time?"

"Yes," said he, "I did."

"And did you not look after his safety sometimes?"

"I did, indeed," was the answer; "many a time I kept myself between
him and the trees there," pointing to them, "as we walked over to the
War Department to get the news from the armies. I did not know who
might be hidden in the trees, and I would not let him go alone."

"Did it ever occur to you," I asked, "that it would be worth while to
have a care that no harm happened here?"

"What, now?"

"Yes, now."

"Oh, it is different now--no war now."

"No," said I, "no war, but people are about who are queer; and there
are ugly excitements; think of it."

Of course, this conversation at the door of the White House the
midnight morning of the day before the President was shot, is
accounted for by the sensibility that there was a half-suppressed
public uneasiness that could mean some fashion of mischief, and
it might be of a deadly sort to the President, because he was so
formidably conspicuous. Nearly a year afterward, walking by General
Sherman's residence, I saw him sitting under a strong light, with his
back to the street, writing--doors and windows all open. I walked in,
saying: "General, I wouldn't sit with my back to an open window late
at night, under a light like this, if I were you. Some fool will come
along with a bull-dog pistol and the idea that death loves a shining
mark."

"Pooh!" said the old soldier. "Nobody interested in killing me. They
will let me well alone with their bull-dog pistols."

The White House shone like marble in the green trees as I drove
from the Arlington to the Potomac depot, July 1st, to take the train
corresponding to the one that had the President's car attached on the
following morning, when he meant to have a holiday of which he had
the most delightful anticipation, as one throwing off a brood of
nightmares. He was going back the President to the scene of his
struggles in early manhood for an education, going to what he called
the "sweetest place in the world," having reached the summit of
ambition, confident in himself, assured of the public good will, happy
to meet his wife restored to health, himself robust and to be, he
thought, hag-ridden no more; rejoicing to meet the dearest of old
friends, kindling with the realization of his superb and commanding
position, glowing with his just pride of place; no heart beating
higher, no imagination that exalted this mighty country more than his