e for a loan to the Government, and one of them said to him:
"You know, Mr. President, where the treasure is, there will the heart be
also." "I should not wonder," replied Lincoln, "if another text would
not fit the case better, 'Where the carcass is, there will the eagles be
gathered together,'" His innumerable jests contained more wisdom than
many a philosopher's maxims, and underneath his plebeian simplicity,
dress and manners, this great child of nature possessed the most
delicate instincts of the perfect gentleman. The only just scale by
which to measure any man is the scale of actual achievement; and in
Lincoln's case some of the most essential instruments had to be
fabricated by himself.

The first account in the measurement of the man is that with a sublime
reliance on God, he conducted an immense nation through the most
tremendous civil war ever waged, and never committed a single serious
mistake. The Illinois backwoodsman did not possess Hamilton's brilliant
genius, yet Hamilton never read the future more sagaciously. He made no
pretension to Webster's magnificent oratory; yet Webster never put more
truth in portable form for popular guidance. He possessed Benjamin
Franklin's immense common sense, and gift of terse proverbial speech,
but none of his lusts and sceptical infirmities. The immortal
twenty-line address at Gettysburg is the high water mark of sententious
eloquence. With that speech should be placed the pathetic and equally
perfect letter of condolence to Mrs. Bixby of Boston after her five sons
had fallen in battle. With that speech also should be read that
wonderful second Inaugural address which even the hostile _London Times_
pronounced to be the most sublime state paper of the century. This
second address--his last great production--contained some of the best
illustrations of his fondness for balanced antithesis and rhythmical
measurement. There is one sentence which may be rendered into rhyme:

"Fondly do we hope,
Fervently do we pray
That this mighty scourge of war
May soon pass away"

Terrible as was the tragedy of that April night, thirty-seven years ago,
it may be still true that Lincoln died at the right time for his own
imperishable fame. It was fitting that his own precious blood should be
the last to be shed in the stupendous struggle He had called over two
hundred thousand heroes to lay down their lives and then his own was
laid down beside the humblest private soldier,