best that it
should be so; and Lincoln himself would not have had it otherwise. He
hated the arrogance of triumph; and even in his cruel death he would
have been glad to know that his passage to eternity would prevent too
loud an exultation over the vanquished. As it was, the South could take
no umbrage at a grief so genuine and so legitimate; the people of that
section even shared, to a certain degree, in the lamentations over the
bier of one whom in their inmost hearts they knew to have wished them
well.

There was one exception to the general grief too remarkable to be passed
over in silence. Among the extreme radicals in Congress, Mr. Lincoln's
determined clemency and liberality toward the Southern people had made
an impression so unfavorable that, though they were naturally shocked at
his murder, they did not, among themselves, conceal their gratification
that he was no longer in the way. In a political caucus, held a few
hours after the President's death, "the feeling was nearly universal,"
to quote the language of one of their most prominent representatives,
"that the accession of Johnson to the presidency would prove a godsend
to the country."

In Washington, with this singular exception, the manifestation of public
grief was immediate and demonstrative. Within an hour after the body was
taken to the White House, the town was shrouded in black. Not only the
public buildings, the shops, and the better residences were draped in
funeral decorations, but still more touching proof of affection was seen
in the poorest class of houses, where laboring men of both colors found
means in their penury to afford some scanty show of mourning. The
interest and veneration of the people still centered in the White House,
where, under a tall catafalque in the East Room, the late chief lay in
the majesty of death, and not at the modest tavern on Pennsylvania
Avenue, where the new President had his lodging, and where Chief-Justice
Chase administered the oath of office to him at eleven o'clock on the
morning of April 15.

It was determined that the funeral ceremonies in Washington should be
celebrated on Wednesday, April 19, and all the churches throughout the
country were invited to join at the same time in appropriate
observances. The ceremonies in the East Room were brief and simple--the
burial service, a prayer, and a short address; while all the pomp and
circumstance which the government could command was employed to give a