It is quite remarkable that a country lad, almost illiterate, should have found a volume of statutes interesting reading, but Lincoln read and reread it until he had almost committed its contents to memory, and in after-years, when any one cited an Indiana law, he could usually repeat the exact text and often give the numbers of the page, chapter, and paragraph. The book belonged to David Turnham, who seems to have been a constable or magistrate in that part of Indiana, and this volume constituted his professional library. The actual copy is now preserved in the library of the New York Law Institute. The binding is worn and the title-page and a few leaves at the end are missing. Besides the statutes as enacted up to 1824, it contains the Declaration of Independence, the Constitutions of the United States and the State of Indiana, and the Act of Virginia, passed in 1783, by which "The territory North Westward of the river Ohio" was conveyed to the United States, and the ordinance of 1787 for governing that territory, of which Article VI. reads: "There shall neither be slavery nor involuntary servitude in the said territory, otherwise than in the punishment of crime, whereof the party shall be duly convicted; provided always, that any person escaping into the same, from whom labor or service is lawfully claimed, in any one of the original States, such fugitive may be lawfully reclaimed, and conveyed to the person claiming his or her labor or service as aforesaid." It is an interesting coincidence that Abraham Lincoln should not only have received the impressions which guided him in the choice of his career from this volume, but also his first knowledge of the legal side of slavery. Before he finished that book he knew the principles upon which the government of the United States was founded and how they were applied in the States. Its contents were fastened upon his memory by copying long extracts with a quill of a turkey-buzzard and ink home-made from the juice of the brier root. When he had no paper he wrote upon a shingle, and, after he had committed to memory the paragraphs so preserved, he would shave off the shingle with his knife and write others. When he was in the field ploughing or cultivating he took a book with him, and when he stopped to rest would pull it from his pocket and read until it was time to resume work again. In after-life, even when he came to the White House, he used to speak of the impressions made upon his mind by the "Life of Washington," and always contended that it was better for the young men of the country to regard Washington in the light of a demigod, as Parson Weems describes him, than to shake their faith in the greatest hero of American history by narrating his mistakes and follies as if he were a common man. He never lost his love for "Pilgrim's Progress" or "Robinson Crusoe." The characters in both were real to him, and to the end of his days he could repeat Æsop's "Fables" verbatim.