commit murder, but with a far different object in view. The Supreme Court had decided that under the Constitution slavery might be estab lished in Kansas. Missourians were determined to force it upon the Territory. He would let the ruffians know that slaves had legs and could run away. He found fourteen who were ready to be free men. He started with them, bound for Iowa. "Three thousand dollars reward for the arrest of John Brown!" read the proclamation of the Governor of Missouri.

"Two hundred and fifty dollars reward!" read the proclamation of James Buchanan, President of the United States.

The Marshal of Missouri with a posse of men surrounded the logcabin occupied by Brown and his company, but the muzzles of rifles projected from the crevices between the logs.

"Come on, gentlemen, if you wish to." It was a pleasant voice, with no bravado in the tones.

But three thousand two hundred and fifty dollars was no temptation to advance. Night came, and John Brown and the slaves were on their way to Iowa. Never again would the fugitives call any man

master.

The disagreement of Douglas with President Buchanan upon the acceptance of the Lecompton constitution led Horace Greeley, editor of the New York "Tribune," and other men of the Eastern States, to think it would be good policy for the Republicans to support Douglas. Mr. Lincoln and his friends thought differently. They knew Mr. Douglas desired to be President of the United States, and that he was not opposing the acceptance of the Lecompton constitution from any noble principle. Mr. Herndon, Mr. Lincoln's law partner, thought it would be well for some one to let Mr. Greeley and other Eastern gentlemen know their advocacy of Douglas was doing much harm to the Republicans of Illinois, and he accordingly visited the Eastern States. In Boston he made the acquaintance of Theodore Parker, a Unitarian minister, who was making very earnest efforts to bring about the abolition of slavery, and who presented him with a copy of a speech which he had made. Herndon carried it to Springfield. Mr. Lincoln read it, and made a pencil mark against this sentence: "Democracy is direct self-government over all the people, for all the people, by all the people." (2)

It was a sentence to be remembered.

Times had changed in Illinois since that day when Abraham Lincoln entered the State driving an ox-team. Then the farmers reaped

their grain with a sickle, or gathered it with a cradle. In 1833 Obed Hussey invented a machine for reaping, and in 1834 Cyrus McCormick took out a patent for a similar machine. Mr. Manny, of Chicago, also

took out a patent, which McCormick claimed was an infringe1857. ment. Mr. Manny employed two able lawyers to defend his claim

George Harding, of Philadelphia, who understood mechanics, and Abraham Lincoln, who was to take up the points of law involved. Mr. Reverdy Johnson, of Baltimore, regarded as one of the ablest lawyers in the country, was employed by Mr. McCormick. Mr. Lincoln prepared himself with great care, and was quite ready to meet Mr. Johnson in argument.

Judge McLean, of the Supreme Court, was to hear the case in Cincinnati. Mr. Lincoln reached that city and found that Mr. Manny had also engaged Edwin M. Stanton, of Pittsburg. The three lawyers met for consultation. Only two of them could be heard by the Court. Mr. Harding, by mutual consent, was to present the mechanical features of the invention. Who should present the legal points, Lincoln or Stanton? By custom it was Lincoln's right. He was prepared, Stanton was not. "You will speak, of course," said Stanton. "No, you," the courteous reply. "I will," the answer, and Mr. Stanton abruptly and discourteously left the room. He had taken a great dislike to Lincoln, who overheard him in an adjoining room say to a friend: "Where did such a lank creature come from? His linen duster is blotched on his back with perspiration and dust, so that you might use it for a map of the continent." (")

Mr. Lincoln felt the discourtesy. He had looked forward to the contest with keen zest, but Stanton had rudely pushed him aside and assumed superiority.

May, 1858.

We have seen Mr. Lincoln, when clerk in Offut's store in New Salem, vanquishing Jack Armstrong in a wrestling match, and Jack from that day becoming a true and steadfast friend. It was Hannah Armstrong, wife of Jack, who mended the clerk's clothing. He was ever welcomed to the Armstrong cabin. But Jack had died and Hannah was in trouble. To whom should she go but to the great-hearted friend, no longer reseating chairs or surveying land, but foremost among the lawyers of Illinois? It was a sad story. Her son William was in jail, accused of killing James T. Metzger. He went to a camp-meeting, drank too much whiskey, and quarrelled with Metzger.

A fatal blow was struck either by William or by a boon companion.

The people were so bitter against him that the trial was to be at Beardstown, in another county.

“Hannah, I'll do all I can for you." That was all Lawyer Lincoln could say.

The court-house is filled with people. The evidence in the case is very much against William. The witnesses swear they heard the quarrelling between him and Metzger. It was in the evening. They saw Bill strike the fatal blow.

"You say that you saw him strike the fatal blow?" Lincoln asks. "Yes."

"What time was it?"

"About eleven o'clock in the evening."

"Was it a bright night?"

"Yes, the moon was nearly full.”

"What was its position in the sky?"

"It was just about the position of the sun at ten o'clock in the forenoon."

"You say that the moon was nearly full, and shining so bright that you could see Bill strike the blow."

"Yes."

Lawyer Lincoln takes an almanac from his pocket and shows it to the jury. "Gentlemen, either this witness is wrong or this almanac is wrong, for it says there was no moon that night. Which will you be lieve?" Very eloquent are the closing words of his argument. Hannah Armstrong is looking up into his face. He sees the white hair and the wrinkled brow of the woman who has been as a mother to him. There is no conclusive evidence that her son plunged the knife into the side of the murdered man. The almanac contradicts the witnesses who testify that they saw the stroke by the light of the moon. There are tears in his eyes as he tells the jury about the dead father, the cabin where he lived; how it had been a home to himself; how tenderly the woman sitting by his side had cared for him; how the son, with no father to restrain him, had fallen into bad company. With all the evidence before them the jury could not unmistakably say that William struck the blow. The jurors brush the tears from their sunburnt faces. The judge cannot conceal his emotion, and there is a sound of stifled sobbing in the room as he pictures the past.

The jury render its verdict of "not guilty." The court-room suddenly changes to a scene of congratulation- lawyer, judge, a great crowd of citizens shaking hands with Mr. Lincoln.