like the “winter of the deep snow” in Illinois, by the havoc of its sudden onset and the suffering of its long duration.  The settling of a forest country was accompanied here as elsewhere by the occasional ravages of strange and destructive pestilences and the constant presence of malaria.  Population was soon thick enough for occasional gatherings, convivial or religious, and in either case apt to be wild, but for long it was not thick enough for the life of most settlers to be other than lonely as well as hard.

Abraham Lincoln in his teens grew very fast, and by nineteen he was nearly six foot four.  His weight was never quite proportionate to this.  His ungainly figure, with long arms and large hands and relatively small development of chest, and the strange deep-cut lineaments of his face were perhaps the evidence of unfit (sometimes insufficient) food in these years of growth.  But his muscular strength was great, and startling statistical tales are told of the weight he could lift and the force of his blows with a mallet or an axe.  To a gentle and thoughtful boy with secret ambition in him such strength is a great gift, and in such surroundings most obviously so.  Lincoln as a lad was a valuable workman at the varied tasks that came his way, without needing that intense application to manual pursuits which the bent of his mind made irksome to him.  And he was a person of high consideration among the lads of his age and company.  The manners of the people then settling in Indiana and Illinois had not the extreme ferocity for which Kentucky had earlier been famous, and which crops up here and there in frontier life elsewhere.  All the same, as might naturally be supposed, they shared Plato’s opinion that youths and men in the prime of life should settle their differences with their fists.  Young Lincoln’s few serious combats were satisfactorily decisive, and neither they nor his friendly wrestling bouts ended in the quarrels which were too common among his neighbours.  Thus, for all his originality and oddity, he early grew accustomed to mix in the sort of company he was likely to meet, without either inward shrinking or the need of conscious self-assertion.

In one thing he stood aloof from the sports of his fellows.  Most backwoodsmen were bred to the gun; he has told us that he shot a turkey when he was eight and never afterwards shot at all.  There is an early tale of his protests against an aimless slaughter of mud turtles; and it may be guessed that the dislike of all killing, which gave him sore trouble later, began when he was young.  Tales survive of his kindness to helpless men and animals.  It marks the real hardness of his surroundings, and their hardening effect on many, that his exertions in saving a drunken man from death in the snow are related with apparent surprise.  Some tales of his helping a pig stuck in a bog or a dog on an ice floe and the like seem to indicate a curious and lasting