Beyond the interest in these letters as another instance of a peculiar literature,--illustrated by Major Jack Downing, Sam Slick, and the genius of Hosea Biglow,--they have an historic character from the part they performed in the war with Slavery, and in advancing Reconstruction. Appearing with a certain regularity and enjoying an extensive circulation, they became a constant and welcome ally. Unquestionably they were among the influences and agencies by which disloyalty in all its forms was exposed, and public opinion assured on the right side. It is impossible to measure their value. Against the devices of Slavery and its supporters, each letter was like a speech, or one of those songs which stir the people. Therefore they belong to the political history of this critical period. Of publications during the war, none had such charm for Abraham Lincoln. He read every letter as it appeared, and kept them all within reach for refreshment. This strong liking illustrates his character, and will always awaken an interest in the letters. An incident in my own relations with him shows how easily he turned from care to humor. I had occasion to see President Lincoln very late in the evening of March 17th, 1865. The interview was in the familiar room known as his office, and also used for cabinet meetings. I did not take leave of him until some time after midnight, and then the business was not entirely finished. As I rose, he said, “Come to me when I open shop in the morning; I will have the order written, and you shall see it.” “When do you open shop?” said I. “At nine o’clock,” he replied. At the hour named I was in the same room that I had so recently left. Very soon the President entered, stepping quickly with the promised order in his hands, which he at once read to me. It was to disapprove and annul the judgment and sentence of a court-martial in a case that had excited much feeling. While I was making an abstract of the order for communication by telegraph to the anxious parties, he broke into quotation from Nasby. Finding me less at home than himself with his favorite humorist, he said pleasantly, “I must initiate you,” and then repeated with enthusiasm the message he had sent to the author: “For the genius to write these things I would gladly give up my office.” Rising from his seat, he opened a desk behind, and, taking from it a pamphlet collection of the letters already published, proceeded to read from it with infinite zest, while his melancholy features grew bright. It was a delight to see him surrender so completely to the fascination. Finding that I listened, he read for more than twenty minutes, and was still proceeding, when it occurred to me that there must be many at the door waiting to see him on graver matters. Taking advantage of a pause, I rose, and, thanking him for the lesson of the morning, went away. Some thirty persons, including Senators and Representatives, were in the antechamber as I passed out.