University of Virginia Library

1. CLINTON BRADSHAW. CHAPTER I.

Near the court house, in one of our principal cities,
(the especial whereabout and name, for certain
reasons, we must leave to the sagacity of our readers,)
in an autumnal evening, about eight o'clock, or
after, not many years since, a young gentleman might
have been seen walking in rather a quick step, like
one who felt himself in somewhat of a hurry. On
reaching the door of what appeared to be a lawyer's
office, he rapped quickly against it with a
leaden-headed rattan, such as were then, and are
now, much the fashion. “Come in,” said a voice,
from the upper story of the building, from the window
of which a light shone forth into the street.

“Hold a light, Bradshaw,” said the visiter, as he
entered the lower room, “or I may break my neck
over some of these chairs.”

“Come a-head, my dear fellow; be cat-like, see
in the dark, or feel—you know the room; besides,

fancy you are stealing to your lady-love, and, though
you need not tread with a feathery step, yet, be a
little cautious. Take care you don't run your proboscis
against the stair door—it's open: if you do,
there'll be blood upon thy face; that won't look
well at the party. Mind, there's a nail I fasten the
door with, that may interfere with your inexpressibles:
I've none to lend you;—I'm as poor as Job's
turkey.”

“I am ditto to Mr. Burke, and that's a good reason
why you should have held the light,” said the
visiter, who, by this time, had ascended the stairs
free of harm, and entered the room. He found
Bradshaw busily engaged, with his coat off, in the
act of polishing a pair of pumps. The room was
filled with rough shelves, which were covered with
books, most of them of the law, as could be distinguished
by the covers; but, in a kind of recess,
formed by the flue of the chimney, was a number
of miscellaneous works, which appeared to have
seen some service. There was a screen in the
room; behind it was a bed; and in the centre of
the chamber, near the fire-place, in which was a
little fire burning, stood a table; on it were scattered
papers and books, apparently in much confusion.

“Why, Bradshaw, you are a pretty fellow! It's
after eight o'clock, and here you are blacking your
pumps, and not dressed yet. Bah! your hands are
as black as a chimney sweep's: I'd have a fellow
to attend to such things for me, if I had to go in
debt for it.”

“So would I, and so do I; but the Rev. Mr.
Longshore, who does me this honour, has gone to an
abolition meeting,—and the calls of patriotism, or
rather philanthropy, are, with him, stronger, of
course, than pecuniary considerations. See, I'm
giving them a polish like his face.”

“Bradshaw,” said his companion, (whose name
was Henry Selman, and who carefully dusted a
chair ere he seated himself,) “what do you think
of these abolitionists?”

“Think of them! Why, that some of them are
knaves, some of them are fools, and some of them
are honest, but misguided, men. But, tell me, who's
to be at the party?”

“Why, all the world and his wife; I'm told the
old fellow is going to do the handsome thing. He's
made great preparations, and the womankind have
been talking of it this week past. I wonder if the
old chap is as rich as it is said?”

“Doubtful.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Various circumstances; however, it is generally
thought that, if he lives, he will be very wealthy.
He, you know, is alike fond of money and display.
He wants to win caste among the aristocratic, and
he seeks to hide his original obscurity in display:—
he cannot throw off the “filthy dowlas” of the plebeian,
but he can cover it with patrician robes.
It sometimes, as you know, steals out, though most
wofully. I should rather say this of the family than
of the old man, for he is indifferent to the aristocracy
with which they would inoculate him. But

why do you ask? are you speculating upon the
solid charms of his daughters?”

“Why, that depends, as you would say, upon
the speculations of the father; they are fine girls,
but they're as plenty as blackberries.”

“Ay, and the parent stem is thorny: you must
take care in the plucking, else you will find the
thorns remain, after the sweets are not only plucked,
but gone—all but the memory. There is no fun in
wooing for gold, and marrying a portionless bride;
besides, the old man's a hard knot, and if he had
wealth, you would “feel hope deferred” for many
a year, and of that heart sickness an unloved wife
could not cure you. Again: though his fortune
might give one daughter a splendid dower, think
of it, when divided among the race of Perrys that
are, and are to be.”

“Bradshaw, you're a strange fellow: I never
saw such a mixture of sensuality and sentiment,
worldliness and romance, in any man, before.”

“Well, sir, that's bad news: it's the very temperament
to bedevil a man; for between the conflicting
feelings which must be engendered in such
a character, there must always be an irresoluteness
of purpose—an action and reaction—that will
make any thing but a successful, or a happy being.”

Bradshaw's brow clouded as he spoke. He had
finished the task which Mr. Longshore, but for the
abolition meeting, would have performed for him,
and with his toilet made, for he was quick and careless
in making it, he stood leaning, with his arms
folded, against the mantel-piece, looking abstractedly

into the fire. Selman paused, for a moment,
from the self-complacent act of striking his square-toed
shoe with his rattan, struck with the interesting
and intellectual appearance of Bradshaw: He
was rather below the middle size, and of slender
and graceful proportions; his head was finely
shaped; the hair thick and wavy, and worn carelessly,
without any regard to the fashion, though it
had been cut fashionably; the forehead was rather
broad and perpendicular, than high; and his eye
was dark and deeply set, with a quick and searching
glance. It was capable of every variety of expression,
and no one could look upon it, for a moment,
without being struck by its expression. His
nose was straight and finely formed, and the mouth
chiselled, with compressed lips, for one so young,
but which relaxed into a winning or scornful smile
in an instant. There was, in him, that undefinable
interest which some men create in the bosoms even
of their most familiar acquaintances, and which
strikes the most casual observer, and makes him
anxious to know more of the character before him.
He will occupy a considerable portion of this narrative.

At the period where we now begin his history,
he is about nineteen years of age, and a student of
law. His previous biography is soon told: He is
the only son of a most respectable farmer, whose
progenitors landed on the pilgrim rock, among that
little band who were the fathers of New England.
In the progress of years, the immediate ancestors
of Clinton Bradshaw emigrated to one of our middle

states, and there his father tilled the farm
which had been, for more than a century and a
half, in his family.

Clinton Bradshaw had, in early life, very bad
health; so much so as to prevent him, for many
years, from going to school. His mother, however,
did all she could to compensate him for the
loss: she kept him as close at his books, as his
health and truant disposition would allow: nevertheless,
he grew up, to the age of fifteen, without
schooling in any respect. His health was often
an excuse for him not only to quit the tasks of
the master, but to throw aside those of the mother,
and roam at large through the woods and by
the streams where his wayward inclination led
him. Yet, in consequence of severe attacks of
indisposition, he was, at periods, much confined
to the house; and by his mother's side he would
read, day after day, and week after week, every
variety of books, which, at his age, could interest
a youthful mind; and some, which older minds
delight in. Notwithstanding the religious character
of his parents—they were Methodists—he
was allowed to read just what he chose, and what
the large circulating library of the city supplied;
as any thing that would relieve his suffering, or
make him forgetful of his tedious confinement,
that which a spirited boy so illy bears, was permitted
him. Romances, history, biography, novels,
poems, were thus open to him, and through
them he roamed, with as little restraint as through
his father's fields, when his health permitted him

to do so. His parents, too, though very plain people,
at the period to which we allude, visited a
great deal among their neighbours and in the city;
and to divert the mind of their son—the only son
—as well as to keep him immediately under the
parental eye, for they felt momently and intensely
anxious about his health, they always took him
with them. In his early years a little stool was
placed in the bottom of the gig for him, as regularly
as the horse was harnessed; and when he
grew older, Clinton's saddle was put upon his
pony, and he accompanied his father to the different
county meetings, religious and political; for
the father felt an interest in both; and, though a
modest and retiring man, was a leading character
among his neighbours. At the quiltings and apple-butter
frolics, Clinton was a favourite with
every body—the farmers, their wives and daughters,
always welcomed him. At the husking
matches, where the negroes collect in the slave
states with the labouring class of whites, on some
allotted evening, and make a frolic of stripping
the corn, which has previously been thrown in a
pile, from the husks, no one's coming gave more
real satisfaction to all. The old negroes would
observe, “There comes Massa Clinton; he good
to poor nigger; he make good massa:” and the
youngsters would grin from ear to ear, with the
anticipation of some harmless trick that Clinton
would be sure to play off upon some one. The
whites, too, would greet him, one and all; his presence,
young as he was, never failed to give delight
to every one. In this way Clinton Bradshaw's
character became a marked one in early
life. In the company of his father and mother,
he went frequently into the best society the neighbourhood
afforded, (in it were some of the oldest
and most respectable families in the country,) and
under circumstances where he seldom met boys
of his age; this compelled him to seek what enjoyment
he found on such occasions, in the conversations
of his elders, male and female. He
would stand by his father's side and listen, for
hours, to matters of grave discussion between him
and his friends, or talk with the old ladies of his
mother and themselves: with the young ones he
was most popular; he early learned the thousand
nameless arts of pleasing them, which he practised
not with the sheepishness of a boy, but just
with boyishness enough to make them remark
what a man he would be. From these various
scenes, when his mother did not accompany him,
he would return and tell her all about them. As
his father was not communicative concerning his
meetings with his friends, through Clinton, Mrs.
Bradshaw generally learned what his father said
and what others said. To his mother, and his
little sister,—he had but one sister,—he would
narrate all he saw in the female community of the
neighbourhood: and whenever he had been from
home they were sure to ask him all about his visit,
which he could recount with a discrimination
of character and powers of conversation far above
his years. All these various circumstances made
him manly, early, and gave him address, self-possession
and self-reliance in every company. His
reading, in his long hours of sickness, had been
such as to fit him to shine in society.

At fifteen, Clinton's health rapidly improved;
so much so that, at his own request, he was taken
from the county school and boarded in the city,
that he might attend the high school, or college,
if we give the epithet to the institution with
which the trustees were wont to dignify it. In
town his mind rapidly developed itself; in the
routine of school his companions surpassed him,
but in composition and declamation he stood unrivalled.
He was popular, both with his tutors
and his school-mates; for though hasty, and prone
to resentment, he was frank, magnanimous, and
daring. He had, however, the temperament which
is said to belong to genius. He was subject to an
inequality of spirits, and to a depression, which
sometimes made him moody in the gayest scenes.
This was observed of him in his early boyhood;
he would retire from his companions, in the midst
of their gaiety, and sit apart, musing, for hours.
He was, perhaps, rather suspicious: this, in after
life, he attributed to reading tales of treachery and
blood, such as first caught his attention in boyhood.
Without the occurrence of any material
incident, other than may be noticed in the progress
of our narrative, Clinton Bradshaw left
school with a high reputation for talent—the very
highest—and commenced the study of the law.
In the office, in the upper story of which our readers
have been introduced to him, he had been a
student nearly a year.