Mr. Lincoln for years had a presentiment that he would reach a high place and then be stricken down in some tragic way. He took no precautions to keep out of the way of danger. So many threats had been made against him that his friends were alarmed, and frequently urged him not to go out unattended. To all their entreaties he had the same answer: “If they kill me the next man will be just as bad for them. In a country like this, where our habits are simple, and must be, ”
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calculated to inspire.
He was cheerful and hopeful of the success of his broad plans for the treatment of the conquered people of the South.
With all the warmth of his loving nature, after the four years of storm through which he had been compelled to pass, he viewed the peaceful sky on which the opening of his second term had dawned.
His mind was free from forebodings and filled only with thoughts of kindness and of future peace.”
But alas for the vanity of human confidence!
The demon of assassination lurked near.
In the midst of the general rejoicing at the return of peace Mr. Lincoln was stricken down by the assassin, John Wilkes Booth, in Ford's Theatre at Washington.
The story of his death, though oft repeated, is the saddest and most impressive page in American history.
I cannot well forbear reproducing its painful and tragic details here.1
1 For the details of the assassination and the capture and subsequent history of the conspirators, I am indebted to Mrs. Gertrude Garrison, of New York, who has given the subject no little study and investigation. J. W. W.
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