with heavy hearts. I could not
sleep. I wanted to go to Mrs. Lincoln, as I pictured her wild with
grief; but then I did not know where to find her, and I must wait till
morning. Never did the hours drag so slowly. Every moment seemed an age,
and I could do nothing but walk about and hold my arms in mental agony.

Morning came at last, and a sad morning was it. The flags that floated
so gayly yesterday now were draped in black, and hung in silent folds at
half-mast. The President was dead, and a nation was mourning for him.
Every house was draped in black, and every face wore a solemn look.
People spoke in subdued tones, and glided whisperingly, wonderingly,
silently about the streets.

About eleven o'clock on Saturday morning a carriage drove up to the
door, and a messenger asked for "Elizabeth Keckley."

"Who wants her?" I asked.

"I come from Mrs. Lincoln. If you are Mrs. Keckley, come with me
immediately to the White House."

I hastily put on my shawl and bonnet, and was driven at a rapid rate to
the White House. Everything about the building was sad and solemn. I was
quickly shown to Mrs. Lincoln's room, and on entering, saw Mrs. L.
tossing uneasily about upon a bed. The room was darkened, and the only
person in it besides the widow of the President was Mrs. Secretary
Welles, who had spent the night with her. Bowing to Mrs. Welles, I went
to the bedside.

"Why did you not come to me last night, Elizabeth--I sent for you?" Mrs.
Lincoln asked in a low whisper.

"I did try to come to you, but I could not find you," I answered, as I
laid my hand upon her hot brow.

I afterwards learned, that when she had partially recovered from the
first shock of the terrible tragedy in the theatre, Mrs. Welles asked:

"Is there no one, Mrs. Lincoln, that you desire to have with you in this
terrible affliction?"

"Yes, send for Elizabeth Keckley. I want her just as soon as she can be
brought here."

Three messengers, it appears, were successively despatched for me, but
all of them mistook the number and failed to find me.

Shortly after entering the room on Saturday morning, Mrs. Welles excused
herself, as she said she must go to her own family, and I was left alone
with Mrs. Lincoln.

She was nearly exhausted with grief, and when she became a little quiet,
I asked and received permission to go into the Guests' Room, where the
body of the President lay in state. When I crossed the threshold of the
room, I could not hel