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THE CONGRESS OF WOMEN.

ated from floor to dome with the flag Lincoln had loved so well. All the officers of the government, its generals and ministers, appeared in full dress to do honor to the occasion. The marble statue was elevated to a proper height and surrounded with a platform draped with flags, for the President, the speakers and the families of those most nearly interested. The statue was completely enveloped in a great silk flag, and when Judge Davis, Lincoln’s friend, drew the golden cord which confined it, unveiling the statue to public view amid the waving of banners and the sound of trumpets, a great shout went up from the multitude. Then glowing tributes to President Lincoln fell from the eloquent lips of Senator Matt Carpenter, Senator Cullom of Illinois, and the other distinguished orators who had been selected to speak. The great dome rang with his praises, and thrilled by the eloquence and passion of some of these utterances, sobs sometimes broke upon the air, and wails of sorrow. When the cere­mony was over, the audience thought of the artist, and called for her. Senator Matt Carpenter made his way to my seat upon the platform, and taking my hand, led me out before them, but I could only bow my thanks, my voice was too full of tears to speak in recognition of the cheers and flowers that greeted me. And so the people and the old-time friends of Abraham Lincoln expressed their satisfaction with my w r ork.

It had been indeed a labor of love, not without its trials, but well rewarded by its final triumph. How this verdict was afterward confirmed in giving into my hands the commission for a statue of the immortal Farragut, I would like to tell you, but there is not the time now. This night when the Lincoln statue was unveiled in the rotunda of the Capitol was the supreme moment of my life. I had known and loved the man! My country had loved him and cherished his memory. In tears the people had parted with him. With shouts of joy and acclamations of affection they had received his image in the marble. Upon the very spot where a few years before they had gathered in sorrow to gaze upon his lifeless body lying there in state while a nation mourned, they had gathered again to unveil his statue. “ The marble is the resur­rection,” say the old sculptors, and now the dead had arisen to live forever in the hearts of the people whom he loved so well.