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ing close on the heels of the President's murder-perpetrated, indeed, at the same instant-it was instinctively felt to be the work of a conspiracy, secret, remorseless, and terrible. The Secretary of War, Mr. Stanton, had left Mr. Seward's bedside not twenty minutes before the assault, and was in his private chamber, preparing to retire, when a messenger brought tidings of the tragedy, and summoned his instant attendance. On his way to Mr. Seward's house, Mr. Stanton heard of the simultaneous murder of the President, and instantly felt that the Government was enveloped in the meshes of a conspiracy, whose agents were unknown, and which was all the more terrible for the darkness and mystery in which it moved. Orders were instantly given to close all drinking-shops and all places of public resort in the city, guards were stationed at every point, and all possible precautions were taken for the safety of the Vice-President and other prominent Government officials. A vague terror brooded over the population of the town. Men whispered to each other as they met, in the gloom of midnight, and the deeper gloom of the shadowy crime which surrounded them. Presently, passionate indignation replaced this paralysis of the public heart, and, but for the precautions adopted on the instant by the Government, the public vengeance would have been wreaked upon the rebels confined in the Old Capitol Prison. All these feelings, however, gradually subsided, and gave way to a feeling of intense anxiety for the life of the President. Crowds of people assembled in the neighborhood of the house where the dying martyr lay, eager for tidings of his condition, throughout the night; and when, early in the morning, it was announced that he was dead, a feeling of solemn awe filled every heart, and sat, a brooding grief, upon every face.

And so it was through all the length and breadth of the land. In every State, in every town, in every household, there was a dull and bitter agony, as the telegraph bore tidings of the awful deed. Everywhere throughout the Union, the public heart, bounding with

exultation at the triumphant close of the great war, and ready to celebrate with a mighty joy the return of peace, stood still with a sacred terror, as it was smitten by the terrible tidings from the capital of the Nation. In the great cities of the land all business instantly stopped-no man had the heart to think of gain-flags drooped halfmast from every winged messenger of the sea, from every church spire, from every tree of liberty, and from every public building. Masses of the people came together by a spontaneous impulse, to look in each other's faces, as if they could read there some hint of the meaning of these dreadful deeds-some omen of the country's fate. Thousands upon thousands, drawn by a common feeling, crowded around every place of public resort, and listened eagerly to whatever any public speaker chose to say. Wall Street, in New York, was thronged by a vast multitude of men, to whom eminent public officials addressed words of sympathy and of hope. Gradually as the day wore on, emblems of mourning were hung from the windows of every house throughout the town, and before the sun had set every city, throughout the length and breadth of the land, to which tidings of the great calamity had been borne by the telegraph, was enshrouded in the shadow of the national grief. On the next day, which was Sunday, every pulpit resounded with eloquent eulogies of the murdered President, and with such comments on his death as faith in an overruling Providence alone could prompt. The whole country was plunged into profound grief-and none deplored the crime which had deprived the Nation of its head with more sincerity than those who had been involved in the guilt of the rebellion, and who had just begun to appreciate those merciful and forgiving elements in Mr. Lincoln's character, whose exercise they themselves would need so soon.

Immediately after his death, the body of the President was removed to the Executive Mansion, embalmed, and placed in the Green Room, which had been prepared by suitable emblems of mourning for its reception. Near the centre of the room stood the grand catafalque, four

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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by DERBY & MILLER. in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.

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feet high, upon which rested the mahogany coffin, covered with flowers-the last sad offerings of affection-in which the body was placed for its final rest. The funeral services took place on Wednesday the 19th, and were held in the East Room. They were attended by representatives of every department of the Government, and were exceedingly impressive and touching. The guard of honor, which had watched over the remains of the illustrious dead, still maintained its place, with MajorGeneral Hunter at its head. Nearest the coffin sat the relatives of the President-his children and his wife's connections-his widow being too utterly prostrated by her grief to leave her room. Deputations from different sections of the country,-Governors of States, Members of the Senate and House of Representatives,-the Heads of the several Executive Departments, with their assist ants and clerks, the diplomatic corps and their attachés, the Judges of the Supreme and the local Courts, representatives from the Sanitary and Christian Commissions— these and many others, whom respect for the departed President had brought to his funeral, entered the room and took the places assigned them. At twelve o'clock, ANDREW JOHNSON, who had become, in consequence of this murder, President of the United States, came forward, followed by all the members of the Cabinet, except Mr. Seward, Secretary of State, who lay unconscious of the fate of his beloved and revered chief, himself the prostrate victim of the same daring and remorseless crime. Rev. Dr. Hall, of the Episcopal Church in Washington, read the Episcopal Service for the Dead; a fervent prayer was offered by Bishop Simpson of the Methodist Church, and a funeral discourse was pronounced by Rev. Dr. Gurley, pastor of the new Presbyterian Church in New York Avenue, which the President and his family were in the habit of attending. At the conclusion of the sermon, the Chaplain of the Senate, Rev. Dr. Gray, made a prayer, and the religious ceremonies were closed. The body of the President was then removed and placed upon the lofty hearse, surmounted by

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