In The Boyhood of Lincoln

school with the tall boy who had brought "obliquity" upon the spelling-class. Tradition reports that there was a great rattling of leather breeches, and expostulations, an

and the will to use them strong

the lusty cry for consideration and mercy in the log school-house as they were

e boy in that way," sa

d is a great teacher; he knows everything.

uch as of the mind. It should make a boy want to do right because it is the right thing to do right. Anything that fails to produce character for its own sake, and not for a selfish reason, is a mistake. But what am I doing-criticis

on. But the words were lost on the air. The views of Pestalozzi were not much discussed in so

at the gate awaiting

you think of the school? Great, isn't it? That Crawford is a big man in these parts. They say he can cip

army of well-trained teachers, leads the middle West in the excellence of her schools. Her model school sys

omas Lincoln, and led th

wife," said

n molded only by a truly good heart. It was strong, long-suffering, sympathetic, and self-restrained. Her forehead was high and thoughtful, her e

Baptist, too, but not your kind. But such t

both belong to the same kingdom, and shall have the same life and drink

e here. My first wife died of milk-sickness here. She was Abraham's mother. Ever heard of the milk-sickness, as the fever

er is dead," said

is good to me and to everybody; one of the best boys I ever knew, t

Thomas Lincoln; "all head and books. He i

heart-Well, I do love that boy, and I am his step-mother, too. He's always been so good to me that I love to tell on't. His father, I'm thinkin', is rather hard on him sometimes. Abe's heart knows mine a

n-field, and he reads and reads, and his head gets loose and goes off into the air, and he puts the pumpkin-seeds in the wrong hills, like as not. He is great on the English Reader. I'

d said grace, after which the

pounded clay. My new wife brought all of this grand furniture to me. That beereau looks extravagant-now don't it?-for poor folk

ew good articles of f

-bread of very rough meal, a

ed Mr. Lincoln, whe

talk about our experiences. There is no news in the world like the news from the soul. A man's inner

ighted Jasper. Mr. Lincoln liked best to talk about his family and the country, and was more interested in the slow news that came from the new se

Hawk," said Mr. Lincoln. "Where do you exp

Rock Island. It is a long journe

e Illinois, on the Miss

pread around it like seas. I love to think of it. It commands a noble view. I do not wonder

the India

s and Foxes, as soon as I can find an interpreter, and Black Hawk has promised me one. He has sent for him

antipathy against th

e at all

u-you mean well; but I don't feel altogether as you do about the red-skins, preacher. You and Ab

in the fireplace, "the flue," as it was termed. By his side sat John Ha

-hearted Mrs. Lincoln-"wait

going to do, m

e fire, so we can have a little treat all by ourselves w

t the table to her husband on her marriage; he prob

d the potatoes. D

, mo

r face lighted. She sat knitting for an hour,

LINCOLN

ln. I have always thought that was a good, solid name-a worthy name-and so I gave it to my boy here,

ks on the new settlers. In 1780, the year that we emigrated from Virginia, there were many murders of the set

that his son was wounded, he tried to carry him away. There was a river near, and he lifte

ve that I am dyin

the river soon,' s

t was a sight for pity-now, wasn't it, preacher? Boone in the river, with the dead body of his boy on his back.

id down the body of his son on the

ughter was carried away by the Indians. I

utside of the stockade at Boonesborough, on th

o across the river,' said one

water, when a party of Indians, who had been watching them, cunning-like, stole out of the thick trees 'n' r

, looking back to the fort in the sunset, uttered a shriek of defiance,

ether at the fort to pursue the

Indians, some forty miles from the fort. They approached the c

Each man bring down an Indian, or the child

ns was hit, but the whole party was terribly frightened, leaped up, 'n' run like deer. The children wer

one night to attack a log-house in which were a man, his wife, and daughter, named Merrill. They did not wish to burn the cabin, but to enter it and make

an axe, and there never was fought in Kentucky, or anywhere

through the hole in the door and began t

great arms, and moved

ly, slowly. The Indians without thought that he had crawled in himself, and another Indian followed him slowly, slowly. That Indian received his death-blow on the head,

l everywhere. What a silence it was! The two Indians outside listened. Why were their comrades so still? What had happened? Why was everything so still? One of them tried to look through the ho

cher, as I said, my father was killed by the Indians. You did not know that before, did you? No; well, it was so. Abraham Lincoln was shot by the red-skins. I was w

ned the fire. Thomas Lincoln bent over and rested his

g father looked out of the ca

nd build a fence to-day. I

liked to have me with him. It was in the year 1784-I ne

d Josiah. We give boys Scriptur' names in those da

him now. I was playing near him, when suddenly there came a shot as it were out of the air. My poor father reeled over and fell down dead. What must have

od over me, and was about to seize hold of me. I could hear him breathe. There came a shot from the house, and the Indian dropped down beside me, dead. My brother Mordecai had seen

what a sight!-and bore it into the cabin. You should have seen my poor mother then. What was to help us? Only the b

he Indians, though Mordecai did. I'm glad that you're going to preach among them. I couldn't do it, with such memories as mine, perh

potatoes done?" sa

, mo

e preacher one first; then your

stories of the hardships of this forest family had filled his heart with sympathy, and Thomas Linco

em. Do you think it is right to tell a story that awakens hard and rebellious feelin's? 'Evil communications corrupt good manners,' the

aid Jasper. "I feel for everybo

said Mrs. Lincoln.-"Abraham, recite to th

one,

es it up himself out of his own head. He's got poetry in him, though he don't look so. How he ever does it, puzzles me. His mother was poetic like. It is a gift, like grace. Where do

owever. He put his hands behind him and raised his dark face as in a kind of abstraction. He began to recite slowly in a clear voice, full of a peculiar sympathy that gave color to every word. He seemed as though he fel

pastoral, by Beattie. How grand it seemed, even to unpoetic

HE

the day, when th

sweets of forg

the torrent is h

e nightingale's s

the cave of the

ung symphonious,

imself or with

sage, though h

abandoned to d

omela, that la

ll return, and

longer thy b

spire thee, ren

omplainer, man ca

se pleasures lik

ey pass-but the

mote, on the ve

tinguished, her c

marked when m

he planets were

ir orb, and with

onducts thee to

glory what cha

exult in a

the landscape i

woodlands, I mo

oaching, your ch

h fragrance, and g

he ravage of

he embryo blo

spring visit th

ay dawn on the n

e glare of false

ewilder, and da

to roam, from sha

efore me, and

Father of ligh

o fain would not

dust, I relin

om darkness thou

and doubt are

oam in conjec

he traveler, f

the balmy eff

and mercy, in t

glowing in Eden

f death smiles and

ortal awakes f

all the biographies of Lincoln there is hardly a more pathetic incident than one told by Mr. Herndon of his visit to Mrs. Lincoln after the assassination and the nation

after he was elected President." Here she stopped, unable to proceed any further, and after her grateful emotions had spent themselves in tears, she proceeded: "He was dutiful to me always. I think he loved me truly. I had a son, John, who was raised with Abe. Both were good boys; but I must say, both being now dead, that Abe was t

ted this good woman for the last time, just befor

r humble backwoods cabin, "something te

neck, lifted her face to