“I must go in; and I will take the responsibility,” continued the judge. And he entered, going directly to the President’s sleeping-room without the ceremony of sending in his card. Opening the door, he said, hurriedly and excitedly,—

“Mr. President, a despatch just received informs me that the son of one of my neighbours is to be shot to-morrow; and I want you to save his life.”

“What is he to be shot for?” inquired Mr. Lincoln.

“I don’t know, and I can’t help what he may have done. Why, he is an old neighbour of mine, and I can’t allow him to be shot,” Judge Kellogg continued, under increasing heat.

“Well,” answered Mr. Lincoln, “I don’t believe that shooting him will do him any good. Bring me a pen.”

Without getting out of bed, he wrote a pardon for the judge to forward at once to the boy so near his doom.

Benjamin Owen, a young soldier of Vermont, was sentenced to be shot for sleeping at his post. The family were plunged into agony by the dreadful tidings. For some reason, a reprieve was granted him for several days, when he wrote the following letter to his father:

“Dear Father,—When this reaches you I shall be in eternity. At first it seemed awful to me, but I have thought about it so much now that it has no terror. They say they will not bind me, but that I may meet my death like a man. … You know I promised Jemmy Carr’s mother I would look after her boy, and when he fell sick I did all I could for him. He was not strong when he was ordered back into the ranks, and the day before that night, I carried all his luggage, besides my own, on our march. Toward night we went in on double quick, and though the luggage began to feel very heavy, everybody else was tired, too; and as for Jemmy, if I had not lent him an arm now and then he would have dropped by the way. I was all tired out when I came into camp, and then it was Jemmy’s turn to be sentry, and I would take his place; but I was too tired, father, I could not have kept awake if I had had a gun at my head. But I did not know it until—well, until it was too late. … Our good colonel would save me if he could. He says—forgive him, father—he only did his duty. And don’t lay my death against Jemmy. The poor boy is broken- hearted, and does nothing but beg and entreat them to let him die in my stead. I can’t bear to think of mother and sister. Comfort them, father! God help me, it is very hard to bear! Good-bye, father! God seems near and dear to me; not at all as if He wished me to perish for ever, but as if He felt sorry for His poor, sinful, broken-hearted child, and would take me to be with Him and my Saviour, in a better, better life! God bless you all!”

His sister, who had read much about the President’s tender heart, seized the letter, and quickly as steam could carry her was in Washington, in the presence of Mr. Lincoln.

“Well, my child, what do you want so bright and early this morning?” the President asked.

“My brother’s life,” she said, with much emotion.

“Who is he?”

She told him, and for what he was sentenced to be shot.

“Oh yes, that fatal sleep,” responded Mr. Lincoln; “thousands of lives might have been lost by that sleep.”

“So my father said; but he was so tired carrying Jemmy’s baggage;” and here she put his letter into the President’s hand, saying that “would tell him all about it.”

Mr. Lincoln read Benjamin’s letter; when, with tearful eye and melted heart, he quickly wrote an order for his pardon, and, lest there might be some delay in the conveyance of the message, he ordered his own