ing for his public duties, as well as
other occasional depressing circumstances, we cannot wonder that he
should sometimes have been the subject of the most painful restraints,
likened by him to a "tight jacket." There was a wonderful difference
in his preaching when he had one of these "hard times," and when he
enjoyed liberty. If in the latter mood, as was generally the case, his
tongue was like the pen of a ready writer, and streams of beautiful
truth, sparkling with pious humour and accompanied with striking
original illustrations, would pour from his lips; but if he had the
"tight jacket" on, he could scarcely say anything, and it was a pain to
listen to him.

Poor Abe had one of these "pulpit fevers" in Salem Chapel one day, and
Sally, his wife, was there; she sat all the time in a nervous torment,
and as soon as he had finished, she rushed off out of the place ashamed
of him. Dear woman, her homely criticisms were sometimes very severe
upon him, partly because she was jealous for his reputation, and partly
because she so loved him, and that was her way of showing the ardour of
her affection; she used a liberty which by some universal law falls to
the right of all affectionate wives whose husbands are preachers, and
she occasionally said some very terrible things to him about his
sermons. On this particular day, therefore, Abe knew pretty well that
when he got home he would get something besides his dinner. He winced
as he thought about it, and made the walk home as long as he could, in
the hope that something might cool down a bit; however, he had to go
in, so, shrinking into the smallest possible dimensions, he glided
silently into the house, hung up his hat, and sat down. Sally was in a
flutter, she was full, it must come:--"What hast ta been trying to do
this mornin'?" she began, looking hard at him.

"Why, I couldn't mak' her goa a bit somehaa," meekly replied her good
man.

"Goa! No, haa does th' think she could goa, thaa niver gat her on her
feet."

Abe made no response, but sat mute in his misery, and poor Sally felt a
reaction setting in, which made her feel as if she had allowed her
ardent affection for him to carry her too far. Meanwhile, she was
bustling about preparing the dinner, and when all was ready, she went
over to him, and kissed his forehead, adding, "Naa, lad, come and get
th' dinner, and don't moind what folk say; thaa'll do better next
toime, th' Lord help the'." Abe was heale