and good will in their ears, never again to
meet under his wise and benignant chairmanship. He had told them that
morning a strange story, which made some demand upon their faith, but
the circumstances under which they were next to come together were
beyond the scope of the wildest fancy.

The day was one of unusual enjoyment to Mr. Lincoln. His son Robert had
returned from the field with General Grant, and the President spent an
hour with the young captain in delighted conversation over the campaign.
He denied himself generally to the throng of visitors, admitting only a
few friends. In the afternoon he went for a long drive with Mrs.
Lincoln. His mood, as it had been all day, was singularly happy and
tender. He talked much of the past and future; after four years of
trouble and tumult he looked forward to four years of comparative quiet
and normal work; after that he expected to go back to Illinois and
practise law again. He was never simpler or gentler than on this day of
unprecedented triumph; his heart overflowed with sentiments of gratitude
to Heaven, which took the shape, usual to generous natures, of love and
kindness to all men.

From the very beginning of his presidency, Mr. Lincoln had been
constantly subject to the threats of his enemies. His mail was infested
with brutal and vulgar menace, and warnings of all sorts came to him
from zealous or nervous friends. Most of these communications received
no notice. In cases where there seemed a ground for inquiry, it was
made, as carefully as possible, by the President's private secretary, or
by the War Department; but always without substantial result. Warnings
that appeared most definite, when examined, proved too vague and
confused for further attention. The President was too intelligent not to
know that he was in some danger. Madmen frequently made their way to the
very door of the executive office, and sometimes into Mr. Lincoln's
presence. But he had himself so sane a mind, and a heart so kindly, even
to his enemies, that it was hard for him to believe in political hatred
so deadly as to lead to murder.

He knew, indeed, that incitements to murder him were not uncommon in the
South, but as is the habit of men constitutionally brave, he considered
the possibilities of danger remote, and positively refused to torment
himself with precautions for his own safety; summing the matter up by
saying that both friends and strangers must have daily access to him;
tha