Seward and his two sons—­William and Frederick—­met the coming President, and the boys laughed at the dusty, uncouth, sad and awkward individual, six feet five, who disembarked.

The carriage was waiting, but Lincoln refused to ride, saying, “Boys, let’s walk,” and so they walked up the hill, in through past the stone gateposts where the lions stood that shed tears.  Seward ran ahead into the house and said to his wife:  “Look you, my dear, we have misjudged this man.  Do not laugh.  He is the greatest man in the world!”

Three months later, Seward met Lincoln by appointment in Chicago; and from that time on, to the day of Lincoln’s death, Seward served his chief with hands and feet, with eyes and ears, and with brain and soul.  When Lincoln was elected, his wisdom was at once manifest in securing Seward as Secretary of State.  The record of those troublous times and the masterly way in which Seward served his country are too vivid in the minds of men to need reviewing here, but the regard of Lincoln for this man, who so well complemented his own needs, is worthy of our remembrance.  Seward was the only member of Lincoln’s first Cabinet who stood by him straight through and entered the second.

Early in April, Eighteen Hundred Sixty-five, Seward met with a serious accident by being thrown from his carriage and dashed against the curbstone.  One arm and both jaws were fractured, and besides he was badly bruised in other parts of his body.  On April Thirteenth, Lincoln returned from his trip to Richmond, where he had had an interview with Grant.  That evening he walked over from the White House to Seward’s residence.  The stricken man was totally unable to converse, but Lincoln, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding the old man’s thin hands, told in solemn, serious monotone of the ending of the war; of what he had seen and heard; of the plans he had made for sending soldiers home and providing for an army whipped and vanquished, and of what was best to do to bind up a nation’s wounds.

Five years before, these men had stood before the world as rivals.  Then they joined hands as friends, and during the four years of strife and blood had met each day and advised and counseled concerning every great detail.  Their opinions often differed widely, but there was always frank expression and, in the main, their fears and doubts and hopes had all been one.

But now at last the smoke had cleared away, and they had won.  The victory had been too dearly bought for proud boast or vain exultation, but victory still it was.

And as the strong and homely Lincoln told the tale the stricken man could answer back only by pressure of a hand.

At last the presence of the nurse told Lincoln it was time to go; in grave jest he half-apologized for his long stay, and told of a man in Sangamon County who used to say there is no medicine like good news.  And rumor has it that he then stooped and kissed the sick man’s cheek.  And then he went his way.