darkness of those awful years, the hold of a tender but unremitting self-control glorifies the sad face of Abraham Lincoln.

Consider the strange prevision of Abraham Lincoln. How could he know so well and so much? It was Mr. Lincoln who believed in armored vessels like the "Monitor." It was because of his suggestion and insistence that the experiment of them was tried. While the battle was clashing between the "Merrimac" and the "Monitor" some one said: "Would it not be fortunate if the 'Monitor' should sink her?" "It would be nothing more than I have expected," calmly observed President Lincoln. "If she does not, something else will. Many providential things are happening in this war, and this may be one of them. The loss of two good ships is an expensive lesson, but it will teach us all the value of ironclads. I have not believed at any time during the last twenty-four hours that the Merrimac' would go right on destroying right and left without any obstruction. Since we knew that the 'Monitor' had got there, I have felt that she was the vessel we wanted." And she was the vessel wanted. The noteworthy thing is the prevision of this plain man who had never navigated anything himself beyond a Mississippi flatboat, that vessels of this sort were the ones to do the business. And this against the conviction of the Naval Department. How strangely he knew this countryman from Springfield, Ill.! How his glances pierced! Well, I think if ever a man were divinely illumined and divinely guided Abraham Lincoln was.

Consider the sympathy of Abraham Lincoln. Do you know the story of William Scott, private? Mr. Chittenden gives the true version of it. He was a boy from a

Vermont farm. There had been a long march, and the night succeeding it he had stood on picket. The next day there had been another long march, and that night William Scott had volunteered to stand guard in the place of a sick comrade who had been drawn for the duty. It was too much for William Scott. He was too tired. He had been found sleeping on his beat. The army was at Chain Bridge. It was in a dangerous neighborhood. Discipline must be kept. William Scott is apprehended, tried by court-martial, sentenced to be shot. News of the case is carried to Mr. Lincoln. William Scott is prisoner in his tent, expecting to be shot next day. But the flaps of his tent are parted, and Mr. Lincoln stands before him. Scott said:

"The President was the kindest man I had ever seen; I knew him at once by a Lincoln medal I had long worn. I was scared at first, for I had never before talked with a great man; but Mr. Lincoln was so easy with me, so gentle, that I soon forgot my fright. He asked me all about the people at home, the neighbors, the farm, and where I went to school, and who my schoolmates were. Then he asked me about mother and how she looked; and I was glad I could take her photograph from my bosom and show it to him. He said how thankful I ought to be that my mother still lived, and how, if he were in my place, he would try to make her a proud mother, and never cause her a sorrow or a tear. I cannot remember it all, but every word was so kind.

"He had said nothing yet about that dreadful next morning; I thought it must be that he was so kind-hearted that he didn't like to speak of it. But why did he say so much about my mother, and my not causing her a sorrow or a tear, when I knew that I must die the next morning? But I supposed that was something that would have to go unexplained; and so I determined to brace up and tell him that I did not feel a bit guilty, and ask him wouldn't he fix it so that the firing party would not be from our regiment. That was going to be the hardest of all— to

die by the hands of my comrades. Just as I was going to ask him this favor he stood up, and he says to me: 'My boy, stand up here and look me in the face.' I did as he bade me. 'My boy,' he said, 'you are not going to be shot to-morrow. I believe you when you tell me that you could not keep awake. I am going to trust you, and send you back to your regiment. But I have been put to a good deal of trouble on your account. I have had to come up here from Washington when I have got a great deal to do; and what I want to know is, how you are going to pay my bill.' There was a big lump in my throat; I could scarcely speak. I had expected to die, you see, and had kind of got used to thinking that way. To have it all changed in a minute! But I got it crowded down, and managed to say: 'I am grateful, Mr. Lincoln ! I hope I am as grateful as ever a man can be to you for saving my life. But it comes upon me sudden and unexpected like. I didn't lay out for it at all; but there is some way to pay you, and I will find it after a little. There is the bounty in the savings bank; I guess we could borrow some money on the mortgage of the farm. There was my pay was something, and if he would wait until pay-day I was sure the boys would help; so I thought we could make it up if it wasn't more than five or six hundred dollars.' 'But it is a great deal more than that,' he said. Then I said I didn't just see how, but I was sure I would find some way - if I lived.

"Then Mr. Lincoln put his hands on my shoulders, and looked into my face as if he was sorry, and said: 'My boy, my bill is a very large one. Your friends cannot pay it, nor your bounty, nor the farm, nor all your comrades! There is only one man in all the world who can pay it, and his name is William Scott! If from this day William Scott does his duty, so that, if I was there when he comes to die, he can look me in the face as he does now, and say, I have kept my promise, and I have done my duty as a soldier, then my debt will be paid. Will you make that promise and try to keep it ?'"'

The promise was given. It is too long a story to tell of the effect of this sympathizing kindness on private William Scott. Thenceforward there never was such a sol

He

dier as William Scott. This is the record of the end. It was after one of the awful battles of the Peninsula. was shot all to pieces. He said:

"Boys, I shall never see another battle. I supposed this would be my last. I haven't much to say. You all know what you can tell them at home about me. I have tried to do the right thing! If any of you ever have the chance, I wish you would tell President Lincoln that I have never forgotten the kind words he said to me at the Chain Bridge that I have tried to be a good soldier and true to the flag — that I should have paid my whole debt to him if I had lived; and that, now, when I know that I am dying, I think of his kind face, and thank him again, because he gave me the chance to fall like a soldier in battle, and not like a coward by the hands of my comrades."

Was there ever a more exquisite story? Space forbids the half telling it. But the heart of Abraham Lincolnhow wide it was, how beautiful and particular in its sympathies. Who can doubt a gracious providence, when at such a crisis such a wise, strong, tender hand was set to grasp the helm of things? What wonder that Secretary Stanton said of him, as he gazed upon the tall form and kindly face as he lay there, smitten down by the assassin's bullet: "There lies the most perfect ruler of men who ever lived."

MINNEAPOLIS, MINN.

LINCOLN IN HARTFORD.

THE YEOMAN ORATOR-DISCUSSES HIS SECRETARY OF THE NAVY - REFUSES WINE-NAMES THE REPUBLICAN CLUBS.

BY DANIEL D. BIDWELL,

EDITOR OF THE HARTFORD "EVENING POST."

IT was on a train that was two hours late that Mr. Lincoln came to the Charter Oak City in the early evening of March 5th, 1860. A meeting at which he was to deliver the main speech was due to open in a scanty fifteen minutes. Without a thought of solace for the inner man the hardy railsplitter stepped into one of the crazy "public carriages" of the Hartford of 1860 and bade the Jehu to sprint for the old city hall, in which the meeting was to be held.

A large crowd had collected in the building. In it was a larger infusion of young men than was usually the case in ante-bellum political assemblies. The president of the meeting was but twenty-nine, but he combined with natural coolness solid qualities which are possessed by few men who have the experience of twice twenty-nine years. He was George G. Sill, since then Lieutenant-Governor of Connecticut. In introducing the gaunt ex-frontiersman Mr. Sill referred to him as 66 one who has done yeoman service for the young party," with a slight emphasis on the word "yeoman," sufficient to remind his