“If the appointments for this year have not been made, let this boy be appointed,” he wrote at once to the Secretary of the Navy, passing the message to Mr. Kelley.

The appointment was made; but it was found the lad was not quite fourteen years of age. “I think the President can make it right,” said Mr. Kelley to him; and he took the lad to Mr. Lincoln.

“Mr. President,” said Kelley, “my young friend, Willie Bladen, finds a difficulty about his appointment. You have directed him to appear at the school in July, and he will not be fourteen until September.” Willie bowed in a graceful, soldierly way to the President.

“Bless me!” exclaimed Mr. Lincoln, laying down his spectacles; “is that the boy who did so gallantly in those two great battles? Why, I feel I should bow to him, and not he to me.” Then, taking the order previously written, he changed it from July to September; and putting his hand lovingly on Willie’s head, he said,—

“Now, my noble boy, go home, and have a good time during the two months, for they are about the last holiday you will get.”

Willie bowed himself out, remarking to an acquaintance, “I should like to have a game of romps with that man.”

A small, pale, delicate-looking boy waited in the crowd to see the President. Observing him, Mr. Lincoln said, “Come here, my boy, and tell me what you want.”

Advancing timidly, the little fellow placed his hand on the arm of the President’s chair, and said:—

“Mr. President, I have been a drummer in a regiment for two years, and my colonel got angry with me, and turned me off. I was taken sick, and have been a long time in the hospital. This is the first time I have been out, and I came to see if you could not do something for me.”

His plea touched Mr. Lincoln’s heart, and he replied by asking the boy,—

“Where do you live, my son?”

“I have no home,” the lad answered sadly.

“Where is your father?”

“He died in the army some time ago.”

“Where is your mother?”

“My mother is dead also. I have no father, no mother, no brothers, no sisters, and,” bursting into tears, “no friends—nobody cares for me.”

Mr. Lincoln’s eyes filled with tears, and his lips quivered for a moment, when he continued,—

“Can’t you sell newspapers?”

“No, I am too weak; and the surgeon told me I must leave the hospital, and I have no money, and nowhere to go to.”

The President could say no more; and he drew forth a card, and wrote on it, “Take care of this poor boy,” directing it to the proper official; then handed it to the lad, whose face lit up with a smile because he had found a true friend in the President.

A citizen of Washington tells the following:—