[In the following review, the critic praises On the Wing of Occasions, particularly the story "The Kidnapping of President Lincoln. "]

[The stories in On the Wing of Occasions] deal with some more or less imaginary episodes in the unwritten history of the civil war, and they cause the reader to realize how much more interesting certain unwritten records are than some that have been accepted as history. The stories are full of action and of skillfully managed plot, and though we have no actual battle scenes they are yet tales of warfare, with battle fields within doors, where the weapons are human wits. A certain New York hotel, where the head waiter is a famous Captain McCarthy, where all the employes are members of a Secret Service committee, and where to ask for a plate of fried onions or a glass of water is to give a signal to a confederate, plays an important part in these stories, particularly in the first one, "Why the Confederacy Failed."

But the flower of the collection is a lengthy short story entitled "The Kidnapping of President Lincoln." It tells of how young Francis Benthune and his wise old friend, Billy Sanders, having been granted permission to cross the Yankee lines in order to escort home a troublesome feminine spy, decided to improve the opportunity to kidnap the President. Billy Sanders is one of Mr. Harris' most delightfully successful creations. He is illiterate, as far as book knowledge goes, but he has an immense fund of horse sense and shrewd native wit which makes him an invaluable companion for such a mission. The spy proves to be a young aunt of Benthune's, Mrs. Elsie Clopton, a wrong-headed, heart-in-the-right-place sort of woman, who is determined to save the Southern cause. The two conspirators find this lady comfortably nested in the bosom of the Lincoln family and glorying in the way she has suffered for her country. Mr. Sanders thus expresses his doubts as to the intensity of these hardships:

"You don't look like you've been sufferin' for your country much. Appearances is mighty deceivin' if you ain't been havin' three square meals a day, fried meat an' biscuit, an' hot coffee for breakfast, collards, an' dumplin's, an' buttermilk for dinner, an' ashcake an' molasses for supper."

"You see how the men mistake us," protested Elsie, turning to Mrs. Lincoln. "Our keenest anguish is mental, but the men never think they are suffering unless they are in physical pain. And the men think the women are too timid to take any risks. Look at me, Mr. Sanders."

"I see you, Leese," said Mr. Sanders, so dryly that Mrs. Lincoln burst out laughing.

"Don't mind him, dear friend; he always was comical. And then there was your grandmother, Mr. Sanders, Nancy Hart. Didn't she suffer for her country?"

"She staid at home an' hit the Tories a lick when they pestered her, two for one, maybe; but she didn't complain of no sufferin', so far as I know. The sufferin' was all wi' them that pestered her. Anyhow, we've come to take you home, an' when we git there I'm goin' to build a pen to keep you in. Goodness knows, I don't want to be runnin' my head in no more hornets' nests."

"Why, you don't call this a hornets' nest, I hope," said Mrs. Lincoln, smiling.

"By no means, mum," replied Mr. Sanders, with a bow. "This is the only homelike place I've struck sence I left Shady Dale. But I hear you're a Southerner, an' Mr. Lincoln is Georgy all over, an' that accounts for it. If we wa'n't here, where'd we be?"

Thus did Mr. Sanders regale the Lincoln family, and the President was always glad to listen to his amusing yarns. On the other hand the two kidnapers were equally delighted with the President, and the way in which they let their opportunity slip by is told with captivating humor. The whole story, in its swift yet natural action, its clever situations, and its witty dialogue is a model of what a story should be. It represents the high water mark of the author's art.