One who lived in Lincoln's time, and who has read the thousand books they say have been written about him in the half century since his death, may still be dissatisfied with every description of his personality and with every analysis of his character. He was human, and yet in some mysterious degree superhuman. Nothing in philosophy, magic, superstition, or religion furnishes a satisfactory explanation to the thoughtful devotee for the inspiration he gave out or for the transfiguring glow which at times seemed to illumine his homely frame and awkward gestures.
