before him. When he reached that part of the narrative which related to a fearful charge across a bridge, wherein the soldier displayed remarkable heroism, Mr. Lincoln started up, and asked earnestly,—

"Do you say that the young man was wounded? as if he were overjoyed to find a decent reason for saving another life.

"Yes, badly wounded," added Mr. Kellogg.

"Then he has shed his blood for his country?" suggested Mr. Lincoln.

"Yes, and shed it nobly," responded Mr. Kellogg.

"Kellogg!" continued the President, brightening up, "is there not something in the Bible about the shedding of blood for the remission of sins?"

"I think you are right," replied Mr. Kellogg.

Well, it is a good point, and there is no going behind it," rejoined the President. And, taking up his pen, he wrote a pardon, which Mr. Kellogg bore to the now glad father.

With all his leniency towards erring soldiers and his passion for granting pardons, he had no patience with rebel sympathizers in places of trust. When Alexander Long, of Ohio, proposed, in the House of Representatives, to recognize the Southern Confederacy, General Garfield sprang to his feet, and denounced the "treason" in words of bitter detestation, comparing the author of the proposition to Benedict Arnold, who betrayed his country in the hour of its peril, and entreating loyal representatives not to believe that another such "growth on the soil of Ohio deformed the face of nature, and darkened the light of God's day." When news of this speech reached the President, he expressed his approbation in the most unqualified manner, and subsequently thanked General Garfield for "flaying Long alive."

At one time the President called upon the head surgeon

at City Point, and told him that he wanted to visit all the hospitals there, and shake hands with every soldier, as incidentally referred to on a former page.

"Do you know what a job you have undertaken, Mr. President?" responded the surgeon.

"How many have you in the hospitals?" Mr. Lincoln asked.

"From five to six thousand," answered the surgeon; "and you will be exhausted long before you get through all the wards."

Mr. Lincoln smiled as he continued, "I think I am quite equal to the task. At any rate, I can try, and go as far as I can. I shall never see the boys again, probably, and I want they should know how I appreciate what they have done for the country."

The tour of the hospitals began, the surgeon leading the way, and the President stopping at every cot, extending his hand, with words of greeting to one, sympathy to another, and a kind inquiry of some-all glad to take his hand. In his rounds, he approached a cot on which lay a rebel soldier. Before the President had time to extend his hand the repentant soldier extended his, bursting into tears, and saying, "Mr. Lincoln, I have long wanted to see you, and ask your forgiveness for ever raising my hand against the old flag."

Mr. Lincoln wept, as he shook the penitent's hand kindly, assuring him of prompt forgiveness. And this recalls his remark to a public man who was complaining of his Amnesty Proclamation: "When a man is sincerely penitent for his misdeeds, and gives satisfactory evidence of the same, he can safely be pardoned, and there is no exception to the rule." The last clause, which we have put in italics, expresses the true Gospel idea of forgiveness better than most sermons of twenty pages.

After the tour of the hospitals had been made, and

the President had seated himself in the surgeon's office, word came that "one of the wards was overlooked, and the boys want to see the President."

"You are thoroughly tired, Mr. President, and so am I," said the surgeon, "and you had better not go; it will make no difference."

"But I must go," Mr. Lincoln replied; "I would not knowingly omit one, and the boys will be so disappointed if they do not see me."

He went, and completed the hand-shaking for that day, which consumed several hours, and returned perfectly satisfied, because he had carried joy and comfort to the "brave boys," whom he loved as a father.

His letters and public documents abound in expressions which show that the soldiers, officers and privates, were borne upon his mind constantly. He was invited to attend a large meeting in New York in honour of General Grant. He closed his reply with these words

"He and his brave soldiers are now in the midst of their great trial; and I trust that at your meeting you will so shape your good words that they may turn to men and guns moving to his and their support."

He closed his letter, accepting his second nomination, with the following:

"I am especially gratified that the soldiers and seamen were not forgotten by the convention, as they for ever must and will be remembered by the grateful country for whose salvation they devote their lives."

If the people would but remember the soldier, they might withhold some of their praise for himself!

News of the bloody slaughter of the "boys" always filled the heart of the President with grief.

"Terrible! terrible!"

How often this expressive word dropped from his lips! Often he could neither eat nor sleep, his soul was so

wrought upon by bad news from the front. When the tidings of defeat with very heavy loss, in the Wilderness battles, reached him, he exclaimed:

"My God! my God! Twenty thousand poor souls sent to their account in one day! I cannot bear it! I cannot bear it!"

One morning, Secretary Seward found him walking his room with a most distressed appearance in his face, when he inquired if the President were not well.

"This dreadful news from the boys has banished sleep and appetite," he answered. "Not a moment's sleep last night, nor a crumb of food this morning!"

It was the grief of a father over his fallen sons, sincere and tender as that of a mother.

At another time, the news of a heavy loss in a hardfought battle caused him to bury his face in his hands, saying,

"I shall never more be glad!"

Dr. Holland says of Mr. Lincoln and the soldiers :— "With the soldiers who were fighting the battles of the country, he had the deepest sympathy. Whenever he was congratulated upon a success, he never failed to allude gratefully to the noble men who had won it. The trials of these men,-their sacrifices of comfort and health, of limb and life,-touched him with a sympathy that really sapped the foundations of his constitution. They were constantly in his thoughts; and not a battle was fought to whose sacrifices his own vitality did not contribute. He admired the fighting man, and looked upon him as, in one sense, his superior. Although he did not plead guilty to the weakness of moral cowardice, he felt that the battle-field was a fearful place, from which, unaided by its special inspirations, he should run. Indeed, Mr. Lincoln did not give himself credit for the physical courage which he really possessed,

though he had probably grown timid with his failing strength.

"This sympathy with the soldiers he manifested in many ways, and in none more than in the treatment of their offences against military law. In a letter to the author, a personal friend of the President says: 'I called on him one day in the early part of the war. He had just written a pardon for a young man who had been sentenced to be shot, for sleeping at his post as a sentinel. He remarked as he read it to me :

"I could not think of going into eternity with the blood of the poor young man on my skirts.' Then

he added:

"It is not to be wondered at that a boy, raised on a farm, probably in the habit of going to bed at dusk, should, when required to watch, fall asleep; and I cannot consent to shoot him for such an act.'

"This story with its moral is made complete by the Rev. Newman Hall, of London, who, in a sermon preached after and upon Mr. Lincoln's death, says that the dead body of this youth was found among the slain on the field of Fredericksburg, wearing next his heart a photograph of his preserver, beneath which the grateful fellow had written, 'God bless President Lincoln!' From the same sermon another anecdote is gleaned, of a similar character, which is evidently authentic. An officer of the army, in conversation with the preacher, said: "The first week of our command, there were twenty-four deserters sentenced by courtmartial to be shot, and the warrants for their execution were sent to the President to be signed. He refused. I went to Washington and had an interview. I said: "Mr. President, unless these men are made an example of, the army itself is in danger. Mercy to the few is cruelty to the many."