On his bare head rose a thick mass of black hair--the crown which nature gave to her king.

His large, melancholy eyes had a solemn, far-away look as if he discerned the toils and trials that awaited him.

The great patriot-President, moving slowly on toward the conflict, the glory and the martyrdom, that were reserved for him, still remains in my memory, as the most august and majestic figure that my eyes have ever beheld.

He never passed through New York again until he was borne through tears and broken hearts on his last journey to his Western tomb.
I did not see Lincoln again until two years afterwards, when I was in Washington on duty for the Christian Commission.

It was one of his public levee nights, and as soon as I came up to him, his first words were: "Doctor, I have not seen you since we met in the Tremont House in Chicago." I mention this as an illustration of his marvelous memory; he never forgot a face or a name or the slightest incident.