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by this change of manner: "It was thus with you," she said, "just before our dear Willie's death." The allusion to this event, the depressing effects of which, during more than three years, had never been effaced, cast a shadow on his heart. But in a moment he replied, speaking of the impossibility of accounting for such transitions of mood. The passing thought was quickly gone, to be recalled only by subsequent realities. Mr. Lincoln. talked of the future, and of the hopes he indulged of happier hours during his second term than he had been permitted to enjoy during that which was passed-an expectation reasonably founded on the altered condition of national affairs, and on the assured confidence and love of the people, which would lighten the burdens undertaken on their behalf.
Gen. Grant had arrived in Washington in time to witness the grand illumination of the previous evening. There was a general desire to see the great commander, to whom, during the war, three Rebel armies had successively surrendered, and whose leadership had at length brought the military power of the rebellion to utter ruin. This desire had not been gratified. On the evening of the 14th, the places of public amusement were to be specially decorated in honor of the great victories achieved, and of the raising over Fort Sumter of the identical flag pulled down on that day four years before, at the opening of the war. Mr. Lincoln, who had been wont occasionally, though seldom, to seek a brief respite from his heavy cares by attending on a play, or an opera, thought proper to engage a private box at Ford's Theater, for this evening, intending that Gen. Grant should accompany him on the occasion. A messenger was accordingly sent on Friday morning to secure the upper double box, on the right hand side of the audience, before occupied by him, and the announcement was made in the evening papers, by the business manager of the theater, that the President and Gen. Grant would be present to witness the performance of "The American Cousin." Gen. Grant, however, had felt compelled to leave the city that evening, going north with his family, and he was accordingly excused.
There were visitors at the White House that night as usual, and it was somewhat late when Mr. Lincoln was ready to leave.
Mrs. Lincoln, as if some persentiment restrained her, seemed reluctant to go, but the President was unwilling that those who had seen the announcement should be totally disappointed by seeing neither himself nor the Lieutenant-General. Speaker Colfax, who was the last person received by Mr. Lincoln, walked with him and Mrs. Lincoln from the parlor to the carriage. Mr. Ashmun, who had nearly five years before presided over the National Convention, which first nominated Mr. Lincoln for the Presidency, came up at this moment, having hoped to obtain an interview. After salutations, a card was handed to Mr. Ashmun, written by the President as he sat in his carriage, directing the usher to admit that gentleman to the Executive room on the following morning. The carriage drove away, stopping to take up two young friends on the way-Maj. Rathbone and Miss Harris. It was not yet past nine when the party reached the theater, which was densely thronged. As President Lincoln entered and passed to his box he was greeted with enthusiastic cheering.
Mr. Lincoln occupied a chair on the side of the box nearest the audience, Mrs. Lincoln sitting next him. Their guests were seated beyond, in a portion of the box usually separated by a partition, which had been removed for this occasion. Each part was ordinarily entered by its own door, opening from a narrow passage, to which, near the outer wall, a door gives access from the dress circle. The last named door and the further one inside were closed, the other, through which the whole party passed, remaining open. Any intrusion upon this privacy, in the presence of so many spectators, was hardly to be thought of as possible. Every day of his life in Washington, the President had been in positions far more inviting to murderous malice or Rebel conspiracy.
During the hour that followed Mr. Lincoln's entrance into the theater, his attention seemed to be unusually absorbed in the scenes before him. His countenance indicated an appreciation of the lively caricature in which the good-humored audience manifested a high degree of delight. Yet it may safely be affirmed that there was, in his mind, a strong undercurrent of quite other thoughts and emotions than those which had to do with this mock presentation of human life and man
ners. One can not doubt, knowing his mental characteristics, that while partly enjoying this light diversion, his mind was active with more substantial realities, and actually most occupied with these, when apparently most intent in observing what passed on the stage.
In the midst of a scene of the third act, when but one actor was before the curtain, the sound of a pistol-shot was heard, and a man leaped from the President's box and disappeared behind the scenes. So sudden was all this, that only the screams of Mrs. Lincoln, a moment later, revealed its meaning. The President had been shot. His assassin had escaped. One of the audience promptly sprang upon the stage, following the fugitive, but was only in time to see him mount a horse at the rear of the theater, and ride away at a flying speed. Wild excitement swayed the audience now toward the stage, many leaping over the foot-lights, and now toward the door. Attention was earnestly directed, on the next instant, to the condition of Mr. Lincoln. He was found to be insensble, having fallen slightly forward, where he sat. Presently surgeons were admitted to the box, and soon after it was discovered that he had been shot in the back of the neck, just beneath the base of the brain, in which the ball was still lodged-a hopeless wound. In a few minutes more he was borne from the theater to a private house on the opposite side of the street.
The terrible news quickly spread through the city, and the streets near the theater were thronged with distressed and indignant thousands, anxious for a word as to the President's condition, that would give encouragement to hope-eager to know who was the author of this monstrous crime. Almost simultaneously came the intelligence that Secretary Seward, who had been lying seriously ill for many days past, had been brutally stabbed in his bed by a ruffian, who had wounded several others in making his escape from the house. It soon became known, also, that Frederick W. Seward, Assistant Secretary of State, had been so wounded, by the same hand, that his recovery was very doubtful.
In the room to which Mr. Lincoln had been removed, he remained, still breathing, but unconscious, surrounded by his