pastor and the parishioner, always cordial, had become more than ever
friendly through an incident creditable to both. Mr. Fillmore had
good-naturedly offered my father a chaplaincy in the Navy, a post with
a comfortable salary, which he might easily hold, taking now and then
a pleasant sea-cruise with light duties, or indeed not leaving home
at all, by occasional trips and visits to the one man-of-war which the
Government maintained on the Great Lakes. To an impecunious minister,
with a large family to educate, it was a tempting offer. But my father
in those days was a peace-man, and he was also disinclined to nibble
at the public crib while rendering no adequate service. He declined
the appointment, a course much censured. "The fool parson, to let
such a chance go!" Mr. Fillmore admired it and their friendship became
heartier than ever. In the interview, my father had asked his friend
to explain his course on the Fugitive Slave Law, an act involving
suffering for so many, and no doubt took on a tone of remonstrance. He
told us the President raised his hands in vehement appeal. He had only
a choice between terrible evils--to inflict suffering which he hoped
might be temporary, or to precipitate an era of bloodshed with the
destruction of the country as a probable result. He did not do
evil that good might come, but of two imminent evils he had, as he
believed, chosen the lesser.

Fillmore lives in my memory a stately, massive presence, with hair
growing grey and kindly blue eyes looking down upon the little boy
with a pleasant greeting. His wife was gentle and unassuming. His
daughter Abby matured into much beauty and grace, and her sudden
death, by cholera, in the bloom of young womanhood cast a shadow
on the nation. They were homely folk, thrust up suddenly into high
position, but it did not turn their heads. In their lives they were
plainly sweet and honest. No taint of corruption attaches to Fillmore