The summer of 1862 was a sad one for the country, and peculiarly sad for Lincoln.  The Army of the Potomac fought battle after battle, often with temporary successes, but without apparent substantial results; while many thousands of our brave soldiers perished on the field, or filled the hospitals from the fever-swamps of the Chickahominy.  The terrible realities of that dreadful summer, and their strain on Lincoln, are well shown in the following incident:  Colonel Scott, of a New Hampshire regiment, had been ill, and his wife nursed him in the hospital.  After his convalescence, he received leave of absence, and started for home; but by a steamboat collision in Hampton Roads, his noble wife was drowned.  Colonel Scott reached Washington, and learning, a few days later, of the recovery of his wife’s body, he requested permission of the Secretary of War to return for it.  A great battle was imminent, and the request was denied.  Colonel Scott thereupon sought the President.  It was Saturday evening; and Lincoln, worn with the cares and anxieties of the week, sat alone in his room, coat thrown off, and seemingly lost in thought, perhaps pondering the issue of the coming battle.  Silently he listened to Colonel Scott’s sad story; then, with an unusual irritation, which was probably a part of his excessive weariness, he exclaimed:  “Am I to have no rest?  Is there no hour or spot when or where I may escape these constant calls?  Why do you follow me here with such business as this?  Why do you not go to the War-office, where they have charge of all this matter of papers and transportation?” Colonel Scott told of Mr. Stanton’s refusal; and the President continued:  “Then probably you ought not to go down the river.  Mr. Stanton knows all about the necessities of the hour; he knows what rules are necessary, and rules are made to be enforced.  It would be wrong for me to override his rules and decisions in cases of this kind; it might work disaster to important movements.  And then, you ought to remember that I have other duties to attend to—­heaven knows, enough for one man!—­and I can give no thought to questions of this kind.  Why do you come here to appeal to my humanity?  Don’t you know that we are in the midst of war?  That suffering and death press upon all of us?  That works of humanity and affection, which we would cheerfully perform in days of peace, are all trampled upon and outlawed by war?  That there is no room left for them?  There is but one duty now—­to fight.  The only call of humanity now is to conquer peace through unrelenting warfare.  War, and war alone, is the duty of all of us.  Your wife might have trusted you to the care which the Government has provided for its sick soldiers.  At any rate, you must not vex me with your family troubles.  Why, every family in the land is crushed with sorrow; but they must not each come to me for help.  I have all the burden I can carry.  Go to the War Department.  Your business belongs there.