If there was one form of flattery more offensive to the noble and manly pride of Mr. Lincoln than all others, it was that in which credit was given him for a meritorious deed done by some other man, or which ascribed to him some sentimental or saintly virtue that he knew he did not possess. In the same spirit he rejected all commendations or flattering compliments touching anything which he had written or spoken, when, in his own judgment, there was nothing especially remarkable in the speech or the composition referred to. Although superior, I readily concede, to any other man I have ever known, Mr. Lincoln was yet thoroughly human; and with his exact knowledge of his own character,--its weakness and its strength,--he once said to me, speaking of what historians and biographers might say of him, "Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice." He had a clear perception of the value of that history which is truthful; and he believed that hosannas sung to the memory of the greatest of men, as if they were demi-gods, are hurtful to their fame. A day or two before the dedication of the National Cemetery at Gettysburg, Mr. Lincoln told me that he would be expected to make a speech on the occasion; that he was extremely busy, and had no time for preparation; and that he greatly feared he would not be able to acquit himself with credit, much less to fill the measure of public expectation. From his hat (the usual receptacle for his private notes and memoranda) he drew a sheet of foolscap, one side of which was closely written with what he informed me was a memorandum of his intended address. This he read to me, first remarking that it was not at all satisfactory to him. It proved to be in substance, if not in exact words, what was afterwards printed as his famous Gettysburg speech. After its delivery on the day of commemoration, he expressed deep regret that he had not prepared it with greater care. He said to me on the stand, immediately after concluding the speech: "Lamon, that speech won't _scour_! It is a flat failure, and the people are disappointed." (The word "scour" he often used in expressing his positive conviction that a thing lacked merit, or would not stand the test of close criticism or the wear of time.) He seemed deeply concerned about what the people might think of his address; more deeply, in fact, than I had ever seen him on any public occasion. His frank and regretful condemnation of his effort, and more especially his manner of expressing that regret, struck me as somewhat remarkable; and my own impression was deepened by the fact that the orator of the day, Mr. Everett, and Secretary Seward both coincided with Mr. Lincoln in his unfavorable view of its merits.