pouring daily through the President’s office, many were parents imploring mercy for rash sons.  As every death-warrant had to be signed by the President, his generals were frequently enraged by his refusal to carry out their decisions.  “General,” said he to an angry commander who charged him with destroying discipline, “there are too many weeping widows in the United States now.-For God’s sake don’t ask me to add to the number; for I tell you plainly I won’t do it."(20)

Here again, kindness was blended with statecraft, mercy with shrewdness.  The generals could not grasp the political side of war.  Lincoln tried to make them see it.  When they could not, he quietly in the last resort counteracted their influence.  When some of them talked of European experience, he shook his head; it would not do; they must work with the tools they had; first of all with an untrained people, intensely sensitive to the value of human life, impulsive, quick to forget offenses, ultra-considerate of youth and its rashness.  Whatever else the President did, he must not allow the country to think of the army as an ogre devouring its sons because of technicalities.  The General saw only the discipline, the morale, of the soldiers; the President saw the far more difficult, the more roundabout matter, the discipline and the morale of the citizens.  The one believed that he could compel; the other with his finger on the nation’s pulse, knew that he had to persuade.

However, this flowing army of the propaganda did not always engage him on the tragic note.  One day a large fleshy man, of a stern but homely countenance and a solemn and dignified carriage, immaculate dress—­“swallow-tailed coat, ruffled shirt of faultless fabric, white cravat and orange-colored gloves”—­entered with the throng.  Looking at him Lincoln was somewhat appalled.  He expected some formidable demand.  To his relief, the imposing stranger delivered a brief harangue on the President’s policy, closing with, “I have watched you narrowly ever since your inauguration. . . .  As one of your constituents, I now say to you, do in future as you damn please, and I will support you.”  “Sit down, my friend,” said Lincoln, “sit down.  I am delighted to see you.  Lunch with us today.  Yes, you must stay and lunch with us, my friend, for I have not seen enough of you yet."(21) There were many of these informal ambassadors of the people assuring the President of popular support.  And this florid gentleman was not the only one who lunched with the President on first acquaintance.

This casual way of inviting strangers to lunch with him was typical of his mode of life, which was exceedingly simple.  He slept lightly and rose early.  In summer when he used the Soldiers’ Home as a residence, he was at his desk in the White House at eight o’clock in the morning.  His breakfast was an egg and a cup of coffee; luncheon was rarely more than a glass of milk and a biscuit with a plate of fruit in season; his dinner at six o’clock, was always a light meal.  Though he had not continued a total abstainer, as in the early days at Springfield, he very seldom drank wine.  He never used tobacco.  So careless was he with regard to food that when Mrs. Lincoln was away from home, there was little regularity in his meals.  He described his habits on such occasions as “browsing around."(22)