is the old buzz of the fly again, the old cobweb | Sad voices, have I read your rede aright, and swinging from the corner, the old gaunt white is there boding in your burden meant for me? faces like leprous blotches on a charnel-house. Or, is it my fate to hear a dirge you sing on a Each stain of the wall is printed in my mind. windy hill-side far away in a distant country? I have counted each year's slow growth on the Yet that I will not think; for as often as I lichen of the log beside me; that spider dragging mark the strain I see pale faces flittering beabout her tiny blue bag of eggs, I can tell all fore my eyes, aimless and wan, as if, only halfthe eggs by name. The day declines, the sun- dead, half-dead and starved, already I made shine falls in my face. I am scarcely so strong consort with phantoms. that I can turn away from it; yet have I had more vigor to-day than for many a weary while before, for there are times when I am not even able to wish. Yet fear not-I remember to have read-fear not those which kill the body but are not able to kill the soul. "If ever thou gavest meate or drinke, The fire shall never make thee shrinke, "If meat or drinke thon never gavest nane, The fire will burn thee to the bare bane, But these are unwholesome humors of mine This is a day of June, when this same sunshine that disturbs me now lies thick and rich in the meadows, when the bluebird's wing has less brilliant azure than the deep, deep sky; when the wild-rose lines the way-side with its blushing tangle, and the sweet smell of the fern makes heavy the afternoon air with its balsams. Ah! to see the field all goldenly embroidered in its butter-cups; just to toss up the long well-humors that the memory of an old-time rhyme sweep, and draw one glittering bucket shaking may bring me, and a shrill noise in my head back crystals into the cold dark shaft of the like a humming of bells miles away over water, well; to roll in the grass with Madge and my or the wind blowing in any hollow sea-shore boy; to feel the puff of the light wind on my shell: while the sun shines, at least, I need not face. This den I can not endure much longer; submit myself to their caprice. The blessed sun, its foul air reeks; all its accumulation of suffer- father of heaven and earth, under his beams no ing becomes my own. The inexorable rise and one quite forsaken or forlorn-it is only in the fall of the sea seems a forbidding fiat, and that dark that judgment fails, the brain benumbs, long roller forever breaking on the beach a pain grows intolerable. Now let me set myself sterner barrier than the cruel dead-line here. to watch that sunbeam creep up my side and All weary as I-nearly as weary as I. I hear vanish into shadow. Some day I shall be satistheir faint mumble; I see their crawling forms; fied with just that task-that one blue line of I feel the aching and the longing. It lies be- sky, so far and fathomless, will be serene confore me, and the terror and the anguish grow tent-that yellow sunshine limned along the till I seem to myself like that man whose prison wall will be joy itself; then perhaps, though walls narrowed every day about him until they prison doors never open, a free spirit will soar crushed him like a fly; for these creatures are be-away eternally into the infinite blue and suncoming idiots. Great Heaven! I have kept cour-light of heaven. If that hour were only here age so far, not to lose it now, I pray! Yet men at last! Dozing and dozing the days away, have gone mad with less. It is as if one were alas, I am so tired! conscious of mouldering in the grave. But rather fear Him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell. Ah, this must be that place! Oftentimes, of late, as I lie here in the dead of the night, I hear faint voices of the air threning above me. It is a strange rune they sing, like that of the old Lyke-Wake Dirge : "This ae nighte, this ae nighte, And Christe receive thye saule." Sit thee down and put them on, And Christe receive thye saule. "If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gavest nane, The whinnes shall pricke thee to the bare bane, What! not done yet? I say to myself every time I lift my lids, and the old eyesore of the place vexes them afresh. At any rate, there is so much more time passed. Presently the nightchills will begin to creep in, and the heavy dews will gather on the wall; the green mould take heart, and spread near where the hot sunshine burned all day. Made of a handful of clay, why not reverse the stroke, and let us crumble back again? At least we should be free as all these other atoms are-these drops of moisture, these grains of growth. In following law most free. Now for the racking of one's bones in the dark. As for me, I have no odds to ask of Heaven! And so to sleep again, if sleep will come. How this tune rings in my ears! It may be Sunday at home; I have lost the reckoning of the days. Perhaps they are singing it up in the choir, and it echoes through the still aisles of the church, and down upon the green, and seems to the truant children sitting there like songs from another world. Or perhaps it is only that Annie has called in little Madge from the after- | again. They dig his grave out on the sand tonoon play, and rocks her to sleep while she night. sings: "So let my lamp be trimmed and fed, And down sad ways a glory shed, Ah, patience, tired heart! and teach these pa- Another. Who replies to that? He-he? Shall he go walking up the long street, the dear familiar path? shall he take his wife to his heart again, and dandle his children, and feel his old mother's faltering hand stroke his hair -and I stay festering here? Down, evil spirit, down! Who deserves better than he? Who is truer comrade in fight— who stouter friend in prison? Hail to his joy as if it were mine! Make it mine-feel it mine! And that name. No one claims it. Dead, possibly. Yet it had a sound of pleasant things; I seem to have heard it somewhere beforeDid any one call me? Dare I dream-can it be-is it mine? What is it diverts them now, I wonder? Torpid and sluggish as snails, they are crawling down to the door. Some little break in the long monotone of the day—perhaps they have a fresh ration served, or is there news of battle? Let- Oh, to breathe again! Oh, home, friends, ters-can there be letters? No, no; it is only country, my own once more! Oh, life restored a voice-the old humdrum tone. Vainly count- while the grave gaped! To see you, dear child, ing the roll for the thousandth time. But that in a week-to feel your soft touch, your embrachurrah-I did not think there was so much ing care! A week! A little while ago eternity breath in them-that wild, keen cry. It is the seemed short till we should meet; now, can I order of exchange! Let me get down there, live so long without you as seven days? Ah! let me hasten, let me try and reach them! I crouched and crushed, I rise; I see a future; I among them? Oh, wait, wait! feel my manhood. To my knees, to my knees That name? He will never answer to it-dear God, I am free! IT PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. in the Capitol used by the Presidents of the United States during the close of a session of Congress, he said, "That room, you know, that they call"-dropping his voice and hesitating"the President's room." To an intimate friend who addressed him always by his own proper title he said, "Now call me Lincoln, and I'll promise not to tell of the breach of etiquette-if you won't-and I shall have a resting-spell from Mister President."'" 6 T is natural that friends should tenderly and frequently talk of the loved and lost, descanting upon their virtues, narrating the little incidents of a life ended, and dwelling with minute particularity upon traits of character which, under other circumstances, might have remained unnoted and be forgotten, but are invested now with a mournful interest which fixes them in the memory. This, and the general desire to know more of the man ABRAHAM LINCOLN, is the only excuse offered for the following simple sketch of some parts of the character of our beloved Chief Magistrate, now passed from earth. All persons agree that the most marked characteristic of Mr. Lincoln's manners was his simplicity and artlessness; this immediately impressed itself upon the observation of those who met him for the first time, and each successive interview deepened the impression. People seemed delighted to find in the ruler of the nation freedom from pomposity and affectation, mingled with a certain simple dignity which never forsook him. Though oppressed with the weight of responsibility resting upon him as President of the United States, he shrank from assuming any of the honors, or even the titles, of the position. After years of intimate ac- In his eagerness to acquire knowledge of comquaintance with Mr. Lincoln the writer can not mon things he sometimes surprised his distinnow recall a single instance in which he spoke guished visitors by inquiries about matters that of himself as President, or used that title for they were supposed to be acquainted with, and himself, except when acting in an official ca-those who came to scrutinize went away with a pacity. He always spoke of his position and vague sense of having been unconsciously pumpoffice vaguely, as this place," "here," or oth-ed by the man whom they expected to pump. er modest phrase. Once, speaking of the room | One Sunday evening last winter, while sitting 66 With all his simplicity and unacquaintance with courtly manners, his native dignity never forsook him in the presence of critical or polished strangers; but mixed with his angularities and bonhomie was something which spoke the fine fibre of the man; and, while his sovereign disregard of courtly conventionalities was somewhat ludicrous, his native sweetness and straightforwardness of manner served to disarm criticism and impress the visitor that he was before a man pure, self-poised, collected, and strong in unconscious strength. Of him an accomplished foreigner, whose knowledge of the courts was more perfect than that of the English language, said, "He seems to me one grand gentilhomme in disguise." But one answer could be returned to the query, and soon after the visitors were shown in, the President first whispering, "Now sit still and see what we can pick up that's new." To my surprise, however, no ques alone with the President, the cards of Professor | you think so?" tions were asked about the Old Silurian, the Glacial Theory, or the Great Snow-storm, but, introductions being over, the President said: "I never knew how to properly pronounce your name; won't you give me a little lesson at that, please?" Then he asked if it were of French or Swiss derivation, to which the Professor replied that it was partly of each. That led to a discussion of different languages, the President speaking of several words in different languages which had the same root as similar words in our own tongue; then he illustrated that by one or two anecdotes, one of which he borrowed from Hood's "Up the Rhine." But he soon returned to his gentle cross-examination of Agassiz, and found out how the Professor studied, how he composed, and how he delivered his lectures; how he found different tastes in his audiences in different portions of the country. When afterward asked why he put such questions to his learned visitor he said, "Why, what we got from him isn't printed in the books; the other things are." At this interview, it may be remarked in passing, the President said that many years ago, when the custom of lecture-going was more common than since, he was induced to try his hand at composing a literary lecture-something which he thought entirely out of his line. The subject, he said, was not defined, but his purpose was to analyze inventions and discoveries -"to get at the bottom of things"-and to show when, where, how, and why such things were invented or discovered; and, so far as possible, to find where the first mention is made of some of our common things. The Bible, he said, he found to be the richest store-house for such knowledge; and he then gave one or two illustrations, which were new to his hearers. The lecture was never finished, and was left among his loose papers at Springfield when he came to Washington. The simplicity of manner which shone out in all such interviews as that here noticed was marked in his total lack of consideration of what was due his exalted station. He had an almost morbid dread of what he called "a scene"that is, a demonstration of applause such as always greeted his appearance in public. The first sign of a cheer sobered him; he appeared sad and oppressed, suspended conversation, and looked out into vacancy; and when it was over resumed the conversation just where it was interrupted, with an obvious feeling of relief. Of the relations of a senator to him he said, "I think that Senator -'s manner is more cordial to me than before." The truth was that the senator had been looking for a sign of cordiality from his superior, but the President had reversed their relative positions. At another time, speaking of an early acquaintance, who was an applicant for an office which he thought him hardly qualified to fill, the President said, "Well, now, I never thought M- had any more than average ability when we were young men together; really I did not"-a pause. "But, then, I suppose he thought just the same about me; he had reason to, and here I am!" The simple habits of Mr. Lincoln were so well known that it is a subject for surprise that watchful and malignant treason did not sooner take that precious life which he seemed to hold so lightly. He had an almost morbid dislike for an escort, or guard, and daily exposed himself to the deadly aim of an assassin. One summer morning, passing by the White House at an early hour, I saw the President standing at the gateway, looking anxiously down the street; and, in reply to a salutation, he said, "Goodmorning, good-morning! I am looking for a news-boy; when you get to that corner I wish you would start one up this way." There are American citizens who consider such things beneath the dignity of an official in high place. In reply to the remonstrances of friends, who were afraid of his constant exposure to danger, he had but one answer: "If they kill me, the next man will be just as bad for them; and in a country like this, where our habits are simple, and must be, assassination is always possible, and will come if they are determined upon it." A cavalry guard was once placed at the gates of the White House for a while, and he said, privately, that he "worried until he got rid of it." While the President's family were at their summer-house, near Washington, he rode into town of a morning, or out at night, attended by a mounted escort; but if he returned to town for a while after dark, he rode in unguarded, and often alone, in his open carriage. On more than one occasion the writer has gone through the streets of Washington at a late hour of the night with the President, without escort, or even the company of a servant, walking all of the the way, going and returning. Considering the many open and secret threats to take his life, it is not surprising that Mr. Lincoln had many thoughts about his coming to a sudden and violent end. He once said that he felt the force of the expression, "To take one's life in his hand;" but that he would not like to face death suddenly. He said that he thought himself a great coward physically, and was sure that he should make a poor soldier, for, unless there was something in the excitement of a battle, he was sure that he would drop his gun and run at the first symptom of danger. That was said sportively, and he added, "Moral cowardice is something which I think I never had." Shortly after the presidential election, in 1864, he related an incident which I will try to put upon paper here, as nearly as possible in his own words: "It was just after my election in 1860, when the news had been coming in thick and fast all day, and there had been a great' Hurrah, boys!' so that I was well tired out, and went home to rest, throwing myself down on a lounge in my chamber. Opposite where I lay was a bureau, with a swinging-glass upon it"-(and here he got up and placed furniture to illustrate the position)—“and, looking in that glass, I saw when she asked where he was, she was told, "Here he is!" Nearly petrified with surprise, the old lady managed to tell her errand, and was told to come next morning at nine o'clock, when she was received and kindly cared for by the President. At another time, hearing of a young man who had determined to enter the navy as a landsman, after three years of service in the army, he said to the writer, "Now do you go over to the Navy Department and mouse myself reflected, nearly at full length; but my face, I noticed, had two separate and distinct images, the tip of the nose of one being about three inches from the tip of the other. I was a little bothered, perhaps startled, and got up and looked in the glass, but the illusion vanished. On lying down again I saw it a second timeplainer, if possible, than before; and then I noticed that one of the faces was a little paler, say five shades, than the other. I got up and the thing melted away, and I went off and, in the ex-out what he is fit for, and he shall have it, if it's citement of the hour, forgot all about it-nearly, but not quite, for the thing would once in a while come up, and give me a little pang, as though something uncomfortable had happened. When I went home I told my wife about it, and a few days after I tried the experiment again, when [with a laugh], sure enough, the thing came again; but I never succeeded in bringing the ghost back after that, though I once tried very industriously to show it to my wife, who was worried about it somewhat. She thought it was a sign' that I was to be elected to a second term of office, and that the paleness of one of the faces was an omen that I should not see life through the last term." The President, with his usual good sense, saw nothing in all this but an optical illusion; though the flavor of superstition which hangs about every man's composition made him wish that he had never seen it. But there are people who will now believe that this odd coincidence was "; a warning." to be had, for that's the kind of men I like to hear of." The place was duly "moused out," with the assistance of the kind-hearted Assistant-Secretary of the Navy; and the young officer, who may read these lines on his solitary post off the mouth of the Yazoo River, was appointed upon the recommendation of the President of the United States. Of an application for office by an old friend, not fit for the place he sought, he said, "I had rather resign my place and go away from here than refuse him, if I consulted only my personal feelings; but refuse him I must." And he did. This same gentleness, mixed with firmness, characterized all of Mr. Lincoln's dealings with public men. Often bitterly assailed and abused, he never appeared to recognize the fact that he had political enemies; and if his attention was called to unkind speeches or remarks, he would turn the conversation of his indignant friends by a judicious story, or the remark, "I guess we won't talk about that now." He has himIf Mr. Lincoln's critics may be trusted, he self put it on record that he never read attacks had too much goodness of heart to make a good upon himself, and if they were brought persistmagistrate. Certain it is that his continually-ently before him he had some ready excuse for widening charity for all, and softness of heart, pardoned offenders and mitigated punishments when the strict requirements of justice would have dealt more severely with the criminal. It was a standing order of his office that persons on matters involving the issue of life and death should have immediate precedence. Nor was his kindness confined to affairs of state; his servants, and all persons in his personal service, were the objects of his peculiar care and solicitude. They bore no burdens or hardships which he could relieve them of; and if he carried this virtue to an extreme, and carried labors which others should have borne, it was because he thought he could not help it. He was often waylaid by soldiers importunate to get their back-pay, or a furlough, or a discharge; and if the case was not too complicated, would attend to it then and there. Going out of the main-door of the White House one morning, he met an old lady who was pulling vigorously at the door-bell, and asked her what she wanted. She said that she wanted to see "Abraham the Second." The President, amused, asked who Abraham the First might be, if there was a second? The old lady replied, "Why, Lor' bless you! we read about the first Abraham in the Bible, and Abraham the Second is our President." She was told that the President was not in his office then, and their authors. Of a virulent personal attack upon his official conduct he mildly said that it was ill-timed; and of one of his most bitter political enemies he said: "I've been told that insanity is hereditary in his family, and I think we will admit the plea in his case.' It was noticeable that Mr. Lincoln's keenest critics and bitter opponents studiously avoided his presence; it seemed as though no man could be familiar with his homely, heart-lighted features, his single-hearted directness and manly kindliness, and remain long an enemy, or be any thing but his friend. It was this warm frankness of Mr. Lincoln's manner that made a hard-headed old "hunker" once leave the hustings where Lincoln was speaking, in 1856, saying, "I won't hear him, for I don't like a man that makes me believe in him in spite of myself." "Honest Old Abe" has passed into the language of our time and country as a synonym for all that is just and honest in man. Yet thousands of instances, unknown to the world, might be added to those already told of Mr. Lincoln's great and crowning virtue. He disliked innuendoes, concealments, and subterfuges; and no sort of approach at official "jobbing" ever had any encouragement from him. With him the question was not, "Is it convenient? Is it expedient ?" but, "Is it right?" He steadily discountenanced all practices of government offi |