"IF to be the head of Hell is as hard as what I have to undergo here, I could find it in my heart to pity Satan himself"--so, with that latent sadness in his eyes, the harrowed Lincoln once told General Schenck. At another time, in sprightlier mood, and doubtless with a wry smile, he protested:
"I wish George Washington or some of those old patriots were here in my place so that I could have a little rest."
Leonard Volk had made a life mask of him at Chicago in April of 1860; and in the spring of 1865, at Washington, Clark Mills (who did Andrew Jackson on his prancing charger in Lafayette Square) made another. In these contrasting masks, more effectively than in photographs, may be read the toll that the war years had laid upon him. The second, as Hay points out, has the deeply cut lines "set, as if the living face, like the copy, had been in bronze; . . . the mouth is fixed like that of an archaic statue; a look as of one on whom sorrow and care had done their worst without victory is on all the features." . . .
It is the Lincoln whom Crook, on duty in the passageway, heard groaning in his sleep--the Lincoln who said to Owen Lovejoy ("the best friend I had in Congress"): "This war is eating my life out; I have a strong impression that I shall not live to see the end." In July 1864, when a visitor, noticing how worn he seemed, had remarked, "You are wearing yourself out with work," he objected: "I can't work less; but it isn't that--work never troubled me."
There had been the exposé in Baltimore, the night trip through the city--the reluctant conviction that men sought his life. He had