“‘Mr. President,’ she resumed, ‘I feel so embarrassed I can hardly speak. I never spoke to a President before; but I am a good Union woman down in Maryland, and my son is wounded badly, and in the hospital, and I have been trying to get him out, but somehow couldn’t, and they said I had better come right to you. When the war first broke out I gave my son first to God, and then told him he might go fight the Rebels; and now if you will let me take him home I will nurse him up, and just as soon as he gets well enough he shall go right back and help put down the rebellion. He is a good boy, and don’t want to shirk the service.’ “I was looking full in Mr. Lincoln’s face. I saw the tears gathering in his eyes, and his lips quivered as he replied: “‘Yes, yes, God bless you! you shall have your son. What hospital did you say?’ It seemed a relief to him to turn aside and write a few words, which he handed to the woman, saying: ‘There, give that to ----; and you will get your son, if he is able to go home with you.’ “‘God bless you, Mr. President!’ said the father, the only words he had uttered; and the mother, making a low courtesy, fairly sobbed: ‘O sir, we are so much obliged to you.’ ‘Yes, yes; all right; and you will find that _that_ will bring him,’ was spoken in tones so kindly and tender, that they have often since thrilled my memory.” XXXVII. In the year 1855 or ’56, George B. Lincoln, Esq., of Brooklyn, was travelling through the West in connection with a large New York dry-goods establishment. He found himself one night in an insignificant town on the Illinois River, by the name of Naples. The only tavern of the place had evidently been constructed with reference to business on the smallest possible scale. Poor as the prospect seemed, Mr. Lincoln had no alternative but to put up at the place. The supper-room was also used as a lodging-room. After a tolerable supper and a comfortable hour before the fire, Mr. L. told his host that he thought he would “go to bed.” “Bed!” echoed the landlord; “there is no bed for you in this house, unless you sleep with that man yonder. He has the only one we have to spare.” “Well,” returned Mr. Lincoln, “the gentleman has possession, and perhaps would not like a bedfellow.” Upon this, a grizzly head appeared out of the pillows, and said, “What is your name?” “They call me Lincoln at home,” was the reply. “Lincoln!” repeated the stranger; “any connection of our Illinois Abraham?” “No,” replied Mr. L., “I fear not.” “Well,” said the old man, “I will let any man by the name of ‘Lincoln’ sleep with me, just for the sake of the name. You have heard of Abe?” he inquired. “Oh yes, very often,” replied Mr. Lincoln. “No man could travel far in this State without hearing of _him_, and I would be very glad to claim connection, if I could do so honestly.” “Well,” said the old gentleman, “my name is Simmons. ‘Abe’ and I used to live and work together when we were young men.