to sign it. His Whig friends were fearful that if they were to sign they might lose some votes when the next election came round. The protest was Abraham Lincoln's first public expression in regard to slavery.

It was a time when everybody was intending to get rich-the period of grand schemes and great expectations. The multiplying of steamboats on the rivers and lakes, the opening of the Erie Canal, the fertility of the land in Illinois, together with other things, brought a great many people into the State. The prairies were dotted with whitetopped wagons of emigrants; towns and villages were springing up; people who bought land from the Government and divided it into village lots expected to obtain several hundred dollars for an acre; those who obtained their farms from the Government for $1.25 per acre expected that they would erelong be worth $10 or $15 per acre. Chicago, which in 1830 was only a little collection of houses, had become an important point. Vessels were coming and going. A canal which was to connect Lake Michigan with the Illinois River had been surveyed, and the Legislature, of which Abraham Lincoln was a member, had appropriated $500,000 to carry on the construction. So much land was taken by settlers that there was a surplus of more than $40,000,000 in the Treasury of the United States. The land-offices were crowded with people-many of whom were not settlers-paying for land which was rapidly to increase in value. Everybody wanted railroads constructed. Each member had his pet scheme. The people of Alton wanted roads leading northward and eastward from that town, which would make it the rival of St. Louis. The men who were mining lead at Galena wanted a road which would run the entire length of that State to the Ohio River. There were to be roads east and west, north and south-in all, more than 1400 miles. No surveys had been made; neither did any one make an estimate of their cost; but the Legislature voted $8,000,000 for the various schemes, and $4,000,000 to help on the canal, besides $200,000 to improve the rivers. No one thought of raising the money by taxation. It was said it could be had by the sale of bonds to people in the Eastern States. The State would have no difficulty in raising money to pay the interest on the bonds, which the rich men in New York and across the Atlantic would be eager to purchase. Such the reasoning. Towns were laid out, which, it was believed, would soon become bustling cities.

The members from Sangamon County determined to make Springfield the capital of the State. Other towns were equally determined to

secure the prize. Lincoln's fellow-members placed the bill for the re moval of the capital in his hands. He was so kind and genial, and had so many stories for the entertainment of the members, that those who did not accept his political opinions were ready to listen to what he had to say in regard to the matter. His statements were so clear and arguments so conclusive that he brought about the passage of the bill.

The members from Sangamon and Morgan counties were greatly elated over what they had accomplished. At Macoupin's Point, where they passed a night on their homeward journey, they made the tavern ring with merriment - all except Lincoln, who was depressed in spirits.

"What is the trouble?" asked Mr. Butler.

"Well, I have no particular interest in having Springfield the capital," he said. "I am more concerned in getting some capital for myself. I have been trying to get started in life, but haven't made much headway. I am in debt, and all the money I have received at Vandalia will go to pay it."

"What do you intend to do for a living?" Butler asked.

"I would like to leave New Salem, make my home in Springfield, and study law."

"Make my house your home as long as you please," said Mr. Butler, who comprehended how greatly they were indebted to him in securing the passage of the bill.(')

A banquet was provided by the people of Springfield upon their arrival, at which the following sentiment complimenting Lincoln was given: "He has fulfilled the expectations of his friends and disappointed the hopes of his enemies."

It is a great point gained when a young man finds out for what he is best fitted in life. During the two sessions of the Legislature at

Vandalia, Abraham Lincoln had met lawyers in debate. He 1837. saw their qualifications and natural ability, and had measured himself with them. He had been studying the few law-books which his friends had loaned him, and had been drifting almost insensibly towards the law as an occupation; but if he was to be a lawyer he must begin in earnest to prepare himself. He was twenty-eight years old. He was no longer postmaster; no longer surveyor for the Government. He was in poverty, with the unpaid notes signed by himself and Berry hanging over him. He was poorer than on that day when Nancy Miller made him a pair of jean trousers. Every village had its lawyer; in Springfield there were several gentlemen who were well educated.

What chance was there for him? Yet the decision was made calmly and resolutely.

The song birds were building their nests and the forest trees putting forth their leaves, when the young man who had secured the passage of the bill which made Springfield the capital entered the store of Joshua Speed and threw his saddle-bags upon the counter. He intended to make Springfield his home. Thenceforth he was to be a lawyer.

"I want to get a room, and must have a bedstead and some bedding. How much shall I have to pay?" he said.

Mr. Speed took up his slate and jotted down the items: the cost of the bedstead, bed-tick, sheets, blankets, and wash-basin. "Seventeen dollars," said the store-keeper.

"I have no doubt it is cheap, but I haven't the money to pay for the articles. If you can trust me till Christmas, and if I succeed in my experiment of being a lawyer, I will pay you then; if I fail, probably I never shall be able to pay you."

No ripple of laughter came from his lips, no smile illumined the countenance, and the sad eyes were looking far away. Mr. Speed was his friend, but never before had he seen him so dejected.

"I can fix things better than that," said the store-keeper. "I have a large room and a double bed up-stairs, and you are welcome to occupy the room and share the bed with me."

With his spare clothing and two law-books in his saddle-bags he ascends the stairs. "I am moved!" his exclamation. He comes down with a beaming face, the sadness all gone. (*)

Major John T. Stuart, who had been a fellow-soldier in the campaign against the Indians, was ready to receive him as a partner. We are not to conclude that a crowd of people came flocking to the office of Stuart & Lincoln with cases for the court; on the contrary, not many clients darkened their doors during the summer.

There came a gentleman, one day, who announced himself as agent of the Post-office Department at Washington.

"You were at one time, two or three years ago, postmaster at New Salem, I think?" said the stranger.

"Yes, I believe so."

"I think your account has never been settled."

"No, it has not. I have been wondering why somebody did not come round to square up things. I have been keeping the money." He goes up-stairs, returns with an old stocking, and counts out half-dollars,

shillings, and sixpences-the exact amount due the United States.(') In his poverty it has been held sacred. Long ago it was written, "He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much."

Events were taking place which set Abraham Lincoln thinking about the value of free institutions under a government of the people. A negro in St. Louis who had committed a terrible crime was taken from jail by a mob before he had been tried by the court, chained to a stake, and burned to death. After the poor wretch was dead, men and boys amused themselves by throwing stones at the skeleton. Rev. Elijah P. Lovejoy, editor of a religious paper, published an article in which he said that while the negro deserved to die, such conduct was no better than that of savages who burned prisoners of war at the stake, and who danced around their victims while the fire was doing its work. The men who burned the negro did not like such plain talk, and organized another mob, which entered the printing-office, destroyed the types, and threw the press into the river. Mr. Lovejoy left St. Louis and set up a new office in Alton, Ill., thinking the people of that town would respect the freedom of the Press; but when the new printing-press arrived from Cincinnati, ruffians broke it in pieces and destroyed the types. Another press was purchased in Cincinnati. The mayor was notified, and a request made for its protection. He appointed Mr. Lovejoy and a large number of citizens special policemen to protect the property. The press arrived, and was put into a stone warehouse. "It is our determination to protect our property," said Mr. Lovejoy and the others, as they assembled in the building in the evening with their guns. "You are acting in accordance with the law," said the mayor. A howling mob beset the building and fired into it. Those within returned the fire, killing one and wounding another. "Burn them out!" shouted the ruffians, raising a ladder and kindling a fire on the roof. Mr. Lovejoy and others stepped out-of-doors to fire at those on the ladder; but several of the mob fired upon them, and he fell mortally wounded. The other citizens, knowing if they remained they would be burned to death, fled from the building, the mob firing at them as they ran. Having gained possession, they broke the press and threw it into the river. (*)

The men who committed the murder little thought that instead of suppressing agitation they were helping it on. In many places throughout the Northern States public meetings were held denouncing the outrage. Mr. Lovejoy had written articles against slavery, but men who were not in sympathy with the Abolitionists saw that the freedom of the Press was the great question to be considered.

The young men of Springfield formed a lyceum for the consideration of questions affecting the interests of the people. The discussions were carried on around the great fireplace in Mr. Speed's store, with the hickory logs blazing on the hearth, and the audience sitting on nailcasks and benches. Abraham Lincoln and Stephen A. Douglas were so able in argument and keen at repartee that the store could not accommodate those who came to hear them, and the meetings were held in

the Presbyterian church. They took up the affair at Alton. It came to the lot of Lincoln to deliver an address. He chose for his theme "The Perpetuation of Our Political Institutions." He was twenty-eight years of age. Seven years had passed since he entered the State driving an ox-team. He had pulled an oar on the Mississippi, navigated the Sangamon, been a soldier in the Black Hawk War, storekeeper, land-surveyor, and legislator. The people listened wonderingly to the opening sentences:

"In the great journal of things happening under the sun, the American people find our account running under date of the nineteenth century of the Christian era. We find ourselves in peaceful possession of the fairest portion of the earth as regards extent of territory, fertility of soil, and salubrity of climate. We find ourselves under the government of a system of political institutions conducing more essentially to the ends of civil