elling a story and none
misunderstood it; and often when he was pressed to give expression on
particular subjects, and his always abundant caution was baffled, he
many times ended the interview by a story that needed no elaboration.

I recall an interview with Mr. Lincoln at the White House in the
spring of 1865, just before Lee retreated from Petersburg. It was well
understood that the military power of the Confederacy was broken, and
that the question of reconstruction would soon be upon us.

Colonel Forney and I had called upon the President simply to pay our
respects, and while pleasantly chatting with him General Benjamin F.
Butler entered. Forney was a great enthusiast, and had intense hatred of
the Southern leaders who had hindered his advancement when Buchanan
was elected President, and he was bubbling over with resentment against
them. He introduced the subject to the President of the treatment to
be awarded to the leaders of the rebellion when its powers should be
confessedly broken, and he was earnest in demanding that Davis and other
conspicuous leaders of the Confederacy should be tried, condemned and
executed as traitors.

General Butler joined Colonel Forney in demanding that treason must
be made odious by the execution of those who had wantonly plunged the
country into civil war. Lincoln heard them patiently, as he usually
heard all, and none could tell, however carefully they scanned his
countenance what impression the appeal made upon him.

I said to General Butler that, as a lawyer pre-eminent in his
profession, he must know that the leaders of a government that had
beleaguered our capital for four years, and was openly recognized as
a belligerent power not only by our government but by all the leading
governments of the world, could not be held to answer to the law for the
crime of treason.

Butler was vehement in declaring that the rebellious leaders must be
tried and executed. Lincoln listened to the discussion for half an hour
or more and finally ended it by telling the story of a common drunkard
out in Illinois who had been induced by his friends time and again to
join the temperance society, but had always broken away. He was finally
gathered up again and given notice that if he violated his pledge once
more they would abandon him as an utterly hopeless vagrant. He made
an earnest struggle to maintain his promise, and finally he called for
lemonade and said to the man who was preparing it: