On April 11, in the evening, a multitude gathered before the White House, bringing loud congratulations, and not to be satisfied without a speech from the President.  Accordingly he came out and spoke to the cheering crowd, and by a few simple, generous words, turned over the enthusiastic acclamation, which seemed to honor him, to those “whose harder part” had given the cause of rejoicing.  “Their honors,” he said, “must not be parceled out with others.  I myself was near the front, and had the high pleasure of transmitting much of the good news to you; but no part of the honor, for plan or execution, is mine.  To General Grant, his skillful officers and brave men, all belongs.  The gallant navy stood ready, but was not in reach to take an active part.”  He then at once turned to the subject of reconstruction, and the last words which he addressed to the people were mingled of argument and appeal in behalf of the humane and liberal policy which he had inaugurated in Louisiana, which was still in the experimental stage, yet which had already excited the bitter denunciations of the politicians.

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So soon as it was known in the autumn of 1860 that Abraham Lincoln was to be the next president of the United States, he was at once beset by two pests:  the office-seekers, and the men who either warned him to fear assassination or anonymously threatened him with it.  Of the two, the office-seekers annoyed him by far the more; they came like the plague of locusts, and devoured his time and his patience.  His contempt and disgust towards them were unutterable; he said that the one purpose in life with at least one half of the nation seemed to be that they should live comfortably at the expense of the other half.  But it was the fashion of the people, and he was obliged to endure the affliction, however it might stir his indignation and contempt.  The matter of assassination he was more free to treat as he chose.  A curious incident, strangely illustrating the superstitious element in his nature, was narrated by him as follows:—­

“It was just after my election in 1860, when the news had been coming in thick and fast all day, and there had been a great ‘hurrah boys!’ so that I was well tired out and went home to rest, throwing myself upon a lounge in my chamber.  Opposite to where I lay was a bureau with a swinging glass upon it; and, in looking in that glass, I saw myself reflected nearly at full length; but my face, I noticed, had two separate and distinct images, the tip of the nose of one being about three inches from the tip of the other.  I was a little bothered, perhaps startled, and got up and looked in the glass; but the illusion vanished.  On lying down again I saw it a second time, plainer, if possible, than before; and then I noticed that one of the faces was a little paler—­say five shades—­than the other.  I got up and the thing melted away; and I went off, and in the excitement of the hour