ey to
Washington on February 11, 1861, on a special train, accompanied by Mrs.
Lincoln and their three children, his two private secretaries, and a
suite of about a dozen personal friends. Mr. Seward had suggested that
in view of the feverish condition of public affairs, he should come a
week earlier; but Mr. Lincoln allowed himself only time enough
comfortably to fill the appointments he had made to visit the capitals
and principal cities of the States on his route, in accordance with
non-partizan invitations from their legislatures and mayors, which he
had accepted. Standing on the front platform of the car, as the
conductor was about to pull the bell-rope, Mr. Lincoln made the
following brief and pathetic address of farewell to his friends and
neighbors of Springfield--the last time his voice was ever to be heard
in the city which had been his home for so many years:

"My friends: No one, not in my situation, can appreciate my feeling
of sadness at this parting. To this place, and the kindness of
these people, I owe everything. Here I have lived a quarter of a
century, and have passed from a young to an old man. Here my
children have been born, and one is buried. I now leave, not
knowing when or whether ever I may return, with a task before me
greater than that which rested upon Washington. Without the
assistance of that Divine Being who ever attended him, I cannot
succeed. With that assistance, I cannot fail. Trusting in Him who
can go with me, and remain with you, and be everywhere for good,
let us confidently hope that all will yet be well. To His care
commending you, as I hope in your prayers you will commend me, I
bid you an affectionate farewell."

It was the beginning of a memorable journey. On the whole route from
Springfield to Washington, at almost every station, even the smallest,
was gathered a crowd of people in hope to catch a glimpse of the face of
the President-elect, or, at least, to see the flying train. At the
larger stopping-places these gatherings were swelled to thousands, and
in the great cities into almost unmanageable assemblages. Everywhere
there were vociferous calls for Mr. Lincoln, and, if he showed himself,
for a speech. Whenever there was sufficient time, he would step to the
rear platform of the car and bow his acknowledgments as the train was
moving away, and sometimes utter a few words of thanks and greeting. At
the c