of a child’s volume somehow—either it was a present or was borrowed of a neighbour—from which he derived much real pleasure. One day he spelled out and read aloud the following line:

“The rain came pattering on the roof.”

“Why, mother!” he shouted, under visible excitement, “I’ve heard the rain do that myself.”

“You have?”

“Why, yes, I have,” he continued, as if a new revelation were made to him. And then he read the line over again, with more emphasis and louder than before:

“The rain came pattering on the roof.”

“Yes, mother, I’ve heard it just so!” and the little fellow appeared to be struggling with a thought larger than ever tasked his mind before. It was the first time, probably, that he had learned the actual use of words to represent things, to describe objects and events—the outside world on paper.

From that time James was introduced into a new world—a world of thought. Words expressed thoughts to him, and books contained words; and so he went for books with all his mind, and might, and strength. There was nothing about the cabin equal to a book. He preferred the “English Reader” to anything that could be raised on the little farm. He revelled in books—such books as he could find at that time, when there was a dearth of books. Day after day the “English Reader” was his companion. He would lie flat upon the cabin floor by the hour, or sprawl himself out under a tree, on a warm summer day, with the “English Reader” in his hand, exploring its mines of thought, mastering its wonderful knowledge, and making himself familiar with its inspiring contents. This was before the lad was five years old; and he was scarcely six years old when he had committed to memory a great portion of that “Reader.” Other volumes, too, occupied much of his attention, though none to such an extent as the “English Reader.” Such was his childish devotion to books that his mother could scarcely refrain from prophesying, even then, an intellectual career for him. She knew not how it could be done—all the surroundings of the family were unfriendly to such an experience—but somehow she was made to feel that there was a wider, grander field of action for that active, precocious mind.