Of all Lincoln’s public utterances, this is unquestionably the most remarkable.  The oration, brief and unpretending as it is, will remain a classic of the English language.  “The Westminster Review,” one of the foremost of the great English quarterlies, said of it:  “It has but one equal, in that pronounced upon those who fell in the first year of the Peloponnesian War; and in one respect it is superior to that great speech.  It is not only more natural, fuller of feeling, more touching and pathetic, but we know with absolute certainty that it was really delivered.  Nature here takes precedence of art—­even though it be the art of Thucydides.”

“An illustration of the difference between oratory and inspiration” is Mr. John Bigelow’s happy characterization of the Gettysburg address.  “It was,” he adds, “one of the most momentous incidents in the history of the Civil War.  It may be doubted whether anything had then, or has since, been said of that national strife conceived upon a higher and wiser spiritual plane....  It is perhaps, on the whole, the most enduring bit of eloquence that has ever been uttered on this continent; and yet one finds in it none of the tricks of the forum or the stage, nor any trace of the learning of the scholar, nor the need of it.”

Major Harry T. Lee, who was himself a participant in the battle of Gettysburg and occupied a seat on the platform at the dedication, says that the people listened with marked attention through the two hours of Everett’s noble and scholarly oration; but that when Lincoln came forward, and in a voice burdened with emotion uttered his simple and touching eulogy on “the brave men, living and dead, who struggled here,” there was scarcely a dry eye in the whole vast audience.

Mr. John Russell Young, afterwards U.S.  Minister to China, was present at the Gettysburg dedication, and says:  “I sat behind Mr. Lincoln while Mr. Everett delivered his oration.  I remember the great orator had a way of raising and dropping his handkerchief as he spoke.  He spoke for two hours, and was very impressive, with his white hair and venerable figure.  He was a great orator, but it was like a bit of Greek sculpture—­beautiful, but cold as ice.  It was perfect art, but without feeling.  The art and beauty of it captured your imagination and judgment.  Mr. Everett went over the campaign with resonant, clear, splendid rhetoric.  There was not a word or a sentence or a thought that could be corrected.  You felt that every gesture had been carefully studied out beforehand.  It was like a great actor playing a great part....  Mr. Lincoln rose, walked to the edge of the platform, took out his glasses, and put them on.  He was awkward.  He bowed to the assemblage in his homely manner, and took out of his coat pocket a page of foolscap.  In front of Mr. Lincoln was a photographer with his camera, endeavoring to take a picture of the scene.  We all supposed that Mr. Lincoln would