of an incident which occurred the day following the adjournment of the Baltimore Convention: "Various political organizations called to pay their respects to the President. While the Philadelphia delegation was being presented, the chairman of that body, in introducing one of the members, said: Mr. President, this is Mr. S. of the second district of our State, a most active and earnest friend of yours and the cause. He has, among other things, been good enough to paint, and present to our league rooms, a most beautiful portrait of yourself.' Mr. Lincoln took the gentleman's hand in his, and shaking it cordially said, with a merry voice, 'I presume, sir, in painting your beautiful portrait, you took your idea of me from my principles and not from my person.""

Before leaving the old town of Springfield, Mr. Lincoln was often seen, on sunny afternoons, striking out on foot to a neighboring wood, attended by his little sons. There he would romp with them as a companion, and enter with great delight into all their childish sports. This joyous companionship with his children suffered no abatement when he became a resident of the White House and took upon himself the perplexing cares of his great office. To find relief from those cares he would call his boys to some quiet part of the house, throw himself at full length upon the floor, and abandon himself to their fun and frolic as merrily as if he had been of their own age. The two children who were his play-fellows in these romping scenes the first year of

his residence at the Executive Mansion were Willie and Thomas, the latter of whom he always called "Tad; and these children were the youngest of his family.

In February, 1862, this fond father was visited by a sorrowful bereavement. The Executive Mansion was turned into a house of mourning. Death had chosen a shining mark, and the beloved Willie, the apple of his father's eye, the brightest and most promising of his children, was taken away. The dreadful stroke wellnigh broke the President's heart, and certainly an affliction more crushing never fell to the lot of man. In the lonely grave of the little one lay buried Mr. Lincoln's fondest hopes, and, strong as he was in the matter of self-control, he gave way to an overmastering grief, which became at length a serious menace to his health. Never was there witnessed in an American household a scene of distress more touching than that in which the President and Mrs. Lincoln mingled their tears over the coffin that inclosed the lifeless form of their beloved child. A deep and settled despondency took possession of Mr. Lincoln; and when it is remembered that this calamity for such it surely was befell him at a critical period of the war, just when the resources of his mighty intellect were most in demand, it will be understood how his affliction became a matter of the gravest concern to the whole country, and especially to those who stood in close personal and official relations with him.

The measures taken by his friends to break the force

nature and a lover of its artless innocence, he had no patience with people who practise upon the credulity of children; and it was a rule of his life never to mislead a child, even in the most trifling matter, or if in his power to permit it to be misled or deceived by others. On making the acquaintance of a child he at once became its friend, and never afterward forgot its face or the circumstances under which the acquaintance was formed; for his little friends always made some impression on his mind and feelings that was certain to be lasting.

A striking instance of this character deserves especial mention. Shortly after his first election to the Presidency he received a pleasant letter from a little girl living in a small town in the State of New York. The child told him that she had seen his picture, and it was her opinion, as she expressed it in her artless way, that he "would be a better looking man if he would let his beard grow." Mr. Lincoln passed that New York town on his way to Washington, and his first thought on reaching the place was about his little correspondent. In his brief speech to the people he made a pleasing reference to the child and her charming note. "This little lady," said he, "saw from the first that great improvement might be made in my personal appearance. You all see that I am not a very handsome man; and to be honest with you, neither I nor any of my friends ever boasted very much about my personal beauty." He then passed his hand over his face and continued: "But I intend to follow that little girl's advice, and if