I am going to give you another chapter in my own experience, as it was, if I can do so, without the least coloring. There is not a more difficult task than that of relating simple facts in such a manner as to convey an entirely correct impression. The difficulty is increased when the relator is an interested party. I trust I shall not be accused of egotism if I give the exact conversations between Mr. Lincoln and myself, as taken down at the time, for in no other way can I so well picture to you our much loved and martyred president as he then appeared at the White House. As I said before, the necessity for establishing military hospitals in the North had long been a subject of much thought among our people, but it was steadily opposed by the authorities. By the advice of friends and with an intense feeling that something must be done, I went to Washington. I entered the White House, not with fear and trembling, but strong and self-possessed, fully conscious of the righteousness of my mission. I was received without delay. I had never seen Mr. Lincoln before. He was alone, in a medium sized office-like room, no elegance about him, no elegance in him. He was plainly clad in a suit of black that illy fitted him. No fault of his tailor, however; such a figure could not be fitted. He was tall and lean, and as he sat in a folded up sort of way in a deep arm chair, one would almost have thought him deformed. At his side stood a high writing desk and table combined; plain straw matting covered the floor; a few stuffed chairs and sofa covered with green worsted completed the furniture of the presence chamber of the president of this great republic. When I first saw him his head was bent forward, his chin resting on his breast, and in his hand a letter which I had just sent in to him. He raised his eyes, saying, “Mrs. Harvey?” I hastened forward, and replied, “Yes, and I am glad to see you, Mr. Lincoln.” So much for republican presentations and ceremony. The President took my hand, hoped I was well, but there was no smile of welcome on his face. It was rather the stern look of the judge who had decided against me. His face was peculiar; bone, nerve, vein, and muscle were all so plainly seen; deep lines of thought and care were around his mouth and eyes. The word “justice” came into my mind, as though I could read it upon his face--I mean that extended sense of the word that comprehends the practice of every virtue which reason prescribes and society should expect. The debt we owe to God, to man, to ourselves, when paid, is but a simple act of justice, a duty performed. This attribute seemed the source of Mr. Lincoln’s strength. He motioned me to a chair. I sat, and silently read his face while he was reading a paper written by one of our senators, introducing me and my mission. When he had finished reading this he looked up, ran his fingers through his hair, well silvered, though the brown then predominated; his beard was more whitened.