“I’m goin’ to Booneville to court; won’t you go with me?”

“Goin’ to be tried for your life?” replied David, in a vein of humour.

“Goin’ to see how they try other folks for their lives,” answered Abraham. “I never went into a court- room, and I’m goin’ to before I’m a week older.”

“How are you goin’, Abe?”

“Goin’ to walk, of course; not much of a trip there.”

“Well, it may not be much of a walk for your long legs, but it’s a long one for mine,” responded David. “I think I will be excused till you get to be a lawyer and have a case at the bar, then I’ll walk fifteen miles to see and hear.”

Abraham walked to Booneville, fifteen miles, to court, and was doubly paid for his trouble. The novelty and excitement of the scene captivated him so completely that he walked thither again and again afterwards, to enjoy the treat. At one time a murder trial was on the docket, in which one of the best lawyers of the State was counsel for the defence—John Breckinridge, Esq. Abraham heard his able and eloquent plea, and would have sat a week to listen to the speaker. “If I could ever become such a speaker, I should be perfectly satisfied,” he said within himself. He was so thoroughly charmed by the speech that he forgot his usual modesty, and, at the close of the court, stepped up to Mr. Breckinridge and said,—

“That was the best speech I ever heard.”

The lawyer looked at the shabby boy, as if surprised at his boldness; but did not deign a reply. He passed on, leaving Abraham to his own reflections. It deserves to be recorded here, that John Breckinridge met Abraham at Washington when the latter was President. Breckinridge was a resident of Texas then, and was a rebel. As he did not know who the shabby boy was who addressed him at Booneville, he did not know, of course, that it was he who had become President. But Lincoln recognized the eloquent pleader of Booneville at once, and kindly refreshed the rebel’s memory. Breckinridge had applied for executive clemency, and that Booneville speech became a favourable introduction. Mr. Lincoln said to him, “It was the best speech that I ever heard up to that time. If I could, as I then thought, make as good a speech as that, my soul would be satisfied.”

Through Abraham’s influence a “speaking-meeting,” or, as we call it now, a lyceum, was started at Gentryville.

“It will be real improvin’,” said Abraham to Nat Grigsby, “to say nothing about the fun of the thing.” He was making a plea for such an institution.

“If we were all like you, Abe, there would be both improvement and fun in the thing, but we are not,” answered Nat. “I’ll do what I can, though.”

“And that is all any of us can do.”

“What will you do at your speaking meeting?” Nat continued.

“Speak pieces, discuss questions, and read compositions,” answered Abraham. “We can have real good times.”

“We might if we could all speak and write and argue as you can,” responded Nat. “But most of us will have to take back seats in such a meetin’, I tell you. But I go in for it.”

All the young people favoured the enterprise finally, and not a few of the older ones. It started with flying colours, and Abraham was in his element. The pieces he had committed to memory as a pastime now served him a good purpose, and, more than ever, the people extolled him. Old Mr. Gentry said, “Abe