Dear sir:—­It is a matter of high moral obligation, if not of necessity, for me to attend the Coles and Edwards courts.  I have some cases in both of them, in which the parties have my promise, and are depending upon me.  The court commences in Coles on the second Monday, and in Edgar on the third.  Your court in Morgan commences on the fourth Monday; and it is my purpose to be with you then, and make a speech.  I mention the Coles and Edgar courts in order that if I should not reach Jacksonville at the time named you may understand the reason why.  I do not, however, think there is much danger of my being detained; as I shall go with a purpose not to be, and consequently shall engage in no new cases that might delay me.

Yours truly,
A. Lincoln.

VERSES WRITTEN BY LINCOLN AFTER A VISIT TO HIS OLD HOME IN INDIANA-(A FRAGMENT).

[In December, 1847, when Lincoln was stumping for Clay, he crossed into Indiana and revisited his old home.  He writes:  “That part of the country is within itself as unpoetical as any spot on earth; but still seeing it and its objects and inhabitants aroused feelings in me which were certainly poetry; though whether my expression of these feelings is poetry, is quite another question.”]

   Near twenty years have passed away
   Since here I bid farewell
   To woods and fields, and scenes of play,
   And playmates loved so well.

   Where many were, but few remain
   Of old familiar things;
   But seeing them to mind again
   The lost and absent brings.

   The friends I left that parting day,
   How changed, as time has sped! 
   Young childhood grown, strong manhood gray,
   And half of all are dead.

   I hear the loved survivors tell
   How naught from death could save,
   Till every sound appears a knell,
   And every spot a grave.

   I range the fields with pensive tread,
   And pace the hollow rooms,
   And feel (companion of the dead)
   I ’m living in the tombs.

   Verses written by Lincoln concerning A school-fellow
   who became insane—­(A fragment).

   And when at length the drear and long
   Time soothed thy fiercer woes,
   How plaintively thy mournful song
   Upon the still night rose

   I’ve heard it oft as if I dreamed,
   Far distant, sweet and lone;
   The funeral dirge it ever seemed
   Of reason dead and gone.

   Air held her breath; trees with the spell
   Seemed sorrowing angels round,
   Whose swelling tears in dewdrops fell
   Upon the listening ground.

   But this is past, and naught remains
   That raised thee o’er the brute;
   Thy piercing shrieks and soothing strains
   Are like, forever mute.