OLD GID.
Towards the close of the term, there came into the court-room, one
day, a man of giant mould: standing head and shoulders above his
fellows, broad shouldered, deep chested, with a short neck and large
flat face, a regal brow, and large, roomy head in which to work out
great problems. He had light grayish blue, or blueish gray eyes, and a
scarlet mark disfiguring one side of his face. The proceedings paused,
and men gathered about him. His manner was bland, his smile, that
took up his whole face, very pleasant. Bart knew that this was J.R.
Giddings, just home from Washington, where he had already overhauled
the Seminole war, and begun that mining into the foundation of things
that finally overthrew slavery.
During the term Bart heard him before the court and jury, and found
him a dullish, heavy speaker, a little as he thought the indifferently
good English parliamentary speaker might be. He often hesitated for a
word, and usually waited for it; sometimes he would persist in having
it at once, when he would close his eyes very tight, and compel it.
His manner and gesture could not be called good, and yet Bart felt
that he was in the presence of a formidable man.
His mind was one of a high order, without a scintilla of genius or any
of its elements. He had a powerful grasp, and elude, as it might, he
finally clutched the idea or principle sought it never escaped him:
and he never rested until its soul and blood were his, or rejected
as useless, after the application of every test. It was a bad day
for slavery when Giddings determined to enter Congress. Cool, shrewd,
adroit, wary and wily, never baffled, never off his guard and never
bluffed; with a reserve of power and expedients always sufficient,
with a courage that knew no blenching, he moved forward. He had more
industry and patience, and was a better lawyer than Wade, but was
his inferior as an advocate. They were opposed in the case in which
Giddings appeared, and Bart already felt that in the atmosphere of the
contest was the element of dislike on the part of Wade, and of cool,
watchful care on the part of Giddings. Wade made two or three headlong
onsets, which were received and parried with bland, smiling coolness.
From his manner no one could tell what Giddings thought of his case or
opponent.
Two or three evenings after, an informal "reception," as it would now
be called, was held at the Giddings residence, to which the students
and nearly everybody else went. It was a pleasant greeting between
friends and neighbors, and a valued citizen, just home after a half
year's absence. Nothing could be more kind and natural than the
manner of Mr. Giddings, supported by motherly Mrs. Giddings, and the
accomplished Miss Giddings, who had spent the winter with her father
at Washington. She was like her father, in mind and person, softened
and sweetened and much more gracious by sex; tall, graceful, and with
the easy presence and manner of society and cultivation.
Bart was taken to her, and taken by her at once. She seemed like an
old acquaintance, and spoke in the kindest terms of his brother, told
him of Washington, its society and customs, and called him Barton at
once, as if they were to be on the best of terms. Bart could see that
she was plain, but he forgot that in a moment, and it never occurred
to him again.
In the course of the evening she returned to him, and said she wished
to introduce him to a young lady friend, whom she was sure he would
like on her own account, and on that of his brother, to whom she was
to have been all that woman might be. It took Bart's breath away. He
was unaware that his brother had ever been engaged, or wished to be,
to any lady.
"She knows you are in Jefferson," said Miss Giddings, "and has wanted
very much to see you."
She conducted him into a small sitting-room, and leading: him up to
a young lady in black, introduced him to Miss Aikens--Ida Aikens. The
young lady came forward, gave him her little hand, and looked him full
and sadly in the face. "You are like him," she said, "and I have much
wanted to see you."
"I received a letter from you," said Bart, "and fear my answer was a
poor one. Had I known you better, I could have written differently.
My brother was more to me than most brothers can be, and all who were
dear to him come at once into my tenderest regard."
"You could not answer my letter better than you did. I never had a
brother, and nothing can be more grateful to me than to meet you as we
now meet."
They sat, and he held the hand that belonged to his dead brother, and
that the hand of lover was never again to clasp. Gentle in deeds of
charity and tenderness, it would linger in its widowed whiteness until
it signalled back to the hand that already beckoned over the dark
waters.
Strangers who saw them would have taken them for lovers. They were of
nearly the same age. She, with dark, luminous eyes, and hair colored
like Haidee's, matched well with the dark gray and light brown. What a
world of tender and mournful sweetness this interview opened up to the
hungry heart of Bart--the love of a sweet, thoughtful, considerate,
intellectual and cultivated sister, unselfish and pure, to which no
touch or color of earth or passion could come. How fully and tenderly
he wrote of her to his mother, and how the unbidden wish came to his
heart to tell another of her, and as if he had the right to do so.
Miss Aikens was a young lady of high mental endowments, and great
force of character, cultivated in the true sense of culture, and
very accomplished. How sad and bitter seemed the untimely fate of his
brother; and the meeting of this sweet and mourning girl lent another
anguish to his heart, that was so slow in its recovery from that blow.
The court ran on, grew irksome, and passed. Bart saw something more of
Sartliff, and felt a melancholy interest in him. He also saw much of
Ida, whom he could not help liking, and something of Miss Giddings,
whom he admired.