Massachusetts -- Periodicals; New England -- Periodicals
DEAR MR. SUMNER,--Unless you send me word to the contrary, I shall
this evening call with my carriage at your house, to take you with
me to the Inauguration Ball.
Sincerely yours,
ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
The great Senator entered the ball-room, with Mrs. Lincoln leaning on
his arm, and took his seat by the side of the President. The evening was
pleasantly spent, and the newspapers at once discovered how great a
blunder they had made.
At length the curtain fell upon the bloody scenes of the war. Under the
mighty blows of Grant and his lieutenants the Rebellion was crushed.
On a bright day the President, accompanied by Mr. Sumner, entered the
streets of Richmond, and witnessed the grateful tears of thousands of
the race he had redeemed from bondage and disgrace. Having returned to
Washington, he convened a cabinet council on the 14th of April. During
the session his heart overflowed with kind and charitable thoughts
towards the South, and towards those officers who had deserted the flag
of their country in her trying hour he poured out a forgiving spirit.
After that cabinet meeting he went to drive with Mrs. Lincoln,--they two
were alone. "Mary," said he, "we have had a hard time of it since we
came to Washington; but the war is over, and, with God's blessing, we
may hope for four years of peace and happiness, and then we will go back
to Illinois and pass the rest of our lives in quiet. We have laid by
some money, and during this term we will try and save up more, but shall
not have enough to support us. We will go back to Illinois, and I will
open a law-office at Springfield or Chicago, and practise law, and at
least do enough to help give us a livelihood." Such were the dreams of
Abraham Lincoln the last day of his life. The whole world knows the
remainder of the story,--of that terrible night at the theatre; of that
passing away in the early dawn of the morning; of that sad and mournful
passage from the Capitol to the grave at Oak Ridge Cemetery. It is
painful to dwell upon it; it makes the heart faint even to recall it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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