University of Virginia Library

Through the winter, Bradshaw studied hard,
prepared himself diligently for the debates at his
society, and seldom listened to the voice of pleasure.
Miss Carlton remained in town during her
father's absence at Washington, where he was
attending to his congressional duties, or rather
writing home letters, franking papers and packages,
and endeavouring to find out not what was
the best measure, but what would take best; in
short, attending to the personal considerations of
a re-election. His daughter improved beyond all
rivalry in every mental and fashionable quality;
and, as she ripened into womanhood, her loveliness
became more and more attractive and dazzling.
Mary had not yet “come out;” that is,
set up formally to visit and be visited. Nevertheless,
many were the students of law, young
merchants, and young men of fashion and fortune,
about town, who called to see her, and took every
occasion to join her in her way to and from
school. Among the latter named gentlemen, who
employed their time in cultivating their whiskers
and propping up the posts at the corners of the
streets, was Mr. Bates, who might frequently be

seen lounging near the corner, by which she passed
in her way to school, waiting to escort her there.
Her way was through the court-house square,
where she would frequently meet Bradshaw, as he
passed to and from his boarding-house. Bradshaw
would hurry along with his cloak thrown carelessly
over his shoulder, often, in the coldest day, without
it; and though he would, apparently, be thinking
of any thing but the scene around him, as, in fact,
he generally was; yet he saw what was passing,
as might be known by his instant recognition of
any one whom he knew, however slightly. An
observer would have been struck with him, even
in passing—the quick, momentary, penetrating
glance he threw on every passer-by—his frank and
free salute to every friend—the respectful bow to
age, the graceful touch of the hat to every casual
acquaintance—and the urbanity and perfect ease
with which he would lift it to a lady, showed the
ease of practised courtesy, and the self-sustainment
of self-respect. Whenever Miss Carlton met
Bradshaw, they always had something to say to
each other, much to the annoyance of Mr. Bates.
She would say, “Remember, Clinton, you go to the
ball with me to-night;” or, “I have a letter from
your sister, and if you want to read it, you must
call and see me;” or, “I am going with the Hollidays
to the theatre to-night, and I expect you for
a beau: as you know Mr. B— so well, I like to
hear you criticise his acting,” &c.

In a fit of jealousy against Bates, who was very
attentive to Miss Perry, as well as to Miss Carlton,
Selman had told Bradshaw of the conversation

concerning him, which he overheard between
Bates and Turnbull, at Mr. Perry's party. The
morning after Selman told him, Bradshaw met
Miss Carlton, as usual, with Mr. Bates by her side.

“Good morning, Miss Carlton,” said he, “you
and I used to be schoolmates, you remember, and
we still go to school, though not together; I to the
law, and you to the Miss Copelay. Pray, how long
has Miss Bates been your school-mate?”

This came so unexpectedly on Miss Carlton, and
was said in such a manner, that she could not refrain
from laughing; and as she did not like her
present school-mate, she quickly replied,

“About a month, sir.”

All this was overheard by a number of young
men, who were stationed at the corner—acquaintances
of Mr. Bates. He was a very effeminate
fellow, and they bored him nearly to death with
it. It effectually stopped his gallantries to Miss
Carlton. Time rolled on. In the mean while,
Bradshaw had delivered several addresses before
different literary societies of the city, written a
series of numbers on politics for the press, which
were extensively noticed, and made many political
speeches at the town and ward meetings of the
people: he was becoming a great favourite with
all classes. Bradshaw was not yet admitted to the
bar, but he would often muse and speculate, sometimes
with a melancholy, sometimes humorous emotion
on the feelings and characters of his friends
and acquaintances, who were admitted and waiting
for business, or who were on the eve of being
admitted. Every young lawyer, and particularly

the idle one, remembers his admittance to the bar,
and his first efforts. How vividly he recollects the
alternations of hope and fear, as he contemplated
the near and nearer approach of the day when he
is to stand before the committee appointed to examine
him. At one moment he determines to put
a bold face on the matter, and dash right a-head.
At another, the “ghost of his departed hours” rise
up before him, and frighten him from all propriety
and all law. Sometimes, like the ghost of Banquo, it
will not down, and desperately he determines to
quit the law altogether. He thinks, over all the
law he has read, and deuce take it! he cannot remember
a first principle. “Certainly, certainly,”
says he, “my law, like Bob Acre's courage, oozed
from the end of my fingers, when I wrote that
note, requesting to be examined. I'd better quit
the law altogether,” thinks he, “for a moment—my
constitution can't stand it.” `What! quit it,' says
Pride, `just on the eve of an examination? what
will the world say,' and if Pride should be reconciled
to what the world would say, up starts Poverty
with a peremptory, `You can't, sir.' Poverty
is an absolute tyrant, even in a republic, and
must be obeyed. Then the poor student will
catch up first, one law book, and then another,
hastily glance over the first case that presents
itself, finds he knows nothing about it—looks
at another—don't know it. Well, I'll read it
through, I may be asked this very case. He reads
it for awhile—closes the book—glances his eye upward,
as if to scan futurity—then into the fire, as
though a cloud had passed over the ceiling, and obscured
his vision—jumps up—buttons his coat tight
over his heart, like one about to brave an eminent
peril—adjusts his neck-cloth, and walks hastily
out to meet his fellow students, and talk over the
characters of each and every member of the committee
of examination. O, ye gray beards of the
profession! if ye have sins, they are then assuredly
remembered. If ye have the virtues of charity
and good humour, your want of legal knowledge
is called any thing but a fault; and the fact, that
you have never rejected a student, is remembered
while your consistency of character is eulogized.
The important hour arrives, another, and the
“long agony is over.” The next day, a pithy advertisement
announces that — —, Attorney
and Counsellor at Law, offers his professional services
to the public; and it tells where his office is
to be found. That said office is designated by a well
painted piece of tin, which tells the twice-told tale
to the indifferent public,