This was too aggravating for the even-tempered President; and, rising from his seat, he seized the fellow by his coat collar, and thrust him out of the door, saying,—

“Sir, I give you fair warning never to show yourself in this room again. I can bear censure, but not insult!”

The officer begged for his papers, which he had dropped.

“Begone, sir!” replied the President; “your papers will be sent to you. I never wish to see your face again.”

The second year of his administration brought personal sorrow, in addition to the perplexities and trials of his office. “I thought the war was all that I could bear, but this great affliction is worse than war,” he said. His son Willie died, and “Tad” was in a dying condition at the time. We record the circumstances as related to us by Mrs. Rebecca R. Pomroy, a hospital nurse of rare experience, whose services in the family, at the time, were invaluable. Miss Dix recommended her to Mr. Lincoln on the last day of Willie’s mortal life. Mrs. Pomroy had twenty or thirty sick soldiers under her charge, and eight of them were not expected to live through the day. “How can I leave them?” she said. “It is impossible.” “But you must,” answered Miss Dix: “the Lord’s hand is plainly in it. I shall send for you in two hours;” and she did.

On arriving at the Executive Mansion Miss Dix conducted her into the green room, where the lifeless remains of Willie had just been laid out. Thence she was taken to Mrs. Lincoln’s chamber, where she was lying quite sick. From Mrs. Lincoln’s room she was led into an adjoining one, where little “Tad” lay in a dying condition. The physicians had relinquished all hope of his recovery, and he was not expected to live twenty-four hours. Mr. Lincoln was sitting by him, “the very picture of despair.” “Mrs. Pomroy, Mr. President,” said Miss Dix. Mr. Lincoln arose, and very heartily shook her hand, saying,—

“I am glad to see you: I have heard of you. You have come to a sad house.” His deep emotion choked further utterance, and the tears streamed down his careworn cheeks.

Later both took seats beside “Tad’s” cot—one on each side. The little sufferer lay unconscious, apparently very near death. Soon a telegram from Port Hudson was brought to the President.

“What news?” inquired Mrs. Pomroy.

“Oh, bad enough; a terrible battle is going on at Port Hudson; we don’t know how it will turn. I hope God will give us the victory there: it will be a great gain for us.”

“We must pray that God may give us the victory,” replied Mrs. Pomroy. “There is nothing like prayer.”

“True, very true,” answered the President. “But between this terrible war and this sorrow I am having a sad time. Why is it? Oh, why is it?”

Later still the President looked up and inquired,—

“What led you into the hospital service? You appear to be a feeble woman.”

“God called me into the service. I took care of a sick husband almost twenty years.”

“What about your family?” urged the President; “let me hear about it.”

“My husband and three of my four children are now on the other side. My living son is in the army.”

“How mysteriously God deals with us!” answered Mr. Lincoln. “I trust that He will spare your son, and in due time return you both to your home again. But was this your call to the hospital service?”

“Yes,—through this service for my sick family God fitted me to take care of the soldiers, and He has wonderfully sustained me by giving me strength far beyond the expectation of my friends.”