I would not enter on my list of friends,
(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,
Yet wanting sensibility), the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
COWPER.
"Nero!" Crushed, baffled, blinded, and, like Samson, shorn of his
strength, prostrate in his cage lay the great tawny monarch of the
forest. Heedless of the curious crowds passing to and fro, he seemed
deaf as well as blind to everything going on around him. Perhaps he was
dreaming of the jungle. Perhaps he was longing to roam the wilds once
more in his native strength. Perhaps memories of a happy past even in
captivity stirred him. Perhaps--But what is this? What change has come
o'er the spirit of his dreams? No one has touched him. Apparently,
nothing has happened to arouse him. Only a woman's voice, soft,
caressing, full of love, has uttered the name, "Nero." But there was
magic in the sound. In an instant the huge animal was on his feet.
Quivering with emotion, he rushed to the side of the cage from whence
the voice proceeded, and threw himself against the bars with such
violence that he fell back half stunned. As he fell he uttered the
peculiar note of welcome with which, in happier days, he was wont to
greet his loved and long-lost mistress.
Touched with the devotion of her dumb friend, Rosa Bonheur--for it was
she who had spoken--released from bondage the faithful animal whom,
years before, she had bought from a keeper who declared him untamable.
"In order to secure the affections of wild animals," said the
great-hearted painter, "you must love them," and by love she had
subdued the ferocious beast whom even the lion-tamers had given up as
hopeless.
When about to travel for two years, it being impossible to take her pet
with her, Mademoiselle Bonheur sold him to the Jardin des Plantes in
Paris, where she found him on her return, totally blind, owing, it is
said, to the ill treatment of the attendant.
Grieved beyond measure at the condition of poor Nero, she had him
removed to her chateau, where everything was done for his comfort that
love could suggest. Often in her leisure moments, when she had laid
aside her painting garb, the artist would have him taken to her studio,
where she would play with and fondle the enormous creature as if he
were a kitten. And there, at last, he died happily, his great paws
clinging fondly to the mistress who loved him so well, his sightless
eyes turned upon her to the end, as if beseeching that she would not
again leave him.
"THERE IS ROOM ENOUGH AT THE TOP"
These words ere uttered many years ago by a youth who had no other
means by which to reach the top than work and will. They have since
become the watchword of every poor boy whose ambition is backed by
energy and a determination to make the most possible of himself.
The occasion on which Daniel Webster first said "There is room enough
at the top," marked the turning point in his life. Had he not been
animated at that time by an ambition to make the most of his talents,
he might have remained forever in obscurity.
His father and other friends had secured for him the position of Clerk
of the Court of Common Pleas, of Hillsborough County, New Hampshire.
Daniel was studying law in the office of Mr. Christopher Gore, a
distinguished Boston lawyer, and was about ready for his admission to
the bar. The position offered him was worth fifteen hundred dollars a
year. This seemed a fortune to the struggling student. He lay awake the
whole night following the day on which he had heard the good news,
planning what he would do for his father and mother, his brother
Ezekiel, and his sisters. Next morning he hurried to the office to tell
Mr. Gore of his good fortune.
"Well, my young friend," said the lawyer, when Daniel had told his
story, "the gentlemen have been very kind to you; I am glad of it. You
must thank them for it. You will write immediately, of course."
Webster explained that, since he must go to New Hampshire immediately,
it would hardly be worth while to write. He could thank his good
friends in person.
"Why," said Mr. Gore in great astonishment, "you don't mean to accept
it, surely!"
The youth's high spirits were damped at once by his senior's manner.
"The bare idea of not accepting it," he says, "so astounded me that I
should have been glad to have found any hole to have hid myself in."
"Well," said Mr. Gore, seeing the disappointment his words had caused,
"you must decide for yourself; but come, sit down and let us talk it
over. The office is worth fifteen hundred a year, you say. Well, it
never will be any more. Ten to one, if they find out it is so much, the
fees will be reduced. You are appointed now by friends; others may fill
their places who are of different opinions, and who have friends of
their own to provide for. You will lose your place; or, supposing you
to retain it, what are you but a clerk for life? And your prospects as
a lawyer are good enough to encourage you to go on. Go on, and finish
your studies; you are poor enough, but there are greater evils than
poverty; live on no man's favor; what bread you do eat, let it be the
bread of independence; pursue your profession, make yourself useful to
your friends and a little formidable to your enemies, and you have
nothing to fear."
How fortunate Webster as to have at this point in his career so wise
and far-seeing a friend! His father, who had made many sacrifices to
educate his boys, saw in the proffered clerkship a great opening for
his favorite, Daniel. He never dreamed of the future that was to make
him one of America's greatest orators and statesmen. At first he could
not believe that the position which he had worked so hard to obtain was
to be rejected.
"Daniel, Daniel," he said sorrowfully, "don't you mean to take that
office?"
"No, indeed, father," was the reply, "I hope I can do much better than
that. I mean to use my tongue in the courts, not my pen; to be an
actor, not a register of other men's acts. I hope yet, sir, to astonish
your honor in your own court by my professional attainments."
Judge Webster made no attempt to conceal his disappointment. He even
tried to discourage his son by reminding him that there were already
more lawyers than the country needed.
It was in answer to this objection that Daniel used the famous and
oft-quoted words,--"There is room enough at the top."
"Well, my son," said the fond but doubting father, "your mother has
always said you would come to something or nothing. She was not sure
which; I think you are now about settling that doubt for her."
It was very painful to Daniel to disappoint his father, but his purpose
was fixed, and nothing now could change it. He knew he had turned his
face in the right direction, and though when he commenced to practice
law he earned only about five or six hundred dollars a year, he never
regretted the decision he had made. He aimed high, and he had his
reward.