THE HOUR OF HIS THANKSGIVING.

"A THUNDERING OLD GLORY"

THE NEWS OF HIS ASSASSINATION - ANGRY CROWD AT THE SUB-TREAS

URY.

BY THE HON. L. E. CHITTENDEN,

EX-REGISTRAR OF THE TREASURY.

THE number of men whose acquaintance with Abraham Lincoln was intimate enough to enable them to form any just estimate of his character, is small and rapidly diminishing. If they are true to his memory, as they recall his voice and presence through the softening influences of thirty years, they will experience a sensation of regret that they did not better improve their opportunities and more fully appreciate his statesmanship and other great qualities. They are asking themselves how it could have happened that, when he was delivering his first inaugural address, writing his letter of August 22d, 1862, to Mr. Greeley, that of August 26th, 1863, to Mr. J. C. Conkling, and the address at Gettysburg, all which will be read and admired as the gems of our English speech while history endures, they did not recognize him as the greatest patriot, statesman and writer of his time? I suppose the reason must have been that our hopes and fears for the safety of the Union so engrossed all our thoughts that we had no time for other subjects, and as we knew that nothing but the success of our arms

could save it, nothing greatly impressed us but victory on the field.

At last, after years of weary waiting, victory had come not alone in one bloody battle, but all over the theatre of war. Around the seacoasts, up gulf, bayou and river, from the Ohio down through Nashville and Atlanta to the rice fields of the Savannah, up through Carolina pines and down through Virginia swamps, everywhere the eagles of victory were borne upon our standards. Lee, Gordon and other great war generals had sheathed their swords, and promised never again to draw them from their scabbards except under the Stars and Stripes. Grant had said to his prisoners, "Take your horses and goods to your homes, plough, sow and reap, and become good citizens." And all over the free North gray-haired sires, true-hearted wives and bright-faced children were making ready to welcome sons, husbands and fathers home from the War.

There was one form which it was grand to look upon in those days. Truly he wist not that his face shone like that of Moses when he came down from Sinai with the tables of the testimony in his hands. It was like a picture drawn by a great artist to express all the noble qualities of humanity-chiefly benevolence, kindness and charity; as grand a face as ever was given to man. I need scarcely be more specific. Such a face could belong only to Abraham Lincoln. In this hour of thanksgiving we were chiefly grateful for one mercy-I might well write above all others. It was that the trials of our Greatheart had come to an end. We had seen him when they began when his face was smooth, genial and, on occasion, humorous. As his duties multiplied and his responsibilities were greater, we had seen them

plough deep furrows in his face and make it so sad and sorrowful that it was painful to look upon. They were ended now. His faith had been justified. Worn and exhausted by four long years of strife, turmoil and perplexity, rest had come to him at last. He could rest in the peace of a restored Union, a saved Republic, for which he had wrought so faithfully, which he had so richly earned. Peace! Peace! North, South, and throughout the land! It was not unlike that other peace that passeth understanding.

Our Lincoln was never more noble in appearance than on Friday, April 14th, 1865. He had laid aside the burden of his cares; his heart was full of gratitude for a country saved, and overflowing with compassion for the conquered. At breakfast he had heard the story of Appomattox from the lips of his own son. All the day long he had been in consultation with members of his Cabinet and others over plans of reconstruction, in which there was no trace of cruelty or punishment. Toward evening he was intending to take his accustomed drive. As he was coming down the stairway a one-armed soldier said: "I would almost give my other hand if I could shake that of Abraham Lincoln." "You shall do that and it shall cost you nothing, my boy!" said the President. "He grasped my hand and held it," said the soldier, "while he asked my name and regiment and where I lost my arm; and said I was a brave soldier, and a lot of pleasant things." This man brushed something out of his eyes as he told the story, and ended it with: "I tell you, boys, Abe Lincoln is a thundering old glory!" I can say that never was a ruler so loved by his loyal people as Abraham Lincoln on that last day of his mortal life; but I should despair of describing more impressively than in these words of a private soldier.

I never read and I will not write about the remaining

hours of this noble life. appeared to the soldier.

I prefer to think of him as he
Nor have I any words fit to

describe the gloom of the next morning. Incidents of it I may recall.

Then anger

The people seemed stunned by the shock. was fierce, silent, terrible. They were inclined to believe the crime that of the defeated Confederates. That belief was not true, and very dangerous, for a word would have turned them to vengeance against every one of doubtful loyalty. Without any call, and moved by impulse, they packed Wall Street from above the SubTreasury to a point below the Custom House - a silent, fierce, angry crowd. One man was struck to the pavement, and would have been torn in pieces if the police. had not thrust him into a basement and guarded the door. He had spoken disrespectfully of Lincoln. "Here is one who will tell us about Lincoln!" shouted a well-known citizen. The person referred to was an officer of the Treasury. He was caught up and passed over the heads of the crowd to the ledge of an open window, whence he essayed to speak fitting memorial words of Lincoln. "He was murdered by a rebel spy!" exclaimed an angry voice. Don't you believe it!" said the speaker. "The Confederates know the value to them of the kind heart of Lincoln; - they are not murderers! This assassin was either a fool or a madman! "If he was we shall never know it, for he has escaped," said a voice. "He has not escaped!" said the speaker. "He might as well hope to escape death and the grave. The earth has no asylum for such an assassin, no cave in which he can hide. Every emancipated slave in the State to which he has fled will be a detective; every

decent white man his betrayer. Do not forget that he is a madman; I repeat it, a madman. The South is responsible for many lives, but, thank the Almighty, not for this one. Let us set an example before the world, and, while we mourn our terrible calamity, cry with the Psalmist, 'O God, to whom vengeance belongeth, show thyself.""

There was no outbreak; but a word of disrespect for Lincoln the people would not hear. A saloon proprietor tried it. His customers wrecked his saloon and beat him to insensibility. In a leading hotel the servants, from the chief clerk to the bootblacks, struck work until the housekeeper was put out of it. She had spoken contemptuously of "old Lincoln."

Abraham Lincoln was a man of the people. The people knew and loved him. That was a triumphal rather than a funeral procession which bore him from the Capital to his final rest, near his Springfield home. Since it passed there has been no hour in which he has not grown in the public esteem. We celebrate his birthday, and soon shall make it a national holiday, so that the Preserver shall have equal honors with the Father of his country. The time is not distant when the history of the life and times of Lincoln will be taught in our public schools.

NEW YORK CITY.