t the middle of
August, 1864," says Mr. Nichols, "I was doing sentinel duty at the large
gate through which entrance was had to the grounds of the Soldiers'
Home, near Washington, where Mr. Lincoln spent much time in summer.
About eleven o'clock I heard a rifle-shot in the direction of the city,
and shortly afterwards I heard approaching hoof-beats. In two or three
minutes a horse came dashing up, and I recognized the belated President.
The horse he rode was a very spirited one, and was Mr. Lincoln's
favorite saddle-horse. As horse and rider approached the gate, I noticed
that the President was bareheaded. As soon as I had assisted him in
checking his steed, the President said to me: 'He came pretty near
getting away with me, didn't he? He got the bit in his teeth before I
could draw the rein.' I then asked him where his hat was; and he replied
that somebody had fired a gun off down at the foot of the hill, and that
his horse had become scared and had jerked his hat off. I led the animal
to the Executive Cottage, and the President dismounted and entered.
Thinking the affair rather strange, a corporal and myself started off to
investigate. When we reached the place whence the sound of the shot had
come--a point where the driveway intersects, with the main road--we
found the President's hat. It was a plain silk hat, and upon examination
we discovered a _bullet-hole_ through the crown. We searched the
locality thoroughly, but without avail. Next day I gave Mr. Lincoln his
hat, and called his attention to the bullet-hole. He made some humorous
remark, to the effect that it was made by some foolish marksman and was
not intended for him; but added that he wished nothing said about the
matter. We all felt confident it was an attempt to kill the President,
and after that he never rode alone."

Amidst his terrible trials, Lincoln often exhibited a forced and
sorrowful serenity, which many mistook for apathy. Even his oldest and
best friends were sometimes deceived in this way. Hon. Leonard Swett
relates a touching instance: "In the summer of 1864, when Grant was
pounding his way toward Richmond in those terrible battles of the
Wilderness, myself and wife were in Washington trying to do what little
two persons could do toward alleviating the sufferings of the maimed and
dying in the vast hospitals of that city. We tried to be thorough and
systematic. We took the first man we came to, brought him delicacies,
wrote letters to his f