_HELENA._
[Illustration: Initial]
In the school of philosophy where the doctrines of Socrates and Plato were
taught with an eloquence equal to their own, I met a young Greek resident
of the city by the name of Demetrius. He was the son of Calisthenes, a
very wealthy merchant, who, contrary to the usual custom, attempted to
rival in his private residence the magnificent art which was bestowed only
on the public works. He was ambitious that his only son should enjoy more
than mercantile honors, and arrive at greater distinction than that which
wealth alone could bestow.
As usual in such cases, his paternal aspirations were doomed to
disappointment. Nine-tenths of the genius of the world comes from that
great middle class which knows neither riches nor poverty. The possession
of great wealth is generally a hinderance to intellectual or spiritual
advancement. Demetrius was a handsome, amiable fellow, of mediocre talent,
slothful by nature and indulgence, and more ambitious of social success
than of a front place in the class of philosophy.
I know not how it happened, but he had attached himself more strongly to
me than I to him. I attained the entrée of his father’s house by a lucky
accident. While we were rowing in the harbor one day, our little vessel
was capsized, and it was only by my desperate exertions in his behalf that
Demetrius was saved from drowning. Gratitude did more for the deliverer
than friendship had done for the fellow-student: it opened the doors of
the princely mansion, and showed me the household gods.