There comes to my mind the name and figure of him the celebration of whose birthday I predict will soon be made a national holiday,—­he than whom there is no greater, whose praises are sung and whose name and memory are honored and blessed by millions in all parts of the world to-day, and will be by millions yet unborn, our beloved and sainted Lincoln.  And then I ask, Why is this?  Why is this?  One sentence of his tells us what to look to for the answer.  During that famous series of public debates in Illinois with Stephen A. Douglas in 1858, speaking at Freeport, Mr. Douglas at one place said, “I care not whether slavery in the Territories be voted up or whether it be voted down, it makes not a particle of difference with me.”  Mr. Lincoln, speaking from the fulness of his great and royal heart, in reply said, with emotion, “I am sorry to perceive that my friend Judge Douglas is so constituted that he does not feel the lash the least bit when it is laid upon another man’s back.”  Thoughts upon self?  Not for a moment.  Upon others?  Always.  He at once recognized in those black men four million brothers for whom he had a service to perform.

It would seem almost grotesque to use the word self-ish in connection with this great name.  He very early, and when still in a very humble and lowly station in life, either consciously or unconsciously grasped this great truth, and in making the great underlying principle of his life to serve, to help his fellow-men, he adopted just that course that has made him one of the greatest of the sons of men, our royal-hearted elder brother.  He never spent time in asking what he could do to attain to greatness, to popularity, to power, what to perpetuate his name and memory.  He simply asked how he could help, how he could be of service to his fellow-men, and continually did all his hands found to do.

He simply put his life into harmony with this great principle; and in so doing he adopted the best means,—­the only means to secure that which countless numbers seek and strive for directly, and every time so woefully fail in finding.

There comes to my mind in this same connection another princely soul, one who loved all the world, one whom all the world loves and delights to honor.  There comes to mind also a little incident that will furnish an insight into the reason of it all.  On an afternoon not long ago, Mrs. Henry Ward Beecher was telling me of some of the characteristics of Brooklyn’s great preacher.  While she was yet speaking of some of those along the very lines we are considering, an old gentleman, a neighbor, came into the room bearing in his hands something he had brought from Mr. Beecher’s grave.  It was the day next following Decoration Day.  His story was this:  As the great procession was moving into the cemetery with its bands of rich music, with its carriages laden with sweet and fragrant flowers, with its waving flags, beautiful in the sunlight,