Francis B. Carpenter, Six Months at the White House

[110]

“God bless you, Mr. President!” said the father, the only words he had uttered; and the mother, making a low courtesy, fairly sobbed: “O sir, we are so much obliged to you.” “Yes, yes; all right; and you will find that that will bring him,” was spoken in tones so kindly and tender, that they have often since thrilled my memory.

Xxxvii.

In the year 1855 or ‘56, George B. Lincoln, Esq., of Brooklyn, was travelling through the West in connection with a large New York dry-goods establishment. He found himself one night in an insignificant town on the Illinois River, by the name of Naples. The only tavern of the place had evidently been constructed with reference to business on the smallest possible scale. Poor as the prospect seemed, Mr. Lincoln had no alternative but to put up at the place. The supper-room was also used as a lodging-room. After a tolerable supper and a comfortable hour before the fire, Mr. L. told his host that he thought he would “go to bed.” “Bed!” echoed the landlord; “there is no bed for you in this house, unless you sleep with that man yonder. He has the only one we have to spare.” “Well,” returned Mr. Lincoln, “the gentleman has possession, and perhaps would not like a bedfellow.” Upon this, a grizzly head appeared