IN a book of memorial tributes to HENRY WARD BEECHER written shortly after his death in 1887, occur these words in the contribution of WILLIAM E. GLADSTONE: "To his undying fame the world and his memory stand in no need of witnesses.” Of BEECHER'S forty years of public service, centering at his Plymouth Church pulpit, the venerable and conservatively wise MARK HOPKINS wrote: "No such instance of prolonged steady power at one point, in connection with other labors so extended and diversified, and magnificent in their results, has ever been known." His grand work as an apostle of freedom before and during the Civil War, his amazing oratorical control of turbulent audiences in England, where he changed the feeling of a nation toward the Union cause, and his being the chosen mouthpiece of the people and the leaders upon all great occasions in his own land, caused President LINCOLN to appoint him orator of the day for the raising anew of the flag on Fort Sumter at the end of the war.

The day was over, with its noble oration and celebration, and Mr. BEECHER with the invited guests sailed back to New York in joy, to be greeted with the stunning announcement of the President's assassination. Mr. BEECHER went to his Peekskill home, and the next Sunday, April 23, 1865, delivered in his pulpit the discourse on ABRAHAM LINCOLN which here follows. He did not trust himself to look at his audience; the swollen stream of thought and feeling must flow to its appointed end without breaking its banks: he seemingly read the whole from a manuscript of a few sentences. And he judged well: it was more impressive than any amount of emotional rhetoric could have made it.

As an orator, who put his whole grand self into his speaking, BEECHER had no equal in that era of eloquent men,

any one approaching him arisen since he departed.

nor has

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

"And Moses went up from the plains of Moab unto the mountain of Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, that is over against Jericho. And the Lord shewed him all the land of Gilead, unto Dan, and all Naphtali, and the land of Ephraim, and Manasseh, and all the land of Judah, unto the utmost sea, and the south, and the plain of the valley of Jericho, the city of palm trees, unto Zoar. And the Lord said unto him, This is the land which I sware unto Abraham, unto Isaac, and unto Jacob, saying, I will give it unto thy seed: I have caused thee to see it with thine eyes, but thou shalt not go over thither. So Moses the servant of the Lord died there in the land of Moab, according to the word of the Lord." - Deut. xxxiv. 1-5.

THERE is no historic figure more noble than that of the Jewish lawgiver. After so many thousand years, the figure of Moses is not diminished, but stands up against the background of early days distinct and individual as if he had lived but yesterday. There is scarcely another event in history more touching than his death. He had borne the great burdens of state for forty years, shaped the Jews to a nation, filled out their civil and religious polity, administered their laws, guided their steps, or dealt with them in all their journeyings in the wilderness; had

mourned in their punishment, kept step with their march, and led them in wars until the end of their labors drew nigh. The last stage was reached. Jordan, only, lay between them and "the promised land." The Promised Land! O, what yearnings had heaved his breast for that divinely foreshadowed place! He had dreamed of it by night, and mused by day; it was holy and endeared as God's favored spot. It was to be the cradle of an illustrious history. All his long, laborious, and now weary life, he had aimed at this as the consummation of every desire, the reward of every toil and pain. Then came the word of the Lord to him: "Thou mayest not go Get thee up into the mountain; look upon it;

over.

and die!"

From that silent summit the hoary leader gazed to the north, to the south, to the west, with hungry eyes. The dim outlines rose up. The hazy recesses spoke of quiet valleys between hills. With eager longing, with sad resignation, he looked upon the promised land. It was now to him a forbidden land. This was but a moment's anguish, he forgot all his personal wants, and drank in the vision of his people's home. His work was done. There lay God's promise fulfilled. There was the seat of coming Jerusalem; there the city of Judah's King; the sphere of judges and prophets; the Mount of sorrow and salvation; the nest whence were to fly blessings innumerable to all mankind. Joy chased sadness

from every feature, and the prophet laid him down and died.

Again a great leader of the people has passed through toil, sorrow, battle, and war, and come near to the promised land of peace, into which he might not pass over. Who shall recount our martyr's sufferings for this people! Since the November of 1860, his horizon has been black with storms. By day and by night he trod a way of danger and darkness. On his shoulders rested a government dearer to him than his own life. At its integrity millions of men at home were striking: upon it foreign eyes lowered. It stood like a lone island in a sea full of storms; and every tide and wave seemed eager to devour it. Upon thousands of hearts great sorrows and anxieties have rested, but not on one, such, and in such measure, as upon that simple, truthful, noble soul, our faithful and sainted Lincoln. Never rising to the enthusiasm of more impassioned natures in hours of hope, and never sinking with the mercurial in hours of defeat to the depths of despondency, he held on with unmovable patience and fortitude, putting caution against hope that it might not be premature, and hope against caution that it might not yield to dread and danger. He wrestled ceaselessly, through four black and dreadful purgatorial years, wherein God was cleansing the sins of his people as by fire.

At last the watcher beheld the gray dawn for the

country. The mountains began to give forth their forms from out of the darkness: and the East came rushing toward us with arms full of joy for all our sorrows. Then it was for him to be glad exceedingly, that had sorrowed immeasurably. Peace could bring to no other heart such joy, such rest, such honor, such trust, such gratitude. But he looked upon it as Moses looked upon the promised land.

Then the wail of a nation proclaimed that he had gone from among us.

Not thine the sorrow, but ours, sainted soul! Thou hast indeed entered into the promised land, while we are yet on the march. To us remain the rocking of the deep, the storm upon the land, days of duty and nights of watching; but thou art sphered high above all darkness and fear, beyond all sorrow and weariness. Rest, O weary heart! Rejoice exceedingly, thou that hast enough suffered! Thou hast beheld Him who invisibly led thee in this great wilderness. Thou standest among the elect. Around thee are the royal men that have ennobled human life in every age. Kingly art thou, with glory on thy brow as a diadem. And joy is upon thee for evermore. Over all this land, over all the little cloud of years that now from thine infinite horizon moves back as a speck, thou art lifted up as high as a star is above the clouds, that hide us but never reach it. In the goodly company of Mount Zion thou shalt