He turned aside, again engulfed in gloom. “Whatever Andrew Johnson may be,” he thought, “he certainly is no friend of my race.” The same evening in the spacious East Room, at such an affair as he had never in his own country been privileged to attend before, he tried to put aside his misgivings. He simply ignored the startled glances turned in his direction. His card of admission was beyond question. Even in this most brilliant of gatherings, Frederick Douglass was an impressive figure. He was faultlessly groomed. His magnificent head towered over any crowd, and he moved with poise and dignity. It is no wonder that the President saw him standing in line among the others. “Ah! Here comes my friend Douglass,” Lincoln said playfully. Taking Douglass by the hand he said, “I saw you in the crowd today, listening to my speech. Did you like it?” Douglass smiled, a little embarrassed. He had no desire to hold up the line. “Mr. Lincoln, I mustn’t detain you with my opinions,” he almost whispered. “There are a thousand people waiting to shake hands with you.” Lincoln was in an almost jovial mood that evening. He laughed softly. “Nonsense,” he said, “stop a little, Douglass. There’s no man in the country whose opinion I value more than yours. I really want to know what you thought of it.” Douglass tried to tell him. In the years to come he wished he had found better words. “Mr. Lincoln, your words today were sacred,” he said. “They will never die.” Lincoln seemed satisfied. His face lit up. “I’m glad you liked it.” Douglass rejoiced that Lincoln had his hour--an hour when he was bathed in joyful tears of gratitude. It happened on a soft, spring day in Richmond. General Weitzel had taken the city a few days before, with the Twenty-ninth Connecticut Colored Regiment at his back. Now on this April morning, the battered city was very still. White people who could leave had fled. The others shut themselves inside, behind closed doors and drawn shades. But lilacs were blooming in their yards. It was a Negro soldier who saw the little rowboat pull up at the dock and a tall gaunt man, leading a little boy, step out. He waved back the sailors, who moved to follow him. “We’ll go alone,” he said. Taking the little boy by the hand, he started up the embankment to the street. “Which way to our headquarters?” he asked the soldier. The soldier had never seen Abraham Lincoln, but he recognized him. He saluted smartly. “I’ll direct you, sir,” he offered. He was trembling. The President smiled and shook his head. “Just tell me.” It was straight ahead up the street--Jefferson Davis’ mansion. He couldn’t miss it. The soldier watched him go. He wanted to shout. He wanted to run--to spread the news--but he could not leave his post.