in
force, is his collar and stock; from that he radiates into shirt
bosom, and fades off into coat and pants. Law! He don't know the
difference between a bill in Chancery and the Pope's Bull. Here's
another knowledge-cuss. He's from Warren--McKnight. His great effort
is to keep himself in--to hold himself from mischief, and working
general ruin. He knows perfectly well that if he should let himself
loose in a case, in open court, the other side would stand no chance
at all; and his sense of right prevents his putting forth his real
power. It would be equal to a denial of justice to the other side."

"An instance where the severity of the law is tempered and modified by
equity," remarked Bart.

"Exactly."

"Who is that man on the left of Bowen, and beyond, with that splendid
head and face, and eyes like Juno, if a man can have such eyes?"

"That is Dave Tod, son of old Judge Tod, of Warren. Two things are in
his way: he is a democrat, and lazy as thunder; otherwise he would be
among the first--and it will do to keep him in mind anyway. There is
some sort of a future for him."

"Here's another minister of the law in the temple of justice--that man
with the cape on. He always wears it, and the boys irreverently call
him Cape Cod--Ward of Connaught. He puts a paper into the clerk's
office and calls it commencing a suit. He puts in another and calls it
a declaration. If anybody makes himself a party, and offers to go to
trial with him, and nobody objects, he has a trial of something,
at some time, and if he gets a verdict or gets licked it is equally
incomprehensible to him, and to everybody else.

"There are Hitchcock and Perkins, of Painesville, whom you know. What
great wide staring eyes Hitchcock has: but they look into things. And
see how elegantly Perkins is dressed. I'd like to hear Frank Wade on
that costume--but Perkins is a good lawyer, for all that. Look at
that stout, broad, club-faced man--that's old Dick Matoon. You see
the lower part of his face was made for larger upper works; and after
puckering and drawing the under lip in all he can, he speaks in a
grain whistle through an opening still left, around under one ear. He
knows no more law than does necessity; but is cunning, and acts upon
his one rule, 'that it is always safe to continue.'

"Here is a man you must get acquainted with; this dark swarthy man
with the black eyes, black curling hair, and cast-iron face, sour and
austere. That is Ned Wade,