Ishmael, or In The Depths - Page 181/567

So in three minutes he put away his bowl and spoon, drew his

three-legged stool to the corner of the fireplace, where he could see to

read, seated himself, opened his packet, and displayed his treasure. It

was a large, thick, octavo volume, bound in stout leather, and filled

with portraits and pictured battle scenes. And on the fly-leaf was

written: "Presented to Ishmael Worth, as a reward of merit, by his friend

James Middleton."

Ishmael read that with a new accession of pleasure. Then he turned the

leaves to peep at the hidden jewels in this intellectual casket. Then he

closed the book and laid it on his knees and shut his eyes and held his

breath for joy.

He had been enamored of this beauty for months and months. He had fallen

in love with it at first sight, when he had seen its pages open, with a

portrait of George Washington on the right and a picture of the Battle

of Yorktown on the left, all displayed in the show window of Hainlin's

book shop. He had loved it and longed for it with a passionate ardor

ever since. He had spent all his half holidays in going to Baymouth and

standing before Hamlin's window and staring at the book, and asking the

price of it, and wondering if he should ever be able to save money

enough to buy it. Now, to be in love with an unattainable woman is bad

enough, the dear knows! But to be in love with an unattainable book--Oh,

my gracious! Lover-like, he had thought of this book all day, and

dreamt of it all night; but never hoped to possess it!

And now he really owned it! He had won it as a reward for courage,

truth, and honesty! It was lying there on his knees. It was all his own!

His intense satisfaction can only be compared to that of a youthful

bridegroom who has got his beloved all to himself at last! It might have

been said of the one, as it is often said of the other, "It was the

happiest day of his life!"

Oh, doubtless in after years the future statesman enjoyed many a

hard-won victory. Sweet is the breath of fame! Sweet the praise of

nations! But I question whether, in all the vicissitudes, successes,

failures, trials, and triumphs of his future life, Ishmael Worth ever

tasted such keen joy as he did this night in the possession of this

book.

He enjoyed it more than wealthy men enjoy their great libraries. To him,

this was the book of books, because it was the history of his own

country.

There were thousands and thousands of young men, sons of gentlemen, in

schools and colleges, reading this glorious history of the young

republic as a task, with indifference or disgust, while this poor boy,

in the hill-top hut, pored over its pages with all the enthusiasm of

reverence and love! And why--what caused this difference? Because they

were of the commonplace, while he was one in a million. This was the

history of the rise and progress of the United States; Ishmael Worth was

an ardent lover and worshiper of his country, as well as of all that was

great and good! He had the brain to comprehend and the heart to

reverence the divine idea embodied in the Federal Union. He possessed

these, not by inheritance, not by education, but by the direct

inspiration of Heaven, who, passing over the wealthy and the prosperous,

ordained this poor outcast boy, this despised, illegitimate son of a

country weaver, to become a great power among the people! a great pillar

of the State.