him that no one dreamed of such a suspicion against men like him and General Lee; but he added that he was not so sure of “Jefferson Davis and men of that stripe.”  Then followed some delay, through a mistake of Sherman’s which the authorities in Washington reversed, but in a few days all was settled and the whole of the forces under Johnston’s command laid down their arms.  Twenty years later, as an old man and infirm, their leader left his Southern home to be present at Sherman’s funeral, where he caught a chill from which he died soon after.  Jefferson Davis was captured on May 10, near the borders of Florida.  He was, not without plausible grounds but quite unjustly, suspected in regard to the murder, and he suffered imprisonment for some time till President Andrew Johnson released him when the evidence against him had been seen to be worthless.  He lived many years in Mississippi and wrote memoirs, in which may be found the fullest legal argument for the great Secession, his own view of his quarrels with Joseph Johnston, and much besides.  Amongst other things he tells how when they heard the news of Lincoln’s murder some troops cheered, but he was truly sorry for the reason that Andrew Johnson was more hostile to the cause than Lincoln.  It is disappointing to think, of one who played a memorable part in history with much determination, that in this reminiscence he sized his stature as a man fairly accurately.  After several other surrenders of Southern towns and small scattered forces, the Confederate General Kirby Smith, in Texas, surrendered to General Canby, Banks’ successor, on May 26, and after four years and forty-four days armed resistance to the Union was at an end.

On the night of Good Friday, Abraham Lincoln had been carried still unconscious to a house near the theatre.  His sons and other friends were summoned.  He never regained consciousness.  “A look of unspeakable peace,” say his secretaries who were there, “came over his worn features.”  At 7.22 on the morning of April 15, Stanton, watching him more closely than the rest, told them what had passed in the words, “Now he belongs to the ages.”

The mourning of a nation, voiced to later times by some of the best lines of more than one of its poets, and deeper and more prevailing for the lack of comprehension which some had shown him before, followed his body in its slow progress—­stopping at Baltimore, where once his life had been threatened, for the homage of vast crowds; stopping at New York, where among the huge assembly old General Scott came to bid him affectionate farewell; stopping at other cities for the tribute of reverent multitudes—­to Springfield, his home of so many years, where, on May 4, 1865, it was laid to rest.  After the burial service the “Second Inaugural” was read over his grave, nor could better words than his own have been chosen to honour one who “with malice toward none, with charity toward all, with firmness in the