ly. When Lincoln's turn came he
could see that Father Brewster was exceedingly anxious as to the
outcome. Lincoln arose, let out all the joints in his long body, slowly
removed his overcoat and laid it across Mr. Brewster's knees. "Father
Brewster," he said, "will you hold my overcoat _while I stone Stephen?_"
Everybody shouted and cheered, and even Douglas joined in the laugh at
his own expense.

Beneath the humors and excitements of the campaign, the prevailing tone
of Lincoln's thought was deeply serious and reflective. Toward the
close, when indications pointed to his defeat for the Senate, he seemed
somewhat depressed, and occasionally his old habitual melancholy would
steal over him and impart to his words a touching pathos. On such an
occasion, in one of the smaller cities of Illinois, Douglas, having the
first speech, made an unusually brilliant effort. He carried the crowd
with him; and when Lincoln rose to reply, it was evident that he felt
his disadvantage--felt, too, that do what he would final defeat was
probable. He made a good speech, but not one of his best. Concluding his
argument, he stopped and stood silent for a moment, looking around upon
the throng of half-indifferent, half-friendly faces before him, with
those deep-sunken weary eyes that always seemed full of unshed tears.
Folding his hands, as if they too were tired of the hopeless fight, he
said, in his peculiar monotone: "My friends, it makes little
difference, very little difference, whether Judge Douglas or myself is
elected to the United States Senate; but the great issue which we have
submitted to you to-day is far above and beyond any personal interests
or the political fortunes of any man. And, my friends, that issue will
live and breathe and burn when the poor, feeble, stammering tongues of
Judge Douglas and myself are silent in the grave." The crowd swayed as
if smitten by a mighty wind. The simple words, and the manner in which
they were spoken, touched every heart to the core.

Lincoln spoke in all about fifty times during the campaign. At its
close, says Mr. Arnold, "both Douglas and Lincoln visited Chicago.
Douglas was so hoarse that he could hardly articulate, and it was
painful to hear him attempt to speak. Lincoln's voice was clear and
vigorous, and he really seemed in better tone than usual. His dark
complexion was bronzed by the prairie sun and winds; his eye was clear,
his step firm, and he looked like a trained athlete, read