while at the head of the nation, that no President, since the
first, ever in his public acts allowed the man so fully to appear, or
showed so little disposition to retreat behind the featureless political
mask which seems to adhere to the idea of gubernatorial dignity.

It would be hardly fair to cite Everett's speech on the same occasion
as a specimen of the opposite style, wherein ornate scholarship and the
pride of talents dominate. Yet a stern critic would be obliged to
say that, as an author, Everett allowed, for the most part, only
the expurgated, complimenting, drawing-room man to speak; and that,
considering the need of America to be kept virile and broad at all
hazards, his contribution, both as man and writer, falls immeasurably
short of Abraham Lincoln's.

What a noble specimen of its kind, and how free from any verbal tricks
or admixture of literary sauce, is Thoreau's "Maine Woods"! And what a
marked specimen of the opposite style is a certain other book I could
mention in which these wild and grand scenes serve but as a medium to
advertise the author's fund of classic lore!

Can there be any doubt about the traits and outward signs of a noble
character, and is not the style of an author the manners of his soul?

Is there a lyceum lecturer in the country who is above manoeuvring for
the applause of his audience? or a writer who is willing to make himself
of no account for the sake of what he has to say? Even in the best there
is something of the air and manners of a performer on exhibition. The
newspaper, or magazine, or book is a sort of raised platform upon which
the advertiser advances before a gaping and expectant crowd. Truly, how
well he _handles_ his subject! He turns it over, and around, and inside
out, and top-side down. He tosses it about; he twirls it; he takes it
apart and puts it together again, and knows well beforehand where the
applause will come in. Any reader, in taking up the antique authors,
must be struck by the contrast.

"In Aeschylus," says Landor, "there is no trickery, no trifling, no
delay, no exposition, no garrulity, no dogmatism, no declamation, no
prosing,... but the loud, clear challenge, the firm, unstealthy step, of
an erect, broad-breasted soldier."

On the whole, the old authors are better than the new. The real question
of literature is not simplified by culture or a multiplication of books,
as the conditions of life are always the same, and are not made one
whit