That

worthy as workers. Again and again the hammer of the auctioneer fell, and husbands and wives were separated forever, and children were, there and then, doomed never again to look into the faces of father and mother. scene in the auction room set the blood of Lincoln on fire. His lips quivered and his voice choked in his throat, as he turned to his fellow-boatman, and said: "If I ever get a chance to hit that thing, I will hit it hard, by the Eternal God." Who is he to hit the “thing” a blow? He is only a boatman, a splitter of rails, a teamster, a backwoodsman. Nothing more. His poverty is so deep that his clothes are in tatters. What position of influence or power is he likely to attain to enable him to strike a blow? The "thing" which he would like to hit is incorporated into the framework of society, and legalized in half the States composing the Republic. It is intrenched in Church and State alike. It is a political force, recognized in the Constitution, and it enters into the basis of representation. Is there the remotest probability that he will ever be able to smite such an institution? Why utter these words? Why raise the right hand toward Heaven and swear a solemn oath? Was it some dim vision of what might come to him through divine Providence in the unfolding years? Was it an illumination of the Spirit forecasting for the moment the impending conflict between right and wrong in which he was to take a conspicuous part? Was it a whisper by a divine messenger that he was to be the chosen one to wipe the "thing" from the earth, and give deliverance to millions of his fellow-men? Was it not rather the mind and heart and power of God planted deep in the depths of his very being, and abiding there with a holy impatience, waiting for the clock of destiny

to strike? You may answer these questions as you please; but these are the facts of history. The hour of the nation came, and with it the golden moment for the slave. Then it was that the very same hand that was lifted in solemn oath before God in the New Orleans slave mart took up the God-inspired pen of liberty, and dashed off the Emancipation Proclamation which wrote out of existence the American slave, and the American slave mart, and the American slave master.

It was the

That was an act worthy of Jesus Christ. act of Jesus Christ; for it was the spirit of Jesus Christ that filled the man with power and that found an outlet in American history through the personality and pen of Abraham Lincoln.

I remember that day well. It was the most thrilling day I have ever known. It was a day full of magnificent music. I shall never hear music more thrilling than the clink of the links of those four million of slave chains, as link struck link when the chains were snapped into a thousand parts beyond all hope of ever again being welded together. The harps of gold, struck by celestial hands, cannot make sweeter music.

LINCOLN'S KINDNESS OF HEART.

PLEADING FOR A DESERTER.

BY JOHN D. KERNAN, ESQ.

A STORY my father, the Hon. Francis Kernan, used to tell illustrates Lincoln's kindness of heart. When my father was a member of Congress, during the War, a woman came to him one day and said that her husband had been captured as a deserter and she wanted my father to go and see the President about the matter. So the next morning he called on Mr. Lincoln. He found him very much occupied, but, sending in word that it was an urgent matter, the President saw him. My father gave the President the facts in the case. It seems that the man had been absent a year from his family and, without leave, had gone home to see them. On his way back to the army he was arrested as a deserter and sentenced to be shot. The sentence was to be carried out that very day. The wife had come on to intercede for her husband.

The President listened attentively, becoming more and more interested in the story. Finally he said: "Why, Kernan, of course this man wanted to see his family; and they oughtn't to shoot him for that." So he immediately rang his bell, called his secretary and gave him orders to send off telegrams suspending the sentence and ordering the record of the case to be sent to

him. As he went on dictating to his secretary he became more and more anxious about the matter. He exclaimed: "For God's sake, get that off just as quick as you can, or they will shoot this man in spite of me!" The result was that the man got a pardon and took his place again in the army.

At the time my father was pleading for the man, Lincoln at first said: "I don't know, Kernan. It is very hard for me to interfere in these matters. Here is General So-and-So and General So-and-So, and they all insist that I am interfering with the discipline of the army, destroying its efficiency; but," said he, "I can't help it. Here is a man who just went home to see his wife and children and they caught him on his way back to the army. I don't think he ought to be shot for that, and I'm going to interfere." And, as I have just stated, he did.

NEW YORK CITY.

A TELEGRAPHER'S REMINISCENCE.

LINCOLN IN THE TELEGRAPH OFFICE- THE NOMINATION OF ANDREW JOHNSON - MR.

FEARS.

BY CHARLES A. TINKER, ESQ.,

LINCOLN'S

SUPERINTENDENT EASTERN DIVISION WESTERN UNION TELEGRAPH Co.

My acquaintance with the martyred President began thirty-eight years ago, in the spring of 1857, when I was a telegraph operator at Pekin, a small town in Illinois, ten miles south of Peoria. The telegraph office was located in the Tazewell House, the principal hotel of the place, and the favorite resort for lawyers and persons who had business in the court which was held in the town.

Even at that time Mr. Lincoln was familiarly known as "Old Abe," and was noticeable on account of his peculiar appearance and personal characteristics. He was then a practising lawyer, living in Springfield, the capital of the State. He was a great story-teller, and many a time, at the evening gatherings in the office, kept his small but appreciative audience in fits of laughter as he told a quaint anecdote to illustrate some point in an argument or some experience in daily life.

The first time he ever spoke to me was when, one afternoon, he came to my office in the corner of the room, and, looking over the tall railing, said: "Mr. Operator, I