There was the story of the soldier's widow, to answer whose call the President left his breakfast unfinished. Mrs. Davis found him trying to comfort and to induce her to partake of a tray of delicacies sent in by his order. She was trying to find her husband's body, and feared that as he was a poor private due aid might not be given her; she had been certain that she would receive scant attention from the Chief Magistrate. But he was telling her that the country's strength and protection lay in her private soldier. "My father, Madam, was a private in the Revolution, and I am more proud of what he did for his country than if he had been an officer expecting the world's praise. Tell your sorrows to my wife. She will take you in her carriage wherever you wish to go, and aid you all she can." Dr. Craven, Mr. Davis' Federal physician at Fortress Monroe, testifies in his book to his patient's unusual depth and quickness of sympathy: "Despite a certain exterior cynicism of manner, no patient ever crossed my path who, suffering so much himself, appeared to feel so warmly and tenderly for others." In Confederate hospitals, he had not limited pity to wearers of the gray. A "White House" guest told me of his robbing his scant table more than once for a sick Federal who had served with him in Mexico. Another laughingly remarked: "I don't see how he managed to rob his table of a delicacy. When I sat down to it, it had none to spare. Yet certainly he might have kept a bountiful board, for Government stores were accessible to Government officials, and the President might have had first choice in purchasing blockade goods. But the simplicity of our White House regime was an object-lesson. I recall seeing Mr. Davis in home-spun, home-made clothes at State receptions. That required very positive patriotism if one could do better! 'Do look at Mr. Davis!' Mrs. Davis whispered, 'He _will_ wear those clothes, and they look lop-sided!' Their deficiencies were more noticeable because he was so polished and elegant." One of the faithful shows me in her scrap-book a dispatch, of May 25, 1865, in the "Philadelphia Inquirer": "Jeff does not pine in solitude. An officer and two soldiers remain continually in the cell with him." And then points to these words from the pen of Hugh McCulloch, Mr. Davis' visitor from Washington: "He had the bearing of a brave and high-born gentleman, who, knowing he would have been highly honoured if the Southern States had achieved their independence, would not and could not demean himself as a criminal because they had not." She tells how men who had served under Mr. Davis in Mexico were among his guards at Fortress Monroe and showed him respect and kindness; and how almost everybody there grew to like him, he was so kind and courteous, and to the common soldier as to the strapped and starred officer.