hugging the other, rolls the Sangamon river
The village of New Salem
, which once stood on the ridge, was laid out in 1828; it became a trading place, and in 1836 contained twenty houses and a hundred inhabitants.
In the days of land offices and stage-coaches it was a sprightly village with a busy market.
Its people were progressive and industrious.
Propitious winds filled the sails of its commerce, prosperity smiled graciously on its every enterprise, and the outside world encouraged its social pretensions.
It had its day of glory, but, singularly enough, contemporaneous with the departure of Lincoln
from its midst it went into a rapid decline.
A few crumbling stones here and there are all that attest its former existence.
“How it vanished,” observes one writer, “like a mist in the morning, to what distant places its inhabitants dispersed, and what became of the abodes they left behind, shall be questions for the local historian.”
's return to New Salem in August, 1831, was, within a few days, contemporaneous with the reappearance of Offut, who made the gratifying announcement that he had purchased a stock of goods which were to follow him from Beardstown
He had again retained the services of Lincoln
to assist him when his merchandise should come to hand.
The tall stranger — destined to be a stranger in New Salem no longer — pending the arrival of his employer's goods, lounged about the village with nothing to do. Leisure never sat heavily on him. To him there was nothing uncongenial in it, and he might very properly have been dubbed at the time