We have entered thus minutely into the details of our hero's dream,
because it was the climax to a long series of day-dreams, in which he
had indulged ever since the discovery of gold in California.
Edward Sinton was a youth of eighteen at the time of which we write, and
an orphan. He was tall, strong, broad-shouldered, fair-haired,
blue-eyed, Roman-nosed, and gentle as a lamb. This last statement may
perhaps appear inconsistent with the fact that, during the whole course
of his school-life, he had a pitched battle every week--sometimes two or
three in the week. Ned never began a fight, and, indeed, did not like
fighting. But some big boys _will_ domineer over little ones, and Ned
would not be domineered over; consequently he had to be thrashed. He
was possessed, even in boyhood, of an amount of physical courage that
would have sufficed for any two ordinary men. He did not boast. He did
not quarrel. He never struck the first blow, but, if twenty boys had
attacked him, he would have tried to fight them all. He never
tyrannised over small boys. It was not his nature to do so; but he was
not perfect, any more than you are, dear reader. He sometimes punched
small boys' heads when they worried him, though he never did so without
repenting of it, and doing them a kindness afterwards in order to make
up. He was very thoughtless, too, and very careless; nevertheless he
was fond of books--specially of books of adventure--and studied these
like a hero--as he was.
Boys of his own size, or even a good deal bigger, never fought with Ned
Sinton. They knew better than that; but they adored him, in some cases
envied him, and in all cases trusted and followed him. It was only
_very_ big boys who fought with him, and all they got by it was a good
deal of hard pummelling before they floored their little adversary, and
a good deal of jeering from their comrades for fighting a small boy.
From one cause or another, Ned's visage was generally scratched, often
cut, frequently swelled, and almost always black and blue.
But as Ned grew older, the occasions for fighting became less frequent;
his naturally amiable disposition improved, (partly owing, no doubt, to
the care of his uncle, who was, in every sense of the term, a good old
man,) and when he attained the age of fifteen and went to college, and
was called "Sinton," instead of "Ned," his fighting days were over. No
man in his senses would have ventured to attack that strapping youth
with the soft blue eyes, the fair hair, the prominent nose, and the firm
but smiling lips, or, if he had, he would have had to count on an hour's
extremely hard work, whether the fortune of war went for or against him.
When Ned had been three years at college, his uncle hinted that it was
time to think of a profession, and suggested that as he was a first-rate
mathematician, and had been fond of mechanics from his childhood, he
should turn an engineer. Ned would probably have agreed to this
cheerfully, had not a thirst for adventure been created by the stirring
accounts which had begun to arrive at this time from the
recently-discovered gold-fields of California. His enthusiastic spirit
was stirred, not so much by the prospect of making a large fortune
suddenly by the finding of a huge nugget--although that was a very
pleasant idea--as by the hope of meeting with wild adventures in that
imperfectly-known and distant land. And the effect of such dreams was
to render the idea of sitting down to an engineer's desk, or in a
mercantile counting-room, extremely distasteful.
Thus it came to pass that Edward Sinton felt indisposed to business, and
disposed to indulge in golden visions.
When he entered the breakfast-parlour, his mind was still full of his
curious dream.
"Come along, my lad," cried Mr Shirley, laying down the Bible, and
removing his spectacles from a pair of eyes that usually twinkled with a
sort of grave humour, but in which there was now an expression of
perplexity; "set to work and get the edge off your appetite, and then
I'll read Moxton's letter."
When Mr Shirley had finished breakfast, Ned was about half done, having
just commenced his third slice of toast. So the old gentleman
complimented his nephew on the strength of his appetite, put on his
spectacles, drew a letter from his pocket, and leaned back in his chair.
"Now, lad, open your ears and consider what I am about to read."
"Go on, uncle, I'm all attention," said Ned, attacking slice number
four.
"This is Moxton's letter. It runs thus--
"`Dear Sir,--I beg to acknowledge receipt of yours of the 5th inst. I
shall be happy to take your nephew on trial, and, if I find him steady,
shall enter into an engagement with him, I need not add that unremitting
application to business is the only road to distinction in the
profession he is desirous of adopting. Let him call at my office
to-morrow between ten and twelve.--Yours very truly, Daniel Moxton.'"
"Is that all?" inquired Ned, drawing his chair towards the fire, into
which he gazed contemplatively.
Mr Shirley looked at his nephew over the top of his spectacles, and
said--
"That's all."
"It's very short," remarked Ned.
"But to the point," rejoined his uncle. "Now, boy, I see that you don't
relish the idea, and I must say that I would rather that you became an
engineer than a lawyer; but then, lad, situations are difficult to get
now-a-days, and, after all, you might do worse than become a lawyer. To
be sure, I have no great love for the cloth, Ned; but the ladder reaches
very high. The foot is crowded with a struggling mass of aspirants,
many of whom are of very questionable character, but the top reaches to
one of the highest positions in the empire. You might become the Lord
High Chancellor at last, who knows! But seriously, I think you should
accept this offer. Moxton is a grave, stern man, but a sterling fellow
for all that, and in good practice. Now, what do you think!"
"Well, uncle," replied Ned, "I've never concealed my thoughts from you
since the day you took me by the hand, eleven years ago, and brought me
to live under your roof; and I'll not begin to dissemble now. The plain
truth is, that I don't like it at all."
"Stop, now," cried Mr Shirley, with a grieved expression of
countenance; "don't be hasty in forming your opinion. Besides, my boy,
you ought to be more ready to take my advice, even although it be not
altogether palatable."
"My dear uncle, you quite misunderstand me. I only tell you what I
_think_ about the proposal. As to taking your advice, I fully intend to
do that whether I like it or not; but I think, if you will listen to me
for a few minutes, you will change your mind in regard to this matter.
You know that I am very fond of travelling, and that I dislike the idea
of taking up my abode on the top of a three-legged stool, either as a
lawyer's or a merchant's clerk. Well, unless a man likes his
profession, and goes at it with a will, he cannot hope to succeed, so
that I have no prospect of getting on, I fear, in the line you wish me
to adopt. Besides, there are plenty of poor fellows out of work, who
love sitting still from nine a.m. to ten p.m., and whose bread I would
be taking out of their mouths by devoting myself to the legal
profession, and--"