Richard Bradley - "The Country Housewife and Lady's Director"

Inez Haynes Irwin - "The Native Son"

Sydney Smith - "Peter Plymley's Letters and Selected Essays"

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle - "The Doings Of Raffles Haw"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: Lectures and Essays

G >> Goldwin Smith >> Lectures and Essays




That religion is inseparable from truth is the strong and special
tradition of the Nonconformists. Their history has been a long struggle
for the rights of conscience against spurious authority, an authority
which we believe Mr. Arnold holds to be spurious as well as they. This
is not altogether a bad start in the pursuit of the truth for which the
world now craves, and which, we cordially admit, lies beyond the
existing creed of any particular Church. At all events, it would seem
improvident to merge such an element of religious inquiry in that of
which the tradition is submission to spurious authority, whatever
advantages the latter may have in social, literary, and aesthetic
respects. Not a generation has yet passed since the admission of
Nonconformists to the Universities; and more than a generation is needed
in order to attain the highest culture. Give the Free Churches time, and
let us see whether they have not something better to give us in return
than "hideousness" and "immense ennui."




THE EARLY YEARS OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN


Our readers need not be afraid that we are going to bore them with the
Slavery Question or the Civil War. We deal here not with the Martyr
President, but with Abe Lincoln in embryo, leaving the great man at the
entrance of the grand scene. Mr. Ward H. Lamon has published a biography
[Footnote: The Life of Abraham Lincoln from his Birth to his
Inauguration as President. By Ward H. Lamon. Boston: James R. Osgood &
Co. 1872] which enables us to do this, and which, besides containing a
good deal that is amusing, is a curious contribution to political
science, as illustrating, by a world-renowned instance, the origin of
the species Politician. The materials for it appear to be drawn from the
most authentic sources, and to have been used with diligence, though in
point of form the book leaves something to be desired. We trust it and
the authorities quoted in it for our facts.

After the murder, criticism, of course, was for a time impossible.
Martyrdom was followed by canonization, and the popular heart could not
be blamed for overflowing in hyperbole. The fallen chief "was
Washington, he was Moses, and there were not wanting even those who
likened him to the God and Redeemer of all the earth. These latter
thought they discovered in his early origin, his kindly nature, his
benevolent precepts, and the homely anecdotes in which he taught the
people, strong points of resemblance between him and the Divine Son of
Mary." A halo of myth naturally gathered round the cradle of this new
Moses--for we will not pursue the more extravagant and offensive
parallel which may serve as a set-off against that which was drawn by
English Royalists between the death of Charles I. and the Crucifixion.
Among other fables, it was believed that the President's family had fled
from Kentucky to Indiana to escape the taint of Slavery. Thomas Lincoln,
the father of Abraham, was migratory enough, but the course of his
migrations was not determined by high moral motives, and we may safely
affirm that had he ever found himself among the fleshpots of Egypt, he
would have stayed there, however deep the moral darkness might have
been. He was a thriftless "ne'er do weel," who had very commonplace
reasons for wandering away from the miserable, solitary farm in
Kentucky, on which his child first formed a sad acquaintance with life
and nature, and which, as it happened, was not in the slave-owning
region of the State. His decision appears to have been hastened by a
"difficulty," in which he bit off his antagonist's nose--an incident to
which it would be difficult to find a parallel in the family histories
of Scripture heroes, or even in those of the Sainted Fathers of the
Republic. He drifted to Indiana, and in a spot which was then an almost
untrodden wilderness, built a _casa santa_, which his connection,
Dennis Hanks, calls "that darned little half-faced camp"--a dwelling
enclosed on three sides and open on the fourth, without a floor, and
called a camp, it seems, because it was made of poles, not of logs. He
afterwards exchanged the "camp" for the more ambitious "cabin," but his
cabin, was "a rough, rough log one," made of unhewn timber, and without
floor, door or window. In this "rough, rough," abode, his lanky, lean-
visaged, awkward and somewhat pensive though strong, hearty and patient
son Abraham had a "rough, rough" life, and underwent experiences which,
if they were not calculated to form a Pitt or a Turgot, were calculated
to season an American politician, and make him a winner in the tough
struggle for existence, as well as to identify him with the people,
faithful representation of whose aims, sentiments, tastes, passions and
prejudices was the one thing needful to qualify him for obtaining the
prize of his ambition. "For two years Lincoln (the father) continued to
live alone in the old way. He did not like to farm, and he never got
much of his land under cultivation. His principal crop was corn; and
this, with the game which a rifleman so expert would easily take from
the woods around him, supplied his table." It does not appear that he
employed any of his mechanical skill in completing and furnishing his
own cabin. It has already been stated that the latter had no window,
door or floor. "But the furniture, if it might be called furniture, was
even worse than the house. Three-legged stools served for chairs. A
bedstead was made of poles stuck in the cracks of the logs in one corner
of the cabin, while the other end rested in the crotch of a forked stick
stuck in the earthen floor. On these were laid some boards, and on the
boards a shake-down of leaves, covered with skins and old petticoats.
The table was a hewed puncheon supported by four legs. They had a few
pewter and tin dishes to eat from, but the most minute inventory of
their effects makes no mention of knives or forks. Their cooking
utensils were a Dutch oven and a skillet. Abraham slept in the loft, to
which he ascended by means of pins driven into holes in the wall." Of
his father's disposition, Abraham seems to have inherited at all events
the dislike to labour, though his sounder moral nature prevented him
from being an idler. His tendency to politics came from the same element
of character as his father's preference for the rifle. In after life we
are told his mind "was filled with gloomy forebodings and strong
apprehensions of impending evil, mingled with extravagant visions of
personal grandeur and power." His melancholy, characterized by all his
friends as "terrible," was closely connected with the cravings of his
demagogic ambition, and the root of both was in him from a boy.

In the Indiana cabin Abraham's mother, whose maiden name was Nancy
Hanks, died, far from medical aid, of the epidemic called milk sickness.
She was preceded in death by her relatives, the Sparrows, who had
succeeded the Lincolns in the "camp," and by many neighbours, whose
coffins Thomas Lincoln made out of "green lumber cut with a whip saw."
Upon Nancy's death he took to his green lumber again and made a box for
her. "There were about twenty persons at her funeral. They took her to
the summit of a deeply wooded knoll, about half a mile south-east of the
cabin, and laid her beside the Sparrows. If there were any burial
ceremonies, they were of the briefest. But it happened that a few months
later an itinerant preacher, named David Elkin, whom the Lincolns had
known in Kentucky, wandered into the settlement, and he either
volunteered or was employed to preach a sermon, which should commemorate
the many virtues and pass over in silence the few frailties of the poor
woman who slept in the forest. Many years later the bodies of Levi Hall
and his wife (relatives), were deposited in the same earth with that of
Mr. Lincoln. The graves of two or three children, belonging to a
neighbour's family, are also near theirs. They are all crumbled, sunken
and covered with wild vines in deep and tangled mats. The great trees
were originally cut away to make a small cleared space for this
primitive graveyard; but the young dogwoods have sprung up unopposed in
great luxuriance, and in many instances the names of pilgrims to the
burial place of the great Abraham Lincoln's mother are carved on their
bark. With this exception, the spot is wholly unmarked. The grave never
had a stone, nor even a board, at its head or its foot, and the
neighbours still dispute as to which of these unsightly hollows contains
the ashes of Nancy Lincoln." If Democracy in the New World sometimes
stones the prophets, it is seldom guilty of building their sepulchres.
Out of sight, off the stump, beyond the range of the interviewer, heroes
and martyrs soon pass from the mind of a fast-living people; and weeds
may grow out of the dust of Washington. But in this case what neglect
has done good taste would have dictated; it is well that the dogwoods
are allowed to grow unchecked over the wilderness grave.

Thirteen months after the death of his Nancy, Thomas Lincoln went to
Elizabethtown, Kentucky, and suddenly presented himself to Mrs. Sally
Johnston, who had in former days rejected him for a better match, but
had become a widow. "Well, Mrs. Johnston, I have no wife and you have no
husband, I came a purpose to marry you. I knowed you from a gal and you
knowed me from a boy. I have no time to lose, and if you are willin',
let it be done straight off." "Tommy, I know you well, and have no
objection to marrying you; but I cannot do it straight off, as I owe
some debts that must first be paid." They were married next morning, and
the new Mrs. Lincoln, who owned, among other wondrous household goods, a
bureau that cost forty dollars, and who had been led, it seems, to
believe that her new husband was reformed and a prosperous farmer, was
conveyed with her bureau to the smiling scene of his reformation and
prosperity. Being, however, a sensible Christian woman, she made the
best of a bad bargain, got her husband to put down a floor and hang
doors and windows, made things generally decent, and was very kind to
the children, especially to Abe, to whom she took a great liking, and
who owed to his good stepmother what other heroes have owed to their
mothers. "From that time on," according to his garrulous relative,
Dennis Hanks, "he appeared to lead a new life." It seems to have been
difficult to extract from him "for campaign purposes" the incidents of
his life before it took this happy turn.

He described his own education in a Congressional handbook as
"defective." In Kentucky he occasionally trudged with his little sister,
rather as an escort than as a school-fellow, to a school four miles off,
kept by one Caleb Hazel, who could teach reading and writing after a
fashion, and a little arithmetic, but whose great qualification for his
office lay in his power and readiness "to whip the big boys." So far the
American respect for popular education as the key to success in life
prevailed even in those wilds, and in such a family as that of Thomas
Lincoln.

Under the auspices of his new mother, Abraham began attending school
again. The master was one Crawford, who taught not only reading, writing
and arithmetic, but "manners." One of the scholars was made to retire,
and re-enter "as a polite gentleman enters a drawing room," after which
he was led round by another scholar and introduced to all "the young
ladies and gentlemen." The polite gentleman who entered the drawing room
and was introduced as Mr. Abraham Lincoln, is thus depicted: "He was
growing at a tremendous rate, and two years later attained his full
height of six feet four inches. He was long, wiry and strong, while his
big feet and hands and the length of his arms and legs were out of all
proportion to his small trunk and head. His complexion was very swarthy,
and Mr. Gentry says that his skin was shrivelled and yellow even then.
He wore low shoes, buckskin breeches, linsey woolsey shirt, and a cap
made of the skin of an opossum or a coon. The breeches clung close to
his thighs and legs, but parted by a large space to meet the tops of his
shoes. Twelve inches remained uncovered, and exposed that much of
shinbone, sharp, blue and narrow." At a subsequent period, when charged
by a Democratic rival with being "a Whig aristocrat," he gave a minute
and touching description of the breeches. "I had only one pair," he
said, "and they were buckskin. And if you know the nature of buckskin
when wet and dried by the sun they will shrink; and mine kept shrinking
until they left several inches of my legs bare between the tops of my
socks and the lower part of my breeches, and whilst I was growing taller
they were becoming shorter, and so much tighter that they left a blue
streak around my legs, which can be seen to this day."

Mr. Crawford, it seems, was a martinet in spelling, and one day he was
going to punish a whole class for failing to spell _defied_, when
Lincoln telegraphed the right letter to a young lady by putting his
finger with a significant smile to his eye. Many years later, however,
and after his entrance into public life, Lincoln himself spelt
_apology_ with a double p, _planning_ with a single n, and
_very_ with a double r. His schooling was very irregular, his
school days hardly amounting to a year in all, and such education as he
had was picked up afterwards by himself. His appetite for mental food,
however, was always strong, and he devoured all the books, few and not
very select, which could be found in the neighbourhood of "Pigeon
Creek." Equally strong was his passion for stump oratory, the taste for
which pervades the American people, even in the least intellectual
districts, as the taste for church festivals pervades the people of
Spain, or the taste for cricket the people of England. Abe's neighbour,
John Romine, says, "he was awful lazy. He worked for me; was always
reading and thinking; used to get mad at him. He worked for me in 1829,
pulling fodder. I say Abe was awful lazy, he would laugh and talk, and
crack jokes all the time, didn't love work, but did dearly love his
pay." He liked to lie under a shade tree, or up in the loft of the cabin
and read, cipher, or scribble. At night he ciphered by the light of the
fire on the wooden fire shovel. He practised stump oratory by repeating
the sermons, and sometimes by preaching himself to his brothers and
sister. His gifts in the rhetorical line were high; when it was
announced in the harvest field that Abe had taken the stump, work was at
an end. The lineaments of the future politician distinctly appear in the
dislike of manual labour as well as in the rest. We shall presently have
Lincoln's own opinion on that point.

Abe's first written composition appears to have been an essay against
cruelty to animals, a theme the choice of which was at once indicative
of his kindness of heart and practically judicious, since the young
gentlemen in the neighbourhood were in the habit of catching terrapins
and putting hot coals upon their backs. The essay appears not to have
been preserved, and we cannot say whether its author succeeded in
explaining that ethical mystery--the love of cruelty in boys.

In spite of his laziness, Abe was greatly in demand at hog-killing time,
notwithstanding, or possibly in consequence of which, he contracted a
peculiarly tender feeling towards swine, and in later life would get off
his horse to help a struggling hog out of the mire or to save a little
pig from the jaws of an unnatural mother.

Society in the neighbourhood of Pigeon Creek was of the thorough
backwoods type; as coarse as possible, but hospitable and kindly, free
from cant and varnish, and a better school of life than of manners,
though, after all, the best manners are learnt in the best school of
life, and the school of life in which Abe studied was not the worst. He
became a leading favourite, and his appearance, towering above the other
hunting shirts, was always the signal for the fun to begin. His nature
seems to have been, like many others, open alike to cheerful and to
gloomy impressions. A main source of his popularity was the fund of
stories to which he was always adding, and to which in after life, he
constantly went for solace, under depression or responsibility, as
another man would go to his cigar or snuff box. The taste was not
individual but local, and natural to keen-witted people who had no other
food for their wits. In those circles "the ladies drank whiskey-toddy,
while the men drank it straight." Lincoln was by no means fond of drink,
but in this, as in every thing else, he followed the great law of his
life as a politician, by falling in with the humour of the people. One
cold night be and his companions found an acquaintance lying dead-drunk
in a puddle. All but Lincoln were disposed to let him lie where he was,
and freeze to death. But Abe "bent his mighty frame, and taking the man
in his long arms, carried him a great distance to Dennis Hanks' cabin.
There he built a fire, warmed, rubbed and nursed him through the entire
night, his companions having left him alone in his merciful task." His
real kindness of heart is always coming out in the most striking way,
and it was not impaired even by civil war.

Though sallow-faced, Lincoln had a very good constitution, but his frame
hardly bespoke great strength: he was six feet four and large-boned, but
narrow chested, and had almost a consumptive appearance. His strength,
nevertheless, was great. We are told that harnessed with ropes and
straps he could lift a box of stones weighing from a thousand to twelve
hundred pounds. But that he could raise a cask of whiskey in his arms
standing upright, and drink out of the bung-hole, his biographer does
not believe. The story is no doubt a part of the legendary halo which
has gathered round the head of the martyr. In wrestling, of which he was
very fond, he had not his match near Pigeon Creek, and only once found
him anywhere else. He was also formidable as a pugilist. But he was no
bully; on the contrary, he was peaceable and chivalrous in a rough way.
His chivalry once displayed itself in a rather singular fashion. He was
in the habit, among other intellectual exercises, of writing satires on
his neighbours in the form of chronicles, the remains of which, unlike
any known writings of Moses, or even of Washington, are "too indecent
for publication." In one of these he assailed the Grigsbys, who had
failed to invite him to a brilliant wedding. The Grigsby blood took
fire, and a fight was arranged. But when they came to the ring, Lincoln,
deeming the Grigsby champion too much overmatched, magnanimously
substituted for himself his less puissant stepbrother, John Johnston,
who was getting well pounded when Abe, on pretence of foul play,
interfered, seized Grigsby by the neck, flung him off and cleared the
ring. He then "swung a whiskey bottle over his head, and swore that he
was the big buck of the lick,"--a proposition which it seems, the other
bucks of the lick, there assembled in large numbers, did not feel
themselves called upon to dispute.

That Abraham Lincoln should have said, when a bare-legged boy, that he
intended to be President of the United States, is not remarkable. Every
boy in the United States says it; soon, perhaps, every girl will be able
to say it, and then human happiness will be complete. But Lincoln was
really carrying on his political education. Dennis Hanks is asked how he
and Lincoln acquired their knowledge. "We learned," he replies, "by
sight, scent and hearing. We heard all that was said, and talked over
and over the questions heard; wore them slick, greasy and threadbare.
Went to political and other speeches and gatherings, as you do now; we
would hear all sides and opinions, talk them over, discuss them,
agreeing or disagreeing. Abe, as I said before, was originally a
Democrat after the order of Jackson; so was his father, so we all
were.... He preached, made speeches, read for us, explained to us,
&c.... Abe was a cheerful boy, a witty boy; was humorous always,
sometimes would get sad, not very often.... Lincoln would frequently
make political and other speeches; he was calm, logical and clear
always. He attended trials, went to court always, read the Revised
Statutes of Indiana, dated 1824, heard law speeches, and listened to law
trials. Lincoln was lazy, a very lazy man. He was always reading,
scribbling, writing, ciphering, writing poetry, and the like.... In
Gentryville, about one mile west of Thomas Lincoln's farm, Lincoln would
go and tell his jokes and stories, &c., and was so odd, original and
humorous and witty, that all the people in town would gather around him.
He would keep them there till midnight. I would get tired, want to go
home, cuss Abe most heartily. Abe was a good talker, a good reader, and
was a kind of newsboy." One or two articles written by Abe found their
way into obscure journals, to his infinite gratification. His foot was
on the first round of the ladder. It is right to say that his culture
was not solely political, and that he was able to astonish the natives
of Gentryville by explaining that when the sun appeared to set, it "was
we did the sinking and not the sun."

Abe was tired of his home, as a son of Thomas Lincoln might be, without
disparagement to his filial piety; and he was glad to get off with a
neighbour on a commercial trip down the river to New Orleans. The trip
was successful in a small way, and Abe soon after repeated it with other
companions. He shewed his practical ingenuity in getting the boat off a
dam, and perhaps still more signally in quieting some restive hogs by
the simple expedient of sewing up their eyes. In the first trip the
great emancipator came in contact with the negro in a way that did not
seem likely to prepossess him in favour of the race. The boat was
boarded by negro robbers, who were repulsed only after a fray in which
Abe got a scar which he carried to the grave. But he saw with his own
eyes slaves manacled and whipped at New Orleans; and though his
sympathies were not far-reaching, the actual sight of suffering never
failed to make an impression on his mind. "In 1841," he says, in a
letter to a friend, "you and I had together a tedious low-water trip on
a steamboat from Louisville to St. Louis. You may remember, as I well
do, that from Louisville to the mouth of the Ohio, there were on board
ten or a dozen slaves shackled together with irons. That sight was a
continued torment to me, and I see something like it every time I touch
the Ohio or any other slave border." A negrophilist he never became. "I
protest," he said afterwards, when engaged in the slavery controversy,
"against the counterfeit logic which concludes that because I do not
want a black woman for a slave I must necessarily want her for a wife. I
need not have her for either. I can just leave her alone. In some
respects she certainly is not my equal; but in her natural right to eat
the bread which she earns with her own hands she is my equal and the
equal of all others." It would be difficult to put the case better.

While Abraham Lincoln was trading to New Orleans his father, Thomas
Lincoln, was on the move again. This time he migrated to Illinois, and
there again shifted from place to place, gathering no moss, till he died
as thriftless and poor as he had lived. We have, in later years, an
application from him to his son for money, to which the son responds in
a tone which implies some doubt as to the strict accuracy of the ground
on which the old gentleman's request was preferred. Their relations were
evidently not very affectionate, though there is nothing unfilial in
Abe's conduct. Abraham himself drifted to Salem on the Sangamon, in
Illinois, twenty miles north-west of Springfield, where he became clerk
in a new store, set up by Denton Offutt, with whom he had formed a
connection in one of his trips to New Orleans. Salem was then a village
of a dozen houses, and the little centre of a society very like that of
Pigeon Creek and its neighbourhood, but more decidedly western. We are
told that "here Mr. Lincoln became acquainted with a class of men the
world never saw the like of before or since. They were large men,--large
in body and large in mind; hard to whip and never to be fooled. They
were a bold, daring and reckless set of men; they were men of their own
mind,--believed what was demonstrable, were men of great common sense.
With these men Mr. Lincoln was thrown; with them he lived and with them
he moved and almost had his being. They were sceptics all--scoffers
some. These scoffers were good men, and their scoffs were protests
against theology,--loud protests against the follies of Christianity;
they had never heard of theism and the new and better religious thoughts
of this age. Hence, being natural sceptics and being bold, brave men
they uttered their thoughts freely.... They were on all occasions, when
opportunity offered, debating the various questions of Christianity
among themselves; they took their stand on common sense and on their own
souls; and though their arguments were rude and rough, no man could
overthrow their homely logic. They riddled all divines, and not
unfrequently made them sceptics,--disbelievers as bad as themselves.
They were a jovial, healthful, generous, true and manly set of people."
It is evident that W. Herndon, the speaker, is himself a disbeliever in
Christianity, and addicted to the "newer and better thought of this
age." He gives one specimen, which we have omitted for fear of shocking
our readers, of the theological criticism of these redoubtable logicians
of nature; and we are inclined to infer from it that the divines whom
they "riddled" and converted to scepticism must have been children of
nature as well as themselves. The passage, however, is a life-like,
though idealized, portrait of the Western man; and the tendency to
religious scepticism of the most daring kind is as truly ascribed to him
as the rest.