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THE ASSASSINATION OF THE PRESIDENT.
BY JOHN M. FRANCIS.
We have no heart to dwell upon the details of the awful calamity. The wail of a great people ascends to heaven; the vengeance of a just God, swift as lightning-darts and scathing as thunder-bolts, will be visited upon the guilty, their murderous associates and fiendish abettors.
Sad, sad beyond the power of language to express, is the loss of our true-hearted, our pure-minded, our trusted and loving President. He was gentle as a woman, yet firm as a Jackson. He loved his country with the pure devotion of a child for its mother. But he had the strength of giant manhood and the sagacity, of astute statesmanship to defend the Union he had sworn to support. He was merciful; he was kind. Never was heart more susceptible to pity than Abraham Lincoln's. He was ready to forgive the worst where pardon promised reformation, and where there was reasonable hope that the interests of the country would not be jeopardized by such forgiveness. Even to the hour he was killed by the assassin's fire, Abraham Lincoln was laboring with all the zeal of his nature, with all the abilities of a mind that grasped as if by intuition the salient points of great questions, to compose our national difficulties, to pacify the country, to reëstablish Peace upon the basis of everlasting Justice,- at the same time giving amnesty and offering blessings to those who had sought to destroy the
Union, to strike down civilization, and to ruin a just and loyal people.
“ His life was gentle, and the elements
So mix'd in him, that nature might stand up
to all the world, This was a man!” We cannot analyze the character of our deceased President here and now. In his hands the future of our country was secure. The people trusted him and looked up to him as children to a kind, loving, watchful and noble hearted parent. The blow that struck him down has fired the souls of thousands who before were ready to forgive the rebel leaders, and offer to them the terms of conciliation and clemency. Henceforth, those words are blotted from the lexicon of the American people, and nothing short of the condign punishment of the guilty wretches who plunged this nation in fratricidal war, and who have prosecuted their murderous enterprise with the ferocity of barbarians, will satisfy the demands of the republic.
The nation mourns; the people are bowed down with sorrow,— but every loyal heart, trustful even in its awful affliction, feels that the republic shall live.
Abraham Lincoln is dead, but his works shall live after him and during all coming time. And his memory shall be enshrined with Washington's — “ First in the hearts of his countrymen.”
It is a solemn hour. We feel that the republic has lost its truest friend, its great protector, its trusted
saviour. But thank God, Abraham Lincoln lived to save his country. Thank God, he saw the finishing blows dealt to the gigantic rebellion. His policy was vindicated; the cause nearest his heart had tri. umphed. Men die, but principles never perish.Troy Daily Times.
OUR DUTY ON THIS DAY.
BY B. H. HALL.
In contemplating the horrible crime that has done to death the head of this nation, in the most cowardly manner known to human demonism, we should still think like men, and not allow our better judgment to be paralyzed by devices of vengeance. We can not believe that the act of the assassin of President Lincoln can awaken much sympathy in the hearts of any except the most virulent and abandoned traitors, and we hazard the conjecture that when the circumstances of the act become fully known, but very few will be found implicated in it. Let us not, then, talk about visiting vengeance on a whole people, many of whom are now subdued, for this crime of a few.
God is our witness, that none feel more deeply than we, the terrible significance of this dastardly crime. On the day when a large portion of Christendom was commemorating in litanies and tears the atrocious death of the Saviour of men, Abraham Lincoln, the type of human rights and progress, fell by the hands of a man imbued with the same spirit that crucified that Saviour. On the day in which the flag of our country was again raised over the walls of a nation's redeemed fortress, the guiding spirit that had brought about that redemption passed out of its murdered body. Indiscriminate vengeance is neither lawful, Christian nor human. The mysteries of Providence are beyond our ken, but for all this our hearts should be strong, not troubled; our faith uplifting, not drooping. Let the ministers of God, as they this day lead their people in acts of solemn devotion, remind . them that vengeance belongs to Him and the laws of the country. What may be in store for this distracted and bleeding land is locked in the bosom of Omniscience. Of one thing, however, we are assured, and that is, that he who has led us on in triumph through four years of struggle, will not now desert us. As for the southern people, the hand that held out to them the chalice of tenderest mercy is extended in death, and they as well as we have lost the best earthly friend. Let us pause, ere we draw rash conclusions, and then perhaps sounds from above may reach us, and a vision be granted of things beyond the terrible present.
“ At last I heard a voice upon the slope
Troy Daily Times.
THE NATIONAL CALAMITY AND HUMILIATION.
BY F. B. HUBBELL.
All public interest to-day mournfully centres upon the tragic death of the President of the United States by the hands of an assassin! What words to write! What a sentence to burst upon the public ear, so recently filled with rejoicings of the populace, whose heart beat quicker because the nation was emerging from scenes of blood and carnage to enjoy once more the blessings of an honored and bravely won peace, and because the flag of the union was once more to float over an undivided country!
President Lincoln expired at twenty minutes past seven o'clock this morning, April 15, 1865. He died in the service of a grateful country, while yet his brow was freshly crowned with the highest honors the republic could bestow. His name is given immortality, and to-day is enshrined in the hearts of millions who in his life dissented from his policy and denied him their suffrages.
Under such a calamity, words are feeble, and seem idle. The suddenness of the shock well nigh palsies the powers of speech and thought. Men, friends, pass
each other on the street, without the usual recognition, because the mind is too busy with itself, and silence is the natural language of sorrow.
Until this deplorable event, for weeks the prospects