om 'Old Abe' when he lived at Salem. It was here
that Anne Rutledge dwelt, and in whose grave Lincoln wrote that his
heart was buried.

"As the story runs, the fair and gentle Anne was originally John
McNamer's sweetheart, but 'Abe' took a 'shine' to the young lady,
and succeeded in heading off McNamer and won her affections. But Anne
Rutledge died, and Lincoln went to Springfield, where he some time
afterwards married.

"It is related that during the War a lady belonging to a prominent
Kentucky family visited Washington to beg for her son's pardon, who
was then in prison under sentence of death for belonging to a band of
guerrillas who had committed many murders and outrages.

"With the mother was her daughter, a beautiful young lady, who was an
accomplished musician. Mr. Lincoln received the visitors in his
usual kind manner, and the mother made known the object of her visit,
accompanying her plea with tears and sobs and all the customary romantic
incidents.

"There were probably extenuating circumstances in favor of the young
rebel prisoner, and while the President seemed to be deeply pondering
the young lady moved to a piano near by and taking a seat commenced to
sing 'Gentle Annie,' a very sweet and pathetic ballad which, before the
War, was a familiar song in almost every household in the Union, and is
not yet entirely forgotten, for that matter.

"It is to be presumed that the young lady sang the song with
more plaintiveness and effect than 'Old Abe' had ever heard it in
Springfield. During its rendition, he arose from his seat, crossed the
room to a window in the westward, through which he gazed for several
minutes with a 'sad, far-away look,' which has so often been noted as
one of his peculiarities.

"His memory, no doubt, went back to the days of his humble life on the
Sangamon, and with visions of Old Salem and its rustic people, who once
gathered in his primitive store, came a picture of the 'Gentle Annie'
of his youth, whose ashes had rested for many long years under the wild
flowers and brambles of the old rural burying-ground, but whose spirit
then, perhaps, guided him to the side of mercy.

"Be that as it may, President Lincoln drew a large red silk handkerchief
from his coatpocket, with which he wiped his face vigorously. Then
he turned, advanced quickly to his desk, wrote a brief note, which he
handed to the lady, and informed her that it was the pardon she sought.

"The scene was no doubt t