ng despatches,
soliloquizing, and often stopping to trace the position of the
contending armies on the map which hung on the wall; nor the relief we
all felt when the fact was established that victory, though gained at
such fearful cost, was indeed on the side of the Union."

Amidst the murk and gloom of those dark days in Washington, when the
suspense was breathless and the heart of the nation responded in muffled
beats to the dull booming of the cannon of Meade and Lee at Gettysburg,
an episode occurred, with Lincoln as the central figure, which reveals
perhaps more poignantly than any other in his whole career the depths of
feeling in that tender and reverential soul. On Sunday evening, July
4,--the fourth day of that terrible battle, with nothing definite yet
known of the result,--the President drove out in a carriage, in company
with two daughters of Secretary Stanton, to the line of defenses near
Arlington. It was toward sundown; and a brigade of troops were forming
in position for an evening parade or review. The commander of the
brigade, General Tannatt, recognizing the President and his party, rode
up to the carriage and invited them to witness the parade. The President
assented. His face was drawn and haggard in its expression of anxiety
and sorrow. As it was Sunday evening, some of the regimental bands
played familiar religious pieces. The President, hearing them, inquired
of General Tannatt if any of his bands could play "Lead Kindly Light."
Then in a low voice and with touching accents he repeated, as if to
himself, the familiar lines--never more expressive or appropriate than
now,--

Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead thou me on.

* * * * *

Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see

The distant scene,--one step enough for me.

As the sweet strains of the familiar hymn floated on the evening air,
Lincoln's sad face became sadder still, and tears were seen coursing
down his cheeks. What emotions were his, who can tell, as he thought of
that great battle-field not far away, its issues yet unknown, its ground
still covered with dead and wounded soldiers whose heroic deeds--to use
his noble words spoken a few months later on that historic field--"have
consecrated it far above our power to add or detract."

General Tannatt, who knew Lincoln well and had spoken with him many
times, never saw him again; and his view of that tragic, tear-