"Immediately on his entrance the President accosted our member of
Congress, who had us in charge, and, with a comical twist of his
face, made some jocular remark about the length of his breakfast. He
then greeted us all round, not waiting for an introduction, but
shaking and squeezing everybody's hand with the utmost cordiality,
whether the individual's name was announced to him or not. His
manner towards us was wholly without pretence, but yet had a kind of
natural dignity, quite sufficient to keep the forwardest of us from
clapping him on the shoulder and asking for a story. A mutual
acquaintance being established, our leader took the whip out of its
case, and began to read the address of presentation. The whip was an
exceedingly long one, its handle wrought in ivory (by some artist in
the Massachusetts State Prison, I believe), and ornamented with a
medallion of the President, and other equally beautiful devices; and
along its whole length there was a succession of golden bands and
ferrules. The address was shorter than the whip, but equally well
made, consisting chiefly of an explanatory description of these
artistic designs, and closing with a hint that the gift was a
suggestive and emblematic one, and that the President would
recognize the use to which such an instrument should be put.

"This suggestion gave Uncle Abe rather a delicate task in his reply,
because, slight as the matter seemed, it apparently called for some
declaration, or intimation, or faint foreshadowing of policy in
reference to the conduct of the war, and the final treatment of the
Rebels. But the President's Yankee aptness and not-to-be-caughtness
stood him in good stead, and he jerked or wiggled himself out of
the dilemma with an uncouth dexterity that was entirely in
character; although, without his gesticulation of eye and
mouth,--and especially the flourish of the whip, with which he