No one could know Lincoln well without seeing some features of his home life. I have seen him in grave conversation with public men on the most momentous subjects, when “Tad” Lincoln, his favorite boy, would rush into the room, bounce on to his father’s lap, throw his arms around his neck, and play hobby-horse on his foot regardless of all the sacred affairs of State. There never was a frown from the father, and the fretting questions of even a great war seemed to perish until “Tad” had completed his romp. The greatest sorrow of Lincoln’s life shadowed the altar of his own home, and it was one he had to suffer in silence. The calamity that befell Mrs. Lincoln after his death was visible to those who had opportunity to see for themselves at an early period of his administration. Mrs. Lincoln was mentally unbalanced, but not sufficiently so to prevent the performance of her social functions, and her vagaries often led to severe reflections upon the President, at times even to the extent of charging her with sympathy for the South, as her brothers were prominent in the Southern army. I first saw Mrs. Lincoln at Harrisburg on the night that Lincoln made his midnight journey to Washington, and the greatest difficulty we had on that occasion was to prevent her from creating a scene that would have given publicity to the movement. I thought her a fool, and was so disgusted with her that I never spoke to her afterward, although I had frequently gone with ladies to her receptions. I wronged her, for she was then not wholly responsible, and soon after Lincoln’s death the climax came, leaving her to grope out the remainder of her life in the starless midnight of insanity. With Lincoln’s many other sorrows, considering his love of home and family, it may be understood how keenly he suffered, and how he was clouded by shadows for which the world could give no relief. No man ever came in contact with Abraham Lincoln who did not learn to love, honor, and even reverence him. His ablest political enemies ever paid the highest tributes, not only to his personal attributes, but to his masterly ability, and none surpassed Stephen A. Douglas, the ablest foeman Lincoln ever met, in his appreciation of Lincoln’s qualities. He had to accept vastly the gravest responsibilities ever put upon any President of the United States, and I am quite sure that no other man could have filled Lincoln’s place during the Civil War with equal safety to the Republic. Had he been vindictive and resentful his fame would not be without blemish to-day.