“He said that his mother was alone in town, and needed him.”

Virginia got up without a word, and went into Judge Whipple’s room.  And there the Colonel found her some hours later, reading aloud from a scrap-book certain speeches of Mr. Lincoln’s which Judge Whipple had cut from newspapers.  And the Judge, lying back with his eyes half closed, was listening in pure delight.  Little did he guess at Virginia’s penance!

THE CRISIS

By Winston Churchill

Volume 4.

CHAPTER VII

AN EXCURSION

I am going ahead two years.  Two years during which a nation struggled in agony with sickness, and even the great strength with which she was endowed at birth was not equal to the task of throwing it off.  In 1620 a Dutch ship had brought from Guinea to his Majesty’s Colony of Virginia the germs of that disease for which the Nation’s blood was to be let so freely.  During these years signs of dissolution, of death, were not wanting.

In the city by the Father of Waters where the races met, men and women were born into the world, who were to die in ancient Cuba, who were to be left fatherless in the struggle soon to come, who were to live to see new monsters rise to gnaw at the vitals of the Republic, and to hear again the cynical laugh of Europe.  But they were also to see their country a power in the world, perchance the greatest power.  While Europe had wrangled, the child of the West had grown into manhood and taken a seat among the highest, to share with them the responsibilities of manhood.

Meanwhile, Stephen Brice had been given permission to practise law in the sovereign state of Missouri.  Stephen understood Judge Whipple better.  It cannot be said that he was intimate with that rather formidable personage, although the Judge, being a man of habits, had formed that of taking tea at least once a week with Mrs. Brice.  Stephen had learned to love the Judge, and he had never ceased to be grateful to him for a knowledge of that man who had had the most influence upon his life, —­Abraham Lincoln.

For the seed, sowed in wisdom and self-denial, was bearing fruit.  The sound of gathering conventions was in the land, and the Freeport Heresy was not for gotten.

We shall not mention the number of clients thronging to Mr. Whipple’s office to consult Mr. Brice.  These things are humiliating.  Some of Stephen’s income came from articles in the newspapers of that day.  What funny newspapers they were, the size of a blanket!  No startling headlines such as we see now, but a continued novel among the advertisements on the front page and verses from some gifted lady of the town, signed Electra.  And often a story of pure love, but more frequently of ghosts or other eerie phenomena taken from a magazine, or an anecdote of a cat or a chicken.  There were letters from citizens who had the mania of print, bulletins of different ages from all parts of the Union, clippings out of day-before-yesterday’s newspaper of Chicago or Cincinnati to three-weeks letters from San Francisco, come by the pony post to Lexington and then down the swift Missouri.  Of course, there was news by telegraph, but that was precious as fine gold,—­not to be lightly read and cast aside.