This quaint missive reminds me of the fact of my father’s kindly tolerance of “Mrs. A. Lincoln’s” little peculiarities. I remember how he used to tell us, when occasionally he was invited, as this letter says, to “ride” with her, that he would also be invited to stop at the shop where she bought her bonnets, and give his advice on which bonnet was especially becoming! In an earlier letter, after referring to an interview with Secretary Stanton, he speaks of his apparent decision of character. But he was disappointed when he could not, in the beginning, make the secretary take his point of view about the Allotment Commission. Later, however, he received the full support of Secretary Stanton. [Illustration: AN INVITATION FROM THE WIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN TO THEODORE ROOSEVELT, SR.] In a letter dated February 5 he speaks of “justified pleasure” as follows: “I find that only about six men under fifty [he himself was only twenty-nine] are invited to the President’s to-night, and I have determined to go for a short time, at least. There will be the largest collection of notables there ever gathered in this country, and it would probably be a sight worth remembering.” Under date of Washington, February 14, he writes again: “I have so many acquaintances here now that I could easily find a temporary companion. Hay [John Hay] is going with me to Seward’s to-night, and I am hoping to procure the pass for your mother. [My grandmother was most anxious to get back to her own people in the South]. In Baltimore I saw, or fancied I saw, on the faces of our class of the inhabitants, their feelings in consequence of the news just received of the taking of Roanoke Island. They looked very blue. The sutlers here are serious obstacles in getting allotments. As soon as _we_ see a Regiment and persuade the men to make allotments, _they_ send around an agent to dissuade them from signing their names, convincing them that it is a swindle because _they_ want the money to be spent in Camp and go into their pockets instead of being sent home to the poor families of the men, who are in such want. “I enclose you a flower from the bouquet on the table of the Executive Mansion. Also a piece of silk from an old-fashioned piano cover in Arlington House.” As I opened the letter, the flower fell to dust in my hands, but the little piece of green silk, faded and worn, had evidently been treasured by my mother as being a relic of Arlington House. On February 27, 1862, his stay in Washington was drawing to a close, and my father regretted, as so many have done, that he had not kept a diary of his interesting experiences. He writes on September 27: