AN AMERICAN PATRICIAN OR THE STORY OF AARON BURR By Alfred Henry Lewis Author of “When Men Grew Tall or The Story of Andrew Jackson” Illustrated D. Appleton And Company New York 1908 [Illustration: 0010] [Illustration: 0011] TO ELBERT HUBBARD FOR THE PLEASURE HIS WRITINGS HAVE GIVEN ME, AND AS A MARK OF ADMIRATION FOR THE GLOSS AND PURITY OF HIS ENGLISH, THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED A. H. L. AN AMERICAN PATRICIAN CHAPTER I--FROM THEOLOGY TO LAW THE Right Reverend Doctor Bellamy is a personage of churchly consequence in Bethlehem. Indeed, the doctor is a personage of churchly consequence throughout all Connecticut. For he took his theology from that well-head of divinity and metaphysics, Jonathan Edwards himself, and possesses an immense library of five hundred volumes, mostly on religion. Also, he is the author of “True Religion Delineated”; which work shines out across the tumbling seas of New England Congregationalism like a lighthouse on a difficult coast. Peculiarly is it of guiding moment to storm-vexed student ones, who, wanting it, might go crashing on controversial reefs, and so miss those pulpit snug-harbors toward which the pious prows of their hopes are pointed. The doctor has a round, florid face, which, with his well-fed stomach, gives no hint of thin living. From the suave propriety of his cue to the silver buckles on his shoes, his atmosphere is wholly clerical. Just now, however, he wears a disturbed, fussy air, as though something has rubbed wrong-wise the fur of his feelings. He shows this by the way in which he trots up and down his study floor. Doubtless, some portion of that fussiness is derived from the doctor’s short fat legs; for none save your long-legged folk may walk to and fro with dignity. Still, it is clear there be reasons of disturbance which go deeper than mere short fat legs, and set his spirits in a tumult. The good doctor, as he trots up and down, is not alone. Madam Bellamy is with him, chair drawn just out of reach of the June sunshine as it comes streaming through the open lattice. In her plump hands she holds her sewing; for she is strong in the New England virtue of industry, and regards hand-idleness as a species of viciousness. While she stitches, she bends appreciative ear to the whistle of a robin in an apple tree outside. “No, mother,” observes the doctor, breaking in on the robin, “the lad does himself no credit. He is careless, callous, rebellious, foppish, and altogether of the flesh. I warrant you I shall take him in hand; it is my duty.”. “But no harshness, Joseph!” “No, mother; as you say, I must not be harsh. None the less I shall be firm. He must study; he is not to become a preacher by mere wishing.” Shod hoofs are heard on the graveled driveway; a voice is lifted: “Walk Warlock up and down until he is cooled out. Then give him a rub, and a mouthful of water.”