There sits twenty-five years of equity administration; behind it, thirty
years of jocund and various life. No newspaper shall ever record it,
because none are printed here; he is indifferent to that forgetfulness
and to all others, because the springs of life are dry in his body, and
he no more enjoys."
"Are you travelling north, Judge Custis?" the old man asked, for
politeness' sake.
"Yes, to Dover."
"There is a seat in my carriage; you are welcome to it."
"I will take it a part of the way, at least, to feel the privilege of
your society, Chancellor."
The old man gave a slow, sidewise shake of his head.
"Too late, too late," he said, "to flatter me. I was fond of it once. I
have been a flatterer, too."
The Chancellor's black boy was put on the Judge's horse, and the two
men, in a plain, country-made, light, square vehicle, turned the
court-house corner for the north. As they passed the door they heard the
sheriff knock off two slaves to a purchaser, crying:
"Your property, sir, till they are twenty-five years of age."
"Ha, ha!" laughed, in a great horse laugh, a nearly chinless villager;
"say till ole Patty Cannon can git 'em!"
The purchaser gave a cunning, self-convicted smile at the passing
chancellor, whose look of resignation only deepened and grew more
humble. The Judge had some vague recollection which moved him to change
the subject.
"We see each other but little, Chancellor, though we divide the same
little heritage of land.
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