r gave, when he had but little to bestow, and in
consequence his family are now feeling it; yet for my life I would not
recall a dollar he ever gave. Yet his favorite expression, when I have
playfully alluded to the 'rainy day' that might be in store for _himself
and his own_ on several occasions, he has looked at me so earnestly and
replied, 'Cast your bread upon the waters.' Although the petty sum of
$22,000 was an insufficient return for Congress to make me, and
allowanced to its meagreness by men who traduced and vilified the loved
wife of the great man who _made them_, and from whom they amassed great
fortunes--for _Weed, and Seward, and R._ did this last. And yet, _all
this_ was permitted by an American people, who owed _their_ remaining a
nation to my husband! I have dwelt too long on this painful subject, but
when I have been compelled from a pitiful income to make a
boarding-house of my home, as I now am doing, think you that it does
not rankle in my heart?

"Fortunately, with my husband's great, great love for me--the knowledge
of this future for his petted and idolized wife was spared him, and yet
I feel in my heart _he_ knows it all. Mr. Sumner, the intimate friend of
better days, called to see me two or three weeks since--he who had been
an habitue of the White House--both the rooms of the President and my
own reception-room, in either place he was always sure of a heartfelt
welcome; my present situation must have struck a painful chord in his
noble, sympathizing heart. And yet, when I endeavored to ameliorate my
condition, the cry has been so fearful against me as to cause me to
forget my own identity, and suppose I had plundered the nation, indeed,
and committed murder. This, certainly, cannot be America, 'the land of
the _free_,' the 'home of the _brave_.' The evening before Mr. Sumner's
last call I had received Mr. Douglass's letter; I mentioned the
circumstance to Mr. Sumner, who replied: 'Mr. Frederick Douglass is a
very noble, talented man, and I know of no one who writes a more
beautiful letter.' I am sending you a long letter, Lizzie, but I rely a
great deal on your indulgence. My fear is that you will not be able to
decipher the scrawl written so hastily.

"I remain, truly yours,
"MARY LINCOLN."

"CHICAGO, Nov. 17.

"MY DEAR LIZZIE:--By the time you receive this note, you will doubtless
find the papers _raving_ over the large income which we are each _said_
to have. Knowing exactly the