Bart Ridgeley Part 10

Bart came upon the ground with his mother, near whom he remained, and to whom he was very attentive. To him the whole thing was very impressive. His poetic fancy idealized it, and carried him back till he seemed to see and hear the dedication of a young, pure spirit to the sweet sacredness of a holy life, as in the days of the preachings of the apostles. When the final hymn was given out he stood by his brother, facing most of the crowd, and for the first time they recognized in him a nameless something that declared and a.s.serted itself--something that vaguely hinted of the sheaf of the boy Joseph, that arose and stood upright, and to which their sheaves involuntarily did obeisance.

Still very young, and less handsome than his brother, he was yet more striking, pale and fair, with little color, and a face of boyish roundness, which began to develop lines of thought and strength. His brow, not so beautiful, was more ample; his features were regular, but lacked the light, bright, vivacious expression of Morris; while from his deep, unwinking eyes men saw calmly looking out a strong, deep nature, not observed before. He joined his mother and brother in the last hymn. Everybody knew the Ridgeleys could sing. They carried the burden of the grand and simple old tune nearly alone. The fine mezzo-soprano of the mother, the splendid tenor of Morris, and the rich baritone of Bart, in their united effect, had never been equalled in the hearing of that a.s.sembly. The melody was a sweet and fitting finale of the day, swelling out and dying away in the high arches of the forest.

The Coes were objects of the kindness of Mrs. Markham and Julia, obnoxious as was their religious faith; but Mrs. Markham was tolerant, and she and her husband and daughter, with most of the State road people, were present.

While they were waiting for the crowd to disperse, so that they could reach their carriage, the Ridgeleys, who began to move out, on their way home, approached, and were pleasantly recognized by the Markhams, with whom the Major was a great favorite. The two parties joined, shook hands, and interchanged a pleasant greeting--all but Bart. He moved a little away, and acknowledged their presence by holding his hat in his hand, as if unconscious that he was a spectacle for the eyes of some of them, and without betraying that he could by any possibility care. It was a sore trial for him.

Mrs. Markham looked at him several times as if she would go to him, and an expression once or twice came into the sweet and pensive face of Julia, that seemed to mean that she wished she could say to him, "I want so much to thank you for your courage and generosity!" Morris noticed the strange conduct of Barton, and felt an impulse to call to him, and on their way home he spoke to him about it.

"Why, Bart, what is the matter? I thought you and the Markhams were on the best of terms; especially you and Julia and Mrs. Markham."

"Well, Major, you see a shrewd man can be mistaken, don't you?"

"What has happened?"

"That which renders it absolutely impossible that I should ever voluntarily go into the presence of these Markhams, and especially of Julia."

The voice was low, and full of force, with a little bitterness. Morris looked at his brother with incredulous amazement.

"Morris," said Bart, "don't ask more about it. Mother guessed something of it. Pray don't refer to it ever again."

Morris walked forward, with their mother; and when he turned back to the stricken face of his young brother, there was a great tenderness in his eye; but his brow gathered and his face darkened into a momentary frown. He was by nature frank and brave, and could not long do any one injustice. His nature was hopeful, and bright, and manly.

No girl could always scorn his brother Bart; nor did he believe that Bart would willingly remain scorned.

CHAPTER XIII.

BLACKSTONE.

The town of Burton was one of the oldest in the county. It was the residence of many wealthy men, the seat of Judge Hitchc.o.c.k, Chief Justice of the State, as well as the home of Seabury Ford, a rising young politician, just commencing a most useful and honorable career, which was to conduct him to the Chief Magistracy of the State.

The young Whig party had failed to elect Gen. Harrison, but the result of the contest a.s.sured it of success in the campaign of 1840, for which a vast magazine was rapidly and silently acc.u.mulating. The monetary and credit disasters of '36-'37, occurring in the third term of uninterrupted party rule, would of themselves have overthrown a wiser and better administration than that of Mr. Van Buren, patriotic and enlightened as that was, contrasted with some which followed.

Men, too, were beginning to examine and a.n.a.lyze the nature and designs of slavery; and already Theodore Weld had traversed the northern and middle States, and with his marvellous eloquence and logic, second to none of those who followed him, had stirred to their profoundest depths the cool, strong, intellectual souls of the New Englanders of those regions.

One early October morning, as Gen. Ford, then commander of a brigade of militia, in which Major Ridgeley held a commission, was arranging some papers in his law office, a young man paused a moment in front of the open door, and upon being observed, lifted his hat and stepped frankly forward. Young men in Ohio then seldom removed their hats to men, and rarely to women; and the act, gracefully done as it was, was remarked by the lawyer.

"General Ford, I believe?" said the youth.

"Yes; will you walk in?"

"I am Barton Ridgeley," said the young man, stepping in; "usually called Bart."

"A brother of Major Ridgeley?"

"Yes; though I am thought not to be much like him."

"The Major is a warm friend of mine," said the General, "and I should be glad to serve you."

"Thank you, General; I feel awkward over my errand here," hesitating; "I wanted to see a lawyer in his office, with his books and papers, and be permitted to look, especially at his books."

"You are entirely welcome. I am not much of a lawyer, and have but a few books, but nothing would give me more pleasure than to have you examine them."

"I may annoy you."

"Not at all. I've not much to do. Take a seat."

Bart did so. He found the General, whom he had only seen at a distance on muster days, a man of the ordinary height, with heavy shoulders, with a little stoop in them, a very fine head and face, and a clear, strong, grayish, hazel eye; and, on the whole, striking in his appearance. There were files of leading newspapers, the _National Intelligencer, Ohio State Journal, Courier and Inquirer_, etc. These did not so much attract the young man's attention; but, approaching a large book-case, filled compactly with dull yellow books, uniform in their dingy, leathery appearance, he asked: "Are these law-books?"

"Yes, those are law-books."

"And these, then, are the occult cabalistical books, full of darkness and quirks and queer terms, in which is hidden away, somewhere, a rule or twist or turn that will help the wrong side of every case?"

"So people seem to think," said the General, smiling.

"Does a student have to read all of these?"

"Oh, no, not to exceed a dozen or fourteen."

"A-h-h-h! not more than that? Will you show me some of them?"

"Certainly. There, this is Blackstone, four volumes, which covers the whole field of the law; all the other elementary writers are only amplifications of the various t.i.tles or heads of Blackstone."

"Indeed! only four volumes! Can one be a lawyer by reading Blackstone?"

"A thorough mastery of it is an admirable foundation of a good lawyer."

"How long is it expected that an ordinary dullard would require to master Blackstone?"

"Some students do it in four months. I have known one or two to do it in three. They oftener require six, and some a year."

Bart could hardly repress his astonishment. "Four months! a month to one of these books!" running them over. "They have some notes, I see; but, General, a man should commit it to memory in that time!"

The General smiled.

"This is an English work; is there an American which answers to Blackstone?"

"Yes, Kent's Commentaries, four volumes, which many prefer. I have not got it. Also Swift's work, in two volumes, which does not stand so high. Judge Cowan, of New York, has also written a book of some merit."

"Shall I annoy you if I sit down and read Blackstone a little?"

"Not at all."

He read the t.i.tle-page, glanced at the American preface, etc., and then plunged in promiscuously. "It has less Latin than I expected. Is it good cla.s.sical Latin?"