That week was one of joy and thankfulness for all. Thursday was Fast Day; she "went to church to fatigue Satan. Afterwards made a visit to Mrs. ---- who did not seem to have tired her devil out." The joy bells were soon to be silenced. Saturday, April 15, was "A black day in history, though outwardly most fair. President Lincoln was assassinated in his box at the theatre, last evening, by J. Wilkes Booth. This atrocious act, which was consummated in a very theatrical manner, is enough to ruin not the Booth family alone, but the theatrical profession. Since my Sammy's death, nothing has happened that has given me so much personal pain as this event. The city is paralyzed. But we can only work on, and trust in God." Our father's face of tragedy, the anguish in his voice, as he called us down to hear the news, come vividly before us to-day, one of the clearest impressions of our youth. Our mother went with him next day to hear Governor Andrew's official announcement of the murder to the Legislature, and heard with deep emotion his quotation from "Macbeth":-- "Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off," etc. Wednesday, April 19, was:-- "The day of President Lincoln's funeral. A sad, disconnected day. I could not work, but strolled around to see the houses, variously draped in black and white. Went to Bartol's church, not knowing of a service at our own. Bartol's remarks were tender and pathetic. I was pleased to have heard them. "Wrote some verses about the President--pretty good, perhaps,--scratching the last nearly in the dark, just before bedtime." This is the poem called "Parricide." It begins:-- O'er the warrior gauntlet grim Late the silken glove we drew. Bade the watch-fires slacken dim In the dawn's auspicious hue. Staid the armèd heel; Still the clanging steel; Joys unwonted thrilled the silence through. On April 27 she "heard of Wilkes Booth's death--shot on refusing to give himself up--the best thing that could have happened to himself and his family"; and wrote a second poem entitled "Pardon," embodying her second and permanent thought on the subject: Pains the sharp sentence the heart in whose wrath it was uttered, Now thou art cold; Vengeance, the headlong, and Justice, with purpose close muttered, Loosen their hold, etc. Brief entries note the closing events of the war. "_May 13._ Worked much on Essay.... In the evening said to Laura: 'Jeff Davis will be taken to-morrow.' Was so strongly impressed with the thought that I wanted to say it to Chev, but thought it was too silly." "_May 14._ The first thing I heard in the morning was the news of the capture of Jeff Davis. This made me think of my preluding the night before...." * * * * *