"Larnin'" came very hard to all of them except to Hiram
and me, and Hiram did not have an easy time of it, though he got
through his Dayball, and studied Greenleaf's Grammar.
There was a library of a couple of dozen of volumes in the district,
and I used to take home books from it. They were usually books
of travel or of adventure. I remember one, especially, a great
favorite, "Murphy, the Indian Killer." I must have read this book
several times. Novels, or nature books, or natural-history books,
were unknown in that library. I remember the "Life of Washington,"
and I am quite certain that it was a passage in this book that made
a lasting impression upon me when I was not more than six or seven
years old. I remember the impression, though I do not recall the
substance of the passage. The incident occurred one Sunday in
summer when Hiram and a cousin of ours and I were playing through
the house, I carrying this book in my hand. From time to time I
would stop and read this passage aloud, and I can remember, as if
it were but yesterday, that I was so moved by it, so swept away by
its eloquence, that, for a moment, I was utterly oblivious to
everything around me. I was lifted out of myself, caught up in
a cloud of feeling, and wafted I know not whither.
Pages:
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133