exposed to public view from nine o'clock to midnight, when the coffin was closed until seven in the morning. It was then again opened, and thousands of citizens passed in to view the body. At nine o'clock, amid the thunder of artillery, a long column of soldiers entered the hall for the same purpose. At eleven o'clock the coffin was replaced upon the funeral-car, and the train departed.

All along the route, in the villages, and along the roadside in the country districts, the people gathered in large numbers, merely to view the passing train. At Lancaster, not less than twenty thousand were thus assembled. On either side of the road stood benevolent, religious, and working associations, dressed in mourning, standing in long lines, and reverently uncovering their heads as the funeral-car passed by. As the train approached Philadelphia, these demonstrations of respect increased. Private residences were draped in mourning, and flags drooped from every eminence. At half-past four the train reached the dépôt in Broad Street, and at six the majestic procession, formed to escort the remains to Independence Hall, commenced its march through streets densely filled with people who had gathered from every part of the surrounding country; and at half-past nine, before the rear of the procession had left the dépôt, the body of the President was deposited in the hall, which first echoed the Declaration of Independence, and which was now prepared, with exquisite taste, to receive to its sanctuary the great martyr of the Liberty which was then proclaimed. In the morning the doors were opened for the public, and before daylight lines were formed, extending from the Delaware to the Schuylkill, at least three miles, of persons awaiting their chance to see the corpse. This continued all through the day, and deep into the succeeding night. Scenes the most touching and impressive marked this farewell visit. The wounded soldiers limping in to look at their late commandernegroes, old and young, flocking in to see him whom they deemed the great deliverer of their race-citizens of

every class, of every political party, of every variety of opinion on every subject, gathered by a common impulse of love and pity, to look upon him whom God had made the great leader of the nation in the most perilous crisis of its fate.

At four o'clock, on the morning of the 24th of April, the funeral train took its departure for New York. Marching in solemn state through the crowds of people, which seemed to line the track all along the route, it reached Jersey City, opposite New York, and passed into the spacious dépôt, which had been clad in mourning, to the music of a funeral dirge, executed by a choir of seventy singers, and under the roar of heavy and loud artillery. The coffin was lifted from the car and borne on the shoulders of ten stalwart veterans, followed by a procession of conspicuous officials, marching to the music of "Rest in the Grave," sung by the choral societies, to the hearse prepared for its reception. Passing then to the ferry-boat, which at once crossed the river, the hearse, drawn by six gray horses, heavily draped in black, took its place in the procession, headed by General Dix and other officers, escorted by the Seventh Regiment, and the whole cortège moved, through densely-crowded streets and amidst the most impressive display of public and private grief, to the City Hall. At half-past eleven the head of the procession entered the Park, and while cannon thundered from every fort in and around the harbor, while church-bells from every spire pealed out the nation's sorrow, and while eight hundred choristers chanted the "Chorus of the Spirits" and filled the charmed air with its sadly enchanting melody, the coffin was borne up the steps of the City Hall, and placed under the dome, draped, decorated, and dimly lighted, upon the plane prepared for its reception. The troops then retired; guards were stationed at the head of every stairway and sentries at every door. From this time five officers, relieved every two hours, kept immediate watch over the body, day and night. Soon the doors were opened, and entering, one by one, in proper order, the citizens of the great metropolis came to

look upon the illustrious dead. All through that day and the succeeding night the endless stream poured in, while outside the Park, Broadway, and the entire area of Printing-House Square, reaching up Chatham Street and East Broadway as far as the eye could see, a vast throng of people stood silent and hopeless, but still expectant, of a chance to enter and see the body of the murdered President. Not less than one hundred and fifty thousand persons obtained admission, and not less than twice that number had waited for it in vain. At twenty minutes to twelve on the 25th, the doors were closed. The appointed pall-bearers took their place beside the coffin, which at one o'clock was lifted and carried, to the tolling of the bell and the tap of the drum, out through the double line of the Seventh Regiment, and placed upon the funeral-car. Escorted by the finest military display ever seen in New York, and followed in procession by great numbers of her citizens, the car moved through the principal streets, in view of a vast concourse of people, to the dépôt of the Hudson River Railroad, at the corner of Thirtieth Street and Tenth Avenue. When the head of the procession reached the dépôt the column halted and faced to the west; and as the car bearing the body came up, the solemn strains of the military bands broke forth, the troops presented arms, the vast crowd kept the most profound and impressive silence, the coffin, with due ceremonies, was placed upon the railway-car, and at four o'clock, to the sound of a funeral dirge, the train took its departure.

It is scarcely worth while to note in detail the demonstrations and observances which followed the President's remains to their final resting-place. At every point there was substantially the same spectacle. Everywhere the people gathered in vast numbers to greet the sad procession. Everywhere the same sorrow, seeming to be almost the expression of a personal and household grief, was shown by drooping flags, by houses draped in mourning, by touching inscriptions and memorials of the nobleness, the integrity, the purity of the departed chief.