you have every reason
to despise.

_Hook_: You have, in my opinion, failed in necessary firmness in
saying what will be the individual penalties of rebellion.

_Lincoln_: This is a war. I will not allow it to become a blood-feud.

_Hook_: We are fighting treason. We must meet it with severity.

_Lincoln_: We will defeat treason. And I will meet it with
conciliation.

_Hook_: It is a policy of weakness.

_Lincoln_: It is a policy of faith--it is a policy of compassion.
_(Warmly_.) Hook, why do you plague me with these jealousies? Once
before I found a member of my Cabinet working behind my back. But
he was disinterested, and he made amends nobly. But, Hook, you have
allowed the burden of these days to sour you. I know it all. I've
watched you plotting and plotting for authority. And I, who am a
lonely man, have been sick at heart. So great is the task God has
given to my hand, and so few are my days, and my deepest hunger is
always for loyalty in my own house. You have withheld it from me. You
have done great service in your office, but you have grown envious.
Now you resign, as you did once before when I came openly to you in
friendship. And you think that again I shall flatter you and coax you
to stay. I don't think I ought to do it. I will not do it. I must take
you at your word.

_Hook_: I am content.

_He turns to go_.

_Lincoln_: Will you shake hands?

_Hook_: I beg you will excuse me.

_He goes_. LINCOLN _stands silently for a moment, a travelled, lonely
captain. He rings a bell, and a_ CLERK _comes in.

Lincoln:_ Ask Mr. Hay to come in.

_Clerk_: Yes, sir.

_He goes_. LINCOLN, _from the folds of his pockets, produces another
book, and holds it unopened_. HAY _comes in_.

_Lincoln_: I'm rather tired to-day, Hay. Read to me a little. (_He
hands him the book_.) "The Tempest"--you know the passage.

_Hay (reading)_:

Our revels now are ended; these our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

_Lincoln_: We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little
life ...

THE CURTAIN FALLS.

_F