an, Buchanan, that is over us at
present, he is no better than a bit of cotton-wool. I am going to take
a look at Mr. Lincoln as he comes through, and see what I think of
him."

"When is he coming?"

"They say to-day," said Miss Cardigan. "There'll be an uncommon crowd,
but I'll risk it."

A great desire seized me, that I might see him too. I consulted with
Miss Cardigan. School hours were over at three; I could get away then,
I thought; and by studying the programme of the day we found it
possible that it would not be too late then for our object. So it
proved; and I have always been glad of it ever since.

Miss Cardigan and I went forth and packed ourselves in the dense crowd
which had gathered and filled all the way by which the President-elect
was expected to pass. A quiet and orderly and most respectable crowd
it was. Few Irish, few of the miserable of society, who come out only
for a spectacle; there were the yeomanry and the middle classes, men
of business, men of character and some substance, who were waiting,
like us, to see what promise for the future there might be in the
aspect of our new chief. Waiting patiently; and we could only wait
patiently like them. I thought of Preston's indignation if he could
have seen me, and Dr. Sandford's ready negative on my being there; but
well were these thoughts put to flight when the little cavalcade for
which we were looking hove in sight and drew near. Intense curiosity
and then profound satisfaction seized me. The strong, grave, kindly
lineaments of the future Head of the Country gave me instantly a
feeling of confidence, which I never lost in all the time that
followed. That was, confidence in his honesty and goodness; but
another sort of trust was awakened by the keen, searching, shrewd
glances of those dark eyes, which seemed to penetrate the masses of
human intelligences surrounding him, and seek to know what manner of
_material_ he might find them at need. He was not thinking of himself,
that was plain; and the homely, expressive features got a place in my
heart from that time. The little cavalcade passed on from us; the
crowd melted away, and Miss Cardigan and I came slowly again up Fifth
Avenue.

"Yon's a mon!" quoth Miss Cardigan, speaking, as she did in moments of
strong feeling, with a little reminder of her Scottish origin.

"Didn't you like him?" I rejoined.

"I always like a man when I see him," said my friend. "He had need be
that, too, for he h