It was at the beginning of the battle of Bull Run, when the Confederates came near running away but did not do so because the Union troops ran first, that "Stonewall" Jackson got his famous nickname. The brigade of another Southern soldier, Gen. Bernard Bee, was wavering and falling back. Its commander, trying to hearten his men, called out to them: "Look! there's Jackson standing like a stone wall!" The men looked, rallied, and went on fighting. It may have been that one thing of Jackson's example that turned the tide at Bull Run, gave the battle to the South, and prolonged the war by at least two years. Stonewall Jackson's soldiers were called foot-cavalry, because under his inspiring leadership they made marches which would have been a credit to mounted men. It was his specialty to be where it was impossible for him to be, by all the ordinary rules of war. He was a thunderbolt in attack, a stone wall in defense. * * * * * In November of that sad year of 1861, the President made another noteworthy call upon the then commander-in-chief, Gen. George B. McClellan. President and Secretary of State, escorted by young Hay and younger Tom, called upon the General at the latter's house, in the evening. They were told he was out, but would return soon, so they waited. McClellan did return and was told of his patient visitors. He walked by the open door of the room where they were seated and went upstairs. Half an hour later Lincoln sent a servant to tell him again that they were there. Word came back that General McClellan had gone to bed. John Hay's diary justly speaks of "this unparalleled insolence of epaulettes." As the three men and the boy walked back to the White House, Hay said: "It was an insolent rebuff. Something should be done about it." Lincoln's almost godlike patience, however, had not been worn out. "It is better," the great man answered, "at this time not to be making a point of etiquette and personal dignity." The President, however, stopped calling upon the pompous General. After that experience, he always sent word to McClellan to call upon him. * * * * * One day, at the close of a family luncheon, the President said to Tom: "Come upstairs with me." In the little private office, Lincoln took off his coat and waistcoat with a sigh of relief and lounged into his chair. He bade Tom take a chair nearby. Then he looked at the boy for a moment, while his wonderful smile overflowed his strong lips. "I've been studying you a bit, Tom. I think you'll do. Now I'll tell you what I want you to do." The smile died quite away. "Are you sure you can keep still when you ought to keep still? Balaam's ass isn't the only ass that ever talked. Most asses talk--and always at the wrong time." "The last thing Father told me," Tom answered, "was never to say anything to anybody 'less I was sure you'd want me to say it."