the Administration could not of course take place without the irrepressible story from Mr. Lincoln.
Shortly after this event some gentlemen called upon the President, and expressing much satisfaction at the change, intimated that in their judgment the interests of the country required an entire reconstruction of the Cabinet.
Mr. Lincoln heard them through, and then shaking his head dubiously, replied, with his peculiar smile: Gentlemen, when I was a young man I used to know very well one Joe Wilson, who built himself a log-cabin not far from where I lived.
Joe was very fond of eggs and chickens, and he took a good deal of pains in fitting up a poultry shed.
Having at length got together a choice lot of young fowls,--of which he was very proud,--he began to be much annoyed by the depredations of those little black and white spotted animals, which it is not necessary to name.
One night Joe was awakened by an unusual cackling and fluttering among his chickens.
Getting up, he crept
the eldest son of John Woodburn, and the inheritor of his estate.
He married Margaret Clark, a granddaughter of that Mrs. Wilson, the touching story of whose deliverance from pirates was long a favorite tale at the firesides of the early settlers d was captured by pirates, and while the ship was in their possession, and the fate of tie passengers still undecided, Mrs. Wilson, one of the company, gave birth to her first child.
The circumstance so moved the pirate captain, who was himself a husband and a father, that he permitted the emigrants to pursue their voyage unharmed.
He bestowed upon Mrs. Wilson some valuable presents, among others a silk dress, pieces of which are still preserved among her descendants; and he obtained from heerance from the hands of the pirates was annually observed as a day of thanksgiving by the passengers for many years.
Mrs. Wilson, after the death of her first husband, became the wife of James Clark, whose son John was the father of Mrs. David Woo
They challenged the victor to another encounter at the tavern on the next evening.
The challenge was accepted.
The evening arrived, and there was a considerable gathering to witness and take part in the struggle—among the rest, a certain Joe Wilson who had been specially sent for, and whom no one had ever beaten, since he came into the settlement.
The great Joe was held in reserve.
The party of the previous evening, Horace took in turn, and beat with ease.
Other players tried to foil his Yankee tricks, but were themselves foiled.
The reserve was brought up. Joe Wilson took his seat at the table.
He played his deadliest, pausing long before he hazarded a move; the company hanging over the board, hushed and anxious.
They were not kept many minutes in suspense; Joe was overthrown; the unornamental stranger was the conqueror.
Another game—the same result.
Another and another and another; but Joe lost every game.
Joseph, however, was too good a player not to respect so pote
He is remembered by those who lived with him there, only as a very quiet, thoughtful, studious young man, one who gave no trouble, never went out to spend the evening, and read nearly every minute when he was not working or eating.
The late Mr. Wilson, of the Brother Jonathan, who was his roommate for some months, used to say, that often he went to bed leaving his companion absorbed in a book, and when he awoke in the morning, saw him exactly in the same position and attitude, as though he had not moved all night.
He had not read all night, however, but had risen to his book with the dawn.
Soon after sunrise, he went over the way to his work.
Another of Mr. Wilson's reminiscences is interesting.
The reader is aware, perhaps, from experience, that people who pay only two dollars and a half per week for board and lodging are not provided with all the luxuries of the season; and that, not unfrequently, a desire for something delicious steals over the souls of boarders, particula