ion were sent to the President
to be signed. He refused. I went to Washington and had an interview. I
said: 'Mr. President, unless these men are made an example of, the army
itself is in danger. Mercy to the few is cruelty to the many.' He
replied: 'Mr. General, there are already too many weeping widows in the
United States. For God's sake, don't ask me to add to the number, for _I
won't do it_.'"

It came to the knowledge of Lincoln that a widow living in Boston--a
Mrs. Bixby--had lost five sons in the service of their country. Without
delay he addressed to the bereaved mother the following touching note:

I have been shown on the file of the War Department a statement of
the Adjutant-General of Massachusetts, that you are the mother of
five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle. I feel
how weak and fruitless must be any word of mine which should
attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming;
but I cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may
be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save. I pray
that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your
bereavements, and leave only the cherished memory of the loved and
lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so
costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.

Yours, very sincerely and respectfully,
A. LINCOLN.

A case of unusual interest is that of Cyrus Pringle, a Vermont Quaker
who was drafted into the military service in 1863, and refused to serve
on the ground that his religion and his conscience would not permit him
to bear arms. His story, as recorded in his diary, was given to the
world after his death ("Atlantic Monthly," February, 1913). In spite of
his protests, Pringle was taken South and forced to wear a uniform and
carry a gun, though he refused to use it or even to clean it. His
obstinacy, as it was supposed to be, caused him much suffering,
sometimes even physical punishment, all of which he bore patiently,
believing that if he was steadfast in his faith relief would somehow
come. It did come, but not until--after five months of hardship and
distress of mind and body--his case, with that of other Quakers, finally
reached the President. "I want you to go and tell Stanton," said Lincoln
to the gentleman who had presented the case to him, "that it is my wish
that all those young men be sent home at once." The gentl