“Well, your question is rather a good one, but I will answer it by telling you a story. You know Father B., the old Methodist preacher? and you know Fox river and its freshets? Once in the presence of Father B. a young Methodist was worrying about Fox river, and expressing fears that he should be prevented from fulfilling some of his appointments by a freshet in the river. Father B. checked him in the gravest manner. Said he, ‘Young man, I have always made it a rule in my life not to cross Fox river till I get to it!’ ‘And,’ said old Abe, ‘I am not going to worry myself over the slavery question till I get to it!’ Some few days afterwards a Methodist minister called on the President, and on being presented to him, said simply, ‘Mr. President, I have come to tell you that I think we have got to Fox river.’ The old joker thanked the clergyman, and laughed heartily.” _An extraordinary reply by Old Abe._ One day, it is said, a distinguished New York official was at Washington, and in an interview with old Abe, introduced the question of emancipation. “You see,” said Lincoln, “we’ve got to be mighty cautious how we manage the negro question; if we’re not, we may be like unto the barber out in Illinois, who was shaving a fellow with hatchet face and lantern jaws like mine. The barber put his finger in his customer’s mouth, to make his cheek stick out, but while shaving away he cut through the fellow’s cheek and cut off his own finger! Now, if we don’t play smart about the negro we shall do as the barber did.” _A Rebuke to people asking trivial questions._ A farmer, not over patriotic, of the State of Virginia, importuned the President to use his influence to have a claim for damage done to his farm by soldiers considered immediately. “Why, my dear sir,” replied Mr. Lincoln blandly, “I couldn’t think of such a thing; if I considered individual cases, I should find work enough for twenty Presidents!” “But,” said the persevering sufferer, “couldn’t you just give me _a line_ to Colonel ---- about it? _Just one line?_” “Ha, ha, ha!” responded Old Abe, “you remind me of old Jock Chase, out in Illinois.” At this announcement the crowd huddled forward to listen. “You see, Jock, I knew him like a brother--used to be a lumberman on the Illinois, and he was steady and sober, and the best raftsman on the river. It was quite a trick twenty-five years ago to take the logs over the rapids, but he was skilful with a raft and always kept her straight in the channel. Finally a steamboat was put on, and Jock--he’s now dead, poor fellow!--was made a captain of her. He was always used to take the the wheel, going through the rapids. One day, when the boat was plunging and wallowing along the boiling current, and Jock’s utmost vigilance was being exercised to keep her in the narrow channel, a boy pulled his coat-tail and hailed him with, ‘Stay, Mister Captain! I wish you’d jest stop your boat a minute--_I have lost my apple overboard!_’” _A Liar._