ng. The noble heart of
Lincoln beat no more. He is called the "Martyr President."

His remains were taken to Springfield, Illinois, where they rest at the
foot of a small hill in Oakwood Cemetery. A simple monument, with the
name--"Lincoln"--upon it, is the only epitaph of him, who next to
Washington was the greatest man of our glorious Republic.

LESSON LX

ADDRESS DELIVERED AT THE DEDICATION OF THE CEMETERY AT GETTYSBURG

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this
continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the
proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a
great civil war testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived
and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field
of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a
final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that the nation
might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate--we cannot consecrate--we
cannot hallow--this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who
struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or
detract. The world will little note nor long remember what we say
here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the
living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they
who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us
to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us--that from
these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which
they gave the last full measure of devotion--that we here highly
resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain--that this nation,
under God, shall have a new birth of freedom--and that government of
the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the
earth.

_Abraham Lincoln_.

November 19th, 1863.

SELECTION XVIII

THE PICKET OF THE POTOMAC

"All quiet along the Potomac," they say,
"Except now and then a stray picket
Is shot as he walks on his beat to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket."
'Tis nothing--a private or two now and then
Will not count in the tale of the battle;
Not an officer lost--only one of the men
Breathing out all alone the death-rattle.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming,
Their tents