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apparent that no more money could be obtained, and the Legislature began to descant on what part of the debt was lawful and what unlawful.
Repudiation seemed not far off. Mr. Lincoln despaired now of ever becoming the “Dewitt Clinton of Illinois.”
We find him admitting “his share of the responsibility in the present crisis,” and finally concluding that he was “no financier” after all. No sooner had the Legislature adjourned than he decided — if he had not already so determined — to run for the same place again.
He probably wanted it for a vindication.
He was pursued now more fiercely than ever, and he was better able to endure the vilification of a political campaign than when he first offered himself to the voters in New Salem.
Among the Democratic orators who stumped the county at this time was one Taylor — commonly known as Col. Dick Taylor.
He was a showy, bombastic man, with a weakness for fine clothes and other personal adornments.
Frequently he was pitted against Lincoln, and indulged in many bitter flings at the lordly ways and aristocratic pretensions of the Whigs.
He had a way of appealing to “his horny-handed neighbors,” and resorted to many other artful tricks of a demagogue.
When he was one day expatiating in his accustomed style, Lincoln, in a spirit of mischief and, as he expressed it, “to take the wind out of his sails,” slipped up to the speaker's side, and catching his vest by the lower edge gave it a sharp pull.
The latter instantly opened and revealed to his astonished hearers a ruffled shirt-front glittering with watch-chain,
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