What a marvelous insight into the human heart did Abraham Lincoln get between the covers of that wonderful book. The little cabin grew to be a paradise as he learned from the printed pages the story of one great man’s life. The barefooted boy in buckskin breeches, so shrunken that they reached only halfway between the knee and ankle, actually asked himself whether there might not be some place—great and honorable, awaiting him in the future.
Before this treasured “Life of Washington” was returned to its owner, it met with such a mishap as almost to ruin it. The book, which was lying on a board upheld by two pegs, was soaked by the rain that dashed between the logs one night, when a storm beat with unusual force against the north end of the cabin. Abraham was heartbroken over the catastrophe, and sadly carried the book back to its owner, offering to work to pay for the damage done. The man consented, and the borrower worked for three days at seventy-five cents a day, and thus himself became the possessor of the old, faded, stained book—a book that had more to do with shaping his life, perhaps, than any one other thing.
Abe had not expected to take the book back with him, but merely to pay for the damage done, and was surprised when the man handed it to him when starting. He was very grateful, however, and when he gave expression to his feelings the old man said, patting him on the shoulder: “You have earned it, my boy, and are welcome to it. It’s a mighty fine thing to have a head for books, just as fine to have a heart for honesty, and if you keep agoin’ as you have started, maybe some day you’ll git to be President yourself. President Abraham Lincoln! That would sound fust rate, fust rate, now, wouldn’t it, sonny?”
“It’s not a very handsome name, to be sure,” Abe replied, looking as though he thought such an event possible, away off, in the future. “No, it’s not a very very handsome name, but I guess it’s about as handsome as its owner,” he added, glancing at the reflection of his homely features in the little old-fashioned, cracked mirror hanging opposite where he sat.
“Handsome is that handsome does,” said the old farmer, nodding his gray head in an approving style. “Yes, indeedy; handsome deeds make handsome men. We hain’t a nation of royal idiots, with one generation of kings passin’ away to make room for another. No, sir-ee. In this free country of ourn, the rich and poor stand equal chances, and a boy without money is just as likely to work up to the Presidential chair as the one who inherits from his parents lands and stocks and money and influence. It’s brains that counts in this land of liberty, and Abraham Lincoln has just as much right to sit in the highest seat in the land as Washington’s son himself, if he had had a son, which he hadn’t.”
Who knows but the future War President of this great Republic received his first aspirations from this kindly neighbor’s words?
COLUMBIA.
Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise;