Year: 1870

III was lOn& anu vreeOme jour-
ney,' he said alphabetically.


Yes. sir; but someway, 1 felt, if
I could only see you and tell you,
that you would believe my story.
/ have no letters to speak for me,
only this one,' moving her hand
toward her pocket.


The President shook his head.
He was twisting a piece of paper
over and over through his fingers.
Lifting his eyes suddenly to her
face, he asked:


who is that letter from?'


1T is from a kind minister; l
asked him to write it. He said you
did not know him, and would in
ell probability not read the letter;
yet, if it would be any comfort to
me, he would w-ite it,


Let me see it.


As he bent forward to take the
letter the infant seized his hand.
The President patted the little
hands and face, and then leaned
toward the light to read.


How anxiously the woman watch
ed him! Bat his countenance
gave no indication of his thoughts.
He folded the letter carefully;
slowly he handed it back again say
ing:


i am satisfied with it. believe
your story. I shall pardon your
husband


The baby looked up steadily at
him; the woman arose, as she ex-
claimed:


sOh, Mr.. President, how can I
thank you!'


Take this note to the War De-
partment, and they will give you
a paper of release for your husband
from the charge of desertion. It
will make your journey home more
com Portable. Good night


God bless you.' she answered,
and was gone


The President struck the little
bell and tall usher opened wide
the door until the room was filled.
Some of these petitioners were in
solent beyond human endurance;
some were silly to excess; some
were iudicrous in their pompous>
ness, displaying piles of letters Of
introduction, which the President
would not look at. They would
however persist in their endeavors
to make him look at such letters
from such persons.


The President soon became ex-
aspered, as he listened to one and
another. In vain he shook his
head and stamped his feet. and
brought his hands violently down
upon the table, telling them that
he would not and could not listen
to such petitions. They, with an
assurance never to be imagined,
would still go on.


Men with defiant faces. men
whining and pleading. and forward
women. grasped his arms to arrest
his attention. His patience with
such rudeness was wonderful. II
he expressed contempt for affec-
tations, he also did not forget to
respect modesty and real sorrow
when he met it.


Again the little bell was rune.
and again the room was filled
Those who had just gone out NUT.
tered their dislike for the good
man who listened from early morn
ing until late at night to people of
every grade.


Often the President was grave
to sadness. For hours in scuces-
sion he expressed no anger, no
mirth. Petition after petition was
presented in rapid succession. It
was the same story of sorrow-of
fathers, brothers and husbands in
prison, each pleading for theirs to
be the first released in the exchange
OF prisoners. Some had dear ones
dying in camp, beyond the lines;
they were begging to 60 to them.
Hundreds had made the same re-
quest.


oh, let US go to them-only let
US go!


There were bands of poor op-
pressed sewing-women stating
their wrongs. Peace Commission
ers aud Southern refugees.


Many times the President start
ed to go to his private room; but
sad faces pressing up the stairway
stopped him as he was crossing
the hall, and he went back again.


DO, kind President grant my
request


The woman's voice was very
plaintive, and large tears were fall