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    The Perfect Tribute
    The Perfect Tribute
    The Perfect Tribute
    Ebook41 pages32 minutes

    The Perfect Tribute

    By Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews

    3/5

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateJan 1, 1963
    The Perfect Tribute

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    Reviews for The Perfect Tribute

    3/5

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    • 1/5
      This is the book that started the myth that Lincoln wrote the Gettysburg address on the train to Gettysburg. Total fiction. It also creates out of whole cloth a story about Lincoln visiting a dying confederate soldier. Touching, but total fiction. Another librarything user has tagged this book as 'Lincoln crap'. That pretty much sums it up. Can't believe that they actually made a movie about this. Read it as an historical literary curiosity, but not as historical fact.
    • 3/5
      This saccharine hagiography exhibits the profound awe that Lincoln sometimes commanded after his assassination.

    Book preview

    The Perfect Tribute - Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews

    Project Gutenberg's The Perfect Tribute, by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews

    This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

    Title: The Perfect Tribute

    Author: Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews

    Release Date: July 6, 2004 [EBook #12830]

    Language: English

    *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PERFECT TRIBUTE ***

    Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

    THE PERFECT TRIBUTE

    [Illustration]

    THE PERFECT TRIBUTE BY

    Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews

    1908

    THE PERFECT TRIBUTE

    On the morning of November 18, 1863, a special train drew out from Washington, carrying a distinguished company. The presence with them of the Marine Band from the Navy Yard spoke a public occasion to come, and among the travellers there were those who might be gathered only for an occasion of importance. There were judges of the Supreme Court of the United States; there were heads of departments; the general-in-chief of the army and his staff; members of the cabinet. In their midst, as they stood about the car before settling for the journey, towered a man sad, preoccupied, unassuming; a man awkward and ill-dressed; a man, as he leaned slouchingly against the wall, of no grace of look or manner, in whose haggard face seemed to be the suffering of the sins of the world. Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, journeyed with his party to assist at the consecration, the next day, of the national cemetery at Gettysburg. The quiet November landscape slipped past the rattling train, and the President's deep-set eyes stared out at it gravely, a bit listlessly. From time to time he talked with those who were about him; from time to time there were flashes of that quaint wit which is linked, as his greatness, with his name, but his mind was to-day dispirited, unhopeful. The weight on his shoulders seemed pressing more heavily than he had courage to press back against it, the responsibility of one almost a dictator in a wide, war-torn country came near to crushing, at times, the mere human soul and body. There was, moreover, a speech to be made to-morrow to thousands who would expect their President to say something to them worth the listening of a people who were making history; something brilliant, eloquent, strong. The melancholy gaze glittered with a grim smile. He—Abraham Lincoln—the lad bred in a cabin, tutored in rough schools here and there, fighting for, snatching at crumbs of learning that fell from rich tables, struggling to a hard knowledge which well knew

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