The evening following this affair, on entering the President’s office, about eleven o’clock, I found him alone, seated at the long table, with a large pile of military commissions before him, which he was signing one by one. As I sat down beside him, he presently remarked, “I do not, as you see, pretend to read over these documents. I see that Stanton has signed them, so I conclude they are all right.” Pausing here, he read a portion of one, beginning with the name of the individual, “-------- is hereby appointed adjutant-general, with the rank of captain, etc. E. M. Stanton, Secretary of War.” “There,” said he, appending his own signature in the opposite corner; “that fixes _him_ out.” Thus he went on chatting and writing, until he had finished the lot; then, rising from his chair, he stretched himself, and said, “Well, I have got that job _husked out_; now I guess I will go over to the War Department before I go to bed, and see if there is any news.” Walking over with him at his request,--to divert his mind, I repeated a story told me the night previous concerning a ‘contraband’ who had fallen into the hands of some good pious people, and was being taught by them to read and pray. Going off by himself one day, he was overheard to commence a prayer by the introduction of himself as “Jim Williams--a berry good nigga’ to wash windows; ’spec’s you know me now?’” An amusing illustration of the fact that whatever the nature of an incident related to the President, it never failed to remind him of something similar, followed. After a hearty laugh at what he called this “direct way of putting the case,” he said: “The story that suggests to me, has no resemblance to it save in the ‘washing windows’ part. A lady in Philadelphia had a pet poodle dog, which mysteriously disappeared. Rewards were offered for him, and a great ado made without effect. Some weeks passed, and all hope of the favorite’s return had been given up, when a servant brought him in one day, in the filthiest condition imaginable. The lady was overjoyed to see her pet again, but horrified at his appearance. ‘Where _did_ you find him?’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh,’ replied the man, very unconcernedly, ‘a negro down the street had him tied to the end of a pole, _swabbing_ windows.’” L. A day or two previous to the meeting of the Republican Convention, the President read me his letter to the “Owen Lovejoy Monument Association,”--lately written, and not then published,--in which he expressed his appreciation of Mr. Lovejoy in nearly the same language I had heard him use on a former occasion. “Throughout my heavy and perplexing responsibilities here,” ran the letter, “to the day of his death, it would scarcely wrong any other to say he was my most generous friend. Let him have the marble monument, along with the well assured and more enduring one in the hearts of those who love liberty unselfishly for all men.” A noble tribute, in fitly chosen words!