But sorrow and tears trod on the heels of joy. April 15th, five days after our exultant celebration of Lee’s surrender, came the astounding news that our great President had been shot the night before at Ford’s Theatre, in Washington, and that he had died in the morning. For an hour or two we were dazed by this sudden and overwhelming calamity. No one thought of doing business. Those who gathered on the Board of Trade did nothing but talk over the crushing national sorrow. Men as if in a dream moved along the streets; few said anything; they dumbly shook hands and passed sadly on; as the most stalwart met, tears started; the city was silent and a pall of gloom rested upon all. Men at last began slowly to drift together in companies upon the streets. They conversed in low but earnest tones. Beneath that calm exterior fierce passion burned. On Fourth Street a great, excited crowd had instinctively gathered; they, like all others, were talking over the appalling national loss. A stranger passed by. They thought that he expressed himself as pleased with the assassination of Mr. Lincoln. In a moment the pent up fires within them flashed forth. They seized the stranger, beat him, dragged him roughly along the pavement, he all the time pleading to be heard. At last they listened to his statement and were convinced that they had quite misunderstood what they believed to have been a grossly offensive utterance. They were deeply ashamed of what they had passionately done, and humbly apologized for it. But the incident showed that the life of any one in our city, who, on that day, should have openly approved of the murder of the President, would have been indignantly snuffed out.