But earnest as I was, I was exceedingly anxious to know the contents of that telegram. There was during that interview, that far away look in his eyes, that those seeing could never forget. At last he paused and took up the despatch, and after looking over it read it aloud. “This is good news indeed,” he said, and a smile lit up his rugged features as he went on with his comments. “This Sheridan,” he said, “is a little Irishman, but he is a big fighter.” Soon after I arose to take my leave. He, too, arose and stood like a giant before me, as he extended his hand, and said, “Well, success to you. Come in again.” I did not realize his greatness at that time, but now all the world knows that Abraham Lincoln will stand out a colossal figure as long as American history is read. A thousand years will not dim the lustre of his name or fame. When his armies were pushed back till they built their camp-fires under the shadow of the nation’s Capitol, and treason glared at him from the near palaces, and the ship of state rocked in the trough of the waves of civil war and social revolution, he stood firm and strong at the helm, with calm, unwavering trust in God. In a rougher mould, he possessed the majesty of a Clay, the sagacity of a Franklin, the wit of a Ben Jonson, the benevolence of a Howard, and the social qualities of the Adamses. No heart in all the land throbbed with a truer, kindlier charity towards all, than did the great heart of Abraham Lincoln when the assassin’s bullet stopped its generous beating. Among philanthropists, in all ages, Lincoln will stand out as The Great Emancipator, who brought liberty to an enslaved and cruelly wronged race; and Right will laurel-crown him as a martyr. No one bullet ever went forth on a deadlier mission, or struck so heavy a blow to friends and foes alike, as did the bullet that laid Abraham Lincoln low in the dust. Victor and vanquished, who had come up out of a great struggle with their garments rolled in blood to ground their arms at his feet, and who had received his benediction of peace and good-will to all, were alike mourners when the assassin’s bullet did its deadly work. It was as though there was one dead in every house. The mourners went about the streets uncomforted. Men forgot their love for gold and their lust for power; statesmen groped about like blind men for some hand to lead. _The world was in mourning_; for all the world knew that he had come to the kingdom for such a time as that.