vigilance was being exercised to keep her in the narrow channel,
a boy pulled his coat-tail, and hailed him with: "Say, Mister Captain! I
wish you would just stop your boat a minute--I've lost my apple
overboard!"

THE PRESIDENT'S SILENCE OVER CRITICISMS

The President was once speaking about an attack made on him by the
Committee on the Conduct of the War for a certain alleged blunder, or
something worse, in the Southwest--the matter involved being one which
had fallen directly under the observation of the officer to whom he was
talking, who possessed official evidence completely upsetting all the
conclusions of the Committee.

"Might it not be well for me," queried the officer, "to set this matter
right in a letter to some paper, stating the facts as they actually
transpired?"

"Oh, no," replied the President, "at least, not now. If I were to try to
read, much less answer, all the attacks made on me, this shop might as
well be closed for any other business. I do the very best I know
how--the very best I can; and I mean to keep doing so until the end. If
the end brings me out all right, what is said against me won't amount to
anything. If the end brings me out wrong, ten angels swearing I was
right would make no difference."

"GLAD OF IT"

On the occasion when the telegram from Cumberland Gap reached Mr.
Lincoln that "firing was heard in the direction of Knoxville," he
remarked that he was "glad of it." Some person present, who had the
perils of Burnside's position uppermost in his mind, could, not see
_why_ Mr. Lincoln should be _glad_ of it, and so expressed himself.
"Why, you see," responded the President, "it reminds me of Mistress
Sallie Ward, a neighbour of mine, who had a very large family.
Occasionally one of her numerous progeny would be heard crying in some
out-of-the-way place, upon which Mrs. Ward would exclaim, 'There's one
of my children that isn't dead yet!'"

HIS DEMOCRATIC BEARING

The evening before I left Washington an incident occurred, illustrating
very perfectly the character of the man. For two days my large painting
had been on exhibition, upon its completion, in the East Room, which had
been thronged with visitors. Late in the afternoon of the second day,
the "black-horse cavalry" escort drew up as usual in front of the
portico, preparatory to the President's leaving for the "Soldiers'
Home," where he spent the midsummer nights. While the carriage was
waiting, I looked around