University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

How to study Law.—A change of destination.

—Shakspeare.

—Schiller.

—Shakspeare.

Excerpts, as headings to chapters, have been sneered at.
I am inclined to multiply them. If my reader passes them
over, he will miss that which is worth more than the whole
chapter following.

Mr. Thomas Treadwell abandoned his office so entirely,
that after a time, no one thought of inquiring for him at that
place; or at any other, on business connected with his profession:
and Zeb mechanically opened the windows every morning,
and habitually sat down to his books, without thought of
courts, clients, or law. He was conscious that he was not in
the path intended for him by his uncle, and consequently the
course he was pursuing was wrong, but he was fascinated by
the opportunity that was afforded him of gratifying his passion

for reading; and as long as no one interrupted it, he could not
or would not, see the necessity for a change. His uncle had
advised a course of history, and belles lettres reading, meaning,
“when not employed in the study of legal science:”—Zeb followed
his uncle's advice literally and industriously—neglecting
the spirit and intent—and as no law reading was enjoined upon
him by his master, he quieted his conscience by acting up to
the letter of the instructions. He became a thorough historian
and belles lettres scholar, as far as English and French authors
could make him one. He partook of the Spanish, Italian,
and German; and delighted to task himself in the Latin classics—his
tasks becoming another source of mental improvement,
another source of pleasure—for it is a law of the benevolent
Creator, that perseverance in well-doing, although at first
a task, shall become more and more a pleasure; knowledge
increases the facilities of attaining knowledge, and “the appetite
grows by that it feeds on.”

Of all the authors read by Spiffard, no one was studied with
so much pleasure as Shakspeare. The boy had early read him,
(for Shakspeare was found at Spiffard town) but he now studied
him and his commentators. His thoughts and language by
degrees became in a measure imbued with the images and
phraseology of the poet. It was only when in after time he
was laughed at by his companions, that he was induced to
relinquish a mode of expressing himself which appeared to
some affected.

Mankind are not generally aware of the influence which one
book, or one man, may have, and has had, on a nation or a
world. Even those who cannot (or those who do not) read,
hear the precepts of the author, sometimes quoted as such,
oftentimes mingled unconsciously in ordinary conversation.
The maxims of the Koran, the Vedah and the Shastah are
mingled in the intercourse of every-day life, among their followers,
as well as quoted from the desk or the pulpit; and the
same or greater effect is produced by the Hebrew and Greek
scriptures. So the popular poet or author sheds abroad a light
upon society which in its effects is incalculable.

If the poet's precepts are poured forth year after year for
ages from the stage, as are those of the “Swan of Avon,”
they make a part of the education of nations; they are mingled
with the thoughts and words of all—influencing their passions
and actions—they become instruments of illimitable power on
the civilization and consequent well-being of man.

A shrewd and well educated person once said, “I went last

evening to see Othello, and I have been thinking ever since or
the many beautiful passages which have been familiar to me
from childhood, and which are to be found in that play.”

Our hero became acquainted with all the beauties and defects
of the mighty master. He read him, and heard him expounded.
He studied him, and saw him illustrated. But of law—except
the poetic law of the stagyrite—he was as ignorant as many
other young gentlemen who read, or smoke, in lawyers' offices.

What was Uncle Abraham about all this time? Reading
his favourite books, and indulging as much research into ancient
literature, as a defective early education permitted. Still
he entered into many speculative studies, and pursued them far
beyond the reading of mere men of this world; and when he
questioned his nephew on topics, little thought of by most young
men, he was pleased to find him intelligent, inquiring, and in
possession of knowledge uncommon for his age. At length,
old Mr. Spiffard, the uncle, thought it time that Zeb should be
prepared for his examination. He had passed nearly the number
of years usual, and legally necessary, for reading law in the
capital of Massachusetts. “I'll go to Mr. Treadwell's office,
and talk the matter over with him, and with my nephew,” said
uncle Abraham. Accordingly, one day, as story-tellers have
it, he appeared suddenly at the office, while Zeb was standing
in the most approved attitude for delivering Marc Anthony's
oration over the body of Julius Cæsar. The door had been
left partly open, and his uncle entered, unperceived by the
young orator, who was practising postures before a mirror;
which, though only intended to aid Mr. Treadwell in adjusting
a cravat, before making his appearance in court, or in the
green-room, disclosed the graces of our hero's person and
action, (imperfectly it is true,) and at the same time served to
let him see that he had an admirer behind him. He was in
circumstances similar to the ghost of Hamlet's father, about to
speak “when the cock crew,” but alas! he could not vanish.
The uncle had been standing for a moment, before the young
lawyer was aware that any other than his own eyes witnessed
his attitudenizing. When he saw the reflection of Uncle Abraham,
he dropt his outstretched arm, and looked like any thing
rather than a hero.

“That's right,” said the old gentleman; “I see that you
are preparing yourself for public speaking. It is the sure road
to wealth and honour in a republic.”

The uncle certainly did not mean the same kind of public

speaking that occupied the mind of the nephew; but Zeb was
relieved from his embarrassment by the train of thought which
his preparation for enacting Marc Anthony had suggested; and
his uncle proceeded to the business which had brought him to
the office.

The result of Mr. Abraham Spiffard's inquiries was not so
favourable to the belief of his nephew's progress in the acquisition
of that knowledge, necessary for the orator of the Bar,
the town house, the general assembly, or hall of congress. His
questions were answered with perfect frankness by Zeb, who
through life never lost his relish for truth or pure water. The
uncle was astonished that he had so long omitted those inquiries
which now elicited the astounding fact that Treadwell
had long neglected both his business and his pupil; who knew
very little more of law, (particularly its practice,) than when he
entered the office. The answer to one inquiry led to another,
and the good old gentleman concluded his interrogatories by
asking mildly, “Why, my son, did you not tell me all this?”

Zeb stood silent for some moments, before answering. Not
that he wished to evade the question, but he wanted time to arrange
his thoughts, like one of our Indians at a council-meeting;
one of those men whom we call our red brethren, and shoot
when they do not get out of our way, exactly at the time we
wish to improve their lands for our profit, and plough up the
bones of their forefathers, with as little ceremony as we do
those of our own. Zeb was conscious that he had not been
doing as his uncle intended; and that although he had not
planned to deceive the worthy man, yet he had suffered him to
deceive himself. After collecting his thoughts, Indian fashion,
he replied with perfect ingenuousness:

“I take shame to myself, sir; I ought to have told you all
this, and not waited till you questioned me. I have reasoned
with myself repeatedly upon the subject, and my reason always
told me that I was not employing my time as you intended
that it should be employed. But this self-examination did
not take place until in consequence of my teacher's neglect and
the love I had imbibed for the study of general literature, a secret
dislike—and afterwards to myself, an avowed determination
had been formed not to devote myself to the profession of
the law. To form such a resolution without consulting you,
was wrong. Nay, I knew it to be wrong, at the time. But as
every other study became more delightful to me, so, that for
which I was placed here, became more and more disgusting.
You appeared to be proud of my acquirements in languages

and literature, and I cheated myself into the belief, that, if I
became a good scholar—a well informed man—and proved
myself by my conduct a moral man, I might be permitted to
choose some employment more congenial with my taste and
feelings, than the dry and formal, or the uncertain, intricate,
and oft-times disingenuous proceedings, connected with the
transactions in our courts of justice. And I—I hoped—Yes,
I will tell you all—that as you had avowed your determination
to consider me in all things as your son, that you would permit
me to travel, first in our country, and then in foreign lands,
and thus to cultivate a knowledge of men, as well as of books,
of manners, as well as science and literature—a knowledge
which would enable me on my return to my dear native country,
justly appreciating her institutions, to be an honour to you,
a comfort and support to my parents, and to enter the lists as
a candidate for office, with not only the desire, but the power
to serve my countrymen—a power which should produce such
effects as seemed to be the ultimate object you had in view for
me—such effects as would meet your approbation, and justify
the partiality you had evinced towards me.”

The old gentleman was evidently agitated while his nephew
poured forth this address. He took a chair, and sat down during
its delivery with his eyes fixed on the floor, and his hat
pulled over his brow: at its close he looked up, with some severity
of aspect, and replied in a tone of unusual asperity,
“So! knowing that by a life of industry I had accumulated a
decent competency, you supposed that I would indulge you in
a life of idleness?”

“O no, sir—”

The uncle would not be interrupted. “Your love of ingenuousness
induced you to deceive me! You knew better, likewise,
what my wishes were than I did myself! You thought it
would be more to your advantage to visit France, Italy, and
Germany, and be presented at the courts of foreign princes
than to attend the courts of law in Massachusetts, and become
familiar with the institutions of the country you are to reside in:
now, I have served my country, and was supposed to be qualified
to promote the happiness of those connected with me, or
whose welfare had been entrusted to me; and that without foreign
travelling or any other travelling. I have been content
with this town—and this town has been content with me. I
have lamented the deficiencies of my education, and hoped that
by making you a scholar and a scientific lawyer, you would
have been able to do more and better than I have done. I chose

a path for you, and supposed that you were following its course:
but you have chosen another for yourself. Now, suppose I
was to say, `I have been deceived,—go! pursue your own
course: I have done with you?' ”

“I cannot suppose it, sir.”

“Why not?”

“It is not like you. Besides, I did not plan to deceive you.”

“You saw me cherishing an error, and did not undeceive
me.”

“I was wrong, sir—but I deceived myself. I believed that
I was qualifying myself to become that which you most wished
me to become. I would willingly believe it still. I have
heard you complain of the drudgery you have gone through to
acquire wealth, and lament that you had not devoted more time
to the more ennobling studies. I never doubted that you
wished me to profit by the means in your possession, to enter
into a wider field of action and competition than you had necessarily
been confined to—that you wished me to rise above the
professional technicalities and every-day labour of the court
and the office. I will believe still that my kind uncle—my more
than father, will aid me in the path I shall choose, provided he
shall be convinced that it is the path of honour.”

“The path of the lawyer is a path of honour. He may
build for himself a reputation which shall stand the assaults of
envy or folly; but it must have its foundation in what you call
the technicalities of the office, and the habit of every-day labour.
That necessary habit you have not acquired. The foundation
of honour is truth. If I should aid you to pursue the path
you have preferred, and continue still to be a father to you, it
will be after the conviction that you will not in future deceive
another, or suffer another to deceive himself; and then make
self-deception a plea, or an excuse for your conduct. I have
confided in you—and I may say—” here the old man's voice
faltered—“I have loved you, because I thought I discovered
in you a rooted love of truth—I thought it was habitual in act
as in word—I thought—”

The young man interrupted him, “Next to my love of the
Author of all Good, is my love of truth. My fervent desire is
to be habitually frank and sincere in all my intercourse with my
fellow-creatures. I have now received a lesson never to be
forgotten.”

Mr. Spiffard was silent for a moment: his tone was changed,
when he said: “I believe in the sincerity of your desire. The
belief that such was ever your disposition, has made me a confiding

father to you. But the love of God, and of truth, must
be shown by obedience to their laws in deed and word.”

“Here, sir, before heaven—”

“No protestations, young man. Notwithstanding what has
passed, and my bitter disappointment, I will confide in you—I
must confide in you. If I thought that there had been a deliberate
plan to deceive, confidence would have flown forever.
We cannot believe at will. I intend that you shall be my heir:
and as you have given me to know that you will not pursue the
law as a profession, I will, inasmuch as you have arrived at an
age beyond childhood, consult your wishes, and we will be determined
as to the future by our cool consideration of the
matter.”

Zeb attempted to speak, but his voice failed him. Tears
ran down his cheeks, and he sobbed aloud. Here ended this
momentous conference. Uncle Spiffard soon after had an
explanation with Mr. Thomas Treadwell, and Zeb was withdrawn
from the study of the law.