In this respect he was unlike most boys, who are superficial in their views of things. They read, and that is the end of it. They think no more about it,—at least, they do not inquire into the why and wherefore of matters stated; and so the habit of sliding over things loosely is formed. They do not think for themselves. They accept things as true, because others say they are true. They are satisfied with knowing that things are, without asking why they are. But Abraham was not so. He thought, reflected; and this developed his mental powers faster than even school could do it.

The reader should understand more about these pioneer preachers, in order to appreciate the influences that formed Abraham’s character, and therefore we will stop here to give some account of them.

They were not generally men of learning and culture, though some of them were men of talents. Few, if any of them, were ever in college, and some of them were never in school. But they had a call to preach, as they believed, and good and true hearts for doing it. Many of them preached almost every day, travelling from place to place on horseback, studying their sermons in the saddle, and carrying about with them all the library they had in their saddle-bags. They stopped where night overtook them, and it was sometimes miles away from any human habitation, with no bed but the earth, and no covering but the canopy of heaven. They laboured without a salary, and were often poorly clothed and scantily fed, being constrained to preach by the love of Christ. The following account of two pioneer preachers, by Milburn, will give the reader a better idea of this class of useful men than any description of ours, and it will be read with interest:—

“One of these preachers, who travelled all through the North-western Territory, a tall, slender, graceful man, with a winning countenance and kindly eye, greatly beloved by all to whom he ministered, was presented by a large landholder with a title-deed of three hundred and twenty acres. The preacher was extremely poor, and there had been many times when he received scarcely enough support to keep soul and body together. Yet he laboured on, and did much good. He seemed pleased with his present of land, and went on his way with a grateful heart. But in three months he returned, and met his benefactor at the door, saying, ‘Here, sir, I want to give you back your title-deed.’

“‘What’s the matter?’ said his friend, surprised. ‘Any flaw in it?’

“‘No.’

“‘Isn’t it good land?’

“‘Good as any in the State.’

“‘Sickly situation?’

“‘Healthy as any other.’

“‘Do you think I repent my gift?’

“‘I haven’t the slightest reason to doubt your generosity.’

“‘Why don’t you keep it, then?’

“‘Well, sir,’ said the preacher, “you know I am, very fond of singing, and there’s one hymn in my book the singing of which is one of the greatest comforts of my life. I have not been able to sing it with my whole heart since I was here. A part of it runs in this way:—

“‘Take your title-deed,’ he added; ‘I had rather sing that hymn with a clear conscience than own America.’