"Jane, how _can_ you tolerate that dull, spiritless creature? I
never sat by his side for five minutes, without getting sleepy."
"He does not seem so very dull to me, Cara," replied her companion.
"It is a true saying, that there never was a Jack without a Jill;
but I could not have believed that my friend Jane Emory would have
been willing to be the Jill to such a Jack."
A slight change was perceptible in the countenance of Jane Emory,
and for a moment the color deepened on her cheek. But when she spoke
in reply to her friend's remark, no indication that she felt its
cutting import, was perceptible.
"I am convinced, from close observation of Walter Gray," said Jane,
"that he has in his character that which should ever protect him
from jest or ridicule."
"And what is that, my lady Jane?"
"Right thoughts and sound principles."
"Fiddle stick!"
"These should not only be respected, but honored wherever found,"
said Jane, gravely.
"In a bear or a boor!" Cara responded, in a tone of irony.
"My friend Cara is ungenerous in her allusions. Surely, she will not
assert that Walter Gray is a bear or a boor?"
"He is boorish enough, at any rate."
"There I differ with you, Cara. His manner is not so showy, nor his
attentions to the many little forms and observances of social life,
so prompt as to please the fastidious in these matters. These
defects, however, are not defects of character, but of education. He
has not mingled enough in society to give him confidence."
"They are defects, and are serious enough to make him quite
offensive to me. Last evening, at Mrs. Clinton's party, I sat beside
him for half an hour, and was really disgusted with his marked
disregard of the little courtesies of social life."
"Indeed!" replied Jane, her manner becoming more serious, "and in
what did these omissions consist?"
"Why, in the first place, while we were conversing,----"
"He could converse, then?" said Jane, interrupting her friend.
"O, no, I beg pardon! While we were _trying_ to converse--for among
his other defects is an inability to talk to a lady on any subject
of interest--I dropped my handkerchief, on purpose, of course, but
he never offered to lift it for me; indeed, I doubt whether he saw
it at all."
"Then, Cara, how could you expect him to pick it up for you, if he
did not see it?"
"But he ought to have seen it. He should have had his eyes about
him; and so should every gentleman who sits by or is near a lady. I
know one that never fails."
"And pray, who is the perfect gentleman?" asked Jane smiling. "Is he
one of my acquaintances?"
"Certainly he is. I mean Charles Wilton."
"He is, I must confess, different from Walter Gray," Jane remarked,
drily.
"I hope he is!" said Cara, tossing her head, for she felt that
something by no means complimentary was implied in the equivocal
remark of her friend.
"But, seriously, Cara, I must, in turn, express regret that you
allow yourself to feel interested in one like Charles Wilton. Trust
me, my friend, he is unworthy of your regard."
"And pray, Miss," said Cara, warming suddenly, "what do you know of
Charles Wilton, that will warrant your throwing out such
insinuations against him?"
"Little beyond what I have learned by my own observation."
"And what has that taught you? I should like very much to know."
"It has taught me, Cara," replied Jane, seriously, "to estimate him
very lightly indeed. From what I have seen, I am convinced that he
possesses neither fixed principles nor any decision of character. In
the world, without these a man is like a ship upon the ocean, having
neither helm nor compass."
"You make broad and bold charges, Jane. But I am sure you are
mistaken."
"I may be. But so certain am I that I am right, that I would rather
die this hour than be compelled to link my lot in life with his.
Certain I am that I should make shipwreck of hope and affection."
"You deal in riddles, Jane. Speak out more plainly."
"Surely, Cara, long before this you have or ought to have
discovered, that Charles Wilton exhibits far too much love of
appearance for a sensible man. He dresses in the very best style and
may be able to afford it; but that is not all;--he evidently esteems
these external embellishments of superior importance to mental or
moral endowments. He rarely fails to remark upon men not so well
dressed as himself, and to refer to the defect as one sufficient to
make the individual contemptible, no matter what may be the
circumstances or merit of the person referred to. I have more than
once noticed that Charles Wilton passes over every thing in his
disgust for defect in dress."
"I do not see a matter of serious importance in that," said Cara.
"His love of dress is a mere foible, that may be excused. It
certainly has nothing to do with his real character."
"It is an indication of the man's true character," her friend
replied. "I am sure that I want no plainer exhibition. If he was
simply fond of dress, and indulged in that fondness even to the
extent he now does it might indicate a mere weakness of character,
in the form of an undue love of admiration. But when, to this, we
see a disposition to value others, and to judge of them by their
garments, then we may be sure that there is a serious defect of
character. The man, Cara, believe me, who has no higher standard of
estimation for other men, than the form, manner, and texture of
their garments, has not the capacity rightly to value a woman or to
know wherein her true merit lies. This is _one_ of the reasons why I
said that I would rather die than link my lot in life with that
young man."
"Well, as for me, Jane, I am sure that I would rather have a man
with some spirit in him, than to be tied to such a drone as Walter
Gray. Why, I should die in a week. I can't for my life, see how you
can enjoy his society for a moment!"
"I should think any woman ought to be able to enjoy the company of a
man of sense," Jane remarked, quietly.
"Surely, Jane, you don't pretend by that to set up Walter Gray as
the superior of Charles Wilton in regard to intelligence?"
"Certainly I do, Cara."
"Why, Jane! There is no comparison, in this respect, between them.
Every one knows that while Walter is dull, even to stupidity,
Charles has a brilliant, well-informed mind. It is only necessary to
hear each converse for an hour, to decide upon their respective
merits."
"In that last sentence you have uttered the truth, Cara, but the
result would depend much upon the character of the listeners. For a
time, no doubt, if Charles made an effort to show off, he would
eclipse the less brilliant and unobtrusive Walter. But a close and
discriminating observer would soon learn to judge between sound and
sense, between borrowed thoughts and truthful sentiments originating
in a philosophical and ever active mind. The shallow stream runs
sparkling and flashing in the sunlight, while the deeper waters lie
dark and unattractive."
Cara shook her head as her friend ceased speaking, and replied,
laughingly--
"You can beat me at talking, Jane--but all your philosophy and
poetry can't make me think Charles Wilton less brilliant and
sensible, or Walter Gray less dull and spiritless."
The two young men whose merits Jane Emory and Cara Linton had thus
been discussing, had been law students for some years in the same
office, and were now just admitted to practice at the bar in one of
our Atlantic cities. They were friends, though altogether unlike
each other. Walter Gray was modest and retiring, while Charles
Wilton was a dashing, off-hand kind of a fellow, with more
pretensions than merit. The mind of Walter was rather sluggish,
while that of his friend was quick, and what some were disposed to
esteem brilliant. The one was fond of dress and show, and effect;
while the other paid less regard to these things than was really
necessary to make him, with many, an agreeable companion. But the
quick perceptions of the one were not equal to the patient, untiring
application of the other. When admitted to practice, Wilton could
make an effective, brilliant speech, and in ordinary cases, where an
appeal to the feelings could influence a jury, was uniformly
successful. But, where profound investigation, concise reasoning,
and a laborious array of authorities were requisite, he was no
competitor for his friend Gray. He was vain of his personal
appearance, as has before been indicated, and was also fond of
pleasure and company. In short, he was one of those dashing young
men to be met with in all professions, who look upon business as an
necessary evil, to be escaped whenever a opportunity offers--whose
expectations of future prosperity are always large, and who look for
success, not in the roads of patient, laborious application, but by
a quicker and more brilliant way. They hope to produce a sensation
by their tact or talents, and thus take fortune by storm. Few,
indeed we might say none, of this class succeed. Those who startle a
community by rapid advances, are, in all cases, such as have, to
quick perceptions and brilliant powers, added much labor. Talent is
nothing without prolonged and patient application; and they who
suppose the road to success lies in any other way, may discover
their error too late.
The estimation in which the characters of these two young men was
held, at least by two individuals, the preceding conversation has
apprised the reader. Each made his impression upon a certain order
of mind, and each was regarded, or lightly esteemed accordingly.
Although in talents and in a right estimation of life and its true
ends, the two young men were altogether dissimilar; yet were they
friends, and in many respects intimate. Why they were so, we shall
not stop to enquire, but proceed to introduce them more particularly
to the reader.
"I suppose you are going to Mrs. Melton's this evening?" said Wilton
to his friend, a few weeks after the period indicated in the opening
of this story.
"I feel as if I would like to go. A social evening, now and then, I
find pleasant, and I have no doubt it is useful to me."
"That is right, Walter. I am glad to see you coming out of your
recluse habits. You want the polish and ease that social life will
give you."
"I feel that, Wilton. But I fear I am too old now to have all the
rough corners knocked off, and worn smooth."
"O, don't despair. You'll make a ladies' man after awhile, if you
persevere, and become more particular in your dress. But, to change
the subject, a little, tell me what you think of Cara Linton? Her
father is worth a plum, and she is just the showy, brilliant woman,
of which a man like me ought to be proud of."
"As you ask me, Charles, I must reply candidly. I would think her a
dear bargain with all her father's money thrown in with her; and as
to your other reasons for thinking of her as a wife, I consider
them, to speak plainly, as I always do to you, despicable!"
"And why so, Mr. Philosopher?"
"A wife should be chosen from much higher considerations than these.
What do you want with a brilliant, showy wife? You marry, or ought
to marry, a companion for yourself--not a woman for the world to
admire."
"You are too matter-of-fact, by half, Walter. Your common sense
ideas, as you call them, will keep you grubbing in a mole hill all
your life.
"I should like to see the woman _you_ would choose for a wife!"
"I wish you had a few of these common sense ideas you despise so
much. I am afraid, Charles, that the time is not very distant when
you will stand sadly in need of them."
"Don't trouble yourself, Walter. I'll take care of number one. Let
me alone for that. But, I should like to know your serious
objections to Cara? You sweep her aside with one wave of your hand,
as if she were too insignificant to be thought of for a moment."
"I said that _I_ should consider her a dear bargain, and so I
would--for she would not suit me at all."
"Ah, there I believe you. But come, let me hear why she would not
suit you."
"Because she has no correct and common sense estimation of life and
its relations. She is full of poetry and romance, and fashion, and
show, and 'all that kind of thing;' none of which, without a great
deal of the salt of common sense, would suit me."
"Common sense! Common sense! Common sense! That is your hobby.
Verily, Walter, you are a monomaniac on the subject of common sense;
but, as for me, I will leave common sense to common people. I go in
for uncommon sense."
"The poorest and most unprofitable sense of all, let me tell you.
And one of these days you will discover it to be so."
"It is no use for us to compare our philosophical notes, I see
plainly enough," Wilton responded. "We shall never view things in
the same light. You are not the man of the world you should be,
Walter. Men of half your merit will eclipse you, winning opulence
and distinction--while you, with your common sense notions, will be
plodding on at a snail's pace. You are behind the age, and a
stranger to its powerful, onward impulses."
"And ever do I desire to remain behind the age, Wilton, if mere
pretension and show be its ruling and impulsive spirit."
"The old fashioned way of attaining eminence," Charles Wilton
replied, assuming an attitude and speaking out truly the thoughts
that were in his mind; "by plodding on with the emmet's patience,
and storing up knowledge, grain by grain, brings not the hoped for
reward, now. You must startle and surprise. The brilliant meteor
attracts a thousand times more attention, than the brightest star
that shines in the firmament."
"You are trifling, Charles."
"Never was more in earnest in my life. I have made up my mind to
succeed; to be known and envied. And to gain the position of
eminence I desire, I mean to take the surest way. The world _will_
be deceived, and, therefore, they who would succeed must throw dust
in people's eyes."
"Or, in other words, deceive them by pretension. Charles, let me
warn you against any such unmanly, and, I must say, dishonest
course. Be true to yourself and true to principle."
"I shall certainly be true to myself, Walter. For what pray do we
toil over dry and musty law books in a confined office, months and
years, if not to gain the power of rising in the world? I have
served my dreary apprenticeship--I have learnt the art and mystery,
and now for the best and most certain mode of applying it."
"But, remember your responsibility to society. Your----"
"Nonsense! What do I, or what does any one else care about society?
My motto is, Every one for himself, and the deuce take the hindmost.
And that's the motto of the whole world."
"Not of the whole world, Charles."
"Yes, of the whole world, with, perhaps, the single, strange
exception of Walter Gray. And he will be flung to the wall, and soon
forgotten, I fear."
"You jest on a serious subject, Charles."
"I tell you, Walter, I am in earnest," Wilton replied with emphasis.
"He that would be ahead, must get ahead in the best way possible.
But I cannot linger here. It is now nearly night; and it will take
me full two hours to prepare myself to meet Miss Cara Linton. I must
make a captive of the dashing maiden this very evening." And so
saying, he turned, and left the office.
That evening, amid a gay and fashionable assemblage at Mrs.
Merton's, was to be seen the showy Charles Wilton, with his easy,
and even elegant manners, attracting almost as much attention as his
vain heart could desire. And the quiet, sensible Walter Gray was
there also, looking upon all things with a calm, philosophic mien.
"Your friend Mr. Wilton is quite the centre of attraction for the
young ladies, this evening," remarked Jane Emory, who was leaning
upon the arm of Walter Gray, and listening with an interest she
scarcely dared confess to herself, to his occasional remarks, that
indicated a mind active with true and healthful thought.
"And he seems to enjoy it," replied Walter, with a pleasant tone and
smile.
"Almost too much so, it seems to me, for a man," his companion said,
though with nothing censorious in her manner. She merely expressed a
sentiment without showing that it excited unkind feelings.
"Or for a woman, either," was the quick response.
"True. But if pleased with attentions, and even admiration may we
not be excused?"
"O, certainly. We may all be excused for our weaknesses; still they
are weaknesses, after all."
"And therefore should not be encouraged."
"Certainly not. We should be governed by some higher end than the
mere love of admiration--even admiration for good qualities."
"I admit the truth of what you say, and yet, the state is one to
which I have not yet attained."
Walter Gray turned a look full of tender interest upon the maiden by
his side, as she ceased speaking, and said in a tone that had in it
much of tenderness,
"You express, Miss Emory, but the feeling which every one has who
truly desires the attainment of true excellence of character. We
have not this excellence, naturally, but it is within the compass of
effort. Like you, I have had to regret the weaknesses and
deficiencies of my own character. But, in self-government, as in
everything else, my motto is, Persevere to the end. The same motto,
or the same rule of action, clothed in other words, perhaps, I
trust--nay, I am sure, rules in your mind."
For a few moments Jane did not reply. She feared to utter any form
of words that would mislead. At length she said, modestly,
"I try to subdue in me what is evil, or that which seems to me to
act in opposition to good principles."
Before Walter Gray, pleased with the answer, could frame in his mind
a fitting reply, Charles Wilton, with Cara Linton on his arm, was
thrown in front of them.
"Has Walter been edifying you with one of the Psalms of David, Miss
Emory?" said Wilton, gaily. "One would think so from his solemn
face, and the demure, thoughtful expression of yours."
Neither Walter nor his fair companion were what is called
quick-witted; and both were so checked in their thoughts and
feelings that neither could, on the moment, fitly reply.
"O, I see how it is," the gay young man continued. "He has been
reading you some of his moral homilies, and you are tired to death.
Well, you must bear with him, Miss Emory, he will learn better after
awhile." And the young man and his thoughtless companion turned
laughing away.
For a few moments the disturbed thoughts of Walter and his fair
friend, trembled upon the surface of their feelings, and then all
was again as tranquil as the bosom of a quiet lake.
Enough has now been said, to give a fair idea of the ends which the
two young men, we have introduced, set before them upon entering
life. Let us now proceed to trace the effects of these ends;
effects, which, as a necessary consequence, involved others as much
as themselves.