The Life of Abraham Lincoln | Page 7

two divisions:
"Books that are not books, and books that are books." It is important
that every boy learn to read. But a far more important question is, What
use does he make of his ability to read? Does he read "books that are
books?" Let us now see what use Lincoln made of his knowledge of
reading.
In those days books were rare and his library was small and select. It
consisted at first of three volumes: The Bible, Aesop's Fables and
Pilgrim's Progress. Some-time in the eighties a prominent magazine
published a series of articles written by men of eminence in the various
walks of life, under the title of "Books that have helped me." The most
noticeable fact was that each of these eminent men--men who had read
hundreds of books--specified not more than three or four books.
Lincoln's first list was of three. They were emphatically books. Day
after day he read, pondered and inwardly digested them until they were
his own. Better books he could not have found in all the universities of
Europe, and we begin to understand where he got his moral vision, his
precision of English style, and his shrewd humor.
Later he borrowed from a neighbor, Josiah Crawford, a copy of
Weems' Life of Washington. In lieu of a bookcase he tucked this, one
night, into the chinking of the cabin. A rain-storm came up and soaked
the book through and through. By morning it presented a sorry
appearance. The damage was done and could not be repaired.
Crestfallen the lad carried it back to the owner and, having no money,
offered to pay for the mischief in work. Crawford agreed and named
seventy-five cents (in labor) as a fair sum.

"Does this pay for the book," the borrower asked, "or only for the
damage to the book?" Crawford reckoned that the book "wa'n't of much
account to him nor to any one else." So Lincoln cheerfully did the
work--it was for three days--and owned the book.
Later he had a life of Henry Clay, whom he nearly idolized. His one
poet was Burns, whom he knew by heart "from a to izzard."
Throughout his life he ranked Burns next to Shakespeare.
The hymns which he most loved must have had influence not only on
his religious spirit, but also on his literary taste. Those which are
mentioned are, "Am I a soldier of the cross?" "How tedious and
tasteless the hours," "There is a fountain filled with blood," and "Alas,
and did my Saviour bleed?" Good hymns every one of them, in that day,
or in any day.
Having no slate he did his "sums" in the sand on the ground, or on a
wooden shovel which, after it was covered on both sides, he scraped
down so as to erase the work. A note-book is preserved, containing,
along with examples in arithmetic, this boyish doggerel:
Abraham Lincoln his hand and pen he will be good but god knows
When.
The penmanship bears a striking resemblance to that in later life.
[Illustration: Lincoln's Early Home In Indiana.]
About a year after Thomas Lincoln's family settled in Indiana, they
were followed by some neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow and Dennis
Hanks, a child. To these the Lincolns surrendered their camp and built
for themselves a cabin, which was slightly more pretentious than the
first. It had an attic, and for a stairway there were pegs in the wall up
which an active boy could readily climb. There was a stationary table,
the legs being driven into the ground, some three-legged stools, and a
Dutch oven.
In the year 1818 a mysterious epidemic passed over the region,

working havoc with men and cattle. It was called the "milk-sick." Just
what it was physicians are unable to determine, but it was very
destructive. Both Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow were attacked. They were
removed, for better care, to the home of the Lincolns, where they
shortly died. By this time Mrs. Lincoln was down with the same
scourge. There was no doctor to be had, the nearest one being
thirty-five miles away. Probably it made no difference. At all events
she soon died and the future president passed into his first sorrow.
The widowed husband was undertaker. With his own hands he "rived"
the planks, made the coffin, and buried Nancy Hanks, that remarkable
woman. There was no pastor, no funeral service. The grave was marked
by a wooden slab, which, long years after, in 1879, was replaced by a
stone suitably inscribed.
A traveling preacher known as Parson Elkin had occasionally preached
in the neighborhood of the Lincolns in Kentucky. The young boy now
put to use his knowledge of writing. He wrote a letter to the parson
inviting him to come over and preach