of adamant opens before us, and with a bewildering feeling we enter. The President is sitting near a table, and nearly facing the door, and as he greets us politely, I notice traces of tears upon his face. His voice, too, betrays emotion.'

"Mr. President,' I said, with what steadiness I could command, 'the husband of this lady, J. W. C., 27th Regiment, Volunteers, is sentenced to be shot, as you have learned from the letter, and we have come to ask you to spare his life. Men's lives are getting to be precious.'

"I know it but I must do something to keep those fellows, or half of them would run away.'

"He said at last:

"Now you women may go home comforted. I have telegraphed for them not to be executed until I send an order, and I don't intend to send the order.'

"The poor woman at my side could only weep her thanks, but I recalled saying more than once: 'We thank you a thousand times, Sir.'

"The President rose and dismissed us in a pleasant and cheerful way, but yet with such kindly sympathy in word and manner as I shall always gratefully and affectionately remember."

The morning of July 2, 1863, about ten o'clock, Mrs. Lincoln was in her carriage crossing the open lot near the Mount Pleasant Hospital. The coachman's seat became detached and he was precipitated to the ground. The spirited horses took frieght and dashed away at fearful speed. Mrs. Lincoln, who was alone, seeing the imminent danger, with courage and presence of mind at the critical moment, sprang from the carriage as the horses flew. She was stunned. The bruises were painful yet not serious. The most severe, one on the back of the head from which the blood flowed freely. Surgeons from the hospital administered promptly. A