months during the first year, and of three months during the
second, further reduce his opportunities more than one-half.

Lincoln did not attempt to shine forth in debate, either by a
stinging retort, or burst of inspired eloquence. He went about
his task quietly and earnestly, performing his share of duty with
industry and a hearty admiration for the ability of better-known
members. "I just take my pen," he wrote enthusiastically to a
friend after listening to a speech which pleased him much, "to
say that Mr. Stephens, of Georgia, is a little slim, pale-faced
consumptive man, with a voice like Logan's, has just concluded
the very best speech of an hour's length I ever heard. My old
withered, dry eyes are full of tears yet."

During the first session of his term Lincoln made three long
speeches, carefully prepared and written out beforehand. He was
neither elated nor dismayed at the result. "As to speech-making,"
he wrote William H. Herndon, who had now become his law partner,
"I find speaking here and elsewhere about the same thing. I was
about as badly scared, and no worse, as I am when I speak in
court."

The next year he made no set speeches, but in addition to the
usual work of a congressman occupied himself with a bill that had
for its object the purchase and freeing of all slaves in the
District of Columbia. Slavery was not only lawful at the national
capital at that time: there was, to quote Mr. Lincoln's own
graphic words, "in view from the windows of the Capitol a sort of
negro livery-stable, where droves of negroes were collected,
temporarily kept, and finally taken to Southern markets,