The meaning of the pistol-shot was soon ascertained. Mr. Lincoln had been shot in the back of the head, behind the left ear, the ball traversing an oblique line to the right ear. He was rendered instantly unconscious, and never knew friends or pain again. Having been conveyed as soon as possible to a house opposite the theatre, he expired there the next morning, April fifteenth, 1865, at twenty-two minutes past seven o’clock, attended by the principal members of his Cabinet and other friends, from all of whom the heart-rending spectacle drew copious tears of sorrow. Mrs. Lincoln and her son Robert were in an adjoining apartment--the former bowed down with anguish, the latter strong enough to sustain and console her. A disconsolate widow and two sons now constituted the entire family. Soon after nine o’clock, the body was removed to the White House under military escort. Thus ended the earthly career of Abraham Lincoln, sixteenth President of the United States, on the threshold of his fifty-seventh year and second Presidential term. “_Sic semper tyrannis!_” And this the justification for the murder of a ruler who had “---- borne his faculties so meek, had been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off.” “The South avenged!” And by the cold-blooded murder of the best friend that repentant rebels ever had--of one who had long withstood the pressing appeals of his warmest personal and political friends for less lenity and more rigor in dealing with traitors. It was written in the decrees of the Immutable that he should fall by the bullet--not, indeed, on the battle-field, whose sad suggestings he had so often, and so tenderly, lovingly heeded--but in the midst of his family, while seeking relief from the cares of state--and by a murderer’s hand!--the first President to meet such a fate--thenceforth our martyr-chief! But sorrow was tempered with mercy. He did not fall until a benignant Providence had permitted him to enjoy a foretaste, at least, of the blessings which he had been instrumental in conferring upon the land he loved so well.