speeches, listen to his utterances. He never spoke unkindly of any man. Even the rebels received no word of anger from him, and his last day illustrated in a remarkable manner his forgiving disposition. A dispatch was received that afternoon that Thompson and Tucker were trying to make their escape through Maine, and it was proposed to arrest them. Mr. Lincoln, however, preferred rather to let them quietly escape. He was seeking to save the very men who had been plotting his destruction. This morning we read a proclamation offering $25,000 for the arrest of these men as aiders and abbetors of his assassination; so that, in his expiring acts, he was saying, "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do."

As a ruler, I doubt if any President has ever shown such trust in God, or in public documents so frequently referred to Divine aid. Often did he remark to friends and to delegations that his hope for our success rested in his conviction that God would bless our efforts, because we were trying to do right. To the address of a large religious body he replied, "Thanks be unto God, who, in our national trials, giveth us the churches." To a minister who said he hoped the Lord was on our side, he replied that it gave him no concern whether the Lord was on our side or not, for, he added, "I know the Lord is always on the side of right," and with deep feeling added, "But God is my witness that it is my constant anxiety and prayer that both myself and this nation should be on the Lord's side."

In his domestic life he was exceedingly kind and affectionate. He was a devoted husband and father. During his presidential term he lost his second son, Willie. To an officer of the army he said, not long since, "Do you ever find yourself talking with the dead?" and added, "Since Willie's death I catch myself every day involuntarily talking with him, as if he were with me.' On his widow, who is unable to be here, I need only invoke the blessing of Almighty God that she may be comforted and sustained. For his son, who has witnessed the exercises of this hour, all that I can desire is that the mantle of his father may fall upon him.

Let us pause a moment in the lesson of the hour before we part. This man, though he fell by an assassin, still fell under the permissive hand of God. He had some wise purpose in allowing him so to fall. What more could he have desired of life for himself? Were not his honors full? There was no office to which he could not aspire. The popular heart clung around him as around no other man. The nations of the world had learned to honor our chief magistrate. If rumors of a desired alliance with England be true, Napoleon trembled when he heard of the fall of Richmond, and asked what nation would join him to protect him against our government under the guidance of such a man. His fame was full, his work was done, and he sealed his glory by becoming the nation's great martyr for liberty.

He appears to have had a strange presentiment, early in political life,

that some day he would be President. You see it indicated in 1839. Of the slave power he said, "Broken by it I too may be; bow to it I never will. The probability that we may fail in the struggle ought not to deter us from the support of a cause which we deem to be just. It shall not deter me. If ever I feel the soul within me elevate and expand to those dimensions not wholly unworthy of its Almighty architect, it is when I contemplate the cause of my country, deserted by all the world besides, and I standing up boldly and alone and hurling defiance at her victorious oppressors. Here without contemplating consequences, before high Heaven and in the face of the world, I swear eternal fidelity, to the just cause, as I deem it, of the land of my life, my liberty, and my love." And yet, secretly, he said to more than one, "I never shall live out the four years of my term. When the rebellion is crushed my work is done." So it was. He lived to see the last battle fought, and dictate a despatch from the home of Jefferson Davis; lived till the power of the rebellion was broken; and then, having done the work for which God had sent him, angels, I trust, were sent to shield him from one moment of pain or suffering, and to bear him from this world to the high and glorious realm where the patriot and the good shall live forever.

His career teaches young men that every position of eminence is open before the diligent and the worthy. To the active men of the country, his example is an incentive to trust in God and do right.

Standing, as we do to-day, by his coffin and his sepulchre, let us resolve to carry forward the policy which he so nobly began. Let us do right to all men. To the ambitious there is this fearful lesson: Of the four candidates for presidential honors in 1860, two of them-Douglas and Lincoln-once competitors, but now sleeping patriots, rest from their labors; Bell perished in poverty and misery, as a traitor might perish; and Breckinridge is a frightened fugitive, with the brand of traitor on his brow. Let us vow, in the sight of Heaven, to eradicate every vestige of human slavery; to give every human being his true position before God and man; to crush every form of rebellion, and to stand by the flag which God has given us. How joyful that it floated over parts of every State before Mr. Lincoln's career was ended. How singular that, to the fact of the assassin's heels being caught in the folds of the flag, we are probably indebted for his capture. The flag and the traitor must ever be enemies.

Traitors will probably suffer by the change of rulers, for one of sterner mould, and who himself has deeply suffered from the rebellion, now wields the sword of justice. Our country, too, is stronger for the trial. A republic was declared by monarchists too weak to endure a civil war; yet we have crushed the most gigantic rebellion in history, and have grown in strength and population every year of the struggle. We have passed through the ordeal of a popular election while swords and bayonets were in the field, and have come out unharmed. And

now, in an hour of excitement, with a large majority having preferred another man for president, when the bullet of the assassin has laid our president prostrate, has there been a mutiny? Has any rival proffered his claims? Out of an army of near a million, no officer or soldier uttered one note of dissent, and, in an hour or two after Mr. Lincoln's death, another leader under constitutional forms, occupied his chair, and the government moved forward without one single jar. The world will learn that republics are the strongest governments on earth.

And now, my friends, in the words of the departed, "with malice towards none," free from all feelings of personal vengeance, yet believing that the sword must not be borne in vain, let us go forward even in painful duty. Let every man who was a Senator or Representative in Congress, and who aided in beginning this rebellion, and thus led to the slaughter of our sons and daughters, be brought to speedy and to certain punishment. Let every officer educated at the public expense, and who, having been advanced to position, perjured himself and turned his sword against the vitals of his country, be doomed to a traitor's death. This, I believe, is the will of the American people. Men may attempt to compromise, and to restore these traitors and murderers to society again. Vainly may they talk of the fancied honor or chivalry of these murderers of our sonsthese starvers of our prisoners-these officers who mined their prison and placed kegs of powder to destroy our captive officers. But the American people will rise in their majesty and sweep all such compromises and compromisers away, and will declare that there shall be no safety for rebel leaders. But to the deluded masses we will extend the arms of forgiveness. We will take them to our hearts, and walk with them side by side: as we go forward to work out a glorious destiny.

The time will come when, in the beautiful words of him whose lips are now forever sealed, "the mystic chords of memory which stretch from every battle-field, and from every patriot's grave, shall yield a sweeter music when touched by the angels of our better nature.'

Chieftain farewell! The nation mourns thee. Mothers shall teach thy name to their lisping children. The youth of our land shall emulate thy virtues. Statesmen shall study thy record and learn lessons of wisdom. Mute though thy lips be, yet they still speak. Hushed is thy voice, but its echoes of liberty are ringing through the world, and the sons of bondage listen with joy. Prisoned thou art in death, and yet thou art marching abroad, and chains and manacles are bursting at thy touch. Thou didst fall not for thyself. The assassin had no hate for thee. Our hearts were aimed at, our national life was sought. We crown thee as our martyr-and humanity enthrones thee as her triumphant son. Hero, Martyr, Friend, FAREWELL!

THE DOUBLE ANNIVERSARY; '76 AND '63.
CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS, JR.

Quincy, Massachusetes, July 4, 1869.

Six years ago on this anniversary we-and not only we who stood upon the scared and furrowed field of battle, but you and our whole country were drawing breath after the struggle of Gettysburg. For three long days we had stood the strain of conflict, and now, at last, when the nation's birthday dawned, the shattered rebel columns had sullenly withdrawn from our front, and we drew that long breath of deep relief which none have ever drawn who have not passed in safety through the shock of doubtful battle. Nor was our country gladdened then by news from Gettysburg alone. The army that day twined noble laurel garlands round the proud brow of the mother land, Vicksburg was, thereafter, to be forever associated with the Declaration of Independence, and the glad anniversary rejoicings as they rose from every town and village and city of the loyal North mingled_with the last sullen echoes that died away from our cannon over the Cemetery Ridge, and were answered by glad shouts of victory from the far Southwest. To all of us of this generation-and especially to such of us as were ourselves part of those great events-this celebration, therefore, now has and must ever retain a special significance. It belongs to us; as well as to our fathers. As upon this day ninetythree years ago this nation was brought into existence through the efforts of others, so, upon this day six years ago, I am disposed to believe, through our own efforts, it dramatically touched the climax of its great argument.

The time that has since elapsed enables us now to look back and to see things in their true proportions. We begin to realize that the years we have so recently passed through, though we did not appreciate it at the time, were the heroic years of American history. Now that their passionate excitement is over, it is pleasnt to dwell upon them -to recall the rising of a great people—the call to arms as it boomed from our hill tops and clashed from our steeples-the eager patriotism of that fierce April which kindled new sympathies in every bosom, which caused the miser to give freely of his wealth, the wife with eager hands to pack the knapsack of her husband, and mothers, with eyes glistening with tears of pride, to look out upon the glistening bayonets of their boys; then came the frenzy of impatience and the defeat entailed upon us by rashness and inexperience, before our nation settled down, solidly and patiently, to its work, determined to save itself from destruction; and then followed the long weary years of doubt and mingled fear and hope, until at last that day came six A. P.-22.

years ago which we now celebrate-the day which saw the flood-tide
of rebellion reach high-water mark, whence it never after ceased to
recede. At the moment, probably, none of us, either at home or at the
seat of war, realized the grandeur of the situation-the dramatic
power of the incidents, or the Titanic nature of the conflict.
To you
who were at home-mothers, fathers, wives, sisters, brothers, citizens
of the common country if nothing else—the agony of suspense, the
anxiety, the joy and, too often, the grief which was to know no end,
which marked the passage of those days, left little either of time or
inclination to dwell upon aught save the horrid reality of the drama.
To others, who more immediately participated in those great events,
the daily vexations and annoyances-the hot and dusty day-the
sleepless, anxious night-the rain upon the unsheltered bivouac-the
dead lassitude which succeeded the excitement of action-the cruel
orders which recognized no fatigue and made no allowance for labors
undergone all these small trials of the soldier's life made it possible
to but few to realize the grandeur of the drama in which they were
playing a part. Yet we were not wholly oblivious of it. Now and
then I come across strange evidences of this in turning over the leaves of
the few weather-stained, dog-eared volumes which were the companions
of my life in camp. The title page of one bears witness to the fact
that it was my companion at Gettysburg, and in it I recently found
some lines of Browning's noble poem of Saul marked and altered to
express my sense of our sitiuation, and bearing date upon this very
5th of July. The poet had described in them the fall of snow in the
spring time from a mountain, under which nestled a valley; the alter-
ing of a few words made them well describe the approach of our army
to Gettysburg.

"Fold on fold, all at once, we crowd thundrously down to your feet,
And there fronts you, stark, black but alive yet, your army of old
With its rents, the successive bequeathing of conflicts untold,
Yea!-each harm got in fighting your battles, each furrow and scar
Of its head thrust twixt you and the tempest-all hail! here we are!"

And there we were, indeed, and then and there was enacted such a celebration as I hope may never again be witnessed there or elsewhere on another 4th of July. Even as I stand here before you, through the lapse of years and the shifting experiences of the recent past visions and memories of those days rise thick and fast before me. We did indeed crowd thundrously down to their feet! Of the events of those three terrible days I may speak with feeling and yet with modesty, for small indeed was the part which those with whom I served were called upon to play. When those great bodies of infantry drove together in the crash of battle, the clouds of cavalry which had hitherto covered up their movements were swept aside to the flanks. Our work for the time was done, nor had it been an easy or a pleasant work. The road to Gettysburg had been paved with our bodies and watered with