ail, to be in trouble.
ale, malt liquor.
air, the atmosphere.
heir, one who inherits.
all, the whole.
awl, an instrument.
al-tar, a place for offerings.
al-ter, to change.
ant, a little insect.
aunt, a sister to a parent.
ark, a vessel.
arc, part of a circle.
All went correctly and smoothly, to the delight and satisfaction of Josiah Crawford and Aunt Olive, until the word drachm was reached, when all the class failed except Abraham Lincoln, who easily passed up to the head again.
The writing-books, or copy-books, were next shown to the visitors. The writing had been done on puncheon-desks with home made ink. Abraham Lincoln's copy-book showed the same characteristic hand that signed the Emancipation Proclamation. In one corner of a certain page he had written an odd bit of verse in which one may read a common experience in the struggles of life after what is better and higher. Emerson said, "A high aim is curative." Poor backwoods Abe seemed to have the same impression, but he did not write it down in an Emersonian way, but in this odd rhyme:
"Abraham Lincoln,
His hand and pen,
He will be good,
But God knows when."
The exercises ended with a grand dialogue translated from Fénelon between Dionysius, Pythias, and Damon, in which fidelity in friendship was commended. After this, each of the visitors, Aunt Olive included, was asked to make a "few remarks." Aunt Olive's remarks were "few," but to the point:
"Children, you have read well, and spelled well, and are good arithmetickers, but you ain't sot still. There!"
Josiah Crawford thought the progress of the school had been excellent, but that more of the rod had been needed.
(Where had all the green bushes gone in the clearing, but to purposes of discipline?)
Then good Brother Jasper was asked to speak. The "wizard" who could speak Latin arose. The pupils could see his great heart under his face. It shone through. His fine German culture did not lead him away from the solid merits of the forest school.
"There are purposes in life that we can not see," he began, "but the secret comes to those who listen to the beating of the human heart, and at the doors of heaven. Spirits whisper, as it were. The soul, a great right intention, is here; and there is a conscience here which is power; and here, for aught we can say, may be some young Servius Tullius of this wide republic."