Her strong nature, quivering and bleeding under the blow, had righted itself, and the sweet influence of faith and hope was coming up in her heart. She saw Barton with his pallid face, and steady but bright eyes. She knew that she never quite understood, had never quite fathomed, his nature.

Gentle voices, a.s.suaging hands, and sweet charities were about the stricken ones; and pious hands, with all Christian observances, ministered to their beautiful dead. Nothing more could be done; and before mid-day Barton, with his mother, started on their return, to be followed at evening by the remains of the loved one, arrayed for sepulture.

Barton, with every faculty of mind intensely strong and clear, and weighted with the great calamity to absolute gravity, had struck those he met as a marvel of clear apprehension and perception of all the surroundings and proprieties of his painful position. The younger members of the Painesville Bar, who had begun to know and love their young brother, had gathered about him in his illness, and now came forward to take charge of and prepare his remains for final rest, and to render to his friends the kindness of refined charity. Barton knew that somehow they looked curiously at him, as he introduced himself to them, and fancied that his dazed and dreamy manner was singular; but knew that such considerate and kind, such brotherly young men, would make allowances for him.

When they gathered silently to take leave, he turned: "Gentlemen, you know our obligations to you. Think of the most grateful expression of them, and think I would so express them if I could. Some day I may more fittingly thank you."

They thought he never could. He remembered the fitting words to Mrs.

Hitchc.o.c.k and her mother, Mrs. Marshall, and drove away, with his pale, silent mother.

All the way home in a dream. Something awful had happened, and it was not always clear what it was, or how it had been brought about.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE STORM.

About midnight the Painesville hea.r.s.e drove up, accompanied by the four young pall-bearers, of the Painesville Bar, who attended the remains of their young brother. The coffin was deposited in the little parlor, and the carriages drove to Parker's for the night.

The stricken and lonely mother was in the sanct.i.ty of her own room.

The children had cried themselves to sleep and forgetfulness. The brother, who had been sent for, could not reach home until the next morning.

Barton had declined the offers of kind friends to remain, and was alone with his dead. The coffin-lid had been removed, and he lifted the dead-cloth from the face. He could not endure the sharp angle of the nose, that so stabbed up into the dim night, unrelieved by the other features.

The wrath of a strong, deep nature, thoroughly aroused, is sublime; its grief, when stirred to its depths, is awful. Barton knew now what had happened and what he had lost. The acuteness of his fine organization had recovered its sharpest edge. The heavens had been darkened for him nearly a year before, but now the solid earth had been rent and one-half cloven away, and that was the half that held the only hopes he had. He didn't calculate this now. Genius, intellect, imagination, courage, pride, scorn, all the intensities of his nature, all that he supposed he possessed, all that lay hidden and unsuspected, arose in their might to overcome him now. He did not think, he did not aspire, or hope, or fear, or dream, or remember: he only felt, and bled, and moaned low, hopeless, helpless moans. If it is given to some natures to enjoy intensely, so such correspondingly suffer; and Bart, alone with his pale, cold, dead brother, through this deep, silent night, abandoned himself utterly to the first anguish at his loss, and it was wise. As it is healthful and needful for young children to cry away their pains and aches, so the stricken and pained soul finds relief in pouring itself out in oversweeping grief.

The storm swept by and subsided, and Bart, kneeling by the coffin of his brother, in the simple humility of a child, opened his heart to the pitying eye of the Great Father. His lips did not move, but steadily and reverently he turned to that sweet nearness of love and compa.s.sion. Finally he asked that every unworthy thought, pa.s.sion, folly, or pride, might be exorcised from his heart and nature; and then, holding himself in this steady and now sweet contemplation and silent communion, a great calm came into his uplifted soul, and he slept. And, as he pa.s.sed from first slumber to oblivious and profound sleep, there floated, through a celestial atmosphere, a radiant cloud, on which was reclining a form of light and beauty. He thought it must be his departed brother, but it turned fully towards him, and the face was the face of Julia, with sweetest and tenderest compa.s.sion and love in her eyes; and he slept profoundly.

In the full light of the early morning, the elder brother stole into the room, to be startled and awed by the pale faces of his dead and his sleeping brothers, now so near each other, and never before so much alike. How kingly the one in death! How beautiful the other in sleep! And while he held his tears in the marvellous presence, his pale, sweet mother came in, and placed her hand silently in his, and gazed; and then the young boys, with their bare feet; and so the silent, the sleeping, and the dead, were once more together.

At mid-day, those who had heard of the event gathered at the Ridgeley house, sad-faced and sorrow-stricken. The family had always been much esteemed, and Henry had been nearly as great a favorite as was Morris, and all shared in the hope and expectation of his future success and eminence. Uncle Aleck came, feeble and heart-stricken. A sweet prayer, a few loving words, a simple hymn, and the young pall-bearers carried out their pale brother, and, preceding the hea.r.s.e in their carriage, followed by the stricken ones and the rest in carriages and on foot, the little procession went sadly to the burying-ground. There a numerous company, attracted from various parts where the news had reached, were a.s.sembled and awaiting the interment. The idle and curious were rewarded by the sight of a hea.r.s.e, and the presence of the deputation of the Painesville Bar, and impressed with a sense of the importance and consideration of the young man in whose honor such attentions were bestowed.

The ceremony of interment was short, and of the simplest. The committing of the dead to final rest in the earth, is always impressive. Man's innate egotism always invests the final hiding away of the remains of one of his race in perpetual oblivion, with solemnity and awe. One of the lords has departed; let man and nature observe and be impressed.

Uncle Aleck was too feeble to go to the grave.

The mourners--the mother sustained by Barton, and Morris, attended by his promised bride, a sweet and beautiful girl, and the two young boys so interesting in their childish sorrow, so few in number, and unsupported by uncles, aunts or cousins--were objects of unusual interest and commiseration. But now, when the last act was performed for them, and the burial hymn had been sung, there was no one to speak for them the usual thanks for these kindnesses, and just as this came painfully to the sensibilities of the thoughtful, Barton uncovered his head and said the few needed words in a clear, steady voice, with such grace, that matronly women would gladly have kissed him; and young maidens noticed, what they had observed before, that there was something of nameless attraction in his face and manner.

Kind hands and sympathizing hearts were about the Ridgeleys, to solace, cheer and help; but the great void in their circle and hearts, only G.o.d and time could fill. The heart, when it loses out of it one object of tenderness and love, only contracts the closer and more tenderly about what it has left.

Time elapses. It kindly goes forward and takes us with it. No matter how resolutely we cling to darkness and sorrow, time loosens our hearts, dries our tears, and while we declare we will not be comforted, and reproach ourselves, as the first poignancy of grief consciously fades, yet we are comforted. The world will not wait for us to mourn. The objects of love and of hate we may bear along with us, but distance will intervene between us and the sources of deep sorrow.

So far as Bart was concerned, his nature was in the main healthy, with only morbid tendencies, and the great blow of his brother's death seemed in some way to restore the equilibrium of his mind, and leave it to act more freely, under guidance of the strong common sense inherited from his mother. He knew he must not linger about his brother's grave and weep.

He knew now that he was entirely upon his own resources. His brother Morris's speculations, and dashing system of doing things, had already hopelessly involved him, and Bart knew that no aid could be expected from him. He had returned to Painesville, and closed up the few matters of his brother Henry; had written to Ranney, at Jefferson, and already had resumed his books with a saddened and sobered determination. He supposed that Henry had died in consequence of a too close and long-continued application to his studies; and while this admonished him, he still believed that his own elasticity and power of endurance would carry him forward and through, unscathed.

He began also to mingle a little with others, and to take an interest in their daily affairs. People affected to find him changed, and vastly for the better. "He's had enough to sober him." "It is well he has been warned, and heeds it." "G.o.d will visit with judgments, until the thoughtless forbear," and other profound and Christian remarks were made concerning him. As if Providence would cut off the best and most promising, for such indirect and uncertain good as might, or might not be produced in another less worthy!

CHAPTER XXIV.

A LAW-SUIT (TO BE SKIPPED).

A young lover's first kiss, a young hunter's first deer, and a young lawyer's first case, doubtless linger in their several memories, as events of moment.

Bart had tried his first case before a justice of the peace, been beaten, and was duly mortified. It is very likely he was on the wrong side, but he did not think so; and if he had thought so, he would not have been fully consoled. A poorer advocate than he could have convinced himself that he was right, and fail, as he did, to convince the court. It was a case of little importance to any but the parties.

To them, every case is of the gravest moment. He acquitted himself creditably: showed that he understood the case, examined his witnesses, and presented it clearly.

Others came to him, and he advised with caution and prudence; and as Fall approached, he was in request in various small matters; men were surprised at the modesty of his deportment, and the gentleness of his speech. Instead of provoking his opponents, and answering back, as was to be expected of him, he was conciliating and forbearing.

A case finally arose, of unusual importance in the domestic tribunals; it attracted much attention, helped to bring him forward in a small way, and gained him much reputation among some persons whose esteem was enviable.

Old man Cole, "Old King Cole," as the boys derisively called him, an inoffensive little man, with a weak, limp woman for a wife, and three or four weaker and limper children, had for many years vegetated on one corner of an hundred-and-sixty acres of woods, having made but a small clearing, and managed in some unknown way to live on it. His feeble condition exposed him to imposition, and he was the b.u.t.t for the unthinking, and victim of the unscrupulous and unruly. For some years his land, a valuable tract, had been coveted by several greedy men, and especially by one Sam Ward. Failing to induce Cole to sell what right it was admitted he had, Ward, as was supposed, attempted to intimidate, and finally to annoy Cole to such an extent, that for peace and safety he would willingly part with his possession. He was one of the earliest settlers, had become attached to his land, and declined to be driven off.

A lawless set of young men and boys were Ward's agents, although his connection with them was never made very apparent, and had committed various depredations upon the old man; until one night they made a raid upon his premises, cut down several fruit-trees, filled up his spring, tore down his old barn, and committed various acts of trespa.s.s of a grave character. It would seem as if some intelligence controlled their movements; no act criminal by the statutes of Ohio had been committed, and, so far as was suspected, none but those under age had been concerned in the affair.

Poor old Cole, an object of derision, was barely within common sympathy; and living remote, few knew of, and fewer cared for his misfortunes. He applied for advice to Bart, who was indignant at the recital, and entered upon an investigation of the outrage with great energy. He was satisfied that the fathers of the trespa.s.sers could not be held for their acts, that no breach of the criminal laws had been committed; but that the boys themselves could be made liable in an action, and that on failure to pay the judgment, they could themselves be taken in execution and committed to jail. He at once commenced a suit for the trespa.s.s before a magistrate, against all whom he suspected.

The commencement of the suit caused greater excitement then the perpetration of the outrage. Many of the young men belonged to respectable families, while many were old offenders, who had been permitted to escape for fear of provoking graver misdemeanors. It was known that Bart had taken up the case, and there was a feeling that he had at least the courage to encounter the dangerous wrath of the young scamps; the only ground of apprehension was that he had mistaken the law. The popular impression was that an action could not be maintained against minors.

On the return-day of the summons Barton appeared, and demanded a jury, then allowable, and the time for trial was fixed for the fifth day afterwards.

In that day, with the exception of one or two small lawyers at Chardon, and Ford at Burton, there were none within twenty-five miles of Newbury, and the legal field was gleaned in the magistrates'

courts, as in all new countries, by pettifoggers, of whom nearly every township was made luminous with one. Of these, the acknowledged head was Brace. In ordinary life he was a very good sort of a man, not without capacity, but conceited, obstinate, and opinionated; he never had any law learning. In his career before justices of the peace, he was bold, adroit, unscrupulous, coa.r.s.e, browbeating, and sometimes brutal; anything that occurred to his not uninventive mind, as likely in any way to help him on or out, he resorted to without hesitation.

At this time he was in full career, and was constantly employed, going into two or three counties, occasionally meeting members of the profession, who held him in detestation, and whom he was as likely to drive out of court as he was to be worsted by them.

He had been employed by the young scamps to defend them. He and Bart had already met, and the latter was worsted in the case, and had received from Brace the usual Billingsgate. He was on hand well charged on the day for the appearance of the defendants, and was at no pains to conceal the contempt he felt for his young opponent.

Bart said no more than the occasion demanded, and seemingly paid no attention to Brace.

The magistrate, a man of plain, hard sense, adjourned the case to a large school-house, and invited Judge Markham to sit in, and preside at the trial, to which the Judge consented, which secured a decorous and fair hearing.

On the day, parties, witnesses, court, jury, and counsel, were on hand--a larger crowd than Newbury had seen for years. The case was called and the jury sworn, when Brace arose, and with a loud nourish demanded that the plaintiff be nonsuited, on the ground of the nonage of the defendants, and concluded by expressing his surprise at the ignorance of the plaintiff's counsel: everybody knew that a minor could not be sued; he even went so far as to express his pity for the plaintiff. Bart answered that it did not appear that any of the defendants were under age. If they were infants, and wanted to escape on the cry of baby, they must plead it, if their counsel knew what that meant; so that the plaintiff might take issue upon it, and the court be informed of the facts. The court held this to be the law, and Brace filed his plea of infancy. Bart then read from the Ohio statutes that when a minor was sued in an action of tort, as in this case, the court should appoint a guardian _ad litem,_ and the _parol_ should not _demur_; and he moved the court to appoint guardians _ad litem_, for the defendants.

Brace's eyes sparkled; and springing to his feet, he thundered out: "The parol shall not demur--the parol shall not demur. I have got this simpleton where I wanted him! I didn't 'spose he was fool enough to run into this trap; I set it on purpose for him: anybody else would have seen it; anything will catch him. The case can go no farther; the phrase, may it please the court, is Latin, and means that the case shall be dismissed. The _parol_, the plaintiff shall not _demur_, shall not have his suit. Why didn't Ford explain this matter to this green b.u.mpkin, and save his client the costs?"

Barton reminded the court that the statute made it the duty of the court to appoint guardians _ad litem_, which was a declaration that the case was to go on; if it was to stop, no guardians were needed.

Brace had said the terms were Latin; he presumed that his Latin was like his law; he thought it was old law French. He produced a law--dictionary, from which it appeared that the meaning was, the case should not be delayed, till the defendants were of age. Guardians should be appointed for them, and the case proceed, and so the court ruled.