died; and she too was buried in the forest, under the shade of a spreading and majestic sycamore. When the wayworn form of the mother was lowered into the grave, enclosed in the rude wood shaped by the hands of Thomas Lincoln, little Abraham Lincoln, sitting alone until the shadows grew deep and dark in the forest and the sound of night-birds began to echo through the dim aisles, wept his first bitter tears. Long after, when the spot where she was buried 1 had been covered by the wreck of the forest and almost hidden, her son was wont to say, with tear-dimmed eyes, "All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother."

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It was the custom of those days and of that country to have a funeral sermon preached by way of memorial, any time within the year following the death of a person. So, as soon as the good mother was buried, Abraham Lincoln wrote what he used to say was his first letter, and addressed it to Parson Elkin, the Kentucky Baptist preacher who had sometimes tarried with the Lincolns in their humble home in Kentucky. It was a great favor to ask of the good man; but in due time Abraham received an answer to his letter, and the parson promised to come when his calls of duty led him near the Indiana line.

Early in the following summer, when the trees were greenest, the preacher came on his errand of kindness. It was a bright and sunny Sabbath morning when, due notice having been sent through all the region, men,

1 A stone has been placed over the site of the grave by Mr. P. E. Studebacker of South Bend, Indiana. The stone bears the following inscription: "Nancy Hanks Lincoln, died October 5th, A.D. 1818, aged 35 years. Erected by a friend of her martyred son, 1879."

women, and children gathered from far and near to hear the funeral sermon of Nancy Lincoln. There were the hardy forest rangers; there were the farmers and their families, two hundred of them, all told, some on foot and some on horseback and others drawn in oxcarts. All were intent on the great event of the season -the preaching of Nancy Lincoln's funeral sermon.

The waiting congregation was grouped around on "down trees," stumps, and knots of bunch-grass, or on wagon-tongues, waiting for the coming of the little procession. The preacher led the way from the Lincoln cabin, followed by Thomas Lincoln, his son Abraham, his daughter Sarah, and little Dennis Hanks, now a member of the Lincoln household. Tears shone on the sun-browned cheeks of the silent settlers as the good preacher told of the virtues and the patiently borne sufferings and sorrows of the departed mother of Abraham Lincoln. And every head was bowed in reverential solemnity as he lifted up his voice in prayer for the motherless children and the widowed man. To Abraham, listening as he did to the last words that should be said over the grave of his mother, this was a scene never to be forgotten.

We can imagine how unkempt and ragged the three became, left almost wholly to themselves. Sarah, scarcely twelve years old, was the housekeeper. Abe, two years younger, came next, and Dennis Hanks was eighteen months younger than he. The father had a cheerful temper, and he hoped that the good Lord would send them help, somehow and some day, but how and when, he never stopped to think. But he knew better than Sarah did how to mix an ash-cake of corn-meal. So, with milk from the cow and an occasional slab of "side-meat," or smoked side of pork,

the family was never long hungry. It was hard fare; but a boy nourished himself on that and lived to be President.

Boys of the present age, turning over languidly the piles of books at their command, beautiful, entertaining, instructive, and fascinating, gay with binding and pictures, would stand aghast at the slimness of the stock that made Abraham Lincoln's heart glad. The first books he read were the Bible, Æsop's Fables, and The Pilgrim's Progress. He thought himself the most fortunate boy in the country, and such good use did he make of these standard works that he could repeat from memory whole chapters of the Bible, many of the most striking passages of Bunyan's immortal book, and every one of the fables of Æsop.

He early took to the study of the lives and characters of eminent men, and a life of Henry Clay which his mother had managed to buy for him was one of his choicest treasures. Hearing of a Life of Washington, written by Weems, young Lincoln went in pursuit of it, and joyfully carried it home in the bosom of his hunting-shirt. Reading this by the light of a "tallowdip" until the feeble thing had burned down to its end, Abraham tucked the precious volume into a chink in the log wall of the cabin and went to sleep. A driving storm in the night had soaked the book through and through and ruined it, when the eager boy sought for it in the early morning light. It was a borrowed book, and honest Abe was in despair over its destruction in his hands. With a heavy heart he took it back to its owner, offering to do any thing that Mr. Crawford thought fair and just. A settlement was made, young Abe covenanting to pull "fodder" for three days, by way of settlement.

"And does that pay for the book, or for the damage done to it?" asked the shrewd boy, taking his first lessons in worldly wisdom.

'Wal, I allow," said the kindly owner of the precious book, "that it won't be much account to me or anybody else now, and the bargain is that you pull fodder three days, and the book is yours."

This was the first book that Abraham Lincoln earned and paid for; discolored and blistered though it was, it was to him of value incalculable. And wheresoever the story of Abraham Lincoln's life shall be told, this account of his first precious possession shall be also narrated for a memorial of him.

Years after, standing near the battle-ground of Trenton, and recalling the pages of the book hidden in the crevices of the log cabin in the Indiana wilderness, he said: "I remember all the accounts there given of the battle-fields and the struggles for the liberties of the country, and none fixed themselves so deeply as the struggle here at Trenton, New Jersey. I recollect thinking then, boy even though I was, that there must have been something more than common that those men struggled for."

It is an odd fact that may as well be recorded here, that Lincoln, as boy and man, almost invariably read aloud. When he studied, it helped him, he said, to fix in his mind the matter in hand, if, while it passed before his eyes, he heard his own voice repeating it.

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CHAPTER III

IN

YOUNG MANHOOD

N the autumn of 1819, Thomas Lincoln went off somewhere into Kentucky, leaving the children to take care of themselves. What he went for, and where he went, the youngsters never thought of asking. But in December, early one morning, they heard a loud halloo from the edge of the forest; and, dashing to the door, they beheld the amazing sight of the returning traveller perched in a four-horse wagon, a pretty-looking woman by his side, and a stranger driving the spanking team. Was it a miracle? Thomas had returned with a stepmother for his little ones. He had married, in Elizabethtown, Kentucky, Mrs. Sally Johnston, formerly Miss Sally Bush. She had been known to the lad in Kentucky; and now that she had come to be the new mother to Abe and his sister, they were glad to see her.

The gallant four-horse team was the property of Ralph Krume, who had married Sally Johnston's sister; and in the wagon was stored what seemed to these children of the wilderness a gorgeous array of housekeeping things. There were tables and chairs, a bureau with real drawers that pulled out and disclosed a stock of clothing, crockery, bedding, knives and forks, and numerous things that to people nowadays are thought