Lincoln Story Book, The

<h3>"THE MAN DOWN SOUTH."</h3> <p>In August, 1864, a painful absorption was noticed in the President's manner, growing more and more strained and depressed. The ancient smile was fainter when it flitted over the long-drawn features, and the eyes seemed to bury themselves out of sight in the cavernous sockets, too dry for tears. These withdrawing fits were not uncommon, but they had become frequent this summer, and at the reception he had mechanically passed the welcome and given the hand-shake. But then the abstraction became so dense that he let an old friend stand before him without a glance, much less the usual hearty greeting expected. The newcomer, alarmed, ventured to arouse him. He shook off his absence of mind, seized the hand proffered him, and, while grasping it, exclaimed as though no others were by, also staring and pained:</p> <p>"Excuse me! I was thinking--thinking of a man--down South!"</p> <p>He was thinking of Sherman--that military genius who "burned his ships and penetrated a hostile country," like Cortez, and from whom no reliable news had been received while he was investing Savannah. Lincoln had in his mind been accompanying his captain on that forlorn march--"smashing things"--to the sea. <br/> <br/> <br/></p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />