union, for he believed that without the union, permanent liberty for either race on this continent would be impossible. And because of this belief, he was reluctant, perhaps more reluctant than most of his associates, to strike slavery with the sword. For many months, the passionate appeals of millions of his associates seemed not to move him. He listened to all the phases of the discussion, and stated, in language clearer and stronger than any opponent had used, the dangers, the difficulties and the possible futility of the act.

In reference to its practical wisdom, Congress, the Cabinet and the country were divided. Several of his generals had proclaimed the freedom of slaves within the limits of their commands. The President revoked their proclamations. His first Secretary of War had inserted a paragraph in his annual report, advocating a similar policy. The President suppressed it.

On the 19th of August, 1862, Horace Greeley published a letter, addressed to the President, entitled 'The Prayer of Twenty Millions,' in which he said:

On the face of this wide earth, Mr. President, there is not one disinterested, determined, intelligent champion of the union cause who does not feel that all attempts to put down the rebellion, and at the same time uphold its inciting cause, are preposterous and futile.

To this the President responded in that evermemorable dispatch of August 22, in which he said:

If there be those who would not save the union

unless they could at the same time save slavery, I do not agree with them.

If there be those who would not save the union unless they could at the same time destroy slavery, I do not agree with them.

My paramount object is to save the union, and not either to save or destroy slavery.

If I could save the union without freeing any slave, I would do it, if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it; and if I could do it by freeing some and leaving others alone, I would also do that.

What I do about slavery and the colored race, I do because I believe it helps to save the union; and what I forbear, I forbear because I do not believe it helps to save the union. I shall do less whenever I believe that what I am doing hurts the cause; and I shall do more whenever I believe doing more will help the cause.

Thus, against all importunities on the one hand, and remonstrances on the other, he took the mighty question to his own heart, and, during the long months of that terrible battle-summer, wrestled with it alone.

But at length, he realized the saving truth, that great, unsettled questions have no pity for the repose of nations.

On the 22d of September, he summoned his Cabinet to announce his conclusion. It was my good fortune, on that same day, and a few hours after the meeting, to hear, from the lips of one who participated, the story of the scene.

As the chiefs of the executive departments came in one by one, they found the President reading a

favorite chapter from a popular humorist. He was lightening the weight of the great burden which rested upon his spirit. He finished the chapter, reading it aloud. And here I quote from the published journal of the late chief-justice, an entry, written immediately after the meeting, and bearing unmistakable evidence that it is almost a literal transcript of Lincoln's words:

The President then took a graver tone, and said: "Gentlemen, I have, as you are aware, thought a great deal about the relation of this war to slavery ; and you all remember that, several weeks ago, I read to you an order I had prepared upon the subject, which, on account of objections made by some of you, was not issued. Ever since then, my mind has been much occupied with this subject, and I have thought all along that the time for acting upon it might probably come. I think the time has come now. I wish it was a better time. I wish that we were in a better condition. The action of the army against the rebels has not been quite what I should have best liked, but they have been driven out of Maryland, and Pennsylvania is no longer in danger of invasion.

When the rebel army was at Frederick, I determined, as soon as it should be driven out of Maryland, to issue a proclamation of emancipation, such as I thought most likely to be useful. I said nothing to any one, but I made a promise to myself and (hesitating a little) to my Maker. The rebel army is now driven out, and I am going to fulfill that promise. I have got you together to hear what I have written. down. 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 already know the views of each upon this question. They have been heretofore expressed, and I have considered them as thoroughly and carefully as I can. What I have written is that which my reflections have determined me to say. If there is anything in the expressions I use, or in any minor matter which any one of you think had best be changed, I shall be glad to receive your suggestions. One other observation I will make. I know very well that many 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 to him. But though I believe I have not so much of the confidence of the people as I had some time since, 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."

The President then proceeded to read his Emancipation Proclamation, making remarks on the several parts as he went on, and showing that he had fully considered the subject in all the lights under which it had been presented to him.

The proclamation was amended in a few matters of detail. It was signed and published that day. The world knows the rest, and will not forget it till the last syllable of recorded time.'

In the painting before us, the artist has chosen the moment when the reading of the proclamation was finished, and the Secretary of State was offering

his first suggestion. I profess no skill in the subtle mysteries of art criticism. I can only say of a painting, what the painting says to me. I know not what this may say to others; but to me, it tells the whole story of the scene, in the silent and pathetic language of art.

We value the Trumbull picture of the Declaration, that promise and prophecy of which this act was the fulfillment, because many of its portraits were taken from actual life. This picture is a faithful reproduction, not only of the scene, but its accessories. It was painted at the executive mansion, under the eye of Mr. Lincoln, who sat with the artist during many days of genial companionship, and aided him in arranging the many details of the picture.

The severely plain chamber, not now used for cabinet councils; the plain marble mantel, with the portrait of a hero president above it; the counciltable, at which Jackson and his successor had presided; the old-fashioned chairs; the books and maps; the captured sword, with its pathetic history;—all are there, as they were, in fact, fifteen years ago. But what is of more consequence, the portraits are true to the life. Mr. Seward said of the painting, 'It is a vivid representation of the scene, with portraits of rare fidelity;' and so said all his associates.

Without this painting, the scene could not even now be reproduced. The room has been remodeled ; its furniture is gone; and death has been sitting in that council, calling the roll of its members in quick succession. Yesterday, he added another name to