towards the gifted orator. Mr. Breckinridge was walking grandly out of the court-room, when there stood in his path a gigantic, solemn-visaged, beardless clodhopper, reaching out a long coatless arm, with an immense hard hand at the end of it, while an agitated voice expressed the heartiest commendation of the ability and eloquence of his plea for his client.

Breckinridge was a small-souled man in spite of his mental power and his training, for he did but glance in proud amazement at the shabby, presumptuous boy, and then pass stupidly on without speaking. He had imparted priceless instruction to a fellow who had yet but a faint perception of the artificial barriers before him.

The two met again, at the city of Washington, in the year 1862, under other circumstances, and then the President of the United States again complimented Mr. Breckinridge upon the excellence of his speech in the Indiana murder-case.

The precise information conveyed to Abe, whether or not he mentally put it into form, was that he was a "poor white" and of no account; a species of human trash to whom the respect due to all recognized manhood did not belong. forgave the man who told him what he was, but he never ceased to profit by the stinging, wholesome information.

It was but a little while afterwards, while he was temporarily employed by old Josiah Crawford, and when he had worried good Mrs. Crawford overmuch by the fun and uproar he created in her kitchen, that she asked him,

"Now, Abe, what on earth do you s'pose'll ever become of ye? What'll you be good for if you keep a-goin' on in this way?"

'Well," slowly responded Abe, "I reckon I'm goin' to be President of the United States one of these days.'

He said it soberly enough. And that was not the only occasion upon which there fell from his lips some strange, extravagant expression of his inner thought that there was a great work for him to do somewhere in the future. He could plow, chop

wood, 'tend store, do errands, make fun, now; but he could all the while feel that he was growing, growing, and that this would not last forever. He could feel that the change continually going forward within him could not be with reference to such a life as he was leading, or to such as he saw led by the full-grown and elderly men around him. For him there was, there must be, something more and higher, and he was blindly reaching out after it, day by day; but all the others deemed him as one of themselves; better than some, it might be, but very much below any young man whose father could give him a good farm and some hogs and a little ready money.

In the winter of 1826-7, a school was opened by a Mr. Swaney, in a school-house about four and a half miles from the Lincoln farm. The branches of learning taught by him included nothing higher than had been attempted by Crawford. It was an inclement winter, and mere coming and going were often serious undertakings. Young Lincoln made a beginning, but his attendance soon became intermittent, and then ceased altogether. He had found, perhaps, that he could better occupy his time at home.

towards the gifted orator. Mr. Breckinridge was walking grandly out of the court-room, when there stood in his path a gigantic, solemn-visaged, beardless clodhopper, reaching out a long coatless arm, with an immense hard hand at the end of it, while an agitated voice expressed the heartiest commendation of the ability and eloquence of his plea for his client.

Breckinridge was a small-souled man in spite of his mental power and his training, for he did but glance in proud amazement at the shabby, presumptuous boy, and then pass stupidly on without speaking. He had imparted priceless instruction to a fellow who had yet but a faint perception of the artificial barriers before him.

The two met again, at the city of Washington, in the year 1862, under other circumstances, and then the President of the United States again complimented Mr. Breckinridge upon the excellence of his speech in the Indiana murder-case.

The precise information conveyed to Abe, whether or not he mentally put it into form, was that he was a "poor white" and of no account; a species of human trash to whom the respect due to all recognized manhood did not belong. He forgave the man who told him what he was, but he never ceased to profit by the stinging, wholesome information.

It was but a little while afterwards, while he was temporarily employed by old Josiah Crawford, and when he had worried good Mrs. Crawford overmuch by the fun and uproar he created in her kitchen, that she asked him,

"Now, Abe, what on earth do you s'pose'll ever become of ye? What'll you be good for if you keep a-goin' on in this way?"

"Well," slowly responded Abe, "I reckon I'm goin' to be President of the United States one of these days."

He said it soberly enough. And that was not the only occasion upon which there fell from his lips some strange, extravagant expression of his inner thought that there was a great work for him to do somewhere in the future. He could plow, chop

wood, 'tend store, do errands, make fun, now; but he could all the while feel that he was growing, growing, and that this would not last forever. He could feel that the change continually going forward within him could not be with reference to such a life as he was leading, or to such as he saw led by the full-grown and elderly men around him. For him there was, there must be, something more and higher, and he was blindly reaching out after it, day by day; but all the others deemed him as one of themselves; better than some, it might be, but very much below any young man whose father could give him a good farm and some hogs and a little ready money.

In the winter of 1826-7, a school was opened by a Mr. Swaney, in a school-house about four and a half miles from the Lincoln farm. The branches of learning taught by him included nothing higher than had been attempted by Crawford. It was an inclement winter, and mere coming and going were often serious undertakings. Young Lincoln made a beginning, but his attendance soon became intermittent, and then ceased altogether. He had found, perhaps, that he could better occupy his time at home.

towards the gifted orator. Mr. Breckinridge was walking grandly out of the court-room, when there stood in his path a gigantic, solemn-visaged, beardless clodhopper, reaching out a long coatless arm, with an immense hard hand at the end of it, while an agitated voice expressed the heartiest commendation of the ability and eloquence of his plea for his client.

Breckinridge was a small-souled man in spite of his mental power and his training, for he did but glance in proud amazement at the shabby, presumptuous boy, and then pass stupidly on without speaking. He had imparted priceless instruction to a fellow who had yet but a faint perception of the artificial barriers before him.

The two met again, at the city of Washington, in the year 1862, under other circumstances, and then the President of the United States again complimented Mr. Breckinridge upon the excellence of his speech in the Indiana murder-case.

The precise information conveyed to Abe, whether or not he mentally put it into form, was that he was a "poor white" and of no account; a species of human trash to whom the respect due to all recognized manhood did not belong. He forgave the man who told him what he was, but he never ceased to profit by the stinging, wholesome information.

It was but a little while afterwards, while he was temporarily employed by old Josiah Crawford, and when he had worried good Mrs. Crawford overmuch by the fun and uproar he created in her kitchen, that she asked him,

"Now, Abe, what on earth do you s'pose'll ever become of ye? What'll you be good for if you keep a-goin' on in this way?"

66

'Well," slowly responded Abe, "I reckon I'm goin' to be President of the United States one of these days."

He said it soberly enough. And that was not the only occasion upon which there fell from his lips some strange, extravagant expression of his inner thought that there was a great work for him to do somewhere in the future. He could plow, chop