The Secret History of Mrs. Lincoln's New York Wardrobe

In March, 1867, Mrs. Lincoln wrote to me from Chicago that, as her income was insufficient to meet her expenses, she would be obliged to give up her house in the city, and return to boarding. She said that she had struggled long enough to keep up appearances, and that the mask must be thrown aside. "I have not the means," she wrote, "to meet the expenses of even a first-class boarding-house, and must sell out and secure cheap rooms at some place in the country. It will not be startling news to you, my dear Lizzie, to learn that I must sell a portion of my wardrobe to add to my resources, so as to enable me to live decently, for you remember what I told you in Washington, as well as what you understood before you left me here in Chicago. I cannot live on $1,700 a year, and as I have many costly things which I shall never wear, I might as well turn them into money, and thus add to my income, and make my circumstances easier. It is humiliating to be placed in such a position, but, as I am in the position, I must extricate myself as best I can. Now, Lizzie, I want to ask a favor of you. It is imperative that I should do something for my relief, and I want you to meet me in New York, between the 30th of August and the 5th of September next, to assist me in disposing of a portion of my wardrobe."

In March 1867, Mrs. Lincoln wrote to me from Chicago. Her income was not enough to cover her expenses, so she would have to give up her house and return to boarding. She said she had struggled long enough to keep up appearances. Now she had to throw off the mask. "I do not have enough money to cover the expenses of even a first-class boardinghouse," she wrote. "I must sell my things and find cheap rooms somewhere in the country. My dear Lizzie, it will not surprise you to learn that I must sell some of my clothes. I need the money so I can live decently. You remember what I told you in Washington, and what you understood before you left me here in Chicago. I cannot live on $1,700 a year. I have many expensive things I will never wear, so I might as well sell them. The money would add to my income and make my circumstances easier. It is humiliating to be in this position, but I must get out of it as best I can. Now, Lizzie, I want to ask you a favor. I must do something to relieve my situation. I want you to meet me in New York between August 30 and September 5, to help me sell some of my clothes."

I knew that Mrs. Lincoln's income was small, and also knew that she had many valuable dresses, which could be of no value to her, packed away in boxes and trunks. I was confident that she would never wear the dresses again, and thought that, since her need was urgent, it would be well enough to dispose of them quietly, and believed that New York was the best place to transact a delicate business of the kind. She was the wife of Abraham Lincoln, the man who had done so much for my race, and I could refuse to do nothing for her, calculated to advance her interests. I consented to render Mrs. Lincoln all the assistance in my power, and many letters passed between us in regard to the best way to proceed. It was finally arranged that I should meet her in New York about the middle of September. While thinking over this question, I remembered an incident of the White House. When we were packing up to leave Washington for Chicago, she said to me, one morning:

I knew that Mrs. Lincoln had a small income. I also knew that she had many valuable dresses packed away in boxes and trunks. They were of no use to her, and I was sure she would never wear them again. Since her need was urgent, I thought it would be best to sell the dresses quietly. I believed New York was the best place to handle such a delicate matter. She was the wife of Abraham Lincoln, the man who had done so much for my race. I could not refuse to do anything that might help her. I agreed to give Mrs. Lincoln all the help I could, and we exchanged many letters about how best to proceed. We finally arranged to meet in New York around the middle of September. As I considered the matter, I remembered something that had happened at the White House. One morning, while we were packing to leave Washington for Chicago, she said to me:

"Lizzie, I may see the day when I shall be obliged to sell a portion of my wardrobe. If Congress does not do something for me, then my dresses some day may have to go to bring food into my mouth, and the mouths of my children."

"Lizzie, I may someday have to sell some of my clothes. If Congress does not do something for me, I may have to sell my dresses to feed myself and my children."

I also remembered of Mrs. L. having said to me at different times, in the years of 1863 and '4, that her expensive dresses might prove of great assistance to her some day.

I also remembered that Mrs. L. had told me several times in 1863 and 1864 that her expensive dresses might help her greatly someday.

"In what way, Mrs. Lincoln? I do not understand," I ejaculated, the first time she made the remark to me.

“What do you mean, Mrs. Lincoln? I don’t understand,” I exclaimed the first time she said that to me.

"Very simple to understand. Mr. Lincoln is so generous that he will not save anything from his salary, and I expect that we will leave the White House poorer than when we came into it; and should such be the case, I will have no further need for an expensive wardrobe, and it will be policy to sell it off."

“It is very simple to understand. Mr. Lincoln is so generous that he will not save any of his salary. I expect we will leave the White House poorer than when we came. If that happens, I will no longer need an expensive wardrobe, and it would be wise to sell it.”

I thought at the time that Mrs. Lincoln was borrowing trouble from the future, and little dreamed that the event which she so dimly foreshadowed would ever come to pass.

At the time, I thought Mrs. Lincoln was worrying needlessly about the future. I never imagined that the event she had vaguely foreseen would actually happen.

I closed my business about the 10th of September, and made every arrangement to leave Washington on the mission proposed. On the 15th of September I received a letter from Mrs. Lincoln, postmarked Chicago, saying that she should leave the city so as to reach New York on the night of the 17th, and directing me to precede her to the metropolis, and secure rooms for her at the St. Denis Hotel in the name of Mrs. Clarke, as her visit was to be incog. The contents of the letter were startling to me. I had never heard of the St. Denis, and therefore presumed that it could not be a first-class house. And I could not understand why Mrs. Lincoln should travel, without protection, under an assumed name. I knew that it would be impossible for me to engage rooms at a strange hotel for a person whom the proprietors knew nothing about. I could not write to Mrs. Lincoln, since she would be on the road to New York before a letter could possibly reach Chicago. I could not telegraph her, for the business was of too delicate a character to be trusted to the wires that would whisper the secret to every curious operator along the line. In my embarrassment, I caught at a slender thread of hope, and tried to derive consolation from it. I knew Mrs. Lincoln to be indecisive about some things, and I hoped that she might change her mind in regard to the strange programme proposed, and at the last moment despatch me to this effect. The 16th, and then the 17th of September passed, and no despatch reached me, so on the 18th I made all haste to take the train for New York. After an anxious ride, I reached the city in the evening, and when I stood alone in the streets of the great metropolis, my heart sank within me. I was in an embarrassing situation, and scarcely knew how to act. I did not know where the St. Denis Hotel was, and was not certain that I should find Mrs. Lincoln there after I should go to it. I walked up to Broadway, and got into a stage going up town, with the intention of keeping a close look-out for the hotel in question. A kind-looking gentleman occupied the seat next to me, and I ventured to inquire of him:

I closed my business around September 10 and made all the arrangements to leave Washington on the proposed mission. On September 15, I received a letter from Mrs. Lincoln, postmarked Chicago. She said she would leave the city in time to reach New York on the night of the 17th. She directed me to go to New York ahead of her and secure rooms at the St. Denis Hotel. I was to book them under the name Mrs. Clarke, since her visit was to be incognito. The letter startled me. I had never heard of the St. Denis, so I assumed it could not be a first-class hotel. And I could not understand why Mrs. Lincoln would travel without protection under an assumed name. I knew it would be impossible to book rooms at an unfamiliar hotel for someone the owners knew nothing about. I could not write to Mrs. Lincoln. She would be on the road to New York before a letter could possibly reach Chicago. I could not telegraph her, either. The business was too delicate to trust to the wires, which would whisper the secret to every curious operator along the line. In my difficulty, I grasped at a slender thread of hope and tried to find comfort in it. I knew Mrs. Lincoln could be indecisive about some things. I hoped she might change her mind about the strange plan and send me a message at the last moment. September 16 passed, and then the 17th, but no message reached me. So on the 18th, I hurried to take the train to New York. After an anxious journey, I reached the city that evening. My heart sank as I stood alone in the streets of the great city. I was in a difficult situation and hardly knew what to do. I did not know where the St. Denis Hotel was. Even if I found it, I was not sure I would find Mrs. Lincoln there. I walked up to Broadway and boarded a stagecoach going uptown. I intended to keep a close lookout for the hotel. A kind-looking gentleman sat next to me, and I ventured to ask him:

"If you please, sir, can you tell me where the St. Denis Hotel is?"

"Excuse me, sir, can you tell me where the St. Denis Hotel is?"

"Yes; we ride past it in the stage. I will point it out to you when we come to it."

“Yes, we’ll ride past it in the stagecoach. I’ll point it out when we get there.”

"Thank you, sir."

"Thank you, sir."

The stage rattled up the street, and after a while the gentleman looked out of the window and said:

The stagecoach rattled up the street. After a while, the gentleman looked out the window and said:

"This is the St. Denis. Do you wish to get out here?"

"This is the St. Denis. Do you want to get out here?"

"Thank you. Yes, sir."

"Thank you. Yes, sir."

He pulled the strap, and the next minute I was standing on the pavement. I pulled a bell at the ladies' entrance to the hotel, and a boy coming to the door, I asked:

He pulled the strap, and a moment later I was standing on the pavement. I rang the bell at the hotel’s ladies’ entrance. A boy came to the door, and I asked:

"Is a lady by the name of Mrs. Clarke stopping here? She came last night, I believe."

"Is a woman named Mrs. Clarke staying here? I believe she arrived last night."

"I do not know. I will ask at the office;" and I was left alone.

“I don't know. I'll ask at the office.” Then I was left alone.

The boy came back and said:

The boy came back and said:

"Yes, Mrs. Clarke is here. Do you want to see her?"

"Yes, Mrs. Clarke is here. Do you want to see her?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Well, just walk round there. She is down here now."

"Well, just walk around there. She is down here now."

I did not know where "round there" exactly was, but I concluded to go forward.

I didn't know exactly where "round there" was, but I decided to keep going.

I stopped, however, thinking that the lady might be in the parlor with company; and pulling out a card, asked the boy to take it to her. She heard me talking, and came into the hall to see herself.

However, I stopped, thinking the lady might have company in the parlor. I took out a card and asked the boy to take it to her. She heard me talking and came into the hall to see for herself.

"My dear Lizzie, I am so glad to see you," she exclaimed, coming forward and giving me her hand. "I have just received your note"—I had written her that I should join her on the 18th—"and have been trying to get a room for you. Your note has been here all day, but it was never delivered until to-night. Come in here, until I find out about your room;" and she led me into the office.

"My dear Lizzie, I am so glad to see you," she exclaimed. She came forward and gave me her hand. "I just received your note." I had written to tell her I would join her on the 18th. "I have been trying to get a room for you. Your note has been here all day, but it wasn't delivered to me until tonight. Come in here while I find out about your room." She led me into the office.

The clerk, like all modern hotel clerks, was exquisitely arrayed, highly perfumed, and too self-important to be obliging, or even courteous.

Like all modern hotel clerks, the clerk was exquisitely dressed and heavily perfumed. He was too self-important to be helpful or even polite.

"This is the woman I told you about. I want a good room for her," Mrs. Lincoln said to the clerk.

"This is the woman I told you about. I want a good room for her," Mrs. Lincoln said to the clerk.

"We have no room for her, madam," was the pointed rejoinder.

"We have no room for her, ma'am," came the sharp reply.

"But she must have a room. She is a friend of mine, and I want a room for her adjoining mine."

"But she must have a room. She is my friend, and I want a room for her next to mine."

"We have no room for her on your floor."

"We don't have room for her on your floor."

"That is strange, sir. I tell you that she is a friend of mine, and I am sure you could not give a room to a more worthy person."

"That's strange, sir. She's a friend of mine, and I'm sure you couldn't give a room to anyone more deserving."

"Friend of yours, or not, I tell you we have no room for her on your floor. I can find a place for her on the fifth floor."

"Whether she's your friend or not, I'm telling you, we have no room for her on your floor. I can find her a place on the fifth floor."

"That, sir, I presume, will be a vast improvement on my room. Well, if she goes to the fifth floor, I shall go too, sir. What is good enough for her is good enough for me."

"That, sir, I suppose, will be a big improvement over my room. Well, if she goes to the fifth floor, I will go too, sir. What is good enough for her is good enough for me."

"Very well, madam. Shall I give you adjoining rooms, and send your baggage up?"

"All right, ma'am. Would you like adjoining rooms? Shall I send your luggage up?"

"Yes, and have it done in a hurry. Let the boy show us up. Come, Elizabeth," and Mrs. L. turned from the clerk with a haughty glance, and we commenced climbing the stairs. I thought we should never reach the top; and when we did reach the fifth story, what accommodations! Little three-cornered rooms, scantily furnished. I never expected to see the widow of President Lincoln in such dingy, humble quarters.

"Yes, and have it done quickly. Let the boy show us upstairs. Come, Elizabeth." Mrs. L. turned away from the clerk with a haughty glance, and we started up the stairs. I thought we would never reach the top. When we reached the fifth floor, what rooms we found! They were small, three-cornered rooms with hardly any furniture. I never expected to see the widow of President Lincoln in such dingy, humble quarters.

"How provoking!" Mrs. Lincoln exclaimed, sitting down on a chair when we had reached the top, and panting from the effects of the climbing. "I declare, I never saw such unaccommodating people. Just to think of them sticking us away up here in the attic. I will give them a regular going over in the morning."

"How annoying!" Mrs. Lincoln exclaimed. When we reached the top, she sat down on a chair, panting from the climb. "I declare, I have never seen such unhelpful people. Just imagine putting us all the way up here in the attic. I'll give them a piece of my mind in the morning."

"But you forget. They do not know you. Mrs. Lincoln would be treated differently from Mrs. Clarke."

"But you forget. They don't know you. Mrs. Lincoln would be treated differently from Mrs. Clarke."

"True, I do forget. Well, I suppose I shall have to put up with the annoyances. Why did you not come to me yesterday, Lizzie? I was almost crazy when I reached here last night, and found you had not arrived. I sat down and wrote you a note—I felt so badly—imploring you to come to me immediately."

"That's true, I do forget. Well, I suppose I'll have to put up with the annoyances. Why didn't you come to me yesterday, Lizzie? I was almost crazy when I got here last night and found you hadn't arrived. I felt so upset that I sat down and wrote you a note, begging you to come to me immediately."

This note was afterwards sent to me from Washington. It reads as follows:

This note was later sent to me from Washington. It reads as follows:

I transcribe the letter literally.

I copy the letter word for word.

In reply to Mrs. Lincoln's last question, I explained what has already been explained to the reader, that I was in hope she would change her mind, and knew that it would be impossible to secure the rooms requested for a person unknown to the proprietors or attachés of the hotel.

In answer to Mrs. Lincoln's last question, I explained what I have already told the reader. I had hoped she would change her mind. I also knew it would be impossible to get the rooms she requested for someone unknown to the hotel owners or staff.

The explanation seemed to satisfy her. Turning to me suddenly, she exclaimed:

The explanation seemed to satisfy her. She suddenly turned to me and exclaimed:

"You have not had your dinner, Lizzie, and must be hungry. I nearly forgot about it in the joy of seeing you. You must go down to the table right away."

"You haven't had dinner, Lizzie, and you must be hungry. I was so happy to see you that I almost forgot. You must go down to the table right away."

She pulled the bell-rope, and a servant appearing, she ordered him to give me my dinner. I followed him down-stairs, and he led me into the dining-hall, and seated me at a table in one corner of the room. I was giving my order, when the steward came forward and gruffly said:

She pulled the bell-rope, and when a servant appeared, she told him to give me my dinner. I followed him downstairs. He led me into the dining hall and seated me at a table in one corner. I was giving my order when the steward came over and said gruffly:

"You are in the wrong room."

"You are in the wrong room."

"I was brought here by the waiter," I replied.

"The waiter brought me here," I replied.

"It makes no difference; I will find you another place where you can eat your dinner."

"It doesn't matter. I'll find you another place to eat your dinner."

I got up from the table and followed him, and when outside of the door, said to him:

I got up from the table and followed him. Once outside the door, I said to him:

"It is very strange that you should permit me to be seated at the table in the dining-room only for the sake of ordering me to leave it the next moment."

"It's very strange that you let me sit at the dining room table, only to order me away the next moment."

"Are you not Mrs. Clarke's servant?" was his abrupt question.

"Aren't you Mrs. Clarke's servant?" he asked abruptly.

"I am with Mrs. Clarke."

"I am with Mrs. Clarke."

"It is all the same; servants are not allowed to eat in the large dining-room. Here, this way; you must take your dinner in the servants' hall."

“It makes no difference. Servants are not allowed to eat in the large dining room. Come this way. You must eat your dinner in the servants’ hall.”

Hungry and humiliated as I was, I was willing to follow to any place to get my dinner, for I had been riding all day, and had not tasted a mouthful since early morning.

Hungry and humiliated, I was willing to follow anywhere to get my dinner. I had been riding all day and had not eaten a bite since early morning.

On reaching the servants' hall we found the door of the room locked. The waiter left me standing in the passage while he went to inform the clerk of the fact.

When we reached the servants' hall, we found the room's door locked. The waiter left me standing in the hallway while he went to tell the clerk.

In a few minutes the obsequious clerk came blustering down the hall:

A few minutes later, the overly eager clerk came bustling down the hall:

"Did you come out of the street, or from Mrs. Clarke's room?"

"Did you come in from the street, or from Mrs. Clarke's room?"

"From Mrs. Clarke's room," I meekly answered. My gentle words seemed to quiet him, and then he explained:

"From Mrs. Clarke's room," I answered meekly. My gentle words seemed to calm him, and then he explained:

"It is after the regular hour for dinner. The room is locked up, and Annie has gone out with the key."

"It's past the usual dinner time. The room is locked, and Annie has gone out with the key."

My pride would not let me stand longer in the hall.

My pride would not let me stand in the hall any longer.

"Very well," I remarked, as I began climbing the stairs, "I will tell Mrs. Clarke that I cannot get any dinner."

"All right," I said as I started up the stairs, "I’ll tell Mrs. Clarke that I can’t get any dinner."

He looked after me, with a scowl on his face:

He watched me leave, scowling:

"You need not put on airs! I understand the whole thing."

"You don't need to act superior! I understand the whole thing."

I said nothing, but continued to climb the stairs, thinking to myself: "Well, if you understand the whole thing, it is strange that you should put the widow of ex-President Abraham Lincoln in a three-cornered room in the attic of this miserable hotel."

I said nothing and kept climbing the stairs. I thought to myself: "Well, if you understand the whole thing, it's strange that you would put ex-President Abraham Lincoln's widow in a three-cornered attic room in this miserable hotel."

When I reached Mrs. Lincoln's rooms, tears of humiliation and vexation were in my eyes.

When I reached Mrs. Lincoln's rooms, my eyes were filled with tears of humiliation and frustration.

"What is the matter, Lizzie?" she asked.

"What's the matter, Lizzie?" she asked.

"I cannot get any dinner."

"I can't get any dinner."

"Cannot get any dinner! What do you mean?"

"Can't get any dinner! What do you mean?"

I then told her of all that had transpired below.

I then told her everything that had happened downstairs.

"The insolent, overbearing people!" she fiercely exclaimed. "Never mind, Lizzie, you shall have your dinner. Put on your bonnet and shawl."

"Those rude, bossy people!" she exclaimed fiercely. "Never mind, Lizzie, you'll have your dinner. Put on your bonnet and shawl."

"What for?"

"What for?"

"What for! Why, we will go out of the hotel, and get you something to eat where they know how to behave decently;" and Mrs. Lincoln already was tying the strings of her bonnet before the glass.

"What for! Why, we'll leave the hotel and get you something to eat where they know how to behave decently." Mrs. Lincoln was already tying her bonnet strings in front of the mirror.

Her impulsiveness alarmed me.

Her impulsiveness frightened me.

"Surely, Mrs. Lincoln, you do not intend to go out on the street to-night?"

“Surely, Mrs. Lincoln, you don't plan to go out on the street tonight?”

"Yes I do. Do you suppose I am going to have you starve, when we can find something to eat on every corner?"

"Yes, I do. Do you think I'm going to let you starve when we can find food on every corner?"

"But you forget. You are here as Mrs. Clarke and not as Mrs. Lincoln. You came alone, and the people already suspect that everything is not right. If you go outside of the hotel to-night, they will accept the fact as evidence against you."

"But you forget. You are here as Mrs. Clarke, not Mrs. Lincoln. You came alone, and people already suspect that something is wrong. If you leave the hotel tonight, they will take it as evidence against you."

"Nonsense; what do you suppose I care for what these low-bred people think? Put on your things."

“Nonsense. Why would I care what these ill-mannered people think? Get dressed.”

"No, Mrs. Lincoln, I shall not go outside of the hotel to-night, for I realize your situation, if you do not. Mrs. Lincoln has no reason to care what these people may say about her as Mrs. Lincoln, but she should be prudent, and give them no opportunity to say anything about her as Mrs. Clarke."

“No, Mrs. Lincoln, I will not leave the hotel tonight. I understand your situation, even if you do not. Mrs. Lincoln has no reason to care what these people may say about her as Mrs. Lincoln. But she should be careful and give them no chance to say anything about her as Mrs. Clarke.”

It was with difficulty I could convince her that she should act with caution. She was so frank and impulsive that she never once thought that her actions might be misconstrued. It did not occur to her that she might order dinner to be served in my room, so I went to bed without a mouthful to eat.

I had a hard time convincing her to be careful. She was so open and impulsive that she never thought her actions might be misunderstood. It never occurred to her to have dinner served in my room, so I went to bed without eating a bite.

The next morning Mrs. Lincoln knocked at my door before six o'clock:

The next morning, Mrs. Lincoln knocked on my door before six o'clock:

"Come, Elizabeth, get up, I know you must be hungry. Dress yourself quickly and we will go out and get some breakfast. I was unable to sleep last night for thinking of you being forced to go to bed without anything to eat."

“Come on, Elizabeth, get up. I know you must be hungry. Get dressed quickly, and we’ll go out for breakfast. I couldn’t sleep last night because I kept thinking about how you had to go to bed without eating.”

I dressed myself as quickly as I could, and together we went out and took breakfast, at a restaurant on Broadway, some place between 609 and the St. Denis Hotel. I do not give the number, as I prefer leaving it to conjecture. Of one thing I am certain—the proprietor of the restaurant little dreamed who one of his guests was that morning.

I dressed as quickly as I could, and we went out to breakfast together. We ate at a restaurant on Broadway, somewhere between 609 and the St. Denis Hotel. I prefer to leave the exact address to guesswork. One thing is certain: the restaurant owner had no idea who one of his guests was that morning.

After breakfast we walked up Broadway, and entering Union Square Park, took a seat on one of the benches under the trees, watched the children at play, and talked over the situation. Mrs. Lincoln told me: "Lizzie, yesterday morning I called for the Herald at the breakfast table, and on looking over the list of diamond brokers advertised, I selected the firm of W. H. Brady & Co., 609 Broadway. After breakfast I walked down to the house, and tried to sell them a lot of jewelry. I gave my name as Mrs. Clarke. I first saw Mr. Judd, a member of the firm, a very pleasant gentleman. We were unable to agree about the price. He went back into the office, where a stout gentleman was seated at the desk, but I could not hear what he said. [I know now what was said, and so shall the reader, in parentheses. Mr. Brady has since told me that he remarked to Mr. Judd that the woman must be crazy to ask such outrageous prices, and to get rid of her as soon as possible.] Soon after Mr. Judd came back to the counter, another gentleman, Mr. Keyes, as I have since learned, a silent partner in the house, entered the store. He came to the counter, and in looking over my jewelry discovered my name inside of one of the rings. I had forgotten the ring, and when I saw him looking at the name so earnestly, I snatched the bauble from him and put it into my pocket. I hastily gathered up my jewelry, and started out. They asked for my address, and I left my card, Mrs. Clarke, at the St. Denis Hotel. They are to call to see me this forenoon, when I shall enter into negotiations with them."

After breakfast we walked up Broadway and entered Union Square Park. We sat on a bench under the trees, watched the children play, and talked over the situation. Mrs. Lincoln told me: "Lizzie, yesterday morning I asked for the Herald at the breakfast table. I looked over the advertisements for diamond brokers and chose the firm of W. H. Brady & Co., 609 Broadway. After breakfast I walked down to the business and tried to sell them some jewelry. I gave my name as Mrs. Clarke. I first met Mr. Judd, a member of the firm and a very pleasant gentleman. We could not agree on a price. He went back into the office, where a stout gentleman was sitting at the desk. But I could not hear what he said. [I know now what was said, and so will the reader, in this aside. Mr. Brady has since told me what he said to Mr. Judd. He said the woman must be crazy to ask such outrageous prices. He also told Mr. Judd to get rid of her as soon as possible.] "Soon after Mr. Judd returned to the counter, another gentleman entered the store. I have since learned that he was Mr. Keyes, a silent partner in the firm. He came to the counter and looked over my jewelry. He discovered my name inside one of the rings. I had forgotten about the ring. When I saw him looking so closely at the name, I snatched the trinket from him and put it in my pocket. I quickly gathered up my jewelry and started to leave. They asked for my address, and I left my card, giving my name as Mrs. Clarke and my address as the St. Denis Hotel. They are to call on me this morning, and I will negotiate with them then."

Scarcely had we returned to the hotel when Mr. Keyes called, and Mrs. Clarke disclosed to him that she was Mrs. Lincoln. He was much elated to find his surmise correct. Mrs. L. exhibited to him a large number of shawls, dresses, and fine laces, and told him that she was compelled to sell them in order to live. He was an earnest Republican, was much affected by her story, and denounced the ingratitude of the government in the severest terms. She complained to him of the treatment she had received at the St. Denis, and he advised her to move to another hotel forthwith. She readily consented, and as she wanted to be in an out-of-the-way place where she would not be recognized by any of her old friends, he recommended the Earle Hotel in Canal street.

We had barely returned to the hotel when Mr. Keyes called. Mrs. Clarke revealed to him that she was Mrs. Lincoln. He was delighted to find that his guess was correct. Mrs. Lincoln showed him a large number of shawls, dresses, and fine laces. She told him she had to sell them to support herself. He was a devoted Republican and was deeply moved by her story. He condemned the government’s ingratitude in the strongest terms. She complained to him about her treatment at the St. Denis, and he advised her to move to another hotel immediately. She readily agreed. She wanted to stay somewhere out of the way, where none of her old friends would recognize her. So he recommended the Earle Hotel on Canal street.

On the way down to the hotel that morning she acceded to a suggestion made by me, and supported by Mr. Keyes, that she confide in the landlord, and give him her name without registering, so as to ensure the proper respect. Unfortunately, the Earle Hotel was full, and we had to select another place. We drove to the Union Place Hotel, where we secured rooms for Mrs. Clarke, Mrs. Lincoln changing her mind, deeming it would not be prudent to disclose her real name to any one. After we had become settled in our new quarters, Messrs. Keyes and Brady called frequently on Mrs. Lincoln, and held long conferences with her. They advised her to pursue the course she did, and were sanguine of success. Mrs. Lincoln was very anxious to dispose of her things, and return to Chicago as quickly and quietly as possible; but they presented the case in a different light, and, I regret to say, she was guided by their counsel. "Pooh," said Mr. Brady, "place your affairs in our hands, and we will raise you at least $100,000 in a few weeks. The people will not permit the widow of Abraham Lincoln to suffer; they will come to her rescue when they know she is in want."

On the way to the hotel that morning, she agreed to a suggestion I made and Mr. Keyes supported. I suggested that she tell the hotel manager her name privately, without registering, so that she would receive proper respect. Unfortunately, the Earle Hotel was full, and we had to choose another place. We drove to the Union Place Hotel, where we secured rooms for Mrs. Clarke. Mrs. Lincoln had changed her mind, deciding it would not be wise to reveal her real name to anyone. After we had settled into our new rooms, Mr. Keyes and Mr. Brady visited Mrs. Lincoln frequently. They held long discussions with her. They advised her to follow the course she took and were confident of success. Mrs. Lincoln was very anxious to sell her things and return to Chicago as quickly and quietly as possible. But they presented the matter differently, and, I regret to say, she followed their advice. "Nonsense," said Mr. Brady, "put your affairs in our hands, and we will raise at least $100,000 for you in a few weeks. The people will not allow Abraham Lincoln's widow to suffer. They will come to her rescue when they know she is in need."

The argument seemed plausible, and Mrs. Lincoln quietly acceded to the proposals of Keyes and Brady.

The argument seemed reasonable, and Mrs. Lincoln quietly agreed to the proposals from Keyes and Brady.

We remained quietly at the Union Place Hotel for a few days. On Sunday Mrs. Lincoln accepted the use of a private carriage, and accompanied by me, she drove out to Central Park. We did not enjoy the ride much, as the carriage was a close one, and we could not throw open the window for fear of being recognized by some one of the many thousands in the Park. Mrs. Lincoln wore a heavy veil so as to more effectually conceal her face. We came near being run into, and we had a spasm of alarm, for an accident would have exposed us to public gaze, and of course the masquerade would have been at an end. On Tuesday I hunted up a number of dealers in secondhand clothing, and had them call at the hotel by appointment. Mrs. Lincoln soon discovered that they were hard people to drive a bargain with, so on Thursday we got into a close carriage, taking a bundle of dresses and shawls with us, and drove to a number of stores on Seventh Avenue, where an attempt was made to dispose of a portion of the wardrobe. The dealers wanted the goods for little or nothing, and we found it a hard matter to drive a bargain with them. Mrs. Lincoln met the dealers squarely, but all of her tact and shrewdness failed to accomplish much. I do not care to dwell upon this portion of my story. Let it answer to say, that we returned to the hotel more disgusted than ever with the business in which we were engaged. There was much curiosity at the hotel in relation to us, as our movements were watched, and we were regarded with suspicion. Our trunks in the main hall below were examined daily, and curiosity was more keenly excited when the argus-eyed reporters for the press traced Mrs. Lincoln's name on the cover of one of her trunks. The letters had been rubbed out, but the faint outlines remained, and these outlines only served to stimulate curiosity. Messrs. Keyes and Brady called often, and they made Mrs. Lincoln believe that, if she would write certain letters for them to show to prominent politicians, they could raise a large sum of money for her. They argued that the Republican party would never permit it to be said that the wife of Abraham Lincoln was in want; that the leaders of the party would make heavy advances rather than have it published to the world that Mrs. Lincoln's poverty compelled her to sell her wardrobe. Mrs. L.'s wants were urgent, as she had to borrow $600 from Keyes and Brady, and she was willing to adopt any scheme which promised to place a good bank account to her credit. At different times in her room at the Union Place Hotel she wrote the following letters:

We stayed quietly at the Union Place Hotel for a few days. On Sunday, Mrs. Lincoln accepted the use of a private carriage and rode with me to Central Park. We did not enjoy the ride much. The carriage was enclosed, and we could not open the window. We feared that someone among the many thousands in the park might recognize us. Mrs. Lincoln wore a heavy veil to hide her face more effectively. We were almost hit by another carriage, and for a moment we were alarmed. An accident would have exposed us to public view, and of course our disguise would have been discovered. On Tuesday, I found several secondhand clothing dealers and arranged for them to visit the hotel. Mrs. Lincoln soon discovered that they were hard to bargain with. So on Thursday, we took a bundle of dresses and shawls in an enclosed carriage to several stores on Seventh Avenue. There we tried to sell part of her wardrobe. The dealers wanted the clothes for little or nothing, and we found it hard to bargain with them. Mrs. Lincoln dealt with them directly, but all her tact and shrewdness accomplished little. I do not care to dwell on this part of my story. Let it be enough to say that we returned to the hotel more disgusted than ever with the business we were engaged in. There was much curiosity about us at the hotel. People watched our movements and regarded us with suspicion. Our trunks in the main hall downstairs were examined daily. Curiosity grew even stronger when the ever-watchful reporters traced Mrs. Lincoln's name on one trunk. The letters had been rubbed out, but their faint outlines remained. These traces only stirred more curiosity. Messrs. Keyes and Brady visited often. They made Mrs. Lincoln believe they could raise a large sum of money for her. She only had to write certain letters for them to show to prominent politicians. They argued that the Republican party would never allow it to be said that Abraham Lincoln's wife was in need. They said the party leaders would advance large sums rather than let the world learn that poverty had forced Mrs. Lincoln to sell her wardrobe. Mrs. L.'s needs were urgent, and she had to borrow $600 from Keyes and Brady. She was willing to try any scheme that promised to put a good sum in her bank account. At different times, in her room at the Union Place Hotel, she wrote the following letters:

The letters are dated Chicago, and addressed to Mr. Brady, though every one of them was written in New York; for when Mrs. L. left the West for the East, she had settled upon no definite plan of action. Mr. Brady proposed to show the letters to certain politicians, and ask for money on a threat to publish them if his demands, as Mrs. Lincoln's agent, were not complied with. When writing the letters I stood at Mrs. Lincoln's elbow, and suggested that they be couched in the mildest language possible.

The letters are dated Chicago and addressed to Mr. Brady, though every one was written in New York. When Mrs. L. left the West for the East, she had no definite plan of action. Mr. Brady proposed showing the letters to certain politicians and asking them for money. He planned to threaten to publish the letters if they did not meet his demands as Mrs. Lincoln's agent. While the letters were being written, I stood beside Mrs. Lincoln and suggested using the mildest possible language.

"Never mind, Lizzie," she said; "anything to raise the wind. One might as well be killed for a sheep as a lamb."

"Never mind, Lizzie," she said. "Anything to raise money. You might as well be killed for a sheep as for a lamb."

This latter expression was a favorite one of hers; she meaning by it, that if one must be punished for an act, such as theft for instance, that the punishment would be no more severe if a sheep were taken instead of a lamb.

This last expression was a favorite of hers. She meant that if someone must be punished for an act, such as theft, the punishment would be no more severe for stealing a sheep than for stealing a lamb.

Mr. Brady exhibited the letters quite freely, but the parties to whom they were shown refused to make any advances. Meanwhile our stay at the Union Place Hotel excited so much curiosity, that a sudden movement was rendered expedient to avoid discovery. We sent the large trunks to 609 Broadway, packed the smaller ones, paid our bills at the hotel, and one morning hastily departed for the country, where we remained three days. The movement was successful. The keen-eyed reporters for the daily papers were thrown off the scent, and when we returned to the city we took rooms at the Brandreth House, where Mrs. Lincoln registered as "Mrs. Morris." I had desired her to go to the Metropolitan Hotel, and confide in the proprietors, as the Messrs. Leland had always been very kind to her, treating her with distinguished courtesy whenever she was their guest; but this she refused to do.

Mr. Brady showed the letters quite freely, but the people who saw them refused to advance any money. Meanwhile, our stay at the Union Place Hotel aroused so much curiosity that we had to leave quickly to avoid discovery. We sent the large trunks to 609 Broadway and packed the smaller ones. We paid our hotel bills and hurriedly left for the country one morning. We stayed there for three days. The move succeeded. The sharp-eyed reporters from the daily papers lost track of us. When we returned to the city, we took rooms at the Brandreth House. There, Mrs. Lincoln registered as "Mrs. Morris." I had wanted her to go to the Metropolitan Hotel and confide in the proprietors. The Messrs. Leland had always been very kind to her and had treated her with exceptional courtesy whenever she was their guest. But she refused to go there.

Several days passed, and Messrs. Brady and Keyes were forced to acknowledge that their scheme was a failure. The letters had been shown to various parties, but every one declined to act. Aside from a few dresses sold at small prices to secondhand dealers, Mrs. Lincoln's wardrobe was still in her possession. Her visit to New York had proved disastrous, and she was goaded into more desperate measures. Money she must have, and to obtain it she proposed to play a bolder game. She gave Mr. Brady permission to place her wardrobe on exhibition for sale, and authorized him to publish the letters in the World.

Several days passed, and Mr. Brady and Mr. Keyes had to admit that their plan had failed. The letters had been shown to various people, but everyone declined to act. Mrs. Lincoln still had her wardrobe, apart from a few dresses sold cheaply to secondhand dealers. Her visit to New York had been a disaster, and she was driven to more desperate measures. She had to have money, and she proposed a bolder plan to get it. She gave Mr. Brady permission to put her wardrobe on display for sale. She also authorized him to publish the letters in the World.

After coming to this determination, she packed her trunks to return to Chicago. I accompanied her to the depot, and told her good-by, on the very morning that the letters appeared in the World. Mrs. Lincoln wrote me the incidents of the journey, and the letter describes the story more graphically than I could hope to do. I suppress many passages, as they are of too confidential a nature to be given to the public:

After making this decision, she packed her trunks to return to Chicago. I went with her to the station and said goodbye. It was the very morning the letters appeared in the World. Mrs. Lincoln wrote to tell me about the journey. Her letter tells the story more vividly than I could hope to. I have left out many passages because they are too confidential to share with the public:

It is not necessary for me to dwell upon the public history of Mrs. Lincoln's unfortunate venture. The question has been discussed in all the newspapers of the land, and these discussions are so recent that it would be useless to introduce them in these pages, even if I had an inclination to do so. The following, from the New York Evening Express, briefly tells the story:

I need not dwell on the public history of Mrs. Lincoln's unfortunate venture. All the newspapers in the country have discussed it. Those discussions are so recent that repeating them here would be useless, even if I wanted to. The following passage from the New York Evening Express briefly tells the story:

"The attraction for ladies, and the curious and speculative of the other sex in this city, just now, is the grand exposition of Lincoln dresses at the office of Mr. Brady, on Broadway, a few doors south of Houston street. The publicity given to the articles on exhibition and for sale has excited the public curiosity, and hundreds of people, principally women with considerable leisure moments at disposal, daily throng the rooms of Mr. Brady, and give himself and his shop-woman more to do than either bargained for, when a lady, with face concealed with a veil, called and arranged for the sale of the superabundant clothing of a distinguished and titled, but nameless lady. Twenty-five dresses, folded or tossed about by frequent examinations, lie exposed upon a closed piano, and upon a lounge; shawls rich and rare are displayed upon the backs of chairs, but the more exacting obtain a better view and closer inspection by the lady attendant throwing them occasionally upon her shoulders, just to oblige, so that their appearance on promenade might be seen and admired. Furs, laces, and jewelry are in a glass case, but the 'four thousand dollars in gold' point outfit is kept in a paste-board box, and only shown on special request.

The main attraction for ladies in the city just now is the grand display of Lincoln dresses. Curious and speculative men are drawn to it too. The display is at Mr. Brady’s office on Broadway, a few doors south of Houston Street. Publicity about the articles on display and for sale has stirred public curiosity. Hundreds of people crowd Mr. Brady’s rooms daily, mostly women with plenty of leisure time. They give him and his shop assistant more work than either expected. It all began when a lady with her face hidden by a veil came to arrange the sale. The excess clothing belonged to a distinguished and titled, but unnamed, lady. Twenty-five dresses lie on a closed piano and a lounge, folded or tossed about after frequent examinations. Rich and rare shawls are displayed over the backs of chairs. But more demanding visitors get a better view and a closer look. To oblige them, the lady attendant occasionally drapes the shawls over her shoulders. That way, visitors can see and admire how the shawls would look on a promenade. Furs, lace, and jewelry are kept in a glass case. But the "four thousand dollars in gold" point lace outfit is kept in a cardboard box. It is shown only on special request.

"The feeling of the majority of visitors is adverse to the course Mrs. Lincoln has thought proper to pursue, and the criticisms are as severe as the cavillings are persistent at the quality of some of the dresses. These latter are labelled at Mrs. Lincoln's own estimate, and prices range from $25 to $75—about 50 per cent less than cost. Some of them, if not worn long, have been worn much; they are jagged under the arms and at the bottom of the skirt, stains are on the lining, and other objections present themselves to those who oscillate between the dresses and dollars, 'notwithstanding they have been worn by Madam Lincoln,' as a lady who looked from behind a pair of gold spectacles remarked. Other dresses, however, have scarcely been worn—one, perhaps, while Mrs. Lincoln sat for her picture, and from one the basting threads had not yet been removed. The general testimony is that the wearing apparel is high-priced, and some of the examiners say that the cost-figures must have been put on by the dressmakers; or, if such was not the case, that gold was 250 when they were purchased, and is now but 140—so that a dress for which $150 was paid at the rate of high figures cannot be called cheap at half that sum, after it has been worn considerable, and perhaps passed out of fashion. The peculiarity of the dresses is that the most of them are cut low-necked—a taste which some ladies attribute to Mrs. Lincoln's appreciation of her own bust.

Most visitors disapprove of the course Mrs. Lincoln has chosen. They criticize her severely and persistently find fault with the quality of some dresses. The dresses are labeled with Mrs. Lincoln's own estimates, and prices range from $25 to $75, about 50 percent less than their original cost. Some dresses may not have been worn for long, but they have been worn a great deal. They are ragged under the arms and at the bottom of the skirts, and the linings are stained. People weighing the dresses against their prices find other faults, too. As one lady peering from behind gold spectacles remarked, this was true “notwithstanding they have been worn by Madam Lincoln.” Other dresses, however, have scarcely been worn. Mrs. Lincoln may have worn one while sitting for her picture, and another still has its basting threads. The general opinion is that the clothing is overpriced. Some people examining the dresses say the dressmakers must have inflated the original prices. Others say that, even if they did not, gold was at 250 when the dresses were bought and is now only at 140. So a dress bought for $150 when prices were high cannot be called cheap at half that price, especially after considerable wear and perhaps a change in fashion. One striking feature of the dresses is that most are cut low at the neck. Some ladies attribute this taste to Mrs. Lincoln's appreciation of her own bust.

"On Saturday last an offer was made for all the dresses. The figure named was less than the aggregate estimate placed on them. Mr. Brady, however, having no discretionary power, he declined to close the bargain, but notified Mrs. Lincoln by mail. Of course, as yet, no reply has been received. Mrs. L. desires that the auction should be deferred till the 31st of the present month, and efforts made to dispose of the articles at private sale up to that time.

"Last Saturday, someone made an offer for all the dresses. The offer was less than their total estimated value. Mr. Brady, however, had no authority to make the decision himself. He declined to close the deal but notified Mrs. Lincoln by mail. Of course, no reply has been received yet. Mrs. L. wants the auction postponed until the 31st of this month. She also wants efforts made to sell the articles privately until then.

"A Mrs. C— called on Mr. Brady this morning, and examined minutely each shawl. Before leaving the lady said that, at the time when there was a hesitancy about the President issuing the Emancipation Proclamation, she sent to Mrs. Lincoln an ashes-of-rose shawl, which was manufactured in China, forwarded to France, and thence to Mrs. C—, in New York. The shawl, the lady remarked, was a very handsome one, and should it come into the hands of Mr. Brady to be sold, would like to be made aware of the fact, so as to obtain possession again. Mr. Brady promised to acquaint the ashes-of-rose donor, if the prized article should be among the two trunks of goods now on the way from Chicago."

"A Mrs. C- visited Mr. Brady this morning and examined each shawl closely. Before leaving, she spoke of a shawl she had sent Mrs. Lincoln. She sent it when the President was hesitating to issue the Emancipation Proclamation. The ashes-of-rose shawl was made in China and sent to France, then to Mrs. C- in New York. She said the shawl was very handsome. If it came into Mr. Brady's hands to be sold, she wanted him to let her know. She hoped to get it back. Mr. Brady promised to inform her if the prized shawl was among the two trunks of goods on their way from Chicago."

So many erroneous reports were circulated, that I made a correct statement to one of the editors of the New York Evening News. The article based upon the memoranda furnished by me appeared in the News of Oct. 12, 1867. I reproduce a portion of it in this connection:

So many false reports were circulating that I gave an accurate account to an editor of the New York Evening News. An article based on the notes I provided appeared in the News on Oct. 12, 1867. I reproduce part of it here:

"Mrs. Lincoln feels sorely aggrieved at many of the harsh criticisms that have been passed upon her for travelling incognito. She claims that she adopted this course from motives of delicacy, desiring to avoid publicity. While here, she spoke to but two former acquaintances, and these two gentlemen whom she met on Broadway. Hundreds passed her who had courted her good graces when she reigned supreme at the White House, but there was no recognition. It was not because she had changed much in personal appearance, but was merely owing to the heavy crape veil that hid her features from view.

"Mrs. Lincoln feels deeply hurt by the many harsh criticisms she has received for traveling incognito. She says she did so out of delicacy, because she wanted to avoid publicity. While here, she spoke to only two former acquaintances, both gentlemen she met on Broadway. Hundreds of people passed her without recognizing her. They had sought her favor when she reigned supreme at the White House. They did not fail to recognize her because her appearance had changed much. It was simply because a heavy crape veil hid her face from view.

"She seeks to defend her course while in this city—and with much force, too. Adverting to the fact that the Empress of France frequently disposes of her cast-off wardrobe, and publicly too, without being subjected to any unkind remarks regarding its propriety, she claims the same immunity here as is accorded in Paris to Eugenie. As regards her obscurity while in this city, she says that foreigners of note and position frequently come to our stores, and under assumed names travel from point to point throughout our vast domain, to avoid recognition and the inconveniences resulting from being known, though it even be in the form of honors. For herself she regards quiet preferable to ostentatious show, which would have cost her much indirectly, if not directly; and this she felt herself unable to bear, according to the measure of her present state of finances.

"She defends her actions while in this city, and does so quite forcefully. She points out that the Empress of France often sells her discarded clothes publicly, without anyone criticizing her for it. She claims the same freedom from criticism here that Eugenie enjoys in Paris. As for keeping a low profile in this city, she says that prominent foreigners often visit our stores. They also travel under assumed names from place to place across our vast country. They do this to avoid recognition and the inconveniences that come with being known, even when those inconveniences take the form of honors. She herself prefers quiet to an elaborate public display. Such a display would have cost her much indirectly, if not directly. Given her present finances, she felt she could not afford it."

"In a recent letter to her bosom friend, Mrs. Elizabeth Keckley, Mrs. Lincoln pathetically remarks, 'Elizabeth, if evil come from this, pray for my deliverance, as I did it for the best.' This referred to her action in placing her personal effects before the public for sale, and to the harsh remarks that have been made thereon by some whom she had formerly regarded as her friends.

"In a recent letter to her close friend, Mrs. Elizabeth Keckley, Mrs. Lincoln wrote movingly, 'Elizabeth, if trouble comes from this, pray for me to be delivered from it, as I did it with the best intentions.' She was referring to her decision to offer her personal belongings for public sale. She was also referring to the harsh comments made about the sale by some people she had once considered friends.

"As to the articles which belonged to Mr. Lincoln, they can all be accounted for in a manner satisfactory even to an over-critical public. During the time Mr. Lincoln was in office he was the recipient of several canes. After his death one was given to the Hon. Charles Sumner; another to Fred. Douglass; another to the Rev. H. H. Garnet of this city, and another to Mr. Wm. Slade, the present steward of the White House, who, in Mr. Lincoln's lifetime, was his messenger. This gentleman also received some of Mr. Lincoln's apparel, among which was his heavy gray shawl. Several other of the messengers employed about the White House came in for a share of the deceased President's effects.

"As for the articles that belonged to Mr. Lincoln, all of them can be accounted for, even to an overly critical public's satisfaction. During his time in office, Mr. Lincoln received several canes. After his death, one was given to the Hon. Charles Sumner, another to Fred. Douglass, and another to the Rev. H. H. Garnet of this city. Another was given to Mr. Wm. Slade, the current steward of the White House. During Mr. Lincoln's lifetime, Mr. Slade was his messenger. Mr. Slade also received some of Mr. Lincoln's clothing, including his heavy gray shawl. Several other messengers employed at the White House also received a share of the late President's belongings.

"The shepherd plaid shawl which Mr. Lincoln wore during the milder weather, and which was rendered somewhat memorable as forming part of his famous disguise, together with the Scotch cap, when he wended his way secretly to the Capitol to be inaugurated as President, was given to Dr. Abbot, of Canada, who had been one of his warmest friends. During the war this gentleman, as a surgeon in the United States army, was in Washington in charge of a hospital, and thus became acquainted with the head of the nation.

"The shepherd plaid shawl that Mr. Lincoln wore in milder weather was given to Dr. Abbot, of Canada. Dr. Abbot had been one of his closest friends. The shawl became somewhat famous as part of Lincoln's disguise, along with a Scotch cap. He wore them when he traveled secretly to the Capitol to be inaugurated as President. During the war, Dr. Abbot served as a surgeon in the United States army. He was in charge of a hospital in Washington, where he became acquainted with the President.

"His watch, his penknife, his gold pencil, and his glasses are now in possession of his son Robert. Nearly all else than these few things have passed out of the family, as Mrs. Lincoln did not wish to retain them. But all were freely given away, and not an article was parted with for money.

"His watch, penknife, gold pencil, and glasses are now with his son Robert. Almost everything else has left the family because Mrs. Lincoln did not want to keep it. But she gave it all away freely. Not a single item was sold.

"The Rev. Dr. Gurley of Washington was the spiritual adviser of the President and his family. They attended his church. When little 'Willie' died, he officiated at the funeral. He was a most intimate friend of the family, and when Mr. Lincoln lay upon his death-bed Mr. Gurley was by his side. He, as his clergyman, performed the funeral rites upon the body of the deceased President, when it lay cold in death at the City of Washington. He received the hat worn last by Mr. Lincoln, as we have before stated, and it is still retained by him.

The Rev. Dr. Gurley of Washington was the spiritual adviser to the President and his family. They attended his church. When little 'Willie' died, he conducted the funeral. He was a very close friend of the family. When Mr. Lincoln lay dying, Mr. Gurley was at his side. As the President's clergyman, he conducted the funeral rites over his body in Washington. As we have said before, Mr. Gurley received the last hat Mr. Lincoln wore. He still keeps it.

"The dress that was worn by Mrs. Lincoln on the night of the assassination was presented to Mrs. Wm. Slade. It is a black silk with a little white stripe. Most of the other articles that adorned Mrs. Lincoln on that fatal night became the property of Mrs. Keckley. She has the most of them carefully stowed away, and intends keeping them during her life as mementos of a mournful event. The principal articles among these are the earrings, the bonnet, and the velvet cloak. The writer of this saw the latter on Thursday. It bears most palpable marks of the assassination, being completely bespattered with blood, that has dried upon its surface, and which can never be removed.

"The dress Mrs. Lincoln wore on the night of the assassination was given to Mrs. Wm. Slade. It is black silk with a small white stripe. Most of the other items Mrs. Lincoln wore that fatal night became Mrs. Keckley's property. She has carefully stored most of them away and intends to keep them for life as mementos of a mournful event. The main items are the earrings, the bonnet, and the velvet cloak. The writer saw the cloak on Thursday. It bears unmistakable marks of the assassination. It is completely spattered with blood that has dried on its surface and can never be removed.

"A few words as regard the disposition and habits of Mrs. Lincoln. She is no longer the sprightly body she was when her very presence illumed the White House with gayety. Now she is sad and sedate, seeking seclusion, and maintaining communication merely with her most intimate personal friends. The most of her time she devotes to instructive reading within the walls of her boudoir. Laying her book aside spasmodically, she places her hand upon her forehead, as if ruminating upon something momentous. Then her hand wanders amid her heavy tresses, while she ponders for but a few seconds—then, by a sudden start, she approaches her writing-stand, seizes a pen, and indites a few hasty lines to some trusty friend, upon the troubles that weigh so heavily upon her. Speedily it is sent to the post-office; but, hardly has the mail departed from the city before she regrets her hasty letter, and would give much to recall it. But, too late, it is gone, and probably the secrets it contains are not confidentially kept by the party to whom it was addressed, and soon it furnishes inexhaustible material for gossip-loving people.

"A few words about Mrs. Lincoln’s character and habits. She is no longer the lively person whose very presence filled the White House with joy. Now she is sad and quiet. She seeks seclusion and communicates only with her closest personal friends. She spends most of her time reading instructive books in her private sitting room. At intervals, she puts her book aside and places her hand on her forehead. She seems to be thinking about something important. Then her hand wanders through her thick hair as she thinks for a few seconds. Suddenly, she goes to her writing desk and grabs a pen. She writes a few hurried lines to a trusted friend about the troubles weighing so heavily on her. The letter is quickly sent to the post office. But hardly has the mail left the city before she regrets writing so hastily. She would give much to take the letter back. But it is too late. The letter is gone, and the person who received it probably does not keep its secrets. Soon it provides endless material for people who love to gossip.

"As some citizens have expressed themselves desirous of aiding Mrs. Lincoln, a subscription-book was opened at the office of her agent, Mr. Brady, No. 609 Broadway, this morning. There is no limitation as to the amount which may be given, though there was a proposition that a dollar should be contributed by each person who came forward to inspect the goods. Had each person who handled these articles given this sum, a handsome amount would already have been realized.

"Some citizens have said they want to help Mrs. Lincoln. So this morning, a donation book was opened at her agent Mr. Brady's office at 609 Broadway. There is no limit on how much anyone may give. However, there was a proposal that each person who came to inspect the goods should contribute a dollar. If everyone who handled these articles had given a dollar, a substantial amount would already have been raised.

"The colored people are moving in this matter. They intend to take up collections in their churches for the benefit of Mrs. Lincoln. They are enthusiastic, and a trifle from every African in this city would, in the aggregate, swell into an immense sum, which would be doubly acceptable to Mrs. Lincoln. It would satisfy her that the black people still have the memory of her deceased husband fresh in their minds.

"The colored people are taking action in this matter. They plan to collect money in their churches for Mrs. Lincoln. They are enthusiastic. If every African in this city gave a little, the total would be an immense sum. That sum would be doubly welcome to Mrs. Lincoln. It would assure her that the black people still hold the memory of her deceased husband fresh in their minds.

"The goods still remain exposed to sale, but it is now announced that they will be sold at public auction on the 30th of this month, unless they be disposed of before that at private sale."

"The goods are still offered for sale. But it has now been announced that they will be sold at public auction on the 30th of this month, unless they are sold privately before then."

It is stated in the article that the "colored people are moving in this matter." The colored people were surprised to hear of Mrs. Lincoln's poverty, and the news of her distress called forth strong sympathy from their warm, generous hearts. Rev. H. H. Garnet, of New York City, and Mr. Frederick Douglass, of Rochester, N.Y., proposed to lecture in behalf of the widow of the lamented President, and schemes were on foot to raise a large sum of money by contribution. The colored people recognized Abraham Lincoln as their great friend, and they were anxious to show their kind interest in the welfare of his family in some way more earnest and substantial than simple words. I wrote Mrs. Lincoln what we proposed to do, and she promptly replied, declining to receive aid from the colored people. I showed her letter to Mr. Garnet and Mr. Douglass, and the whole project was at once abandoned. She afterwards consented to receive contributions from my people, but as the services of Messrs. Douglass, Garnet, and others had been refused when first offered, they declined to take an active part in the scheme; so nothing was ever done. The following letters were written before Mrs. Lincoln declined to receive aid from the colored people:

The article states that the "colored people are moving in this matter." The colored people were surprised to hear of Mrs. Lincoln's poverty. News of her distress stirred deep sympathy in their warm, generous hearts. Rev. H. H. Garnet, of New York City, and Mr. Frederick Douglass, of Rochester, N.Y., offered to give lectures to benefit the widow of the beloved President. Plans were also underway to raise a large sum through donations. The colored people recognized Abraham Lincoln as their great friend. They were eager to show their concern for his family's welfare in a more sincere and substantial way than words alone. I wrote to Mrs. Lincoln about what we proposed to do. She replied promptly, declining to accept aid from the colored people. I showed her letter to Mr. Garnet and Mr. Douglass, and the entire project was immediately abandoned. She later agreed to accept contributions from my people. But Messrs. Douglass, Garnet, and others had been turned down when they first offered their services. So they declined to take an active part in the plan, and nothing was ever done. The following letters were written before Mrs. Lincoln declined to accept aid from the colored people:

Many persons called at 609 Broadway to examine Mrs. Lincoln's wardrobe, but as curiosity prompted each visit, but few articles were sold. Messrs. Brady & Keyes were not very energetic, and, as will be seen by the letters of Mrs. Lincoln, published in the Appendix, that lady ultimately lost all confidence in them. It was proposed to send circulars, stating Mrs. Lincoln's wants, and appealing to the generosity of the people for aid, broad-cast over the country; but the scheme failed. Messrs. Brady & Keyes were unable to obtain the names of prominent men, whom the people had confidence in, for the circular, to give character and responsibility to the movement—so the whole thing was abandoned. With the Rev. Mr. Garnet, I called on Mr. Greeley, at the office of the Tribune, in connection with this scheme. Mr. Greeley received us kindly, and listened patiently to our proposals—then said:

Many people came to 609 Broadway to examine Mrs. Lincoln's wardrobe. But each visit was prompted by curiosity, so few articles were sold. Messrs. Brady & Keyes did not work very energetically. As Mrs. Lincoln's letters in the Appendix show, she eventually lost all confidence in them. Someone proposed sending circulars throughout the country, explaining Mrs. Lincoln's needs and appealing to people's generosity for help. But the plan failed. Messrs. Brady & Keyes could not secure the names of prominent men whom people trusted for the circular. Their names would have given the effort credibility and accountability, so the whole plan was abandoned. In connection with this plan, the Rev. Mr. Garnet and I called on Mr. Greeley at the office of the Tribune. Mr. Greeley received us kindly and listened patiently to our proposals. Then he said:

"I shall take pleasure in rendering you what assistance I can, but the movement must be engineered by responsible parties. Messrs. Brady & Keyes are not the men to be at the head of it. Nobody knows who they are, or what they are. Place the matter in the hands of those that the people know and have some confidence in, and then there will be a chance for success."

“I’ll be glad to help you however I can, but responsible people must lead the movement. Messrs. Brady & Keyes are not the right men to lead it. Nobody knows who they are or what they are. Put the matter in the hands of people the public knows and has some confidence in. Then there will be a chance of success.”

We thanked Mr. Greeley for his advice, for we believed it to be good advice, and bowed ourselves out of his room. When Messrs. Brady & Keyes were informed of the result of our interview, they became very much excited, and denounced Mr. Greeley as "an old fool." This put an end to the circular movement. The enterprise was nipped in the bud, and with the bud withered Mrs. Lincoln's last hope for success. A portion of the wardrobe was then taken to Providence, to be exhibited, but without her consent. Mr. Brady remarked that the exhibition would bring in money, and as money must be raised, this was the last resort. He was of the impression that Mrs. Lincoln would approve of any movement, so it ended in success. This, at least, is a charitable view to take of the subject. Had the exhibition succeeded in Providence, it is my opinion that the agents of Brady & Keyes would now be travelling over the country, exposing Mrs. Lincoln's wardrobe to the view of the curious, at so much per head. As is well known, the city authorities refused to allow the exhibition to take place in Providence; therefore Mr. Brady returned to New York with the goods, and the travelling show scheme, like the circular scheme, was abandoned. Weeks lengthened into months, and at Mrs. Lincoln's urgent request I remained in New York, to look after her interests. When she left the city I engaged quiet lodgings in a private family, where I remained about two months, when I moved to 14 Carroll Place, and became one of the regular boarders of the house. Mrs. Lincoln's venture proved so disastrous that she was unable to reward me for my services, and I was compelled to take in sewing to pay for my daily bread. My New York expedition has made me richer in experience, but poorer in purse. During the entire winter I have worked early and late, and practised the closest economy. Mrs. Lincoln's business demanded much of my time, and it was a constant source of trouble to me. When Mrs. L. left for the West, I expected to be able to return to Washington in one week from the day; but unforeseen difficulties arose, and I have been detained in the city for several months. As I am writing the concluding pages of this book, I have succeeded in closing up Mrs. Lincoln's imprudent business arrangement at 609 Broadway. The firm of Brady & Keyes is dissolved, and Mr. Keyes has adjusted the account. The story is told in a few words. On the 4th of March I received the following invoice from Mr. Keyes:

We thanked Mr. Greeley for his advice, because we believed it was good, and politely left his room. When Brady & Keyes heard the result of our interview, they became very excited and called Mr. Greeley "an old fool." That put an end to the circular campaign. The enterprise was stopped before it could begin, and with it died Mrs. Lincoln's last hope of success. Part of the wardrobe was then taken to Providence for exhibition, but without her consent. Mr. Brady said the exhibition would bring in money. Since money had to be raised, he said it was the last resort. He believed that Mrs. Lincoln would approve of any action as long as it succeeded. At least, that is a charitable way to look at the matter. Had the exhibition succeeded in Providence, I believe Brady & Keyes's agents would now be traveling around the country. They would be showing Mrs. Lincoln's wardrobe to curious onlookers for a fee per person. As is well known, the city authorities refused to allow the exhibition in Providence. So Mr. Brady returned to New York with the goods. The traveling show plan, like the circular plan, was abandoned. Weeks turned into months, and at Mrs. Lincoln's urgent request, I remained in New York to look after her interests. When she left the city, I rented a quiet room in a private family's home. I stayed there about two months, then moved to 14 Carroll Place and became a regular boarder. Mrs. Lincoln's venture was so disastrous that she could not pay me for my services. I had to take in sewing to earn my daily bread. My New York expedition has made me richer in experience, but poorer in money. All winter I have worked early and late and spent as little as possible. Mrs. Lincoln's business demanded much of my time and was a constant source of trouble to me. When Mrs. L. left for the West, I expected to return to Washington within a week. But unforeseen difficulties arose, and I have been delayed in the city for several months. As I write the final pages of this book, I have succeeded in closing Mrs. Lincoln's imprudent business arrangement at 609 Broadway. The firm of Brady & Keyes has dissolved, and Mr. Keyes has settled the account. The story can be told in a few words. On the 4th of March, I received the following invoice from Mr. Keyes:

The charges of the firm amounted to eight hundred dollars. Mrs. Lincoln sent me a check for this amount. I handed this check to Mr. Keyes, and he gave me the following receipt:

The firm charged eight hundred dollars. Mrs. Lincoln sent me a check for that amount. I gave the check to Mr. Keyes, and he gave me the following receipt:

I packed the articles invoiced, and expressed the trunks to Mrs. Lincoln at Chicago. I then demanded and received a receipt worded as follows:

I packed the items listed on the invoice and shipped the trunks by express to Mrs. Lincoln in Chicago. I then demanded and received a receipt that read as follows:

This closed up the business, and with it I close the imperfect story of my somewhat romantic life. I have experienced many ups and downs, but still am stout of heart. The labor of a lifetime has brought me nothing in a pecuniary way. I have worked hard, but fortune, fickle dame, has not smiled upon me. If poverty did not weigh me down as it does, I would not now be toiling by day with my needle, and writing by night, in the plain little room on the fourth floor of No. 14 Carroll Place. And yet I have learned to love the garret-like room. Here, with Mrs. Amelia Lancaster as my only companion, I have spent many pleasant hours, as well as sad ones, and every chair looks like an old friend. In memory I have travelled through the shadows and the sunshine of the past, and the bare walls are associated with the visions that have come to me from the long-ago. As I love the children of memory, so I love every article in this room, for each has become a part of memory itself. Though poor in worldly goods, I am rich in friendships, and friends are a recompense for all the woes of the darkest pages of life. For sweet friendship's sake, I can bear more burdens than I have borne.

This brought the business to a close, and with it I close this imperfect story of my somewhat romantic life. I have had many ups and downs, but I am still strong of heart. A lifetime of work has brought me no financial reward. I have worked hard, but fortune, that fickle lady, has not smiled on me. If poverty did not weigh me down as it does, I would not still be sewing by day and writing by night. I do this in a plain little room on the fourth floor of No. 14 Carroll Place. And yet I have learned to love this attic-like room. Here, with Mrs. Amelia Lancaster as my only companion, I have spent many pleasant hours, as well as sad ones. Every chair looks like an old friend. In memory, I have traveled through the shadows and sunshine of the past. I associate the bare walls with visions that have come to me from long ago. I love the children of memory, and so I love everything in this room. Each object has become part of memory itself. Though I have few worldly goods, I am rich in friendships. Friends make up for all the sorrows of the darkest pages of life. For the sake of sweet friendship, I can bear more burdens than I have already borne.

The letters appended from Mrs. Lincoln to myself throw a flood of light upon the history of the "old clothes" speculation in New York.

The attached letters from Mrs. Lincoln to me shed a great deal of light on the history of the "old clothes" speculation in New York.