conceivable device, to express affection and respect for the dead, literally covered the coffin and platform—harps, wreaths, bouquets, crosses, anchors, and crowns.

At Piqua ten thousand people assembled at midnight, with uncovered heads, as distinctly seen under the blaze of torches and bonfires as under the light of midday, and thirty-six ladies in white, with black sashes, upon a draped platform, sang a plaintive tune amidst a hushed silence that was oppressive. As they closed, a band followed with a touching dirge. The effect of these ceremonies at midnight baffles description.

The body of the President lay in state at Indianapolis over the Sabbath of April 30th, and was viewed by over one hundred thousand people, among whom were five thousand Sabbath-school scholars who came in a body with flowers to scatter upon the bier.

At Chicago, the preparations for funeral ceremonies were too elaborate to be described. Thirty-six young ladies in white, with black sashes, bareheaded, and with a black velvet wreath over the brows, a star in front, their arms full of flowers—immortelles and garlands—met the procession before it reached the court-house, and laid their floral tributes upon the funeral car. As the coffin was deposited in the spacious hall, a hundred singers, overhead and invisible, sang a funeral dirge with melting effect. Speaker Colfax delivered an eloquent eulogy. Some of the mottoes displayed were:

“The altar of Freedom has borne no nobler sacrifice.”

“Illinois clasps to her bosom her slain, but glorified son.”

“He was sustained by our prayers, and returned embalmed by our tears.”

During the two days the remains reposed in Chicago, five hundred thousand mourners paid their tributes of respect to their lamented fellow-citizen and neighbour.

But at his home, in Springfield, among his former intimate friends and townsmen, the most touching scenes occurred. Many sobbed aloud as they looked upon his familiar face in death. Old men and women, young men and maidens, mourned as for a brother and father. From the country around, for fifty miles and more, people came wearing badges of mourning—so many thousands that the town could scarcely contain them. And when the body was conveyed to the Oak Ridge Cemetery, where Bishop Simpson delivered a funeral oration, acres of ground were one vast “sea of upturned faces.” In just two weeks from the time the funeral cortége left Washington, upon its march of sixteen hundred miles, the remains were deposited in the grave, over which a grateful country has reared a costly monument.

Conspicuous among the mottoes displayed in the town were these two:—

“Sooner than surrender this principle, I would be assassinated on the spot.”

“Washington, the Father of his country; Lincoln, the Saviour.”

The closing paragraph of Bishop Simpson’s eloquent eulogy shall close our story of him who worked his way from his pioneer home to the White House:—

“Chieftain! farewell! The nation mourns thee. Mothers shall teach thy name to their lisping children. The youth of our land shall emulate thy virtues. Statesmen shall study thy record and learn lessons of wisdom. Mute though thy lips be, yet they still speak. Hushed is thy voice, but its echoes of liberty are ringing through the world, and the sons of bondage listen with joy. Prisoned thou art in death, and yet thou art marching abroad, and chains and manacles are bursting at thy touch. Thou didst fall not for thyself. The assassin had no hate for thee. Our hearts were aimed at, our national life was sought. We crown thee as our martyr—and humanity enthrones thee as her triumphant son. Hero, martyr, friend, farewell!”