Chapter 3

"'O my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; It hath the primal eldest curse upon't, A brother's murder!--Pray can I not, Though inclination be as sharp as will; My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; And, like a man to double business bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin, And both neglect. What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood? Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy But to confront the visage of offence; And what's in prayer but this twofold force-- To be forestalled ere we come to fall, Or pardoned, being down? Then I'll look up; My fault is past. But O what form of prayer Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder?-- That cannot be; since I am still possessed Of those effects for which I did the murder,-- My crown, my own ambition, and my queen. May one be pardoned and retain the offence? In the corrupted currents of this world, Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law; but 'tis not so _above_. There is no shuffling; there the action lies In its true nature; and we ourselves compelled, Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence. What then? What rests? Try what repentance can; what can it not? Yet what can it when one cannot repent? O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O bruised soul that, struggling to be free, Art more engaged! Help, angels, make assay! Bow, stubborn knees! And heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe; All may be well!'

"He repeated this entire passage from memory, with a feeling and appreciation unsurpassed by anything I ever witnessed upon the stage. Remaining in thought for a few moments, he continued:--

"'The opening of the play of "King Richard the Third" seems to me often entirely misapprehended. It is quite common for an actor to come upon the stage, and, in a sophomoric style, to begin with a flourish:--

"'Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York, And all the clouds that lowered upon our house, In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.'

"'Now,' said he, 'this is all wrong. Richard, you remember, had been, and was then plotting the destruction of his brothers, to make room for himself. Outwardly, the most loyal to the newly crowned king, secretly he could scarcely contain his impatience at the obstacles still in the way of his own elevation. He appears upon the stage, just after the crowning of Edward, burning with repressed hate and jealousy. The prologue is the utterance of the most intense bitterness and satire.' Then, unconsciously assuming the character, Mr. Lincoln repeated, also from memory, Richard's soliloquy, rendering it with a degree of force and power that made it seem like a new creation to me. Though familiar with the passage from boyhood, I can truly say that never till that moment had I fully appreciated its spirit. I could not refrain from laying down my palette and brushes, and applauding heartily upon his conclusion, saying, at the same time, half in earnest, that I was not sure but that he had made a mistake in the choice of a profession, considerably, as may be imagined, to his amusement. Mr. Sinclair has since repeatedly said to me that he never heard these choice passages of Shakspeare rendered with more effect by the most famous of modern actors."

Lincoln's sense of the classic phrase seems to have been native with him, for we find it in his earliest utterances. Such a phrase appears in homely proverbial form in his first speech: "My politics are short and sweet, like the old woman's dance." Impaired in rhythm of thought and sound by an awkward, though logical, parenthetical expression, another phrase stands out in a "spread-eagle" passage from his first formal address, that on "The Perpetuation of Our Political Institutions."

"All the armies of Europe, Asia, and Africa combined, with all the treasure of earth (our own excepted) in its military chest, with a Bonaparte for a commander, could not by force _take a drink from the Ohio or make a track on the Blue Ridge_ in a trial of a thousand years."

And in a eulogy on Washington, Lincoln early achieved a line which in phonetic quality, rhetorical figure and rhythmic cadence is pure poetry, though not of an exceptional order.

"In solemn awe we pronounce the name, and in its naked deathless splendor leave it shining on."

In an article entitled "Lincoln's Literary Experiments," by John G. Nicolay, one of Lincoln's two private secretaries, which was published in the Century Magazine for April, 1894, are reproduced Lincoln's notes of one lyceum lecture on "Niagara Falls," and the text of another on "Discoveries, Inventions and Improvements." These, however, detract, if anything, from Lincoln's reputation as a writer, for in choice of subjects and in style of treatment there is seen an almost discreditable stooping of a man of genius, even in his function of teacher, to the low popular taste of the West at the time. In the first lecture Lincoln presented the statistics of the water power of Niagara Falls for each minute, and led his hearers from this base to the "contemplation of the vast power the sun is constantly exerting in the quiet noiseless operation of lifting water up to be rained down again." Yet at this point he stopped short of his duty as an educator, for he made no suggestion as to the utilization of this power. He was satisfied with giving the people what they had come for--the pleasant excitation of a mental faculty, that of the imagination in its primary form of wonder at the grandeur of the material universe. In short, he was acting as a mere entertainer--as so many of our public men do now at "Chautauquas."

In the second lecture he performed this function in a still more discreditable manner, by catering to the unworthy demand of his hearers for obvious and familiar humorous conceptions to grasp which would cause them no mental exertion. Thus, in speaking of the inventions of the locomotive and telegraph, already old enough for the first inevitable similitudes and jocose remarks about them to be current, he said:

"The iron horse is panting and impatient to carry him (man) everywhere in no time; and the lightning stands ready harnessed to take and bring his tidings in a trifle less than no time."

This reveals Lincoln's taste for the characteristic American humor of exaggeration, which was later to afford him relief from the stress and strain of his duties as President in the works of "Petroleum V. Nasby" and "Artemus Ward," writers, however, with a quaint originality which lifted them and their admirers above the plane of humorous composition and appreciation of the preceding decade. Indeed, Lincoln developed his own power of witty expression to a degree excelling that of the writers he admired, and in quality of product, if not in quantity (for the greater part of the "funny stories" attributed to him, thank heaven, are apocryphal) he stands in the front rank of the American humorists of his generation.

And as the poet and the wit are near akin through this common appeal to the imagination, Lincoln, had he overcome the obsession of melancholy in his nature which was the mood in which he resorted to poetry, and which early limited his taste for it to verse of a sad and reflective kind, might have become a literary craftsman of the order of Holmes, whose poetry in the main was bright and joyous, and, even when he occasionally touched upon such subjects as death, was, as we have seen, informed with inspiring Hellenic beauty rather than depressing Hebraic moralization. It was in his sad moments, says Henry C. Whitney, that the mind of Lincoln "gravitated toward the weird, sombre and mystical. In his normal and tranquil state of mind, 'The Last Leaf,' by Oliver Wendell Holmes, was his favorite" (poem). It was Lincoln's happy lot to rise in the realm of oratory by the power of his poetic spirit higher than any American, save probably Emerson, has done in other fields of literature. On the theme of slavery, where his unerring moral sense had free sway, he became our supreme orator, transcending even Webster in grandeur of thought and beauty of its expression. His periods are not as sonorous as the Olympian New England orator's, but their accents will reach as far and resound even longer by the carrying and sustaining power of the ideas which they express. Indeed, it is on the wings supplied by Lincoln that Webster's most significant conception, that of the nature of the Constitution, is even now borne along, because of the uplifting ideality which Lincoln gave it by more broadly applying it to the nation itself as an examplar and preserver to the world of ideal government.

Webster said: "It is, sir, the people's Constitution, the people's Government; made for the people; made by the people; and answerable to the people."

This he made the thesis for an argument which was to be followed by a magnificent peroration ending with a sentiment, calculated for use as a toast at political banquets, and as a patriotic slogan: "Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable!"

Lincoln with purer taste, the expression of which, be it said to Webster's credit, had been made possible by the acceptance of the earlier statesman's contention, assumed the thesis as placed beyond all controversy, and, making it the exhortation of his speech, gave to it the character of a sacred adjuration: "That we here highly resolve ... that government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

Another example of Lincoln's ability to improve the composition of another writer is the closing paragraph of his first inaugural address. The President-elect had submitted the manuscript of this most important speech, which would be universally scrutinized to find what policy he would adopt toward the seceded States, to Seward, his chosen Secretary of State, for criticism and suggestion. Mr. Seward approved the argument, but advised the addition of a closing paragraph "to meet and remove prejudice and passion in the South; and despondency in the East." He submitted two paragraphs of his own as alternative models. The second was in that poetic vein which occasionally cropped out in Seward's speeches, and over which Lincoln on better acquaintance was wont good-naturedly to rally him. It is evidence of Lincoln's predilection for poetic language, at least at the close of a speech, that he adopted the latter paragraph. It ran:

"I close. We are not, we must not be, aliens or enemies, but fellow-countrymen and brethren. Although passion has strained our bonds of affection too hardly, they must not, I am sure they will not, be broken. The mystic chords which, proceeding from so many battlefields and so many patriot graves, pass through all the hearts and all hearths in this broad continent of ours, will yet again harmonize in their ancient music when breathed upon by the guardian angel of the nation."

Lincoln, by deft touches which reveal a literary taste beyond that of any statesman of his time, indeed beyond that which he himself had yet exhibited, transformed this passage into his peroration. His emendations were largely in the way of excision of unnecessary phrases, resolution of sentences broken in construction into several shorter, more direct ones, and change of general and vague terms in rhetorical figure to concrete and picturesque words. He wrote:

"I am loth to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle-field and patriot grave to every living heart and hearth-stone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature."

More than the persuasive argument and gentle yet determined spirit of the address, it was the chaste beauty and tender feeling of these closing words which convinced the people that Lincoln measured up to the high mental and moral stature demanded of one who was to be their leader through the most critical period that had arisen in the life of the nation.

The second inaugural address, coming so shortly before the President's death, formed unintentionally his farewell address. It has the spirit and tone of prophecy. The Bible, in thought and expression, was its inspiration. The first two of its three paragraphs ring like a chapter from Isaiah, chief of the poet seers of old. The concluding paragraph is an apostolic benediction such as Paul or John might have delivered.

"With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and his orphan--to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves, and with all nations."

* * * * *

THE POETS' LINCOLN

* * * * *

Abraham Lincoln was born on the 12th day of February, 1809, on the Big South Fork of Nolin Creek, in what was then known as Hardin, but is now known as La Rue County, Kentucky, about three miles from Hodgensville.

The above illustration represents the cabin in which he was born, as described by his former neighbors.

Out of that old hut came the mighty man of destiny, the matchless man of the Nineteenth Century. The world has no parallel for that transition from the cabin to the White House.

Julia Ward [Howe] was born in New York City, May 27, 1819. At an early age she wrote plays and poems. In 1843 Miss Ward married Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe. In 1861, while on a visit to the camp near Washington, with Governor John A. Andrew and other friends, Mrs. Howe wrote to the air of "John Brown's Body" the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" which has become so popular. She also published several books of poems. She espoused the Woman-Suffrage movement in 1869, and devoted much of her time to the cause. She died in 1910.

This poem was written by Mrs. Howe in her ninetieth year and read by her in Symphony Hall, Boston, on the centenary of the martyred President's birthday, February 12, 1909.

LINCOLN

Through the dim pageant of the years A wondrous tracery appears: A cabin of the western wild Shelters in sleep a new born child.

Nor nurse nor parent dear can know The way those infant feet must go, And yet a nation's help and hope Are sealed within that horoscope.

Beyond is toil for daily bread, And thought to noble issues led. And courage, arming for the morn For whose behest this man was born.

A man of homely, rustic ways, Yet he achieves the forum's praise And soon earth's highest meed has won, The seat and sway of Washington.

No throne of honors and delights, Distrustful days and sleepless nights, To struggle, suffer and aspire, Like Israel, led by cloud and fire.

A treacherous shot, a sob of rest, A martyr's palm upon his breast, A welcome from the glorious seat Where blameless souls of heroes meet.

And thrilling, through unmeasured days, A song of gratitude and praise, A cry that all the earth shall heed, To God, who gave him for our need.

THE GREAT OAK

Some men are born, while others seem to grow From out the soil, like towering trees that spread Their strong, broad limbs in shelter overhead When tempest storms, protecting all below.

Lincoln, Great Oak of a Nation's life, Rose from the soil, with all its virgin power Emplanted in him for the fateful hour, When he might save a Nation in its strife.

--_Bennett Chapple._

Noah Davis, born in Haverhill, New Hampshire, September 10, 1818. He was educated at Albion, New York, and in the Seminary at Lima, studied law, and was admitted to the bar in 1841. Appointed in March, 1857, a justice of the New York Supreme Court. He served in Congress from March 4, 1869, till July 20, 1870, when he resigned, having been appointed by President Grant, U. S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York. He resigned that office on Dec. 31, 1872, being elected justice of the New York State Supreme Court. In 1874, he became presiding justice. In January, 1887, he was retired from the bench and resumed practice. He died in New York in 1902.

LINCOLN

Almost a hundred years ago, in a lonely hut, Of the dark and bloody ground of wild Kentucky, A child was born to poverty and toil, Save in the sweet prophecy of mother's love None dreamed of future fame for him!

'Mid deep privation and in rugged toil, He grew unschooled to vigorous youth, His teaching was an ancient spelling book, The Holy Writ, "The Pilgrim's Progress," Old "Æsop's Fables" and the "Life of Washington"; And out of these, stretched by the hearthstone flame For lack of other light, he garnered lore That filled his soul with faith in God.

The prophet's fire, the psalmist's music deep, The pilgrims' zeal throughout his steadfast march, The love of fellow man as taught by Christ, And all the patriot faith and truth Marked the Father of our Land! And there, in all his after life, in thought And speech and act, resonant concords were in his great soul.

And, God's elect, he calmly rose to awful power, Restored his mighty land to smiling peace, Then, with the martyr blood of his own life, Baptized the millions of the free.

Henceforth, the ages hold his name high writ And deep on their eternal rolls.

Rev. George W. Crofts was born at Leroy, Illinois, April 9, 1842. He was educated at the Illinois State University at Springfield, graduating in the class of 1864. He was ordained to the ministry in 1865. He preached at Sandwich, Illinois; Council Bluffs, Iowa; Beatrice, Nebraska, and West Point. He died at West Point, May 16, 1909.

THE BIRTH OF LINCOLN

No choir celestial sang at Lincoln's birth, No transient star illumined the midnight sky In honor of some ancient prophecy, No augury was given from heaven or earth.

He blossomed like a flower of wondrous worth, A rare, sweet flower of heaven that ne'er should die, Altho' the vase in which it grew should lie Most rudely rent amid the darkling dearth.

There, in that humble cabin, separate From everything the world regarded great, Where wealth had never pressed its greedy feet, Where honor, pomp or fame found no retreat; E'en there was born beneath the eye of God The noblest man His footstool ever trod.

MENDELSSOHN DARWIN LINCOLN

_February 12, 1809_

Clarence E. Carr, born in Enfield, New Hampshire, January 31, 1853. Received his early education from the common schools and academies of the State, later from Dartmouth College, from which he graduated in 1875.

Practiced law, was also a manufacturer and farmer. Was president of the New Hampshire Unitarian Conference, director and vice-president of the American Unitarian Association, bank trustee, president of the United Life and Accident Insurance Company of Concord, New Hampshire, and occasionally a wanderer in the Elysian Fields of the Muses.

_The Three Birthday Anniversaries_ is the subject of a highly appreciative article on the subject of Mendelssohn, Darwin and Lincoln, by President Samuel A. Eliot of the American Unitarian Association, in the _Christian Register_ of February 4, 1909. The central thought therein is thus expressed very beautifully by Mr. Carr.

Three lives this day unto the world were given Into whose souls God breathed the air of heaven,-- The first He taught the music of the spheres, The next, of worlds, the story of the years; And, loving, wise, and just beyond our dream, The third a pilot made upon the New World's stream.

Their work is done, but ere they crossed "the portal," One, Song; One, Truth; One, Freedom; Made Immortal!

James Phinney Baxter, born at Gorham Maine, March 23, 1831. Academic education; President of Savings Bank; Mayor of Portland, six terms, 1893-97--1904-5. Organized Associated Charities and was its first President; built and donated to the City of Portland its public library in 1888, and to Gorham in 1907; also conveyed to Gorham his family mansion for use as a Museum. President Portland Public Library, Baxter Library (Gorham), Portland Benevolent Society, Overseer of Bowdoin College, President Maine Historical Society since 1890, Northeast Historical Society since 1899. Author: _The Trelawney Papers_, 1884; _The British Invasion From the North_, 1887; _Sir Ferdinando Gorges and His Province of Maine_, 1890; _The Pioneers of New France in New England_, 1894; edited ten volumes of _Documentary History of Maine_, etc.

THE NATAL DAY OF LINCOLN

Son of the Western World! whose heritage Was the vast prairie and the boundless sky; Whose callow thoughts with wings untrammeled sought Free scope for growth denied to Ease and Power, Naught couldst thou know of place or precedent, For Freedom's ichor with thy mother's milk Coursing thy veins, would render thee immune To Fashion's dictate, or prescriptive creed, Leaving thy soul unhindered to expand Like Samuel's in Jehovah's tutelage. Hail to thy Natal day!

Like all great souls with vision unobscured Thou wert by Pride unswayed, and so didst tread The gray and sombre way by Duty marked; Seeking the springs of Wisdom, unallured By shallower sources which the witless tempt. Afar o'er arid plains didst thou behold An empty sky, and mountains desolate Barring thy way to fairer scenes beyond; But faith was thine, and patience measureless, Making thee equal to thy destiny. Hail to thy Natal day!