uck this
out, he accepted Seward's advice to add "some words of
affection--some of calm and cheerful confidence."

The original version of the concluding paragraph was prepared by Seward
and read as follows: "I close. We are not, we must not he aliens or
enemies, but fellow-countrymen and brethren. Although passion has
strained our bonds of affection too hardly, they must not, I am sure,
they will not, be broken. The mystic chords which, proceeding from
so many battlefields and so many patriot graves, pass through all the
hearts and all hearths in this broad continent of ours, will yet again
harmonize in their ancient music when breathed upon by the guardian
angel of the nation."

These words, now so famous, were spoken in the east portico of the
Capitol on "one of our disagreeable, clear, windy, Washington spring
days."(10) Most of the participants were agitated; many were alarmed.
Chief Justice Taney who administered the oath could hardly speak, so
near to uncontrollable was his emotion. General Scott anxiously kept
his eye upon the crowd which was commanded by cannon. Cavalry were in
readiness to clear the streets in case of riot. Lincoln's carriage on
the way to the Capitol had been closely guarded. He made his way to
the portico between files of soldiers. So intent--overintent--were his
guardians upon his safety that they had been careless of the smaller
matter of his comfort. There was insufficient room for the large company
that had been invited to attend. The new President stood beside a
rickety little table and saw no place on which to put his hat. Senator
Douglas stepped forward and relieved him of the burden. Lincoln was
"pale and very nervous," and toward the close of his speech, visibly
affected. Observers differ point-blank as to the way the inaugural was
received. The "Public Man" says that there was little enthusiasm. The
opposite version makes the event an oratorical triumph, with the crowd,
at the close, completely under his spell.(11)

On the whole, the inauguration and the festivities that followed appear
to have formed a dismal event. While Lincoln spoke, the topmost peak of
the Capitol, far above his head, was an idle derrick; the present dome
was in process of construction; work on it had been arrested, and who
could say when, if ever, the work would be resumed? The day closed with
an inaugural ball that was anything but brilliant. "The great tawdry
ballroom . . . not half full--and s