see. and hear this rising Western politician. The West, even at
that late day, was very imperfectly understood by the East. It
was looked upon as a land of bowie-knives and pistols, of
steamboat explosions, of mobs, of wild speculation and wilder
adventure. What, then, would be the type, the character, the
language of this speaker? How would he impress the great editor
Horace Greeley, who sat among the invited guests; David Dudley
Field, the great lawyer, who escorted him to the platform;
William Cullen Bryant, the great poet, who presided over the
meeting?

The audience quickly forgot these questioning doubts. They had
but time to note Mr. Lincoln's unusual height, his rugged,
strongly marked features, the clear ring of his high-pitched
voice, the commanding earnestness of his manner. Then they became
completely absorbed in what he was saying. He began quietly,
soberly, almost as if he were arguing a case before a court. In
his entire address he uttered neither an anecdote nor a jest. If
any of his hearers came expecting the style or manner of the
Western stump-speaker, they met novelty of an unlooked-for kind;
for such was the apt choice of words, the simple strength of his
reasoning, the fairness of every point he made, the force of
every conclusion he drew, that his listeners followed him,
spellbound. He spoke on the subject that he had so thoroughly
mastered and that was now uppermost in men's minds--the right or
wrong of slavery. He laid bare the complaints and demands of the
Southern leaders, pointed out the injustice of their threat to
break up the Union if their claims were not granted, stated
forcibly the stand taken by the Republican party, and brought his
speech to a close with the short and telling appeal: