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upon the street, and the military escort of the funeral car began to march past with solemn tread, muffled drums, and arms reversed.

"A scene so solemn, imposing, and impressive as that which the national metropolis presented, and upon which myriad eyes of saddened faces were gazing, was never witnessed, under circumstances so appalling, in any portion of our beloved country. Around us is the capital city, clad in the habiliments of mourning; above us, the cloudless sky, so bright, so tranquil, so cheerful, as if heaven would, on this solemn occasion, specially invite us, by the striking contrast, to turn our thoughts from the darkness and the miseries of this life to the light and the joy that shine with endless lustre beyond it. The mournful strains of the funeral dirge, borne on the gentle zephyrs of this summer-like day, touch a responsive chord in every human heart of the countless thousands, that, with solemn demeanor and measured step, follow to their temporary resting-place, in the National Capitol, the cold, inanimate form of one, who, living, was the honored Chief Magistrate of the American people, and, dead, will ever be endeared in their fondest memories. Never did a generous and grateful people pay, in anguish and tears, a tribute more sincere or merited to a kind, humane, and patriotic chieftain; never were the dark and bloody deeds of crime brought out in relief so bold, and in horror and detestation so universal, as in the sublime and imposing honors this day tendered to the corpse of Abraham Lincoln. Such a scene is the epoch of a life-time. Strong men are deeply affected; gentle women weep; children are awe-stricken: none will ever forget it. Memory has consecrated it on her brightest tablet; and it will ever be thought, spoken,

and written of, as the sublime homage of a sorrowing nation at the shrine of the martyred patriot."*

Arrived at the Capitol, Rev. Dr. Gurley offered prayer, and soon the services were over: the few who had been permitted to enter were dismissed from the rotunda, and silence reigned around the coffin of the honored' dead.

"The corpse of the President was placed beneath the right concave, now streaked with the mournful trappings, and left in state, watched by guards of officers with drawn swords. This was a wonderful spectacle, the man most beloved and honored, in the ark of the Republic. The storied paintings, representing eras in its history, were draped in sable, through which they seemed to cast reverential glances upon the lamented bier. The thrilling scenes depicted by Trumbull, the commemorative canvases of Leutze, the wilderness vegetation of Powell, glared from their separate pedestals upon the central spot where lay the fallen majesty of the country. At night the jets of gas, concealed in the spring of the dome, were lighted up, so that their bright reflection upon the frescoed walls hurled masses of burning light, like marvellous haloes, upon the little box where so much that was loved and honored rested, on its way to the grave; and so, through the starry night, in the fane of the great Union he had strengthened and recovered, the ashes of Abraham Lincoln, zealously guarded, lay in calm repose."+

The acting Secretary of State (Secretary Seward having been wounded in an attempt made to assassinate him on the same night with the President), Mr. Hunter, issued the following official document :

"Lincoln Memorial," p. 147.

† Ibid., p. 138.

DEPARTMENT OF STATE, WASHINGTON, April 17, 1865.

TO THE PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES:

The undersigned is directed to announce that the funeral ceremonies of the lamented Chief Magistrate will take place at the Executive Mansion, in this city, at twelve o'clock, noon, on Wednesday, the 19th inst. The various religious denominations throughout the country are invited to meet in their respective places of worship at that hour, for the purpose of solemnizing the occasion with appropriate ceremonies.

W. HUNTER, Acting Secretary of State.

Throughout the loyal States, the day of the funeral was observed, and never with more sincerity. Churches, streets, houses, stores, were draped in mourning: flags were hung at half-mast, minute-guns were fired, and congregations assembled, bowed with grief, in all the larger towns, to join in services appropriate to the day.*

*In Reading, Mass., the following hymn, written by the author of these pages, was sung by members of the Congregationalist, Universalist, and Baptist choirs, in the largest church of the town, where, as one stricken, sympathizing family, the inhabitants were gathered:

FUNERAL HYMN. Air,-"Mount Vernon."

Hushed to-day are sounds of gladness,
From the mountains to the sea;
And the plaintive voice of sadness
Rises, mighty God, to thee.

Freedom claimed another martyr;
Heaven received another saint:
Who are we, thy will to question?
Lord, we weep without complaint.

May we, to thy wisdom bowing,
Own thy love in this dark spell,
While with tears a mighty nation
Buries one it loved so well!

And, O Thou who took our leader,
With the Promised Land in view,

While on Pisgah's height we leave him,
Lead us, Lord, the Jordan through!

While the people sympathized with the bereaved family of the martyred President, and those who had been made widows during the war sympathized deeply with Mrs. Lincoln (to whom even the Queen of England sent an autograph letter, assuring her of the sympathy of a widowed heart), yet it was not only as those who felt for others that the people mourned. They had themselves lost a friend. They mourned with a sense of personal bereavement. Many families, whose dear ones, though éxposed to the perils of the battle-field, the prison, and the hospital, had yet returned safely to their homes, now felt that they had some one for whom to weep; since President Lincoln belonged to all. Sublime utterances of faith in God, tender expressions of love for the departed, and words of solemn instruction, were heard on this day of mourning; and each loyal hand that held "the pen of a ready writer" was moved to add a tribute to the memory of the nation's martyr. Mrs. Stowe, after speaking of the rejoicings over victory, adds,

"But this our joy has been ordained to be changed into a wail of sorrow. The kind hard hand that held the helm so steadily in the desperate tossings of the storm has been stricken down just as we entered port; the fatherly heart that bore all our sorrows can take no earthly part in our joys. His were the cares, the watchings, the toils, the agonies, of a nation in mortal struggle; and God looking down was so well pleased with his humble faithfulness, his patient continuance in well-doing, that earthly rewards and honors seemed all too poor for him; so he reached down, and took him to immortal glories. 'Well done, good and faithful servant! enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." "*

"Atlantic Monthly," August, 1865.

The remains of the President were borne from Washington to Springfield, where they were finally deposited, by way of Baltimore, Harrisburg, Philadelphia, New York, Albany, Buffalo, Cleveland, Columbus, and Chicago, a distance in circuit of about eighteen hundred miles. All along the route, the people gathered with va rious testimonials of respect, and evidences of grief that was great and sincere.

The body rested, while in Philadelphia, in that hall, around which cluster so many historical memories, and over which, four years before, the President raised the flag of our country. "The bier was close to the famous old Liberty Bell, which first sounded forth, in 1776, the tidings of independence.

"The interior of the hall, as well as the exterior, was heavily draped and most artistically illuminated. Around the remains were appropriate decorations, leaves of exquisite evergreens, and flowers of an exquisite crimson bloom. At the head of the corpse were bouquets; beneath, the flaming tapers at the feet; from the elaborately hung walls, the portraits of the great and good dead were eloquent in their silence, and seemed to say that not one of the great actors of other eras, preserved in canvas, marble, and metal, looking down like living mourners on that honored catafalque, ever filled his space with more dignity than the dead Lincoln. Not Columbus from his brazen door; not De Soto planting his cross on the Mississippi; not Pocahontas; not Miles Standish on the "Mayflower;" not William Penn making peace with the Indians; not Benjamin Franklin in his philosophy; not the fiery Patrick Henry as he ejaculated his war-cry in the Virginia House of Delegates, nor John Adams as he shouted it in Boston; not Washington with his sword; nor Jefferson with his pen; nor Hamilton with

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