They gathered around the President, ran ahead, hovered about the flanks of the little company, and hung like a dark cloud upon the rear.  Men, women and children joined the constantly-increasing throng.  They came from all the by-streets, running in breathless haste, shouting and hallooing, and dancing with delight.  The men threw up their hats, the women waved their bonnets and handkerchiefs, clapped their hands, and sang, “Glory to God! glory, glory!” rendering all the praise to God, who had heard their wailings in the past, their moanings for wives, husbands, children, and friends sold out of their sight; had given them freedom, and after long years of waiting had permitted them thus unexpectedly to behold the face of their great benefactor.

“I thank you, dear Jesus, that I behold President Linkum!” was the exclamation of a woman who stood upon the threshold of her humble home, and with streaming eyes and clasped hands gave thanks aloud to the Saviour of men.

Another, more demonstrative in her joy, was jumping and striking her hands with all her might, crying, “Bless de Lord!  Bless de Lord!  Bless de Lord!” as if there could be no end to her thanksgiving.

The air rang with a tumultuous chorus of voices.  The street became almost impassable on account of the increasing multitude, till soldiers were summoned to clear the way....

The walk was long, and the President halted a moment to rest.  “May de good Lord bless you, President Linkum!” said an old negro, removing his hat and bowing, with tears of joy rolling down his cheeks.  The President removed his own hat, and bowed in silence; but it was a bow which upset the forms, laws, customs, and ceremonies of centuries.  It was a death-shock to chivalry and a mortal wound to caste.  “Recognize a nigger!  Fough!” A woman in an adjoining house beheld it, and turned from the scene in unspeakable disgust.

(The following nine anecdotes were related by Frank B. Carpenter, the painter, who, while executing his picture of the first reading in cabinet council of the Emancipation Proclamation, had the freedom of Mr. Lincoln’s private office and saw much of the President while he posed, and whose relations with him became of an intimate character.)

“YOU DON’T WEAR HOOPS—­AND I WILL ...  PARDON YOUR BROTHER”

A distinguished citizen of Ohio had an appointment with the President one evening at six o’clock.  As he entered the vestibule of the White House, his attention was attracted by a poorly-clad young woman who was violently sobbing.  He asked her the cause of her distress.  She said she had been ordered away by the servants after vainly waiting many hours to see the President about her only brother, who had been condemned to death.  Her story was this:—­She and her brother were foreigners, and orphans.  They had been in this country several years.  Her brother enlisted in the army, but, through bad influences,