_March 4th._--The President very quietly rode down to the capitol in his
own carriage, by himself, on a sharp trot, about noon, either because
he wish'd to be on hand to sign bills, or to get rid of marching in line
with the absurd procession, the muslin temple of liberty and pasteboard
monitor. I saw him on his return, at three o'clock, after the
performance was over. He was in his plain two-horse barouche, and look'd
very much worn and tired; the lines, indeed, of vast responsibilities,
intricate questions, and demands of life and death, cut deeper than ever
upon his dark brown face; yet all the old goodness, tenderness, sadness,
and canny shrewdness, underneath the furrows. (I never see that man
without feeling that he is one to become personally attach'd to, for his
combination of purest, heartiest tenderness, and native western form of
manliness.) By his side sat his little boy, of ten years. There were no
soldiers, only a lot of civilians on horseback, with huge yellow scarfs
over their shoulders, riding around the carriage. (At the inauguration
four years ago, he rode down and back again surrounded by a dense
mass of arm'd cavalrymen eight deep, with drawn sabres; and there were
sharpshooters station'd at every corner on the route.) I ought to make
mention of the closing levee of Saturday night last. Never before was
such a compact jam in front of the White House--all the grounds fill'd,
and away out to the spacious sidewalks. I was there, as I took a
notion to go--was in the rush inside with the crowd--surged along the
passage-ways, the blue and other rooms, and through the great east room.
Crowds of country people, some very funny. Fine music from the Marine
band, off in a side place. I saw Mr. Lincoln, drest all in black, with
white kid gloves and a claw-hammer coat, receiving, as in duty bound,
shaking hands, looking very disconsolate, and as if he would give
anything to be somewhere else.