ldiers' Home, to
which he often goes to sing, and is known there as "Father Locke." He
was a natural minstrel, and songs of his, like "Down by the Sea," have
been sung all over the world. One of his songs has moved thousands of
hearts in sorrow, and pictures his own truly loving and beautiful soul:

"There's a fresh little mound near the willow,
Where at evening I wander and weep;
There's a dear vacant spot on my pillow,
Where a sweet little face used to sleep.
There were pretty blue eyes, but they slumber
In silence, beneath the dark mold,
And the little pet lamb of our number
Has gone to the heavenly fold."

This man, with the approval of President Lincoln, went as a minstrel to
the Army of the Potomac. We think that he was the only minstrel who
followed our army, like the war-singers of old. In a book published for
private use, entitled Three Years in Camp and Hospital, "Father Locke"
thus tells the story of his interview with President Lincoln at the
White House:

"Giving his hand, and saying he recollected me, he asked what he could
do for me.

"'I want no office, Mr. President. I came to ask for one, but have
changed my mind since coming into this house. When it comes to turning
beggar, I shall shun the places where all the other beggars go. I am
going to the army to sing for the soldiers, as the poets and balladists
of old sang in war. Our soldiers must take as much interest in songs and
singing as did those of ancient times. I only wished to shake hands with
you, and obtain a letter of recommendation to the commanding officers,
that they may receive and treat me kindly.'

"'I will give you a letter with pleasure, but you do not need one; your
singing will make you all right.'

"On my rising to leave, he gave his hand, saying: 'God bless you; I am
glad you do not want an office. Go to the army, and cheer the men around
their camp-fires with your songs, remembering that a great man said,
"Let me but make the songs of a nation, and I care not who makes its
laws."'"

The President then told him how to secure a pass into the lines of the
army, and the man went forth to write and to sing his inspirations, like
a balladist of old.

His songs were the delight of many camps of the Army of the Potomac in
the first dark year of the war. They were sung in the camp, and they
belonged to the inside army life, but were little known outside of the
army. They are still fondly