man present. Many of the eminent men composing that delegation
had believed that Lincoln was some sort of a monster. I stood
among them after they had met him and listened to their comments.
The lofty character, the towering strength, the majesty of the man
had made a great impression upon them. They had come expecting to
see a freak; they discovered one of the princes of men.

In this connection, I must be permitted to refer to another occasion.
It so happened that I was in Washington when the President's son
Willie died. The funeral ceremony took place in the East Room of
the White House, in the presence of the President and his cabinet
and a few other friends. When the ceremony was about concluded
and President Lincoln stood by the bier of his dead boy, with tear-
drops falling from his face, surrounded by Seward, Chase, Bates,
and others, I thought I never beheld a nobler-looking man. He was
at that time truly, as he appeared, a man of sorrow, acquainted
with grief, possessing the power and responsibilities of a President
of a great Nation, yet with quivering lips and face bedewed with
tears, from personal sorrow.

The morning that Abraham Lincoln left his home in Springfield never
to return is not to be forgotten. It was early on the morning of
the eleventh of February, dark and gloomy, with a light snow falling.
There was a large crowd of his neighbors and friends at the station
to bid him good-bye. He held a sort of impromptu reception in the
little railroad station. There was no noisy demonstration. As I
recollect it now, it was a solemn leave-taking. Just before the
train pulled out, Mr. Lincoln appeared on the rear platform of his
car. Every head was bared, as if to receive a benediction, as he
uttered his farewell address:

"My Friends: No one not in my situation can appreciate my feeling
of sadness at this parting. To this place, and the kindness of
these people, I owe everything. Here I have lived a quarter of a
century, and have passed from a young to an old man. Here my
children have been born and one is buried. I now leave, not knowing
when or whether ever I may return, with a task before me greater
than that which rested upon Washington. Without the assistance of
that Divine Being who ever attended him, I cannot succeed; with
that assistance, I cannot fail. Trusting in Him, who can go with
me, and remain with you, and be everywhere for good, let us
confidently hope that all will