Tom Taylor

"Don't know the manners of good society, eh? Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal – you sockdologizing old man-trap!"

"You lay a wreath on murdered Lincoln's bier, You, who, with mocking pencil, wont to trace, Broad for self-complacent British sneer, His length of shambling limb, his furrowed face."

"Yes, he had lived to shame me from my sneer, To lame my pencil, and confute my pen, To make me own this hind of princes peer, This rail-splitter a true-born king of men."

"How his quaint wit made home-truth seem more true."

"He went about his work — such work as few Ever had laid on head and heart and hand — As one who knows, where there’s a task to do, Man’s honest will must Heaven’s good grace command."

"The Old World and the New, from sea to sea, Utter one voice of sympathy and shame! Sore heart, so stopped when it at last beat high, Sad life, cut short just as its triumph came."