“That is a very pathetic appeal to my feelings. You know my weakness is to be, if possible, too easily moved by appeals for mercy, and if this man were guilty of the foulest murder that the arm of man could perpetrate, I might forgive him on such an appeal; but the man who could go to Africa, and rob her of her children, and sell them into interminable bondage, with no other motive than that which is furnished by dollars and cents, is so much worse than the most depraved murderer, that he can never receive pardon at my hands. No! he may rot in jail before he shall have liberty by any act of mine.”

Before General Wadsworth was killed in the battle of the Wilderness, he wrote to Mr. Lincoln and inquired “if universal amnesty should not be accompanied with universal suffrage in the event of complete success in the field.”

Mr. Lincoln replied: “How to better the condition of the coloured race has long been a study which has attracted my serious and careful attention; hence I think I am clear and decided as to what course I shall pursue in the premises, regarding it a religious duty, as the nation’s guardian of these people who have so heroically vindicated their manhood on the battle-field, where, in assisting to save the life of the Republic, they have demonstrated in blood their right to the ballot, which is but the humane protection of the flag they have so fearlessly defended.”

The reverence of the coloured people for President Lincoln was always great, but its climax was reached when the proclamation of emancipation was issued. At one of his receptions, a large number of coloured people gathered about the Executive Mansion, and waited two hours for the crowd of white visitors to pass. At length, they timidly advanced to the reception-room, as if doubting whether they would be welcome, when Mr. Lincoln met them with one of his sweetest smiles, and encouraged them to take his hand. Their joy was unbounded, and they gave vent to their feelings in the wildest manner. An eye-witness says, “They laughed and wept, and wept and laughed,—exclaiming through their blinding tears, ‘God bless you!’ ‘God bless Abraham Lincoln!’ ‘God bless Massa Linkum.”’

Miss Canedy, of Fall River, Mass., was teaching the coloured people at Norfolk, Va., and in her schoolroom was a plaster bust of Mr. Lincoln. One day she showed it to some coloured men who were at work around the building, remarking about their benefactor. Their exclamations were as follows:—

“He’s brought us safe through the Red Sea.”

“He looks as deep as the sea himself.”

“He’s king of the United States.”

“He ought to be king of the world.”

“We must all pray to the Lord to carry him safe through, for it ’pears like he’s got everything hitched to him.”

“There has been a right smart praying for him, and it mustn’t stop now.”

President Lincoln’s entrance into Richmond, after the rebel forces were driven out, was the signal for great rejoicing among the coloured people. He entered the conquered city on foot, attended only by “Tad” and the sailors who rowed him up the James river. So quiet and unpretentious was his advent, that the negroes were taken by surprise; and, when they found that the “Great Emancipator” was actually there, their joy knew no bounds. Some of them shouted; many of them cried; all of them were frantic with delight. “Glory to God!” “Glory!” “Glory!” “Glory!” was the hearty tribute of the liberated slaves.

“I think you, dear Jesus, that I behold President Linkum,” exclaimed a woman on the street, crying like a child.