paragement of the man or of the ruler to say that he could not have met, as another may, the solemn responsibilities of the crisis at which, as a nation, we have now arrived. That heart of love was not to be trusted with the work of dealing with the authors and abettors of gigantic treason. Himself so absolutely free from guile, he was but ill qualified to look through those disguises by which wicked men conceal their deep designs, and, when these designs are thwarted, put on an air of ingenious regret, and even of injured innocence. That recent visit of our noble Chief to Richmond, which many lamented, and not a few feared might lead to a catastrophe like that which has filled the land with mourning, that visit, with its immediate and possible results, may reconcile us to an event in itself most deplorable and sad, but, in its issues, not incompatible with the honor, safety, and well-being of the nation. We sympathize most deeply and sincerely in their affliction with the widow and the orphan sons of our great and good Chief Magistrate. We estimate, at its highest worth, the homage paid this day, through the whole land, to his distinguished virtues; but we will not, even at the tomb of Abraham Lincoln, "despair of the Republic." Despair! The very whisper of despair might re-animate that corpse which has this day been carried to the tomb, might re-open those meek and lustrous eyes, dispart those lips of mildness and decision, and draw forth a withering rebuke of the godless unbelief and craven cowardice that could despair of a Republic such as ours. No man, however great, however good, is essential to the welfare of our country. He who gave us this great chief can give us, has already given us, another, who will meet the responsibilities of a trust so suddenly and solemnly imposed upon him. He cannot yet divide with his lamented predecessor the love and homage of his fellow-citizens; but he is sure to gain them, if the practical pledges of his past life shall be redeemed, and if the incipient

promise of his administration shall be verified by its progressive development and prospective issues. Let us not, then, dishonor the memory of him whom we so sincerely mourn, by questioning the future stability of our institutions; the progress of civilization through the entire undivided land; the moral greatness of a nation emerging, in athletic vigor, from a furnace that would have consumed any other; the glorious moral destiny of a people set for the defence and the diffusion, through the world, of rational liberty, secured by the unfailing guarantees of high intelligence, mutual forbearance, and unaffected piety. We bid a long farewell to the man whom we this day honor; we follow, in imagination, his remains with the retinue of domestic and public mourners to its temporary depository, and thence again to the place of final sepulture; but we will not forget, amidst our personal sorrow and sympathetic grief, that our nation holds its life by a higher tenure than that of frail mortality, and that, whatever rulers rise or fall, "In God we trust."

Maine State Press, Portland, April 27, 1865.

EULOGY OF

PRESIDENT LINCOLN:

DELIVERED AT JEFFERSONVILLE, INDIANA, APRIL 19, 1865;

BY SURGEON R. H. GILBERT, U.S. VOLS.,

SUPERINTENDENT AND MEDICAL DIRECTOR UNITED-STATES ARMY GENERAL HOSPITALS.

How

solemn and how eloquent is this occasion! The purest man, the noblest patriot, the foremost man of the nation, Abraham Lincoln, is dead!

He in whom were centred the hopes of thirty millions of people has been stricken down, and is no more. The nation mourns his loss! From the rocks of the Atlantic to the sands of the Pacific, from the great lakes to the gulf, on every sea wherever the flag floats, in every land wherever the spirit of liberty breathes, grief weighs down the heart, and sorrow fills the air. How imperfectly can words express a grief so deep, a sorrow so profound!

Hearts that beat with joyous pride a few days since, for the victories which our arms have achieved, now beat heavily with grief. Eyes that beamed with joy at the prospect of returning peace are now dimmed with tears.

A good and a great man, ripe in wisdom, in the meridian of his glory, when he was contemplating how he could best be magnanimous to those who for four years have been-until compelled by our victories to lay them down—in arms against liberty and

against union; how he could be magnanimous, and yet be true to the great trust confided to him by the people, - true to the best interests of the nation, has been summoned, without a moment's warning, to appear before his God, the Ruler of the nations!

How few there are of his servants who were better prepared to receive that summons, which it pleased God in his unfathomable wisdom to send by the hands of an assassin!

In the contemplation of this awful and tragic event, it seems as if we were rolled back two thousand years to the barbarous ages; as if the Star of Bethlehem, the golden fruits of the gospel, the civilization and progress of twenty centuries, have been annihilated. We seem no longer Americans; but to stand again in the forum of Rome, with dead Cæsar at our feet.

While our hearts are saddened with this great sorrow; while every feeling of kindness and charity has been outraged by this most infamous of wicked deeds, and blackest of human crimes, — we have need of all our virtues and calm self-possession to keep the feelings of revenge against the perpetrators and sympathizers of this horrid tragedy from becoming uppermost in our hearts. We have need of all our faith and religion to see beyond the black evil, which, like a dark cloud, shrouds the present, and read aright the lessons which God intends it shall teach us.

We have, as a nation, reason, in the midst of our mourning, to be devoutly thankful that God in his goodness has withheld the assassin's hand so long. As we stand now we can only see hydra-headed treason rearing his head in the capital. We can only see in this damnable deed, the Devil's black hand. But wait a little, we shall see God's back of it.

Marching along with the armies of the Union, with your prospect and view shut out by the dust of the march, you have found it difficult, if not impossible, to discern the point of your departure, or to correctly discover your future destination.

It is only when you have gained the height of some commanding eminence that you can review the region over which you have journeyed, and see the destination of the long lines of your fellow-soldiers, which were wending their way along the valleys and through the mountain passes; and so now, walking wearily and sorrowfully in the shadow of the great mountain of grief which rises before us, with our eyes dimmed with tears for the nation's loss, we cannot see what lies beyond. When, through toil and suffering, we shall have climbed to the summit of the mountain, with wondering eyes, we shall then see stretched out before us the valleys of peace; and, far beyond, in the blue sky, above the purple hills, the cloud which seems so dark to us now, turning to silver beneath the rays of God's transcendent love.

I have said that in our great sorrow we have, as a nation, reason to be devoutly thankful to God, that in his goodness he has been pleased to withhold the assassin's hand until so much of the great work of annihilating this fiendish rebellion has been accomplished. It is too late now for treason's bullet or the assassin's dagger to stop the wheels of liberty's engine, to arrest the nation in its onward march towards the accomplishment of its glorious destiny. Nay: the assassin's dagger will rather hasten it onward in the accomplishment of its purpose. It may be the age of bullets, but it is also the age of ideas. It will open the eyes of those who have been crying "Peace, peace! when there is no peace," to the realization that we are fighting to save the life of the nation against a barbarism—the child of slavery-which is not less, but more to be dreaded that it finds its home in educated and cultivated minds. It will strengthen the knees that have knocked together or kneeled down at the mention of slavery. It will give vigor to hands and arms that have hung paralyzed in its presence, and bid them lay hold of the roots of the stump of the tree of slavery, that has fallen beneath the giant blows of the