millionaire and the menial, the priest and the politician, men, women, and children, old friends and new friends, those who called for love and those who sought for office.  From morning until night this was his occupation; and he performed it with conscientious care and the most unwearying patience.”  The situation at the Lincoln home at this time, and the spirit prevailing there, is well depicted by one of these callers, Mr. R.C.  McCormick, whose interesting account of his meeting with Lincoln in New York City has already been quoted in these pages.  “In January, 1861,” says Mr. McCormick, “at the instance of various friends in New York who wished a position in the Cabinet for a prominent Kentuckian, I went to Springfield armed with documents for his consideration.  I remained there a week or more, and was at the Lincoln cottage daily.  Of the numerous formal and informal interviews that I witnessed, I remember all with the sincerest pleasure.  I never found the man upon whom rested the great responsibilities of the nation impatient or ill-humored.  The plainest and most tedious visitors were made welcome and happy in his presence; the poor commanded as much of his time as the rich.  His recognition of old friends and companions in frontier life, whom many elevated as he had been would have found it convenient to forget, was especially hearty.  His correspondence was already immense, and the town was alive with cabinet-makers and office-seekers; but he met all with a calm temper.”  Mr. Don Piatt relates that he had met Lincoln during the Presidential campaign, and had been invited to visit Springfield.  He did so, and was asked to supper at the Lincoln house.  “It was a plain, comfortable structure,” says Mr. Piatt, “and the supper was mainly of cake, pies, and chickens, the last evidently killed in the morning, to be eaten that evening.  After the supper we sat far into the night, talking over the situation.  Mr. Lincoln was the homeliest man I ever saw.  His body seemed to me a huge skeleton in clothes.  Tall as he was, his hands and feet looked out of proportion, so long and clumsy were they.  Every movement was awkward in the extreme.  He sat with one leg thrown over the other, and the pendent foot swung almost to the floor.  And all the while two little boys, his sons, clambered over those legs, patted his cheeks, pulled his nose, and poked their fingers in his eyes, without reprimand.  He had a face that defied artistic skill to soften or idealize.  It was capable of few expressions, but those were extremely striking.  When in repose, his face was dull, heavy, and repellent.  It brightened like a lit lantern when animated.  His dull eyes would fairly sparkle with fun, or express as kindly a look as I ever saw, when moved by some matter of human interest.”