otes, "Lincoln went
crazy as a loon, and did not attend the legislature in 1841-1842,
for this reason;" or, as Herndon says, that he had to be watched
constantly. According to the record taken from the journals of the
House sent us by Mr. Thornton, and which we have had verified in
Springfield, Mr. Lincoln was in his seat in the House on that "fatal
first of January" when he is asserted to have been groping in the
shadow of madness, and he was also there on the following day. The
third of January was Sunday. On Monday, the fourth, he appears not to
have been present--at least he did not vote; but even this is by no
means conclusive evidence that he was not there. On the fifth, and on
every succeeding day until the thirteenth, he was in his seat. From
the thirteenth to the eighteenth, inclusive, he is not recorded on
any of the roll-calls, and probably was not present. But on the
nineteenth, when "John J. Hardin announced his illness to the House,"
as Mr. Herndon says (which announcement seems not to have gotten
into the journal), Lincoln was again in his place, and voted. On the
twentieth he is not recorded; but on every subsequent day, until the
close of the session on the first of March, Lincoln was in the House.
Thus, during the whole of the two months of January and February,
he was absent not more than seven days--as good a record as to
attendance, perhaps, as that made by the average member.

Mr. Thornton says further: "Mr. Lincoln boarded at William Butler's,
near to Dr. Henry's, where I boarded. The missing days, from January
13th to 19th, Mr. Lincoln spent several hours each day at Dr. Henry's;
a part of these days I remained with Mr. Lincoln. His most intimate
friends had no fears of his injuring himself. He was very sad and
melancholy, but being subject to these spells, nothing serious was
apprehended. His being watched, as stated in Herndon's book, was news
to me until I saw it there."

But while Lincoln went about his daily duties, even on the "fatal
first of January," his whole being was shrouded in gloom. He did not
pretend to conceal this from his friends. Writing to Mr. Stuart on
January 23d, he said: "I am now the most miserable man living. If what
I feel were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would
not be one cheerful face on the earth. Whether I shall ever be better
I cannot tell; I awfully forebode I shall not. To remain as I am is
impossible. I must die or be better, it appears