There is a strange and terrible difference in this world between the
look forward and the look back. Like the cloud that went before the
hosts of the children of Israel, when they fled from the land of Egypt,
an inscrutable fate lies before us, hiding with a dark and shadowy veil
the course of every future day: while behind us the wide-spread past is
open to the view; and as we mark the steps that we have taken, we can
assign to each its due portion of pain, anxiety, regret, remorse,
repose, or joy. Yet how short seems the past to the recollection of each
mortal man! how long, and wide, and interminable, is the cloudy future
to the gaze of imagination!
Many years had passed since the eventful night recorded in our last
chapter; and to the boy, Wilton Brown, all that memory comprised seemed
but one brief short hour out of life's long day.
The Earl of Sunbury had fulfilled what he had undertaken towards him,
exactly and conscientiously. He was a man, as we have shown, of kindly
feelings, and of a generous heart: although he was a politician, a
courtier, and a man of the world. He might, too--had not some severe
checks and disappointments crushed many of the gentler feelings of his
heart--he might, too, have been a man of warm and enthusiastic
affections. As it was, however, he guarded himself in general very
carefully against such feelings; acted liberally and kindly; but never
promised more, or did more, than prudence consented to, were the
temptation ever so strong.
He had promised Lennard Sherbrooke that he would take the boy, and give
him a good education, would befriend him in life, and do all that he
could to serve him. He kept his word, as we have said, to the letter.
During the first six weeks, after he had engaged in this task, he saw
the boy often in the course of every day; grew extremely fond of him;
took him to London, when his own days of repose in the country were
past; and solaced many an hour, when he returned home fatigued with
business, by listening to the boy's prattle, and by playing with, as it
were, the fresh and intelligent mind of the young being now dependent
upon him for all things.
It is a false and a mistaken notion altogether, that men of great mind
and intense thought are easily wearied or annoyed by the presence of
children. The man who is wearied with children must always be childish
himself in mind; but, alas! not young in heart. He must be light,
superficial, though perhaps inquiring and intelligent; but neither
gentle in spirit nor fresh in feeling. Such men must always soon become
wearied with children; for very great similarity of thought and of
mind--the paradox is but seeming--is naturally wearisome in another;
while, on the contrary, similarity of feeling and of heart is that bond
which binds our affections together. Where both similarities are
combined, we may be most happy in the society of our counterpart; but
where the link between the hearts is wanting there will always be great
tediousness in great similarity.
Thus the Earl of Sunbury, though, Heaven knows, no man on earth could be
less childish in his keen and calculating thoughts, or in all his
ordinary habits and occupations, yet found a relief, and an enjoyment,
in talking with the boy, in eliciting all his fresh and picturesque
ideas, and in marking the train and course which thought naturally takes
before it is tutored to follow the direction of art. His own heart--for
a man of the world--was very fresh; but still the worldly mind ruled it
when it would; and the moment that he began to find that the boy might
become too much endeared, and too necessary to him, he determined to
deprive himself of the present pleasure, rather than risk the future
inconvenience.
He accordingly determined to send the boy to school, and little Wilton
heard the announcement with pleasure; for though by this time he had
become greatly attached to the Earl, he longed for the society of beings
of the same age and habits as himself. When he was with the Earl he saw
that nobleman was interested with him, but he saw that he was amused
with him too; and in this respect children are very like that noblest of
animals, the dog. Any one who has remarked a dog when people jest with
him, and speak to him mockingly, must have seen that the creature is not
wholly pleased, that he seems as if made to feel a degree of
inferiority. Such also is the case with children; and little Wilton felt
that the Earl was making a sort of playful investigation of his mind,
even while he was jesting with him. I have said felt, because it was
feeling, not thought, that discovered it; and, therefore, though he
loved the Earl notwithstanding all this, he was glad to go where he
heard there were many such young beings as himself.
The Earl did not think him ungrateful on account of the open expression
of his delight. He saw it all, and understood it all; for he had very
few of the smaller selfishnesses, which so frequently blind our eyes to
the most obvious facts which impinge against our own vanities. His was a
high and noble mind, chained and thralled by manifold circumstances and
accidents to the dull pursuits of worldly ambitions. One trait, however,
may display his character: he had practised in regard to the boy a piece
of that high delicacy of feeling of which none but great men are
capable. He had learned and divined, from the short conversation which
had taken place between himself and Lennard Sherbrooke, sufficient in
regard to the boy's unfortunate situation to guide his conduct in
respect to him; and now, even when alone with him in his own
drawing-room or library, he asked no farther questions; he pryed not at
all into what had gone before; and though the youth occasionally
prattled of the wild Irish shores, and the cottage where he had been
brought up, the Earl merely smiled, but gave him no encouragement to say
more.
At length, Wilton Brown went to school; and as the Earl gradually lost a
part of that interest in him which had given prudence the alarm, time
had its effect on Wilton also, drawing one thin airy film after another
over the events of the past, not obliterating them; but, like the effect
of distance upon substantial objects, gathering them together in less
distinct masses, and diminishing them both in size and clearness. When
the time approached for his holidays, which were few and far between, he
was called to the Earl's house, and treated with every degree of
kindness; though with mere boyhood went by boyhood's graces, and the lad
could not be fondled and played with as the child. The Earl never did
anything to make him feel that he was a dependant--no, not for a single
moment; but as the boy's mind expanded, and as a certain degree of the
knowledge of the world was gained from the habits of a public school, he
explained to him, clearly and straight-forwardly, that upon his own
exertions he must rely for wealth, fame, and honour. He told him, that
in the country where he lived, the road to fortune, dignity, and power,
was open to every man; but that road was filled with eager and
unscrupulous competitors, and obstructed in many parts by obstacles
difficult to be surmounted.
"They can be surmounted, Wilton, however," he added; "and with energy,
activity, and determination, that road can be trod, from one end to the
other, within the space of a single life, and leave room for repose at
the end.--You have often seen," he continued, "a gentleman who visits me
here, who rose from a station certainly not higher, or more fortunate
than your own,--who is called, even now, the Great Lord Somers, and
doubtless the same name will remain with him hereafter. He is an example
for all men to follow; and his life offers an encouragement for every
sort of exertion. He rose even from a very humble station of life,
outstripped all competitors, and is now, as you see, in the post of Lord
Keeper, owing no man anything, but all to his own talents and
perseverance. The same may be the case with you, Wilton. All that I can
do, to place you in the way of winning fortune and station for yourself,
I will do most willingly; but in every other respect you must keep in
mind, that you are to be the artisan of your own fortune, and shape your
course accordingly."
Such was the language held towards Wilton Brown by the Earl, upon more
than one occasion; and the boy took what he said to heart, remembered,
pondered it, and after much thought and reflection formed the great and
glorious resolution of winning honour and renown, by every exertion of
his mind and body. It is a resolution that may, perhaps, have often been
taken by those who ultimately have never succeeded in the attempt. It is
a resolution from which some may have been wiled away by pleasure, or
driven by accident. But it is a resolution which no man who afterwards
proved great ever failed to take, ay, and to take early. On the head of
mediocrity: on the petty statesmen who figure throughout two thirds of
the world's history; on the tolerable generals who conduct the ordinary
wars of the world; on the small poets and the small philosophers who
fill up the ages that intervene between great men, fortune and accident
may shower down the highest honours, the greatest power, the most
abundant wealth; but the man who in any pursuit has reached the height
of real greatness, has set out on his career with the resolution of
winning fame in despite of circumstances.
Such was the resolution which was taken, as we have said, by Wilton
Brown, and the effect of that very resolution upon him, as a mere lad,
was to make him thoughtful, studious, and different from any of the
other youths of the school, in habits and manners.
The change was beneficial in many respects, even then. It made him
strive to acquire knowledge of every sort and kind that came within his
reach, and he always succeeded in some degree. It made him cultivate
every talent which he felt that he possessed, and an accurate eye and a
musical ear were not neglected as far as he could obtain instruction. He
not only acquired much knowledge, but also much facility in acquiring;
and his eager and anxious zeal did not pass unnoticed by those who
taught him, so that others contributed to his first success, as well as
his own efforts.
That first success was, perhaps, unexpected by any one else. The period
came, at which he was barely qualified by age to strive in competition
with his schoolfellows, for one of those many excellent opportunities
afforded by the kindness and wisdom of past ages, for obtaining a high
education at one of the universities. He had never himself proposed to
be one of the competitors on this occasion, as there was a year open
before him to pursue his studies, and there were many boys at the school
far older than himself.
The Earl had not an idea that such a thing would take place, as Wilton
himself had always expressed the utmost anxiety to pursue a military
career. He had never, indeed, even pressed him to adopt another pursuit,
although he had pointed out to his protege, that his own influence lay
almost entirely in the political world; and his surprise, therefore, was
very great, when he heard that Wilton, at the suggestion of the head
master, had presented himself for examination on this very first
occasion, and had carried off the highest place from all his
competitors.
On his arrival in London he received him with delight, showered upon him
praises, and fitted him out liberally for his first appearance at the
University.
Here, however, Wilton's first fortune seemed to abandon him. About six
months after his matriculation, he had the grief to hear that the Earl
had been thrown from his horse in hunting, and received various severe
injuries. He hastened to one of his country seats, where that nobleman
had been sojourning for the time, but found him a very different man
from that which he had appeared before. He was not ill enough to need or
to desire nursing and tendance, but he was quite ill enough to be
irritable, impatient, and selfish; for it is a strange fact, that the
very condition which renders us the most dependent on our
fellow-creatures too often renders us likewise indifferent to their
comfort, in our absorbing consideration of our own. Although he could
sit up and walk about, and go forth into his gardens, yet he suffered
great pain, which did not seem to diminish; and a frequent spitting of
blood rendered him impatient and querulous, whenever his lowest words
were not instantly heard and comprehended.
It was a painful lesson to the youth he had brought up; and when the
time for Wilton's return to Oxford arrived, and the Earl, with seeming
satisfaction, put him in mind that it was time to go, the young
gentleman, in truth, felt it a relief from a situation in which he
neither well knew how to satisfy himself, or to satisfy the invalid,
towards whom he was so anxious to show his gratitude.
He returned, then, to the university, where the allowance made him by
the Earl, of two hundred per annum, together with the little income
which a successful competition at school had placed at his disposal,
enabled him to maintain the society of that class with which he had
always associated in life, and to do so with ease to himself; though not
without economy. [Footnote: I think that the same was the college
allowance of the well-known Evelyn.] The Earl had asked him twice, if he
had found the sum enough, and seemed much pleased when Wilton had
replied that it was perfectly so. But from that expression he easily
divined, that had it been otherwise, the Earl might have said nothing
reproachful, but would not have been well satisfied.
Wilton did not mistake the motives of the Earl: he knew him to be
anything but a penurious man; and he had long seen and been aware of the
motives on which that nobleman acted towards him. He knew that it was
with a wish to give him everything that was necessary and appropriate to
the situation in which he was placed, but by no means to encourage
expensive habits, or desires which might unfit him for the first
laborious steps which he was destined to tread in the path of life. He
felt, indeed, that there was an ambitious spirit in his own heart, and
it cost him many a struggle in thought, to regulate its action: to guide
it in the course of all that was good and right, but resolutely to
restrain it from following any other path. "Ambition," he thought, "is
like a falcon, and must be trained to fly only at what game I will. Its
proud spirit must be broken, to bend to this, and to submit to that; to
yield even to imaginary indignities, provided they imply no sacrifice of
real honour, and to strive for no false show, while I am striving for a
greater object."
Thus passed a year, but during that time the Earl's health had been in
no degree improved; and a number of painful events had taken place in
his political course which had left his mind more irritable than before,
while continual suffering had brought upon him a sort of desponding
recklessness, which made him cast behind him altogether those things
which he had previously considered the great objects of existence, and
desire nothing but to quit for ever the scene of political strife, and
pass the rest of his days in peace, if not in comfort.
Such had been the state of his mind when Wilton had last seen him in
London, towards the beginning of the year 1695; but the young gentleman
was somewhat surprised, about a month afterwards, to receive a sudden
summons to visit the Earl in town, coupled with information, that it was
his friend's design immediately to proceed to Italy, on account of his
health. The summons was very unexpected, as we have implied; but the
Earl informed him in his letter that he was going without loss of time;
and as the shortest way of reaching him, Wilton determined to mount his
horse at once, and ride part of the way to London that night. Of his
journey, however, and its results, we will speak in another chapter.