I had seen him since the
inauguration, and I went up to him, proffering my hand with words of
congratulation.

He grasped my outstretched hand warmly, and held it while he spoke:
"Thank you. Well, Madam Elizabeth"--he always called me Madam
Elizabeth--"I don't know whether I should feel thankful or not. The
position brings with it many trials. We do not know what we are destined
to pass through. But God will be with us all. I put my trust in God." He
dropped my hand, and with solemn face walked across the room and took
his seat on the sofa. Prior to this I had congratulated Mrs. Lincoln,
and she had answered with a sigh, "Thank you, Elizabeth; but now that we
have won the position, I almost wish it were otherwise. Poor Mr. Lincoln
is looking so broken-hearted, so completely worn out, I fear he will not
get through the next four years." Was it a presentiment that made her
take a sad view of the future? News from the front was never more
cheering. On every side the Confederates were losing ground, and the
lines of blue were advancing in triumph. As I would look out my window
almost every day, I could see the artillery going past on its way to the
open space of ground, to fire a salute in honor of some new victory.
From every point came glorious news of the success of the soldiers that
fought for the Union. And yet, in their private chamber, away from the
curious eyes of the world, the President and his wife wore sad, anxious
faces.

I finished dressing Mrs. Lincoln, and she took the President's arm and
went below. It was one of the largest receptions ever held in
Washington. Thousands crowded the halls and rooms of the White House,
eager to shake Mr. Lincoln by his hand, and receive a gracious smile
from his wife. The jam was terrible, and the enthusiasm great. The
President's hand was well shaken, and the next day, on visiting Mrs.
Lincoln, I received the soiled glove that Mr. Lincoln had worn on his
right hand that night.

Many colored people were in Washington, and large numbers had desired to
attend the levee, but orders were issued not to admit them. A gentleman,
a member of Congress, on his way to the White House, recognized Mr.
Frederick Douglass, the eloquent colored orator, on the outskirts of the
crowd.

"How do you do, Mr. Douglass? A fearful jam to-night. You are going in,
of course?"

"No--that is, no to your last question."

"Not going in to shake the President by the hand! Why, pray?"

"The best r