The evening before I left Washington an incident occurred, illustrating very perfectly the character of the man.  For two days my large painting had been on exhibition, upon its completion, in the East Room, which had been thronged with visitors.  Late in the afternoon of the second day, the “black-horse cavalry” escort drew up as usual in front of the portico, preparatory to the President’s leaving for the “Soldiers’ Home,” where he spent the midsummer nights.  While the carriage was waiting, I looked around for him, wishing to say a farewell word, knowing that I should have no other opportunity.  Presently I saw him standing halfway between the portico and the gateway leading to the War Department, leaning against the iron fence—­one arm thrown over the railing, and one foot on the stone coping which supports it, evidently having been intercepted, on his way in from the War Department, by a plain-looking man, who was giving him, very diffidently, an account of a difficulty which he had been unable to have rectified.  While waiting, I walked out leisurely to the President’s side.  He said very little to the man, but was intently studying the expression of his face while he was narrating his trouble.  When he had finished, Mr. Lincoln said to him, “Have you a blank card?” The man searched his pockets, but finding none, a gentleman standing near, who had overheard the question, came forward, and said, “Here is one, Mr. President.”  Several persons had, in the meantime, gathered around.  Taking the card and a pencil, Mr. Lincoln sat down upon the stone coping, which is not more than five or six inches above the pavement, presenting almost the appearance of sitting upon the pavement itself, and wrote an order upon the card to the proper official to “examine this man’s case.”  While writing this, I observed several persons passing down the promenade, smiling at each other, at what I presume they thought the undignified appearance of the Head of the Nation, who, however, seemed utterly unconscious, either of any impropriety in the action, or of attracting any attention.  To me it was not only a touching picture of the native goodness of the man, but of innate nobility of character, exemplified not so much by a disregard of conventionalities, as in unconsciousness that there could be any breach of etiquette, or dignity, in the manner of an honest attempt to serve, or secure justice to a citizen of the Republic, however humble he may be.

[Illustration: 
     EVERYMAN,
     I WILL GO WITH THEE
     & BE THY GUIDE
     IN THY MOST NEED
     TO GO BY THY SIDE.]