two weeks. Nicolay, his first Secretary, wrote to John Hay,
who was in Illinois:

"DEAR MAJOR: Hell is to pay. The politicians have a stampede on
that is about to swamp everything. The National Committee are here
to-day. Raymond thinks a commission to Richmond is the only salt to
save us. The President sees and says it would be utter ruin. The
matter is now undergoing consultation. Weak-kneed damned fools are
on the move for a new candidate to supplant the President.
Everything is darkness and doubt and discouragement. Our men see
giants in the airy and unsubstantial shadows of the opposition, and
are about to surrender without a blow. Come to Washington on the
first train. Every man who loves the Chief must lay off his coat
now and fight to the last ditch. He's too big and generous to be
trusted alone with these wolves. He is the only man who can save
this Nation, and we must make them see it."

Worn and angry after the long discussion with his cowardly advisers, the
President retired to his bedroom, locked the door, laid down, and tried
to rest. Opposite the lounge on which he lay was a bureau with a
swinging mirror. He gazed for a moment at his long figure, which showed
full length, his eye resting at last on the deep cut lines of the
haggard face. Gradually two separate and distinct images grew--one
behind the other, pale and death-like but distinct. He looked in wonder,
and the longer he looked the clearer stood this pale second reflection.

"That's funny!" he exclaimed.

He rose, rubbed his eyes, and walked to the mirror, examining it
curiously. He had always been a man of visions--this child of the woods
and open fields.

"I wonder if it's an illusion?" he muttered. "I'll try again."

He returned to the couch and lay down. Again it grew a second time
plainer than before, if possible. He watched for a long time with a
feeling of awe.

"I wonder if I'm looking into the face of my own soul?" he mused.

He studied this second image with keen interest. It was five shades
paler than the first. The thing had happened to him once before and his
wife had declared it a sign that he would be elected to a second term,
but the paleness of the second image meant that he would not live
through it. It was uncanny. He rose and paced the floor, laid down
again, and the image vanished. What did it mean?

Only that day a secret service man had come to warn h