The Sunday Oregonian., December 27, 1908, Section Six, Page 2, Image 48

THE SUNDAY OREGOXIAX. PORTLAND, DECEMBER 27, asos.
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VJLIJI
P
ICR?
His First Tragic Love, Ending With the
Death of Beautiful Ann Rutledge; the Second, When
Mary Owens Threw Him Over;
the Third, When He Married Mary Todd.
Ida
IN THE Spring of im, when Lincoln
completed his first term in the Illinois
Legislature and returned to New
Ealem to take up his duties as postmaster
and deputy surveyor, and to. resume his
Jaw studies. New Falem held all that
was dearest in the world to him at that
moment. He loved a young; girl of that
town, and now for the first time, though
he had known her since he first came to
New Salem, was he free to tell his love.
One of the most prominent families
of the settlement In 1&S1, when Lincoln
first appeared there, was that of James
Rutledge. The head of the house was
one of the founders of New Salem, and
at that time the keeper of the village
tavern.
The third of the nine children in the
Rutledge household was a daughter.
Ann Mayes. When Lincoln first met her
she was IS years old, and as fresh as a
flower. Many of those who knew her at
that time have left tributes to her beauty
and gentleness. So fair a maid was not.
of course, without suitors. The most de
termined of those who sought her hand
was one John McNeill, a young man who
had arrived in New Salem from New
York soon after the founding of the
town. He was understood to be merely
one of the thousands who had come West
in search of fortune. That he was in
telligent. Industrious and frugal, with a
good head for business, was at once ap
parent; for he and Samuel Hill opened a
g'nrral atore and they soon doubled their
capital. In four years from his first ap'
pearance In the settlement, besides hav
ing a half-interest In the store, he owned
a large farm a few miles north of New
Salem. His neighbors believed him to
be worth about JliOOO.
John McNeill formed the acquaintance
of Ann Rutledge. then a girl of 17. It
was a case of love at first sight, and the
two soon became engaged. But Ana was
only a young girl: and it was thought
very sensible In her and very gracious
and considerate in her lover that both
acquiesced in the wishes of Ann's parents
that, for some time at least, the mar
riage be postponed.
Such was tha situation when -Lincoln :
' : - ' P. i
?A"W: -..: itW '.i'.i : Al ' . if
TJZZ. llJVCOJLrS ALWAYS JDCZAPB'O YJAS
TfI TJ?CSTI.JY:SS' OF CSBAND.
appeared in New Salem. He naturally
soon became acquainted with the girl.
She was a pupil in Mentor Graham's
school, where he frequently visited, and
rumor says that he first met her there.
However, 'that may be, it is certain that
in the latter part of 1832 he went to
board at the Rutledge tavern and ther
was thrown daily into her company,
During the next year John McNeill
became restless and discontented. He
wanted to see his people, he said, and
before the end of the year he had de
cided to go East for a visit. To secure
perfect frdom from his business while
To Ann he said that he hoped to bring
back his father and motherland to place
them on his farm. ''This Xluty done,"
was his farewell word, "you and I will
be married."
In the Spring of 1834 McNeill started
East. On the way McNeill fell ill with
chills and fever. It was late in the
Summer befor he Reached his home,
and wrote back to Ann, explaining his
silence. The long wait had been a severe
strain on the girl, and Lincoln had
watched her anxiety with softened heart.
It was to him, the New Salem post
master, that she came to inquire for
gonj-k ha cold out his tobeaeat.to. -fala.atorn. ttrt jj, A way the nroitmi.ie- Tr..iLt 1
have become the girl's confidant; and his
tender heart, which never could resist
suffering, must iiave been 'deeply touched.
After the long silence was broken, and
McNeill's first letter of explanation came,
the' cause of anxiety seemed removed;
but, strangely enough, other letters fol
lowed only at long intervals, and finally
they ceased altogether. Then it was that
the young girl told her friends a secret
which McNeill had confided to her before
leaving New Salem.
He had told her that John McNeill
was not his real name, but that it was
Jotin McNamar. Shortly before he came,
to New Salem, he explained, his father
had suffered a disastrous failure in busi
ness. He was the oldest son, and In the
hope of retrieving the lost fortune he
resolved to go West, expecting to re
turn in a few years and share his riches
with the rest' of the family. Anticipat
ing parental opposition, he ran away
from home, and,- being sure that he
could never accumulate anything with so
numerous a family to support, he- en
deavored to lose himself by a change of
name. All this Ann had believed and
not repeated; but now, worn out bv
waiting, she took the story to her
friends. With few exceptions they pro
nounced the story a fabrication and Mc
Namar an Impostor.
It was not .until ATrXVjll. pr Mryamar.
had been gone many months that Lin
coln ventured to show his love for Ann,
and then it was a long time before tho
girl would listen to his suit. Convinced
at last, however, that her former lovr
had deserted her. she yielded to Lin
coln's wishes and promised, in the Spring
of 1835. to become his wife.
But Lincoln had nothing on which to
support a wamily. As for Ann. she was
anxious to go to school another year.
It was decided that in the Autumn she
should go with her brother to Jackson
ville and spend the Winter there In an
academy. Lincoln was to devote him
self to his law studies; and the next
Spring, when she returned from school
and he was a member of the bar, they
were to be married.
A happy Spring and Summer followed,
and all would undoubtedly have gone
well if the young girl could -have dis
missed the haunting memory of her old
lover. The possibility that she had
wronged him, that he might reappear,
that he loved her still, though she now
loved another, wore upon her until she
fell ill. Gradually her condition became
hopeless: and Lincoln, who had been
shut from her, was sent for. The lov
ers passed an hour alone in an anguished
parting, and soon after, on August 25,
1835, Ann died.
Tli 'dekth f Ann Rutledge plunged
' Lincoln into the deest doom. He
was seen walking alone by the liver and
through the woods, muttering strange
things to himself. He seemed tu his
friends to be in the shadow of madness.
They kept a close watch over him; anrl
at last Bowling Green, one of the most
devoted friends Lincoln then had. took
him home to his little log cabin, half a
mile north of New Salem. Here, undr
the loving care of Green and his good
wife Nancy, Lincoln remained until he
was once more master of himself.
But though he had regained self-control,
his grief was deep and hitter. Ann
Rutledge was buried In Concord ceme
tery, a country burying-ground seven
miles northwest of New Salem. To this
lonely spot Lincoln frequently journeyed
to weep over her grave. "My heart is
buried there." he said to one of his
friends.
When McNamar returned (for Mr
Namar's story was true, and two months
after Ann Rutledge died he drove int.)
New Salem with his widowed mother
and his brothers and sisters in the "prai
rie schooner" beside him) and learned
of Ann's death, he "saw Lincoln at the
postoffiee," as he afterward said, and
"he seemed desolate and sorely dis
tressed." In later life, when Lincoln's sorrow
had become a memory, he told a friend
who questioned him: "I really and truly
loved the girl and think often of her
now." There was a pause, and then
the President added:
" "And I have loved the name of Rut
ledge to this day."
Lincoln's Judicial Love-Making.
Lincoln was thinking vaguely at the
time of his removal to Springfield
(1837). that perhaps he best marry a
Miss Mary Owens, with whom he had
become Intimately acquainted in 183S
in New Salem; but Springfield society
and the Impossibility of his supporting
a wife in it. discouraged him.
"I am often thinking of what we
said about your coming to live in
Springfield," he wrote her in May. "I
am afraid you would not be satisfied.
There is a sreat deal of flourishing
ahout in carriages here, which it would
he your doom to see without sharing
it. You would have to be poor, with
out the means of hiding your poverty.
Do you believe you could bear that
patiently? Whatever woman may cast
her lot with mine, should any ever do
so, it is my intention to do all In my
power to iimke her happy and content
ed: and there is nothing I can imagine
that would make me more unhappy
than to fail in the effort. I know I
should be much happier with you than
the way I am, provided I saw no slstns
of discontent in you. What you have
said to me may have been In the way
of jest, or T. may have misunderstood
it. If so, then let it he forgotten: if
otherwise, I much wish you would
hink seriously before you decide.
What I have said I will most positively
abide by, provided you wish it. Aly
opinion is that you had better not do
it. You have not hcVn accustomed to
hardship, and It may he more severe
than you now imagine. I know you
are capable of thinking correctly on
any subject, and if you deliberate
maturely upon this before you dechl
then 1 am willing to abide your deci
sion." This decidedly dispassionate view of
their relation seems not to have
brought any decision from Miss Owens,
for three months later Mr. Lincoln
wrote -her an equally judicial letter,
telling her that he could not think of
her "with entire Indifference," that lie
In all cases wanted to do righl and
"most particularly so in all cases with
women." and summing up his position
as follows:
"What I do wish is thai our further
acquaintance shall depend upon your
self. If such further acquaintance
would contribute nothing to your hap
piness. I am sure It would not to mine.
If you feel yourself in any degree
hound to me, i am now willing to re
lease you. provided you wish it: while,
on tho other hand. I am willing and
even anxious to bind you faster, if 1
ran be convinced that it will In any
considerable degree add to your hap
piness. This, indeed, is the whole ques
tion with me. Nothing would make me'
more miserable than to believe you
miserable nothing more happy than
to know you were' so."
Miss Owens had enough discernment
to recognize the disinterestedness of
IContinucd oo Fage 5..