When I learned that a secret committee had been formed to investigate the loyalty of my wife I made a point of appearing dramatically, by a seldom used door to the committee room. I stepped inside without a word—hat in hand.

A dozen men were sitting around a long table. Rain was streaking the win­dows. No one spoke. I waited. I stared at first one and then the other, searching the faces. I knew most of the men well.

I said:

“I, Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, appear of my own voli­tion before this Senate Committee to say that I, of my own knowledge, know that it is untrue that any member of my family holds treasonable communication with the enemy.”

I walked out.

I have heard no more from that committee or any other; however, my re­sentment lingers, sticks in my craw. Who could forget such calumny?

I have attended lectures at the Smithsonian Institute, where Horace Greeley has been outspoken on the abuse of slavery in our nation. His influence, through his lectures and his associates, through his editorials in the New York Tribune, is an influence I intend to curry.

At the Smithsonian he drew me aside and thought it important to inform me that he is a vegetarian, a teetotaler—that he would never stoop to smoking a ci­gar. He seemed to be sounding me out by cataloging his qualities. Grasping my arm, he grinned and said: “I want to share this one...since you like stories. I have loaned considerable sums to the son of Commodore Vanderbilt. Last week the Commodore burst into my office and rapped on my desk with his cane. When I glanced up, he said: ‘I will not be responsible for my son’s borrowing money from you.’ I said to the Commodore: ‘Who the Hell asked you to.’ ”

At another Smithsonian lecture, I met George Bancroft, our distinguished elder historian. Obviously disgruntled and tired, he wanted to know: Why is General McClellan living in an aristocratic style in an aristocratic mansion? Is it true that John Jacob Aster pays his salary?