Isaac Newton, of Philadelphia, was placed at the head of the Agricultural Bureau of the Patent Office, by President Lincoln, and in due time he became the head of the newly created Department of Agriculture. He was an ignorant, credulous old gentleman, quite rotund around the waistband, with snow-white hair and a mild blue eye. Educated a Quaker, he had accumulated some property by keeping an ice-cream saloon in Philadelphia, and he then established a farm, from which he obtained his supplies of cream. At Washington he was known as "Sir Isaac," and many anecdotes were told at his expense. One year, when the expenditures of his department had been very great, and the Chairman of the Committee on Agriculture called on him to ascertain how he had used up so much money, Sir Isaac spluttered and talked learnedly, and at last concluded by saying: "Yes, sir; the expenses have been very great, exorbitant; indeed, sir, they have exceeded my most sanguine expectations." The Chairman was not satisfied. Looking over Sir Isaac's estimate for the year, it was found he had made requisition for five thousand dollars to purchase two hydraulic rams. "Them, gentlemen," said Sir Isaac, "are said to be the best sheep in Europe. I have seen a gentleman who knows all about them, and we should by all means secure the breed." Some wag had been selling Sir Isaac, and, much to his disgust, the Committee struck out the five-thousand-dollar item.

[Facsimile] S.P.Chase SALMON PORTLAND CHASE was born at Cornish, New Hampshire, January 13th, 1808; graduated at Dartmouth College in 1826; studied law at Washington with William Wirt, supporting himself by teaching school; commenced practice at Cincinnati in 1830; was United States Senator from Ohio, 1849-1853; was Governor of Ohio, 1855-1859; was again United States Senator, March 4th, 1861, and resigned the next day to become Secretary of the Treasury under President Lincoln, which position he held until he resigned in September, 1864; was appointed Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, December 6th, 1864; presided at the impeachment trial of President Johnson in 1866, and died at New York, May 7th, 1873.

CHAPTER XI. THE FORTUNES OF WAR.

With the war came the army correspondents. Dickens had previously introduced Martin Chuzzlewit to "our war correspondent, sir, Mr. Jefferson Brick," several years previously, but the warlike experiences of the redoubtable Mr. Brick were of a purely sedentary character, and his epistles were written at the home office. But Washington was now invaded by a corps of quick-witted, plucky young fellows, able to endure fatigue, brave enough to be under fire, and sufficiently well educated to enable them to dash off a grammatical and picturesque description of a skirmish.

Occasionally, one of them, by eulogizing a general in command, was enabled to go to the front as a gentleman, but generally they were proscribed and hunted out from camps like spies. Secretary Stanton bullied them, established a censorship at Washington, and occasionally imprisoned one, or stopped the publication of the paper with which he corresponded. Halleck denounced them as "unauthorized hangers- on," who should be compelled to work on the entrenchments if they did not leave his lines. General Meade was unnecessarily severe in his treatment of correspondents whose letters were not agreeable to him, although they contained "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." The result was that the correspondents were forced to hover around the rear of the armies, gathering up such information as they could, and then ride in haste to the nearest available telegraph station to send off their news. There were honorable and talented exceptions, but the majority of those who called themselves "war correspondents" were mere news- scavengers.

The Washington press was despotically governed during the war. The established censorship was under the direction of men wholly unqualified, and on several occasions the printed editions of influential journals—Republican or Democratic—were seized by Secretary Stanton for having published intelligence which he thought should have been suppressed. Bulletins were issued by the War Department, but they were often incorrect. It was known that the Washington papers, full of military information, were forwarded through the lines daily, yet the censors would not permit paragraphs clipped from those papers to be telegraphed to Boston or Chicago, where they could not appear sooner than they did in the Richmond papers. The declaration, "I am a newspaper correspondent," which had in former years carried with it the imposing force of the famous, "I am a Roman citizen," no longer entitled one to the same proud prerogatives, and journalists were regarded as spies and sneaks.

Colonel John W. Forney, Secretary of the United States Senate and editor of the Philadelphia Press, established the Sunday Chronicle at Washington, and in time made it the Daily Chronicle. When in Washington, he was constantly dictating letters for the Press and editorials for the Chronicle. When in Philadelphia, he dictated editorials for the Press and letters for the Chronicle. Each paper copied his letters from the other. When in New York, he dictated editorial letters to his papers alternately, and they were signed "J. W. F." His Washington letters to the Press and his Philadelphia letters to the Chronicle were signed, "Occasional," though the most remarkable thing about them was their regularity.

The Washington Chronicle received editorial and other contributions from some of the ablest writers in the country. Editorials on foreign topics were supplied by Dr. R. Shelton Mackenzie, of the Philadelphia Press. Robert J. Walker wrote a series of powerful articles on the desirableness of Secretary Seward's pet project, the acquisition of Alaska, and Caleb Cushing was a frequent editorial contributor. It had a large circulation, the Army of the Potomac taking ten thousand copies a day, and the lucrative advertising of the Department was given to it.

Independence Day, 1862, was not joyously celebrated at Washington. The martial pageant with which the day had been glorified in years past had been replaced by the stern realities of war, and the hospitals were crowded with the sick, the wounded, and the dying. The week previous General McClellan, after a campaign of great severity in the Peninsula, and having been in sight of Richmond, had been so crippled by the failure of Secretary Stanton to send him more troops that he had been forced to retreat from Chickahominy, and seek the shelter of the gunboats on the River James. The President, at the request of the Governors of the loyal States, promptly called into the service an additional force of three hundred thousand men. Those who had advocated the arming of the negroes availed themselves of the occasion to urge their enlistment; but the Secretary of War, in conversation with conservatives, opposed it. Mr. Mallory, of Kentucky, stated on the floor of the House (and his statement was never contradicted) that, having business at the War Department, Mr. Stanton called him back, and, folding over the date and signature of a letter, showed him that an officer had asked authority to raise a regiment of blacks. The Secretary inquired what answer ought to be given, to which he (Mallory) replied, "If you allow me to dictate an answer, I would say, emphatically, No!" The Secretary rejoined that he had not only done that, but had ordered the officer's arrest.

The people responded gloriously to the demand for more troops, and by the middle of August, 1862, they were pouring into Washington at the rate of a brigade a day. The regiments, on their arrival, were marched past the White House, singing, "We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more." And "Father Abraham" often kindled their highest enthusiasm by coming to the front entrance and in person reviewing the passing hosts. The troops then crossed the Potomac, where the hills were whitened with the tents of camps of instruction, where an army of reserves was soon produced. Mr. Greeley, however, was not satisfied with the military preparations, and he published an insolent letter to President Lincoln, in which he charged him with being "disastrously remiss in enforcing the laws." Mr. Lincoln replied, calmly but positively: "I would save the Union. I would save it in the shortest way, under the Constitution. If I could save the Union without freeing any slaves I would do it, and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves I would do it, and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone I would also do that. What I do about slavery and the colored race, I do because I believe it helps to save the Union, and what I forbear, I forbear because I do not believe it would help to save the Union. I shall do less whenever I shall believe that what I am doing hurts the cause, and I shall do more whenever I believe doing more will help the cause. I shall try to correct errors when shown to be errors, and I shall adopt new views so fast as they shall appear to be true views."

President Lincoln finally found that he could not sustain General McClellan any longer, and offered General Burnside the command of the Army of the Potomac, which was promptly and peremptorily declined. General McClellan was soon virtually deposed, and General Halleck placed in command, while a large portion of the Army of the Potomac was organized as the Army of Virginia, and placed under the command of Major-General John Pope, who boasted that he was fresh from a campaign in the West, where he had "seen only the backs of rebels." The result was that the new commander was not cordially supported, and the Army of Virginia was wrecked beyond compare, and driven back upon Washington, which was threatened by the victorious Confederates.

General Burnside was, for the second time, invited to take command, but he refused, urging President Lincoln to restore General McClellan. This was undoubtedly the wish of a large majority of the surviving officers and soldiers, and of many leading members of Congress and journalists. The recall of General McClellan to command, and his victory at Antietam, were like a romance. Sitting one day in his tent near Alexandria, with only his body-guard of a hundred men under his command, he was called to save the capital from the vast hosts of enemies that were pouring on it in resistless columns. To save his native State from the invasion that threatened it, and Maryland from the grasp of a soldiery that would wrest it from the Union, he was offered an army shattered by disaster, and legions of new recruits who had never handled a musket or heard the sound of a hostile cannon. The responsibility was greater than had ever been reposed on the shoulders of one man since the days of Washington. With a rapidity never equaled in history, he gathered together the army, arranged its forces, made up his corps, chose his generals, and sent them in vigorous pursuit, through Washington and on northward.

The enemy had crossed into Maryland, and were having a triumphant march through that State toward the Pennsylvania line. They issued a sounding proclamation to the people, offering them what they called liberty from oppression, and they acted out the theory of their mad invasion, which was that they were victors and had come to reap, on loyal grounds, the fruit of their victories.

On Sunday the gallant men of the Union Army were on them. They were swept over the South Mountains with the besom of destruction. On Monday, astonished to meet McClellan, when they had expected to meet those whom they less feared, they called their hosts over the Potomac and prepared for battle. McClellan had previously arranged his strategic plans, and these undoubtedly would have resulted differently but for the inexplicable surrender of Harper's Ferry, leaving our army with little hope of cutting off the retreat of the enemy.

On Tuesday and Wednesday McClellan engaged them in a long and furious contest, the night of Wednesday closing in on them defeated, dispirited, and broken; and when Thursday morning showed the disposition of our army, and the inevitable defeat that awaited them, they left the field, abandoned their wounded, and fled into Virginia, pursued and routed by the army of the Union. Having gloriously performed this great work, General McClellan's stubborn inaction returned, and President Lincoln determined to place General Burnside in command of the Army of the Potomac.

General Burnside reluctantly accepted the command when it was for the third time tendered him, and lost no time in putting its divisions in motion for a rapid advance upon Fredericksburg. Had he found the pontoon train there, as he had expected, he could have thrown a heavy force across the Rappahannock before the enemy could have concentrated to resist his crossing, and he then could have commenced an active, vigorous campaign against Richmond. But before the pontoons had arrived the Confederates had strengthened their forces, and the result was two unsuccessful attacks, with a large loss of men. The country howled with wrath against the Washington officials, who had delayed sending the pontoons, but General Burnside stood up squarely and said, in his open, honest manner, "For the failure in the attack I am responsible."

Learning that Generals Hooker, Newton, Franklin, Cochrane, and others had been intriguing against him and urging his dismissal, General Burnside promptly issued an order dismissing them from the service of the Union. President Lincoln would not consent to this and permit the dismissal of these demoralized officers, whose partisan prejudices had overshadowed their loyalty to their commander. General Burnside then resigned, General Hooker was appointed his successor, and the Army of the Potomac went into winter quarters on the north bank of the Rappahannock.

[Facsimile] A.E.Burnside AMBROSE EVERETT BURNSIDE was born at Liberty, Indiana, May 23d, 1824; graduated at West Point in 1847; served in the Mexican and Indian Wars, and in the War for the Suppression of the Rebellion; was Governor of Rhode Island, 1866-1868; was United States Senator from March 4th, 1875, until his death at his residence in Bristol, Rhode Island, September 13th, 1881.

CHAPTER XII. SOCIAL LIFE OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN.

When Congress met in December, 1862, many Republicans were despondent. The Administration ticket had been defeated in the elections of the preceding month in New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Indiana, and Illinois, while in other loyal States the majorities had fallen off—the total returns showing the election of fifty-nine Republican Representatives against forty Democratic Representatives. This encouraged the Abolitionists to urge the emancipation of the slaves, while the conservatives protested against it, but Mr. Lincoln contented himself by saying: "You must not expect me to give up the Government without playing my last card."

The Proclamation of Emancipation, issued by President Lincoln on the 1st of January, 1863, marked an era in the history, not only of the war, but of the Republic and the civilized world. Four millions of human beings, who had been kept in slavery under the protection of the Federal Government, were promised their freedom by the Commander-in-Chief of the army, as a "military necessity," and the pledge was gloriously redeemed. In commemoration of this event the colossal group entitled "Emancipation," located in Lincoln Park, was erected by contributions solely from emancipated persons, and was dedicated April 14th, 1876, Frederick Douglass being the orator of the occasion. The entire work is twenty-two feet high, and the bronze work alone cost seventeen thousand dollars.

New Year's Day was fair and the walking dry, which made it an agreeable task to keep up the Knickerbocker practice of calling on officials and lady friends. The President, members of the Cabinet, and other Government functionaries received a large number of visitors during the day. At eleven o'clock all officers of the army in the city assembled at the War Department, and, headed by Adjutant-General Thomas and General Halleck, proceeded to the White House, where they were severally introduced to the President. The officers of the navy assembled at the Navy Department at the same time, and, headed by Secretary Welles and Admiral Foote, also proceeded to the President's. The display of general officers in brilliant uniforms was an imposing sight, and attracted large crowds. The foreign Ministers, in accordance with the usual custom, also called on the President, and at twelve o'clock the doors were opened to the public, who marched through the hall and shook hands with Mr. Lincoln, to the music of the Marine Band, for two or three hours. Mrs. Lincoln also received ladies in the same parlor with the President.

With the Emancipation Proclamation Washington was treated to a volume of the published diary of Count Gurowski, who had been employed as a translator in the Department of State and as a purveyor of news for Mr. Greeley. His book was one prolonged growl from beginning to end. Even those whom its author seemed inclined to worship at the commencement found their share of abuse before they finished. Introducing the Blairs, of Missouri, with frequent complimentary allusions in his opening chapters, about the middle of his work Gurowski packed them off to Hades with the rest, and left the reader in despair at the prospects of a nation governed by such a set of imbeciles and rogues as our public men were represented to be by the amiable Pole. As he assailed everybody, those who read the book were sure to find the particular object of their individual dislike soundly rated with the rest.

The author of this production was a singular-looking old man, small in stature, stout of figure, ugly in feature, and disfigured by a pair of green goggles. Gurowski was unsparing in his criticisms. He set down Seward as writing too much; Sumner as a pompous, verbose talker; Burnside as a swaggering West Pointer, and Hooker as a casual hero. He became so offensive to Mr. Sumner that one morning, after listening to a torrent of his abuse, the Senator arose from his desk, went to the door of his library, opened it, and said to the astonished Pole, "Go!" In vain were apologies proffered. Mr. Sumner, thoroughly incensed, simply repeated the word "Go!" and at last the astute Gurowski went.

The Army of the Potomac, in comfortable quarters on the north bank of the Rappahannock, received generous contributions of holiday cheer. The marching hosts of Israel were jubilant over a supply of quails, but the Army of the Potomac had showered upon it (by express, paid) a deluge of turkeys, geese, ducks, mince-pies, pickles, and preserves. Of course, the inexorable provost marshal seized all spirituous liquors, but there were ways and means by which this Maine law was evaded. In many a tent there were cylindrical glass vessels, the contents of which would have been pronounced whisky were not that fluid "contraband," with many a quaintly shaped flask of Rhenish wines.

Nor was it forgotten that there was encircling the metropolis a score of hospitals, in which thousands and thousands who had fought the good fight were being nursed into health, or lay tossing on beds of pain, sooner or later to fall into that sleep that knows no waking. These brave patients were not forgotten. The same spirit which prompted the wise men of the East to carry at Christmas- tide present of "gold, frankincense, and myrrh" to the infant Jesus, "God's best gift to humanity," inspired the Union men and women at Washington with a desire to gladden the hearts of the maimed and scarred and emaciated men who had periled their lives that the Republic might live. Not only did "maidens fair and matrons grave" toil that the hospital patients might enjoy holiday cheer, but Senator Sumner and other leading Republicans used to go from hospital to hospital, from ward to ward, from bedside to bedside, encouraging by kind words those who were the martyrs of the war. In the Campbell Hospital, under the charge of Surgeon J. H. Baxter, of Vermont, there was a theatre, in which performances were given every night to cheer those who were convalescent.

Henry Wikoff, having admitted before a Committee of the House of Representatives that he had filed at the telegraph office, for transmission to the New York Herald, portions of the President's message, he was asked how he obtained it. This he declined to state, saying that he was "under an obligation of strict secrecy." The House accordingly directed the Sergeant-at-Arms to hold Wikoff in close custody, and he was locked up in a room hastily furnished for his accommodation. It was generally believed that Mrs. Lincoln had permitted Wikoff to copy those portions of the message that he had published, and this opinion was confirmed when General Sickles appeared as his counsel. The General vibrated between Wikoff's place of imprisonment, the White House, and the residence of Mrs. Lincoln's gardener, named Watt. The Committee finally summoned the General before them, and put some home questions to him. He replied sharply, and for a few minutes a war of words raged. He narrowly escaped Wikoff's fate, but finally, after consulting numerous books of evidence, the Committee concluded not to go to extremities. While the examination was pending, the Sergeant-at- Arms appeared with Watt. He testified that he saw the message in the library, and, being of a literary turn of mind, perused it; that, however, he did not make a copy, but, having a tenacious memory, carried portions of it in his mind, and the next day repeated them word for word to Wikoff. Meanwhile, Mr. Lincoln had visited the Capitol and urged the Republicans on the Committee to spare him disgrace, so Watt's improbable story was received and Wikoff was liberated.

President Lincoln, when a Congressman came to bore him for an appointment or with a grievance, had a pleasant way of telling a succession of stories, which left his visitor no chance to state his case. One day, a Representative, who had been thus silenced, stated from experience as follows: "I've been trying for the last four days to get an audience with the President. I have gone to the White House every morning and waited till dark, but could not get a chance to speak to him until to-day, when I was admitted to his presence. I told him what I wanted, and supposed I was going to get a direct answer, when, what do you think? Why, he started off with, 'Do you know, I heard a good thing yesterday about the difference between an Amsterdam Dutchman and any other "dam" Dutchman.' And then he commenced telling his stories. I was mad enough to knock the old fellow down. But the worst of the whole thing was that just as he got through with the last story in came Secretary Seward, who said he must have a private conference with him immediately. Mr. Lincoln cooly turned to me and said, 'Mr. ——, can you call again?' Bother his impudence, I say, to keep me listening to his jokes for two hours, and then ask me to call again!"

President Lincoln was quite ill that winter, and was not inclined to listen to all the bores who called at the White House. One day, just as one of these pests had seated himself for a long interview, the President's physician happened to enter the room, and Mr. Lincoln said, holding out his hands: "Doctor, what are these blotches?" "That's varioloid, or mild small-pox," said the Doctor. "They're all over me. It is contagious, I believe?" said Mr. Lincoln. "Very contagious, indeed," replied the Esculapian attendant. "Well, I can't stop, Mr. Lincoln; I just called to see how you were," said the visitor. "Oh! don't be in a hurry, sir," placidly remarked the Executive. "Thank you, sir; I'll call again," replied the visitor, executing a masterly retreat from a fearful contagion. "Do, sir," said the President. "Some people said they could not take very well to my proclamation, but now, I am happy to say, I have something that everybody can take." By this time the visitor was making a desperate break for Pennsylvania Avenue, which he reached on the double-quick and quite out of breath.

On the 2d and 3d of May, 1863, General Hooker was most disastrously defeated at Chancellorsville. Several weeks later, when General Lee had moved northward into Pennsylvania, exacting contributions from towns, and destroying manufacturing establishments, and when the Army of the Potomac had hurried across Maryland to attack him, General Hooker resigned almost on the eve of the battle of Gettysburg. General Meade was placed in command, and his gallant conduct on that occasion gave great satisfaction to President Lincoln, although he was sadly disappointed that the invaders had not been followed and annihilated.

Meanwhile General Grant was besieging Vicksburg, which had been well called "the Gibraltar of the Mississippi," and the people, who had become heart-sick of military engineering, began to lose courage. At one time President Lincoln actually determined to supersede General Grant by General Banks, but the latter, on arriving at the scene of hostilities, saw that everything had been done that could be done, and that the end was near at hand. On the 4th of July, General Pemberton asked for a proposition of terms, and General Grant replied: "Unconditional surrender."

On the 26th of November, 1863, President Lincoln, accompanied by his Cabinet, Vice-President Hamlin, the Governors of several States, and a brilliant staff of officers, attended the dedication of the National Cemetery at Gettysburg. The address was delivered by Edward Everett, whose head was whitened with the snows of seventy winters, but whose form was as erect, his complexion as clear, and his voice as musical as it was when he had been a Representative in Congress years before. He had then said that he would buckle on his knapsack in defense of slavery; now he eulogized those who had laid down their lives in the work of its destruction. But his well memorized and finely rounded sentences were eclipsed by President Lincoln's few words, read in an unmusical treble voice, and concluding with the sublime assertion, "that the nation shall, under God, have a new birth of freedom, and that governments of the people, by the people, and for the people shall not perish from the earth."

[Facsimile] Geo. G. Meade GEORGE GORDON MEADE, born December 30th, 1815, at Cadiz, Spain, where his father was located in the United States service; graduated at West Point in 1835; entered the artillery service and was engaged in the Seminole and Mexican Wars, and in August 1861, was made Brigadier-General of Volunteers; Major-General, 1862; Commander-in- Chief of the Army of the Potomac, June 28th, 1863; won the Battle of Gettysburg, July 1-3, 1863; continued to command the Army of the Potomac until the close of the war. Died at Philadelphia, November 6th, 1872.

CHAPTER XIII. CIVIL AND MILITARY INTRIGUES.

Schuyler Colfax was elected Speaker of the House of Representatives. When Congress met on the 7th of December, 1863, among the new members sworn in were Generals Garfield and Schenck, of Ohio, and Deming, of Connecticut, who had seen service; Mr. James G. Blaine, who had been the editor of the Portland Advertiser, and Mr. James G. Brooks, who had for many years edited the New York Express, with Brutus J. Clay, of Kentucky; George S. Boutwell and Oakes Ames, of Massachusetts, and other prominent men. One of the first acts of Congress was to vote a medal of thanks to General Grant for the victories which he had won at Missionary Ridge and at Chattanooga. On one side of this medal was his profile, surrounded by a wreath of laurel, with his name, the date and authority of the presentation, and, on the encircling work, a star for each State. On the reverse was a figure of Fame, seated in the heavens with emblems of prosperity and power; while upon various parts of the work the names of Grant's chief victories were inscribed.

At the New Year's reception Mr. Lincoln was in excellent spirits, giving each passer-by a cordial greeting and a warm shake of the hand, while for some there was a quiet joke. Mrs. Lincoln stood at his right hand, wearing a purple silk dress trimmed with black velvet and lace, with a lace necktie fastened with a pearl pin; her head-dress was ornamented with a white plume. Secretary Seward was there, sphinx-like and impassible. Governor Chase seemed somewhat perplexed, balancing, perhaps, between the succession to the Presidency or the Chief Justiceship; Secretary Wells' patriarchal form towered above the crowd, and there were a few Senators and Representatives, a majority of either House being, on dit, enjoying the hospitalities of New York. But the army officers, as they came in from the War Department, headed by General Halleck, presented an imposing display, some with epaulettes and feathers, but a majority in battle attire. The naval officers, headed by Admiral Davis, also presented a fine appearance.

At twelve o'clock, the portals were thrown open, and in poured the people in a continuous stream. For two hours did they pass steadily along, a living tide, which swept in, eddied around the President and his wife, and then surged into the East Room, which was a maelstrom of humanity, uniforms, black coats, gay female attire, and citizens generally.

Vice-President Hamlin kept open house at his residence on F Street, and the Secretaries were all at their homes. At Governor Seward's, Mrs. Fred Seward did the honors, assisted by Miss Seward and a friend from Auburn, while at Governor Chase's his recently married daughter, Mrs. Senator Sprague, and Miss Chase welcomed many friends. Mayor Wallach entertained his visitors with old Virginia hospitality, and at many private residences there were the traditionary bowls of egg-nog and of apple-toddy.

The friends of General Grant in Congress urged the passage of a bill to revive the grade of Lieutenant-General of the army. It met with some opposition, especially from General Garfield, who opposed the bill mainly on the ground that it would be improper at that stage of the war to determine and award the greatest prize of the conflict in the way of military preferment to any one of the distinguished Generals of the army. It would, he thought, be far more fitting for Congress to wait until war was over, and see whose head towered above the rest in the army, and then give this crown to the one whose head had risen highest.

Notwithstanding this opposition, the bill was passed by both Houses, approved by the President on the 1st day of March, 1864, and the next day he sent to the Senate the nomination of Ulysses S. Grant, which was confirmed immediately, and General Grant was summoned to Washington in person. He wore a plain, undress uniform and a felt hat of the regulation pattern, the sides of the top crushed together. He generally stood or walked with his left hand in his trousers pocket, and had in his mouth an unlighted cigar, the end of which he chewed restlessly. His square-cut features, when at rest, appeared as if carved from mahogany, and his firmly set under-jaw indicated the unyielding tenacity of a bulldog, while the kind glances of his gray eyes showed that he possessed the softer traits. He always appeared intensely preoccupied, and would gaze at any one who approached him with an inquiring air, followed by a glance of recollection and a grave nod of recognition. It was not long after his arrival before Secretary Stanton realized that he was no longer supreme, and the Army of the Potomac, which had virtually dictated to its successive commanders, found that the time had come when obedience was imperative, no matter what the loss of life might be.

When General Grant called on the President, he met with a hearty reception, and Mr. Lincoln, taking him into a private room, repeated to him a story from a comic article by Orpheus C. Kerr, satirically criticising the conduct of the war. It was a story about Captain Bob Shorty and the Mackerel Brigade and the Anaconda Policy— something about generals in the field being hampered by a flood of orders. When he had finished his story, he told General Grant that he did not care to know what he wanted to do, only to know what was wanted. He wished him to beat Lee. How he did it was his own lookout. He said he did not wish to know his plans or exercise any scrutiny over his operations. So long as he beat the rebel army he was satisfied. The formal presentation of the new commission as Lieutenant-General was made in the presence of Cabinet officers and other distinguished guests, and was in all respects a notable historic scene.

On the 4th of March, General Grant ordered a forward movement, and General Meade crossed the Rappahannock with the Army of the Potomac one hundred and seventeen thousand strong. It was understood that soon after the forward movement was commenced, General Meade hesitated about crossing the stream, under a heavy fire, but General Grant peremptorily ordered him to move forward. This was alluded to in a letter sent to a Philadelphia newspaper by Mr. Edward Crapsey, a native of Cincinnati, who had been reputably connected with several leading journals. He said in his correspondence: "History will record, but newspapers cannot, that on one eventful night during the present campaign Grant's presence saved the army and the nation, too. Not that General Meade was on the point of committing a great blunder, unwittingly, but his devotion to his country made him loath to lose her last army of what he deemed a last chance. Grant assumed the responsibility, and we are still 'On to Richmond!'" When the newspaper containing this paragraph reached the Army of the Potomac, General Meade issued an order that Mr. Crapsey be arrested, paraded through the lines of the army, with a placard marked "Libeler of the Press," and then be put without the lines and not be permitted to return. This humiliating punishment was carried out in the most offensive manner possible, and Mr. Crapsey, after having been escorted through the camp on horseback, bearing the offensive label, was sent back to Washington. The terrific battle of the Wilderness followed, and General Grant telegraphed for recruits, saying, "We have ended this sixth day of very heavy fighting. The result at this time is very much in our favor. Our losses have been heavy, as well as those of the enemy. I propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer."

General Lee, wishing to force General Grant back to the defense of Washington, ordered a corps under General Early to attack the Union capital, which was thought to be guarded only by a few regiments of heavy artillery and by a home brigade of quartermasters' clerks, improvised by Quartermaster-General Meigs. On the 12th of July, 1864, the advance-guard of the Confederates, commanded by General Breckinridge, came within the defenses of Washington, where they were, to their great surprise, confronted by the veteran Sixth Corps, under General Wright, and after a few volleys had been exchanged they precipitously retreated, and hurriedly recrossed the Potomac. This brief engagement was witnessed from the parapet of Fort Stevens by President Lincoln, who would not retire until an officer was shot down within a few feet of him, when he reluctantly stepped below. Sheltered from the sharp-shooters' fire, Cabinet officers and a group of society ladies watched the fortunes of the fight. It was no mock-battle that they witnessed on the outskirts of the national metropolis. Stretchers soon conveyed the dying and wounded to the hospital in the rear of the fort, and the graves remain there of those who fought and fell, with the President of the United States and his competitor at the preceding election on opposite sides, interested spectators of the scene.

Meanwhile Mr. Chase, provoked because the President overruled him, had resigned his position as Secretary of the Treasury, and Mr. Fessenden had been appointed in his place. Mr. Chase desired the Presidential nomination, and an organization was formed with Senator Pomeroy, of Kansas, at its head to secure the election of Chase delegates to the next National Republican Convention. Meanwhile Chief Justice Taney died in October, 1864, and Mr. Sumner immediately urged the President to appoint Mr. Chase as his successor. There was then much dissatisfaction with Mr. Lincoln's Administration, and the friends of Mr. Chase were openly and secretly urging his nomination.

When Mr. Sumner came to Washington he renewed his request that Mr. Chase be appointed, and he had several interviews with Mr. Lincoln on the subject. One day Mr. Lincoln proposed to send for Mr. Chase and frankly tell him that he wanted to nominate him as Chief Justice, that he would make the greatest and best Chief Justice the country had ever had, and that he would do so if he would only give up all idea of being elected President. Mr. Sumner replied that such a statement, however frank it might be, would never answer, as it would not only expose the President to criticism as attempting to purchase an opponent, but it would be offensive to Mr. Chase, as an attempt to extort from him a pledge that he would never be a candidate for the Presidency. Mr. Lincoln, who was quick-witted, saw the force of Mr. Sumner's argument, and pleasantly said: "Well, take this card and write on it the name of the man you desire to have appointed." Mr. Sumner wrote "Salmon P. Chase," and Salmon P. Chase was promptly nominated on the 6th of December, 1864. Mr. Sumner urged the immediate confirmation of the appointment, and having carried it, hastened from the Senate Chamber to congratulate the new Chief Justice. As he came out of the room in which he conveyed the news he met Mrs. Kate Sprague, who shook her index finger at him and said: "And you, too, Mr. Sumner? Are you in the business of shelving papa? But never mind, I will defeat you all!" Mr. Sumner used to relate this incident as showing how he had been rewarded for what he regarded as one of the most praiseworthy acts of his life. Besides, Mr. Lincoln was not the only candidate for the Presidential chair who would lose a rival by the appointment of Judge Chase. Mr. Sumner had strong aspirations in that direction, but I doubt if he regarded the bench of the Supreme Court as a stepping-stone to the White House. Had the Senate found Mr. Johnson guilty on the impeachment charges, and had Ben Wade thus become President, Mr. Sumner would have been his Secretary of State, and I am not sure that this did not influence Mr. Fessenden in his vote of "Not guilty." Had General Grant offered Mr. Sumner the same position it would have been accepted with the understanding that he was to direct the foreign policy of the country untrammeled.

[Facsimile] Joseph Hooker JOSEPH HOOKER, born at Hadley, Mass., November 13th, 1813; graduated at West Point, 1837; served in the Mexican War; resigned, but re- entered the service as Brigadier-General, May, 1861; Major-General, 1862; Corps Commander, September, 1862; Division Commander, December, 1862; Commander of the Army of the Potomac, January, 1863; transferred to the West and served from Lookout Mountain to Atlanta; commanded the Northern Department, September, 1864, to July, 1865; retired October 15th, 1868; died, 1879.

CHAPTER XIV. EVENTS BOTH SAD AND JOYOUS.

To gratify Mr. Seward, Andrew Johnson, of Tennessee, had been placed on the Republican ticket and elected Vice-President. Mr. Lincoln's re-inauguration took place under circumstances widely different from those which attended his inauguration in 1861. Then seven States had seceded from the Union, and the President had taken the oath of office surrounded by enemies whose disposition to assassinate was stronger than their courage to execute. At the re-inauguration the Federal Government was a substance as well as a name, controlling great armies and navies, and having nearly conquered the Confederacy.

The 4th of March, 1865, was rainy and unpleasant, while the streets and sidewalks were encrusted with from two to ten inches of muddy paste, through which men and horses plodded wearily. The procession was a very creditable one, including the model of a monitor on wheels, and drawn by four white horses. It had a revolving turret containing a small cannon, which was frequently fired as the procession moved. There was a large delegation of Philadelphia firemen, the Washington City Fire Department, the colored Grand Lodge of Odd Fellows, and the Typographical Society, with a press on a car from which a programme was printed and distributed. Many other civic bodies joined the demonstration, and added to its immensity and impressiveness.

In the Senate Chamber there was the usual attendance of the Diplomatic Corps, the Supreme Court, those officers of the army and navy who had received the thanks of Congress, and a number of prominent citizens. Mr. Lincoln, on his arrival at the Capitol, was shown to the President's room, where, as is customary during the closing hour of a session, he signed several bills. Mr. Johnson was escorted to the Vice-President's room opposite, where he was welcomed by Mr. Hamlin, the retiring Vice-President. There was nothing unusual in his appearance, except that he did not seem in robust health. The usual courtesies being exchanged, the conversation proceeded on ordinary topics for a few moments, when Mr. Johnson asked Mr. Hamlin if he had any liquor in his room, stating that he was sick and nervous. He was told that there was none, but it could be sent for. Brandy being indicated, a bottle was brought from the Senate restaurant by one of the pages. It was opened, a tumbler provided, and Mr. Johnson poured it about two-thirds full. Mr. Hamlin said, in telling it, that if Mr. Johnson ordinarily took such drinks as that he must be able to stand a great deal. After a few minutes the bottle was placed in one of the book-cases out of sight. When, near twelve o'clock, the Sergeant-at-Arms, Mr. Brown, came to the door and suggested that the gentlemen get ready to enter the Senate Chamber, Mr. Hamlin arose, moved to the door, near which the Sergeant- at-Arms stood, and suggested to Mr. Johnson to come also. The latter got up and walked nearly to the door, when, turning to Mr. Hamlin, he said: "Excuse me a moment," and walked back hastily to where the bottle was deposited. Mr. Hamlin saw him take it out, pour as large a quantity as before into the glass, and drink it down like water. They then went into the Senate Chamber.

To the surprise of everybody, the Vice-President, when called on to take the oath of office, made a maudlin, drunken speech. He addressed the Diplomatic Corps and the heads of departments in the most incoherent, and in some instances offensive, manner. The Republican Senators were horror-stricken, and Colonel Forney vainly endeavored to make him conclude his harangue; but he would not be stopped; the brandy had made him crazily drunk, and the mortifying scene was prolonged until he was told that it was necessary to go with the President to the eastern front of the Capitol.

Mr. Lincoln's inaugural was delivered before the assembled multitude in front of the Capitol in a full, clear tone of voice. He went on to say: "Both parties deprecated war, but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive; and the other would accept war rather than let it perish. And the war came." Then there arose a deafening shout, for the people felt that the case had been well stated, and they were all disposed to accept war rather than let the nation perish.

As the President closed his address Chief Justice Chase arose and stood facing him. The oath of office was then administered, Mr. Lincoln exhibiting by his manner and gestures the full concurrence of mind and heart with the intent of the obligation. As he concluded the ceremony by taking from the Chief Justice the Bible upon which he had been sworn, and reverently pressing his lips to it, there was a marked sensation through the vast audience, followed by a responsive cheer. Then the cannon near by thundered forth the announcement that the President of the people's choice had been inaugurated, the bands struck up the national airs, and there were hearty rounds of cheers.

The ball on the evening of Mr. Lincoln's re-inauguration was held in a large hall of the Department of the Interior, which had just been completed. It was brilliantly lighted and dressed with flags. Mr. Lincoln and Speaker Colfax entered together, followed by Mrs. Lincoln upon the arm of Charles Sumner. Mr. Lincoln wore a full black suit, with white kid gloves, and Mrs. Lincoln was attired in white silk, with a splendid overdress of rich lace, point lace bertha and puffs of silk, white fan and gloves. Her hair was brushed back smoothly, falling in curls upon the neck, while a wreath of jasmines and violets encircled her head. Her ornaments were of pearl. Having promenaded the entire length of the room, they mounted the few steps leading to the seats placed for them upon the dais, while the crowd gathered densely in front of them.

The army and navy were well represented, adding greatly to the beauty of the scene in the bright uniforms that everywhere flashed before the eyes. Admiral Farragut, General Banks, and General Hooker shone conspicuously, as did also General Halleck, who stood, smiling and happy, to receive greetings from his friends. The members of the Cabinet assumed the seats upon the dais reserved for them, and up to twelve o'clock the crowd continued to pour into the room.

At twelve o'clock the door was opened for supper, and the crowd which had been gathered about it for half an hour rushed forward. Such a crush and scramble as there was! Little screams, broken exclamations, and hurried protestations against the rush were heard upon all sides, but no one heeded or cared for anything but to find a place at the table, at one end of which stood the President, Mrs. Lincoln, and their suite.

The supper scene was one never to be forgotten. Aside from its luxury and splendor, there was so much that was ridiculously laughable connected with it, one naturally looks back upon it in keen amusement. The tables having been instantly filled up, all the spaces between the large glass cases containing the office property were soon crowded to their utmost capacity. Many a fair creature dropped upon the benches with exclamations of delight, while their attendants sought to supply them from the table, to which they had to fight their way. Those who could not get seats stood around in groups, or sank down upon the floor in utter abandonment from fatigue.

It was curious to sit and watch the crowd, to hear the gay laugh, the busy hum of conversation, and the jingle of plates, spoons, and glasses; to see hands uplifted, bearing aloft huge dishes of salads and creams, loaves of cake and stores of candies, not infrequently losing plentiful portions on the way. Many an elegant dress received its donation of cream, many a tiny slipper bore away crushed sweets and meats, and lay among fragments of glass and plates upon the floor.

Meanwhile, it was "thundering all around the heavens," and every night General Grant, in his humble headquarters at City Point, knew exactly what had been done. In his midnight despatches to President Lincoln which were telegraphed all over the loyal States, he narrated the day's success, giving full credit, when necessary, to the original genius of Sherman, the daring pluck of Sheridan, the cool determination of Thomas, the military ability of Terry, and the sagacious gallantry of Schofield, but never alluding to himself as having directed these subordinates on their respective paths to victory.

General Lee and his brave army saw that the end was at hand. They could no longer be deceived by the verbose platitudes of politicians about foreign intervention or strategic purposes, and they saw the stars and stripes approaching on every hand. For four long years they had fought for their hearths and homes with a bravery that had elicited the admiration of their opponents, but steady, ceaseless fighting had thinned their ranks and there were no more men to take their places. They had been out-manoeuvred, out-marched, and out- generaled, while hard knocks and repeated blows were daily diminishing their commands. At length, Richmond was captured, and General Lee formally surrendered at Appomattox Court-House, ending the greatest civil war recorded in history.

As the Union armies advanced, thousands of unemployed and impecunious colored people sought refuge in the District of Columbia. Gathering up their scanty chattels, they made their way from the houses of their masters to Washington, the Mecca of their imaginations, with a firm belief that they would there find freedom and plenty. It was a leap in the dark, but they imagined it a leap from darkness into light, and when they reached the national metropolis, with its public buildings and its busy throng, they believed that at last they had entered the promised land. Free from care at the first, they loitered and lounged and slept and laughed in sunny places. But no feast was offered them; they were invited to no hospitable homes; the men were no longer offered a few new Treasury notes of small value if they would enlist, and be counted on the quota of some Northern town, which would pay the agents five hundred or six hundred dollars for each recruit thus obtained. They were strangers in a strange land, despised by their own people who were residents, and crowded into stable lofts and rude hovels, where many of them, before they had fairly tasted the blessings of freedom, sickened and suffered and died.

On the night of Thursday, the 13th of April, 1865, Mr. Lincoln made his last address to the people who loved him so well. Richmond had fallen, Davis had fled, Lee had surrendered, and on the previous day the formal laying down of arms had taken place. The White House was illuminated, as were the other public buildings, and deafening shouts arose from the crowds assembled outside, jubilant over the glorious victories. Mr. Lincoln had written out some remarks, knowing well that great importance would be attached to whatever he said. These he read to the rejoicing throng from loose sheets, holding a candle in his hand as he read. As he finished each page he would throw it to the ground, where it was picked up by Master Thad, who was at his father's side, and who occasionally shouted, "Give me another paper!"

When Mr. Lincoln had concluded his speech, he said: "Now I am about to call upon the band for a tune that our adversaries over the way have endeavored to appropriate. But we fairly captured it yesterday and the Attorney-General gave me his legal opinion that it is now our property. So I ask the band to play 'Dixie!'"

[Facsimile] your obtservt R ELee ROBERT EDWARD LEE, born at Stratford, Westmoreland County, Virginia, January 19th, 1807; graduated with first honors at West Point in 1829; served in the Mexican War; resigned in 1861, and was, early in 1862, appointed commander of the armies about Richmond; early in 1865 was made Commander-in-Chief of all the Confederate forces; surrendered at Appomattox, April 9th, 1865; became President of Washington College at Lexington, Virginia, where he died October 12th, 1870.

CHAPTER XV. PLUNGED INTO SORROW.

Washington City was delirious with gladness when General Grant "came marching home," and the telegraph wires from every part of the country recently in rebellion vibrated with the tidings of victory and submission. Orders from the War Department went out over the loyal North proclaiming the absolute overthrow of the Rebellion, the return of peace, the stopping of recruiting, the raising of the blockade, the reduction of national expenditures, and the removal of all military restrictions upon trade and commerce, so far as might be consistent with public safety. Drafting had been one of the most grievous burdens of the war, but it had been rigorously pressed in all States which had not otherwise furnished their quotas of troops. When the surrender occurred, the dread wheel was in operation in many places, and drawn men were in custody of the proper officials preparing to go to the front. But all this was stopped, and none were happier than those who involuntarily had been held thus for military duty, but who now became free.

The 13th of April was a day of general rejoicing at the metropolis. The stars and stripes waved over the public and many of the private buildings, business was suspended, and men went about in groups indulging in libations to the return of peace. As night came on the departments and many private houses were illuminated, bonfires blazed in the streets, and fireworks lit up the sky. In the forts and camps around the city blazed huge bonfires, while the heavy siege guns thundered their joyful approval of peace.

It was announced in the newspapers of that day that President Lincoln, accompanied by General Grant, would attend Ford's Theatre the next night. The President did extend an invitation to his victorious commander to accompany him, but General Grant, always adverse to public demonstrations, declined, that he might go at once to Burlington, New Jersey, with Mrs. Grant, to "see the children." The Presidential party consequently was only four in number—President Lincoln, his wife, Miss Harris, and Major Rathbone. Only one of the two stage-boxes which had been decorated for the party was occupied. When the President appeared, about a quarter before nine o'clock, the play was stopped, the orchestra played "Hail to the Chief," and the crowded audience gave a succession of vociferous cheers.

The play proceeded. Mr. Lincoln and his party were in fine spirits, intently watching the performance, when a pistol-shot was heard, and the first impression of every one was that it was fired on the stage. So thought Major Rathbone, until, looking around, he saw smoke and a man with a drawn dagger in his hand. The truth indistinctly flashed into his mind; he arose and seized the unknown man with both hands. A momentary scuffle ensued, in which the assassin made a thrust at the Major, grazing his breast and piercing his left arm near the shoulder. Something seemed to give way about the man's coat collar, and he disappeared. The smoke prevented the Major or Miss Harris from getting a fair view of the fellow, and Mrs. Lincoln did not see him until he leaped out of the box. Her first impression was that it was her husband who leaped out.

Meantime the assassin appeared on the edge of the box, crying "Sic Semper Tyrannis!" and flourishing a dagger, he leaped to the stage. He crossed the stage rapidly, exclaiming, "Revenge!" and, again flourishing his dagger, disappeared, saying "I have done it!" Though quickly pursued, it was too late. Leaving the theatre by a back door, he mounted his horse in waiting there and was gone.

The President was seen to turn in his seat, and persons leaped upon the stage and clambered up to the box. His clothes were stripped from his shoulders but no wound was at first found. He was entirely insensible. Further search revealed the fact that he had been shot in the head, and he was carried to the nearest house, immediately opposite. Mrs. Lincoln, in a frantic condition, was assisted in crossing the street with the President, at the same time uttering heart-rending shrieks. Surgeons were soon in attendance, but it was evident that the wound was mortal.

It was a night of terror. The long roll was beaten in the distant camps, and the soldiers throughout the encircling fortifications stood to their arms; mounted men patrolled the streets in every direction; the tolling of the church-bells fell heavily on the ear and entered deep into all hearts, and it was not only President Lincoln, but it was reported that Mr. Seward and other members of the Cabinet had been assassinated. Mr. Seward was indeed murderously assaulted upon his sick-bed, but he escaped with his life. Amid these terrors the sleepless citizens fell from their heights of joy to the depths of gloom.

With the morning came the President's death at an early hour. As the bells tolled his departure, the bloom of the national colors was shrouded in black, and the weather was cheerless, cold, and damp. If ever nature sympathized with man since the time when the sun was darkened and the dead walked the streets of Jerusalem, it certainly seemed to do so on the memorable 15th of April, which ushered in the saddest news that ever fell upon the ears of the American people.

It was known, beyond a doubt, before Mr. Lincoln breathed his last, that his assassin was John Wilkes Booth, a son of the great tragedian, then twenty-seven years of age. He had played stock parts at Washington and other Southern and Western cities, where he had given unmistakable evidence of genuine dramatic talent. He had, added to his native genius, the advantage of a voice musically full and rich; a face almost classic in outline; features highly intellectual; a piercing, black eye, capable of expressing the fiercest and the tenderest passion and emotion, and a commanding figure and impressive stage address. In his transition from the quiet and reflective passages of a part to fierce and violent outbreaks of passion, his sudden and impetuous manner had in it something of that electrical force and power which made the elder Booth so celebrated, and called up afresh to the memory of men of the preceding generation the presence, voice, and manner of his father. Convivial in his habits, sprightly and genial in conversation, John Wilkes Booth made many friends among the young men of his own age, and he was a favorite among the ladies at the National Hotel, where he boarded.

The funeral honors paid to President Lincoln at Washington, on the 19th of April, were a fitting tribute to the illustrious dead. The dawn that was ushered in by the heavy booms of salutes of minute- guns from the fortifications surrounding the city never broke purer or brighter or clearer than on this morning. The day that followed was the loveliest of the season. The heavens were undimmed by even one passing cloud.

At a very early hour people began to assemble in the vicinity of the Executive Mansion, which was almost entirely draped in crape, as were also the buildings, public and private, in the neighborhood. All over the city public houses and private residences were closed. At twelve o'clock the ceremonies commenced in the East Room, whose ceilings were draped, and whose resplendent mirrors were hung on the borders with emblems of mourning and white drapery, which gave the room a dim light that was adapted to the solemnity of the mournful scene. All that remained of Abraham Lincoln, sixteenth President of the United States, lay on the grand and gloomy catafalque, which was relieved, however, by choice flowers.

The spectators of the sorrowful scene were not merely the representatives of our people in Congress and of state, but the executive officers and Cabinet Ministers, the Chief Justice of the United States and his associates on the bench of that venerated tribunal, chieftains who protected our homes by service in the field and on the ocean, the clergy, and multitudes in various positions in the affairs of state and from private life, and an imposing array of Ambassadors, with their less elevated attaches, with gorgeous decorations. Perhaps the most touching grief, and the one which moved all present, was that of little Thaddeus Lincoln, a favorite son. He and his elder brother, Robert, were the only mourners of the family present.

During the service President Johnson stood beside the remains of his predecessor, and during the oration, General Grant sat at the head of the corpse. The Rev. Dr. L. Hall, rector of the Church of the Epiphany, rose and read portions of the service for the burial of the dead. Bishop Simpson offered a prayer, in which he fervently alluded to the emancipation and other deeds performed by President Lincoln. The Rev. Dr. Gurley then read a funeral oration. At two P. M. the funeral procession started, all of the bells in the city tolling, and minute-guns firing from all the forts. Pennsylvania Avenue, from the Treasury to the Capitol, was entirely clear from curb to curb. Preceding the hearse was the military escort, over one mile long, the arms of each officer and man being draped with black. At short intervals bands discoursed dirges and drums beat muffled sounds. After the artillery came the civic procession, headed by Marshal Lamon, the Surgeon-General, and physicians who attended the President. At this point the hearse appeared, and the thousands, as it passed, uncovered their heads.

The funeral car was large. The lower base was fourteen feet long and seven feet wide, and eight feet from the ground. The upper base, upon which the coffin rested, was eleven feet long and five feet below the top of the canopy. The canopy was surmounted by a gilt eagle, covered with crape. The hearse was entirely covered with cloth, velvet, crape, and alpaca. The seat was covered with cloth, and on each side was a splendid lamp. The car was fifteen feet high, and the coffin was so placed as to afford a full view to all spectators. It was drawn by six gray horses, each attended by a groom.

The pall-bearers were, on the part of the Senate, Foster, of Connecticut; Morgan, of New York; Johnson, of Maryland; Yates, of Illinois; Wade, of Ohio, and Conness, of California. On the part of the House, Davis, of Massachusetts; Coffroth, of Pennsylvania; Smith, of Kentucky; Colfax, of Indiana; Worthington, of Nevada, and Washburne, of Illinois. On the part of the army, Lieutenant- General Grant, Major-General Halleck, and Brigadier-General Nichols. On the part of the navy, Vice-Admiral Farragut, Rear-Admiral Shubrick, and Colonel Jacob Ziellen, of the Marine Corps. Civilians, O. H. Browning, George P. Ashmun, Thomas Corwin, and Simon Cameron.

After the hearse came the family, consisting only of Robert Lincoln and his little brother and their relatives. Mrs. Lincoln did not go out. Next was President Johnson, riding in a carriage with General Auger on the right, and General Slough on the left, mounted. Following him were the Cabinet, Chief Justice Chase and the Supreme Bench, and the Diplomatic Corps, who were then succeeded by Senators and Representatives. The procession then reached two miles more, and was composed of public officers, delegations from various cities and members of civic societies, together with another large display of military. Some five thousand colored men were a prominent feature toward the end.

The procession was two hours and ten minutes in passing a given point, and was about three miles long. The centre of it had reached the Capitol and was returning before the rear had left Willard's. In one single detachment were over six thousand civil employees of the Government. Arriving at the Capitol, the remains were placed in the centre of the rotunda, beneath the mighty dome, which had been draped in mourning inside and out. The Rev. Dr. Gurley, in the presence of hundreds, impressively pronounced the burial service.

President Lincoln's remains were taken from the rotunda at six o'clock on the morning of April 21st, and escorted to the train which was to convey them to Springfield. The remains of little Willie Lincoln, who died in February, 1862, and which had been placed in the vault at Oak Hill Cemetery, were removed to the depot about the same time, and placed in the same car with the remains of his lamented father.

[Facsimile] Andrew Johnson ANDREW JOHNSON was born at Raleigh, North Carolina, December 29th, 1808; was a Representative in Congress from Tennessee, 1843-1853; was Governor of Tennessee, 1853-1857; was a United States Senator from Tennessee from December 7th, 1857, until he was appointed Military Governor of that State; was elected Vice-President of the United States on the Republican ticket with Abraham Lincoln and was inaugurated March 4th, 1865; became President after the assassination of President Lincoln, April 15th, 1865; was impeached and acquitted, May 26th, 1868; was again elected United States Senator from Tennessee, serving at the Special Session of 1875, and died in Carter County, Tennessee, July 31st, 1875.

CHAPTER XVI. THE CONSPIRACY TRIAL—THE GRAND REVIEWS.

Andrew Johnson took the oath of office as President of the United States, administered to him by Chief Justice Chase, at his room in the Kirkwood House. He sent word to Mrs. Lincoln to occupy the White House so long as might be agreeable to her, and he accepted the hospitality of Mr. Sam Hooper, a merchant prince, who then represented a Boston district in the House of Representatives, and occupied his own comfortable house at the corner of Fourteenth and H Streets.

Every morning President Johnson went to the Treasury Department, where he received scores of delegations, and his speeches to them foreshadowed a reconstruction policy which would deal severely with the leading Secessionists. In response to Governor Andrew, who called at the head of a delegation of citizen of Massachusetts, and assured him of the support of the Old Bay State, he made a long speech, he defined crimes, saying: "It is time the American people should be taught to understand that treason is a crime—not in revenge, not in anger—but that treason is a crime, and should be esteemed as such, and punished as such."

Mr. Johnson went on to say that he wished "to discriminate between criminals guilty of treason. There are," he said, "well educated, intelligent traitors, who concert schemes of treason and urge others to force numbers of ignorant people to carry them."

Money was lavishly expended in securing the arrest of those who had conspired with Booth to assassinate President Lincoln, Vice- President Johnson, Secretary Seward, and General Grant. In a fortnight the prisoners had been arrested (with the exception of Booth, who having been tracked to a barn, and refusing to come out, had been shot) and a military commission had been organized for their trial in the old penitentiary near the Arsenal, where they were confined. It was clearly shown before the Commission, of which General David Hunter was President and General Joseph Holt the Judge Advocate, that leading Secessionists in Canada had supplied Booth with funds for the abduction of President Lincoln, but there was no proof that they were privy to the assassination.

Booth squandered the money received by him in coal-oil speculations, and in his attention to an estimable young lady, whose photograph was found in his pocket-book after his death, but whose name was honorably kept a secret. Mrs. Surratt naturally attracted the most attention as she entered the room where the Military Commission was held every morning, the iron which connected her ankles clanking as she walked. She was rather a buxom-looking woman, dressed in deep black, with feline gray eyes, which watched the whole proceedings. The evidence showed that she had been fully aware of the plot. Her house was used by Booth, Payne, Atzerott, and Harold as a meeting place. Her son went to Richmond and then to Canada with information, and he had only returned immediately before the assassination. He was in Washington that day and night, and four days later had reached Montreal. She took the arms to Surrattsville, to the tavern which she owned, and the day of the assassination rode out with a team Booth had furnished money to hire, to say that the arms she had left and the field-glass she took would be wanted that night. Payne, after attacking Secretary Seward, and vainly attempting to escape, had called at her house in the night, and sought admittance, but an officer was in charge, and Payne, not having a plausible explanation of his unseasonable call, was arrested. Mrs. Surratt was clearly shown to have been an actor in the plot, but many doubted whether she should have been hung, and regretted that neither her confessor nor her daughter was permitted to see President Johnson and ask his clemency.

The male prisoners, heavily ironed, were seated side by side in a dock interspersed with officers. Sam Arnold was of respectable appearance, about thirty years of age, with dark hair and beard and a good countenance. Spangler, the stage-carpenter, was a chunky, light-haired, rather bloated and whisky-soaked looking man. Atzerott had a decided lager beer look, with heavy blue eyes, light hair, and sallow complexion. O'Laughlin might have been taken for native of Cuba, short and slender, with luxuriant black locks, a delicate moustache and whiskers, and vivacious black eyes. Payne was the incarnation of a Roman gladiator, tall, muscular, defiant, with a low forehead, large blue eyes, thin lips, and black, straight hair, with much of the animal and little of the intellectual. Dave Harold was what the ladies call a pretty little man, with cherry cheeks, pouting lips, an incipient beard, dark hazel eyes, and dark, long hair. Last on the bench was Dr. Mudd, whose ankles and wrists were joined by chains instead of the unyielding bars which joined the bracelets and anklets of the others. He was about sixty years of age, with a blonde complexion, reddish face, and blue eyes.

The prisoners were allowed counsel and such witnesses as they desired to have summoned. The Commission concluded its labors on the 30th of June. On the 5th of July the President approved the finding and sentence, and ordered the hanging of Mrs. Surratt, Harold, Atzerott, and Payne to take place on the 7th. The sentence of execution was carried into effect, and Arnold, Mudd, Spangler, and O'Laughlin were sent to the Military Prison on the Dry Tortugas.

Meanwhile the victorious armies of the Union had been congregated at Washington, where they passed in review before President Johnson and General Grant, and then marched home and into history. On the 23d of May the "Army of the Potomac," and on the 24th the "Division of the Mississippi," swept through the metropolis for hours, the successive waves of humanity crested with gleaming sabres and burnished bayonets, while hundreds of bands made the air ring with patriotic music. Loyal voices cheered and loyal hands applauded as the heroic guardians of the national ark of constitutional liberty passed along. Neither did the legions of imperial Rome, returning in triumph along the Appian Way, or the conquering hosts of Napoleon the Great, when welcomed back from their Italian campaign by the Parisians, or the British Guards, when they returned from the Crimea, receive a more heartfelt ovation than was awarded to the laurel-crowned "Boys in Blue."

Great expectation concerning this review was indulged throughout the nation. This home-coming of the "Boys in Blue" was a matter interesting every hamlet of the North and almost every home. But more than the welcome was clustering about the scene. These grand armies and their famous leaders had become historic, and worthily so, for they had endured and achieved, and victory now was theirs. The newspapers proclaimed the grandeur of the coming event; the railroads extended their best accommodations to travelers, and the people responded in immense numbers. With the soldiery and the civilians, Washington was densely packed, but cheerful enthusiasm appeared on every side.

Two hundred thousand veteran troops, trained on a hundred battlefields, and commanded by the leading Generals of the service, were there to be reviewed by the Lieutenant-General who commanded them all, by the President of the United States, by his Cabinet, by the dignitaries of our own and other nations, and by the innumerable throng of private citizens whose homes had been saved, and whose hearts now beat with grateful joy.

In those proud columns were to march the Army of the Potomac, the Army of the James, the Army of Georgia, the Army of the Tennessee, and the cavalry led by the indomitable Phil. Sheridan. To behold such a spectacle men came from every portion of the North; fathers brought their sons to see this historic pageant, while historians, poets, novelists, and painters thronged to see the unparalleled sight and there to gather material and inspiration for their future works. In that great display were to march heroes whose names will live while history endures.

The night before the review of the Army of the Potomac was wet and dreary enough, but as day dawned the clouds disappeared, and the scene in Maryland Avenue, between the Long Bridge and the Capitol, and on the large plain east of that building, was warlike and interesting. Brigades marching at route step, bivouac fires, around which groups were eating their breakfast, orderly sergeants insisting in very naughty yet impressive language on the use of sand paper on muskets already bright, musicians rehearsing some new march, little boys bracing up drums half as high as themselves, important adjutants riding to and fro to hurry up the formation of their respective regiments, elegantly attired aides-de-camp galloping like mad and endeavoring to avoid mud puddles, batteries thundering along, as if eager to unlimber and fire at some enemy—in short, it was fifty acres, more or less, of uniforms, horses, flags, and bayonets, in apparently inextricable confusion. Yet one man ran the machine. A few words from him reduced confusion to order, and the apparent snarl of humanity and horses began to be unraveled in a single, unbroken line, when General Meade gave the single word, "Forward!" Exactly as the watches marked nine the head of the column moved from the Capitol toward the reviewing stand along Pennsylvania Avenue.

The reviewing stand, erected on the sidewalk in front of the White House, was a long pavilion, with a tight roof, decorated with flags and bearing the names of the principal victories won. In this pavilion were seated the assistant secretaries and heads of bureaus and Diplomatic Corps. President Johnson occupied the central chair in a projection from the centre of the front, with Lieutenant- General Grant, Major-General Sherman, and the members of the Cabinet at his right and left hand.

The reviewing pavilion was flanked by two long stands, occupied by officials, ladies, and wounded soldiers. Opposite the reviewing pavilion was another on the north sidewalk for Congressional and State officials, and on the flanks of this pavilion were others, erected at private expense, for the families of officers on parade and for the citizens of Ohio, New Jersey, Connecticut, and Massachusetts.

The Army of the Potomac was six hours in passing the reviewing stand. As each brigade commander saluted, President Johnson would rise and lift his hat. General Grant sat during the whole time immovable, except that he would occasionally make some commendatory comment as a gallant officer or brave regiment passed. The foreign Ministers appeared deeply impressed by the spectacle.

It was the subject of general regret in the Army of the Potomac that President Lincoln was not there to review those who idolized him. For four long years they had guarded him at the Federal metropolis, often fighting desperately under generals whose ability to command was doubtful. Meanwhile the dandies of McClellan's force had become veteran campaigners, accustomed to the exposure of the bivouac, the fatigue of the march, the poor comfort of hard- tack, the storm of battle, and the suffering of sickness and wounds. They had watched on many a picket line the movements of a wily foe; they paced their weary rounds on guard on many a wet and cheerless night; they had gone through the smoke and breasted the shock and turned the tide of many a hard-fought field.

The Division of the Mississippi, which had swept like a cyclone "from Atlanta to the sea," was reviewed the next day. General Sherman, by granting amnesty to Joe Johnson's army, had incurred the displeasure of Secretary Stanton, who had intended that he should not have headed his victorious legions; but he was not to be separated from his "boys." As he passed along Pennsylvania Avenue the multitude of spectators sent up shouts that must have made his heart leap, and the enthusiasm increased as he approached the Presidential stand. He "rode up with the light of battle in his face," holding his hat and his bridle-rein in his left hand, and saluting with the good sword in his right hand, his eyes fixed upon his Commander-in-Chief. His horse, decked with flowers, seemed to be inspired with the spirit of the occasion, and appeared anxious to "keep step to the music of the Union."

After passing the President, General Sherman wheeled to the left, dismounted, and joined the reviewing party, where he was greeted by Governor Dennison. He shook hands cordially with President Johnson and General Grant, but when Secretary Stanton advanced with outstretched hand he remarked, "I do not care to shake hands with clerks," and turned away. Never was there a more complete "cut direct" than was given by the central figure of that grand pageant, whose brain and hand had guided this vast multitude of stalwart braves, leading them to victory, glory, and final triumph.

The troops displayed a fine physique, and had apparently profited from their foraging among the fat turkeys of Georgia. Their faces were finely bronzed, and they marched with a firm, elastic step that seemed capable of carrying them straight to Canada, or by a flank movement to Mexico, in a short space of time.

Any representation of Sherman's army would have been incomplete which omitted the notorious "Bummers." At the end of each corps appeared the strangest huddle of animation, equine, canine, bovine, and human, that ever civilian beheld—mules, asses, horses, colts, cows, sheep, pigs, goats, raccoons, chickens, and dogs led by negroes blacker then Erebus. Every beast of burden was loaded to its capacity with tents, baggage, knapsacks, hampers, panniers, boxes, valises, kettles, pots, pans, dishes, demijohns, bird-cages, cradles, mirrors, fiddles, clothing, pickaninnies, and an occasional black woman.

In effect Sherman gave a sample of his army as it appeared on the march through the Carolinas. Some of the negroes appeared to have three days' rations in their ample pouches, and ten days' more on the animals they led. The fraternity was complete; the goats, dogs, mules, and horses were already veterans in the field, and trudged along as if the brute world were nothing but a vast march with a daily camp. Thus were we shown how Sherman was enabled to live upon the enemy.

[Facsimile] Yours truly John A. Logan JOHN A. LOGAN was born in Jackson County, Illinois, February 9th, 1826; studied and practiced law; was a member of the State Legislature; was a Representative from Illinois, 1859-1861; was commissioned in September, 1861, Colonel of the Thirty-first Illinois Volunteers; was promoted to Brigadier-General in 1862, and Major-General in 1863, especially distinguishing himself at Belmont, Fort Donelson, Pittsburgh Landing, Vicksburg, Chattanooga, Atlanta, and as commander of the Army of the Tennessee; was Congressman-at-Large from Illinois, 1867-1871; was United States Senator from Illinois, 1871-1877, again in 1883, and was re-elected in 1885, for six years.

CHAPTER XVII. PRESIDENT JOHNSON SURRENDERS.

President Johnson was by nature and temperament squarely disposed toward justice and the right, but he could not resist the concerted appeals made to him by the dominant whites at the South. Early in May, rules were issued governing trade with the States lately in rebellion, but in June these restrictions were removed, and there rapidly followed executive orders restoring Virginia to her federal relations, establishing provisional governments in the Southern States, and granting a general amnesty to all persons engaged in the Rebellion, except certain classes, who could receive pardon by special application. These acts speedily alienated the President from the party whose votes elected him, but he was always "sure he was right, even in his errors."

Andrew Johnson's daily life as President was a very simple one. He arose promptly at six o'clock in the morning, read the newspapers, and breakfasted with his family at eight. Going into the executive office at nine, he remained there until four in the afternoon, devoting himself to conferences with Cabinet officers, his official correspondence, and the reception of visitors when he had leisure. At four o'clock he went into his family sitting-room, dined at five, and after dinner took a walk or a carriage-drive. From nine until eleven he received visitors, and then retired for the night. He had a few favorites who went into his room without being announced.

Prominent among them was Mr. S. P. Hanscom, of Massachusetts, who had been in early life a prominent Abolitionist and temperance lecturer. During the Johnson Administration Mr. Hanscom edited the Washington Republican, and obtained office for applicants for a pecuniary consideration. When Mr. Buffington refused to pay the stipulated fee for his appointment, Mr. Hanscom published a handbill, in which he unblushingly related the circumstances and denounced the ex-Congressman for breach of faith. Mr. Hanscom spent the large income which he received for office brokerage very freely. He was kind to the poor and a generous friend, but he died a few years afterward in reduced circumstances.

Jefferson Davis, the leader of the conquered Confederacy, had been brought from Georgia, where he was captured, and imprisoned at Fortress Monroe. He occupied the inner apartment of a casemate, with a guard in the outer apartment and sentries posted on the outside at the porthole and at the door. He became naturally somewhat irascible, and orders having been sent to put him in irons if he gave any provocation, he one day gave it by throwing a tin plate of food which he did not fancy into the face of the soldier who had served him.

Captain Titlow, who was especially charged with the custody of Mr. Davis, and who is the authority for this statement, was accordingly ordered by the Commandant of the fort to place his prisoner in irons. Summoning a blacksmith who was in the habit of riveting irons on soldiers sentenced by court-martial to wear them, the Captain went to the casemate, accompanied by the blacksmith carrying the fetters and his tools. They found Mr. Davis seated on his cot, there being no other furniture besides but a stool and a few articles of tinware. When he glanced at the blacksmith and comprehended the situation, he exclaimed: "My God! this indignity to be put on me! Not while I have life." At first he pleaded for opportunity to inquire of Secretary Stanton. Then his excitement rose to fury as he walked the cell, venting himself in almost incoherent ravings. The Captain at length calmly reminded him that as a soldier he must be aware that however disagreeable the duty assigned, it must be performed, and that, as in duty bound, he should perform it.

"None but a dog would obey such orders," replied Mr. Davis, emphasizing his determination never to be manacled alive by grasping the stool and aiming a very vicious blow. The sentries rushed forward to disarm him, but were ordered back into their places. Captain Titlow explained that such demonstrations of self-defense were foolish and useless, and that it would be much better for Mr. Davis to submit to the inevitable necessity. But while receiving this advice, Davis took the opportunity of grasping the musket of one of the sentries, and in the furious endeavor to wrest it from him, quite a scuffle ensued.

That ended, the Captain took the precaution of clapping his hand on his sword-hilt, as he perceived Mr. Davis' eye was upon it, and at once ordered the corporal of the guard to send into the casemate four of his strongest men without side arms, as he feared they might get into the wrong possession and cause damage. They were ordered to take the prisoner as gently as possible, and, using no unnecessary force, to lay him upon the cot and there hold him down. It proved about as much as four men could do, the writhings and upheavings of the infuriated man developing the strength of a maniac, until it culminated in sheer exhaustion. When the unhappy task was done Mr. Davis, after lying still for awhile, raised himself and sat on the side of the bed.

As his feet touched the floor and the chain clanked he was utterly overcome; the tears burst out in a flood. When he became calm he apologized in a manly way to the Captain for the needless trouble he had caused him, and they afterward maintained mutual relations of personal esteem and friendliness. The indignity had, however, such an effect upon Mr. Davis that the physician called in insisted on the removal of the irons. Permission to do this was reluctantly obtained from Washington, and the same man who had put on the fetters took them off.

This act did much to restore the deposed leader of the Rebellion to the foremost place, which he had forfeited, in the hearts of those who had rebelled. The imperious manner in which Mr. Davis had dictated the military operations of the Confederacy, placing his personal favorites in command, and his inglorious flight from Richmond, which was burned and plundered by the Confederates, while the fugitive "President" carried away a large sum in gold, had increased the feeling of dissatisfaction which had always existed in "Dixie" with Mr. Davis. But when he was ironed and otherwise subjected to harsh treatment, the Southern heart was touched, and every white man, woman, and child felt that they were, through him, thus harshly dealt with. The manacling of Mr. Davis delayed the work of reconstruction for years, and did much to restore the feeling of sectional hatred which fair fighting had overcome.

John Pierpont, the veteran parson-poet, came to Washington as the chaplain to Henry Wilson's regiment, but he found himself unable to endure the hardships of camp life, and Senator Sherman obtained a clerkship in the Treasury for him. When he reached his eightieth birthday, in 1866, he was told in the evening that a few friends had called, and on entering the parlor to greet them he was entirely surprised. One presented him with a gold watch, another with a valuable cane, and another with a large photograph-album containing the portraits of old Boston friends and parishioners. But the most valuable gift was a large portfolio filled with autograph letters of congratulation in poetry and prose from Sumner, Wilson, Mr. Sigourney, Whittier, Wood, Dana, Holmes, Whipple, and other prominent authors, with other letters signed Moses Williams, Gardner Brewer, William W. Clapp, and other "solid men of Boston." All old differences of opinion were forgotten and due honor was paid to the poet, the priest, the emancipationist, and the temperance reformer of "Auld Lang Syne."

Those who were encouraging the President in his opposition to the reconstruction policy of Congress, with others who had received or who expected to obtain Federal offices, got up at Philadelphia what was known as the "Bread and Butter Convention," at which the Union "as it was" was advocated. Soon afterward, President Johnson with Secretaries Seward and Welles, with General Grant and others, set out for Chicago to attend the ceremonies of laying the corner-stone of the monument to Stephen A. Douglas. It was this political pilgrimage that gave rise to the well-known expression, "swinging round the circle." The President spoke very freely of his policy in the different places on the route, openly denouncing Congress and saying many things that were decidedly inconsistent with the dignity of his position, and unquestionably injurious to him.

Senator Sumner was married at Boston on the 17th of October, 1866, by Bishop Eastman, to Mrs. Alice Hooper, a daughter of Jonathan Mason and the widow of Samuel Sturges Hooper, only son of Representative Sam Hooper. Mr. Sumner was then in the fifty-sixth year of his age, and had never before been a victim to the tender passion. Almost every day through the preceding session Mrs. Hooper had occupied a seat in the gallery directly behind him, and had appeared engrossed in his words and actions. They saw a good deal of each other at Mrs. Hooper's, where Mr. Sumner became a daily visitor, and on the last day of the session he announced his engagement to his friends.

The newly married couple passed their honeymoon at Newport, accompanied by the bride's young daughter. He finished a letter there to a friend by quoting from the Spectator, and saying: "I shall endeavor to live hereafter suitably to a man in my station, as a prudent head of a family, a good husband, a careful father (when it shall so happen), and as your most sincere friend, C. SUMNER."

The bridegroom little thought that these dreams of domestic happiness would never be realized, and that in a few months his life would be embittered by his great family trouble, which the world never guessed, much less knew, but which turned his love for his wife into hatred, and his hopes for handing his name to posterity into unforgiving anger. Senator and Mrs. Sumner, when they came to Washington after their marriage, occupied a handsomely furnished house on I Street. Mrs. Sumner at once manifested a fondness for "society," often insisting on remaining at receptions until a late hour, when he had unfinished Senatorial work on his desk that would have to be completed on his return home.

President Johnson suffered by his undue kindness to pardon-brokers, prominent among whom as a good-looking young woman named Mrs. Cobb. She was a constant visitor at the White House, and boasted that she could obtain pardons in six hours for a proper pecuniary consideration. Detective Baker worked up a fictitious case for the purpose of entrapping her. She agreed, in writing, for three hundred dollars, to obtain the pardon of a Captain Hine, receiving one hundred dollars cash down, the rest to be paid when the pardon was delivered. After the pardon was signed by President Johnson, Detective Baker laid the papers before him, upon which the President grew very angry, and finally ordered Detective Baker from the White House. Mrs. Cobb and her friends insisted that it was a "put-up" job, and the Grand Jury indicted Detective Baker, but the case was never brought to trial.