers meant 
 — at least partly.) 
 
 Burlesque and travesty now brought the scene to dra- 
 matic proportions. 
 
 Bold jestulations, this time, referred to the act and assem- 
 blage, 
 
 Bolder ones held that assemblage responsible for a fair 
 verdict ; 
 
 All of which went to accomplish the cobbler's complete 
 vindication, 
 
 And which made plain that the speaker was a sage in the 
 cast of a woodsman. 
 
 Soon was the scene again changed, for anon the 
 gallant young Scotchman 
 Led out the first graceful change of the old-time Virginia 
 
 reel, gently 
 Clasping the hand of Ann Rutledge, and gauging their 
 
 steps to the even 
 Measures of music, they first promenaded down the long 
 center 
 
 • 62 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Aisle of parade, then, in dizzying whirling, they cast off 
 
 each couple 
 Forming that aisle, with the ladies to one hand, and gents 
 
 to the other; 
 Finally taking their stand at the foot, the next couple 
 
 succeeded 
 Them in figure of change, and so on till the reel was 
 
 completed ; 
 Only to be recompleted with a change in the tune and 
 
 the partner. 
 Where once the game was the body of merriment, now it 
 
 presented 
 Only a picture of grace in the form of symmetrical motion. 
 Thus did the night speed away, and the fiddler stuck to his 
 
 fiddle, 
 Old folk and young folk, respectively, stayed with their 
 
 stories and dancing; 
 Children once jubilant in song, now wearied in mind and 
 
 in body, 
 One by one fell asleep, as the din of the music entranced 
 
 them. 
 Not till the last fading star stood low in the sky, did 
 
 these happy 
 Revelers turn toward their homes, through the frost-bitten 
 
 lanes and the woodlands, 
 One and all vowing the excellent rank of this jollification. 
 Nor did they feel one fatigue as the crisp of the cool 
 
 frosty morning 
 Braced and invigorated their steps, and banished all 
 
 sleep from their eyelids. 
 Slicky Bill Green and the ax-man walked by the way of a 
 
 cow path, 
 
 * 63 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Down through a pasture, and jovially discussed the events 
 of the frolic. 
 
 Briefly they mentioned one name and lightly they men- 
 tioned another. 
 
 Still it remained for this same William Green to speak 
 once in deep earnest. 
 
 "Abe, I declar, if Ann Rutledge and John McNamara 
 aint 'bout as 
 
 Handsome a couple as ever sot foot in old Sangamon 
 County." 
 
 Seemingly lost was this comment, for Abe volunteered ne'er 
 an answer. 
 
 Dismal and bleak the November drew to a close and 
 
 foreshadowed 
 Winter, with spiritless mien, and the season of disconsola- 
 
 tion. 
 Hushed was the blue bird's song, in the arbor, and hushed 
 
 was the cat bird's 
 Call in the deep of the orchard, now stripped of its fruit- 
 age and leafage. 
 Both little songsters had winged their way to a sky less 
 
 inclement, 
 Even as loftier birds of passage and beasts of migration 
 Likewise had answered the call of their natures, and sought 
 
 milder climates; 
 Else had crept into their lairs as creatures of hibernation, 
 Leaving their summer haunts to the care of the bob-white 
 
 and hedge hare. 
 
 Still winter tarried a while and stayed her grim hand 
 ere she flung her 
 
 • 64 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Mantle of snow o'er the land, and bridges of ice o'er the 
 
 rivers. 
 Thus came the opportune time for John to make known his 
 
 intentions — 
 That he'd dispose of the store and purchase the old Rut- 
 ledge homestead, 
 Down by Good Pastures, and make there a home for the 
 
 bride of his bosom. 
 Fortune had favored his efforts, and made this a possible 
 
 venture. 
 Happy was Ann when she learned of the plan that her 
 
 thoughtful young lover 
 Held in his heart for her future welfare, and guarded so 
 
 closely. 
 Was e'er a lover more noble of heart than to wish such a 
 
 blessing 
 Unto the one he adored? Ah, and was e'er a maiden more 
 
 worthy ? 
 
 Yet one delay intervened, 'twas that John should pur- 
 sue a swift journey, 
 
 Far to a New England city, on the shores of the bounding 
 Atlantic, 
 
 Where he would find and bring hence the "bonnie guid 
 faither and mither," 
 
 Who, years before, had so wished him to 'bide a wee whi' 
 ere he left them, 
 
 All so intent on adventure — so eager on seeking his for- 
 tune, 
 
 Somewhere beyond the dim hills of the great Appalachian 
 region. 
 
 Lo! should his dreams e'er come true, 'twould be his to 
 return and bring hither 
 * 65 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 This loving father and mother, that they, too^ might share 
 his good fortune. 
 
 Dreams, in a sense, had come true, but had lost their de- 
 ception and glamour. 
 
 Work, he had found, and true faith in one's self were the 
 mediums joining 
 
 Hope and success, and in these the Scotch merchant had 
 been duly constant. 
 
 Lightly the farewells were said, for John would be 
 
 absent so briefly, 
 Spring, at the longest, would find him returned to his 
 
 friends and his business. 
 Would Ann be willing to wait? Ah, willing and faithful 
 
 forever. 
 Was she not known to be noble and constant in all things, 
 
 and patient? 
 Would John make sure his return? Ah, sure and what need 
 
 of such questions? 
 Was he not known as a man of integrity, truth and up- 
 rightness? 
 Verily these were most excellent characteristics, and 
 
 worthy, 
 But lay their greatest assurance in their undying love for 
 
 each other. 
 This love was more than a moral consequence, more than 
 
 mere promise. 
 
 Saddling and bridling his steed, at the dawn of the day 
 John departed, 
 Riding away with his face ever turned to the pale of the 
 sunrise, 
 
 • 66 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Riding away with his back ever turned to the glow of the 
 
 sunset ; 
 Thus was the old land ahead, with its old loves and scenes 
 
 of his childhood, 
 Thus was the new land behind, with its new loves and all 
 
 its glad prospects. 
 E'en as he struck the turnpike — the Cumberland road — at 
 
 Vandalia, 
 Low and o'er cast was the sky, and gloomy the way, and 
 
 foreboding; 
 Yet there was joy in his heart, and a song on his lips, 
 
 perhaps this one — 
 "Maxwalton braes they are bonny — " but ne'er did the 
 
 singer apply these 
 Words to a bank nor a braes of "auld Reeka" beyond the 
 
 Atlantic, 
 But to the bonnie blue hills and the banks of the Sanga- 
 mon River, 
 Where Ann had "gide him her promise," which was to 
 
 ne'er be forgotten. 
 Then, as the way grew more dreary, and days became 
 
 weeks in the journey, 
 Hardships relentlessly fell, and trials beset without num- 
 ber. 
 Still other songs filled his heart, even this one — "The 
 
 Highlander's Parting," 
 Wherein the one takes the high road, and one takes the 
 
 low road, and never 
 Meet as true lovers again, "on the far bonny banks of 
 
 Lock Lomond." 
 But, now the verses meant naught to the singer, nor did he 
 
 transfix them 
 
 • 67 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Once to a place or a person anent to his home in the 
 
 new land. 
 Dead were the words with the singing, and thus fared the 
 
 traveler onward. 
 
 Back in the village the gentle Ann passed to and fro 
 
 unattended, 
 Else spent the day by the fireside, intent on her patching 
 
 and knitting, 
 Singing, for she, too, was happy in spite of the long 
 
 dreary winter. 
 Was not her true love again to come with the full of the 
 
 springtime? 
 Back to her side, and the hills and the vales of dear 
 
 Sangamon County. 
 — Sat by the fireside and sang full many Scotch lays that 
 
 he'd taught her. 
 
 Springtime came speeding and under her charms all 
 
 nature awakened. 
 Soft were the breezes that blew o'er the hilltops and lulled 
 
 in the valleys. 
 Bright were the sunbeams that played hide and seek with 
 
 the shades in the woodlands. 
 Gay were the flowers, delighted the birds and the butter- 
 flies airy. 
 Merrily hummed the bees, and the lambkins were glad in 
 
 their gambols. 
 Promptly the goddess of labor took hold of the hearts of 
 
 her people, 
 Speeding one hand to the plow, while another she sped to 
 
 the broad ax. 
 
 • 68 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Farmers and woodsmen alike were away to their duties, 
 
 and happy. 
 Ann hailed the season with joy, for a fond expectation 
 
 employed her — 
 John would return, Ah, her lover would come, in respect 
 
 to his promise. 
 Higher and higher her hopes arose with the rise of the 
 
 season. 
 
 Summer came creeping; those hopes were doomed to 
 
 give way to misgivings. 
 Why did her lover not come? or what had betide to delay 
 
 him? 
 Mishap or ill must have lurked in his pathway. Anxiety 
 
 followed 
 Closely the wake of misgiving, as days became months in 
 
 the waiting; 
 Nor was a letter forthcoming to speak of the cause of 
 
 the lengthened 
 Absence, and bid her to trust and be of good cheer a bit 
 
 longer. 
 Drear is the evening, though cloudless, when hopes of the 
 
 day have been blighted. 
 More and more keenly Ann suffered the sting of her 
 
 heart's disappointment. 
 Also, in time came the shame and the slur of an odious 
 
 scandal. 
 
 Ann walked alone to church, by the way of the old 
 Cameron grist mill, 
 Sad and in deep meditation as to her strange sudden 
 longing; 
 
 • 69 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Then, when the worship was ended, returned to her home 
 
 all as sadly. 
 Sometimes her girlhood friends brightened the way with 
 
 their innocent prattle. 
 Often the Reverend Cartright accepted her kind invitation 
 Down to the tavern for dinner for, indeed, some such 
 
 succor was needed, 
 After his all powerful sermons usurped his strength so 
 
 completely; 
 Sermons and dinners alike being famed for their up-build- 
 ing values. 
 Other friends also repaired to their homes by the way of 
 
 the grist mill, 
 Frequently walking apart, and speaking of things more un- 
 
 seeming. 
 
 "Hold on a bit, Sally Lowdy, I'll walk with ya far 
 
 as the mill dam, 
 How, as ya aint no one with ya, I reckon my company's 
 
 acceptin'." 
 "Yes'um, quite so, Mrs. Lockheart, it's mighty fine weather 
 
 we're havin'." 
 But Mrs. Lockheart could not stop to pass on the weather 
 
 conditions, 
 Not with so much on her mind that demanded a season- 
 able airing. 
 "Don't that beat all how that John McNamara could be so 
 
 deceivin' ? 
 Puttin' right off like he did, all so sudden, and leavin' 
 
 Ann Rutledge 
 Right when folks knowed they's engaged — But I always 
 
 said he's a scoundrel!" 
 • 70 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 "Why, you don't say, Mrs. Lockheart, I hadn't heard 
 
 nothin' about it. 
 How in the world did it happen? and them both a seemin' 
 
 so happy — " 
 "Don't know fer how, Mrs. Lowdy, but, mind ya, Ann's 
 
 grievin' most awful. 
 Folks say John went off last fall, and promised he'd surely 
 
 and sartain 
 Come back this spring an' they'd marry — but, law, what's 
 
 a promise in these days? 
 Can't put no faith in sich like, and especially them that's 
 
 got money, 
 Roamin' around here and there, without any kin folk er 
 
 nothin'. 
 Though like as not he's a wife and a family back there 
 
 where he came from — 
 Somewhere 'round Boston, they say, but like as not that aint 
 
 so neither — " 
 "Well, I do say, Mrs. Lockheart, I'm s'prised. John ap- 
 peared like he's honest, 
 Always was polite and obligin', and never was meddlin' 
 
 er nothin'. 
 But, as you say, I suppose, 'taint a good thing to put faith 
 
 in no one, 
 'Ceptin' we know 'em of old, and especially young men a- 
 
 courtin'." 
 "Them's just the kind, Mrs. Lowdy, Them that's so nice 
 
 and obligin' 
 Aint to be trusted in no wise, much less if they're graspin' 
 
 fer money. 
 'Twixt you and me I'm smart glad that my Blindy took up 
 
 with Lem Slocum. 
 
 * 71 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Lem aint so peart at book larnin', er aint quite so hand- 
 some er thrifty, 
 
 But it's his kind that'll never be stirrin' up trouble 
 fer no one. 
 
 As fer them Rutledges, well, I've a notion it serves 'em 
 right proper, 
 
 Bein' so proud and so uppish, just like as if they was our 
 betters." 
 
 But, after all, Sally Lowdy still clung to her faith in 
 the Scotchman, 
 
 Who had once served in their midst as a fair and estimable 
 merchant. 
 
 Nor could she bring her kind heart to rejoice in one grief 
 or misfortune, 
 
 However lightly it fell in the pathway of gentle Ann 
 Rutledge. 
 
 Ever the maiden was modest and guileless, and worthy the 
 prestige 
 
 Such as she bore in the village, with unhaughty air and 
 behavior. 
 
 Why should this coarse bit of gossip prevail to embarrass 
 and try her? 
 
 After a sermon propounding the merits of love and com- 
 passion. 
 
 Still there was one to plod homeward alone — one 
 benignant in spirit; 
 Rightly dividing the word, he applied it without one re- 
 striction 
 Unto himself, then reflected the precepts thereof in his 
 
 daily 
 Walks. Much as David of old was taught for the trials of 
 his kingdom, 
 
 * 72 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Low in the path of a shepherd, afar on the hills of Judea, 
 So was young Lincoln prepared in the low place to master 
 
 the high place, 
 There on the banks of the Sangamon River, obscure in 
 
 New Salem. 
 Even this day he perceived the distress of the maiden, 
 
 and truly 
 Longed to console and defend her, nor mocked at her 
 
 plight, nor decried her. 
 Thus the young ax-man turned homeward, with love in 
 
 his heart and compassion. 
 
 Saddened and wan from the waiting, Ann Rutledge 
 at last grew despondent. 
 
 John McNamara was dead. And to further this woeful 
 persuasion, 
 
 Ever the unfulfilled promise arose, an indicative voucher. 
 
 John was that manner of man to die in upholding his 
 promise. 
 
 Then to confirm this persuasion and gather the threads of 
 decision, 
 
 Came an array of misgivings to play on the maiden's torn 
 heart strings — 
 
 What was the Cumberland road but a hazardous path in 
 the winter? 
 
 Spanning those hundreds of miles of desolate, blizzard- 
 swept mountains, 
 
 Often times buried 'neath snow drifts and riven by streams 
 wild and bridgeless. 
 
 Thieves stalked abroad in the way, or sickness ensued 
 from the hardships, 
 
 Striking the traveler down or laying him low among stran- 
 gers. 
 
 * 73 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 What was John's fate? None could tell, but if Ann be- 
 latedly suffered 
 
 Public opinion to plant a sad doubt in her heart should 
 we marvel ? 
 
 Less was her grief and despair if her lover were dead 
 than proved faithless. 
 
 Still has the most dismal moment of sorrow its time for 
 composure. 
 
 Swift sped the year and smiled on another autumnal 
 season, 
 
 Bringing a friend in an hour when friendship was most 
 to be cherished. 
 
 Quiet 'round the tavern home fireside the family communed 
 and among them 
 
 Sat the young ax-man, perchancing to be its one regular 
 patron. 
 
 There in the kindly home circle this stranger found place 
 for the deeper 
 
 Readings of law, both the civil and moral profoundly in- 
 clined him. 
 
 Higher ambitions had risen, and hopes for a useful life 
 brightened. 
 
 Yet less intently were these laws pursued than those hu- 
 man nature 
 
 Taught him, first hand, as he daily encountered the folk 
 of the village; 
 
 Be it a rich man, a poor man, a free man or bondsman, 
 each added 
 
 Grace to his deep understanding and true love of mankind 
 in general. 
 
 Then in the long autumn evenings came readings of much 
 lighter subjects, 
 
 * 74 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 "Robinson Crusoe," perhaps, or sketches from "AEsop's 
 
 Fables," 
 Shared with his fireside companions, with Ann as his most 
 
 devout hearer; 
 E'er as the ardors of friendship evolved to more sacred 
 
 emotions. 
 
 Also the young lawyer "practised polemics," by way 
 of diversion. 
 
 Quite opportunely the village debating society offered 
 
 Adequate fields for first training, and straightway he 
 joined in its contests. 
 
 (High hail the organization that qualified Abraham Lin- 
 coln ! ) 
 
 Armed was this organization, and engined and aimed for 
 the single 
 
 Purpose of settling divers, abjured and preponderous 
 questions, 
 
 Such as might rankle the sober and deep thinking minds of 
 the village — 
 
 This being one of an extra perplexing and intricate na- 
 ture: 
 
 "Be it resolved that the voluminous waters of Sangamon 
 River 
 
 Flows in more number of miles to the southward than 
 flows to the northward, 
 
 Over or minus the miles of its general trend to the west- 
 ward." 
 
 (My, what a question that was, if the crooks of that stream 
 were computed!) 
 
 After an able sextet of debaters had argued most 
 hotly, 
 
 • 75 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Rating that river's anfractuous course from the source to 
 
 the ending, 
 First by the yeas, then the nays, there was still room for 
 
 argumentation. 
 Abraham Lincoln, however, the final affirmative speaker, 
 Settled all manner of doubt, in the closing address of the 
 
 program. 
 
 "Shucks! hadn't Abe orter know, for weren't he a law- 
 ful surveyor? 
 
 Travelin', too, down that river, clean to the mouth on a 
 flat boat." 
 
 "Yes, and besides, aint a postmaster apt to know all about 
 rivers ? 
 
 Readin', too, like he does, every book he can lay his hands 
 on." 
 
 Such was the tone of the many whispered comments re- 
 garding 
 
 "Abe," as he rose at the call of his name and mounted 
 the platform. 
 
 First, as a matter of fact, Abe summed up all points of 
 the question, 
 
 Proving them valid or void, irrespective of which side 
 they favored. 
 
 Then he essayed to make plain that those "voluminous 
 waters" debated 
 
 Raised eighty-eight degree west, (by Greenwich Meredian 
 Standard,) 
 
 Latitude forty-one north, and, barring all minor deflections, 
 
 After off-setting a southwestern trend by an equal north- 
 western, 
 
 Joined with the Illinois River, and thence with the Father 
 of Waters, 
 
 • 76 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Therewith to flow to the gulf by the same degree westward 
 
 of Greenwich, 
 Latitude twenty-nine north, or a thousand miles south of 
 
 its starting. 
 Nor had that question required that those "voluminous 
 
 waters" debated 
 Should necessarily cease to be reckoned beyond their home 
 
 channel. 
 (Now where on earth did Abe Lincoln get hold of that bit 
 
 of high science?) 
 
 Abe had no more than set forth his first premise, than 
 
 Old Deacon Onstott, 
 Foremost opposing debater, prepared to sit up and take 
 
 notice, 
 Whisking his specks from his nose, all the better to see his 
 
 opponent, 
 Thereby to better his chances of grasping the young 
 
 speaker's meaning. 
 Chairman, Jack Armstrong, the wrestler, tried to look wise, 
 
 but succeeded 
 Only in looking bamboozled, because of his non-compre- 
 hension. 
 Likewise the most of the hearers assembled presented 
 
 blank faces. 
 Old Doctor Regnier, however, was honest in twisting his 
 
 features 
 Into askew, as he tried to remember just where he had 
 
 ever 
 Met with those strange terms before; in a manner they 
 
 sounded familiar. 
 Happily one or two countenances shone with the true light 
 
 of learning, 
 
 • 77 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Young Mentor Graham, the teacher's and postmaster Hill's 
 
 were among them, 
 While, in all corners, the "ah's"and the "eh's" were quite 
 
 audibly murmured. 
 However, William Kirkpatrick (from Erin) was first to 
 
 recover 
 Fully the courage of speech, and broke forth in glad ac- 
 clamation : 
 "Faith, and that's just loik Aoib Lincoln, to rhake oop 
 
 same, aout-landish question, 
 Maenin' to plague us a bit, then poiant it all aout sae 
 
 complately 
 'Cardin' to what's in some book, an' its no use to airgie 
 
 agin 'im!' 
 Thus dawned the truth of the matter. Forsooth, had not 
 
 Abe in a twinkling 
 Fathered and fashioned that question, appointing himself 
 
 as that special 
 Speaker, for no other purpose than to spring this fine 
 
 joke on his fellows? 
 Also the honorable judges who'd sat by in open-mouthed 
 
 wonder — 
 Slicky Bill Green and James Cameron, the miller, and the 
 
 idler, Jack Kelso — 
 Now began ruling their senses, and Slicky, then being the 
 
 foreman, 
 Stayed not nor stopped to advise with his two fellow 
 
 judges, but sprightly 
 Leaped up and slapped his own knee, as an emphasis due 
 
 to his impulse, 
 E'en as he voiced the decision, "Abe's right, the affirmi- 
 
 tives have it!" 
 
 • 78 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Thus was one ponderous question settled without sword nor 
 pistol. 
 
 Mark ye, how low is the road to success, but was this 
 
 one not leading 
 Straight to an honorable seat with the honorable body of 
 
 "Long Nines?" 
 Who made it second to business to sit 'round and whittle 
 
 and think up 
 Just such debatable questions as has above been recounted; 
 Abe being longest in stature, was likely the longest in 
 
 whittling, 
 Surely the longest of all when it came to the fine art of 
 
 thinking. 
 Other debatings ensued, and occasionally log-rolling con- 
 tests, 
 Which, with a few quilting bees and a spelling match 
 
 made up the simple 
 Labors and joys that employed the hands and the hearts 
 
 of these people. 
 Dearer, ah, sweeter than these, were the joys that the 
 
 striving young lawyer 
 Knew when he sat with the loved one, and friends, 'round 
 
 the quaint tavern fireside. 
 
 Back in the New England city, on the shores of the 
 bounding Atlantic, 
 Sat the Scotch merchant consoling the last earthly hours 
 
 of his father. 
 Pestilance ravaged the land, and remained to wax great 
 
 in that household. 
 Life battled fiercely with death, but with all it was slow 
 to be mastered. 
 
 • 79 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 But when the father was gone, then the mother lay ill 
 
 with the fever, 
 Claiming the aid of her son, as her only relief and de- 
 pendence. 
 Faithful to duty, that son remained with his mother, so 
 
 gently 
 Nursing her back to good health, and relieving her sor- 
 row and burdens. 
 Then, as the mother recovered, the son, himself, suffered 
 
 the illness. 
 Houses and lands were fast spent, and money to stay these 
 
 misfortunes. 
 Thus ere John knew it a year has elapsed since he quitted 
 
 New Salem, 
 Far in those Illinois prairies, in the land of great hopes 
 
 and good promise. 
 Nor had a letter gone forth to acquaint the friends there 
 
 of his troubles. 
 John McNamara was proud, ah, indeed, and could keep 
 
 his own counsel. 
 Letters were troublesome missives, he thought, and might 
 
 create a mischief; 
 So were they apt to miscarry, when borne to such far 
 
 distant places. 
 Soon the grim wake of a second long winter deferred any 
 
 movement 
 Westward, but after the thaw and the freshets of Spring 
 
 had subsided, 
 All the world seemed to respond again to the westward ho 
 
 spirit. 
 These days found John and his mother en route on the 
 
 Cumberland highway. 
 * 80 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Presto! how quickly astir were the folk of that Il- 
 linois village, 
 
 When, one fine evening in June, there hove into sight 
 from the eastward, 
 
 What, but an emigrant wagon, of crudest design and equip- 
 ment, 
 
 Drawn in its slowly but steady approach by two travel- 
 worn oxen. 
 
 Fully and justly astounded were those folk when those 
 oxen were halted 
 
 Squarely before the store door, and John and his mother 
 dismounted. 
 
 John, who had one day so quietly taken his leave of New 
 Salem, 
 
 Bidding no farewells, nor seeking their kindly adieus and 
 God-bless you's 
 
 Leaving no word of his purport, nor telling his true des- 
 tination, 
 
 This day returned, in like manner, inviting no special 
 attention. 
 
 Much was John wont to abhor superfluous displays of his 
 movements. 
 
 Now, with the store newly managed, it handled new 
 
 lines and new patrons, 
 While it retained its old worth as the center of news and 
 
 light gossip. 
 Nor, in this case did it fail to deliver the goods with the 
 
 trimmings — 
 John McNamara's returned, from the where? with the 
 
 whom for what purpose? 
 Dealt out in special job lots, or in bulk, as the patron 
 
 would have it. 
 
 * 81 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Mainly the men of the village would know how John fared 
 
 in his journey, 
 What were the prospects and products and prices "back 
 
 east" and the progress? 
 Somehow the women were mostly concerned as to whom 
 
 John "fetched with 'im," 
 While every youth could but marvel that John should 
 
 have been "clar to Boston." 
 (My, how Dame Wanderlust suddenly set those young 
 
 heart strings to humming!) 
 But ne'er a maiden gave voice to the question she deemed 
 
 most important. 
 Could she not see for herself that John was as "purty" 
 
 as ever? 
 As for the most urgent question — We'll let two good cus- 
 tomers tell it. 
 
 "Hold on a bit, Sally Lowdy, I'll walk with ya down 
 
 to the mill dam. 
 Reckon ya wont be objectin' if I help ya tote some of 
 
 that washin'?" 
 "No'um, I wont, Mrs. Lockheart. Pears like we might have 
 
 a shower." 
 But, in this case Mrs. Lockheart had no eyes nor ears for 
 
 the weather, 
 Even though that very minute a thunder clap broke in the 
 
 heavens. 
 " 'Spose you have heard as how John McNamara has got 
 
 back from Boston, 
 Fetchin' his old mother with 'em, an' all their belongin's 
 
 an' sich like?" 
 "Law! You don't say, Mrs. Lockheart, I hadn't heard 
 
 nothin' about it — " 
 
 • 82 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 "Yes'um, I seen 'em myself, a comin' across by the Miller 
 Ford, with the worst poor old oxen and wagon a body 
 
 could think of. 
 Folks say they aint got a dollar betwixt their two selves 
 
 and starvation — 
 But, I don't know about that, taint like John to spend all 
 
 his money, 
 Bein' as sensible as he is in savin' as well as in makin' — " 
 Law! you don't say, Mrs. Lockheart, I hadn't heard nothin' 
 
 about it — " 
 "Yes'um, 'tis so, and folks sayin' he'd run off an' married 
 
 er somethin'. 
 Never could make me believe a word of his bein' dis- 
 honest — " 
 "Law! you don't say, Mrs. Lockheart, I hadn't heard 
 
 nothin' about it — " 
 "I always knowed he'd come back, some day when folks 
 
 least expected. 
 Now what will Rutledges think? with Ann all engaged 
 
 to that lawyer 
 Here an' this feller a comin' to marry her, like as he 
 
 promised — 
 Land only knows which'll get her, but 'lowin' they're both 
 
 poor as church mice, 
 Reckon it won't make no difference, even if John is so 
 
 handsome — " 
 "Law! I don't know, Mrs. Lockheart, I'm hopin' there 
 
 wont be no trouble. 
 Ann's all so 'good and high minded, she's liable to be 
 
 plum heartbroken." 
 "Course, but she'd orter been keerful, and stuck to her 
 
 word like a lady. 
 
 • 83 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Women these days are too fickle, a triflin' with other folk's 
 
 feelin's." 
 "Yes'um, I know, Mrs. Lockheart, but Ann aint a mite like 
 
 the rest of 'em — " 
 
 Why, ah pray why, should these good village folk be 
 so stirred in this instance? 
 
 Did they not know John to be a true gentleman, thoroughly 
 gallant? 
 
 Ever perceiving and doing his duty, for all it might cost 
 him? 
 
 Now it was his to retire, as he did, from all claim as a 
 suitor, 
 
 Leaving the gentle Ann Rutledge in peace with her newly- 
 found lover. 
 
 All the self-sacrifice, all the true gallantry, all the 
 
 acquitting 
 Borne or evinced by another, would not now atone for the 
 
 error 
 Made by this high-minded maiden against the repose of 
 
 her conscience. 
 Torn were her fine sensibilities beyond any self-condoning. 
 What if the old love were now but a softly, sweet memory 
 
 clinging? 
 Having its birth in the multifold fancies that girlhood is 
 
 heir to — 
 Pride, admiration, respect and delight in the one who was 
 
 ever 
 Worthy of such, and above one reproach in his lover's 
 
 demeanor. 
 What if the new love were true, and as constant as life, 
 
 and far dearer? 
 
 • 84 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Born, as it was, of the deeper heart raptures and lasting 
 devotions — 
 
 Sympathy, trustfulness, concord and happiness blending 
 and sweetly 
 
 Speaking content to her soul, with this lover, and he, too, 
 so worthy — 
 
 No matter what her forgiveness might be, or her justifi- 
 cation 
 
 This — Ann's regret — would prevail; she had failed to keep 
 faith with her promise. 
 
 John had been true to his tryst. E'en against those 
 dire odds he'd been loyal. 
 Even to death he'd have kept to the faith in his word and 
 
 his ideals 
 So would the new lover be of such faith to the simplest 
 
 compact. 
 Yea, all the world rang with faithfulness, neighbors and 
 
 friends all revered it; 
 Beasts of the fields seemed to tread by it, birds of the air 
 fairly voiced it; I 
 
 Sunshine and raindrops and brooklets exemplified fully its 
 
 meaning. 
 Even the clang of the anvil or the whang of the whip-saw 
 
 bespoke it — 
 Faithfulness ever to duty and promise and purpose of 
 
 being. 
 Yet, she alone had been false in one sense, and such faith- 
 fulness mocked her. 
 Nor could this sensitive maiden subdue this remorse, nor 
 
 survive it. 
 Under its harrowing pangs her decline was confirmed and 
 most rapid. 
 
 • 85 * 
 ( 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 James Rutledge grimly resented the fate that so threat- 
 ened his darling. 
 While his dear wife was distracted, and tried every means 
 
 to restore her. 
 Was e'er a daughter so fair, and so thoughtful and loving 
 
 as this one? 
 Was e'er a child more obedient, one more angelically — 
 
 "gentle?" 
 Why, in this day of her youth, should she fade like a 
 
 flower of the morning? 
 Truly the neighbors now knew the heavenliness of Ann's 
 
 nature. 
 Those who had been harsh in word or in thought, were 
 
 now woefully anxious; 
 Those who had been naught but kind were kindlier still, 
 
 and attentive. 
 One and all sadly observed the decline, and despaired of 
 
 Ann's future. 
 But, most of all the young lawyer — the lover — observed 
 
 and despaired it. 
 Deep in his soul he despaired and rebelled against each 
 
 growing sympton # 
 
 Rising to presage an end that would bring such a sorrow 
 
 upon him. 
 She, whom he knew to be true, to be good, to be pure as 
 
 the purest, 
 She, whom he loved as none other, the light of his life 
 
 and his darling, 
 Must not, nay, should not be taken — Indeed the new lover 
 
 was desperate. 
 But, what availed he, when fate had pronounced her de- 
 cree? And fate wavers 
 • 86 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Not in her aim with the small man, nor wavers one dot 
 with the great man. 
 
 Gentle Ann Rutledge retired to her chamber, and 
 
 there midst its simple 
 Drapings and peaceful repose, she lingered a while, it 
 
 would seem them 
 Only to let their poor hearts become fonder with each 
 
 precious moment 
 Spent in her tenderest care, as the father, the mother and 
 
 lover 
 Often times lifted her up from her pillow, perhaps to the 
 
 window, 
 Only to view for a moment some pleasurable scene of the 
 
 landscape; 
 Or, it might be, to survey some beautiful bower or a blos- 
 som 
 Blown in the garden below; or again, that she might see 
 
 some splendid 
 Sunset, or gaze at the glowing embers against the broad 
 
 hearth-stone. 
 Once when they lifted her thus, it was morning and all 
 
 was resplendent. 
 Then it was evening, and twilight came swiftly amid its 
 
 soft shadows, 
 Hushing the songs of the village, for gentle Ann Rutledge 
 
 lay dying. 
 
 Sadly they dug her a grave down on the green of 
 Good Pastures, 
 Where the soft willows might wave and the flowers spring 
 bright and eternal. 
 
 • 87 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Loving hands laid her to rest, and her hopes and her joys 
 
 rested with her, 
 As did the sorrow and pain and the plans that attended 
 
 her footsteps. 
 Deeply they mourned, but her lover was crushed by the blow 
 
 of her passing. 
 Lingering oft by her grave, he wept bitter tears, un- 
 ashamedly. 
 But when the gray clouds of autumn came drifting, and 
 
 drear rains descended, 
 Bitterer still were his words than his tears, and so fitfully 
 
 childish — 
 "How can I suffer her form to be lying out there in this 
 
 weather?" 
 Thus came the death of his youth, and the dawn of his 
 
 nobler manhood, 
 Wherein he learned that this life is not full of pleasant, 
 
 sweet dreamings 
 But that — 'tis real, that 'tis earnest, and moves by the 
 
 soul's deepest passions. 
 
 Sprang up in magical manner that Illinois village — 
 New Salem — 
 
 Came over night, and remained but a moment to furnish a 
 setting 
 
 True to this quaint little story so dear to the hearts of 
 this people. 
 
 Dear, yes and destined to grace a brief page of history 
 ever 
 
 Charmingly, like a sweet legend resounding afar down the 
 ages. 
 
 E'er has that history dealt with a unity, justice and free- 
 dom 
 
 • 88 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Such as the world has not known heretofore, or a nation 
 
 conceived of. 
 Yet in the test of the strength of these three civil graces 
 
 united, 
 Rose from that village the one who was signed to be "Man 
 
 for the Ages." 
 Rose from its lowliest hovel, the man — our own Abraham 
 
 Lincoln — 
 Who was ordained from the first to weigh in the balance 
 
 each precept, 
 Proving its worth to all races within the embrace of its 
 
 dictum, 
 Proving its worth as with man to the man, or to state, or 
 
 to nation 
 Proving its worth to the down-trodden bondsman, as well 
 
 as the master. 
 Lo! In the proving came also the proof that all men are 
 
 born equal, 
 Equal in body and soul to the God-given rights of true 
 
 freedom 
 Lo! In the proving the new world was purged of the last 
 
 clinging evil 
 Born of the old world, and dead was the monster of 
 
 slavery forever. 
 Yet, in the death of that monster, the nation was shaken 
 
 assunder. 
 Shaken by thundering cannons, the bleeding of hearts and 
 
 dire hatred, 
 Which would prevail when one law stood agressed by the 
 
 strength of another, 
 Which would prevail when one magistrate stood in con- 
 tempt of his colleagues, 
 * 89 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Which would prevail when one people formed a divide 
 in its members, 
 
 Which would prevail when one brother with brother was 
 prone to take vengeance — 
 
 Brothers who oft times were born of one home, in the 
 throes of that hatred, 
 
 Rent their own firesides assunder, and closed in a merci- 
 less conflict. 
 
 Thus for a moment it seemed that the onrush of civiliza- 
 tion 
 
 Partially bid fair to cease, and the graces of Christendom 
 suffered 
 
 Many a loss to the powers ascribed as their foes ever- 
 lasting. 
 
 Then, in the midst of the pain and the misery, the dark 
 of a dismal 
 
 Night settled down on a helpless, but still incompatible 
 people. 
 
 "Such is the upshot of half-deduced premises or poor 
 divinations, 
 
 Such is the way when a house is divided against its own 
 mandates," 
 
 Saith the Man for the Ages, in speaking of such contra- 
 dictions. 
 
 Then when the first rays of morning came creeping, 
 and opened the portals 
 Unto an era of peace, lo, the one who was holding the 
 
 balance 
 Stood with the fragments in hand, of the shattered ideals 
 
 of the nation, 
 Molding them back into place, with a greater perfection 
 and soundness, 
 
 • 90 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 E'en as an all-loving father would take up the parts of a 
 
 broken 
 Treasure and mold them together, and pass them, with 
 
 gracious compassion, 
 Back to the expectant hands of his weeping but erring 
 
 children, 
 So were the broken ideals of the nation thus raised and 
 
 remolded. 
 But, in the dawn of that morning, on the threshhold of 
 
 peace and remission, 
 Lo, the loved leader, himself, lay dead at the seat of 
 
 atonement. 
 "Martyred," we say, "to a cause," but that cause — behold 
 
 how resplendent! 
 Unity, justice and freedom unalloyed, and we know from 
 
 the boundless 
 Wisdom of God flowed his reasoning, raised above human 
 
 conception. 
 Hallow the voice that would speak the loved name of our 
 
 Abraham Lincoln. 
 
 Ye who believe that a spiritual heaven lies waiting 
 the transient 
 
 Soul of mankind, just beyond this temporal plain of ex- 
 istance, 
 
 Waiting with only the magical forces of life interposing, 
 
 Waiting with only the shadowy valley of death inter- 
 vening, 
 
 Would you decry the sweet fancy that, haply, some dear 
 one departed, 
 
 Lingereth on the divide — on the brink of the vale — with 
 a guiding 
 
 • 91 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Hand, to direct the right course of the one who would 
 
 execute justice, 
 Over the throngs of humanity walking the way of life's 
 
 journey? 
 Guiding him, even as Moses and Elias once guided the 
 
 Saviour, 
 Seen of no man, but in spirit, (indeed he is poor who has 
 
 never 
 Felt the kind hand of his own guardian angel inclining 
 
 his footsteps.) 
 Thus, be it then, who could better have guided this be- 
 loved leader 
 On in upholding the right against wrong in that great civil 
 
 conflict, 
 Than could a soul who in all earthly truth would have 
 
 walked so uprightly, 
 That to come short in one instance, would be to destroy 
 
 the all-peaceful 
 Poise of her spirit, and finally consummate mortal seces- 
 sion. 
 E'en as the leaves fall to earth that the soil might be all 
 
 the more fertile, 
 So did the one fall in death that the other might have 
 
 greater insight. 
 Therefore we hallow the voice when we speak the sweet 
 
 name of Ann Rutledge. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln, the ax-man, the lawyer, the bard, 
 aye the grandest 
 Nobleman earth has yet known, lies at rest in the beauti- 
 ful Oak Ridge. 
 Lieth the maiden asleep in obscurity down in Good Pas- 
 tures. 
 
 * 92 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Lowly the spot and unseen by the thousands who visit the 
 
 stately 
 Tomb of the one we revere, as the nation revereth none 
 
 other. 
 Singeth the birds just as sweetly in the willow as sings in 
 
 the oak tree, 
 Shineth the sunbeams as brightly on the earth mound as 
 
 shines on the marble, 
 Falleth the rain drops as gently on the low land as falls 
 
 on the high land; 
 Nor is one greater in death than the other, but each have 
 
 their missions — 
 "Why should the spirit of mortal be proud" under these 
 
 divine orders? 
 
 Silently sat the Scotch merchant alone on the green 
 of his door yard, 
 
 Dimly o'erlooking Good Pastures, adjacent his own stretch- 
 ing meadows, 
 
 Dimly o'erlooking the plot — now the last resting place 
 of Ann Rutledge; 
 
 Plainly o'erlooking the more stately church yard a pace 
 from the pastures, 
 
 Which was to soon be the scene of his own earthly rest, 
 and eternal. 
 
 Silently sat the Scotch merchant and mused on the eighty- 
 odd summers 
 
 That had passed over his head, in the trend of a well- 
 rounded lifetime. 
 
 He, too, had suffered the loss of the love of his earlier 
 manhood, 
 
 He, too, had wept o'er her grave, and in weeping re- 
 membered the pleasant 
 • 93 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 Days of their happy betrothal — the woods and the hills 
 
 and the village — 
 Wherein the vision would rise of the path and the seat 
 
 by the river, 
 Where they had sat when she thoughtlessly tossed the three 
 
 leaves to the water. 
 Two leaves so hardy and rank, but the one leaf so dainty 
 
 and fragile, 
 Two leaves to float with the waves, and to ride them with 
 
 valor and vigor, 
 One leaf to sink to the depth and be seen nevermore by 
 
 a mortal. 
 Nor did the dreamer now fail to interpret this symbol 
 
 arightly. 
 
 So did the Scotch merchant weep and in time turn 
 
 away from that weeping, 
 Only to rise to a higher and nobler purpose in living; 
 Only to take up his place in the world of endeavor and 
 
 uplift, 
 Small, as the thousands and thousands who toil in the low 
 
 ways and common. 
 He, too, had stood for a cause, and suffered as only they 
 
 suffer 
 Who have the honor of giving their all to advance and 
 
 protect it. 
 Thus, when his own gallant sons marched forth in the 
 
 face of the battle, 
 So was his gift to his country supreme, and beyond com- 
 pensation. 
 He, too, had prayed for those sons, as the thousands of 
 
 fathers prayed daily, 
 
 * 94 * 
 
GENTLE ANN 
 
 That some unseen, God-sent hand might comfort, sustain 
 
 and direct them, 
 Even as some unseen hand might sustain and direct their 
 
 great leader, 
 Unto the ultimate gain that our Unity, Justice and Free- 
 dom 
 Reign in the fullness of power, and devoid of one blemish 
 
 forever, 
 Cost what it may to the peace of his soul, and his earthly 
 
 well being. 
 He, too, had heard through it all the voice of the absent 
 
 one sweetly 
 Bidding him be of good cheer, in his own sober way, and 
 
 reserving. 
 
 — Silently sat the Scotch merchant alone on the green 
 of his door yard. 
 
 Softly descended the twilight and haloed his locks, thin 
 and hoary. 
 
 Far down the field came the cheery voice of his grand- 
 daughter calling 
 
 Haply, the cows or the lambs to their folds, and the sound 
 still re-echoed 
 
 Voices of days long gone, and the scene of the river and 
 meadow, 
 
 Where he once strolled with the loved and the lost — with 
 the Gentle Ann Rutledge. 
 
 * 95 * 
 

 WM 
 
 HSMl ■:• I '