ALL that one can recollect of the personal and public life of Stanton during the three years which followed the death of Lincoln is so interlaced with the vagaries of Andrew Johnson, whom he was striving to serve as he had served Johnson's great predecessor, that it is difficult in the extreme to separate those things which spring out of the free will of the war minister from the distortions of the unbalanced mind of the President. The task is as unpleasant as it is difficult, and, if it were possible to blot out altogether the record of this administration, much more of our good name would be saved than lost. But this can never be, and therefore the duty is more incumbent that we should cull with sedulous care and preserve all that can be found which will save the period

from unqualified condemnation. It will appear, when the history of the unfortu nate administration shall be clarified of prejudice and doubt, that Mr. Stanton, during the three years he was part of it, spent his strength in the vain effort to stay its reckless course. The little of permanent good that can be traced to the time of his service in it was, in large measure, wrenched from its purposes by his nerve and will. The country is more indebted to him for what he prevented than for what he accomplished during that crit ical period.

The terrible agony which began on the night of the 14th of April, 1865, was over at seven on the morning of the 15th. when Lincoln breathed his last, and the great office he had magnified more than any who had gone before him devolved

upon one who had none of his illustrious qualities or powers.

Mr. Johnson took the oath of office shortly after the closing scene at Mr. Lincoln's death-bed. There was necessity in the peril of the hour that there should be no needless delay, for the government was without executive head, and no one knew the ground on which he stood. Few were present beyond the members of the Cabinet, all of whom, except Mr. Seward, whom the murderous blow of another conspirator had brought to the very verge of death, had gathered in a small room at the public house which was the home of the VicePresident, to be witnesses of the sad ceremony. There was hardly more formality than is observed in swearing a witness in court. Thick clouds were darkening the heavens outside, for there had been a tempest during the night and its shadows still lingered, but darker shadows settled on the brows of those present, for they could see no light in front of them nor feel assurance of anything in the future. The silence was almost oppressive; little else was heard except the request of the new President that the Cabinet should continue at their posts. Mr. Stanton had been at his, from the moment of the fatal shot all through the night, dividing his whole thought and energy between the bedside of his dying chief and efforts to allay the panic which had seized upon the people, and which threatened at one time to pass beyond control. Mr. Johnson was at first overwhelmed with the terrible weight of responsibility thus suddenly thrown upon him, and he cast about for support from any source within his reach, like one dazed by some great blow. Opportunity was given the next morning at a room in the Treasury Department for those connected with public affairs, and happening to be in Washington in the absence of Congress, to pay their respects to the new President and tender him their support.

This was a strange meeting. I had seen before many gatherings of public men to do honor to the chief magistrate of the nation, but none like this. In the East Room of the White House, within full sight of the room where this meeting was held, lay one President, murdered for the work he had done and the cause he had represented. Here was another President, not twenty-fours hours in the office which through this murder had devolved upon him. Those least satisfied with the moderation and deliberation which characterized the policy of Lincoln as to the future of the insurrectionary States now laying down their arms were the earliest there, and were the first and freest in their tender not only of support, but of advice upon the policy of a new administration. Nor was there any hesitancy in the responses made to these inopportune suggestions. The policy of the departed President, and the necessity of a radical departure from it, were discussed with the new chief in a manner little in keeping with the proprieties of such an occasion. I had called in company with a Senator with whom I had returned to Washington on the evening of the tragedy, from a visit to the smoking ruins of Richmond and the deserted fortifications around Petersburg. This Senator was one of those who had been a long time out of patience with the slow movements of President Lincoln, and had longed for the day of retributive justice. The week we had spent among the desolations and waste places left be hind by the fleeing rebel army had not much tempered his wrath. President Johnson had also returned only five days before from the same scenes, and in much the same mood. "I thank God you are here," were the first words with which the Senator greeted the new President. "Lincoln had too much of the milk of human kindness in his heart for this hour, and Providence has removed him to give place to one who will mete out justice to the guilty authors of this

ALL that one can recollect of the personal and public life of Stanton during the three years which followed the death of Lincoln is so interlaced with the vagaries of Andrew Johnson, whom he was striving to serve as he had served Johnson's great predecessor, that it is difficult in the extreme to separate those things which spring out of the free will of the war minister from the distortions of the unbalanced mind of the President. The task is as unpleasant as it is difficult, and, if it were possible to blot out altogether the record of this administration, much more of our good name would be saved than lost. this can never be, and therefore the duty is more incumbent that we should cull with sedulous care and preserve all that can be found which will save the period

But

from unqualified condemnation. It will appear, when the history of the unfortu nate administration shall be clarified of prejudice and doubt, that Mr. Stanton, during the three years he was part of it, spent his strength in the vain effort to stay its reckless course. The little of permanent good that can be traced to the time of his service in it was, in large measure, wrenched from its purposes by his nerve and will. The country is more indebted to him for what he prevented than for what he accomplished during that crit ical period.

The terrible agony which began on the night of the 14th of April, 1865, was over at seven on the morning of the 15th, when Lincoln breathed his last, and the great office he had magnified more than any who had gone before him devolved

upon one who had none of his illustrious qualities or powers.

Mr. Johnson took the oath of office shortly after the closing scene at Mr. Lincoln's death-bed. There was necessity in the peril of the hour that there should be no needless delay, for the government was without executive head, and no one knew the ground on which he stood. Few were present beyond the members of the Cabinet, all of whom, except Mr. Seward, whom the murderous blow of another conspirator had brought to the very verge of death, had gathered in a small room at the public house which was the home of the VicePresident, to be witnesses of the sad ceremony. There was hardly more formality than is observed in swearing a witness in court. Thick clouds were darkening the heavens outside, for there had been a tempest during the night and its shadows still lingered, but darker shadows settled on the brows of those present, for they could see no light in front of them nor feel assurance of anything in the future. The silence was almost oppressive; little else was heard except the request of the new President that the Cabinet should continue at their posts. Mr. Stanton had been at his, from the moment of the fatal shot all through the night, dividing his whole thought and energy between the bedside of his dying chief and efforts to allay the panic which had seized upon the people, and which threatened at one time to pass beyond control. Mr. Johnson was at first overwhelmed with the terrible weight of responsibility thus suddenly thrown upon him, and he cast about for support from any source within his reach, like one dazed by some great blow. Opportunity was given the next morning at a room in the Treasury Department for those connected with public affairs, and happening to be in Washington in the absence of Congress, to pay their respects to the new President and tender him their support.

This was a strange meeting. I had seen before many gatherings of public men to do honor to the chief magistrate of the nation, but none like this. In the East Room of the White House, within full sight of the room where this meeting was held, lay one President, murdered for the work he had done and the cause he had represented. Here was another President, not twenty-fours hours in the office which through this murder had devolved upon him. Those least satisfied with the moderation and deliberation which characterized the policy of Lincoln as to the future of the insurrectionary States now laying down their arms were the earliest there, and were the first and freest in their tender not only of support, but of advice upon the policy of a new administration. Nor was there any hesitancy in the responses made to these inopportune suggestions. The policy of the departed President, and the necessity of a radical departure from it, were discussed with the new chief in a manner little in keeping with the propri eties of such an occasion. I had called in company with a Senator with whom I had returned to Washington on the even ing of the tragedy, from a visit to the smoking ruins of Richmond and the deserted fortifications around Petersburg. This Senator was one of those who had been a long time out of patience with the slow movements of President Lincoln, and had longed for the day of retributive justice. The week we had spent among the desolations and waste places left be hind by the fleeing rebel army had not much tempered his wrath. President Johnson had also returned only five days before from the same scenes, and in much the same mood. "I thank God you are here," were the first words with which the Senator greeted the new President. "Lincoln had too much of the milk of human kindness in his heart for this hour, and Providence has removed him to give place to one who will mete out justice to the guilty authors of this

John Vance Cheney.

ALL that one can recollect of the personal and public life of Stanton during the three years which followed the death of Lincoln is so interlaced with the vagaries of Andrew Johnson, whom he was striving to serve as he had served Johnson's great predecessor, that it is difficult in the extreme to separate those things which spring out of the free will of the war minister from the distortions of the unbalanced mind of the President. The task is as unpleasant as it is difficult, and, if it were possible to blot out altogether the record of this administration, much more of our good name would be saved than lost. But this can never be, and therefore the duty is more incumbent that we should cull with sedulous care and preserve all that can be found which will save the period

from unqualified condemnation. It will appear, when the history of the unfortu nate administration shall be clarified of prejudice and doubt, that Mr. Stanton, during the three years he was part of it, spent his strength in the vain effort to stay its reckless course. The little of permanent good that can be traced to the time of his service in it was, in large measure, wrenched from its purposes by his nerve and will. The country is more indebted to him for what he prevented than for what he accomplished during that critical period.

The terrible agony which began on the night of the 14th of April, 1865, was over at seven on the morning of the 15th, when Lincoln breathed his last, and the great office he had magnified more than any who had gone before him devolved