Ishmael did not find it so, however.  The same ardent soul, strong mind, and bright spirit that had found “dry history” an inspiring heroic poem, “dry grammar” a beautiful analysis of language, now found “dry law” the intensely interesting science of human justice.  Ishmael read diligently, for the love of his subject!—­at first it was only for the love of his subject, but after a few weeks of study he began to read with a fixed purpose—­to become a lawyer.  Of course Ishmael Worth was no longer unconscious of his own great intellectual power; he had measured himself with the best educated youth of the highest rank, and he had found himself in mental strength their master.  So when he resolved to become a lawyer, he felt a just confidence that he should make a very able one.  Of course, with his clear perceptions and profound reflections he saw all the great difficulties in his way; but they did not dismay him.  His will was as strong as his intellect, and he knew that, combined, they would work wonders, almost miracles.

Indeed, without strength of will, intellect is of very little effect; for if intellect is the eye of the soul, will is the hand; intellect is wisdom, but will is power; intellect may be the monarch, but will is the executive minister.  How often we see men of the finest intellect fail in life through weakness of will!  How often also we see men of very moderate intellect succeed through strength of will!

In Ishmael Worth intellect and will were equally strong.  And when in that poor chamber he set himself down to study law, upon his own account, with the resolution to master the profession and to distinguish himself in it, he did so with the full consciousness of the magnitude of the object and of his own power to attain it.  Day after day he worked hard, night after night he studied diligently.

Ishmael did not think this a hardship; he did not murmur over his poverty, privations, and toil; no, for his own bright and beautiful spirit turned everything to light and loveliness.  He did not, indeed, in the pride of the Pharisee, thank God that he was not as other men; but he did feel too deeply grateful for the intellectual power bestowed upon him, to murmur at the circumstances that made it so difficult to cultivate that glorious gift.

One afternoon, while they were all at tea, Reuben Gray said: 

“Now, Ishmael, my lad, Hannah and me are going over to spend the evening at Brown’s, who is overseer at Rushy Shore; and you might’s well go with us; there’s a nice lot o’ gals there.  What do you say?”

“Thank you, Uncle Reuben, but I wish to read this evening,” said the youth.

“Now, Ishmael, what for should you slave yourself to death?”

“I don’t, uncle.  I work hard, it is true; but then, you know, youth is the time for work, and besides I like it,” said the young fellow cheerfully.

“Well, but after hoeing and weeding and raking and planting in the garden all the morning, and bothering your brains over them distracting ’count books all the afternoon, what’s the good of your going and poring over them stupid books all the evening?”