member of the family. When the Lincolns entered the White House in 1861, there were three sons and no other children. The eldest was Robert, eighteen years old; Willie, a little more than ten; and Thomas, or 'Tad,' then nearly eight years old. This little fellow celebrated his eighth birthday in the White House, April 4, 1863. Robert was a student in Phillips Academy, Exeter, N. H., when his father became President, and he entered Harvard University soon after that time. He was graduated subsequently, studied law, and was appointed Secretary of War several years after his father's death, serving under President Garfield and President Arthur.

"Willie, the second son, died in February, 1862, during the darkest and most gloomy time of the long and oppressive era of the war. Possibly this calamity made Lincoln less strict with his youngest boy than he should have been. He found it wellnigh impossible to deny Tad anything. But the little fellow, always a hearty, happy, and lovable boy, did not abuse his privileges. He roamed the White House at will, a tricksy and restless spirit, as well known to habitual visitors as the President himself. Innumerable stories might be told of the child's native wit, his courage, his adventurousness, and his passionate devotion to his father. He invaded Cabinet councils with his boyish grief or tales

of adventure, climbed on his father's lap when the President was engaged with affairs of state, and doubtless diverted and soothed the troubled mind of the President, who loved his boy with a certain tenderness that was inexpressible. It was Tad, the mercurial and irrepressible boy of the White House, on friendly terms with the great and the lowly, who gave to the Executive mansion almost the only joyous note that echoed through its corridors and stately drawing-rooms in those troublous times. The boy survived his father, dying at the age of eighteen years, after the family had left Washington.

"The President and Mrs. Lincoln usually addressed each other in the old-fashioned manner as 'Father' and 'Mother,' and it was very seldom that Mrs. Lincoln spoke of her husband as 'the President.' And Lincoln, on his part, never, if he could avoid it, spoke of himself as President. If he had occasion to refer to his high office he spoke of it as 'this place.' When the occasion required, however, his native dignity asserted itself, and a certain simple and yet influential grandeur was manifested in his deportment and demeanor. One soon forgot in his immediate presence the native ungainliness of his figure, and felt that he was in the personal atmosphere of one of the world's great men. Although Lincoln was genial and free in his

manner, even with strangers, there was something in his bearing that forbade familiarity. Much has been said about his disregard for dress and personal appearance, but much of this is erroneous. He was neat in his person, scrupulously so, and his garb was that of a gentleman always. If, in the seclusion of his home, he was called out late at night to hear an important message, or decide instantly an affair of great moment, he did not wait to array himself; something was excused to his preoccupation and anxiety."

DEATH OF LINCOLN.

FRIDAY, April 14, 1865, was the most exciting

day to the people of the North since the day, April 12, 1861, just four years before, when the first shot of the war had been fired at Fort Sumter, in Charleston harbor. Lee had surrendered to Grant five days before, and the people were celebrating the end of the war. Everybody was happy, and when Mr. Lincoln and his wife took a carriageride in the afternoon, they were greeted everywhere with demonstrations of patriotic affection.

Mr. Lincoln was happy, too, and to his wife he said: "Mary, God has been very good to us. When these four years are over, we will go back to Illinois, and I will be a country lawyer."

In the evening, Mr. Lincoln, with his wife, attended Ford's Theater to witness Miss Laura Keene's play of "Our American Cousin." As the curtain rose for the second scene of the last act, a pistol-shot was heard. Immediately following, a man was seen to leap from the President's box, and fall

upon the stage. Rising, he flourished a knife which he had drawn, and shouted:

"Sic semper tyrannis! The South is avenged!" It was John Wilkes Booth. He had shot the President. Mr. Lincoln was carried, unconscious, to a small house across the street, where he died the next morning. As his spirit took its flight, Secretary Stanton, standing by the bedside, said: "Now he belongs to the ages."

Saturday, April 15th, was one of the most dreadful days in American history. Many men, who the day before were like children in their joy, appeared to have been turned into fiends.

No one knew what the asasssination of the President and the attack on the Secretary of State might portend. Some feared that England would take advantage of it, and revive the war by recognizing the Southern Confederacy. A spirit of riot was in the air. An impromptu indignation meeting was held in Wall Street, New York, and an excited mob had started toward the office of the Daily World, bent on its destruction, when its attention was arrested by a young man standing on the balcony of the Board of Trade, and waving a small flag. He held in the other hand a telegram. Before reading it, however, he lifted his right arm and in a loud and clear voice, said:

"Fellow-citizens ! Clouds and darkness are