I could read a little, but was not allowed to learn in slavery.  I was obliged to pay twenty-five cents for every letter written for me.  I now began to feel that as I was free I could learn to write, as well as others; consequently Mrs. Harris, the lady with whom I lived, volunteered to assist me.  I was soon enabled to write quite a legible hand, which I find a great convenience.  I would advise all, young, middle aged or old, in a free country to learn to read and write.  If this little book should fall into the hands of one deficient of the important knowledge of writing, I hope they will remember the old maxim:—­“Never too old to learn.”  Manage your own secrets, and divulge them by the silent language of your own pen.  Had our blessed President considered it too humiliating to learn in advanced years, our race would yet have remained under the galling yoke of oppression.  After I had been with Mrs. Harris seven months, the joyful news came of the surrender of Lee’s army and the capture of Richmond.

    Whilst the country’s hearts were throbbing,
      Filled with joy for victories won;
    Whilst the stars and stripes were waving
      O’er each cottage, ship and dome,
    Came upon like winged lightning
      Words that turned each joy to dread,
    Froze with horror as we listened: 
      Our beloved chieftain, Lincoln’s dead

    War’s dark clouds has long held o’er us,
      They have rolled their gloomy fold’s away,
    And all the world is anxious, waiting
      For that promised peaceful day. 
    But that fearful blow inflicted,
      Fell on his devoted head,
    And from every town and hamlet
      Came the cry our Chieftain’s dead.

    Weep, weep, O bleeding nation
      For the patriot spirit fled,
    All untold our country’s future—­
      Buried with the silent dead. 
    God of battles, God of nations to our country send relief
      Turn each lamentation into joy whilst we mourn our murdered chief.

On the Saturday after the assassination of the President there was a meeting held on the Common, and a vote taken to have the President’s body brought through Indianapolis, for the people to see his dear dead face.  The vote was taken by raising the hands, and when the question was put in favor of it a thousand black hands were extended in the air, seemingly higher and more visible than all the rest.  Nor were their hands alone raised, for in their deep sorrow and gloom they raised their hearts to God, for well they knew that He, through martyred blood, had made them free.  It was some time before the remains reached Indianapolis, as it was near the last of the route.  The body was placed in the centre of the hall of the State House, and we marched in by fours, and divided into two on each side of the casket, and passed directly through the hall.  It was very rainy,—­nothing but umbrellas were to be seen in any direction.  The multitude were passing