“On an occasion I shall never forget,” says the Hon. H. C. Denning, of Connecticut, “the conversation turned upon religious subjects, and Mr. Lincoln made this impressive remark: ‘I have never united myself to any church, because I have found difficulty in giving my assent, without mental reservation, to the long, complicated statements of Christian doctrine which characterize their Articles of Belief and Confessions of Faith. When any church will inscribe over its altar, as its sole qualification of membership, the Saviour’s condensed statement of the substance of both Law and Gospel, “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and thy neighbor as thyself,” that church will I join with all my heart and with all my soul.’” Though Mr. Lincoln never formally united himself with any church, doubtless for the reason given above, because he knew of none broad and tolerant enough for him, it is clear that his mind was much occupied with matters connected with religion. No one could charge him with scoffing at sacred things. Had he even been so inclined, the bereavement which visited him in the death of his son Willie, who died February 20th, 1862, would assuredly have changed him. Devoted as he was to his children, this loss affected him deeply, and it was not till several weeks had passed that he was in any measure reconciled. “Gentlemen,” said one of the guests at a dinner-party in Washington, during which the President had been freely discussed, “you may talk as you please about Mr. Lincoln’s capacity. I don’t believe him to be the ablest statesman in America, by any means, and I voted against him on both occasions of his candidacy. But I happened to see, or rather to hear, something the other day that convinced me that, however deficient he may be in the head, he is all right in the heart. I was up at the White House, having called to see the President on business. I was shown into the office of his private secretary, and told that Mr. Lincoln was busy just then, but would be disengaged in a short time. While waiting, I heard a very earnest prayer being uttered in a loud female voice in the adjoining room. I inquired what it meant, and was told that an old Quaker lady, a friend of the President’s, had called that afternoon and taken tea at the White House, and that she was then praying with Mr. Lincoln. After the lapse of a few minutes the prayer ceased, and the President, accompanied by a Quakeress, not less than eighty years old, entered the room where I was sitting. I made up my mind then, gentlemen, that Mr. Lincoln was not a bad man; and I don’t think it will be easy to efface the impression that the scene I witnessed, and the voice I heard, made upon my mind!”