Mr. Lincoln's name and arguments had filled so large a space in Eastern
newspapers, both friendly and hostile, that the listeners before him
were intensely curious to see and hear this rising Western politician.
The West was even at that late day but imperfectly understood by the
East. The poets and editors, the bankers and merchants of New York
vaguely remembered having read in their books that it was the home of
Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett, the country of bowie-knives and pistols,
of steamboat explosions and mobs, of wild speculation and the
repudiation of State debts; and these half-forgotten impressions had
lately been vividly recalled by a several years' succession of newspaper
reports retailing the incidents of Border Ruffian violence and
free-State guerrilla reprisals during the civil war in Kansas. What was
to 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?
Judging from after effects, the audience quickly forgot these
questioning thoughts. They had but time to note Mr. Lincoln's impressive
stature, his strongly marked features, the clear ring of his rather
high-pitched voice, and the almost commanding earnestness of his manner.
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