WASHINGTON AND LINCOLN. 
EMILY C. THOMPSON. 
IT is natural that at this time our 
thoughts should turn toward two 
of our great national heroes. This 
month is to us not merely the 
month of February, marking one of 
the twelve divisions of our calendar 
year, but it is a continuous memorial 
of two of our revered statesmen. We 
read all we can about our glorified dead, 
we search the words spoken by them, 
we visit the places where they toiled 
for us, and we scan even their homes 
trying to form a picture of their lives. 
We do even more. We presume to 
imagine their thoughts and conjure up 
the very ideas which might have oc- 
curred to them as they stood in these 
spots now hallowed by memories of 
them. 
It is a fascinating occupation to 
fathom the characters of truly great 
men and contemplate their attitude 
toward various subjects. Sometimes 
mere conjectures are the fruit of our 
toil. At other times sure conclusic ns 
are reached from facts which are 
brought to light. Stories galore are 
told of both Lincoln and Washington, 
which help us more vividly to picture 
their natures. The question in which 
we are interested could easily be an- 
swered if we knew these men, but still 
as we are acquainted with the mani- 
festations of their characteristics we 
can answer it almost as satisfactorily. 
Did Lincoln and Washington love 
nature? Could they appreciate her 
beauties, and did they evince an inter- 
est in her creations? 
Lincoln in his log- cabin home, split- 
ting rails, working on the farm, hunting 
coons, driving the horses and cattle, 
must have found a glorious opportunity 
to become acquainted with this great 
mother of ours. The son of a pioneer 
who, with his great covered wagon, cat- 
tle, family, and household belongings, 
wanders over the country, whose only 
neighbors for hundreds of miles are the 
birds in the woods, the rabbits in the 
field, and the fish in the stream, the son 
of such a man certainly sees nature as 
few of our city-bred, World's Fair, 
Paris Exposition young people, can 
imagine it. Lincoln was content with 
these, his neighbors. Never do we 
hear sighs from him and wishes that his 
lot might be exchanged for that of an- 
other, even it his lot was toilsome and 
lonely. Who can tell but he thus im- 
bibed his love for pure freedom unde- 
filed and his lofty conceptions of this 
life in its relation to this world and 
something beyond? 
We cannot doubt that the great, tall, 
clumsy lad had a real love in his heart 
for the little feathered and furry friends 
about him, and not simply a love for 
the beautiful ones, but what is far 
higher a feeling of sympathy even for 
the ugly and a genuine tender solici 
tude for all. 
Even when the youth became a man 
perplexed by business and political 
problemshis nature remained unaltered. 
Once when a party of his friends on a 
judicial circuit stopped to water their 
horses, Lincoln was not there. His 
companion on the way was asked of 
his whereabouts. He replied that the 
last he had seen of Lincoln he was hunt- 
ing around for a bird's nest, two of the 
former occupants of which he held in 
his hand. The wind had blown the 
tiny nestlings from their snug little 
home and the greathearted man was 
trying to find the nest for the wee, help- 
less chirpers. The same great heart 
which felt the human cry of pain as 
keenly as the bewildered cry of the 
little birds gave its last throb to restore 
little black nestlings to the warm com- 
fort of free homes protected by law. 
There is an amusing incident, told 
probably as a "good one" upon the 
politician, but which has more than 
an amusing side to us. Lincoln was 
one of a party of ladies and gentlemen, 
dressed in their best, journeying along 
a country road. Their attention was 
arrested by the distressed squealings 
of a pig. There it was by the roadside, 
caught in a fence. Of course a general 
laugh followed. To the astonishment 
on 
