BART RIDGELEY; A STORY OF NORTHERN OHIO. BY A.G. RIDDLE 1873. CONTENTS. I. A FAILURE II. THE BLUE CHAMBER III. NEWBURY IV. AT THE POST OFFICE V. MRS. MARKHAM'S VIEWS VI. WHAT HE THOUGHT OF THINGS VII. LOGIC OF THE GODS VIII. A RAMBLE IN THE WOODS, AND WHAT CAME OF IT IX. A DARKENED SOUL X. AFTER THE FLOOD XI. UNCLE ALECK XII. A CONSECRATION XIII. BLACKSTONE XIV. THE YOUNG IDEA SHOOTS XV. SNOW'S PARTY XVI. WALTZ XVII. BART XVIII. SUGAR MAKING XIX. HENRY XX. WHAT THE GIRLS SAID XXI. A DEPARTURE XXII. A SHATTERED COLUMN XXIII. THE STORM XXIV. A LAW SUIT (TO BE SKIPPED) XXV. THE WARNING XXVI. LOST XXVII. THE BABES IN THE WOODS XXVIII. AT JUDGE MARKHAM'S XXIX. AFTER XXX. JEFFERSON XXXI. OLD BEN XXXII. THE LETTERS XXXIII. AT WILDER'S XXXIV. ROUGH SKETCHES XXXV. SARTLIFF XXXVI. OLD GID XXXVII. THE OLD STORY XXXVIII. THE OLD STORY OVER AGAIN XXXIX. ABOUT LAWYERS, AND DULL XL. THE DISGUISE XLI. THE INVITATION XLII. ADMITTED XLIII. JULIA XLIV. FINDING THE WAY XLV. SOME THINGS PUT AT REST XLVI. PRINCE ARTHUR XLVII. THE TRIAL XLVIII. THE ADVOCATE XLIX. WAITING L. THE GOSPEL OF LOVE LI. THE RETURN LII. FINAL DREAM LAND CHAPTER I. A FAILURE. He could see from the top of the hill, down which the road wound to the river, that the bridge was gone, and he paused for a moment with an involuntary feeling that it was useless to go forward; but remembering that his way led across, at all events, he walked down to the bank. There it ran, broad, rapid, and in places apparently deep. He looked up and down in vain: no lodged drift-wood; no fallen trees; no raft or wreck; a recent freshet had swept all clear to high-water mark, and the stream rolled, and foamed, and boiled, and gurgled, and murmured in the afternoon August sun as gleefully and mockingly as if its very purpose was to baffle the wearied youth who looked into and over its changing tide. In coming from Cleveland that morning he had taken a wrong road, and now, at mid-afternoon, he found his progress stayed with half his day's journey still before him. It would have been but a moment's task to remove his clothes and swim over, but the region was open and clear on that side for a considerable distance, and notwithstanding his solitude, he hesitated to make the transit in that manner. It was apparent, from the little-travelled road, that the stream had been forded by an indirect course, and one not easily determined from the shore. It occurred to him that possibly some team from Cleveland might pass along and take him over; and, wearied, he sat down by his light valise to wait, and at least rest; and as he gazed into the rapid current a half-remembered line of a forgotten poet ran and ran through his mind thus: "Which running runs, and will run forever on."