President Lincoln's Assassination

I had never heard Mr. Lincoln make a public speech, and, knowing the man so well, was very anxious to hear him. On the morning of the Tuesday after our return from City Point, Mrs. Lincoln came to my apartments, and before she drove away I asked permission to come to the White House that night and hear Mr. Lincoln speak.

I had never heard Mr. Lincoln give a public speech. Since I knew him so well, I was eager to hear him. On Tuesday morning, after we returned from City Point, Mrs. Lincoln came to my rooms. Before she drove away, I asked permission to come to the White House that night to hear Mr. Lincoln speak.

"Certainly, Lizabeth; if you take any interest in political speeches, come and listen in welcome."

"Of course, Lizabeth. If you're interested in political speeches, you're welcome to come and listen."

"Thank you, Mrs. Lincoln. May I trespass further on your kindness by asking permission to bring a friend with me?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Lincoln. May I ask one more favor? May I bring a friend with me?"

"Yes, bring your friend also. By the way, come in time to dress me before the speaking commences."

"Yes, bring your friend too. By the way, come early enough to dress me before the speeches begin."

"I will be in time. You may rely upon that. Good morning," I added, as she swept from my room, and, passing out into the street, entered her carriage and drove away.

“I will be on time. You can count on that. Good morning,” I added, as she swept out of my room. She went into the street, got into her carriage, and drove away.

About 7 o'clock that evening I entered the White House. As I went up-stairs I glanced into Mr. Lincoln's room through the half-open door, and seated by a desk was the President, looking over his notes and muttering to himself. His face was thoughtful, his manner abstracted, and I knew, as I paused a moment to watch him, that he was rehearsing the part that he was to play in the great drama soon to commence.

Around 7 o'clock that evening, I entered the White House. As I went upstairs, I glanced into Mr. Lincoln's room through the half-open door. The President sat at a desk, looking over his notes and muttering to himself. His face was thoughtful, and he seemed lost in thought. I paused to watch him. I knew he was rehearsing his part in the great drama that would soon begin.

Proceeding to Mrs. Lincoln's apartment, I worked with busy fingers, and in a short time her toilette was completed.

I went to Mrs. Lincoln's room and worked quickly. In a short time, she was ready.

Great crowds began to gather in front of the White House, and loud calls were made for the President. The band stopped playing, and as he advanced to the centre window over the door to make his address, I looked out, and never saw such a mass of heads before. It was like a black, gently swelling sea. The swaying motion of the crowd, in the dim uncertain light, was like the rising and falling of billows—like the ebb and flow of the tide upon the stranded shore of the ocean. Close to the house the faces were plainly discernible, but they faded into mere ghostly outlines on the outskirts of the assembly; and what added to the weird, spectral beauty of the scene, was the confused hum of voices that rose above the sea of forms, sounding like the subdued, sullen roar of an ocean storm, or the wind soughing through the dark lonely forest. It was a grand and imposing scene, and when the President, with pale face and his soul flashing through his eyes, advanced to speak, he looked more like a demigod than a man crowned with the fleeting days of mortality.

Great crowds began to gather in front of the White House, calling loudly for the President. The band stopped playing. As he came forward to the center window above the door to speak, I looked out. I had never seen such a mass of heads before. It was like a black, gently swelling sea. In the dim, uncertain light, the swaying crowd looked like rising and falling waves. It was like the ebb and flow of the tide on the ocean shore. Close to the house, I could see faces clearly. But at the edges of the crowd, the faces faded into ghostly outlines. A confused hum of voices rose above the sea of figures, adding to the scene’s strange, ghostly beauty. It sounded like the low, sullen roar of an ocean storm or wind sighing through a dark, lonely forest. It was a grand and impressive scene. When the President came forward to speak, his face was pale, and his soul flashed through his eyes. He looked more like a demigod than a man whose mortal days would soon pass.

The moment the President appeared at the window he was greeted with a storm of applause, and voices re-echoed the cry, "A light! a light!"

As soon as the President appeared at the window, the crowd erupted in applause. Voices echoed the cry, "A light! A light!"

A lamp was brought, and little Tad at once rushed to his father's side, exclaiming:

A lamp was brought in, and little Tad immediately rushed to his father's side, exclaiming:

"Let me hold the light, Papa! let me hold the light!"

"Let me hold the light, Papa! Let me hold the light!"

Mrs. Lincoln directed that the wish of her son be gratified, and the lamp was transferred to his hands. The father and son standing there in the presence of thousands of free citizens, the one lost in a chain of eloquent ideas, the other looking up into the speaking face with a proud, manly look, formed a beautiful and striking tableau.

Mrs. Lincoln ordered that her son's wish be granted, and the lamp was handed to him. Father and son stood there before thousands of free citizens. The father was absorbed in a series of eloquent thoughts, while the son looked up at his speaking face with a proud, manly expression. Together, they made a beautiful and striking picture.

There were a number of distinguished gentlemen, as well as ladies, in the room, nearly all of whom remarked the picture.

Several distinguished men and women were in the room. Nearly all of them noticed the picture.

I stood a short distance from Mr. Lincoln, and as the light from the lamp fell full upon him, making him stand out boldly in the darkness, a sudden thought struck me, and I whispered to the friend at my side:

I stood a short distance from Mr. Lincoln. The lamplight fell directly on him, making him stand out sharply in the darkness. Suddenly, a thought struck me, and I whispered to the friend beside me:

"What an easy matter would it be to kill the President, as he stands there! He could be shot down from the crowd, and no one be able to tell who fired the shot."

"How easy it would be to kill the President as he stands there! Someone could shoot him from the crowd, and no one would know who fired the shot."

I do not know what put such an idea into my head, unless it was the sudden remembrance of the many warnings that Mr. Lincoln had received.

I do not know what gave me that idea. Perhaps I suddenly remembered the many warnings Mr. Lincoln had received.

The next day, I made mention to Mrs. Lincoln of the idea that had impressed me so strangely the night before, and she replied with a sigh:

The next day, I told Mrs. Lincoln about the idea that had struck me so strangely the night before. She sighed and replied:

"Yes, yes, Mr. Lincoln's life is always exposed. Ah, no one knows what it is to live in constant dread of some fearful tragedy. The President has been warned so often, that I tremble for him on every public occasion. I have a presentiment that he will meet with a sudden and violent end. I pray God to protect my beloved husband from the hands of the assassin."

"Yes, yes, Mr. Lincoln's life is always in danger. Ah, no one knows what it is like to live in constant fear of some terrible tragedy. The President has been warned so often that I fear for him whenever he appears in public. I have a feeling that he will meet a sudden and violent end. I pray that God will protect my beloved husband from an assassin."

Mr. Lincoln was fond of pets. He had two goats that knew the sound of his voice, and when he called them they would come bounding to his side. In the warm bright days, he and Tad would sometimes play in the yard with these goats, for an hour at a time. One Saturday afternoon I went to the White House to dress Mrs. Lincoln. I had nearly completed my task when the President came in. It was a bright day, and walking to the window, he looked down into the yard, smiled, and, turning to me, asked:

Mr. Lincoln loved pets. He had two goats that knew the sound of his voice. When he called them, they would come bounding to his side. On warm, bright days, he and Tad sometimes played with the goats in the yard for an hour at a time. One Saturday afternoon, I went to the White House to dress Mrs. Lincoln. I had nearly finished when the President came in. It was a bright day. He walked to the window, looked down into the yard, and smiled. Then he turned to me and asked:

"Madam Elizabeth, you are fond of pets, are you not?"

"Madam Elizabeth, you like pets, don't you?"

"O yes, sir," I answered.

"Oh yes, sir," I answered.

"Well, come here and look at my two goats. I believe they are the kindest and best goats in the world. See how they sniff the clear air, and skip and play in the sunshine. Whew! what a jump," he exclaimed as one of the goats made a lofty spring. "Madam Elizabeth, did you ever before see such an active goat?" Musing a moment, he continued: "He feeds on my bounty, and jumps with joy. Do you think we could call him a bounty-jumper? But I flatter the bounty-jumper. My goat is far above him. I would rather wear his horns and hairy coat through life, than demean myself to the level of the man who plunders the national treasury in the name of patriotism. The man who enlists into the service for a consideration, and deserts the moment he receives his money but to repeat the play, is bad enough; but the men who manipulate the grand machine and who simply make the bounty-jumper their agent in an outrageous fraud are far worse. They are beneath the worms that crawl in the dark hidden places of earth."

"Well, come here and look at my two goats. I believe they are the kindest and best goats in the world. See how they sniff the clear air and skip and play in the sunshine. Whew! What a jump," he exclaimed as one of the goats leaped high. "Madam Elizabeth, have you ever seen such an active goat?" He thought for a moment, then continued: "He lives on what I give him and jumps for joy. Do you think we could call him a bounty-jumper? But that is too much of a compliment to the bounty-jumper. My goat is far above him. I would rather wear the goat's horns and hairy coat all my life than stoop to the level of a man who steals from the national treasury in the name of patriotism. A man who enlists for a payment and deserts as soon as he gets it, only to do the same thing again, is bad enough. But the men who control the whole operation are far worse. They simply use the bounty-jumper to carry out an outrageous fraud. They are beneath the worms that crawl in the dark, hidden places of the earth."

His lips curled with haughty scorn, and a cloud was gathering on his brow. Only a moment the shadow rested on his face. Just then both goats looked up at the window and shook their heads as if they would say "How d'ye do, old friend?"

His lips curled in a proud sneer, and a frown began to form on his face. The frown lasted only a moment. Just then, both goats looked up at the window and shook their heads, as if to say, "How do you do, old friend?"

"See, Madam Elizabeth," exclaimed the President in a tone of enthusiasm, "my pets recognize me. How earnestly they look! There they go again; what jolly fun!" and he laughed outright as the goats bounded swiftly to the other side of the yard. Just then Mrs. Lincoln called out, "Come, Lizabeth; if I get ready to go down this evening I must finish dressing myself, or you must stop staring at those silly goats."

"Look, Madam Elizabeth," the President exclaimed enthusiastically, "my pets recognize me. How intently they look! There they go again. What fun!" He laughed out loud as the goats bounded quickly to the other side of the yard. Just then Mrs. Lincoln called out, "Come, Lizabeth. If I'm going to be ready to go down this evening, I must finish dressing, or you must stop staring at those silly goats."

Mrs. Lincoln was not fond of pets, and she could not understand how Mr. Lincoln could take so much delight in his goats. After Willie's death, she could not bear the sight of anything he loved, not even a flower. Costly bouquets were presented to her, but she turned from them with a shudder, and either placed them in a room where she could not see them, or threw them out of the window. She gave all of Willie's toys—everything connected with him—away, as she said she could not look upon them without thinking of her poor dead boy, and to think of him, in his white shroud and cold grave, was maddening. I never in my life saw a more peculiarly constituted woman. Search the world over, and you will not find her counterpart. After Mr. Lincoln's death, the goats that he loved so well were given away—I believe to Mrs. Lee, née Miss Blair, one of the few ladies with whom Mrs. Lincoln was on intimate terms in Washington.

Mrs. Lincoln did not like pets, and she could not understand why Mr. Lincoln enjoyed his goats so much. After Willie’s death, she could not bear to see anything he had loved, not even a flower. People gave her expensive bouquets, but she turned away from them with a shudder. She either put them in a room where she could not see them or threw them out the window. She gave away all of Willie’s toys and everything connected with him. She said she could not look at them without thinking of her poor dead boy. And thinking of him in his white shroud and cold grave drove her nearly mad. I never saw a woman with such an unusual nature in my life. Search the whole world, and you will not find anyone like her. After Mr. Lincoln’s death, the goats he loved so much were given away. I believe they went to Mrs. Lee, née Miss Blair. She was one of the few women in Washington with whom Mrs. Lincoln was close.

During my residence in the Capital I made my home with Mr. and Mrs. Walker Lewis, people of my own race, and friends in the truest sense of the word.

While living in the capital, I stayed with Mr. and Mrs. Walker Lewis. They were people of my own race and friends in the truest sense of the word.

The days passed without any incident of particular note disturbing the current of life. On Friday morning, April 14th—alas! what American does not remember the day—I saw Mrs. Lincoln but for a moment. She told me that she was to attend the theatre that night with the President, but I was not summoned to assist her in making her toilette. Sherman had swept from the northern border of Georgia through the heart of the Confederacy down to the sea, striking the death-blow to the rebellion. Grant had pursued General Lee beyond Richmond, and the army of Virginia, that had made such stubborn resistance, was crumbling to pieces. Fort Sumter had fallen;—the stronghold first wrenched from the Union; and which had braved the fury of Federal guns for so many years, was restored to the Union; the end of the war was near at hand, and the great pulse of the loyal North thrilled with joy. The dark war-cloud was fading, and a white-robed angel seemed to hover in the sky, whispering "Peace—peace on earth, good-will toward men!" Sons, brothers, fathers, friends, sweethearts were coming home. Soon the white tents would be folded, the volunteer army be disbanded, and tranquillity again reign. Happy, happy day!—happy at least to those who fought under the banner of the Union. There was great rejoicing throughout the North. From the Atlantic to the Pacific, flags were gayly thrown to the breeze, and at night every city blazed with its tens of thousand lights. But scarcely had the fireworks ceased to play, and the lights been taken down from the windows, when the lightning flashed the most appalling news over the magnetic wires. "The President has been murdered!" spoke the swift-winged messenger, and the loud huzza died upon the lips. A nation suddenly paused in the midst of festivity, and stood paralyzed with horror—transfixed with awe.

The days passed without anything remarkable disturbing the flow of life. On Friday morning, April 14th, I saw Mrs. Lincoln for only a moment. Alas, what American does not remember that day? She told me she was going to the theatre that night with the President. But I was not called to help her dress. Sherman had marched from the northern border of Georgia through the heart of the Confederacy to the sea. He had struck the death blow to the rebellion. Grant had pursued General Lee beyond Richmond. The army of Virginia, which had resisted so stubbornly, was falling apart. Fort Sumter had fallen. It was the first stronghold taken from the Union, and it had withstood Federal guns for many years. Now it had been restored to the Union. The war was nearly over, and the loyal North thrilled with joy. The dark cloud of war was fading. A white-robed angel seemed to hover in the sky, whispering "Peace, peace on earth, good-will toward men!" Sons, brothers, fathers, friends, and sweethearts were coming home. Soon the white tents would be packed away, the volunteer army disbanded, and peace would reign again. Happy, happy day! Happy, at least, for those who fought under the banner of the Union. There was great rejoicing throughout the North. From the Atlantic to the Pacific, flags flew cheerfully in the breeze. At night, every city blazed with tens of thousands of lights. But the fireworks had barely stopped and the lights had barely been taken down from the windows when terrible news flashed over the telegraph wires. "The President has been murdered!" announced the swift-winged messenger, and the cheers died on people's lips. A nation suddenly stopped in the middle of its celebration and stood paralyzed with horror, transfixed with awe.

Oh, memorable day! Oh, memorable night! Never before was joy so violently contrasted with sorrow.

Oh, what a memorable day! Oh, what a memorable night! Never before had joy and sorrow been so violently contrasted.

At 11 o'clock at night I was awakened by an old friend and neighbor, Miss M. Brown, with the startling intelligence that the entire Cabinet had been assassinated, and Mr. Lincoln shot, but not mortally wounded. When I heard the words I felt as if the blood had been frozen in my veins, and that my lungs must collapse for the want of air. Mr. Lincoln shot! the Cabinet assassinated! What could it mean? The streets were alive with wondering, awe-stricken people. Rumors flew thick and fast, and the wildest reports came with every new arrival. The words were repeated with blanched cheeks and quivering lips. I waked Mr. and Mrs. Lewis, and told them that the President was shot, and that I must go to the White House. I could not remain in a state of uncertainty. I felt that the house would not hold me. They tried to quiet me, but gentle words could not calm the wild tempest. They quickly dressed themselves, and we sallied out into the street to drift with the excited throng. We walked rapidly towards the White House, and on our way passed the residence of Secretary Seward, which was surrounded by armed soldiers, keeping back all intruders with the point of the bayonet. We hurried on, and as we approached the White House, saw that it too was surrounded with soldiers. Every entrance was strongly guarded, and no one was permitted to pass. The guard at the gate told us that Mr. Lincoln had not been brought home, but refused to give any other information. More excited than ever, we wandered down the street. Grief and anxiety were making me weak, and as we joined the outskirts of a large crowd, I began to feel as meek and humble as a penitent child. A gray-haired old man was passing. I caught a glimpse of his face, and it seemed so full of kindness and sorrow that I gently touched his arm, and imploringly asked:

At 11 o'clock at night, an old friend and neighbor, Miss M. Brown, woke me with startling news. The entire Cabinet had been assassinated, and Mr. Lincoln had been shot, though not mortally wounded. When I heard this, I felt as if the blood had frozen in my veins. I felt as if my lungs would collapse for lack of air. Mr. Lincoln shot! The Cabinet assassinated! What could it mean? The streets were full of bewildered, awe-stricken people. Rumors spread quickly, and each new arrival brought the wildest reports. People repeated the news with pale faces and trembling lips. I woke Mr. and Mrs. Lewis and told them the President had been shot. I said I had to go to the White House. I could not bear the uncertainty. I felt as if the house could not contain me. They tried to quiet me, but gentle words could not calm the storm raging inside me. They quickly dressed, and we went out into the street to join the excited crowd. We walked quickly toward the White House. On the way, we passed Secretary Seward's residence, which was surrounded by armed soldiers. They kept everyone out at bayonet point. We hurried on, and as we approached the White House, we saw soldiers surrounding it too. Every entrance was heavily guarded, and no one was allowed through. The guard at the gate told us that Mr. Lincoln had not been brought home, but refused to say anything else. More excited than ever, we wandered down the street. Grief and anxiety were making me weak. As we joined the edge of a large crowd, I began to feel as meek and humble as a repentant child. A gray-haired old man was passing by. I caught a glimpse of his face, and it seemed so full of kindness and sorrow that I gently touched his arm and pleaded:

"Will you please, sir, to tell me whether Mr. Lincoln is dead or not?"

"Sir, could you please tell me whether Mr. Lincoln is dead?"

"Not dead," he replied, "but dying. God help us!" and with a heavy step he passed on.

"Not dead," he replied, "but dying. God help us!" Then he walked on with a heavy step.

"Not dead, but dying! then indeed God help us!"

"Not dead, but dying! Then God help us!"

We learned that the President was mortally wounded—that he had been shot down in his box at the theatre, and that he was not expected to live till morning; when we returned home with heavy hearts. I could not sleep. I wanted to go to Mrs. Lincoln, as I pictured her wild with grief; but then I did not know where to find her, and I must wait till morning. Never did the hours drag so slowly. Every moment seemed an age, and I could do nothing but walk about and hold my arms in mental agony.

We learned that the President had been fatally wounded. He had been shot in his box at the theater and was not expected to live until morning. We returned home with heavy hearts. I could not sleep. I wanted to go to Mrs. Lincoln because I imagined her wild with grief. But I did not know where to find her, so I had to wait until morning. The hours had never passed so slowly. Every moment seemed like an age. All I could do was walk about, holding my arms in anguish.

Morning came at last, and a sad morning was it. The flags that floated so gayly yesterday now were draped in black, and hung in silent folds at half-mast. The President was dead, and a nation was mourning for him. Every house was draped in black, and every face wore a solemn look. People spoke in subdued tones, and glided whisperingly, wonderingly, silently about the streets.

Morning came at last, and it was a sad morning. The flags that had flown so cheerfully yesterday were now draped in black. They hung silently at half-mast. The President was dead, and a nation mourned him. Every house was draped in black, and every face looked solemn. People spoke softly and moved quietly through the streets, whispering and wondering.

About eleven o'clock on Saturday morning a carriage drove up to the door, and a messenger asked for "Elizabeth Keckley."

Around eleven on Saturday morning, a carriage pulled up to the door. A messenger asked for "Elizabeth Keckley."

"Who wants her?" I asked.

"Who wants her?" I asked.

"I come from Mrs. Lincoln. If you are Mrs. Keckley, come with me immediately to the White House."

"Mrs. Lincoln sent me. If you are Mrs. Keckley, come with me to the White House right away."

I hastily put on my shawl and bonnet, and was driven at a rapid rate to the White House. Everything about the building was sad and solemn. I was quickly shown to Mrs. Lincoln's room, and on entering, saw Mrs. L. tossing uneasily about upon a bed. The room was darkened, and the only person in it besides the widow of the President was Mrs. Secretary Welles, who had spent the night with her. Bowing to Mrs. Welles, I went to the bedside.

I quickly put on my shawl and bonnet and was driven swiftly to the White House. Everything about the building felt sad and solemn. I was quickly shown to Mrs. Lincoln's room. When I entered, I saw Mrs. L. tossing restlessly on a bed. The room was darkened. The only other person there was Mrs. Secretary Welles, who had spent the night with the President's widow. I bowed to Mrs. Welles and went to the bedside.

"Why did you not come to me last night, Elizabeth—I sent for you?" Mrs. Lincoln asked in a low whisper.

"Why didn't you come to me last night, Elizabeth? I sent for you," Mrs. Lincoln whispered.

"I did try to come to you, but I could not find you," I answered, as I laid my hand upon her hot brow.

"I did try to come to you, but I couldn't find you," I answered, placing my hand on her hot forehead.

I afterwards learned, that when she had partially recovered from the first shock of the terrible tragedy in the theatre, Mrs. Welles asked:

I later learned that Mrs. Welles asked a question after she had partly recovered from the initial shock of the terrible tragedy in the theater:

"Is there no one, Mrs. Lincoln, that you desire to have with you in this terrible affliction?"

"Isn't there anyone you want with you during this terrible time, Mrs. Lincoln?"

"Yes, send for Elizabeth Keckley. I want her just as soon as she can be brought here."

"Yes, send for Elizabeth Keckley. I want her here as soon as she can be brought."

Three messengers, it appears, were successively despatched for me, but all of them mistook the number and failed to find me.

Apparently, three messengers were sent for me, one after another. But all of them got the number wrong and failed to find me.

Shortly after entering the room on Saturday morning, Mrs. Welles excused herself, as she said she must go to her own family, and I was left alone with Mrs. Lincoln.

Shortly after entering the room on Saturday morning, Mrs. Welles excused herself. She said she had to go to her family, and I was left alone with Mrs. Lincoln.

She was nearly exhausted with grief, and when she became a little quiet, I asked and received permission to go into the Guests' Room, where the body of the President lay in state. When I crossed the threshold of the room, I could not help recalling the day on which I had seen little Willie lying in his coffin where the body of his father now lay. I remembered how the President had wept over the pale beautiful face of his gifted boy, and now the President himself was dead. The last time I saw him he spoke kindly to me, but alas! the lips would never move again. The light had faded from his eyes, and when the light went out the soul went with it. What a noble soul was his—noble in all the noble attributes of God! Never did I enter the solemn chamber of death with such palpitating heart and trembling footsteps as I entered it that day. No common mortal had died. The Moses of my people had fallen in the hour of his triumph. Fame had woven her choicest chaplet for his brow. Though the brow was cold and pale in death, the chaplet should not fade, for God had studded it with the glory of the eternal stars.

She was nearly exhausted with grief. When she grew a little calmer, I asked permission to enter the Guests' Room, where the President's body lay in state. She gave me permission. As I entered, I could not help remembering the day I had seen little Willie lying in his coffin. He had lain where his father's body now lay. I remembered how the President had wept over the pale, beautiful face of his gifted boy. Now the President himself was dead. The last time I saw him, he spoke kindly to me. But, alas, his lips would never move again. The light had faded from his eyes, and when it went out, his soul went with it. What a noble soul he had, noble in all the noble qualities of God! Never had I entered the solemn chamber of death with such a pounding heart and trembling steps as I did that day. No ordinary mortal had died. The Moses of my people had fallen at the moment of his triumph. Fame had woven her finest crown for his brow. Though his brow was cold and pale in death, the crown would not fade. God had adorned it with the glory of the eternal stars.

When I entered the room, the members of the Cabinet and many distinguished officers of the army were grouped around the body of their fallen chief. They made room for me, and, approaching the body, I lifted the white cloth from the white face of the man that I had worshipped as an idol—looked upon as a demi-god. Notwithstanding the violence of the death of the President, there was something beautiful as well as grandly solemn in the expression of the placid face. There lurked the sweetness and gentleness of childhood, and the stately grandeur of godlike intellect. I gazed long at the face, and turned away with tears in my eyes and a choking sensation in my throat. Ah! never was man so widely mourned before. The whole world bowed their heads in grief when Abraham Lincoln died.

When I entered the room, Cabinet members and many distinguished army officers stood around the body of their fallen leader. They made room for me, and I approached the body. I lifted the white cloth from the pale face of the man I had worshipped as an idol, as a demigod. Despite the violence of the President’s death, his peaceful face had a beautiful and deeply solemn expression. It held the sweetness and gentleness of childhood, along with the majestic grandeur of a godlike intellect. I gazed at his face for a long time. Then I turned away with tears in my eyes and a choking feeling in my throat. Ah! Never before had a man been so widely mourned. The whole world bowed its head in grief when Abraham Lincoln died.

Returning to Mrs. Lincoln's room, I found her in a new paroxysm of grief. Robert was bending over his mother with tender affection, and little Tad was crouched at the foot of the bed with a world of agony in his young face. I shall never forget the scene—the wails of a broken heart, the unearthly shrieks, the terrible convulsions, the wild, tempestuous outbursts of grief from the soul. I bathed Mrs. Lincoln's head with cold water, and soothed the terrible tornado as best I could. Tad's grief at his father's death was as great as the grief of his mother, but her terrible outbursts awed the boy into silence. Sometimes he would throw his arms around her neck, and exclaim, between his broken sobs, "Don't cry so, Mamma! don't cry, or you will make me cry, too! You will break my heart."

When I returned to Mrs. Lincoln's room, I found her overcome by a fresh wave of grief. Robert was bending over his mother with tender affection. Little Tad crouched at the foot of the bed, his young face filled with agony. I will never forget that scene. I remember the wails of a broken heart, the unearthly shrieks, and the terrible convulsions. I remember the wild, stormy outbursts of grief from her soul. I bathed Mrs. Lincoln's head with cold water and did my best to calm the terrible storm. Tad's grief at his father's death was as great as his mother's. But her terrible outbursts left the boy awed into silence. Sometimes he would throw his arms around her neck and cry out between broken sobs, "Don't cry so, Mamma! Don't cry, or you will make me cry, too! You will break my heart."

Mrs. Lincoln could not bear to hear Tad cry, and when he would plead to her not to break his heart, she would calm herself with a great effort, and clasp her child in her arms.

Mrs. Lincoln could not bear to hear Tad cry. When he begged her not to break his heart, she would make a great effort to calm herself and hold him in her arms.

Every room in the White House was darkened, and every one spoke in subdued tones, and moved about with muffled tread. The very atmosphere breathed of the great sorrow which weighed heavily upon each heart. Mrs. Lincoln never left her room, and while the body of her husband was being borne in solemn state from the Atlantic to the broad prairies of the West, she was weeping with her fatherless children in her private chamber. She denied admittance to almost every one, and I was her only companion, except her children, in the days of her great sorrow.

Every room in the White House was dark. Everyone spoke quietly and walked softly. The very air seemed filled with the great sorrow that weighed heavily on every heart. Mrs. Lincoln never left her room. While her husband’s body was carried in a solemn procession from the Atlantic to the broad prairies of the West, she wept with her fatherless children in her private room. She refused to see almost everyone. During those days of great sorrow, her children and I were her only companions.

There were many surmises as to who was implicated with J. Wilkes Booth in the assassination of the President. A new messenger had accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln to the theatre on that terrible Friday night. It was the duty of this messenger to stand at the door of the box during the performance, and thus guard the inmates from all intrusion. It appears that the messenger was carried away by the play, and so neglected his duty that Booth gained easy admission to the box. Mrs. Lincoln firmly believed that this messenger was implicated in the assassination plot.

Many people speculated about who was involved with J. Wilkes Booth in the President's assassination. A new messenger had accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln to the theater on that terrible Friday night. The messenger was supposed to stand at the door of the box during the performance. His duty was to protect the people inside from any intrusion. It appears that the messenger became absorbed in the play and neglected his duty. As a result, Booth was able to enter the box easily. Mrs. Lincoln firmly believed that the messenger was involved in the assassination plot.

One night I was lying on a lounge near the bed occupied by Mrs. Lincoln. One of the servants entering the room, Mrs. L. asked:

One night, I was lying on a couch near Mrs. Lincoln’s bed. When one of the servants entered the room, Mrs. L. asked:

"Who is on watch to-night?"

"Who is on watch tonight?"

"The new messenger," was the reply.

"The new messenger," came the reply.

"What! the man who attended us to the theatre on the night my dear, good husband was murdered! He, I believe, is one of the murderers. Tell him to come in to me."

"What! The man who went with us to the theater on the night my dear, good husband was murdered! I believe he is one of the murderers. Tell him to come in and see me."

The messenger had overheard Mrs. Lincoln's words through the half-open door, and when he came in he was trembling violently.

The messenger had heard Mrs. Lincoln's words through the half-open door. When he came in, he was trembling violently.

She turned to him fiercely: "So you are on guard to-night—on guard in the White House after helping to murder the President!"

She turned to him fiercely: "So you're on guard tonight, on guard in the White House after helping to murder the President!"

"Pardon me, but I did not help to murder the President. I could never stoop to murder—much less to the murder of so good and great a man as the President."

"Excuse me, but I did not help murder the President. I could never commit murder, much less murder someone as good and great as the President."

"But it appears that you did stoop to murder."

"But it seems that you did stoop to murder."

"No, no! don't say that," he broke in. "God knows that I am innocent."

"No, no! Don't say that," he interrupted. "God knows I am innocent."

"I don't believe you. Why were you not at the door to keep the assassin out when he rushed into the box?"

"I don't believe you. Why weren't you at the door to keep the assassin out when he rushed into the box?"

"I did wrong, I admit, and I have bitterly repented it, but I did not help to kill the President. I did not believe that any one would try to kill so good a man in such a public place, and the belief made me careless. I was attracted by the play, and did not see the assassin enter the box."

"I admit I did wrong, and I deeply regret it. But I did not help kill the President. I did not believe anyone would try to kill such a good man in such a public place. That belief made me careless. I was caught up in the play and did not see the assassin enter the box."

"But you should have seen him. You had no business to be careless. I shall always believe that you are guilty. Hush! I shan't hear another word," she exclaimed, as the messenger essayed to reply. "Go now and keep your watch," she added, with an imperious wave of her hand. With mechanical step and white face the messenger left the room, and Mrs. Lincoln fell back on her pillow, covered her face with her hands, and commenced sobbing.

"But you should have seen him. You had no excuse for being careless. I will always believe you are guilty. Hush! I won't hear another word," she exclaimed as the messenger tried to reply. "Go now and keep watch," she added, waving her hand commandingly. The messenger left the room with mechanical steps and a pale face. Mrs. Lincoln fell back on her pillow, covered her face with her hands, and began sobbing.

Robert was very tender to his mother in the days of her sorrow.

Robert was very gentle with his mother during her time of sorrow.

He suffered deeply, as his haggard face indicated, but he was ever manly and collected when in the presence of his mother. Mrs. Lincoln was extremely nervous, and she refused to have anybody about her but myself. Many ladies called, but she received none of them. Had she been less secluded in her grief, perhaps she would have had many warmer friends to-day than she has. But far be it from me to harshly judge the sorrow of any one. Could the ladies who called to condole with Mrs. Lincoln, after the death of her husband, and who were denied admittance to her chamber, have seen how completely prostrated she was with grief, they would have learned to speak more kindly of her. Often at night, when Tad would hear her sobbing, he would get up, and come to her bed in his white sleeping-clothes: "Don't cry, Mamma; I cannot sleep if you cry! Papa was good, and he has gone to heaven. He is happy there. He is with God and brother Willie. Don't cry, Mamma, or I will cry too."

He suffered deeply, as his drawn face showed, but he was always brave and composed in his mother’s presence. Mrs. Lincoln was extremely nervous, and she refused to have anyone near her except me. Many ladies called, but she received none of them. Had she been less isolated in her grief, perhaps she would have many warmer friends today than she has. But I would never judge anyone’s sorrow harshly. After her husband’s death, ladies called to offer Mrs. Lincoln their condolences, but they were not allowed into her room. Had they seen how completely grief had overwhelmed her, they would have learned to speak more kindly of her. Often at night, Tad would hear her sobbing. He would get up and come to her bed in his white sleeping clothes: "Don't cry, Mamma. I cannot sleep if you cry! Papa was good, and he has gone to heaven. He is happy there. He is with God and brother Willie. Don't cry, Mamma, or I will cry too."

The closing appeal always proved the most effectual, as Mrs. Lincoln could not bear to hear her child cry.

The final appeal always worked best because Mrs. Lincoln could not bear to hear her child cry.

Tad had been petted by his father, but petting could not spoil such a manly nature as his. He seemed to realize that he was the son of a President—to realize it in its loftiest and noblest sense. One morning, while being dressed, he looked up at his nurse, and said: "Pa is dead. I can hardly believe that I shall never see him again. I must learn to take care of myself now." He looked thoughtful a moment, then added, "Yes, Pa is dead, and I am only Tad Lincoln now, little Tad, like other little boys. I am not a President's son now. I won't have many presents any more. Well, I will try and be a good boy, and will hope to go some day to Pa and brother Willie, in heaven." He was a brave, manly child, and knew that influence had passed out of their hands with the death of his father, and that his position in life was altered. He seemed to feel that people petted him, and gave him presents, because they wanted to please the President of the United States. From that period forward he became more independent, and in a short time learned to dispense with the services of a nurse. While in Chicago, I saw him get out his clothes one Sunday morning and dress himself, and the change was such a great one to me—for while in the White House, servants obeyed his every nod and bid—that I could scarcely refrain from shedding tears. Had his father lived, I knew it would have been different with his favorite boy. Tad roomed with Robert, and he always took pride in pleasing his brother.

Tad's father had indulged him, but such affection could not spoil his manly nature. He seemed to understand that he was the son of a President, in the highest and noblest sense. One morning, while his nurse was dressing him, he looked up at her and said: "Pa is dead. I can hardly believe I will never see him again. I must learn to take care of myself now." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then added, "Yes, Pa is dead, and I am only Tad Lincoln now, little Tad, like other little boys. I am not a President's son now. I won't have many presents anymore. Well, I will try to be a good boy, and I will hope to join Pa and brother Willie in heaven someday." He was a brave, manly child. He knew that his father's death had taken away the family's influence and changed his position in life. He seemed to feel that people indulged him and gave him presents because they wanted to please the President of the United States. From then on, he became more independent. Before long, he learned to do without a nurse. While I was in Chicago, I saw him get out his clothes and dress himself one Sunday morning. It was such a great change that I could hardly keep from crying. In the White House, servants had obeyed his every nod and command. I knew that if his father had lived, things would have been different for his favorite boy. Tad shared a room with Robert, and he always took pride in pleasing his brother.

After the Committee had started West with the body of the President, there was quite a breeze of excitement for a few days as to where the remains should be interred. Secretary Stanton and others held frequent conferences with Robert, Mr. Todd, Mrs. Lincoln's cousin, and Dr. Henry, an old schoolmate and friend of Mr. Lincoln. The city authorities of Springfield had purchased a beautiful plat of ground in a prosperous portion of the city, and work was rapidly progressing on the tomb, when Mrs. Lincoln made strenuous objection to the location. She declared that she would stop the body in Chicago before it should be laid to rest in the lot purchased for the purpose by the City of Springfield. She gave as a reason, that it was her desire to be laid by the side of her husband when she died, and that such would be out of the question in a public place of the kind. As is well known, the difficulty was finally settled by placing the remains of the President in the family vault at Oak Ridge, a charming spot for the home of the dead.

After the Committee headed west with the President's body, there was considerable excitement for a few days over where he should be buried. Secretary Stanton and others met frequently with Robert, Mr. Todd, Mrs. Lincoln's cousin, and Dr. Henry, an old schoolmate and friend of Mr. Lincoln. The Springfield city authorities had bought a beautiful plot of land in a prosperous part of the city. Work on the tomb was progressing rapidly when Mrs. Lincoln strongly objected to the location. She declared that she would stop the body in Chicago rather than let it be buried in the plot Springfield had bought. She explained that she wanted to be buried beside her husband when she died. That would be out of the question in a public place of that kind. As is well known, the dispute was finally settled by placing the President's remains in the family vault at Oak Ridge, a charming resting place for the dead.

After the President's funeral Mrs. Lincoln rallied, and began to make preparations to leave the White House. One day she suddenly exclaimed: "God, Elizabeth, what a change! Did ever woman have to suffer so much and experience so great a change? I had an ambition to be Mrs. President; that ambition has been gratified, and now I must step down from the pedestal. My poor husband! had he never been President, he might be living to-day. Alas! all is over with me!"

After the President's funeral, Mrs. Lincoln regained her strength and began preparing to leave the White House. One day she suddenly exclaimed: "God, Elizabeth, what a change! Has any woman ever suffered so much and experienced such a great change? I wanted to be the President's wife. That ambition has been fulfilled, and now I must step down from the pedestal. My poor husband! If he had never been President, he might still be alive today. Alas! Everything is over for me!"

Folding her arms for a few moments, she rocked back and forth, then commenced again, more vehemently than ever: "My God, Elizabeth, I can never go back to Springfield! no, never, until I go in my shroud to be laid by my dear husband's side, and may Heaven speed that day! I should like to live for my sons, but life is so full of misery that I would rather die." And then she would go off into a fit of hysterics.

She folded her arms and rocked back and forth for a few moments. Then she began again, more passionately than ever: "My God, Elizabeth, I can never go back to Springfield! No, never, until I go in my burial shroud to be laid beside my dear husband. May Heaven hurry that day! I would like to live for my sons, but life is so full of misery that I would rather die." Then she would become hysterical.