"One day, I remember, my friend Podger and his wife were going to Chicago to buy a new set of furs for Podger's sake, and just as Podger got comfortably nested in his seat in the car, the suffering woman ate a lozenge, and says she: 'I shan't be fit to live, Podger, if you don't go out to the baggage car again, and make certain sure that they'll get all our baggage.' "Now Podger had been out six times before to see about the same thing," says the Honest Abe, earnestly; "he'd been out six times before, and began to feel wrathy. '_Our_ baggage!' says he, 'OUR baggage! Mrs. Podger.' Here my friend Podger grew very red in the face, and says he: 'I rather like that, you know,--OUR baggage!--two brass-bound trunks and covers, belonging to Mrs. Podger; three carpet-bags and one reticule with steel lock, the property of Mrs. P.; two bandboxes and a green silk umbrella, belonging to Mary Jane Podger; three shawls tied up in a newspaper, and two baskets, owned by Mrs. M. J. Podger; one clean collar and a razor, carried by Job Podger. OUR baggage!' "Here my friend Podger attempted to laugh sardonically behind his collar, and came near going straight into apoplexy. Would you believe it," says the Honest Abe, poking the political chap in the ribs with his jack-knife, "would you believe it? Mrs. Podger burst at once into bitter tears, and says she: 'Oh, o-h! a-hoo-hoo-hoo! to think I should have to suffer in this way for my husband's sake!' It wasn't long after that," says the Honest Abe, lowering his tone, "it wasn't very long after that, when Mrs. P. took a violent cold on her lungs, from standing too long on the damp ground at a camp-meeting for Podger's sake, and was soon a very sick woman. "What particularly frightened my friend Podger was, that she didn't say that this was for his sake for two whole days, and in his horror of mind he went and brought a clergyman to see her. This clergyman," says the Honest Abe, with reverence of manner, "this clergyman was not one of those sombre, forlorn pastors, who would make you think that it is a grievous thing to be a priest unto your benignant Creator; he rather indicated by his ever-cheerful manner that the only perpetual happiness is to be found in a life of pious ministrations. When he followed my friend Podger to the bedside, he smiled encouragingly at the sick Mrs. P., and rubbed his hands, and says he: 'How do we find ourselves now, my dear madam? Are we about to die this pleasant morning?' She answered him feebly," says the Honest Abe, feelingly, "she answered him feebly, for she was very weak. She said that she feared she had not spent her life as she should, but trusted that the prayers she had breathed during her hours of pain would not be unanswered. 'Ah!' said she, 'I feel that I could suffer still more than I have suffered, for my Intercessor's sake!'