Around both the house on Tenth street and the residence of Secretary
Seward, as the fact of both tragedies became generally known, crowds
soon gathered so vast and tumultuous that military guards scarcely
sufficed to keep them from the doors.

The room to which the President had been conveyed is on the first floor,
at the end of the hall. It is only fifteen feet square, with a Brussels
carpet, papered with brown, and hung with a lithograph of Rosa Bonheur's
"Horse Fair," an engraved copy of Herring's "Village Blacksmith," and
two smaller ones, of "The Stable" and "The Barn Yard," from the same
artist. A table and bureau, spread with crotchet work, eight chairs and
the bed, were all the furniture. Upon this bed, a low walnut
four-poster, lay the dying President; the blood oozing from the
frightful wound in his head and staining the pillow. All that the
medical skill of half a dozen accomplished surgeons could do had been
done to prolong a life evidently ebbing from a mortal hurt.

Secretary Stanton, just arrived from the bedside of Mr. Seward, asked
Surgeon-General Barnes what was Mr. Lincoln's condition. "I fear, Mr.
Stanton, that there is no hope." "O, no, general; no, no;" and the man,
of all others, apparently strange to tears, sank down beside the bed,
the hot, bitter evidences of an awful sorrow trickling through his
fingers to the floor. Senator Sumner sat on the opposite side of the
bed, holding one of the President's hands in his own, and sobbing with
kindred grief. Secretary Welles stood at the foot of the bed, his face
hidden, his frame shaken with emotion. General Halleck, Attorney-General
Speed, Postmaster-General Dennison, M. B. Field, Assistant Secretary of
the Treasury, Judge Otto, General Meigs, and others, visited the chamber
at times, and then retired. Mrs. Lincoln--but there is no need to speak