Chicago with her for the benefit of
little Tad. Another stand, I must not forget to add, was put in its
place.

It is charged that a great deal of furniture was lost from the White
House during Mr. Lincoln's occupation of it. Very true, and it can be
accounted for in this way: In some respects, to put the case very
plainly, Mrs. Lincoln was "penny wise and pound foolish." When she moved
into the White House, she discharged the Steward, whose business it was
to look after the affairs of the household. When the Steward was
dismissed, there was no one to superintend affairs, and the servants
carried away many pieces of furniture. In this manner the furniture
rapidly disappeared.

Robert was frequently in the room where the boxes were being packed, and
he tried without avail to influence his mother to set fire to her vast
stores of old goods. "What are you going to do with that old dress,
mother?" he would ask.

"Never mind, Robert, I will find use for it. You do not understand this
business."

"And what is more, I hope I never may understand it. I wish to heaven
the car would take fire in which you place these boxes for
transportation to Chicago, and burn all of your old plunder up;" and
then, with an impatient gesture, he would turn on his heel and leave the
room.

"Robert is so impetuous," his mother would say to me, after the closing
of the door. "He never thinks about the future. Well, I hope that he
will get over his boyish notions in time."

Many of the articles that Mrs. Lincoln took away from the White House
were given, after her arrival in Chicago, for the benefit of charity
fairs.

At last everything was packed, and the day for departure for the West
came. I can never forget that day; it was so unlike the day when the
body of the President was borne from the hall in grand and solemn state.
Then thousands gathered to bow the head in reverence as the plumed
hearse drove down the line. There was all the pomp of military
display--drooping flags, battalions with reversed arms, and bands
playing dirge-like airs. Now, the wife of the President was leaving the
White House, and there was scarcely a friend to tell her good-by. She
passed down the public stairway, entered her carriage, and quietly drove
to the depot where we took the cars. The silence was almost painful.

It had been arranged that I should go to Chicago. When Mrs. Lincoln
first suggested her plan, I strongly objected; but I had been with her
so