he defenseless Indian in the Black Hawk War, and who freed the slave;
the man of whom no one ever asked pity in vain--he is going back to the
prairies, to sleep his eternal sleep among the violets.

Toll! The bells of all the cities and towns of the loyal nation are
tolling. In every principal church in all the land people have met to
weep and to pray. Half-mast flags everywhere meet the breeze.

They laid the body beneath the rotunda of the Capitol, amid the April
flowers and broken magnolias.

Then homeward--through Baltimore, robed in black; through Philadelphia,
through New York, Cleveland, Indianapolis, and Chicago. The car rolls
on, over flowers and under black flags, amid the tolling of the bells of
cities and the bells of the simple country church-towers. All labor
ceases. The whole people stop to wonder and to weep.

The dirges cease. The muffled drums are still. The broken earth of the
prairies is wrapped around the dead commoner, the fallen apostle of
humanity, the universal brother of all who toil and struggle.

The courts of Europe join in the lamentation. Never yet was a man wept
like this man.

His monument ennobles the world. He stands in eternal bronze in a
hundred cities. And why? Because he had a heart to feel; because to him
all men had been brothers of equal blood and birthright; and because he
had had faith that "RIGHT MAKES MIGHT."

CHAPTER XXV.

AT THE LAST.

From the magnolias to the Northern orchards, from the apple-blooms to
the prairie violets! The casket was laid in the tomb. Twilight came; the
multitudes had gone. It was ended now, and night was falling.

Two forms stood beside the closed door of the tomb; one was an old,
gray-haired woman, the other was a patriarchal-looking man.

The woman's gray hairs blew about her white face like silver threads,
and she pushed it back with her withered hand.

"Sister Olive," said the old man, "_he_ loved others better than
himself; and it is not this tomb, but the great heart of the world, that
has taken him in. I felt that he was called. I felt it years ago."

"Heaven forgive a poor old woman, elder! I misjudged that man. See
here."

She held up a bunch of half-withered prairie violets that she had
carried about with her all the day, and then went and laid them on the
tomb.

"For Lincoln's sake! for Lincoln's sake!" she said, crying like a child.

The two went away in the shadows, talking of all the past, and each has
long