But my mother had taught me, with much love and patience, from her old treasured school-books; and this, with other lore from the few choice volumes my father clung to through his wanderings, gave me much to ponder over.

I still remember the evenings when he read to us gravely out of his old Shakespeare, dwelling tenderly upon passages he loved.

And he instructed me in other things,--in honor and manliness, in woodcraft, and many a pretty thing at arms, until no lad in the settlements around could outdo me in rough border sport.

I loved to hear him, of a boisterous winter night,--he spoke of such matters but seldom,--tell about his army life, the men he had fought beside and loved, the daring deeds born of his younger blood.

In that way he had sometimes mentioned this Roger Matherson; and it was like a blow to me now to hear of his death.