When Lincoln became a man and, divorced from his father's grasping
tyranny, set up as a field-hand, he lightened the labor in Menard
County by orating to his mates, and they gladly suspended their tasks
to listen to him recite what he had read and invented--or, rather,
adapted to their circumscribed understanding. Besides mimicry of the
itinerant preachers, he imitated the electioneering advocates of all
parties and local politics. One day, one such educator collected the
farmers and their help around him to eulogize some looming-up
candidate, when a cousin and admirer of young Lincoln cast a damper on
him, crying out, with general approval, that Abe could talk him dry!
Accepting the challenge, the professional spellbinder allowed his place
on the stump of the cottonwood to be held by the raw Demosthenes. To
his astonishment the country lad did display much fluency,
intelligence, and talent for the craft. Frankly the stranger
complimented him and wished him well in a career which he recommended
him to adopt. From this cheering, Lincoln proceeded to speak in
public--his limited public--"talking on all subjects till the questions
were worn slick, greasy, and threadbare."
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