taken back to his home in Illinois, every town on the route begging that the train might stop within its limits and give the people the opportunity of looking upon that face once more. As far as possible, this request was granted, and it was arranged that the route should be substantially that by which Mr. Lincoln had come to Washington in 1861. Everywhere the most touching tokens of loving remembrance came alike from the rich and the poor, and the further west the train went, it was noticeable that these manifestations became the more general and striking, as if he was one of their parentage and training. The towns and cities made their formal preparations and showed all honor to the memory of the President, who had been a hero in dark days. and became a martyr. But it was the humblest people, and from the remotest places, who crowded around his bier and wept the bitterest tears over their "good President," and made it more impressive than any royal funeral.

A guard of honor, consisting of a dozen officers of high rank in the army and navy, had been detailed by their respective departments, which received the remains of the President at the station in Washington, at 8 o'clock on the morning of Friday, the 21st of April, and the train, decked in somber trappings, moved out toward Baltimore. In this city, through which, four years before, it was a question whether the President-elect could pass with safety to his life, the train made a halt, the coffin was taken with sacred care to the great dome of the Exchange, and there, surrounded by evergreens and lilies, it lay for several hours, the people passing by in mournful throngs. Night was closing in, with rain and wind, when the train reached Harrisburg, and the coffin was carried through the muddy streets to the State Capitol, when the next morning the same scenes of grief and affection were seen. We need not enumerate the many stopping places of this dolorous pageant. The same demonstration was repeated, gaining continually in intensity of feeling and solemn splendor of display, in every city through which the procession passed. At Philadelphia, a vast concourse accompanied the dead President to Independence Hall; he had shown himself worthy of the lofty fate he courted when on that hallowed spot, on the birthday of Washington, 1861, he said he would rather be assassinated than give up the principles embodied in the Declaration of Independence.

Here, as at many other places, the most touching manifestations of loving remembrance came from the poor, who brought flowers twined by themselves, to lay upon the coffin. The reception at New York was worthy alike of the great city and of the memory of the man they honored. The body lay in state in the City Hall, and a half-million of people passed in deep silence before it. Here General Scott came, pale and feeble, but resolute, to pay his tribute of respect to his departed friend and commander.

The train went up the Hudson river by night, and at every town and village on the way vast crowds were revealed in waiting by the fitful glare of torches; dirges and hymns were sung as the train moved by. Midnight had passed when the coffin was borne to the Capitol at Albany, yet the multitudes rushed in as if it was day, and for twelve hours the long line of people from Northern New York and the neighboring States poured through the room.

Over the broad spaces of New York the cortage made its way, through one continuous crowd of mourners. At Syracuse 30,000 people came out in the storm at midnight to greet the passing train with fires and bells and cannons; at Rochester the same observances made the night memorable; at Buffalo, it was now the morning of the 27th, and the body lay in state at St. James Hall, visited by a multitude from the western counties. As the train passed into Ohio the crowds increased in density, and the public grief seemed intensified at every step westward; the people of the great central basin seemed to be claiming their own. The day spent at Cleveland was unexampled in the depth of emotion it brought to life, the warm devotion which was exhibited to the memory of the great man gone; some of the guard of honor have said, that it was at that point they began to appreciate the place which Lincoln was to hold in history. The authorities, seeing that no building could accommodate the crowd which was sure to come from all over the State, wisely erected in the public square an imposing mortuary tabernacle for the lying in state, brilliant with evergreens and flowers by day, and innumerable gas jets by night, and surmounted by the inscription, Extinctus amabitur idem. Impressive religious ceremonies were conducted in the square by Bishop MacIlvaine, and an immense procession moved to the station at night between two lines of torchlights. Columbus and Indianapolis, the State capitals of Ohio and Indiana, were next visited. The whole State, in each case, seemed gathered to meet their dead hero; an intense personal regard was every where evident; it was the man, and not the ruler, they appeared to be celebrating; the banners and scrolls bore principally his own words: "With malice toward none, with charity for all;" "The purposes of the Lord are perfect and must prevail;" "Here highly resolved that these dead shall not have lived in vain," and other brief passages from his writings. On arriving in

Chicago, on the 1st of May, amid a scene of magnificent mourning the body was bourne to the Courthouse, where it lay for two days under a canopy of somber richness, inscribed with that noble Hebrew lament, "The beauty of Israel is slain on thy high places." From all the States of the Northwest an innumerable throng poured for these two days into Chicago, and flowed a mighty stream of humanity, past the coffin of the dead President, in the midst of evidences of deep and universal grief, which was all the more genuine for being quiet and reserved.

The last stage of this extraordinary progress was the journey to Springfield, which began on the night of the 2d of May and ended at 9 o'clock the next morning, the schedule made in Washington twelve days before having been accurately carried out. On all the railroads centering in Springfield the trains for several days had been crowded to their utmost capacity with people who desired to see the last of Abraham Lincoln upon earth. Nothing had been done or thought of for two weeks in Springfield but the preparations for this day. They were made with a thoroughness which surprised the visitors from the East. The body lay in stato in the Capitol, which was richly draped from roof to basement in black velvet and silver fringe; within it was a bower of bloom and fragrance. For twenty-four hours an unbroken stream of people passed through, bidding their friend and neighbor welcome home and farewell, and at 10 o'clock the 4th of May, the coffin lid was closed at last. A vast procession moved out to Oak Ridge, where the dead President was committed to the soil of the State which had so loved and honored him. The coremonies at the grave were simple and touching. Bishop Simpson delivered a pathetic oration, prayers were offered and hymns sung, but the weightiest and most cloquent words uttered anywhere that day were those of the second inaugural, which the committee had wisely ordained to be read over his grave, as the friends of Raphael chose the incomparable canvas of "The Transfiguration" as the chief ornament of his funeral.—[“ History of Abraham Lincoln," Vol. X, pp. 319-324.

The effect of Mr. Lincoln's death upon the South was not seen at first, but came later. While some, like the President of the Confederacy, were disposed to regard it as good luck to a failing cause, which might save it, they soon found, when reconstruction came and Mr. Lincoln's unreliable successor came into office, that his kind heart and wonderful wisdom were what they most needed. And few sincerer regrets, or higher tributes of praise, came from

any quarter than from that. They came to join in the country's grief, and the world's honor, of that remarkable character which Providence had raised up for his mission, and so inexplicably removed the moment his work was finished. There is no other character like his in all our strange history, and no other work like his in the world's history. And among all the tributes paid him at his death, there was none nobler, certainly none so unexpected, as the one which came from the world's great caricaturist, the editor of London Punch. If we could have known at the time, what was discovered afterwards, that the leering, jeering spirit of fun, which had taken no end of satisfaction in ridiculing the rugged face, the tall, gaunt form and awkward manners of Lincoln, had been conscience smitten for his crime, and was following that funeral train like a barefooted monk, crowding up to that bier as to a holy shrine, and pouring out its penitence and prayers for the dead, and in that guise was atoning for its sins—if it had not been that John Leech himself told us, that this was the way in which he chose to make his acknowledgment, and right the wrong he had done this great, good man-we never could have expected such remorse within the privileged field of caricature, or had such admiration for one of the profession.

TRIBUTE TO ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

You! lay a wreath on murdered Lincoln's bier!
You! who with mocking pencil wont to trace
Broad for the self-complacent British sneer,

His length of shambling limb, his furrowed face,

His gaunt, gnarled hands, his unkempt, bristling hair,
His garb uncouth, his bearing ill at ease,

His lack of all we prize as debonair,

Of power or will to shine, or art to please!

You! whose smart pen, backed by the pencil's laugh,
Judging each step as though the way was plain,

Reckless, so it could point its paragraph
Of chief's perplexity, of people's pain—

Beside the corpse, that bears for winding sheet
The stars and stripes he had to rear anew,
Between the mourners at his head and feet,
Say! scurrile jester, is there room for you?

Yes, he had lived to shame me from my sneer;
To lame my pencil, and confute my pen;
To make me own this mind of princes peer;
This rail-splitter, a true-born king of men.

My shallow judgment I have learned to rue,
Noting how to occasion's hight he rose,
How his quaint wit made home truth seem more true,
How iron-like his temper grew by blows;

How humble, yet how hopeful he could be;
How in good fortune, and in ill the same;
Nor bitter in success, nor boastful he;

Thirsty for gold, nor feverish for fame.

He went about his work-such work as few
Ever had laid on head, and heart, and hand-
As one who knows when there's a task to do,
Man's honest will will heaven's good grace command.

Who trusts the strength, will with the burden grow, That God makes instruments to work his will,

If but that will one can arrive to know,

Nor tamper with the weights of good and ill.

So he went forth to battle on the side

That he felt clear was Liberty's and Right's,

As in his peasant boyhood he had plied

His warfare with rude nature's thwarting mights.

The uncleared forest, the unbroken soil,

The iron bark that turns the lumber's axe,

The rapid that o'erbears the boatman's toil,

The prairie hiding the mazed wanderer's track,

The ambushed Indian, and the prowling bear;

Such were the needs that helped his youth to train