Then Abe began to show the stranger his peculiar art in these words: 

“Stephen Nuckles used to say:  ‘God’s grace embraces the isles o’ the sea an’ the uttermost parts o’ the earth.  It takes in the Esquimaux an’ the Hottentots.  Some go so fur as to say that it takes in the Yankees but I don’t go so fur.’”

Samson joined in the good-natured laughter that followed.

“If you deal with some Yankees you take your life in your hands,” he said.  “They can serve God or Mammon and I guess they have given the Devil some of his best ideas.  He seems to be getting a lot of Yankee notions lately.”

“There was a powerful prejudice in Kentucky against the Yankees,” Abe went on.  “Down there they used to tell about a Yankee who sold his hogs and was driving them to town.  On the way he decided that he had sold them too cheap.  He left them with his drover in the road and went on to town and told the buyer that he would need help to bring ’em in.

“‘How’s that?’ the buyer asked.

“‘Why they git away an’ go to runnin’ through the woods an’ fields an’ we can’t keep up with ’em.’

“’I don’t think I want ’em,’ says the buyer.  ’A speedy hog hasn’t much pork to carry.  I’ll give ye twenty bits to let me off.’”

“I guess that Yankee had one more hog than he’d counted,” said Samson.

“It reminds me of a man in Pope County who raised the biggest hog in Illinois,” Abe went on.  “It was a famous animal and people from far and near came to see him.  One day a man came an’ asked to see the hog.

“‘We’re chargin’ two bits for the privilege now,’ said the owner.

“The man paid the money and got into his wagon.

“‘Don’t you want to see him?’ the farmer asked.

“‘No,’ said the stranger.  ‘I’ve seen the biggest hog in Illinois an’ I don’t care to look at a smaller one.’”

“Whatever prejudice you may find here will soon vanish,” said Kelso, turning to the newcomer.  “I have great respect for the sturdy sons of New England.  I believe it was Theodore Parker who said that the pine was the symbol of their character.  He was right.  Its roots are deep in the soil; it towers above the forest; it has the strength of tall masts and the substance of the builder in its body, music in its waving branches and turpentine in its veins.  I thought of this when I saw Webster and heard him speak at Plymouth.”

“What kind of a looking man is he?” Abe asked.

“A big erect, splendid figure of a man.  He walked like a ram at the head of his flock.  As he began speaking I thought of that flash of Homer’s in the Odyssey: 

“’When his great voice went forth out of his breast and his words fell like the winter snows—­not then would any mortal contend with Ulysses.’”

Abe who since his story had sat with a sad face looking into the fire now leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and shook his head with interest while his gray eyes took on a look of animation.  The diary speaks often of the “veil of sadness” on his face.