The car of the president of the Baltimore road, with its parlor, bedroom, dining-room, and kitchen, was to convey the family and their immediate friends to the same destination. These cars were to be transferred from one road to another, and rolled into Springfield, Illinois. As a railroad enterprise, it marked the beginning of new things. The train came in a rain at 8.30 on the evening of April 21st, its cars and engine heavily-draped. We had telegraphed for permission to ride on the pilot-engine, which was to lead the way north half an hour ahead of the train. About midnight word came to us that our request would be granted. Next morning at 10 the bearers arrived at the depot with the body, which had been lying in state at the City Hall of Harrisburg, and the bearers conveyed it to the funeral car. Big panels of plate-glass in the sides of this car enabled one to see the coffin from the street level. The engine had her bell muffled, and large portraits of Lincoln, draped with black crape edged with silver lace, on either side of her cab. At 10.30 we left on the pilot engine. Well, my children, we began to know, then, what had happened. Oh, it was a wonderful thing to see and feel--the love of millions! The railroad--why, it was a way of sorrow sprinkled with tears. North to Albany and west to Springfield the people stood deep on either side of the long ironway. I saw them waiting patiently in sleet and rain, some weeping, some kneeling as we passed, thinking, no doubt, that he they loved was among us. We left the pilot-engine in Philadelphia and hurried to a city on the Erie road, where we had work to do. We reached Albany some days later, about an hour ahead of the funeral train. There the beloved President was to be taken from the train and borne to the State-House, so that those of the north country might have a look at him. We waited among tens of thousands gathered in the streets, and the train came at midnight. I shall never forget the hush that fell upon all as the body passed in the darkness, and the low, tremulous murmur of the crowd. It was like the sound of a great bass string when it is lightly touched--it was the note of a people's sorrow. Slowly, silently, we made our way to the State-House. All about us men and women were sobbing, and we said not a word to each other.