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 rather something sullen, something betokening a strong will inspired by bitter feelings. I could well imagine him leading with vindictive energy an uprising of a lower order of society against an aristocracy from whose lordly self-assertion he had suffered, and whose pride he was bent upon humiliating. Nor did he as a “child of the soil,” possess anything of that ingenuous, naïve, and lovable naturalness which never ceased to form one of the greatest charms of Lincoln's character. Johnson was by no means a man of culture. His education had been of the scantiest. Judging from his conversation, his mind moved in a narrow circle of ideas as well as of phrases. But his contact with the world had taught him certain things as to decent and correct appearance. As often as I saw him I found him clothed in the customary broadcloth of the higher politician in Washington, with immaculate linen; and I noticed also in his deportment, as far as I could observe it, an air, whether assumed or genuine, of quiet dignity. Yet I could not rid myself of the impression that beneath this staid and sober exterior there were still some wild fires burning which occasionally might burst to the surface. This impression was strengthened by a singular experience. It happened twice or three times that, when I called upon him, I was told by the attendant that the Governor was sick and could not see anybody; then, after the lapse of four or five days, he would send for me, and I would find him uncommonly natty in his attire, and generally “groomed” with especial care. He would also wave off any inquiry about his health. When I mentioned this circumstance to one of the most prominent Union men of Nashville, he smiled, and said that the Governor had “his infirmities,” but was “all right” on the whole.

My conversation with him always turned upon political subjects. He was a demonstratively fierce Union man—not