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Title: Abraham Lincoln
Author: Drinkwater, John, 1882-1937
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.

*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Abraham Lincoln" ***



With an introduction by ARNOLD BENNETT

[Illustration: The Riverside Press]




In using for purposes of drama a personality of so wide and recent a
fame as that of Abraham Lincoln, I feel that one or two observations
are due to my readers and critics.

First, my purpose is that not of the historian but of the dramatist.
The historical presentation of my hero has been faithfully made in
many volumes; notably, in England, by Lord Charnwood in a monograph
that gives a masterly analysis of Lincoln's career and character and
is, it seems to me, a model of what the historian's work should be. To
this book I am gratefully indebted for the material of my play. But
while I have, I hope, done nothing to traverse history, I have freely
telescoped its events, and imposed invention upon its movement,
in such ways as I needed to shape the dramatic significance of my
subject. I should add that the fictitious Burnet Hook is admitted
to the historical company of Lincoln's Cabinet for the purpose of
embodying certain forces that were antagonistic to the President. This
was a dramatic necessity, and I chose rather to invent a character for
the purpose than to invest any single known personage with sinister
qualities about which there might be dispute.

Secondly, my purpose is, again, that of the dramatist, not that of the
political philosopher. The issue of secession was a very intricate
one, upon which high and generous opinions may be in conflict, but
that I may happen to have or lack personal sympathy with Lincoln's
policy and judgment in this matter is nothing. My concern is with the
profoundly dramatic interest of his character, and with the inspiring
example of a man who handled war nobly and with imagination.

Finally, I am an Englishman, and not a citizen of the great country
that gave Lincoln birth. I have, therefore, written as an Englishman,
making no attempt to achieve a "local colour" of which I have no
experience, or to speak in an idiom to which I have not been bred. To
have done otherwise, as I am sure any American friends that this play
may have the good fortune to make will allow, would have been to treat
a great subject with levity._

J.D. _Far Oakridge, July-August, 1918_


last year, and it had a great success in Birmingham. But if its
author had not happened to be the artistic director of the Birmingham
Repertory Theatre the play might never have been produced there.
The rumour of the provincial success reached London, with the usual
result--that London managers magnificently ignored it. I have myself
spoken with a very well-known London actor-manager who admitted to me
that he had refused the play.

When Nigel Playfair, in conjunction with myself as a sort of
Chancellor of the Exchequer, started the Hammersmith Playhouse (for
the presentation of the best plays that could be got) we at once
began to inquire into the case of Abraham Lincoln. Nigel Playfair was
absolutely determined to have the play and the Birmingham company to
act it. I read the play and greatly admired it. We secured both
the play and the company. The first Hammersmith performance was a
tremendous success, both for the author of the play and for William J.
Rea, the Irish actor who in the rôle of Lincoln was merely great. The
audience cried.

I should have cried myself, but for my iron resolve not to stain a
well-earned reputation for callousness. As I returned home that night
from what are known as "the wilds of Hammersmith" (Hammersmith is a
suburb of London) I said to myself: "This play is bound to succeed"
The next moment I said to myself: "This play cannot possibly succeed.
It has no love interest. It is a political play. Its theme is the
threatened separation of the Southern States from the Northern States.
Nobody ever heard of a play with such an absurd theme reaching
permanent success. No author before John Drinkwater ever had the
effrontery to impose such a theme on a London public."

My instinct was right and my reason was wrong. The play did succeed.
It is still succeeding, and it will continue to succeed. Nobody can
dine out in London to-day and admit without a blush that he has not
seen ABRAHAM LINCOLN. Monarchs and princes have seen it. Archbishops
have seen it. Statesmen without number have seen it. An ex-Lord
Chancellor told me that he had journeyed out into the said wilds and
was informed at the theatre that there were no seats left. He could
not believe that he would have to return from the wilds unsatisfied.
But so it fell out. West End managers have tried to coax the play from
Hammersmith to the West End. They could not do it. We have contrived
to make all London come to Hammersmith to see a play without a
love-interest or a bedroom scene, and the play will remain at
Hammersmith. Americans will more clearly realize what John Drinkwater
has achieved with the London public if they imagine somebody putting
on a play about the Crimean War at some unknown derelict theatre round
about Two Hundred and Fiftieth Street, and drawing all New York to Two
Hundred and Fiftieth Street.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN has pleased everybody, and its triumph is the best
justification of those few who held that the public was capable of
liking much better plays than were offered to the public. Why has
ABRAHAM LINCOLN succeeded? Here are a few answers to the question:
Because the author had a deep, practical knowledge of the stage.
Because he disdained all stage tricks. Because he had the wit to
select for his hero one of the world's greatest and finest characters.
Because he had the audacity to select a gigantic theme and to handle
it with simplicity. Because he had the courage of all his artistic and
moral convictions. And of course because he has a genuine dramatic
gift. Finally, because William J. Rea plays Lincoln with the utmost
nobility of emotional power.

Every audience has the same experience at ABRAHAM LINCOLN, and I laugh
privately when I think of that experience. The curtain goes up on a
highly commonplace little parlour, and a few ordinary people chatting
in a highly commonplace manner. They keep on chatting. The audience
thinks to itself: "I've been done! What is this interminable small
talk?" And it wants to call out a protest: "Hi! You fellows on the
stage! Have you forgotten that there is an audience on the other
side of the footlights, waiting for something to happen?" (Truly the
ordinary people in the parlour do seem to be unaware of the existence
of any audience.) But wait, audience! Already the author is winding
his chains about you. Though you may not suspect it, you are already
bound.... At the end of the first scene the audience, vaguely feeling
the spell, wonders what on earth the nature of the spell is. At the
end of the play it is perhaps still wondering what precisely the
nature of the spell is.... But it fully and rapturously admits the
reality of the spell. Indeed after the fall of the curtain, and after
many falls of the curtain, the spell persists; the audience somehow
cannot leave its seats, and the thought of the worry of the journey
home and of last 'busses and trains is banished. Strange phenomenon!
It occurs every night.




_Two Chroniclers_:

_The two speaking together_: Kinsmen, you shall behold
Our stage, in mimic action, mould
A man's character.

This is the wonder, always, everywhere--
Not that vast mutability which is event,
The pits and pinnacles of change,
But man's desire and valiance that range
All circumstance, and come to port unspent.

Agents are these events, these ecstasies,
And tribulations, to prove the purities
Or poor oblivions that are our being. When
Beauty and peace possess us, they are none
But as they touch the beauty and peace of men,
Nor, when our days are done,
And the last utterance of doom must fall,
Is the doom anything
Memorable for its apparelling;
The bearing of man facing it is all.

So, kinsmen, we present
This for no loud event
That is but fugitive,
But that you may behold
Our mimic action mould
The spirit of man immortally to live.

_First Chronicler_: Once when a peril touched the days
Of freedom in our English ways,
And none renowned in government
Was equal found,
Came to the steadfast heart of one,
Who watched in lonely Huntingdon,
A summons, and he went,
And tyranny was bound,
And Cromwell was the lord of his event.

_Second Chronicler_: And in that land where voyaging
The pilgrim Mayflower came to rest,
Among the chosen, counselling,
Once, when bewilderment possessed
A people, none there was might draw
To fold the wandering thoughts of men,
And make as one the names again
Of liberty and law.

And then, from fifty fameless years
In quiet Illinois was sent
A word that still the Atlantic hears,
And Lincoln was the lord of his event.

_The two speaking together:_ So the uncounted
    spirit wakes
To the birth
Of uncounted circumstance.
And time in a generation makes
Portents majestic a little story of earth
To be remembered by chance
At a fireside.
But the ardours that they bear,
The proud and invincible motions of

These--these abide.


_The parlour of Abraham Lincoln's House at Springfield, Illinois,
early in 1860_. MR. STONE, _a farmer, and_ MR. CUFFNEY, _a
store-keeper, both men of between fifty and sixty, are sitting before
an early spring fire. It is dusk, but the curtains are not drawn. The
men are smoking silently_.

_Mr. Stone (after a pause)_: Abraham. It's a good name for a man to
bear, anyway.

_Mr. Cuffney_: Yes. That's right.

_Mr. Stone (after another pause)_: Abraham Lincoln. I've known him
forty years. Never crooked once. Well.

_He taps his pipe reflectively on the grate. There is another pause_.
SUSAN, _a servant-maid, comes in, and busies herself lighting candles
and drawing the curtains to._

_Susan_: Mrs. Lincoln has just come in. She says she'll be here

_Mr. Cuffney_: Thank you.

_Mr. Stone_: Mr. Lincoln isn't home yet, I dare say?

_Susan:_ No, Mr. Stone. He won't be long, with all the gentlemen

_Mr. Stone:_ How would you like your master to be President of the
United States, Susan?

_Susan:_ I'm sure he'd do it very nicely, sir.

_Mr. Cuffney:_ He would have to leave Springfield, Susan, and go to
live in Washington.

_Susan:_ I dare say we should take to Washington very well, sir.

_Mr. Cuffney:_ Ah! I'm glad to hear that.

_Susan:_ Mrs. Lincoln's rather particular about the tobacco smoke.

_Mr. Stone:_ To be sure, yes, thank you, Susan.

_Susan:_ The master doesn't smoke, you know. And Mrs. Lincoln's
specially particular about this room.

_Mr. Cuffney:_ Quite so. That's very considerate of you, Susan.

_They knock out their pipes._

_Susan:_ Though some people might not hold with a gentleman not doing
as he'd a mind in his own house, as you might say.

_She goes out._

_Mr. Cuffney (after a further pause, stroking his pipe)_: I suppose
there's no doubt about the message they'll bring?

_Mr. Stone_: No, that's settled right enough. It'll be an invitation.
That's as sure as John Brown's dead.

_Mr. Cuffney_: I could never make Abraham out rightly about old John.
One couldn't stomach slaving more than the other, yet Abraham didn't
hold with the old chap standing up against it with the sword. Bad
philosophy, or something, he called it. Talked about fanatics who do
nothing but get themselves at a rope's end.

_Mr. Stone_: Abraham's all for the Constitution. He wants the
Constitution to be an honest master. There's nothing he wants like
that, and he'll stand for that, firm as a Samson of the spirit, if he
goes to Washington. He'd give his life to persuade the state against
slaving, but until it is persuaded and makes its laws against it,
he'll have nothing to do with violence in the name of laws that aren't
made. That's why old John's raiding affair stuck in his gullet.

_Mr. Cuffney:_ He was a brave man, going like that, with a few zealous
like himself, and a handful of niggers, to free thousands.

_Mr. Stone:_ He was. And those were brave words when they took him out
to hang him. "I think, my friends, you are guilty of a great wrong
against God and humanity. You may dispose of me very easily. I am
nearly disposed of now. But this question is still to be settled--this
negro question, I mean. The end of that is not yet." I was there that
day. Stonewall Jackson was there. He turned away. There was a colonel
there giving orders. When it was over, "So perish all foes of the
human race," he called out. But only those that were afraid of losing
their slaves believed it.

_Mr. Cuffney (after a pause):_ It was a bad thing to hang a man like
that. ... There's a song that they've made about him.

_He sings quietly._

  John Brown's body lies a mould'ring in the grave,
  But his soul goes marching on...

_Mr. Stone:_ I know.

_The two together (singing quietly):_

  The stars of heaven are looking kindly down
  On the grave of old John Brown....

_After a moment_ MRS. LINCOLN _comes in. The men rise._

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ Good-evening, Mr. Stone. Good-evening, Mr. Cuffney.

_Mr. Stone and Mr. Cuffney:_ Good-evening, ma'am.

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ Sit down, if you please.

_They all sit._

_Mr. Stone:_ This is a great evening for you, ma'am.

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ It is.

_Mr. Cuffney:_ What time do you expect the deputation, ma'am?

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ They should be here at seven o'clock. _(With an
inquisitive nose.)_ Surely, Abraham hasn't been smoking.

_Mr. Stone (rising):_ Shall I open the window, ma'am? It gets close of
an evening.

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ Naturally, in March. You may leave the window, Samuel
Stone. We do not smoke in the parlour.

_Mr. Stone (resuming his seat):_ By no means, ma'am.

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ I shall be obliged to you.

_Mr. Cuffney:_ Has Abraham decided what he will say to the invitation?

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ He will accept it.

_Mr. Stone:_ A very right decision, if I may say so.

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ It is.

_Mr. Cuffney:_ And you, ma'am, have advised him that way, I'll be

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ You said this was a great evening for me. It is, and
I'll say more than I mostly do, because it is. I'm likely to go into
history now with a great man. For I know better than any how great he
is. I'm plain looking and I've a sharp tongue, and I've a mind that
doesn't always go in his easy, high way. And that's what history will
see, and it will laugh a little, and say, "Poor Abraham Lincoln."
That's all right, but it's not all. I've always known when he should
go forward, and when he should hold back. I've watched, and watched,
and what I've learnt America will profit by. There are women like
that, lots of them. But I'm lucky. My work's going farther than
Illinois--it's going farther than any of us can tell. I made things
easy for him to think and think when we were poor, and now his
thinking has brought him to this. They wanted to make him Governor
of Oregon, and he would have gone and have come to nothing there. I
stopped him. Now they're coming to ask him to be President, and I've
told him to go.

_Mr. Stone_: If you please, ma'am, I should like to apologise for
smoking in here.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: That's no matter, Samuel Stone. Only, don't do it

_Mr. Cuffney_: It's a great place for a man to fill. Do you know how
Seward takes Abraham's nomination by the Republicans?

_Mrs. Lincoln_: Seward is ambitious. He expected the nomination.
Abraham will know how to use him.

_Mr. Stone_: The split among the Democrats makes the election of the
Republican choice a certainty, I suppose?

_Mrs. Lincoln_: Abraham says so.

_Mr. Cuffney_: You know, it's hard to believe. When I think of the
times I've sat in this room of an evening, and seen your husband come
in, ma'am, with his battered hat nigh falling off the back of his
head, and stuffed with papers that won't go into his pockets, and
god-darning some rascal who'd done him about an assignment or a
trespass, I can't think he's going up there into the eyes of the

_Mrs. Lincoln_: I've tried for years to make him buy a new hat.

_Mr. Cuffney_: I have a very large selection just in from New York.
Perhaps Abraham might allow me to offer him one for his departure.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: He might. But he'll wear the old one.

_Mr. Stone_: Slavery and the South. They're big things he'll have to
deal with. "The end of that is not yet." That's what old John Brown
said, "the end of that is not yet."

ABRAHAM LINCOLN _comes in, a greenish and crumpled top hat leaving
his forehead well uncovered, his wide pockets brimming over with
documents. He is fifty, and he still preserves his clean-shaven state.
He kisses his wife and shakes hands with his friends._

_Lincoln:_ Well, Mary. How d'ye do, Samuel. How d'ye do, Timothy.

_Mr. Stone and Mr. Cuffney:_ Good-evening, Abraham.

_Lincoln (while he takes of his hat and shakes out sundry papers from
the lining into a drawer):_ John Brown, did you say? Aye, John Brown.
But that's not the way it's to be done. And you can't do the right
thing the wrong way. That's as bad as the wrong thing, if you're going
to keep the state together.

_Mr. Cuffney:_ Well, we'll be going. We only came in to give you
good-faring, so to say, in the great word you've got to speak this

_Mr. Stone:_ It makes a humble body almost afraid of himself, Abraham,
to know his friend is to be one of the great ones of the earth, with
his yes and no law for these many, many thousands of folk.

_Lincoln:_ It makes a man humble to be chosen so, Samuel. So humble
that no man but would say "No" to such bidding if he dare. To be
President of this people, and trouble gathering everywhere in men's
hearts. That's a searching thing. Bitterness, and scorn, and wrestling
often with men I shall despise, and perhaps nothing truly done at the
end. But I must go. Yes. Thank you, Samuel; thank you, Timothy. Just a
glass of that cordial, Mary, before they leave.

_He goes to a cupboard._

May the devil smudge that girl!

_Calling at the door._

Susan! Susan Deddington! Where's that darnation cordial?

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ It's all right, Abraham. I told the girl to keep it
out. The cupboard's choked with papers.

_Susan (coming in with bottle and glasses):_ I'm sure I'm sorry. I was

_Lincoln:_ All right, all right, Susan. Get along with you.

_Susan:_ Thank you, sir. _She goes._

_Lincoln (pouring out drink):_ Poor hospitality for whiskey-drinking
rascals like yourselves. But the thought's good.

_Mr. Stone:_ Don't mention it, Abraham.

_Mr. Cuffney:_ We wish you well, Abraham. Our compliments, ma'am. And
God bless America! Samuel, I give you the United States, and Abraham

MR. CUFFNEY _and_ MR. STONE _drink._

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ Thank you.

_Lincoln:_ Samuel, Timothy--I drink to the hope of honest friends.
Mary, to friendship. I'll need that always, for I've a queer, anxious
heart. And, God bless America!

_He and_ MRS. LINCOLN _drink._

_Mr. Stone:_ Well, good-night, Abraham. Good-night, ma'am.

_Mr. Cuffney:_ Good-night, good-night.

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ Good-night, Mr. Stone. Good-night, Mr. Cuffney.

_Lincoln:_ Good-night, Samuel. Good-night, Timothy. And thank you for

MR. STONE _and_ MR. CUFFNEY _go out._

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ You'd better see them in here.

_Lincoln:_ Good. Five minutes to seven. You're sure about it, Mary?

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ Yes. Aren't you?

_Lincoln:_ We mean to set bounds to slavery. The South will resist.
They may try to break away from the Union. That cannot be allowed. If
the Union is set aside America will crumble. The saving of it may mean

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ Who is to shape it all if you don't?

_Lincoln:_ There's nobody. I know it.

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ Then go.

_Lincoln:_ Go.

_Mrs. Lincoln (after a moment):_ This hat is a disgrace to you,
Abraham. You pay no heed to what I say, and you think it doesn't
matter. A man like you ought to think a little about gentility.

_Lincoln:_ To be sure. I forget.

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ You don't. You just don't heed. Samuel Stone's been
smoking in here.

_Lincoln:_ He's a careless, poor fellow.

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ He is, and a fine example you set him. You don't care
whether he makes my parlour smell poison or not.

_Lincoln:_ Of course I do--

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ You don't. Your head is too stuffed with things to
think about my ways. I've got neighbours if you haven't.

_Lincoln:_ Well, now, your neighbours are mine, I suppose.

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ Then why won't you consider appearances a little?

_Lincoln:_ Certainly. I must.

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ Will you get a new hat?

_Lincoln:_ Yes, I must see about it.

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ When?

_Lincoln:_ In a day or two. Before long.

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ Abraham, I've got a better temper than anybody will
ever guess.

_Lincoln:_ You have, my dear. And you need it, I confess.

SUSAN _comes in._

_Susan:_ The gentlemen have come.

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ I'll come to them.

_Susan:_ Does the master want a handkerchief, ma'am? He didn't take
one this morning.

_Lincoln:_ It's no matter now, Susan.

_Susan:_ If you please, I've brought you one, sir.

_She gives it to him, and goes._

_Mrs. Lincoln:_ I'll send them in. Abraham, I believe in you.

_Lincoln:_ I know, I know.

MRS. LINCOLN _goes out._ LINCOLN _moves to a map of the United States
that is hanging on the wall, and stands silently looking at it. After
a few moments_ SUSAN _comes to the door._

_Susan:_ This way, please.

_She shows in_ WILLIAM TUCKER, _a florid, prosperous merchant;_ HENRY
HIND, _an alert little attorney;_ ELIAS PRICE, _a lean lay preacher;
and_ JAMES MACINTOSH, _the editor of a Republican journal._ SUSAN

Tucker:_ Mr. Lincoln. Tucker my name is--William Tucker.

_He presents his companions._

Mr. Henry Hind--follows your profession, Mr. Lincoln. Leader of the
bar in Ohio. Mr. Elias Price, of Pennsylvania. You've heard him
preach, maybe. James Macintosh you know. I come from Chicago.

_Lincoln:_ Gentlemen, at your service. How d'ye do, James. Will you be

_They sit round the table._

_Tucker_: I have the honour to be chairman of this delegation. We are
sent from Chicago by the Republican Convention, to enquire whether you
will accept their invitation to become the Republican candidate for
the office of President of the United States.

_Price_: The Convention is aware, Mr. Lincoln, that under the
circumstances, seeing that the Democrats have split, this is more than
an invitation to candidature. Their nominee is almost certain to be

_Lincoln_: Gentlemen, I am known to one of you only. Do you know my
many disqualifications for this work?

_Hind_: It's only fair to say that they have been discussed freely.

_Lincoln_: There are some, shall we say graces, that I lack.
Washington does not altogether neglect these.

_Tucker_: They have been spoken of. But these are days, Mr. Lincoln,
if I may say so, too difficult, too dangerous, for these to weigh at
the expense of other qualities that you were considered to possess.

_Lincoln_: Seward and Hook have both had great experience.

_Macintosh_: Hook had no strong support. For Seward, there are doubts
as to his discretion.

_Lincoln_: Do not be under any misunderstanding, I beg you. I aim
at moderation so far as it is honest. But I am a very stubborn man,
gentlemen. If the South insists upon the extension of slavery, and
claims the right to secede, as you know it very well may do, and the
decision lies with me, it will mean resistance, inexorable, with blood
if needs be. I would have everybody's mind clear as to that.

_Price_: It will be for you to decide, and we believe you to be an
upright man, Mr. Lincoln.

_Lincoln_: Seward and Hook would be difficult to carry as

_Tucker_: But they will have to be carried so, and there's none
likelier for the job than you.

_Lincoln_: Will your Republican Press stand by me for a principle,
James, whatever comes?

_Macintosh_: There's no other man we would follow so readily.

_Lincoln_: If you send me, the South will have little but derision for
your choice.

_Hind_: We believe that you'll last out their laughter.

_Lincoln_: I can take any man's ridicule--I'm trained to it by a ...
somewhat odd figure that it pleased God to give me, if I may so far be
pleasant with you. But this slavery business will be long, and deep,
and bitter. I know it. If you do me this honour, gentlemen, you must
look to me for no compromise in this matter. If abolition comes in due
time by constitutional means, good. I want it. But, while we will not
force abolition, we will give slavery no approval, and we will not
allow it to extend its boundaries by one yard. The determination is in
my blood. When I was a boy I made a trip to New Orleans, and there I
saw them, chained, beaten, kicked as a man would be ashamed to kick a
thieving dog. And I saw a young girl driven up and down the room that
the bidders might satisfy themselves. And I said then, "If ever I get
a chance to hit that thing, I'll hit it hard."

_A pause_.

You have no conditions to make?

_Tucker_: None.

_Lincoln (rising):_ Mrs. Lincoln and I would wish you to take supper
with us.

_Tucker_: That's very kind, I'm sure. And your answer, Mr. Lincoln?

_Lincoln_: When you came, you did not know me, Mr. Tucker. You may
have something to say now not for my ears.

_Tucker_: Nothing in the world, I assure--

_Lincoln_: I will prepare Mrs. Lincoln. You will excuse me for no more
than a minute.

_He goes out_.

_Tucker_: Well, we might have chosen a handsomer article, but I doubt
whether we could have chosen a better.

_Hind_: He would make a great judge--if you weren't prosecuting.

_Price_: I'd tell most people, but I'd ask that man.

_Tucker_: He hasn't given us yes or no yet. Why should he leave us
like that, as though plain wasn't plain?

_Hind_: Perhaps he wanted a thought by himself first.

_Macintosh_: It wasn't that. But he was right. Abraham Lincoln sees
deeper into men's hearts than most. He knows this day will be a memory
to us all our lives. Under his eye, which of you could have given play
to any untoward thought that had started in you against him since
you came into this room? But, leaving you, he knew you could test
yourselves to your own ease, and speak the more confident for it, and,
if you found yourselves clean of doubt, carry it all the happier in
your minds after. Is there a doubt among us?

_Hind_:  } No, none.
_Price_: }

_Macintosh_: Then, Mr. Tucker, ask him again when he comes back.

_Tucker_: I will.

_They sit in silence for a moment, and_ Lincoln _comes in again, back
to his place at the table_.

_Lincoln_: I wouldn't have you think it graceless of me to be slow in
my answer. But once given, it's for the deep good or the deep ill
of all this country. In the face of that a man may well ask himself
twenty times, when he's twenty times sure. You make no qualification,
any one among you?

_Tucker_: None. The invitation is as I put it when we sat down. And I
would add that we are, all of us, proud to bear it to a man as to whom
we feel there is none so fitted to receive it.

_Lincoln_: I thank you. I accept.

_He rises, the others with him. He goes to the door and calls_.


_There is silence_. SUSAN _comes in.

Susan:_ Yes, Mr. Lincoln.

_Lincoln_: Take these gentlemen to Mrs. Lincoln. I will follow at

_The four men go with_ SUSAN. LINCOLN _stands silently for a moment.
He goes again to the map and looks at it. He then turns to the table
again, and kneels beside it, possessed and deliberate, burying his
face in his hands._


_The two Chroniclers_: Lonely is the man who understands.
Lonely is vision that leads a man away
From the pasture-lands,
From the furrows of corn and the brown loads of hay,
To the mountain-side,
To the high places where contemplation brings
All his adventurings
Among the sowers and the tillers in the wide
Valleys to one fused experience,
That shall control
The courses of his soul,
And give his hand
Courage and continence.

_The First Chronicler_: Shall a man understand,
He shall know bitterness because his kind,
Being perplexed of mind,
Hold issues even that are nothing mated.
And he shall give
Counsel out of his wisdom that none shall hear;
And steadfast in vain persuasion must he live,
And unabated
Shall his temptation be.

_Second Chronicler_: Coveting the little, the instant gain,
The brief security,
And easy-tongued renown,
Many will mock the vision that his brain
Builds to a far, unmeasured monument,
And many bid his resolutions down
To the wages of content.

_First Chronicler_: A year goes by.

_The two together_: Here contemplate
A heart, undaunted to possess
Itself among the glooms of fate,
In vision and in loneliness.


_Ten months later. Seward's room at Washington_. WILLIAM H. SEWARD,
_Secretary of State, is seated at his table with_ JOHNSON WHITE _and_
CALEB JENNINGS, _representing the Commissioners of the Confederate

_White_: It's the common feeling in the South, Mr. Seward, that you're
the one man at Washington to see this thing with large imagination. I
say this with no disrespect to the President.

_Seward_: I appreciate your kindness, Mr. White. But the Union is the
Union--you can't get over that. We are faced with a plain fact. Seven
of the Southern States have already declared for secession. The
President feels--and I may say that I and my colleagues are with
him--that to break up the country like that means the decline of

_Jennings_: But everything might be done by compromise, Mr. Seward.
Withdraw your garrison from Fort Sumter, Beauregard will be instructed
to take no further action, South Carolina will be satisfied with the
recognition of her authority, and, as likely as not, be willing to
give the lead to the other states in reconsidering secession.

_Seward_: It is certainly a very attractive and, I conceive, a humane

_White_: By furthering it you might be the saviour of the country from
civil war, Mr. Seward.

_Seward_: The President dwelt on his resolution to hold Fort Sumter in
his inaugural address. It will be difficult to persuade him to go back
on that. He's firm in his decisions.

_White_: There are people who would call him stubborn. Surely if
it were put to him tactfully that so simple a course might avert
incalculable disaster, no man would nurse his dignity to the point of
not yielding. I speak plainly, but it's a time for plain speaking.
Mr. Lincoln is doubtless a man of remarkable qualities: on the two
occasions when I have spoken to him I have not been unimpressed. That
is so, Mr. Jennings?

_Jennings_: Certainly.

_White_: But what does his experience of great affairs of state amount
to beside yours, Mr. Seward? He must know how much he depends on
certain members of his Cabinet, I might say upon a certain member, for

_Seward_: We have to move warily.

_Jennings_: Naturally. A man is sensitive, doubtless, in his first
taste of office.

_Seward_: My support of the President is, of course, unquestionable.

_White_: Oh, entirely. But how can your support be more valuable than
in lending him your unequalled understanding?

_Seward_: The whole thing is coloured in his mind by the question of

_Jennings_: Disabuse his mind. Slavery is nothing. Persuade him to
withdraw from Fort Sumter, and slavery can be settled round a table.
You know there's a considerable support even for abolition in the
South itself. If the trade has to be allowed in some districts, what
is that compared to the disaster of civil war?

_White_: We do not believe that the Southern States wish with any
enthusiasm to secede. They merely wish to establish their right to do
so. Acknowledge that by evacuating Fort Sumter, and nothing will come
of it but a perfectly proper concession to an independence of spirit
that is not disloyal to the Union at heart.

_Seward_: You understand, of course, that I can say nothing

_Jennings_: These are nothing but informal suggestions.

_Seward_: But I may tell you that I am not unsympathetic.

_White_: We were sure that that would be so.

_Seward_: And my word is not without influence.

_Jennings_: It can be used to bring you very great credit, Mr. Seward.

_Seward_: In the mean time, you will say nothing of this interview,
beyond making your reports, which should be confidential.

_White_: You may rely upon us.

_Seward (rising with the others)_: Then I will bid you good-morning.

_White_: We are profoundly sensible of the magnanimous temper in which
we are convinced you will conduct this grave business. Good-morning,
Mr. Seward.

_Jennings_: And I--

_There is a knock at the door_.

_Seward_: Yes--come in.

A CLERK _comes in_.

_Clerk_: The President is coming up the stairs, sir.

_Seward_: Thank you.

THE CLERK _goes_. This is unfortunate. Say nothing, and go at once.

LINCOLN _comes in, now whiskered and bearded._

_Lincoln_: Good-morning, Mr. Seward. Good-morning, gentlemen.

_Seward_: Good-morning, Mr. President. And I am obliged to you for
calling, gentlemen. Good-morning.

_He moves towards the door_.

_Lincoln_: Perhaps these gentlemen could spare me ten minutes.

_White_: It might not--

_Lincoln_: Say five minutes.

_Jennings_: Perhaps you would--

_Lincoln_: I am anxious always for any opportunity to exchange views
with our friends of the South. Much enlightenment may be gained in
five minutes. Be seated, I beg you--if Mr. Seward will allow us.

_Seward_: By all means. Shall I leave you?

_Lincoln_: Leave us--but why? I may want your support, Mr. Secretary,
if we should not wholly agree. Be seated, gentlemen.

SEWARD _places a chair for_ LINCOLN, _and they sit at the table_.

You have messages for us?

_White_: Well, no, we can't say that.

_Lincoln_: No messages? Perhaps I am inquisitive?

_Seward_: These gentlemen are anxious to sound any moderating

_Lincoln_: I trust they bring moderating influences with them. You
will find me a ready listener, gentlemen.

_Jennings_: It's a delicate matter, Mr. Lincoln. Ours is just an
informal visit.

_Lincoln_: Quite, quite. But we shall lose nothing by knowing each
other's minds.

_White_: Shall we tell the President what we came to say, Mr. Seward?

_Lincoln_: I shall be grateful. If I should fail to understand, Mr.
Seward, no doubt, will enlighten me.

_Jennings_: We thought it hardly worth while to trouble you at so
early a stage.

_Lincoln_: So early a stage of what?

_Jennings_: I mean--

_Seward_: These gentlemen, in a common anxiety for peace, were merely
seeking the best channel through which suggestions could be made.

_Lincoln_: To whom?

_Seward_: To the government.

_Lincoln_: The head of the government is here.

_White_: But--

_Lincoln_: Come, gentlemen. What is it?

_Jennings_: It's this matter of Fort Sumter, Mr. President. If you
withdraw your garrison from Fort Sumter it won't be looked upon as
weakness in you. It will merely be looked upon as a concession to a
natural privilege. We believe that the South at heart does not want
secession. It wants to establish the right to decide for itself.

_Lincoln_: The South wants the stamp of national approval upon
slavery. It can't have it.

_White_: Surely that's not the point. There's no law in the South
against slavery.

_Lincoln_: Laws come from opinion, Mr. White. The South knows it.

_Jennings_: Mr. President, if I may say so, you don't quite

_Lincoln_: Does Mr. Seward understand?

_White_: We believe so.

_Lincoln_: You are wrong. He doesn't understand, because you didn't
mean him to. I don't blame you. You think you are acting for the best.
You think you've got an honest case. But I'll put your case for you,
and I'll put it naked. Many people in this country want abolition;
many don't. I'll say nothing for the moment as to the rights and
wrongs of it. But every man, whether he wants it or not, knows it may
come. Why does the South propose secession? Because it knows abolition
may come, and it wants to avoid it. It wants more: it wants the right
to extend the slave foundation. We've all been to blame for slavery,
but we in the North have been willing to mend our ways. You have not.
So you'll secede, and make your own laws. But you weren't prepared for
resistance; you don't want resistance. And you hope that if you can
tide over the first crisis and make us give way, opinion will prevent
us from opposing you with force again, and you'll be able to get your
own way about the slave business by threats. That's your case. You
didn't say so to Mr. Seward, but it is. Now, I'll give you my answer.
Gentlemen, it's no good hiding this thing in a corner. It's got to be
settled. I said the other day that Fort Sumter would be held as long
as we could hold it. I said it because I know exactly what it means.
Why are you investing it? Say, if you like, it's to establish your
right of secession with no purpose of exercising it. Why do you want
to establish that right? Because now we will allow no extension of
slavery, and because some day we may abolish it. You can't deny it;
there's no other answer.

_Jennings_: I see how it is. You may force freedom as much as you
like, but we are to beware how we force slavery.

_Lincoln_: It couldn't be put better, Mr. Jennings. That's what the
Union means. It is a Union that stands for common right. That is its
foundation--that is why it is for every honest man to preserve it. Be
clear about this issue. If there is war, it will not be on the slave
question. If the South is loyal to the Union, it can fight slave
legislation by constitutional means, and win its way if it can. If
it claims the right to secede, then to preserve this country from
disruption, to maintain that right to which every state pledged itself
when the Union was won for us by our fathers, war may be the only way.
We won't break up the Union, and you shan't. In your hands, and not in
mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. You can have no conflict
without yourselves being the aggressors. I am loath to close. We are
not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may
have strained, do not allow it to break our bonds of affection. That
is our answer. Tell them that. Will you tell them that?

_White_: You are determined?

_Lincoln_: I beg you to tell them.

_Jennings_: It shall be as you wish.

_Lincoln_: Implore them to order Beauregard's return. You can
telegraph it now, from here. Will you do that?

_White_: If you wish it.

_Lincoln_: Earnestly. Mr. Seward, will you please place a clerk at
their service. Ask for an answer.

SEWARD _rings a bell_. A CLERK _comes in_.

_Seward:_ Give these gentlemen a private wire. Place yourself at their

_Clerk_: Yes, sir.

WHITE _and_ JENNINGS _go out with the_ CLERK. _For a moment_ LINCOLN
_and_ SEWARD _are silent,_ LINCOLN _pacing the room_, SEWARD _standing
at the table.

_Lincoln:_ Seward, this won't do.

_Seward_: You don't suspect--

_Lincoln_: I do not. But let us be plain. No man can say how wisely,
but Providence has brought me to the leadership of this country, with
a task before me greater than that which rested on Washington himself.
When I made my Cabinet, you were the first man I chose. I do not
regret it. I think I never shall. But remember, faith earns faith.
What is it? Why didn't those men come to see me?

_Seward_: They thought my word might bear more weight with you than

_Lincoln_: Your word for what?

_Seward_: Discretion about Fort Sumter.

_Lincoln_: Discretion?

_Seward_: It's devastating, this thought of war.

_Lincoln_: It is. Do you think I'm less sensible of that than you?
War should be impossible. But you can only make it impossible by
destroying its causes. Don't you see that to withdraw from Fort Sumter
is to do nothing of the kind? If one half of this country claims
the right to disown the Union, the claim in the eyes of every true
guardian among us must be a cause for war, unless we hold the Union to
be a false thing instead of the public consent to decent principles
of life that it is. If we withdraw from Fort Sumter, we do nothing to
destroy that cause. We can only destroy it by convincing them that
secession is a betrayal of their trust. Please God we may do so.

_Seward_: Has there, perhaps, been some timidity in making all this
clear to the country?

_Lincoln_: Timidity? And you were talking of discretion.

_Seward_: I mean that perhaps our policy has not been sufficiently

_Lincoln_: And have you not concurred in all our decisions? Do not
deceive yourself. You urge me to discretion in one breath and tax me
with timidity in the next. While there was hope that they might call
Beauregard back out of their own good sense, I was determined to
say nothing to inflame them. Do you call that timidity? Now their
intention is clear, and you've heard me speak this morning clearly
also. And now you talk about discretion--you, who call what was
discretion at the right time, timidity, now counsel timidity at the
wrong time, and call it discretion. Seward, you may think I'm simple,
but I can see your mind working as plainly as you might see the
innards of a clock. You can bring great gifts to this government, with
your zeal, and your administrative experience, and your love of men.
Don't spoil it by thinking I've got a dull brain.

_Seward (slowly):_ Yes, I see. I've not been thinking quite clearly
about it all.

_Lincoln (taking a paper from his pocket_): Here's the paper you sent
me. "Some Thoughts for the President's Consideration. Great Britain
... Russia ... Mexico ... policy. Either the President must control
this himself, or devolve it on some member of his Cabinet. It is
not in my especial province, but I neither seek to evade nor assume

_There is a pause, the two men looking at each, other without
speaking_. LINCOLN _hands the paper to_ SEWARD, _who holds it for a
moment, tears it up and throws it into his basket_.

_Seward:_ I beg your pardon.

_Lincoln (taking his hand_): That's brave of you.

JOHN HAY, _a Secretary, comes in_.

_Hay:_ There's a messenger from Major Anderson, sir. He's ridden
straight from Fort Sumter.

_Lincoln_: Take him to my room. No, bring him here.

HAY _goes_.

_Seward_: What does it mean?

_Lincoln_: I don't like the sound of it.

_He rings a bell_. A CLERK _comes in_.

Are there any gentlemen of the Cabinet in the house?

_Clerk_: Mr. Chase and Mr. Blair, I believe, sir.

_Lincoln_: My compliments to them, and will they be prepared to see
me here at once if necessary. Send the same message to any other
ministers you can find.

_Clerk_: Yes, sir.

_He goes_.

_Lincoln_: We may have to decide now--now.

HAY _shows in a perspiring and dust-covered_

MESSENGER, _and retires_. From Major Anderson?

_The Messenger_: Yes, sir. Word of mouth, sir.

_Lincoln_: Your credentials?

_The Messenger (giving_ LINCOLN _a paper_): Here, sir.

_Lincoln (glancing at it_): Well?

_The Messenger_: Major Anderson presents his duty to the government.
He can hold the Fort three days more without provisions and

LINCOLN _rings the bell, and waits until a third_ CLERK _comes in_.

_Lincoln_: See if Mr. White and Mr. Jennings have had any answer yet.
Mr.--what's his name?

_Seward_: Hawkins.

_Lincoln_: Mr. Hawkins is attending to them. And ask Mr. Hay to come

_Clerk_: Yes, sir.

_He goes_. LINCOLN _sits at the table and writes_. HAY _comes in_.

_Lincoln (writing):_ Mr. Hay, do you know where General Scott is?

_Hay_: At headquarters, I think, sir.

_Lincoln_: Take this to him yourself and bring an answer back.

_Hay_: Yes, sir.

_He takes the note, and goes_.

_Lincoln:_ Are things very bad at the Fort?

_The Messenger_: The major says three days, sir. Most of us would have
said twenty-four hours.

_A knock at the door_.

_Seward:_ Yes.

HAWKINS _comes in_.

_Hawkins_: Mr. White is just receiving a message across the wire, sir.

_Lincoln_: Ask him to come here directly he's finished.

_Hawkins_: Yes, sir.

_He goes_. LINCOLN _goes to a far door and opens it. He speaks to the_

_Lincoln_: Will you wait in here?

_The_ MESSENGER _goes through_.

_Seward_: Do you mind if I smoke?

_Lincoln_: Not at all, not at all.

SEWARD _lights a cigar_.

Three days. If White's message doesn't help us--three days.

_Seward_: But surely we must withdraw as a matter of military
necessity now.

_Lincoln_: Why doesn't White come?

SEWARD _goes to the window and throws it up. He stands looking down
into the street_. LINCOLN _stands at the table looking fixedly at the
door. After a moment or two there is a knock._

Come in.

HAWKINS _shows in_ WHITE _and_ JENNINGS, _and goes out_. SEWARD
_closes the window_.


_White_: I'm sorry. They won't give way.

_Lincoln_: You told them all I said?

_Jennings_: Everything.

_Lincoln_: It's critical.

_White_: They are definite.

LINCOLN _paces once or twice up and down the room, standing again at
his place at the table_.

_Lincoln:_ They leave no opening?

_White_: I regret to say, none.

_Lincoln_: It's a grave decision. Terribly grave. Thank you,
gentlemen. Good-morning.

_White and Jennings_: Good-morning, gentlemen.

_They go out_.

_Lincoln_: My God! Seward, we need great courage, great faith.

_He rings the bell. The_ SECOND CLERK _comes in._

Did you take my messages?

_The Clerk_: Yes, sir. Mr. Chase and Mr. Blair are here. The other
ministers are coming immediately.

_Lincoln_: Ask them to come here at once. And send Mr. Hay in directly
he returns.

_The Clerk_: Yes, sir.

_He goes_.

_Lincoln (after a pause_): "There is a tide in the affairs of men ..."
Do you read Shakespeare, Seward?

_Seward_: Shakespeare? No.

_Lincoln_: Ah!

SALMON P. CHASE, _Secretary of the Treasury, and_ MONTGOMERY BLAIR,
_Postmaster-General, come in_.

Good-morning, Mr. Chase, Mr. Blair.

_Seward_: Good-morning, gentlemen.

_Blair_: Good-morning, Mr. President. How d'ye do, Mr. Seward.

_Chase_: Good-morning, Mr. President. Something urgent?

_Lincoln_: Let us be seated.

_As they draw chairs up to the table, the other members of the
WELLES, _come in. There is an exchange of greetings, while they
arrange themselves round the table_.

Gentlemen, we meet in a crisis, the most fateful, perhaps, that has
ever faced any government in this country. It can be stated briefly.
A message has just come from Anderson. He can hold Fort Sumter three
days at most unless we send men and provisions.

_Cameron_: How many men?

_Lincoln_: I shall know from Scott in a few minutes how many are

_Welles_: Suppose we haven't as many.

_Lincoln_: Then it's a question of provisioning. We may not be able to
do enough to be effective. The question is whether we shall do as much
as we can.

_Hook_: If we withdrew altogether, wouldn't it give the South a lead
towards compromise, as being an acknowledgment of their authority,
while leaving us free to plead military necessity if we found public
opinion dangerous?

_Lincoln_: My mind is clear. To do less than we can do, whatever that
may be, will be fundamentally to allow the South's claim to right of
secession. That is my opinion. If you evade the question now, you will
have to answer it to-morrow.

_Blair_: I agree with the President.

_Hook_: We ought to defer action as long as possible. I consider that
we should withdraw.

_Lincoln_: Don't you see that to withdraw may postpone war, but that
it will make it inevitable in the end?

_Smith_: It is inevitable if we resist.

_Lincoln_: I fear it will be so. But in that case we shall enter it
with uncompromised principles. Mr. Chase?

_Chase_: It is difficult. But, on the whole, my opinion is with yours,
Mr. President.

_Lincoln_: And you, Seward?

_Seward_: I respect your opinion, but I must differ.

_A knock at the door_.

_Lincoln_: Come in.

HAY _comes in. He gives a letter to_ LINCOLN _and goes_.

_(Reading):_ Scott says twenty thousand men.

_Seward_: We haven't ten thousand ready.

_Lincoln_: It remains a question of sending provisions. I charge
you, all of you, to weigh this thing with all your understanding. To
temporise now, cannot, in my opinion, avert war. To speak plainly to
the world in standing by our resolution to hold Fort Sumter with
all our means, and in a plain declaration that the Union must be
preserved, will leave us with a clean cause, simply and loyally
supported. I tremble at the thought of war. But we have in our hands a
sacred trust. It is threatened. We have had no thought of aggression.
We have been the aggressed. Persuasion has failed, and I conceive it
to be our duty to resist. To withhold supplies from Anderson would be
to deny that duty. Gentlemen, the matter is before you.

_A pause_.

For provisioning the fort?

LINCOLN, CHASE, _and_ BLAIR _hold up their hands._

For immediate withdrawal?

SEWARD, CAMERON, SMITH, HOOK, _and_ WELLES _hold up their hands. There
is a pause of some moments_.

Gentlemen, I may have to take upon myself the responsibility of
over-riding your vote. It will be for me to satisfy Congress and
public opinion. Should I receive any resignations?

_There is silence_.

I thank you for your consideration, gentlemen. That is all.

_They rise, and the Ministers, with the exception of_ SEWARD, _go out,
talking as they pass beyond the door_.

You are wrong, Seward, wrong.

_Seward_: I believe you. I respect your judgment even as far as that.
But I must speak as I feel.

_Lincoln_: May I speak to this man alone?

_Seward_: Certainly. _He goes out_. LINCOLN _stands motionless for a
moment. Then he moves to a map of the United States, much larger than
the one in his Illinois home, and looks at it as he did there. He goes
to the far door and opens it_.

_Lincoln:_ Will you come in?

_The_ MESSENGER _comes_.

Can you ride back to Major Anderson at once?

_The Messenger_: Yes, sir.

_Lincoln_: Tell him that we cannot reinforce him immediately. We
haven't the men.

_The Messenger_: Yes, sir.

_Lincoln_: And say that the first convoy of supplies will leave
Washington this evening.

_The Messenger_: Yes, sir.

_Lincoln_: Thank you.

_The_ MESSENGER goes. LINCOLN _stands at the table for a moment; he
rings the bell_. HAWKINS _comes in_.

Mr. Hay, please.

_Hawkins_: Yes, sir.

_He goes, and a moment later_ HAY _comes in.

Lincoln:_ Go to General Scott. Ask him to come to me at once.

_Hay_: Yes, sir.

_He goes_.


_The two Chroniclers_: You who have gone gathering
  Cornflowers and meadowsweet,
Heard the hazels glancing down
  On September eves,
Seen the homeward rooks on wing
  Over fields of golden wheat,
And the silver cups that crown
  Water-lily leaves;

You who know the tenderness
  Of old men at eve-tide,
Coming from the hedgerows,
  Coming from the plough,
And the wandering caress
  Of winds upon the woodside,
When the crying yaffle goes
  Underneath the bough;

_First Chronicler_: You who mark the flowing
  Of sap upon the May-time,
And the waters welling
  From the watershed,
You who count the growing
  Of harvest and hay-time,
Knowing these the telling
  Of your daily bread;

_Second Chronicler_: You who cherish courtesy
  With your fellows at your gate,
And about your hearthstone sit
  Under love's decrees,
You who know that death will be
Speaking with you soon or late.

_The two together_: Kinsmen, what is
But the light of these?
Knowing these, what is there more
For learning in your little years?
Are not these all gospels bright
Shining on your day?
How then shall your hearts be sore
With envy and her brood of fears,
How forget the words of light
From the mountain-way? ...

Blessed are the merciful....
Does not every threshold seek
Meadows and the flight of birds
For compassion still?
Blessed are the merciful....
Are we pilgrims yet to speak
Out of Olivet the words
Of knowledge and good-will?

_First Chronicler_: Two years of darkness, and this man but grows
Greater in resolution, more constant in compassion.
He goes
The way of dominion in pitiful, high-hearted fashion.


_Nearly two years later_.

_A small reception room at the White House_. MRS. LINCOLN, _dressed in
a fashion perhaps a little too considered, despairing as she now does
of any sartorial grace in her husband, and acutely conscious that she
must meet this necessity of office alone, is writing. She rings the
bell, and_ SUSAN, _who has taken her promotion more philosophically,
comes in.

Mrs. Lincoln_: Admit any one who calls, Susan. And enquire whether the
President will be in to tea.

_Susan_: Mr. Lincoln has just sent word that he will be in.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: Very well.

SUSAN _is going_.

Susan. _Susan_: Yes, ma'am.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: You still say Mr. Lincoln. You should say the

_Susan_: Yes, ma'am. But you see, ma'am, it's difficult after calling
him Mr. Lincoln for fifteen years.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: But you must remember. Everybody calls him the
President now.

_Susan_: No, ma'am. There's a good many people call him Father Abraham
now. And there's some that like him even better than that. Only to-day
Mr. Coldpenny, at the stores, said, "Well, Susan, and how's old Abe
this morning?"

_Mrs. Lincoln_: I hope you don't encourage them.

_Susan_: Oh, no, ma'am. I always refer to him as Mr. Lincoln.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: Yes, but you must say the President.

_Susan:_ I'm afraid I shan't ever learn, ma'am.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: You must try.

_Susan_: Yes, of course, ma'am.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: And bring any visitors up.

_Susan_: Yes, ma'am. There's a lady waiting now.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: Then why didn't you say so?

_Susan_: That's what I was going to, ma'am, when you began to talk
about Mr.--I mean the President, ma'am.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: Well, show her up.

SUSAN _goes_. MRS. LINCOLN _closes her writing desk._ SUSAN _returns,
showing in_ MRS. GOLIATH BLOW.

_Susan_: Mrs. Goliath Blow.

_She goes_.

_Mrs. Blow_: Good-afternoon, Mrs. Lincoln.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: Good-afternoon, Mrs. Blow. Sit down, please.

_They sit_.

_Mrs. Blow_: And is the dear President well?

_Mrs. Lincoln_: Yes. He's rather tired.

_Mrs. Blow_: Of course, to be sure. This dreadful war. But I hope he's
not getting tired of the war.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: It's a constant anxiety for him. He feels his
responsibility very deeply.

_Mrs. Blow_: To be sure. But you mustn't let him get war-weary. These
monsters in the South have got to be stamped out.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: I don't think you need be afraid of the President's

_Mrs. Blow_: Oh, of course not. I was only saying to Goliath
yesterday, "The President will never give way till he has the South
squealing," and Goliath agreed.

SUSAN _comes in_.

_Susan_: Mrs. Otherly, ma'am.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: Show Mrs. Otherly in.

SUSAN _goes_.

_Mrs. Blow_: Oh, that dreadful woman! I believe she wants the war to

_Susan (at the door_): Mrs. Otherly.

MRS. OTHERLY _comes in and_ SUSAN _goes_.

_Mrs. Lincoln_: Good-afternoon, Mrs. Otherly. You know Mrs. Goliath

_Mrs. Otherly_: Yes. Good-afternoon. _She sits_.

_Mrs. Blow_: Goliath says the war will go on for another three years
at least.

_Mrs. Otherly_: Three years? That would be terrible, wouldn't it?

_Mrs. Blow_: We must be prepared to make sacrifices.

_Mrs. Otherly_: Yes.

_Mrs. Blow_: It makes my blood boil to think of those people.

_Mrs. Otherly_: I used to know a lot of them. Some of them were very
kind and nice.

_Mrs. Blow_: That was just their cunning, depend on it. I'm afraid
there's a good deal of disloyalty among us. Shall we see the dear
President this afternoon, Mrs. Lincoln?

_Mrs. Lincoln_: He will be here directly, I think.

_Mrs. Blow_: You 're looking wonderfully well, with all the hard work
that you have to do. I've really had to drop some of mine. And with
expenses going up, it's all very lowering, don't you think? Goliath
and I have had to reduce several of our subscriptions. But, of course,
we all have to deny ourselves something. Ah, good-afternoon, dear Mr.

LINCOLN _comes in_. THE LADIES _rise and shake hands with him_.

_Lincoln_: Good-afternoon, ladies.

_Mrs. Otherly_: Good-afternoon, Mr. President.

_They all sit_.

_Mrs. Blow_: And is there any startling news, Mr. President?

_Lincoln_: Madam, every morning when I wake up, and say to myself, a
hundred, or two hundred, or a thousand of my countrymen will be killed
to-day, I find it startling.

_Mrs. Blow_: Oh, yes, of course, to be sure. But I mean, is there any
good news.

_Lincoln_: Yes. There is news of a victory. They lost twenty-seven
hundred men--we lost eight hundred.

_Mrs. Blow_: How splendid!

_Lincoln_: Thirty-five hundred.

_Mrs. Blow_: Oh, but you mustn't talk like that, Mr. President. There
were only eight hundred that mattered.

_Lincoln_: The world is larger than your heart, madam.

_Mrs. Blow_: Now the dear President is becoming whimsical, Mrs.

SUSAN _brings in tea-tray, and hands tea round._ LINCOLN _takes none_.
SUSAN _goes_.

_Mrs. Otherly_: Mr. President.

_Lincoln_: Yes, ma'am.

_Mrs. Otherly_: I don't like to impose upon your hospitality. I
know how difficult everything is for you. But one has to take one's
opportunities. May I ask you a question?

_Lincoln_: Certainly, ma'am.

_Mrs. Otherly_: Isn't it possible for you to stop this war? In the
name of a suffering country, I ask you that.

_Mrs. Blow_: I'm sure such a question would never have entered my

_Lincoln_: It is a perfectly right question. Ma'am, I have but one
thought always--how can this thing be stopped? But we must ensure
the integrity of the Union. In two years war has become an hourly
bitterness to me. I believe I suffer no less than any man. But it must
be endured. The cause was a right one two years ago. It is unchanged.

_Mrs. Otherly_: I know you are noble and generous. But I believe that
war must be wrong under any circumstances, for any cause.

_Mrs. Blow_: I'm afraid the President would have but little
encouragement if he listened often to this kind of talk.

_Lincoln_: I beg you not to harass yourself, madam. Ma'am, I too
believe war to be wrong. It is the weakness and the jealousy and the
folly of men that make a thing so wrong possible. But we are all weak,
and jealous, and foolish. That's how the world is, ma'am, and we
cannot outstrip the world. Some of the worst of us are sullen,
aggressive still--just clumsy, greedy pirates. Some of us have grown
out of that. But the best of us have an instinct to resist aggression
if it won't listen to persuasion. You may say it's a wrong instinct. I
don't know. But it's there, and it's there in millions of good men.
I don't believe it's a wrong instinct, I believe that the world must
come to wisdom slowly. It is for us who hate aggression to persuade
men always and earnestly against it, and hope that, little by little,
they will hear us. But in the mean time there will come moments when
the aggressors will force the instinct to resistance to act. Then we
must act earnestly, praying always in our courage that never again
will this thing happen. And then we must turn again, and again,
and again to persuasion. This appeal to force is the misdeed of an
imperfect world. But we are imperfect. We must strive to purify the
world, but we must not think ourselves pure above the world. When I
had this thing to decide, it would have been easy to say, "No, I will
have none of it; it is evil, and I will not touch it." But that would
have decided nothing, and I saw what I believed to be the truth as I
now put it to you, ma'am. It's a forlorn thing for any man to have
this responsibility in his heart. I may see wrongly, but that's how I

_Mrs. Blow_: I quite agree with you, Mr. President. These brutes in
the South must be taught, though I doubt whether you can teach them
anything except by destroying them. That's what Goliath says.

_Lincoln_: Goliath must be getting quite an old man.

_Mrs. Blow_: Indeed, he's not, Mr. President Goliath is only

_Lincoln_: Really, now? Perhaps I might be able to get him a

_Mrs. Blow_: Oh, no. Goliath couldn't be spared. He's doing contracts
for the government, you know. Goliath couldn't possibly go. I'm sure
he will be very pleased when I tell him what you say about these
people who want to stop the war, Mr. President. I hope Mrs. Otherly
is satisfied. Of course, we could all complain. We all have to make
sacrifices, as I told Mrs. Otherly.

_Mrs. Otherly_: Thank you, Mr. President, for what you've said. I must
try to think about it. But I always believed war to be wrong. I didn't
want my boy to go, because I believed it to be wrong. But he would.
That came to me last week.

_She hands a paper to_ LINCOLN.

_Lincoln (looks at it, rises, and hands it back to her)_: Ma'am, there
are times when no man may speak. I grieve for you, I grieve for you.

_Mrs. Otherly (rising)_: I think I will go. You don't mind my saying
what I did?

_Lincoln_: We are all poor creatures, ma'am. Think kindly of me. (_He
takes her hand_.) Mary.

MRS. LINCOLN _goes out with_ MRS. OTHERLY.

_Mrs. Blow_: Of course it's very sad for her, poor woman. But she
makes her trouble worse by these perverted views, doesn't she? And, I
hope you will show no signs of weakening, Mr. President, till it has
been made impossible for those shameful rebels to hold up their heads
again. Goliath says you ought to make a proclamation that no mercy
will be shown to them afterwards. I'm sure I shall never speak to one
of them again.


Well, I must be going. I'll see Mrs. Lincoln as I go out.
Good-afternoon, Mr. President. _She turns at the door, and offers_
LINCOLN _her handy which he does not take_.

_Lincoln_: Good-afternoon, madam. And I'd like to offer ye a word of
advice. That poor mother told me what she thought. I don't agree with
her, but I honour her. She's wrong, but she is noble. You've told me
what you think. I don't agree with you, and I'm ashamed of you and
your like. You, who have sacrificed nothing, babble about destroying
the South while other people conquer it. I accepted this war with a
sick heart, and I've a heart that's near to breaking every day. I
accepted it in the name of humanity, and just and merciful dealing,
and the hope of love and charity on earth. And you come to me, talking
of revenge and destruction, and malice, and enduring hate. These
gentle people are mistaken, but they are mistaken cleanly, and in a
great name. It is you that dishonour the cause for which we stand--it
is you who would make it a mean and little thing. Good-afternoon.

_He opens the door and_ MRS. BLOW, _finding words inadequate, goes_.
LINCOLN _moves across the room and rings a bell. After a moment,_
SUSAN _comes in_. Susan, if that lady comes here again she may meet
with an accident.

_Susan_: Yes, sir. Is that all, sir?

_Lincoln_: No, sir, it is not all, sir. I don't like this coat. I
am going to change it. I shall be back in a minute or two, and if a
gentleman named Mr. William Custis calls, ask him to wait in here.

_He goes out_. SUSAN _collects the teacups. As she is going to the
door a quiet, grave white-haired negro appears facing her_. SUSAN
_starts violently_.

_The Negro (he talks slowly and very quietly)_: It is all right.

_Susan_: And who in the name of night might you be?

_The Negro_: Mista William Custis. Mista Lincoln tell me to come here.
Nobody stop me, so I come to look for him.

_Susan_: Are you Mr. William Custis?

_Custis_: Yes.

_Susan_: Mr. Lincoln will be here directly. He's gone to change his
coat. You'd better sit down.

_Custis_: Yes.

_He does so, looking about him with a certain pathetic
inquisitiveness_. Mista Lincoln live here. You his servant? A very
fine thing for young girl to be servant to Mista Lincoln.

_Susan_: Well, we get on very well together.

_Custis_: A very bad thing to be slave in South.

_Susan_: Look here, you Mr. Custis, don't you go mixing me up with

_Custis_: No, you not slave. You servant, but you free body. That very
mighty thing. A poor servant, born free.

_Susan_: Yes, but look here, are you pitying me, with your poor

_Custis_: Pity? No. I think you very mighty.

_Susan_: Well, I don't know so much about mighty. But I expect you're
right. It isn't every one that rises to the White House.

_Custis_: It not every one that is free body. That is why you mighty.

_Susan_: I've never thought much about it.

_Custis:_ I think always about it.

_Susan_: I suppose you're free, aren't you?

_Custis_: Yes. Not born free. I was beaten when I a little nigger. I
saw my mother--I will not remember what I saw.

_Susan_: I'm sorry, Mr. Custis. That was wrong.

_Custis_: Yes. Wrong.

_Susan_: Are all nig--I mean are all black gentlemen like you?

_Custis_: No. I have advantages. They not many have advantages.

_Susan_: No, I suppose not. Here's Mr. Lincoln coming.

LINCOLN, _coated after his heart's desire, comes to the door_. CUSTIS
_rises_. This is the gentleman you said, sir.

_She goes out with the tray.

Lincoln:_ Mr. Custis, I'm very glad to see you. _He offers his hand_.
CUSTIS _takes it, and is about to kiss it_. LINCOLN _stops him gently.
(Sitting):_ Sit down, will you? _Custis (still standing, keeping his
hat in his hand):_ It very kind of Mista Lincoln ask me to come to see

_Lincoln_: I was afraid you might refuse.

_Custis:_ A little shy? Yes. But so much to ask Glad to come.

_Lincoln_: Please sit down.

_Custis_: Polite?

_Lincoln_: Please. I can't sit myself, you see, if you don't.

_Custis_: Black, black. White, white.

_Lincoln_: Nonsense. Just two old men, sitting together (CUSTIS _sits
to_ LINCOLN'S _gesture_)--and talking.

_Custis_: I think I older man than Mista Lincoln.

_Lincoln_: Yes, I expect you are, I'm fifty-four.

_Custis_: I seventy-two.

_Lincoln_: I hope I shall look as young when I'm seventy-two.

_Custis_: Cold water. Much walk. Believe in Lord Jesus Christ. Have
always little herbs learnt when a little nigger. Mista Lincoln try.
Very good.

_He hands a small twist of paper to_ LINCOLN.

_Lincoln_: Now, that's uncommon kind of you. Thank you. I've heard
much about your preaching, Mr. Custis.

_Custis_: Yes.

_Lincoln_: I should like to hear you.

_Custis_: Mista Lincoln great friend of my people.

_Lincoln_: I have come at length to a decision.

_Custis_: A decision?

_Lincoln_: Slavery is going. We have been resolved always to confine
it. Now it shall be abolished.

_Custis_: You sure?

_Lincoln_: Sure.

CUSTIS _slowly stands up, bows his head, and sits again_.

_Custis_: My people much to learn. Years, and years, and years.
Ignorant, frightened, suspicious people. It will be difficult, very
slow. (_With growing passion_.) But born free bodies. Free. I born
slave, Mista Lincoln. No man understand who not born slave.

_Lincoln_: Yes, yes. I understand.

_Custis (with his normal regularity)_: I think so. Yes.

_Lincoln_: I should like you to ask me any question you wish.

_Custis_: I have some complaint. Perhaps I not understand.

_Lincoln_: Tell me.

_Custis_: Southern soldiers take some black men prisoner. Black men in
your uniform. Take them prisoner. Then murder them.

_Lincoln_: I know.

_Custis_: What you do?

_Lincoln_: We have sent a protest.

_Custis_: No good. Must do more.

_Lincoln_: What more can we do?

_Custis_: You know.

_Lincoln_: Yes; but don't ask me for reprisals.

_Custis (gleaming)_: Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.

_Lincoln_: No, no. You must think. Think what you are saying.

_Custis_: I think of murdered black men.

_Lincoln_: You would not ask me to murder?

_Custis_: Punish--not murder.

_Lincoln_: Yes, murder. How can I kill men in cold blood for what has
been done by others? Think what would follow. It is for us to set a
great example, not to follow a wicked one. You do believe that, don't

_Custis (after a pause)_: I know. Yes. Let your light so shine before
men. I trust Mista Lincoln. Will trust. I was wrong. I was too sorry
for my people.

_Lincoln_: Will you remember this? For more than two years I have
thought of you every day. I have grown a weary man with thinking. But
I shall not forget. I promise that.

_Custis_: You great, kind friend. I will love you.

_A knock at the door._

_Lincoln:_ Yes.

SUSAN _comes in_.

_Susan_: An officer gentleman. He says it's very important.

_Lincoln_: I'll come.

_He and_ CUSTIS _rise_.

Wait, will you, Mr. Custis? I want to ask you some questions.

_He goes out. It is getting dark, and_ SUSAN _lights a lamp and draws
the curtains_. CUSTIS _stands by the door looking after_ LINCOLN.

_Custis_: He very good man.

_Susan_: You've found that out, have you?

_Custis_: Do you love him, you white girl?

_Susan_: Of course I do.

_Custis_: Yes, you must.

_Susan_: He's a real white man. No offence, of course.

_Custis_: Not offend. He talk to me as if black no difference.

_Susan_: But I tell you what, Mr. Custis. He'll kill himself over this
war, his heart's that kind--like a shorn lamb, as they say.

_Custis_: Very unhappy war.

_Susan_: But I suppose he's right. It's got to go on till it's

_In the street below a body of people is heard approaching, singing
"John Brown's Body_" CUSTIS _and_ SUSAN _stand listening_, SUSAN
_joining in the song as it passes and fades away._


_First Chronicler_: Unchanged our time. And further yet
In loneliness must be the way,
And difficult and deep the debt
Of constancy to pay.

_Second Chronicler_: And one denies,
and one forsakes.
And still unquestioning he goes,
Who has his lonely thoughts, and makes.
A world of those.

_The two together_: When the high heart we magnify,
And the sure vision celebrate,
And worship greatness passing by,
Ourselves are great.


_About the same date. A meeting of the Cabinet at Washington_. SMITH
_has gone and_ CAMERON _has been replaced by_ EDWIN M. STANTON,
_Secretary of War. Otherwise the ministry, completed by_ SEWARD,
CHASE, HOOK, BLAIR, _and_ WELLES, _is as before. They are now
arranging themselves at the table, leaving_ LINCOLN'S _place empty.

Seward (coming in_): I've just had my summons. Is there some special

_Stanton_: Yes. McClellan has defeated Lee at Antietam. It's our
greatest success. They ought not to recover from it. The tide is

_Blair_: Have you seen the President?

_Stanton_: I've just been with him.

_Welles_: What does he say?

_Stanton_: He only said, "At last." He's coming directly.

_Hook_: He will bring up his proclamation again. In my opinion it is

_Seward_: Well, we've learnt by now that the President is the best man
among us.

_Hook_: There's a good deal of feeling against him everywhere, I find.

_Blair_: He's the one man with character enough for this business.

_Hook_: There are other opinions.

_Seward_: Yes, but not here, surely.

_Hook_: It's not for me to say. But I ask you, what does he mean about
emancipation? I've always understood that it was the Union we were
fighting for, and that abolition was to be kept in our minds for
legislation at the right moment. And now one day he talks as though
emancipation were his only concern, and the next as though he would
throw up the whole idea, if by doing it he could secure peace with the
establishment of the Union. Where are we?

_Seward_: No, you're wrong. It's the Union first now with him,
but there's no question about his views on slavery. You know that
perfectly well. But he has always kept his policy about slavery free
in his mind, to be directed as he thought best for the sake of the
Union. You remember his words: "If I could save the Union without
freeing any slaves, I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing
all the slaves, I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing some
and leaving others alone, I would also do that. My paramount object
in this struggle is to save the Union." Nothing could be plainer than
that, just as nothing could be plainer than his determination to free
the slaves when he can.

_Hook_: Well, there are some who would have acted differently.

_Blair_: And you may depend upon it they would not have acted so

_Stanton_: I don't altogether agree with the President. But he's the
only man I should agree with at all.

_Hook_: To issue the proclamation now, and that's what he will
propose, mark my words, will be to confuse the public mind just when
we want to keep it clear.

_Welles_: Are you sure he will propose to issue it now?

_Hook_: You see if he doesn't.

_Welles_: If he does I shall support him.

_Seward_: Is Lee's army broken?

_Stanton_: Not yet--but it is in grave danger.

_Hook_: Why doesn't the President come? One would think this news was

_Chase_: I must say I'm anxious to know what he has to say about it

A CLERK _comes in_.

_Clerk_: The President's compliments, and he will be here in a moment.

_He goes_.

_Hook_: I shall oppose it if it comes up.

_Chase_: He may say nothing about it.

_Seward_: I think he will.

_Stanton_: Anyhow, it's the critical moment.

_Blair_: Here he comes.

LINCOLN _comes in carrying a small book_.

_Lincoln_: Good-morning, gentlemen.

_He takes his place_.

_The Ministers_: Good-morning, Mr. President.

_Seward_: Great news, we hear.

_Hook_: If we leave things with the army to take their course for a
little now, we ought to see through our difficulties.

_Lincoln_: It's an exciting morning, gentlemen. I feel rather excited
myself. I find my mind not at its best in excitement. Will you allow

_Opening his book_.

It may compose us all. It is Mr. Artemus Ward's latest.

THE MINISTERS, _with the exception of_ HOOK, _who makes no attempt to
hide his irritation, and_ STANTON, _who would do the same but for
his disapproval of_ HOOK, _listen with good-humoured patience and
amusement while he reads the following passage from Artemus Ward_.

"High Handed Outrage at Utica."

"In the Faul of 1856, I showed my show in Utiky, a trooly grate city
in the State of New York. The people gave me a cordyal recepshun. The
press was loud in her prases. 1 day as I was givin a descripshun of
my Beests and Snaiks in my usual flowry stile what was my skorn and
disgust to see a big burly feller walk up to the cage containin my wax
figgers of the Lord's last Supper, and cease Judas Iscarrot by the
feet and drag him out on the ground. He then commenced fur to pound
him as hard as he cood."

"'What under the son are you abowt,' cried I."

"Sez he, 'What did you bring this pussylanermus cuss here fur?' and he
hit the wax figger another tremenjis blow on the bed."

"Sez I, 'You egrejus ass, that airs a wax figger--a representashun of
the false 'Postle.'"

"Sez he, 'That's all very well fur you to say; but I tell you, old
man, that Judas Iscarrot can't show himself in Utiky with impunerty
by a darn site,' with which observashun he kaved in Judassis hed. The
young man belonged to 1 of the first famerlies in Utiky. I sood him,
and the Joory brawt in a verdick of Arson in the 3d degree."

_Stanton_: May we now consider affairs of state?

_Hook_: Yes, we may.

_Lincoln_: Mr. Hook says, yes, we may.

_Stanton_: Thank you.

_Lincoln_: Oh, no. Thank Mr. Hook.

_Seward_: McClellan is in pursuit of Lee, I suppose.

_Lincoln_: You suppose a good deal. But for the first time McClellan
has the chance of being in pursuit of Lee, and that's the first sign
of their end. If McClellan doesn't take his chance, we'll move Grant
down to the job. That will mean delay, but no matter. The mastery has
changed hands.

_Blair_: Grant drinks.

_Lincoln_: Then tell me the name of his brand. I'll send some barrels
to the others. He wins victories.

_Hook_: Is there other business?

_Lincoln_: There is. Some weeks ago I showed you a draft I made
proclaiming freedom for all slaves.

_Hook (aside to Welles_): I told you so.

_Lincoln_: You thought then it was not the time to issue it. I agreed.
I think the moment has come. May I read it to you again? "It is
proclaimed that on the first day of January in the year of our Lord
one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, all persons held as slaves
within any state, the people whereof shall then be in rebellion
against the United States, shall be then, thenceforward, and forever
free." That allows three months from to-day. There are clauses dealing
with compensation in a separate draft.

_Hook_: I must oppose the issue of such a proclamation at this moment
in the most unqualified terms. This question should be left until
our victory is complete. To thrust it forward now would be to invite
dissension when we most need unity.

_Welles_: I do not quite understand, Mr. President, why you think this
the precise moment.

_Lincoln_: Believe me, gentlemen, I have considered this matter with
all the earnestness and understanding of which I am capable.

_Hook_: But when the "New York Tribune" urged you to come forward with
a clear declaration six months ago, you rebuked them.

_Lincoln_: Because I thought the occasion not the right one. It was
useless to issue a proclamation that might be as inoperative as the
Pope's bull against the comet. My duty, it has seemed to me, has been
to be loyal to a principle, and not to betray it by expressing it in
action at the wrong time. That is what I conceive statesmanship to be.
For long now I have had two fixed resolves. To preserve the Union, and
to abolish slavery. How to preserve the Union I was always clear, and
more than two years of bitterness have not dulled my vision. We have
fought for the Union, and we are now winning for the Union. When and
how to proclaim abolition I have all this time been uncertain. I am
uncertain no longer. A few weeks ago I saw that, too, clearly. So
soon, I said to myself, as the rebel army shall be driven out of
Maryland, and it becomes plain to the world that victory is assured
to us in the end, the time will have come to announce that with that
victory and a vindicated Union will come abolition. I made the promise
to myself--and to my Maker. The rebel army is now driven out, and I am
going to fulfil that promise. I do not wish your advice about the main
matter, for that I have determined for myself. This I say without
intending anything but respect for any one of you. But I beg you to
stand with me in this thing.

_Hook_: In my opinion, it's altogether too impetuous.

_Lincoln_: One other observation I will make. I know very well that
others might in this matter, as in others, do better than I can, and
if I was satisfied that the public confidence was more fully possessed
by any one of them than by me, and knew of any constitutional way in
which he could be put in my place, he should have it. I would gladly
yield it to him. But, though I cannot claim undivided confidence, I do
not know that, all things considered, any other person has more; and,
however this may be, there is no way in which I can have any other
man put where I am. I am here; I must do the best I can, and bear the
responsibility of taking the course which I feel I ought to take.

_Stanton_: Could this be left over a short time for consideration?

_Chase_: I feel that we should remember that our only public cause at
the moment is the preservation of the Union.

_Hook_: I entirely agree.

_Lincoln_: Gentlemen, we cannot escape history. We of this
administration will be remembered in spite of ourselves. No personal
significance or insignificance can spare one or another of us. In
giving freedom to the slave we assure freedom to the free. We shall
nobly save or meanly lose the last, best hope on earth.

_He places the proclamation in front of him_.

"Shall be thenceforward and forever free."

Gentlemen, I pray for your support.

_He signs it_.

_hand and go out_. STANTON _and_ CHASE _bow to him, and follow_. HOOK,
_the last to rise, moves away, making no sign.

Lincoln:_ Hook.

_Hook_: Yes, Mr. President.

_Lincoln_: Hook, one cannot help hearing things.

_Hook_: I beg your pardon?

_Lincoln_: Hook, there's a way some people have, when a man says a
disagreeable thing, of asking him to repeat it, hoping to embarrass
him. It's often effective. But I'm not easily embarrassed. I said one
cannot help hearing things.

_Hook_: And I do not understand what you mean, Mr. President.

_Lincoln_: Come, Hook, we're alone. Lincoln is a good enough name. And
I think you understand.

_Hook_: How should I?

_Lincoln_: Then, plainly, there are intrigues going on.

_Hook_: Against the government?

_Lincoln_: No. In it. Against me.

_Hook_: Criticism, perhaps.

_Lincoln_: To what end? To better my ways?

_Hook_: I presume that might be the purpose.

_Lincoln_: Then, why am I not told what it is?

_Hook_: I imagine it's a natural compunction.

_Lincoln_: Or ambition?

_Hook_: What do you mean?

_Lincoln_: You think you ought to be in my place.

_Hook_: You are well informed.

_Lincoln_: You cannot imagine why every one does not see that you
ought to be in my place.

_Hook_: By what right do you say that?

_Lincoln_: Is it not true?

_Hook_: You take me unprepared. You have me at a disadvantage.

_Lincoln_: You speak as a very scrupulous man, Hook.

_Hook_: Do you question my honour?

_Lincoln_: As you will.

_Hook_: Then I resign.

_Lincoln_: As a protest against...?

_Hook_: Your suspicion.

_Lincoln_: It is false?

_Hook_: Very well, I will be frank. I mistrust your judgment.

_Lincoln_: In what?

_Hook_: Generally. You over-emphasise abolition.

_Lincoln_: You don't mean that. You mean that you fear possible public
feeling against abolition.

_Hook_: It must be persuaded, not forced.

_Lincoln_: All the most worthy elements in it are persuaded. But the
ungenerous elements make the most noise, and you hear them only.
You will run from the terrible name of Abolitionist even when it is
pronounced by worthless creatures whom you know 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

_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 ...


_First Chronicler_: Two years again.
Desolation of battle, and long debate,
Counsels and prayers of men,
And bitterness of destruction and witless hate,
And the shame of lie contending with lie,
Are spending themselves, and the brain
That set its lonely chart four years gone by,
Knowing the word fulfilled,
Comes with charity and communion to bring
To reckoning,
To reconcile and build.

_The two together_: What victor coming from the field
  Leaving the victim desolate,
But has a vulnerable shield
  Against the substances of fate?
That battle's won that leads in chains
  But retribution and despite,
And bids misfortune count her gains
  Not stricken in a penal night.

His triumph is but bitterness
  Who looks not to the starry doom
When proud and humble but possess
  The little kingdom of the tomb.

Who, striking home, shall not forgive,
  Strikes with a weak returning rod,
Claiming a fond prerogative
  Against the armoury of God.

Who knows, and for his knowledge stands
  Against the darkness in dispute,
And dedicates industrious hands,
  And keeps a spirit resolute,
Prevailing in the battle, then
  A steward of his word is made,
To bring it honour among men,
  Or know his captaincy betrayed.


_An April evening in 1865. A farmhouse near Appomattox_. GENERAL
GRANT, _Commander-in-Chief, under Lincoln, of the Northern armies,
is seated at a table with_ CAPTAIN MALINS, _an aide-de-camp. He
is smoking a cigar, and at intervals he replenishes his glass of
whiskey_. DENNIS, _an orderly, sits at a table in the corner,

_Grant (consulting a large watch lying in front of him_): An hour and
a half. There ought to be something more from Meade by now. Dennis.

_Dennis (coming to the table_): Yes, sir.

_Grant_: Take these papers to Captain Templeman, and ask Colonel West
if the twenty-third are in action yet. Tell the cook to send some soup
at ten o'clock. Say it was cold yesterday.

_Dennis_: Yes, sir.

_He goes_.

_Grant_: Give me that map, Malins.

MALINS _hands him the map at which he is working_.

(_After studying it in silence_): Yes. There's no doubt about it.
Unless Meade goes to sleep it can only be a question of hours. Lee's a
great man, but he can't get out of that.

_Making a ring on the map with his finger_.

_Malins (taking the map again_): This ought to be the end, sir.

_Grant_: Yes. If Lee surrenders, we can all pack up for home.

_Malins_: By God, sir, it will be splendid, won't it, to be back

_Grant_: By God, sir, it will.

_Malins_: I beg your pardon, sir.

_Grant_: You're quite right, Malins. My boy goes away to school next
week. Now I may be able to go down with him and see him settled.

DENNIS _comes back_.

_Dennis_: Colonel West says, yes, sir, for the last half-hour. The
cook says he's sorry, sir. It was a mistake.

_Grant_: Tell him to keep his mistakes in the kitchen.

_Dennis_: I will, sir.

_He goes back to his place.

Grant (at his papers_): Those rifles went up this afternoon?

_Malins_: Yes, sir.

_Another_ ORDERLY _comes in.

Orderly_: Mr. Lincoln has just arrived, sir. He's in the yard now.

_Grant_: All right, I'll come.

THE ORDERLY _goes_. GRANT _rises and crosses to the door, but is met
there by_ LINCOLN _and_ HAY. LINCOLN, _in top boots and tall hat that
has seen many campaigns, shakes hands with_ GRANT _and takes_ MALINS'S

_Grant:_ I wasn't expecting you, sir.

_Lincoln_: No; but I couldn't keep away. How's it going?

_They sit_.

_Grant_: Meade sent word an hour and a half ago that Lee was
surrounded all but two miles, which was closing in.

_Lincoln_: That ought about to settle it, eh?

_Grant_: Unless anything goes wrong in those two miles, sir. I'm
expecting a further report from Meade every minute.

_Lincoln_: Would there be more fighting?

_Grant_: It will probably mean fighting through the night, more or
less. But Lee must realise it's hopeless by the morning.

_An Orderly (entering)_: A despatch, sir.

_Grant_: Yes.

THE ORDERLY _goes, and a_ YOUNG OFFICER _comes in from the field. He
salutes and hands a despatch to_ GRANT.

_Officer_: From General Meade, sir.

_Grant (taking it_): Thank you.

_He opens it and reads_.

You needn't wait.

THE OFFICER _salutes and goes_.

Yes, they've closed the ring. Meade gives them ten hours. It's timed
at eight. That's six o'clock in the morning.

_He hands the despatch to_ LINCOLN.

_Lincoln_: We must be merciful. Bob Lee has been a gallant fellow.

_Grant (taking a paper_): Perhaps you'll look through this list, sir.
I hope it's the last we shall have.

_Lincoln (taking the paper_): It's a horrible part of the business,
Grant. Any shootings?

_Grant_: One.

_Lincoln_: Damn it, Grant, why can't you do without it? No, no, of
course not? Who is it?

_Grant_: Malins.

_Malins (opening a book_): William Scott, sir. It's rather a hard

_Lincoln_: What is it?

_Malins_: He had just done a heavy march, sir, and volunteered for
double guard duty to relieve a sick friend. He was found asleep at his

_He shuts the book_.

_Grant_: I was anxious to spare him. But it couldn't be done. It was a
critical place, at a gravely critical time.

_Lincoln_: When is it to be?

_Matins_: To-morrow, at daybreak, sir.

_Lincoln_: I don't see that it will do him any good to be shot. Where
is he?

_Malins_: Here, sir.

_Lincoln_: Can I go and see him?

_Grant_: Where is he?

_Malins_: In the barn, I believe, sir.

_Grant_: Dennis.

_Dennis (coming from his table_): Yes, sir.

_Grant_: Ask them to bring Scott in here.

DENNIS _goes_.

I want to see Colonel West. Malins, ask Templeman if those figures are
ready yet.

_He goes, and_ MALINS _follows.

Lincoln:_ Will you, Hay?

HAY _goes. After a moment, during which_ LINCOLN _takes the book that_
MALINS _has been reading from, and looks into it_, WILLIAM SCOTT _is
brought in under guard. He is a boy of twenty_.

_Lincoln (to the_ GUARD): Thank you. Wait outside, will you?

_The_ MEN _salute and withdraw_.

Are you William Scott?

_Scott_: Yes, sir.

_Lincoln_: You know who I am?

_Scott_: Yes, sir.

_Lincoln_: The General tells me you've been court-martialled.

_Scott_: Yes sir.

_Lincoln_: Asleep on guard?

_Scott_: Yes, sir.

_Lincoln_: It's a very serious offence.

_Scott_: I know, sir.

_Lincoln_: What was it?

_Scott (a pause_): I couldn't keep awake, sir.

_Lincoln_: You'd had a long march?

_Scott_: Twenty-three miles, sir.

_Lincoln_: You were doing double guard?

_Scott_: Yes, sir.

_Lincoln_: Who ordered you?

_Scott_: Well, sir, I offered.

_Lincoln_: Why?

_Scott_: Enoch White--he was sick, sir. We come from the same place.

_Lincoln_: Where's that?

_Scott_: Vermont, sir.

_Lincoln_: You live there?

_Scott_: Yes, sir. My ... we've got a farm down there, sir.

_Lincoln_: Who has?

_Scott_: My mother, sir. I've got her photograph, sir.

_He takes it from his pocket_.

_Lincoln (taking it_): Does she know about this?

_Scott_: For God's sake, don't, sir.

_Lincoln_: There, there, my boy. You're not going to be shot.

_Scott (after a pause_): Not going to be shot, sir.

_Lincoln_: No, no.

_Scott_: Not--going--to--be--shot.

_He breaks down, sobbing_.

_Lincoln (rising and going to him_): There, there. I believe you when
you tell me that you couldn't keep awake. I'm going to trust you, and
send you back to your regiment.

_He goes back to his seat.

Scott:_ When may I go back, sir?

_Lincoln_: You can go back to-morrow. I expect the fighting will be
over, though.

_Scott_: Is it over yet, sir?

_Lincoln_: Not quite.

_Scott_: Please, sir, let me go back to-night--let me go back

_Lincoln_: Very well.

_He writes_.

Do you know where General Meade is?

_Scott_: No, sir.

_Lincoln_: Ask one of those men to come here.

SCOTT _calls one of his guards in.

Lincoln:_ Your prisoner is discharged. Take him at once to General
Meade with this.

_He hands a note to the man.

The Soldier_: Yes, sir.

_Scott_: Thank you, sir.

_He salutes and goes out with the_ SOLDIER.

_Lincoln_: Hay.

_Hay (outside_): Yes, sir.

_He comes in_.

_Lincoln_: What's the time?

_Hay (looking at the watch on the table_): Just on half-past nine,

_Lincoln_: I shall sleep here for a little. You'd better shake down
too. They'll wake us if there's any news.

LINCOLN _wraps himself up on two chairs_.

HAY _follows suit on a bench. After a few moments_ GRANT _comes to the
door, sees what has happened, blows out the candles quietly, and goes


_The First Chronicler_: Under the stars an end is made,
And on the field the Southern blade
Lies broken,
And, where strife was, shall union be,
And, where was bondage, liberty.
The word is spoken....
Night passes.

_The Curtain rises on the same scene_, LINCOLN _and_ HAY _still lying
asleep. The light of dawn fills the room. The_ ORDERLY _comes in with
two smoking cups of coffee and some biscuits_. LINCOLN _wakes_.

_Lincoln_: Good-morning.

_Orderly_: Good-morning, sir.

_Lincoln (taking coffee and biscuits_): Thank you.

_The_ ORDERLY _turns to_ HAY, _who sleeps on, and he hesitates_.

_Lincoln_: Hay. _(Shouting_.) Hay.

_Hay (starting up_): Hullo! What the devil is it? I beg your pardon,

_Lincoln_: Not at all. Take a little coffee.

_Hay_: Thank you, sir.

_He takes coffee and biscuits. The_ ORDERLY _goes_.

_Lincoln_: Slept well, Hay?

_Hay_: I feel a little crumpled, sir. I think I fell off once.

_Lincoln_: What's the time?

_Hay (looking at the watch_): Six o'clock, sir.

GRANT _comes in_.

_Grant_: Good-morning, sir; good-morning, Hay.

_Lincoln_: Good-morning, general.

_Hay_: Good-morning, sir.

_Grant_: I didn't disturb you last night. A message has just come from
Meade. Lee asked for an armistice at four o'clock.

_Lincoln (after a silence_): For four years life has been but the hope
of this moment. It is strange how simple it is when it comes. Grant,
you've served the country very truly. And you've made my work

_He takes his hand_.

Thank you.

_Grant_: Had I failed, the fault would not have been yours, sir. I
succeeded because you believed in me.

_Lincoln_: Where is Lee?

_Grant_: He's coming here. Meade should arrive directly.

_Lincoln_: Where will Lee wait?

_Grant_: There's a room ready for him. Will you receive him, sir?

_Lincoln_: No, no, Grant. That's your affair. You are to mention no
political matters. Be generous. But I needn't say that.

_Grant (taking a paper from his pocket_): Those are the terms I

_Lincoln (reading):_ Yes, yes. They do you honour.

_He places the paper on the table. An_ ORDERLY _comes in_.

_Orderly_: General Meade is here, sir.

_Grant_: Ask him to come here.

_Orderly_: Yes, sir.

_He goes_.

_Grant_: I learnt a good deal from Robert Lee in early days. He's a
better man than most of us. This business will go pretty near the
heart, sir.

_Lincoln_: I'm glad it's to be done by a brave gentleman, Grant.

GENERAL MEADE _and_ CAPTAIN SONE, _his aide-de-camp, come in_. MEADE
_salutes. Lincoln_: Congratulations, Meade. You've done well.

_Meade_: Thank you, sir.

_Grant_: Was there much more fighting?

_Meade_: Pretty hot for an hour or two.

_Grant_: How long will Lee be?

_Meade_: Only a few minutes, I should say, sir.

_Grant_: You said nothing about terms?

_Meade_: No, sir.

_Lincoln_: Did a boy Scott come to you?

_Meade_: Yes, sir. He went into action at once. He was killed, wasn't
he, Sone?

_Sone_: Yes, sir.

_Lincoln_: Killed? It's a queer world, Grant.

_Meade_: Is there any proclamation to be made, sir, about the rebels?

_Grant_: I--

_Lincoln_: No, no. I'll have nothing of hanging or shooting these men,
even the worst of them. Frighten them out of the country, open the
gates, let down the bars, scare them off. Shoo!

_He flings out his arms_.

Good-bye, Grant. Report at Washington as soon as you can.

_He shakes hands with him_.

Good-bye, gentlemen. Come along, Hay.

MEADE _salutes and_ LINCOLN _goes, followed by_ HAY.

_Grant_: Who is with Lee?

_Meade_: Only one of his staff, sir.

_Grant_: You might see Malins, will you, Sone, and let us know
directly General Lee comes.

_Sone_: Yes, sir. _He goes out_.

_Grant_: Well, Meade, it's been a big job.

_Meade_: Yes, sir.

_Grant_: We've had courage and determination. And we've had wits,
to beat a great soldier. I'd say that to any man. But it's Abraham
Lincoln, Meade, who has kept us a great cause clean to fight for. It
does a man's heart good to know he's given victory to such a man to
handle. A glass, Meade? _(Pouring out whiskey_.) No? _(Drinking_.)

Do you know, Meade, there were fools who wanted me to oppose Lincoln
for the next Presidency. I've got my vanities, but I know better than

MALINS _comes in_.

_Malins_: General Lee is here, sir.

_Grant_: Meade, will General Lee do me the honour of meeting me here?

MEADE _salutes and goes_.

Where the deuce is my hat, Malins? And sword.

_Malins_: Here, sir.

MALINS _gets them for him_. MEADE _and_ SONE _come in, and stand
by the door at attention_. ROBERT LEE, _General-in-Chief of the
Confederate forces, comes in, followed by one of his staff. The days
of critical anxiety through which he has just lived have marked
themselves on_ LEE'S _face, but his groomed and punctilious toilet
contrasts pointedly with_ GRANT'S _unconsidered appearance. The two
commanders face each other_. GRANT _salutes, and_ LEE _replies.

Grant_: Sir, you have given me occasion to be proud of my opponent.

_Lee_: I have not spared my strength. I acknowledge its defeat.

_Grant_: You have come--

_Lee_: To ask upon what terms you will accept surrender. Yes.

_Grant (taking the paper from the table and handing it to_ LEE): They
are simple. I hope you will not find them ungenerous.

_Lee (having read the terms_): You are magnanimous, sir. May I make
one submission?

_Grant_: It would be a privilege if I could consider it.

_Lee_: You allow our officers to keep their horses. That is gracious.
Our cavalry troopers' horses also are their own.

_Grant_: I understand. They will be needed on the farms. It shall be

_Lee_: I thank you. It will do much towards conciliating our people. I
accept your terms.

LEE _unbuckles his sword, and offers it to_ GRANT.

_Grant_: No, no. I should have included that. It has but one rightful
place. I beg you.

LEE _replaces his sword_. GRANT _offers his hand and_ LEE _takes it.
They salute, and_ LEE _turns to go_.


_The two Chroniclers_: A wind blows in the night,
And the pride of the rose is gone.
It laboured, and was delight,
And rains fell, and shone
Suns of the summer days,
And dews washed the bud,
And thanksgiving and praise
Was the rose in our blood.

And out of the night it came,
A wind, and the rose fell,
Shattered its heart of flame,
And how shall June tell
The glory that went with May?
How shall the full year keep
The beauty that ere its day
Was blasted into sleep?

Roses. Oh, heart of man:
Courage, that in the prime
Looked on truth, and began
Conspiracies with time
To flower upon the pain
Of dark and envious earth....
A wind blows, and the brain
Is the dust that was its birth.

What shall the witness cry,
He who has seen alone
With imagination's eye
The darkness overthrown?
Hark: from the long eclipse
The wise words come--
A wind blows, and the lips
Of prophecy are dumb.


_The evening of April_ 14, 1865. _The small lounge of a theatre. On
the far side are the doors of three private boxes. There is silence
for a few moments. Then the sound of applause comes from the
auditorium beyond. The box doors are opened. In the centre box can
be seen_ LINCOLN _and_ STANTON, MRS. LINCOLN, _another lady, and an
officer, talking together.

The occupants come out from the other boxes into the lounge, where
small knots of people have gathered from different directions, and
stand or sit talking busily_.

_A Lady_: Very amusing, don't you think?

_Her Companion_: Oh, yes. But it's hardly true to life, is it?

_Another Lady_: Isn't that dark girl clever? What's her name?

_A Gentleman (consulting his programme_:) Eleanor Crowne.

_Another Gentleman_: There's a terrible draught, isn't there? I shall
have a stiff neck.

_His Wife_: You should keep your scarf on.

_The Gentleman_: It looks so odd.

_Another Lady_: The President looks very happy this evening, doesn't

_Another_: No wonder, is it? He must be a proud man.

_A young man, dressed in black, passes among the people, glancing
furtively into_ LINCOLN'S _box, and disappears. It is_ JOHN WILKES

_A Lady (greeting another_): Ah, Mrs. Bennington. When do you expect
your husband back?

_They drift away_. SUSAN, _carrying cloaks and wraps, comes in. She
goes to the box, and speaks to_ MRS. LINCOLN. _Then she comes away,
and sits down apart from the crowd to wait.

A Young Man_: I rather think of going on the stage myself. My friends
tell me I'm uncommon good. Only I don't think my health would stand

_A Girl_: Oh, it must be a very easy life. Just acting--that's easy

_A cry of_ "Lincoln" _comes through the auditorium. It is taken up,
with shouts of_ "The President," "Speech," "Abraham Lincoln," "Father
Abraham," _and so on. The conversation in the lounge stops as the
talkers turn to listen. After a few moments_, LINCOLN _is seen to
rise. There is a burst of cheering. The people in the lounge stand
round the box door_. LINCOLN _holds up his hand, and there is a sudden

_Lincoln_: My friends, I am touched, deeply touched, by this mark of
your good-will. After four dark and difficult years, we have achieved
the great purpose for which we set out. General Lee's surrender to
General Grant leaves but one Confederate force in the field, and the
end is immediate and certain. _(Cheers_.) I have but little to say
at this moment. I claim not to have controlled events, but confess
plainly that events have controlled me. But as events have come before
me, I have seen them always with one faith. We have preserved the
American Union, and we have abolished a great wrong. _(Cheers_.) The
task of reconciliation, of setting order where there is now confusion,
of bringing about a settlement at once just and merciful, and of
directing the life of a reunited country into prosperous channels of
good-will and generosity, will demand all our wisdom, all our loyalty.
It is the proudest hope of my life that I may be of some service in
this work. _(Cheers_.) Whatever it may be, it can be but little in
return for all the kindness and forbearance that I have received. With
malice toward none, with charity for all, it is for us to resolve 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.

_There is a great sound of cheering. It dies down, and a boy passes
through the lounge and calls out_ "Last act, ladies and gentlemen."
_The people disperse, and the box doors are closed_. SUSAN _is left
alone and there is silence_.

_After a few moments_, BOOTH _appears. He watches_ SUSAN _and sees
that her gaze is fixed away from him. He creeps along to the centre
box and disengages a hand from under his cloak. It holds a revolver.
Poising himself, he opens the door with a swift movement, fires,
flings the door to again, and rushes away. The door is thrown open
again, and the_ OFFICER _follows in pursuit. Inside the box_, MRS.
LINCOLN _is kneeling by her husband, who is supported by_ STANTON.
A DOCTOR _runs across the lounge and goes into the box. There is
complete silence in the theatre. The door closes again.

Susan (who has run to the box door, and is kneeling there, sobbing_):
Master, master! No, no, not my master!

_The other box doors have opened, and the occupants with others have
collected in little terror-struck groups in the lounge. Then the
centre door opens, and_ STANTON _comes out, closing it behind him.

_Stanton_: Now he belongs to the ages.


_First Chronicler_: Events go by. And upon circumstance Disaster
strikes with the blind sweep of chance. And this our mimic action was
a theme, Kinsmen, as life is, clouded as a dream.

_Second Chronicler_: But, as we spoke, presiding everywhere Upon event
was one man's character. And that endures; it is the token sent Always
to man for man's own government.



*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Abraham Lincoln" ***

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