Scene in the Colorado Senate Chamber during the Lincoln Centenary Commemoration

York Public Lib

2 Ninety-Sixth St. Branch 112 East 96th Street

DEPARTM

voluminous testimony of those three trials, to find some legal loophole of escape. There was none, because the iron Secretary Stanton and his equally iron Judge-Advocate-General, Joseph Holt, had drawn up those papers. Lincoln at last jerked off his "specs," and said, "Now, Henderson, what's the use of killing this man? There will come no good in it of discipline to the armies of the United States, as Stanton says, because in a few days there will be no armies of the United States. They all will have melted back into the walks of civic life. This man is a good deal better man for us above ground, than under ground. There has been too much spilling of blood; we must begin to save some of it now. You go back and tell Stanton that he must open this case." When Mr. Henderson reported this to Mr. Stanton, there was an explosion at the War Office. The air was blue and sulphurous from the fierce unevangelical terms Mr. Stanton was using, as he said, "You go back and tell Abraham Lincoln that I will not open that case, even for him as President." Mr. Henderson reported this at the White House. And then Lincoln, the man with the sad, haunting, melancholy, patient face-that face in which Mrs. Mary Shipton Andrews says there seemed to be the "suffering of all the sins of the world"-went to the corner of the room and took down the old gray shawl, and threw it over his shoulders. Oh, the poetry and romance of that old gray shawl of Abraham Lincoln! How often during those four years had he thrown it over his shoulders, and carefully closed the door of the White House after him at midnight, when all supposed him asleep, and walked down that lonely path to the War Office to get the latest news from you, members of the Grand Army of the Republic at the front, or to see if here was not some case where, by writing that magic word "pardon," he could bring gladness to some poor, suffering wife and children; he always said he slept better if he could do that. He hung up the old, gray shawl upon arriving at the War Office, on the top of a particularly high door, where he always hung it. When Mr. Stanton returned to the room, he caught sight of the old gray shawl, and knew what

was in store for him. Man of hot, Celtic, fighting blood that he was, he rushed impetuously into the room to have the first word or round with Lincoln, as he said-and Oh! this old wheel horse of the team is rearing and plunging violently now. "I will not open this case, even for you as President!" Lincoln looked upon Stanton most longingly and lovingly even as it is said the Christ looked at the disciple John and loved him. He knew that Stanton was only fighting now to save his pride; he knew that Edwin M. Stanton loved him more than he loved any other human being, and he merely said, so tenderly and soothingly, as he took down the old gray shawl, "Well, Stanton, I guess you'll have to do it this time," and the great battle was over for

ever.

A few days after, John Wilkes Booth fired the bullet that ploughed its way through the brain of Abraham Lincoln. They carried the unconscious President across the street, laid him upon the bed, and held loving vigil at the bedside all that night. During the night the most alarming rumors startled Washington-General Grant had been killed in New York! Vice-President Johnson had been murdered; Salmon P. Chase had been assassinated; William H. Seward was barely alive from the murderous dagger-wounds of an assassin-till it seemed as if the government of the United States was being literally stabbed to its death that night. With these reports flying around Washington, every one seems to have lost his head that night but Edwin M. Stanton, and grandly did he prove himself to be the man of the hour. As if he had received a wireless from Abraham Lincoln, fast disappearing in the mists of the deep valley, "The country, Stanton, the country," Stanton, shortly after midnight, went into a little room adjoining the one where the President lay dying, called in his Assistant Secretary of War, Charles A. Dana, with a corps of telegraphers, and dictated orders, as Mr. Dana says, "necessary to carry on the government." Stanton sent telegrams to all the Generals in the field, South, West, and Southwest; then to all the great cities of the North; then to all the country where there were wires to carry them

-telegrams of hope, assurance, and confidence that though the beloved President was dying, the Republic would live! Edwin M. Stanton had laid his iron hand upon our country that night, and when the sun walked "forth with steps of fire" from the golden gates that morning of April fifteenth, 1865, the government at Washington was safe.

But all that night the beautiful life of Abraham Lincoln was gradually ebbing itself away, till, at twenty-two minutes after seven o'clock that morning of April fifteenth, 1865, Surgeon-General Barnes, who had been sitting upon the bed all night with the dear hand of Abraham Lincoln in his, suddenly announced the last beat of the pulse. In the solemn, the awful hush of that moment, when all realized that the beautiful spirit of Abraham Lincoln had taken its return flight to God, Edwin M. Stanton-and his words shall be the city of Denver's tribute of affection to his memory to-dayEdwin M. Stanton walked to the bedside, and, affectionately stroking the face of his dead Chief with both his hands and wetting the silent, upturned face with his tears, said, between his sobs, "Here lies the most perfect ruler of men the world has ever known.”