When the Illinois boys gathered at Springfield, under the call of the ten regiment bill, they were quartered on the fair grounds, just out of the city. All the stalls were filled with troops, before which were signs as "St. Nicholas," "Richmond House," etc., etc. Charley W------, on going through the fair grounds, looked into the "Richmond House," and said-- "Well, boys, how do you get along?" "Oh, first rate," replied the Chicagoians, "we're all _stall fed_." "Bully for you," said Charley; "hope you'll be too tough for the rebels." Little Mac Helped by an Illustration. "I can't seem to reap any advantage from the rebel movements," said McClellan, in consultation with Uncle Abe. "Oh, you just keep a watchful, careful eye on Leer and perhaps you will yet see how to make use of them, as old Mother Grundy did of her crooked wood." "Thereby hangs a tale," remarked little Mac, with one of his peculiar, quaint smiles. "You're right, General. Your remark reminded me of a good old neighbor of my father's, in Kentucky, who died many years ago. She was sweet-tempered--few such in this world." Uncle Abe stopped as though a mental comparison had damaged some woman of his acquaintance. "Yes, her disposition was of that kind that extracts 'good from things evil.' And she was her husband's pride and boast. One day he was praising her to a neighbor." "'Look here, old man Grundy,' said the neighbor 'these women are just like cats--they are all right as long as you stroke the fur the right way, but reverse the movement, and you'll see the fire fly. Now, I'll tell you what, I bet a four-gallon keg of my four-year-old peach, that I can tell you how to make her as mad as a set-hen, if you dare to try." "'Done,' cried old man Grundy. "'Well, you just haul home all the crookedest sticks of wood you can find, and then see.' "Old man Grundy brought home a small load every day or two, and it was knotty and crooked as a pigs-tail; but not a word or look of complaint. For a week this continued, with the same result, when he asked the good wife how she liked the wood." "'Oh,'tis beautiful wood,' said she; 'it burns finely, and then it fits _around my pots and kettles just, as if 'twas made on purpose_.'" Lee did not fit into Mac's hand so well, yet the story was not without its use to him. An Acre of Fight. During the progress of the Senatorial campaign between Douglas and Lincoln, Uncle Abe came home to recreate a few days. Douglas, long used to the political arena, bore the fatigues of the canvass like a veteran. His custom was to bathe just after supper, getting some friend to rub him like a race horse, when he would sit down and enjoy his whisky and cigar. Lincoln, lank and abstemious, bore his yoke with evident weariness. But to the story.