The Life of Abraham Lincoln | Page 7

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 the funeral sermon. How he contrived to get the letter to its destination we do not know, but it was done. The kind-hearted preacher cheerfully consented, though it involved a long and hard journey. He came at his earliest convenience, which was some time the next year.
There was no church in which to hold the service. Lincoln never saw a church building of any description until he was grown. But the neighbors to the number of about two hundred assembled under the trees, where the parson delivered the