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performed their last tribute to the illustrious patriot, and when they retired from the car there were no dry eyes among the military chieftains who stood guard over the bier. AIRBIVAT, AT HARRISBURG.
Although the train arrived at the Capital of Pennsylvania during a fearful storm of thunder, lightning, and rain, the people were gathered on the streets and lined the way to the Capitol building, where the body was conveyed and placed in state until the next day, April 22d, at 12 o'clock, when it was taken to the depot, and, amid the tears and lamentations of the whole city and Surrounding country, placed on the cars for Philadelphia. Along the entire route, thousands of people assembled to See the train pass by, all business in the towns and on the farms having been suspended.
ARIFIVAI, AT TPHILADELPHIA.
At half-past four the same afternoon, the train reached the Baltimore depot at Broad and Washington. Hours before, tens of thousands of men, women and children had crowded all the streets leading to this great avenue.
The Procession was formed, and moved over the designated route to Independence Hall, the coffin being carried through the square from the Walnut street entrance, the grounds being illuminated with calcium lights, red, white and blue colors, and the members of the Union League standing on each side of the main avenue, dressed in deep black, and white gloves, with a splendid band performing funeral dirges. The coffin was taken into Independence Hall and placed on an oblong platform in the centre of the hall, covered with black cloth, and lay directly north and south, the head towards the south, and directly opposite “Old Independence Bell.” The lid of the coffin was removed far enough to expose to view the face and breast of the deceased. An American flag, the one used to cover the coffin during the funeral procession, was thrown back at the foot of the coffin, and a number of wreaths of exotics laid upon it. A magnificent floral device, composed of a large wreath of brilliant-colored flowers, and containing a beautiful American shield in the centre, also composed of choice flowers, occupied a prominent position on the lid of the coffin.
At the head of the coffin was suspended a highly wrought cross, composed of japonicas, with a centre consisting of jet black exotics. The device contained the following inscription :
“To the memory of our beloved President, from a few ladies of the United States Sanitary Commission.”
On the “Old Independence Bell,” and near the head of the coffin, rested a large and beautifully made floral anchor, composed of the choicest exotics. This beautiful offering came from the ladies of St. Clement's church. Four stands, two at the head and two at the foot of the coffin, were draped in black cloth, and contained rich candelabras with lighted wax candles. Directly to the rear of these were placed three additional stands, also containing candelabras with burning tapers; and again, another row of four stands, containing candelabras also, brought up the rear, making in all eighteen candelabras and one hundred and eight burning wax tapers. Between this flood of light, shelving were erected, on which were placed rare vases filled with japonicas, heliotropes, and other rare flowers. These vases were about twenty-five in number. A most delicious perfume stole through every part of the hall, which, added to the soft yet brilliant light of the wax tapers, the elegant uniforms of the officers on duty, etc., constituted a scene of oriental magnificence but seldom witnessed.
The Hall at large was completelv shrouded with black cloth, arranged in a very graceful and appropriate manner. The old chandelier that hangs from the centre of the room, and which was directly over the coffin of the deceased, was entirely covered, and from it radiated in every direction festoons of black cloth, forming a sort of canopy over the entire room. The walls of the room presented the appearance of having been papered with black. The celebrated historical pictures that ornament the hall were, with few exceptions, hid from view. The statue of Washington, at the east end of the room, stood out, however, in bold relief against the black background. The only pictures visible were the full-length portraits of William Penn, Lafayette, Washington, and Chevalier Gerard, and the smaller ones of Martha Washington, Stephen Decatur, and one or two others. Wreaths of immortelle were hung on the black drapery that covered the walls, and were placed about midway between the floor and ceiling. One of the wreaths that lay near the head of the coffin contained a card bearing the following inscription:
“Before any great national event I have always had *. the same dream. I had it the other night. It is of a shop sailing rapidly.”
These words were used by Mr. Lincoln in a conversation not long since.
And thus Abraham Lincoln, the martyr of the nineteenth century, was laid in solemn repose beneath the roof which once covered the grand old heroes and statesmen of the Revolution. Cold and lifeless he lay in the same chamber where our fathers subscribed their names to the immortal Magna Charta of our liberties, the Declaration of American Independence. On the 22d of February, 1861, he was in that Hall, and under the inspiration of its sacred memories, while raising the national flag above its hallowed roof, he uttered these significant words:
“It was something in the Declaration of Independence, giving “liberty not only to the people of this country, but hope to the “world for all future time. It was that which gave promise “that in due time the weights should be lifted from the shoul“ders of all men, and that all should have an equal chance. * * * “Now, my friends, can the country be saved upon that basis 2 “If it can, I will consider myself one of the happiest men in the “world if I can help to save it. But of this country cannot be “saved without giving up that principle, I was about to say, I “would rather be assassinated upon this spot than to Surren“der off.”
It was proper that ABRAHAM LINCOLN, the champion of freedom, the martyr to those principles, should rest over the holy Sabbath in the sanctuary of the republic. It was fitting that his remains should repose during the sacred hours beneath the eyes of the statesmen and patriots who look down from the walls of that consecrated temple, a temple dedicated nearly a century since by our fathers as a shrine to human freedom, a shrine to which all time would come with reverence and affection. It was meet that the Sacrifice of the nineteenth century should be laid in awful glory at the feet of his statue whose memory we were taught to love and honor in our infancy—GEORGE WASHINGTON.
At ten o clock in the evening, a limited number of visitors, embracing the City Councils, members of the Courts, and citizens, to the number of two or three thousand, were admitted, Mayor Henry occupying a position at the head of the coffin, while the following officers of the army formed the guard of honor.
GUARD OF HONOR.
Major-General David Hunter.
Brigadier-General J. G. Ramsey.
Six o'clock, Sabbath morning, the 23d of April, 1865, was fixed as the hour when the remains were to be exposed to public view. Long before the hour arrived, thousands of people were on the streets and formed into lines, patiently and silently awaiting the time when the doors should be opened. The entrances were through two windows on Chestnut street, and the exits through the windows facing them on Independence Square, temporary steps having been placed in position for that purpose. By this arrangement two lines of spectators were admitted at a time, passing on either side of the coffin. So great was the anxiety of our citizens to view the body of their late beloved Chief Magistrate, that hundreds of them remained around Independence Hall all night, waiting anxiously for the doors, or rather the windows, to be thrown Open.
At the hour of six o'clock a double line of applicants were formed, extending as far west as Eighth street, and east to Third street. By eleven o’clock the lines extended from the Hall west as far as the Schuylkill, and east as far as the Delaware. The residents of West Philadelphia flocked across the Market street bridge by hundreds, while the Camden ferry-boats apparently brought across the Delaware about one-half of the population of New Jersey. So it was throughout the day and night, until one o'clock on the morning of the 24th, when the lid of the coffin was closed down and thousands of persons found themselves disappointed in getting a glimpse of him whom they held so dear in memory. At least one