Corvallis gazette., February 26, 1907, Image 4

0:
incoln's Love
Affairs
Br
Ward Hill Lamon,
Lincoln's Friend and Bodyguard
f
CHAPTER L
Abraham Lincoln's First and Fondest
Love.
JAMES RUTLEDGE was the
founder of New Salem, the little
town in Illinois to which Abra
ham Lincoln removed at the age
of twenty-three, and the owner in part
of the famous mill on the Sangamon,
lie was born in South Carolina and
was of the illustrious Rutledge family
of that state. From South Carolina he
emigrated to Kentucky and thence to
Illinois. In 1823 he settled at New Sa
lem, built the mill and laid out the vil
lage In conjunction with Mr. Cameron,
a retired uiinlsteT- of 'the CumOerland
Presbyterians. Mr. Rutledge's charac
ter seems to have been pure and high,
for wherever his name occurs in the
voluminous records before us in the
long talks and the numerous epistles
of his neighbors it is almost Invaria
bly coupled with some expression of
genuine esteem and respect.
At one time and alDng with his other
business, which appears to have been
extensive and various, Mr. Rutledge
kept the tavern, the small house with
four rooms on the main street of New
Salem, just opposite Lincoln's grocery.
There Mr. Lincoln came to board late
In 1832 or early in 1833. The family
consisted of the father, mother and
nine children, three of them born in
Kentucky and six in Illinois, three
grown up aud the rest quite young.
Ann, the principal subject of this chap
ter, was the third child. She was born
on the 7th of January, 1S13, and was
aboia nineteen years of age when Mr.
Lincoln came to live in the house.
When Ann was a little maiden just
turned of seventeen and still attending
the school of that redoubtable peda
gogue Minter Graham, there came to
New Salem a youug gentleman of sin
gular enterprise, tact and capacity for
business. He was the pioneer of New
Salem as n business point and built
the first storehouse there at the extrav
agant cost of $15. lie took boarding
with Mr. Rutledge's friend and part
ner, James Cameron, and gave out his
name as John McNeil. He came to
New Salem with no other capital than
good sense and an active and plucky
spirit, but somehow fortune smiled In
discriminately on all his endeavors,
and very soon as early as the latter
part of 1832 he found himself a well
to do and prosperous man, owning a
snug farm seven miles north of New
Salem and a half Interest in the largest
store of the place. This latter property
his partner, Samuel Hill, bought from
him at a good round sum, for McNeil
now announced his intention of being
absent for a brief period and his pur
pose was such that he might need all
his available capital.
In the meantime the partners, Hill
and McNeil, had both fallen In love
with Ann Rutledge, and both courted
her with devoted assiduity. But the
contest had long since been decided In
favor of McNeil, and Ann loved him
with all her susceptible and sensitive
heart. When the time drew near for
McNeil to depart, he confided to Ann a
strange story and, in the eyes of a per
son less fond, a very startling story.
His name was ot John McNeil at all,
but John McNamar. His family was a
highly respectable one in the state of
New York, but a few yenrs before his
father had failed in business and there
was great distress at home. John then
conceived the romantic plan of running
away and at some undefined place In
the far west making a sudden fortune
with which to retrieve the family dis
aster. He fled accordingly, changed
his name to avoid the pursuit of his
father, found his way to New Salem
and she knew the rest. He was now
able to perform that great act of filial
piety which he set out to accomplish,
would return at once to the relief of
his parents and In all human probabil
ity bring them back with him to his
new home in Illinois. At all events,
she might look for his return as speed
ily as the journey could be made with
ordinary diligence, and thenceforward
there should be no more partings be
tween him and his fair Ann. She be
lieved this tale because she loved the
man that told it, and she would have
believed it all the same if it had been
ten times as Incredible. A wise man
would have rejected It with scorn, but
the girl's Instinct was a better guide,
aud McNamar proved to be all that he
said he was, although poor Ann never
saw the proof which others got of It.
! Her Lover Rides Away.
' McNamar rode away on old Charley,
an antiquated steed that had seen hard
usage in the Black Hawk war. Char
ley was slow, stumbled dreadfully and
caused his rider much annoyance and
some hard swearing. On this provok
ing animal McNamar jogged through
the long journey from New Salem to
New York and arrived there after
many delays only to find that his bro
ken and dispirited father was fast
sinking Into the grove. After all his
efforts he was too late. The father
could never' enjoy the prosperity which
the long absent and long silent son
Lad brought him. McNamar wrote to
Ann that there was sickness In the
family and he could not return at the
time appointed. Then there -were other
and still other postponements. "Cir
And His Eeurly
Experiences a.s
a. La.wma.ker
cumsfaLlIres"over which he had no con
trol" prevented his departure from
time to time until years had rolled
away and Ann's heart had grown sick
with hope deferred. She never quite
gave him up, but continued to expect
him until death terminated her melan
choly watch. His inexplicable delay,
however, the infrequency of his letters
and their unsatisfactory character
these and something else had broken
her attachment, and toward the last
she waited for him only to ask a re
lease from her engagement and to say
that she preferred another and a more
urgent suitor. But without his knowl
edge and formal renunciation of his
claim upon her she did not like to mar
ry, and in obedience to this refinement
of honor she postponed her union with
the more pressing lover until Aug. 25,
1S35, when, as many persons believe,
she died of a broken heart.
Lincoln's friend Short was In some
way related to the Rutledges, and for
awhile Lincoln visited Ann two or
three times a week at his house. Ac
cording to him, "Miss Rutledge was a
good looking, smart, lively girl, a good
housekeeper, with a moderate educa
tion and without any of the so called
accomplishments." L. M. Greene, who
knew her well, talks about her as "a
beautiful and very amiable joung wo
man," and Nult Greene is even more
enthusiastic. "This young lady," In
the language of the latter gentleman,
"was a woman of exquisite. eauty,
but her intellect was quick, sharp,
deep and philosophic as well as bril
liant. She had as gentle and kind a
heart as an angel, full of love, kindli
ness and sympathy. She was beloved
by everybody, and everybody respect
ed and loved her, so sweet and angelic
was she. Her character was more
than good; it was positively noted
throughout the county. She was a
woman worthy of Lincoln's love." Mc
Namar, her unfortunate lover, says,
"Miss Ann was a gentle, amiable maid
en, without any of the airs of your city
belles, but winsome and comely withal,
a blond in complexion, with golden
hair, cherry red lips and bonny blue
eyes." Even the women of the neigh
borhood united with the men to praise
the name of this beautiful but unhap
py girl. Mrs. Hardin Bale "knew her
well. She had auburn hair, blue eyes,
fair complexion, was a slim, pretty,
kind, tender, good hearted woman, in
height about five feet three inches and
weighed about 120 pounds. She was
beloved by all who knew her. McNa
mar, Hill and Lincoln all courted her
near the same time. She died as it
were of grief. Miss Rutledge was
beautiful." Such was Ann Rutledge,
the girl in whose grave, Mr. Lincoln
said, "my heart lies buried."
When Mr. Lincoln first saw Ann, she
was probably the most refined woman
with whom he had then ever spoken
GRAVE OF ANN RUTLEDGE, PETERSBURG,
ILL.
a modest, delicate creature, fascinating
by reason of the mere contrast with
the rude people by whom they were
both surrounded. She had a secret,
too, and a sorrow, the unexplained and
painful absence of McNamar, which
no doubt made her all the more inter
esting to him whose spirit was often
even more melancholy than her own.
It would be hard to trace the growth
of such an attachment at a time and
place so distant, but that It actually
grew and became an Intense and mu
tual passion the evidence before ns Is
painfully abundant.
CHAPTER II.
Lincoln 'Wins During First Lover's Long
Abser-
MVL. LINCOLN was always wel
come at the little tavern, at
Short s, on the Sand Ridge,
or -at the farm, half a mile
from Short's, where the Rutledges
finally abode. Ann's father was his
devoted friend, and the mother he call
ed affectionately "Aunt Polly." It is
probable that the family looked upon
McNamar's delay with more suspicion
than Ann did herself. At all events
all her adult relatives encouraged the
suit which Lincoln early began to
press, and as time, absence and appar
ent neglect gradually told against Mc
Namar she listened to him with aug
menting interest until, in 1S35, we find
them formally and solemnly betrothed.
Ann now waited only for the return of
McNamar to marry Lincoln. David
Rutledge urged her to marry imme
diately without regard to anything but
cor own happiness, but she said she
could not consent to It until McNamar
came back and released her from, her
pledge. At length, however, as Mc
Namar's reappearance became more
and more hopeless, she took a different
view of it and then thought she would
become Abe's wife as soon as he found
the means of a decent livelihood. "Ann
told me once," says James M. In a let
ler to R. B. Rutledge, In coming from
camp meeting on Rock creek, "that en
gagements made too far ahead some
times failed, that one had failed (mean
ing her engagement with McNamar),
and gave me to understand that as
soon as certain studies were completed
she and Lincoln 'would be married."
In the summer of 1835 Ann showed
unmistakable symptoms of failing
health, attributable, as most of the
neighborhood believed, to the distress
ing attitude she felt bound to maintain
between her two loveis. On the 25th
of August iu that year she died of
what the doctors chose to call "brain
fever." In a letter to Mr. Herndon her
brother says: "You suggest that the
probable cause of Ann's sickness was
her conflicts, emotions, etc As to this
I cannot say. I, however, have my
own private convictions. The charac
ter of her sickness was brain fever." A
few days before her death Lincoln was
summoned to her bedside. What hap
pened in that solemn conference was
known only to him and the dying girl
But when he left her and stopped at
the house of John Jones on his way
home Jones saw signs of the most ter
rible distress in his face and his con
duct. When Ann actually died and
was buried, his grief became frantic.
He lost all self control, even the con
sciousness of identity, and every friend
he had in New Salem pronounced him
Insane, mad, crazy. "He was watched
with especial vigilance," as William
Green tells us, "during storms, fogs,
damp, gloomy weather, for fear of an
accident." At such times he raved pit
eously, declaring, among other wild
expressions of his woe, "I can never be
reconciled to have the snow, rains and
storms to beat upon her grave!"
Lincoln Practically Insane.
About three-quarters of a mile below
New Salem, at the foot of the main
bluff and in a hollow between two lat
eral bluffs, stood the house of Bowlin
Greene, built of logs and weather
boarded. Thither the friends of Lin
coln, who apprehended a total abdica
tion of reason, determined to transport
him, partly for the benefit of a mere
change- of scene and partly to keep
him within constant reach of hisjjear
and noble friend Bowlin Greene. Dur
ing this period of his darkened and
wavering intellect, when "accidents"
were momentarily expected, it was dis
covered that Bowlin Greene possessed
a power to persuade and guide him
proportioned to the affection that had
subsisted between them in former and
better times. Bowlin Greene came for
him, but Lincoln was cunning and ob
stinate. It required the most artful
practices of a general conspiracy of all
his friends to "disarm his suspicions"
and Induce him to go and stay with his
most anxious and devoted friend. But
at last they succeeded, and Lincoln
remained down under the bluff for two
or three weeks, the object of undis
guised solicitude and of the strictest
surveillance. At the end of that time
his mind seemed to be restored, and It
was thought safe to let him go back
to his old haunts to the study of law,
to the writing of legal papers for his
neighbors, to pettifogging before the
justice of the peace and perhaps to a
little surveying. But Mr. Lincoln was
never precisely the same man again.
At the time of his release he was thin,
haggard and careworn, like one risen
from the verge of the grave. He had
always been subject to fits of great
mental depression, but after this they
were more frequent and alarming. It
was then that he began to repeat, with
a feeling which seemed to inspire ev
ery listener with awe and to carry him
to the fresh grave of Ann at every one
of his solemn periods, the lines enti
tled "Immortality; or, Oh, Why Should
the Spirit of Mortal Be Proud f" None
heard him but knew that he selected
these curiously empty yet wonderfully
sad, impressive lines to celebrate a
grief which lay with continual heavi
ness on his heart, but to which he
could not with becoming delicacy di
rectly allude. He muttered them aa he
rambled through the woods or walked
by the roaring Sangamon. He was
heard to murmur them to himself as
J slinned lntojthe.vlllage at nightfall.
artefa lonrg-waiK or srx miles ana an
evening visit to the Concord graveyard,
and he would suddenly break out with
them in little social assemblies after
noticeable periods of silent gloom.
They came unbidden to his lips, while
the air of affliction In face and gesture,
the moving tones and touching modu
lations of his voice, made it evident
that every syllable of the recitation
was meant to commemorate the mourn
ful fate of Ann. The poem Is now his.
The name of the obscure author Is for
gotten, and his work Is lmperlshably
associated with the memory of a great
man and interwoven with the history
of his greatest sorrow. Mr. Lincoln's
adoption of it has saved It from merit
ed oblivion and translated It from the
"Poet's Corner" of the country news
paper to a place in the story of his own
life, a story that will continue to be
written or written about as long as our
language exists. !
Many years afterward, when Mr.
Lincoln, the best lawyer of his section,
with one exception, traveled the cir
cuit with the court and a crowd of bis
Jolly brethren, he always rose early.
before any one else was stirring, and.
raking together a few glowing coals on
the hearth, he would sit looking Into
them, musing and talking with him
self, for hours together. One morning
In the year of bis nomination hie com-
paaiens found him lo this attitude,
when "Utr. Lincoln repeated aloud and
at length the poem 'Immortality, " in
dicating his preference for the two
last stanzas, but insisting that the en
tire composition "sounded to him as
much like true poetry as anything that
he had ever heard."
In Carpenter's "Anecdotes and Rem
iniscences of President Lincoln" occurs
the following passage:
"The evening of March 22, 1864, was
a most Interesting one to me. I was
with the president alone in his office
for several hours. Busy with pen and
papers when I went in, he presently
threw them aside and commenced talk
ing to me of Shakespeare, of whom he
was very fond. Little 'Tad, his son,
coming in, he sent him to the library
for a copy of the plays and then read
to me several of his favorite passages.
Relapsing into a sadder strain, he laid
the book aside and, leaning back in his
chair, said:
" There Is a poem which has been a
great favorite with me for years, which
LINCOLN AT THE GRAVE OF ANN BT7T
LEDGE. was first shown to me when a young
man by a friend and which I after
ward saw and cut from a newspaper
and learned by heart. I would,' he
continued, 'give a great deal to know
who wrote it, but I have never been
able to ascertain.'
Lincoln's Favorite Poem.
"Then, half closing his eyes, he re
peated the verses to me:
"Oh, why should the spirit of. mortal be
proud?
Like a swift fleeting; meteor, a fast flying
cloud,
A flash of the lightning, a break of the
wave.
He passeth from life to his rest in the
grave.
"The leaves of the oak and the willow
shall fade.
Be scattered around and together he laid.
And the young and the old and the low
and the high
Shall molder to dust and together shall
lie.
"The Infant a mother attended and loved;
The mother that Infant's affection who
proved.
The husband that mother and infant who
blest
Bach, all, are away to their dwellings of
rest.
t"The maid on whose cheek, on whose
brow, in whose eye.
Shone beauty and pleasure, her triumphs
are by.
And the memory of those who loved her
and praised
Are alike from the minds of the living
erased. -
"The hand of the king that the scepter
hath borne.
The brow of the priest "that the miter
hath worn.
The eye of the sage and the heart of the
brave,
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the
grave.
"The peasant whose lot was to sow and
to reap,
The herdsman who climbed with his goats
up. the steep.
The beggar who wandered In search of
his bread,
Have faded away like the grass that we
tread.
"The saint who enjoyed the communion
of heaven.
The sinner who dared to remain unfor
given. The wise and the foolish, the guilty and
Just,
Have quietly mingled their bones In the
du?-l
"So the multitude goes, like the flower or
the weed
Thet withers away to let others succeed;
So the multitude comes, even those we
behold, -
Te repeat every tale that has often been
told.
"For we are the same our fathers have
been;
We see the same sights our fathers have
seen;
We drink the same stream, we view the
same sun
And run the same course our fathers have
run.
"The thoughs we are thinking our fathers
would think;
From the death we are shrinking our fa
thers would shrink;
To the life we are clinging they also
would cling.
But It speeds from us all like a bird on
the wing.
"They loved, but the story we cannot un
fold: They scorned, but the heart of the
haughty is cold;
They grieved, but no wail from their
slumber will come;
They joyed, but the tongue of their glad
ness Is dumb.
They died aye; they died. We things
that are now.
That walk on the turf that Ilea over their
brow
And make In their dwellings a transient
abode
Bleat the things that they met on their
pucrtaoasa road.
"Tea: hops and despondency, pleasure and
and pain.
Are mingled , together in sunshine and
rain.
And the smile and the tear, the song and
the dirge.
Still follow each other like surge upon
surge.
" Tls the wink of an eye, 'tis the draft ot
A" breath.
From the blossom of health to the pale
ness of death.
From the gilded saloon to the bier and
the shroud ;
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal bs
proud?"
CHAPTER III.
Abe Always True to the Memory ol
Ann.
T was only a year or two after the
death of Ann Rutledge that Mr.
Lincoln told Robert L. Wilson, a
distinguished colleague in the leg
islature, parts of whose letter will be
printed in another place, that although
"he appeared to enjoy life rapturous
ly" It was a mistake; that when alone,
he was so overcome by mental depres
sion that he never dared to carry a
pocket knife." And during all Mr.
Wilson's extended acquaintance with
him he never did own a knife, notwith
standing he was inordinately fond of
whittling.
Mr. Herndon says: "He never ad
dressed another woman. In my opin
ion, 'Yours affectionately,' and gener
ally and characteristically abstained
from the use of the word 'love.' That
word cannot be found more than a half
dozen times, If that often; in all his
letters and speeches since that time. I
have seen some of his letters to other
ladies, but he 'never says 'love.' He
never ended his letters with 'Yours af
fectionately,' but signed his name,
'Your friend, A. Lincoln.''
After Mr. Lincoln's election to the
presidency he one day met an old
friend, Isaac Cogdale, who had known
him Intimately in the better days of
the Rutledges at New Salem. "Ike,"
said he, "call at my office at the state
house about an hour by sundown. The
company will then all be gone."
Cogdale went according to request,
"and sure enough," as he expressed It,
"the company dropped off one by one,
including Lincoln's clerk."
" 'I want to inquire about old times
and old acquaintances, began Mr. Lin
coln. 'When we lived in Salem there
were the Greenes. Potters, Armstrongs
and Rutledges. These folks have got
scattered all over the world. Some,
are dead. Where are the Rutledges,
Greenes, etc.?'
"After we had spoken over old
times," continues Cogdale "parsons,
circumstances in which he showed a
wonderful memory, I then dared to ask
him this question:
" 'May I now, in turn, ask you one
question, Lincoln?'
" 'Assuredly. I will answer your
question, if a fair one, with all my
heart.
" 'Well, Abe, is It true that you fell
in love and courted Ann Rutledge?
" 'It is true true! Indeed I did. I
have loved the name of Rutledge to
this day. I have kept my mind on
their movements ever since and love
them dearly.'
" 'Abe, is it true,' " still urged Cog
dale, " 'that you ran a little wild about
the matter?"
" 'I did really. I ran off the track.
It was tny first. I loved the woman
dearly. She was a handsome girl;
would have made a good, loving wife;
was natural and quite intellectual,
though not highly educated. I did hon
estly and truly love the girl and think
often often of her now.' "
A few weeks after the burial of Ann
McNamar returned to New Salem. He
saw Lincoln at the postoffice and was
'truck with the deplorable change In
Sis appearance. A short time after
ward Lincoln wrote him a deed, which
he still has and prizes highly, in mem
ory of his great friend and rival. His
father was at last dead, but he brought
back with him his mother and her fam
ily. In December of the same year his
mother died and was buried in the
same graveyard with Ann. During his
absence Colonel Rutledge had occupied
his farm, and there Ann died, but "the
Rutledge farm" proper adjoined this
one to the south. "Some of Mr. Lin
coln's corners as a surveyor are still
visible on lines traced by him on both
farms."
On Sunday, the 14th day of October,
1366. William H. Herndon knocked at
the door of John McNamar at his resi
dence, but a few feet distant Trom the
spot where Ann Rutledge breathed her
last. After some preliminaries not
necessary to be related Mr. Herndon
says: "I asked him the question:
'"Did you know, .Miss Rutjedee? If
so, -Trscre'cia stte" d6T
"He sat by his open window, looking
westerly, and, pulling me closer to
himself, looked through the window
and said: There, by that' choking up
with emotion, pointing his long fore
finger, nervous and trembling, to the
spot 'there, by that currant bush, she
died. The old house In which she and
her father died is gone.'
Grave of Ann Rutledge.
"After further conversation, leaving
the sadness to momentarily pass away,
I asked this additional question:
" 'Where was she buried?
" 'In Concord burying ground, one
mile southeast of this place.' "
Mr. Herndon sought the grave. "S.
C. Berry," says he, "James Short (the
gentleman who purchased in Mr. Lin
coln's compass and chain in 1834 un
3er an execution against Lincoln or
Lincoln & Berry and gratuitously gave
them back to Mr. Lincoln), James
Miles and myself were together.
"T asked Mr. Berry if he knew where
Miss Rutledge was buried the place
and exact surroundings. He replied:
T do. The grave of Miss Rutledge lies
Just vorth of her brother's, David Rut
ledge, a young lawyer of great prom
ise, who died in 1842.'
The cemetery contains but an acre
of ground In a beautiful and secluded
situation. A thin skirt of timber Ilea,
on the east, commencing at the fence)
of the cemetery. The ribbon of tim-,
ber, some fifty yards wide, bides the,
sun's early rise. At 9 o'clock the suu
. pours all his rays into thf cemetery.,
I An extensive prairie lies west, the for-:
est north, a field on the east and tlm
! ber and prairie on the south. In thia
. lonely ground lie the Berrys, the Rut-.
ledges, the Clarys, the Armstrongs and
the Joneses, old and respected citizens,
pioneers of an early day. I write, or.
rather, did write, the original draft of
this description in the Immediate pres
ence of the ashes of Miss Ann Rut
ledge, the beautiful and tender dead.
The village of the dead is a sad, sol
emn place. Its very presence imposes
truth on the mind of the living writer,"
Ann Rutledge lies buried north of her
brother and rests sweetly on his left
arm, angels to guard her. The ceme
tery Is fast filling with the .hazel and
the dead." In 1S00 the remains of
Miss Rutledge were removed to Oak
woods cemetery, Petersburg, 111., and
the new grave was marked by a plain
granite bowlder. Editor. ,
A lecture delivered by William H.
Herndon at Springfield in 1S66 con
tained the main outline, without the
minuter details, of the story here re
lated. It was spoken, printed and cir
culated without contradiction from any
quarter. It was sent t3 the Rutledges,
McNeeleys, Greenes, Shorts and many
other of the old residents of New Sa
lem and Petersburg, with particular
requests that they should correct any
error they might find in it. It was pro
nounced lay them all truthful and ac
curate, but their replies, together with
a mass of additional evidence, have
been carefully collated with the lec
ture, and the result Is the present nar
rative. The story of Ann Rutledge,
Lincoln and McNamar as told here Is
as well proved as the fact of Mr. Lin
coln's election to the presidency.
rUADTCD r
Mary Owens, Sweetheart No. " 2, la
i . i i
introduced.
HREE-QUARTERS of a mile,
or nearly so, north of Bowlin
Greene's and on the summit of
a hill stood the house of Ben
nett Able, a small frame building 13
by 20 feet. Able and his wife were
warm friends of Mr. Lincoln, and
many of his rambles through the sur
rounding country, reading and talking
to himself, terminated at their door,
where he always found the latchstring
on the outside and a hearty welcome
within. In October, 1S33, Mr. Lincoln
met there Miss Mary Owens, a sister
of Mrs. Able, and, as" we shall present
ly learn from his own words, admired
her, although not extravagantly. She
T 1 1 A. JT 1 . ... 1 4.1
rcuiuiiieu uul iuul w eeis uuu uieu
went back to her home in Kentucky.
Miss Owens' mother being dead, her
father married again, and Miss Owens,
for good reasons of her own, thought
she would rather live with her sister
than with her stepmother. According
ly, in the fall of 1836, she reappeared
at Abie's, passing through New Salem
on the day of the presidential election,
where the men standing about tho
polls stared and wondered nt her
"beauty." Twenty-eight or twenty
nine years of age, "she was," in the
language of Mr. L. M. Greene, "tall
and portly, weighed about 120 pounds
and had large blue eyes, with the fin
est trimmings I ever saw. She was
jovial, social, loved wit and humor,
MARY OWENS.
had a liberal English education and
was considered wealthy. Bill," con
tinues our excellent friend, "I am get
ting old; have seen too much trouble to
give a lifelike picture of this woman.
I won't try It. None of the poets or
romance writers has ever given to us a
picture of a heroine so beautiful as a
gwjs te3cription',yi "XrTs's Owens in 1836
would be."
Mrs. Hardin Bale, a cousin to Miss
Owens, says "she was blue eyed, dark
haired, handsome (not pretty), was
rather large and tall, handsome, truly
handsome, matronly looking, over or
dinary size in height and weight Miss
Owens was handsome that is to say,
noble looking, matronly seeming."
Respecting her age and looks. Miss
Owens herself makes the following
note Aug. 6, 1866:
"Born In the year eight; fair skin,
deep blue eyes, with dark curling hair;
height five feet five Inches, weighing
about 150 pounds."
Johnson G. Greene Is Miss Owens'
cousin, and while on a visit to her In
1866 he contrived to get her version of
the Lincoln courtship at great length.'
It does not vary in any material part
from the account currently received in
the neighborhood and given by various
persons, whose oral or written testi
mony is preserved in Mr. Herndon's
collection of manuscripts. J. G. Greeno
described her In terms about the same
as those used by Mrs. Bale, adding
that "she was a nervous and muscular
woman," very "intellectual," "the
most intellectual woman he ever saw.
"with a forehead massive and angular.
square, prominent and broad." J