On Tuesday Bolton returned with Ernest. Two hours were spent in conference with Stephen Ray. The latter fought hard, but yielded at last. He understood the strength of his opponent’s case.

Ernest consented to receive the estate as it was bequeathed to his father, without any demand for back revenues. Whatever Stephen Ray had accumulated besides, he was allowed to retain.

As this amounted to a hundred thousand dollars, Ray felt that it might have been worse. Had he not been dissuaded by Bolton, Ernest would have consented to share the estate with the usurper, but the lawyer represented that this would be condoning the wrong done to his father.

In a month the whole matter was settled, and Stephen Ray removed to Chicago, where he had business interests.

“But what shall I do with this large house?” asked Ernest. “I don’t want to live here.”

“I know a gentleman who would like to hire it for a term of years,” responded Bolton. “He will pay a rental of five thousand dollars a year. The bonds which you inherit will yield an income equally large.”

“So that my income will be ten thousand dollars a year?” said Ernest, dazzled.

“Yes.”

“What shall I do with it all?”

Bolton smiled.

“You are but seventeen,” he said. “A few years hence you will probably marry. Then you can occupy the house yourself. Meanwhile——”

“I will go back to California. Luke will expect me. While I am away I appoint you my man of business. I wish you to have charge of my property at a proper commission.”

“I will undertake the charge with pleasure.”

Bolton knew how much this would increase his importance in the eyes of the firm by which he was employed. Ernest could not have made a better choice. Bolton was no longer intemperate. He was shrewd and keen, and loyal to his young employer.

Ernest returned to California, but he had lost his old zest for business, now that his fortune was secure. He soon came East again, and entered upon a plan of study, ending with a college course. He brought with him Frank Fox, the son of the dead outlaw, who regarded him with devoted affection. They lived together, and he placed Frank at a well-known school, justly noted for the success of its pupils.

Of the many boys with whom Frank associated not one suspected that the attractive lad, who was a favorite with all, was a son of the desperado whose deeds were a matter of common knowledge in the West. Ernest had cautioned the boy to say as little as possible of his past history.

Years have gone, what Bolton predicted has come to pass. Ernest is a college graduate, and will soon marry a young lady of high position in the city of New York. He will go abroad for a year, and on his return will make his home on his ancestral estate.

Last week he received a letter from a patient in a New York City hospital. It was signed John Franklin, a name with which he was not familiar.

In some wonder he answered the call, and was led to a bed on which lay a gaunt, spectral man, evidently in the last stage of existence.

“Is this John Franklin?” asked Ernest doubtfully.

“That is the name I go by now,” answered the dying man.

“Do I know you? Have I ever met you?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember you.”

“If I tell you my real name, will you keep it secret?”

“Yes.”

“Then I am John Fox. You will not betray me?”

“No; certainly not. Can I do anything for you?”

“Yes; you are the guardian of my brother’s child.”

“Yes.”

“Is he alive? Is he well?”

“Yes.”

“Will you bring him here before I die?”

“I will. I cannot refuse the request of a dying man.” Ernest brought Frank to the bedside of his dying uncle. It was a sad interview. Frank was moved, but John Fox, seeing him strong, handsome, robust, felt comforted.

“He at least has profited by the fate that overtook his father and myself. I shall die content, for I leave him in good hands. Don’t let him think too hardly of us!”

“I will not. So far as I can compass it, his future life shall be happy.”

The dying outlaw reached out his hand and pressed Ernest’s gratefully. A day later he was dead.

In the threatening aspect of affairs at the time of the Black Hawk War, Governor Reynolds issued a call for volunteers, and among the companies that immediately responded was one from Menard County, Illinois. Many of the volunteers were from New Salem and Clarey’s Grove, and Lincoln, being out of business, was first to enlist. The company being full, they held a meeting at Richland for the election of officers. Lincoln had won many hearts and they told him that he must be their captain. It was an office that he did not aspire to, and one for which he felt that he had no special fitness; but he consented to be a candidate. There was but one other candidate for the office (a Mr. Kirkpatrick), and he was one of the most influential men in the county. Previously, Kirkpatrick had been an employer of Lincoln, and was so overbearing in his treatment of the young man that the latter left him.

The simple mode of electing their captain, adopted by the company, was by placing the candidates apart, and telling the men to go and stand with the one they preferred. Lincoln and his competitor took their positions, and then the word was given. At least three out of every four went to Lincoln at once. When it was seen by those who had ranged themselves with the other candidate that Lincoln was the choice of the majority of the company, they left their places, one by one, and came over to the successful side, until Lincoln’s opponent in the friendly strife was left standing almost alone.

“I felt badly to see him cut so,” says a witness of the scene.

Here was an opportunity for revenge. The humble laborer was his employer’s captain, but the opportunity was never improved. Mr. Lincoln frequently confessed that no subsequent success of his life had given him half the satisfaction that this election did. He had achieved public recognition; and to one so humbly bred, the distinction was inexpressibly delightful.

————:o:————

The friends of General Cass, when that gentleman was a candidate for the Presidency, endeavored to endow him with a military reputation. Mr. Lincoln, at that time a representative in Congress, delivered a speech before the House, which in its allusions to Mr. Cass, was exquisitely sarcastic and irresistibly humorous:

“By the way, Mr. Speaker,” said Mr. Lincoln, “do you know I am a military hero? Yes, sir, in the days of the Black Hawk War, I fought, bled and came away. Speaking of General Cass’ career reminds me of my own. I was not at Stillman’s Defeat, but I was about as near it as Cass to Hull’s surrender; and like him I saw the place very soon afterward. It is quite certain I did not break my sword, for I had none to break, but I bent my musket pretty badly on one occasion. * * * If General Cass went in advance of me in picking whortleberries, I guess I surpassed him in charges upon the wild onion. If he saw any live, fighting Indians, it is more than I did, but I had a good many bloody struggles with the mosquitoes, and although I never fainted from loss of blood, I can truly say I was often very hungry.”

Mr. Lincoln concluded by saying that if he ever turned Democrat and should run for the Presidency, he hoped they would not make fun of him by attempting to make him a military hero!

————:o:————

In 1834, Lincoln was a candidate for the legislature, and was elected by the highest vote cast for any candidate. Major John T. Stuart, an officer in the Black Hawk War, and whose acquaintance Lincoln made at Beardstown, was also elected. Major Stuart had already conceived the highest opinion of the young man, and seeing much of him during the canvass for the election, privately advised him to study law. Stuart was himself engaged in a large and lucrative practice at Springfield.

Lincoln said he was poor—that he had no money to buy books, or to live where books might be borrowed or used. Major Stuart offered to lend him all he needed, and he decided to take the kind lawyer’s advice, and accept his offer. At the close of the canvass which resulted in his election, he walked to Springfield, borrowed “a load” of books of Stuart, and took them home with him to New Salem.

Here he began the study of law in good earnest, though with no preceptor. He studied while he had bread, and then started out on a surveying tour to win the money that would buy more.

One who remembers his habits during this period says that he went, day after day, for weeks, and sat under an oak tree near New Salem and read, moving around to keep in the shade as the sun moved. He was so much absorbed that some people thought and said that he was crazy.

Not unfrequently he met and passed his best friends without noticing them. The truth was that he had found the pursuit of his life, and had become very much in earnest.

During Lincoln’s campaign he possessed and rode a horse, to procure which he had quite likely sold his compass and chain, for, as soon as the canvass had closed, he sold the horse and bought these instruments indispensable to him in the only pursuit by which he could make his living.

When the time for the assembling of the legislature had arrived Lincoln dropped his law books, shouldered his pack, and, on foot, trudged to Vandalia, then the capital of the State, about a hundred miles, to make his entrance into public life.

————:o:————

The Sangamon County delegation to the Illinois Legislature, in 1834, of which Lincoln was a member, consisting of nine representatives, was so remarkable for the physical altitude of its members that they were known as “The Long Nine.” Not a member of the number was less than six feet high, and Lincoln was the tallest of the nine, as he was the leading man intellectually in and out of the House.

Among those who composed the House were General John A. McClernand, afterwards a member of Congress; Jesse K. DuBois, afterwards Auditor of the State; Jas. Semple, afterwards twice the Speaker of the House of Representatives, and subsequently United States Senator; Robert Smith, afterwards member of Congress; John Hogan, afterwards a member of Congress from St. Louis; General James Shields, afterwards United States Senator (who died recently); John Dement, who has since been Treasurer of the State; Stephen A. Douglas, whose subsequent career is familiar to all; Newton Cloud, President of the convention which framed the present State Constitution of Illinois; John J. Hardin, who fell at Buena Vista; John Moore, afterwards Lieutenant Governor of the State; William A. Richardson, subsequently United States Senator, and William McMurtry, who has since been Lieutenant Governor of the State.

This list does not embrace all who had then, or who have since been distinguished, but it is large enough to show that Lincoln was, during the term of this legislature, thrown into association, and often into antagonism, with the brightest men of the new State.

————:o:————

He had walked his hundred miles to Vandalia; in 1836, as he did in 1834, and when the session closed he walked home again. A gentleman in Menard County remembers meeting him and a detachment of “The Long Nine” on their way home. They were all mounted except Lincoln, who had thus far kept up with them on foot.

If he had money he was hoarding it for more important purposes than that of saving leg-weariness and leather. The weather was raw, and Lincoln’s clothing was none of the warmest.

Complaining of being cold to one of his companions, this irreverent member of “The Long Nine” told his future President that it was no wonder he was cold—“there was so much of him on the ground.” None of the party appreciated this homely joke at the expense of his feet (they were doubtless able to bear it) more thoroughly than Lincoln himself.

We can imagine the cross-fires of wit and humor by which the way was enlivened during this cold and tedious journey. The scene was certainly a rude one, and seems more like a dream than a reality, when we remember that it occurred not very many years ago, in a State which contains hardly less than three millions of people and seven thousand and six hundred miles of railway.

————:o:————

In 1842, in his thirty-third year, Mr. Lincoln married Miss Mary Todd, a daughter of Hon. Robert S. Todd, of Lexington, Kentucky. The marriage took place in Springfield, where the lady had for several years resided, on the fourth of November of the year mentioned. It is probable that he married as early as the circumstances of his life permitted, for he had always loved the society of women, and possessed a nature that took profound delight in intimate female companionship.

A letter written on the eighteenth of May following his marriage, to J. F. Speed, Esq., of Louisville, Kentucky, an early and a life-long personal friend, gives a pleasant glimpse of his domestic arrangements at this time. “We are not keeping house,” Mr. Lincoln says in this letter, “but boarding at the Globe Tavern, which is very well kept by a widow lady of the name of Beck. Our rooms are the same Dr. Wallace occupied there, and boarding only costs four dollars a week. * * * I most heartily wish you and your Fanny will not fail to come. Just let us know the time, a week in advance, and we will have a room prepared for you, and we’ll all be merry together for awhile.”

He seems to have been in excellent spirits, and to have been very hearty in the enjoyment of his new relation. The private letters of Mr. Lincoln were charmingly natural and sincere. His personal friendships were the sweetest sources of his happiness.

To a particular friend, he wrote February 25, 1842: “Yours of the 16th, announcing that Miss —— and you ‘are no longer twain, but one flesh,’ reached me this morning. I have no way of telling you how much happiness I wish you both, though I believe you both can conceive it. I feel somewhat jealous of both of you now, for you will be so exclusively concerned for one another that I shall be forgotten entirely. My acquaintance with Miss —— (I call her thus lest you should think I am speaking of your mother), was too short for me to reasonably hope to long be remembered by her; and still I am sure I shall not forget her soon. Try if you cannot remind her of that debt she owes me, and be sure you do not interfere to prevent her paying it.

“I regret to learn that you have resolved not to return to Illinois. I shall be very lonesome without you. How miserably things seem to be arranged in this world! If we have no friends we have no pleasure; and if we have them, we are sure to lose them, and be doubly pained by the loss.

“I did hope she and you would make your home here, yet I own I have no right to insist. You owe obligations to her ten thousand times more sacred than any you can owe to others, and in that light let them be respected and observed. It is natural that she should desire to remain with her relations and friends. As to friends, she should not need them anywhere—she would have them in abundance here. Give my kind regards to Mr. —— and his family, particularly to Miss E. Also to your mother, brothers and sisters. Ask little E. D—— if she will ride to town with me if I come there again. And, finally, give —— a double reciprocation of all the love she sent me. Write me often, and believe me, yours forever, Lincoln.”

————:o:————

“A great man,” says J. G. Holland, “never drew his infant life from a purer or more womanly bosom than her own; and Mr. Lincoln always looked back to her with unspeakable affection. Long after her sensitive heart and weary hands had crumbled into dust, and had climbed to life again in forest flowers, he said to a friend, with tears in his eyes: ‘All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother—blessings on her memory!’” She was five feet, five inches high, a slender, pale, sad and sensitive woman, with much in her nature that was truly heroic, and much that shrank from the rude life around her.

Her death occurred in 1818, scarcely two years after her removal from Kentucky to Indiana, and when Abraham was in his tenth year. They laid her to rest under the trees near their cabin home, and, sitting on her grave, the little boy wept his irreparable loss.

————:o:————

I did not travel, says Gen. Linder, on the circuit in 1835, on account of my health and the health of my wife, but attended court at Charleston that fall, held by Judge Grant, who had exchanged circuits with our judge, Justin Harlan.

It was here I first met Abraham Lincoln, of Springfield, at that time a very retiring and modest young man, dressed in a plain suit of mixed jeans. He did not make any marked impression upon me, or any other member of the bar. He was on a visit to his relations in Coles, where his father and stepmother lived, and some of her children.

Lincoln put up at the hotel, and here was where I saw him. Whether he was reading law at this time I cannot say. Certain it is, he had been admitted to the bar, although he had some celebrity, having been a captain in the Blackhawk campaign, and served a term in the Illinois Legislature; but if he won any fame at that season I have never heard of it. He had been one of the representatives from Sangamon.

If Lincoln at this time felt the divine afflatus of greatness stir within him I have never heard of it. It was rather common with us then in the West to suppose that there was no Presidential timber growing in the Northwest, yet, he doubtless had at that time the stuff out of which to make half a dozen Presidents.

I had known his relatives in Kentucky, and he asked me about them. His uncle, Mordecai Lincoln, I had known from my boyhood, and he was naturally a man of considerable genius; he was a man of great drollery, and it would almost make you laugh to look at him. I never saw but one other man whose quiet, droll look excited in me the same disposition to laugh, and that was Artemus Ward.

He was quite a story-teller, and in this Abe resembled his Uncle Mord, as we called him. He was an honest man, as tender-hearted as a woman, and to the last degree charitable and benevolent.

No one ever took offense at Uncle Mord’s stories—not even the ladies. I heard him once tell a bevy of fashionable girls that he knew a very large woman who had a husband so small that in the night she often mistook him for the baby, and that upon one occasion she took him up and was singing to him a soothing lullaby, when he awoke and told her that she was mistaken, that the baby was on the other side of the bed.

Lincoln had a very high opinion of his uncle, and on one occasion he said to me: “Linder, I have often said that Uncle Mord run off with the talents of the family.”

Old Mord, as we sometimes called him, had been in his younger days a very stout man, and was quite fond of playing a game of fisticuffs with any one who was noted as a champion.

He told a parcel of us once of a pitched battle that he had fought on the side of a hill or ridge; that at the bottom there was a rut or canal, which had been cut out by the freshets. He said they soon clinched, and he threw his man and fell on top of him.

He said he always thought he had the best eyes in the world for measuring distances, and having measured the distance to the bottom of the hill, he concluded that by rolling over and over till they came to the bottom his antagonist’s body would fill it, and he would be wedged in so tight that he could whip him at his leisure. So he let the fellow turn him, and over and over they went, when about the twentieth revolution brought Uncle Mord’s back in contact with the rut, “and,” said he, “before fire could scorch a feather, I cried out in stentorian voice: ‘Take him off!’”

————:o:————

There lived at the time young Lincoln resided at New Salem, Illinois, in and around the village, a band of rollicking fellows, or more properly, roystering rowdies, known as the “Clary’s Grove Boys.” The special tie that united them was physical courage and prowess. These fellows, although they embraced in their number many men who have since become respectable and influential, were wild and rough beyond toleration in any community not made up like that which produced them. They pretended to be “regulators,” and were the terror of all who did not acknowledge their role; and their mode of securing allegiance was by flogging every man who failed to acknowledge it.

They took it upon themselves to try the mettle of every newcomer, and to learn the sort of stuff he was made of.

Some of their number was appointed to fight, wrestle, or run a foot-race with each incoming stranger. Of course Abraham Lincoln was obliged to pass the ordeal.

Perceiving that he was a man who would not easily be floored; they selected their champion, Jack Armstrong, and imposed upon him the task of laying Lincoln upon his back.

There is no evidence that Lincoln was an unwilling party to the sport, for it was what he had always been accustomed to. The bout was entered upon, but Armstrong soon discovered that he had met more than his match.

The boys were looking on, and seeing that their champion was likely to get the worst of it, did after the manner of such irresponsible bands. They gathered around Lincoln, struck and disabled him, and then Armstrong, by “legging” him, got him down.

Most men would have been indignant, not to say furiously angry, under such foul treatment as this; but if Lincoln was either, he did not show it. Getting up in perfect good humor, he fell to laughing over his discomfiture, and joking about it. They had all calculated upon making him angry, and they intended, with the amiable spirit which characterized the “Clary’s Grove Boys,” to give him a terrible drubbing. They were disappointed, and, in their admiration of him, immediately invited him to become one of the company.

1. The Motor Club's Cruise Down the Mississippi; or The Dash for Dixie.
2. The Motor Club on the St. Lawrence River; or Adventures Among the Thousand Islands.
3. The Motor Club on the Great Lakes; or Exploring the Mystic Isle of Mackinac.
4. Motor Boat Boys Among the Florida Keys; or The Struggle for the Leadership.
5. Motor Boat Boys Down the Coast; or Through Storm and Stress.
6. Motor Boat Boy's River Chase; or Six Chums Afloat or Ashore.
7. Motor Boat Boys Down the Danube; or Four Chums Abroad