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"Good morning, Abe!" was the greeting addressed to the President, as we sat together in his office one morning,—he absorbed at his desk, and I with my pencil. I looked up in astonishment at the unaccustomed familiarity.

"Why, Dennis," returned Mr. Lincoln, "is this you?"

"Yes, Abe," was the rejoinder; "I made up my mind I must come down and see you once while you were President, anyhow. So here I am, all the way from Sangamon."

Sitting down, side by side, it would have been difficult for one unfamiliar with democratic institutions to tell, by the appearance or conversation, which was the President and which the back-countryman, save that from time to time I overheard the man addressed as "Dennis" refer to family trials and hardships, and intimate that one object of his journey so far, was to see if his old friend "could not do something for one of his boys?"

The response to this was: "Now, Dennis, sit down and write out what you want, so that I can have it before me, and I will see what can be done."

I have always supposed that this was "Dennis Hanks," the early companion and friend of Mr. Lincoln; but my attention at the time being diverted, the matter passed out of my mind, and I neglected subsequently to inquire.