“Pray for me,” he said, as he arose to leave the room; and, looking down mournfully upon the little sufferer, he added, “and pray for him, that he may be spared, if it is God’s will.”

“And you pray yourself,” responded Mrs. Pomroy. “There is nothing like prayer in trouble; do you not think so?”

“I surely do,” was the President’s reply, as he retired with weeping eyes and aching heart.

Very soon Mrs. Pomroy heard his own voice distinctly in prayer, commending himself, his family, and his country to God. “From that moment,” she says, “I felt that our cause would triumph. The President interceding with God for it assured me.”

Scarcely had he fallen asleep when a messenger arrived with a telegram from Port Hudson. It was carried directly to his room, when he sprung from the bed, and taking it to the door of the room where “Tad” was lying, that he might read it by the gas light, his eyes ran over it.

“Good news! good news, Mrs. Pomroy! Port Hudson is ours!” he exclaimed, forgetting all sorrow for the moment.

“There is nothing like prayer, Mr. President,” responded Mrs. Pomroy.

“Yes, there is praise,” he promptly answered; “Prayer and praise must go together.”

“Tad” was somewhat improved on the following day, and he continued to improve, and finally recovered. But Mr. Lincoln continued watching by his side for three days and nights—he on one side of the cot and Mrs. Pomroy on the other—leaving only at brief intervals to recline upon the lounge or bed. His public duties were left to Mr. Seward and his private secretary.

“It seemed as if he could not bear to leave ‘Tad’ for a moment,” said Mrs. Pomroy.

On the morning of Willie’s funeral, Mrs. Pomroy expressed her deep sympathy for him, and called his attention to the many prayers going up for him. “I am glad to hear that,” he answered, wiping his tears; “I want they should pray for me. I need their prayers. I will try to go to God with my sorrows.” Subsequently he said, “I wish I had that childlike faith you speak of, and I trust that God will give it to me.”

On the second night of Mrs. Pomroy’s care of “Tad,” about eleven o’clock, Mr. Lincoln remarked,—

“You don’t know how much good your conversation did me last night, Mrs. Pomroy. I wish you would tell me your remarkable experience again.”

She complied with his request, and rehearsed the whole of it over again, Mr. Lincoln interrupting her occasionally by inquiries, as if he were intent upon learning how to bear his own heavy burdens. Still again, on the third night, he requested another rehearsal of that Christian experience. Often afterwards, when riding to and from the Soldiers’ Home, or to the hospital where Mrs. Pomroy’s sick soldier boys were, he would revert to that experience, and put some question, or say, “It did me so much good.” Once a senator was going to the Soldiers’ Home, where Mrs. Pomroy and “Tad” were at the time; and Mr. Lincoln said to him,—

“I want you should see Mrs. Pomroy, whose conversation did me so much good. Go and introduce yourself to her, and tell her that I want you should hear that experience.”

At another time, on the way from the Soldiers’ Home to the Executive Mansion, he said to Mrs. Pomroy, “I don’t know how I shall ever repay you for what you have done for me. If I live through the war, and retire from public life, I hope to be able to remunerate you in some way.”