So strongly were Lincoln’s hopes fixed on finding some possible basis for a peaceful restoration of the Union that a few days after his return from his meeting with the Southern Peace Commissioners he presented to the Cabinet (February 5, 1865) a scheme for paying to the Southern States a partial compensation for the loss of their slaves, provided they would at once discontinue armed resistance to the Federal Government.  It was, says Mr. Welles, who was present at the meeting referred to, as “a proposition for paying the expenses of the war for two hundred days, or four hundred millions of dollars, to the rebellious States, to be for the extinguishment of slavery.  The scheme did not meet with favor, and was dropped.”  But it showed, adds Mr. Welles, “the earnest desire of the President to conciliate and effect peace.”

The evening of March 3, 1865, the President had remained with his Cabinet at the Capitol until a late hour, finishing the business pertaining to the last acts of the old Congress.  His face had the ineffaceable care-worn look, yet his manner was cheerful, and he appeared to be occupied with the work of the moment, to the exclusion of all thoughts of the future or of the great event of the morrow.

Rain prevailed during the morning of inauguration day, but before noon it had ceased falling.  The new Senate, convened for a special session, was organized, and Andrew Johnson was sworn in its presence into the office of Vice-President.  Shortly after twelve o’clock, Lincoln entered the chamber and joined the august procession, which then moved to the eastern portico.  As Lincoln stepped forward to take the oath of office, a flood of sunlight suddenly burst from the clouds, illuminating his face and form as he bowed to the acclamations of the people.  Speaking of this incident next day, he said, “Did you notice that sunburst?  It made my heart jump.”  Cheers and shouts rent the air as the President prepared to speak his inaugural.  He raised his arm, and the crowd hushed to catch his opening words.  He paused, as though thronging memories impeded utterance; then, in a voice clear and strong, but touched with pathos, he read that eloquent and imperishable composition, the Second Inaugural Address.

Fellow-Countrymen: At this second appearing to take the oath of the Presidential office, there is less occasion for an extended address than there was at the first.  Then a statement, somewhat in detail, of a course to be pursued, seemed fitting and proper.  Now, at the expiration of four years, during which public declarations have been constantly called forth on every point and phase of the great contest which still absorbs the attention and engrosses the energies of the Nation, little that is new could be presented.  The progress of our arms, upon which all else chiefly depends, is as well known to the public as to myself; and it is, I trust, reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all.  With high hope for the future, no