could not lift him from poverty, and his surveying instruments and horse
and saddle were sold by the sheriff for debt.

But while all this misery was upon him his ambition rose to higher aims.
He walked many miles to borrow from a schoolmaster a grammar with which
to improve his language. A lawyer lent him a copy of Blackstone, and he
began to study law.

People would look wonderingly at the grotesque figure lying in the grass,
"with his feet up a tree," or sitting on a fence, as, absorbed in a book,
he learned to construct correct sentences and made himself a jurist. At
once he gained a little practice, pettifogging before a justice of the
peace for friends, without expecting a fee. Judicial functions, too,
were thrust upon him, but only at horse-races or wrestling matches, where
his acknowledged honesty and fairness gave his verdicts undisputed
authority. His popularity grew apace, and soon he could be a candidate
for the Legislature again. Although he called himself a Whig, an ardent
admirer of Henry Clay, his clever stump speeches won him the election in
the strongly Democratic district. Then for the first time, perhaps, he
thought seriously of his outward appearance. So far he had been content
with a garb of "Kentucky jeans," not seldom ragged, usually patched, and
always shabby. Now, he borrowed some money from a friend to buy a new
suit of clothes--"store clothes" fit for a Sangamon County statesman; and
thus adorned he set out for the state capital, Vandalia, to take his seat
among the lawmakers.

His legislative career, which stretched over several sessions--for he
was thrice re-elected, in 1836, 1838, and 1840--was not remarkably
brilliant. He did, indeed, not lack ambition. He dreamed even of making
himself "the De Witt Clinton of Illinois," and he actually distinguished