Farewell, thou good and guileless heart! The manliest tears for thee must start! E'en those at times who blamed thee here, Now deeply sorrow o'er thy bier. O, Jesus, grant him sweet repose, Who, like Thee, seemed to love his foes! Those foes, like Thine, their wrath to spend, Have slain their best, their firmest friend. [Illustration: ST. JAMES HALL, BUFFALO, N. Y.] The funeral train bearing the remains of President Lincoln reached Buffalo, New York, on Thursday morning, the 27th of April. The body was taken from the funeral car and borne by soldiers up to St. James' Hall, where it was placed under a crape canopy, extending from the ceiling to the floor. The Buffalo St. Cecilia Society sang with deep pathos the dirge "Rest, Spirit, Rest," the society then placed an elegantly formed harp, made of choice white flowers, at the head of the coffin, as a tribute from them to the honored dead. The public were admitted to view the remains, and the following day the remains reached Cleveland, Ohio. James Nicoll Johnston was born in Ardee, County Donegal, Ireland. When two years of age the family moved to Cashelmore, Sheephaven Bay, County Donegal. In 1847 they moved to America. He was then between fifteen and sixteen years of age. In 1848 they settled at Buffalo, New York, which has been his home until the present time. He has published two editions of _Donegal Memories_, also two editions of _Donegal Memories and Other Poems_, and a volume of Buffalo verse collected by him under the title of _Poets and Poetry of Buffalo_. He assisted in collections of Buffalo local literature, also devoted much time to the production of publications of a philanthropic nature. REQUIEM Bear him to his Western home, Whence he came four years ago; Not beneath some Eastern dome, But where Freedom's airs may come, Where the prairie grasses grow, To the friends who loved him so, Take him to his quiet rest; Toll the bell and fire the gun; He who served his Country best, He whom millions loved and bless'd, Now has fame immortal won; Rack of brain and heart is done. Shed thy tears, O April rain, O'er the tomb wherein he sleeps! Wash away the bloody stain! Drape the skies in grief, O rain! Lo! a nation with thee weeps, Grieving o'er her martyred slain.