Abraham Lincoln was one of the few who saw that slavery could not exist forever. He was born in a cabin, laid in the lap of the poor-born in a cabin, in the wilderness of Kentucky, yet he rose to such a supreme and splendid height that fame never reached higher than his brow when putting its laurels on the brow of a human being. He was a man who was true to himself, and for that reason true to others. He was a strange mingling of mirth and tears, of the perfect and grotesque, of Socrates and Rabelais, of Esop and of Marcus Aurelius, of all that was noble and just, of mercy and honesty, merciful, wise, lovable, and divine—and all consecrated to the use of man, while through all and over all was an overwhelming sense of chivalry and loyalty, and above all the shadow of a perfect mind. Of nearly all the great characters of history we know nothing of their peculiarities. About the oaks of these great men, and about the roots of there oaks, we know nothing of the earth that clings to them. Washington himself is now a steel engraving: About the real man who lived, who loved, who schemed, and who succeeded we know nothing. The glass through which we look at him is of such high magnifying power that the features are indistinct. Hundreds of people are now engaged smoothing out the lines in Lincoln's face so that he may be known, not as he really was, but according to their poor standard as he should have been.

Abraham Lincoln was not a type; he stands alone-no ancestors, no followers, and no successors. He had the advantage of living in a new country, the advantage of social equality, of personal freedom, of seeing in the horizon of his life the perpetual star of hope. He knew and mingled with men of every kind and became familiar with the best books. In a new country you must possess at least three qualities-honesty, courage, and generosity. In cultivated society cultivation is often more important than soil, and while polished counterfeit sometimes passes more readily than the blurred genuine, it is necessary only to observe the uncertain laws of society to be honest enough to keep out of the penitentiary, and generous enough to subscribe in public when the subscription can be defined as a business investment. In a new country character is essential; in the old reputation is often sufficient. In the new they find what a man is; in the old he generally passes for what he resembles. People separated by distance are much nearer together than those divided by the walls of caste.

Lincoln never finished his education, although he was always an inquirer and a seeker after knowledge. You have no idea how many men are spoiled by what is called education. For the most part colleges are where pebbles are polished and diamonds are dimmed. If Shakspeare had graduated at Oxford, he might have been a quibbling attorney or a poor parson. Lincoln was a many-sided man, as reliable as the direction of gravity. His words were kind as mercy, and gave a perfect image of his thought. He was never afraid to ask, never too dignified to admit that he

did not know. Lincoln was natural in his life and thought, master of the story telling art, liberal in speech, using any word which wit would disinfect. He was a logician. He did not say what he thought others thought, but what he thought. He was sincerely natural. If you wish to be sublime you must keep close to the grass. Too much polish suggests insincerity. If you wish to know what is the difference between an orator and the elocutionist read Lincoln's wondrous words at Gettysburg, and then read the speech of Edward Everett. The oration of Lincoln will never be forgotten; it will live until languages are dead and lips are dust. The speech of Everett will never be read. Lincoln was an immense personality, firm but not obstinate-obstinacy is egotism, firmness is heroism. He influenced others, and they submitted to him.

He was severe to himself and for that reason lenient to others, and appeared to apologize for being kinder than his fellows. He did merciful things as stealthily as others committed crimes. He did and said the noblest deeds and words with that nobleness that is the grace of modesty. Everything for principle, nothing for money, everything for independence. Where no principle was involved, easily swayed, willing to go somewhere if in the right direction; willing to stop sometimes, but he would not go back, and he would not go away. He knew that fight was needed and full of chances, he knew that slavery had defenders, but no defense, and that those who advocated the right must win some time. He was neither tyrant nor slave. Nothing discloses real character like the use of power, and it was the quality of Lincoln that, having almost absolute power, he never abused it except upon the side of mercy. Wealth could not purchase power, could not awe this divine, this living man. He knew no fear except the fear of doing wrong. He was the embodiment of self-denial and courage. He spoke not to upbraid but to convince. He raised his hands, not to strike, but in benediction, and longed to see pearls of tears on the cheeks of the wives whose husbands he had saved from death. Lincoln was the grandest figure of the greatest civil war of our world.

LITHOGRAPHIC STONE QUARRIES.

LITHOGRAPHIC stone, which is so largely used in printing-and is indeed, for some branches of the art, indispensable-comes mainly from the little village of Solnhofen in Bavaria. It is a peculiar species of porous limestone, and is found in the quarries which abound in this neighborhood, the sources of supply being limited to an area of a few square miles. It is chiefly of a yellowish-white color, and is very absorbent of water, which is its great virtue; and, inasmuch as science has hitherto failed to find an

efficient substitute, it is fortunate that the quarries are almost inexhaustible. The stone which is found in the vicinity of this place goes all over the world; and even America, having no geological formation of the kind of her own, has to send here for it.

A visit to Solnhofen, which is on the main line between Nuremberg and Munich, and therefore not at all out of the track of the ordinary tourist, cannot fail to prove interesting. No sooner do we arrive at the railwaystation than we perceive unmistakable evidence of the trade of the locality in the goods siding, which is filled with trucks and carts loaded with lithographic stones of various sizes.

Through the quiet German village a rough road, made entirely of refuse stone, leads us to the foot of a chain of hills; and an hour's walk-for vehicular traffic on such roads is nearly an impossibility-brings us to the outskirts of one of the big quarries. We first become aware that there is any life in this silent place by a repeated tapping, which echoes seemingly from out of the earth; then, as we climb nearer and round the projecting hillside, we see it covered with stone which has been shot down from the top, thus turning the thick undergrowth of bushes and saplings in this particular place into a precipitous and dangerous declivity whereon is no foothold, save the narrow path used by the workmen.

Climbing still higher, we eventually reach the quarry itself, where are some hundred men at work eating into the heart of the hill with pick and mattock. The method of quarrying is, we believe, peculiar to this stone. It lies in layers, varying from half an inch to several inches in thickness, and the whole art consists in getting out these pieces of stone of as large a size as possible, for the value of lithographic stones, like that of diamonds, varies in inverse proportion to their size. Thus a dealer will quote just twice the price per pound for stones twenty inches by thirty inches compared with what he asks for those fifteen inches by ten inches.

We will suppose that the quarryman has managed to unearth a slab of stone. It is now placed upon a truck, and run along a narrow tram-rail to the grinding-shed. This is a long whitewashed room, where are to be seen some dozen of men and women-for the women here work quite as hard as the sterner sex-busily engaged in grinding the surfaces of the slabs to one level. This is done by placing one stone above another, using sand and water, and twisting the top stone round with a circular motion. Thus two stones are prepared in the time it would otherwise take to finish one, on the principle of "diamond cut diamond"-"man kann den einen Diamant, nur mit dem andern schleifen." The men word all day with their long German pipes in their mouths, uttering hardly a syllable, but puffing away with unceasing regularity, and the visitor cannot fail to be struck with the difference which here exists between the German workman and his English confrère. Go where you will about these quarries, the men all

lift their hats and take their pipes from their mouths as they greet you with "Grüss Gott;" and, save at their meals, when it is reverently laid on one side, the pipe is scarcely ever absent. Their habits are extremely simple. They eat little but the coarsest black bread and cheese or sausage, washed down by the never-failing Bavarian beer.

In the course of a conversation which we had with one old quarryman, he told us that he earned, in fine weather and during summer, eighteen shillings a week, of which three shillings were spent in beer for his wife and family, for, as he remarked, "to us it is meat and drink." Such is the power of habit in regard to national diet. This beer is cheap, however, costing only three-half-pence per quart, and is very light. This same man told us he had worked in the quarries some thirty-six years, earning all the summer full wages, and in winter perhaps three shillings a week at the most; yet he was contented and happy, and had never known a day's idleness. He lived some five miles from his work, which distance he had to walk morning and evening; and as we accompanied him to his village he regaled us with many anecdotes to enliven the way, for he was a fellow of considerable humor, as well as intelligence.

Having traced the stone to the grinding-sheds, we will now proceed to follow their further history. As soon as they are ready here they are packed in rows, one against another, along the walls, awaiting the arrival of the buyers to come and pick them. This, we should imagine, is no easy matter, for, as there is no standard price for each size, each owner working his own quarry at a yearly rental, and making as much as he can out of it, it necessarily follows that a bid for a lot of stones becomes a mercenary haggle, compared to which horse-dealing is innocence itself.

On the occasion of our visit we ourselves were witnesses of a case in which a German merchant had bid what he considered a fair price for some choice stones, but his offer was refused. So, wishing the stone merchant good day, he strode away, apparently in high dudgeon, and was soon lost to sight in the thick wood. The stone merchant, evidently piqued at having lost a good order, watched his man disappear, and was on the point of running after him, when the latter was seen coming back. The stone merchant, not wishing to let it be seen that he was going to give way, turned to one of his workmen and pretended to have been giving him some instructions; but lookers-on see most of the game, and it was evident to us that the buyer saw the ruse, and, taking advantage of this, was able before long to strike a bargain at his own price.

We have already remarked upon the frugality of these quarrymen in the matter of living. There is only one inn to be found in the whole place, and thither at midday all the masters flock to talk over the day's doings. The scene is picturesque in the extreme. Seated in one common room are to be seen masters and men, busily engaged in eating and talking, while lying

about all over the place is a multitude of dogs of all sizes and breeds, from the bandy-legged dachshund to the truculent boarhound. Every man seems to own a dog, which follows him wherever he goes. So that, what with the barking of dogs, the clatter of plates, and the hoarse, guttural cries of the workmen in their peculiar patois-which is perfectly incomprehensible to an Englishman, no matter how well he may speak ordinary Germanthe scenes and the sounds to be heard in that gasthaus at noon every day are not likely to be speedily forgotten. Beer is the only drink, and is served in huge tankards, each containing nearly a quart. Bill of fare, there is none, but you can get Limburger or Dutch cheese, and as much bread to eat as you like. Such is the midday meal. At one o'clock the men return to their work, whilst the masters remain half an hour longer to gossip over their affairs and play at cards.

The stones having been picked, are packed in wooden cases and sent down in long two-horse wagons to the railway-station. All the way back one notices how largely this particular stone is used for almost every pur pose to which stone can be applied. The roads are macadamised with it, the result being that in dry weather the dust on the highways is three or four inches thick, a fine floury dust, which, if it gets into your eyes, almost blinds you. The roads themselves are of a dazzling whiteness, which it is impossible to face on a blazing hot day, so that relief has to be sought by looking at the woods by the wayside. When, therefore, you get among the quarries themselves with no green to relieve the eye, the dust rising in clouds at every footstep, and the sun scorching down upon you, your lot is not an enviable one. The roofs are slated with thin layers of stone, the ground is also paved with it, the houses themselves are for the most part built of it, so that when once you reach the village you are reminded of the trade of the place at every turn.

Arrived at the station, the stones are loaded on the trucks and are then ready for exportation. Those forwarded to England arrive either via Antwerp or Rotterdam about a fortnight after leaving their native home. They are used by printers very largely in the manufacture of chromos, show cards, etc., and the colored posters one sees on the hoardings of London are almost entirely printed from lithographic stones, as also are the colored supplements presented at Christmas with most of the weekly illustrated newspapers. In fact, so indebted are we, in an unobtrusive way, to the valuable properties this stone possesses, that should the sources of supply ever cease, it is difficult to see where we should look for a substitute. It is true there are a few quarries of inferior stone in France, but their area is, we believe, extremely limited.-N. T. RIDDLE, in Leisure Hour.