Merrily blazed the wood fire in the huge old chimney of the large parlor
in which we were accustomed to assemble in the evening, at Donaldson
Manor, and its light was thrown upon faces bright with good-humored
merriment, yet not without some touch of deeper and more earnest
feeling. That party would of itself have made an interesting picture.
There was Col. Donaldson, tall, gaunt, his figure slightly bent, yet
evincing no feebleness, his curling snow-white locks, his broad bold
forehead, and shaggy brows overhanging eyes beaming with kindness.
Beside him sat Mrs. Donaldson, still beautiful in her green old age. Her
face was usually pale, yet her clear complexion, and the bright eyes
that looked out from beneath the rich Valenciennes border of her cap,
redeemed it from the appearance of ill health. Her form, stately yet
inclining to _embonpoint_, was shown to advantage by the soft folds of
the rich and glossy satin dress which ordinarily, at mid-day, took the
place in summer of her cambric morning-dress, and in winter of her
cashmere _robe de chambre_. Mrs. Donaldson has a piece of fancy netting
which she reserves for her evening work, because, she says, it does not
make much demand upon her eyes. This the mischievous and privileged
Annie calls "Penelope's Web," declaring, that whatever is done on it in
the evening is undone the next morning. Around the table, on which the
brightest lights were placed for the convenience of those who would
read or sew, clustered the two married daughters of the house--who
always return to their "_home_," as they still continue to call
Donaldson Manor, for the Christmas holidays--Annie, Mr. Arlington, and
myself. Miss Donaldson, the eldest daughter of my worthy friends, is the
housekeeper of the family, and usually sits quietly beside her mother,
somewhat fatigued probably by the active employments of her day. The two
sons of Col. Donaldson, the elder of whom is only twenty-three, his
sons-in-law, and his grandson, Robert Dudley, a fine lad of twelve, give
animation to the scene by moving hither and thither, now joining our
group at the table, now discussing in a corner the amusements of
to-morrow, and now entertaining us with a graphic account of to-day's
adventures, of the sleighs upset, or the skating-matches won.
Such was the party assembled little more than a week before Christmas
the last year, when Annie called upon Mr. Arlington and myself to redeem
the pledges we had given, and surrender our portfolios to her. Some
slight contention arose between us on the question who should first
contribute to the entertainment of the company; Mr. Arlington exclaiming
"_Place aux Dames_," and I contending that there was great want of
chivalry in thus putting a woman into the front of the battle. This
little dispute was terminated by the proposal that Annie having been
blindfolded to secure impartial justice, the two portfolios should be
placed on the table, and she should choose, not only from which of them
our entertainment should be drawn, but the very subject that should
furnish it. Mr. Arlington vehemently applauded this proposal, and then
urged that he must himself tie the handkerchief, as no one else, he
feared, would make it an effectual blind. Annie submitted to his demand,
though she professed to feel great indignation at his implied doubt of
her honesty. No one else, we believe, would have taken so much time for
the disposal of this screen, or been so careful in the arrangement of
the bands of hair over which, or through which, the handkerchief was
passed; and the touch of no other hand, perhaps, would have called up so
bright a color to the cheeks, and even to the brow, of our sweet Annie.
When permitted to exercise her office, Annie, to my great pleasure,
without an instant's hesitation, while a mischievous little smile played
at the corners of her mouth, placed her hand on Mr. Arlington's
portfolio, and drew from it a paper, which, on being exhibited, was
found to contain the pencilled outline of many heads grouped together in
various positions, some being apparently elevated considerably above the
others.
"Ah, Miss Annie!" exclaimed Mr. Arlington, with considerable
satisfaction apparent in his voice and manner, "you must try again, and
I think I must trouble you, ladies, for another handkerchief. This seems
to me to have been scarcely thick enough."
"I appeal to the company," cried Annie, "whether this is in accordance
with Mr. Arlington's engagement. Was he not to accept any thing I should
draw from his portfolio as the foundation of his sketch?"
"Ay, ay," was responded from every part of the room.
"But pray, my good friends," persisted Mr. Arlington, "observe the
impossibility of compliance with your demand. How can I possibly hope to
entertain you by any thing based upon that memento of an idle hour in
court, which I should long ago have destroyed, had I not fancied that I
could detect in those sketchy outlines--those mere profiles--very
accurate likenesses of the heads for which they were taken?"
"Those heads look as though they might have histories attached to them,"
said Annie, as she bent to examine them more narrowly.
"Histories indeed they have," said Mr. Arlington.
"Give them to us," suggested Col. Donaldson.
"You have them already. These are all men whose histories are as well
known to the public as to their own families. There is the elder K----,
at once so simple in heart and so acute in mind. Cannot you read both in
his face? There is his son; and there is D. B. O----, and O. H----, and
G----, and J----. What can I tell you of any of them that you do not
know already?"
"Who are these?" asked Annie, pointing to two heads, placed somewhat
aloof from the rest, and near each other. "That older face is so
benevolent in its expression, and the younger has so noble a
physiognomy, and looks with such reverence on his companion, that I am
persuaded they have a history beyond that which belongs to the world. Is
it not so?"
"It is. Those are Mr. Cavendish and Herbert Latimer. They have a
history, and I will give it you if you desire it, though, thus
impromptu, I must do it very imperfectly I fear."
"No apologies," said Col. Donaldson. "Begin, and do your best; no one
can do more."
"Than _my_ best," said Mr. Arlington, with a smile, "thank you. My
narrative will have at least one recommendation--truth--as I have
received its incidents from Latimer himself."
Without further preliminary, Mr. Arlington commenced the relation of the
following circumstances, which he has since written out, by Annie's
request, at somewhat greater length for insertion here, giving it the
title of
THE MAIN CHANCE.
Herbert Latimer was only twenty when, having passed the usual
examination, he was admitted, by a special act of the legislative
assembly of his native State, to practise at the bar. Young as he was,
he had already experienced some of the severest vicissitudes of life.
His father had been a bold, and for many years a successful merchant,
and the young Herbert, his only child, had been born and nurtured in the
lap of wealth and luxury. He was only sixteen--a boy--but a boy full of
the noble aspirations and lofty hopes that make manhood honorable, when
his father died. Mr. Latimer's last illness had been probably rendered
fatal by the intense anxiety of mind he endured while awaiting
intelligence of the result of a mercantile operation, on which, contrary
to the cautious habits of his earlier years, he had risked well nigh all
he possessed. He did not live to learn that it had completely failed,
and that his wife and child were left with what would have seemed to him
the merest pittance for their support.
The character and talents of young Latimer were well known to his
father's friends, and more than one among them offered him a clerkship
on what could not but be considered as very advantageous terms. To these
offers Herbert listened with painful indecision. For himself, he would
have suffered cheerfully any privation, rather than relinquish the
career which his inclinations had prompted, and with which were
connected all his glowing visions of the future--but his mother--had he
a right to refuse what would enable her to preserve all her accustomed
elegances and indulgences?
"You must be aware, Master Latimer," said he who had made him the most
liberal offers, and who saw him hesitating on their acceptance, "you
must be aware that only my friendship for your father could induce me to
offer such terms to so young a man, howsoever capable. Three hundred
dollars this year, five hundred the next, if you give satisfaction in
the performance of your duties, a thousand dollars after that till you
are of age, and then a share in the business equal to one-fourth of its
profits--these are terms, sir, which I would offer to no one else. Your
father was a friend to me, sir, and I would be a friend to his son."
"I feel your kindness and liberality, sir."
"And yet you hesitate?"
"Will you permit me, sir, to ask till to-morrow for consideration? I
must consult my mother."
"That is right, young man; that is right. She knows something of life,
and will, I doubt not, advise you to close with so unexceptionable an
offer."
"Whatever she may advise, sir, be assured I will do."
"I have no doubt then, sir, that I shall see you to-morrow prepared to
take your place in my store. Good morning."
Assuming as cheerful an air as he could, Herbert went from this
interview to his mother's sitting room. Mrs. Latimer raised her eyes to
his as he entered, and reading with a mother's quick perception the
disturbance of his mind, she asked him in a tone of alarm, "What is the
matter, Herbert?"
"Only a very pleasant matter, mother," said Herbert, with forced
cheerfulness, which he endeavored to preserve while relating the offer
just received.
"And would you relinquish the study of the law, Herbert?" inquired Mrs.
Latimer.
"Not if I could help it, mother; but you know Mr. Woodleigh told you
that five hundred dollars a year was the utmost that he could hope to
save for you. If I study law, it must be several years before I can add
any thing to this sum--I may even be compelled----" The features of
Herbert worked, tears rushed to his eyes, and he turned away, unable to
speak the thought that distressed him.
"You speak of what can be saved for _me_, Herbert--of what _you_ may be
compelled to do. Do you suppose that we can have separate interests in
this question?--are not your hopes my hopes--will not your success, your
triumph, be mine too? The only consideration for us, it seems to me, is
whether the profession you have chosen and the prospects open to you in
it, are worth some present sacrifice."
"They are worth every sacrifice on my part--but you, mother----"
"Have no separate interest from my child--I have shared all your hopes,
all your aspirations, Herbert, and it would cost me less to live on
bread and water, to dress coarsely, and lodge hardly for the next five
years, than to yield my anticipations of your future success."
Others had felt _for_ Herbert, and had offered to aid him, and he had
turned from them with a deeper sense of his need and diminished
confidence in his own powers--his mother felt _with_ him, and he was
cheered and strengthened. The offers of the friendly merchant were
gratefully declined. By the sale of her jewels, Mrs. Latimer obtained
the sum necessary to meet the expenses incident to her son's first
entrance on his professional studies. She then appropriated three
hundred dollars of their little income to his support in the city, and
withdrew herself to the country, where, she said, the remaining two
hundred would supply all her wants. When Herbert would have remonstrated
against these arrangements, she reminded him that they were intended to
accomplish her own wishes no less than his. He ceased to remonstrate,
but he did what was better--he acted--and the very first year, by
self-denying economy and industry, he was enabled to return to her fifty
dollars of the amount she had allotted to him. The second year he did
better, and the third year Mrs. Latimer was able to return to the city
and board at the same house with her son. It was only by the joy she
expressed at their re-union that Herbert learned how painful the
separation had been to her. She would not waste his strength and her own
in vain lamentation over a necessary evil. Four years sufficed to
prepare Herbert Latimer for his profession, and through the influence of
some of his mother's early friends, exerted at her earnest request, the
legislative act which permitted his entrance on its duties, was passed.
The knowledge of his circumstances had excited a warm interest for him
in many minds, and they who heard his name for the first time, when he
stood before them for examination, could not but feel prepossessed in
favor of the youth, on whose bold brow deep and lofty thoughts had left
their impress, and in whose grave, earnest eyes the spirit seer might
have read the history of a life of endurance and silent struggle. All
were interested in him--all evinced that interest by gentle courtesy of
manner--and almost all seemed desirous to make his examination as light
as possible--all save one--one usually as remarkable for his indulgence
to young aspirants, as for the legal acumen and extensive knowledge,
which had won for him a large share of the profits and honors of his
profession. His associates now wondered to find him so rigidly exact in
his trial of young Latimer's acquirements.
"You were very severe on our young tyro to-day," said a brother lawyer,
and one on whom early associations and similarity of pursuits, rather
than of tastes, had conferred the privileges of a friend on Mr.
Cavendish, as they walked together from the court-house.
"I saw that he did not need indulgence, and I gave him an opportunity of
proving to others that he did not--but I had another and more selfish
reason for my rigid test of his powers."
Mr. Cavendish spoke smilingly, and his friend was emboldened to
ask--"And pray what selfish motive could you have for it!"
"I wished to see whether he would suit me as a partner."
"A partner!"
"Yes--when a man has lived for half a century, he begins to think that
he may possibly grow old some day, and I would provide myself with a
young partner, who may take the laboring oar in my business when age
compels me to lay it aside."
"All that may do very well--I have some thought of doing the same
myself; but I shall look out for a young man who is well connected.
Connections do a great deal for us, you know, and we must always have an
eye to the main chance."
"I agree with you, but we should probably differ about what constitutes
the main chance."
"There surely can be no difference about that; it means with every one
the one thing needful."
"And what is, in your opinion, the one thing needful?"
"Why this, to be sure," and Mr. Duffield drew his purse from his pocket,
and shook it playfully.
"A somewhat different use of the term from that which the Bible makes,"
said Mr. Cavendish.
"Oh! let the Bible alone, and let me hear what you think of it."
"Pardon me, I cannot let the Bible alone if I tell you my own opinions,
for from the Bible I learned them."
"It seems a strange book, I must say, to consult for a law of
partnerships."
"Had you a better acquaintance with it, Duffield, you would learn that
its principles apply to all the relations of life. The difference
between us is, that when you estimate man's chief object, or as you call
it, his 'main chance,' you take only the present into view, you leave
out of sight altogether the interminable future, with its higher hopes
and deeper interests, and relations of immeasurably greater importance."
"I find it enough for one poor brain to calculate for the present."
"A great deal too much you will find it, if you leave out of your sum
so important an item as the relations of that present to the future.
Depend on it, Duffield, that he makes the most for this life, as well as
for the next, of his time, his talents, and his wealth, who uses them as
God's steward, for the happiness of his fellow-creatures, as well as for
his own."
"And so, for the happiness of your fellow-creatures, you are going to
give away half of the best practice in the State?"
"I am going to do no such thing. In the first place, I did not tell you
that I was going to offer young Latimer an equal division of the profits
of my practice; and for what I may offer him I have already taken care
to ascertain that he can return a full equivalent. His talents need only
a vantage-ground on which to act, and I rejoice to be able to give him
that which my own early experience taught me to value."
"Well--we shall see ten years hence how your rule and mine work. I think
I shall offer a partnership to young Conway--he is already rising in his
profession, and is connected with some of our wealthiest families."
"Very well--we shall see."
Herbert Latimer had nerved himself to endure five, or it might be ten
more years of profitless toil, ere he should gain a position which would
make his talents available for more than the mere essentials of
existence. Let those who have looked on so dreary a prospect--who have
buckled on their armor for such a combat--judge of the grateful emotion
with which he received the generous proposal of Mr. Cavendish. This
proposal, while it gave him at once an opportunity for the exercise of
his powers, secured to him for the first year one-fifth, for the two
following years one-fourth, and after that, if neither partner chose to
withdraw from the connection, one-half of the profits of a business, the
receipts of which had for several years averaged over ten thousand
dollars. Mr. Cavendish soon found that he had done well to trust to the
gratitude of his young partner for inducing the most active exercise of
his powers. Stimulated by the desire to prove himself not unworthy of
such kindness, and to secure his generous friend from any loss, Herbert
never overlooked aught that could advance the interests, nor grew weary
of any task that could lighten the toil of Mr. Cavendish.
"Herbert, you really make me ashamed of myself, you are so constantly
busy that I seem idle in comparison," said Mr. Cavendish, as he prepared
one day to lay by his papers and leave the office at three o'clock.
"Pray put away those musty books, and bring Mrs. Latimer to dine with
us--this is a fête day with us. My daughter, who has been for two months
with her uncle and aunt in Washington, has returned, and I want to
introduce her to Mrs. Latimer."
"My mother will come to you with pleasure, I am sure."
"And you?"
"Will come too, if I possibly can. You dine at five?"
"Yes--and remember punctuality is the soul of dinner as well as of
business. So do not let the charms of Coke upon Lyttleton make you
forget that fair ladies and hungry gentlemen are expecting you." Mr.
Cavendish closed the door with a smiling face, and Herbert Latimer
turned for another hour to his books and papers. At a quarter before
five he stood with his mother in the drawing-room of Mr. Cavendish, and
received his first introduction to one who soon became the star of his
life.
Mary Cavendish was not beautiful--far less could the word pretty have
been applied to her--but she was lovely. All that we most love in woman,
all pure and peaceful thoughts, all sweet and gentle affections, seemed
to beam from her eyes, or to sit throned upon her fair and open brow.
She had enjoyed all the advantages, as it is termed, of a fashionable
education, but the influences of her home had been more powerful than
those of her school, and she remained what nature had made her--a
warm-hearted, truthful, generous, and gentle girl--too ingenuous for the
pretty affectations, too generous for the heartless coquetries which too
often teach us that the _accomplished_ young lady has sacrificed, for
her external refinement, qualities of a nobler stamp and more delicate
beauty. The only daughter among several children, she was an idol in her
home, and every movement of her life seemed impelled by the desire to
repay the wealth of affection that was lavished upon her. It was
impossible to see such a being daily in the intimacy of her home
associations--the sphere in which her gentle spirit shone most
brightly--without loving her; and Herbert soon felt that he loved her,
yet he added in his thoughts "in all honor," and to him it would have
seemed little honorable to attempt to win this priceless treasure from
him to whose generosity he had owed his place in her circle. Mrs.
Latimer, though she did not fear for her son's honor, trembled for his
future peace as she marked the sadness which often stole over him, after
spending an hour in the society of this lovely girl; but Mrs. Latimer
was a wise woman--she knew that speech is to such emotions often as the
lighted match to a magazine, and she kept silence.
For almost a year after his introduction, Herbert continued in daily
intercourse with Mary Cavendish to drink fresh draughts of love, yet so
carefully did he guard his manner, that no suspicion of his warmer
emotions threw a shadow over her friendship, or checked the frankness
with which she unveiled to him the rich treasures of her mind and heart.
It was in the autumn succeeding their first acquaintance that Mr. and
Mrs. Cavendish issued cards for a large party at their house. It would
be too gay a scene for the quiet taste of Mrs. Latimer, but Herbert
would be there, and at the request of Mrs. Cavendish he promised to come
early. The promise was kept. He arrived half an hour at least before
any other guest, bringing with him a bouquet of rare and beautiful
flowers for Mary. As he entered the hall he heard a slight scream from
the parlor beside whose open door he stood. The scream was in a voice to
whose lightest tone his heart responded, and in an instant, he was
beside Mary Cavendish, had clasped her in his arms, and pressing her
closely to his person, was endeavoring to extinguish with his hands the
flames that enveloped her. The evening was cold: there was a fire in the
stove, before which Mary stood arranging some flowers on the
mantel-piece, when the door was opened for him. The sudden rush of air
had wafted her light, floating drapery of gauze and lace into the fire,
and in a moment all was in a blaze. Fortunate was it for her, that under
this light, flimsy drapery, was worn a dress of stouter texture and less
combustible material--a rich satin. After the slight scream which had
brought him to her side, Mary uttered no sound, and with his whole soul
concentrated on action, he had been equally silent till the last spark
was smothered. Then gazing wildly in her pallid face he exclaimed, "In
mercy speak to me! Did I come too late? Are you burned?"
"I scarcely know--I think not," she faltered out. Then, as she made an
effort to withdraw from his arms, added quickly--"no--not at all."
Completely overpowered by the revulsion of feeling which those words
occasioned, Herbert clasped her again in his arms, and fervently
ejaculating, "Thank God!" pressed his lips to her cheek. At that moment,
the voice of Mr. Cavendish was heard in the next room, and breaking from
him, Mary rushed to her astonished father, and burying her face in his
bosom, burst into tears. Aroused to full consciousness by the presence
of another, Herbert stood trembling and dismayed at the remembrance of
his own rashness. Agitated as she was, Mary was compelled to answer her
father's questions, for he seemed wholly unable to speak.
"Latimer, I owe my child's life probably to you. How shall I repay the
debt?" cried Mr. Cavendish, attempting, as he spoke, to clasp Herbert's
hand. He winced at the touch, and a sudden contraction passed over his
face.
"You are burned," said Mr. Cavendish, and would have examined his hand,
but throwing his handkerchief over it, Herbert declared it was not worth
mentioning, though at the same time he confessed that the pain was
sufficient to make him desirous to return home, and have some soothing
application made to it. Mr. Cavendish parted from him with regret, with
earnest charges that he should take care of himself, and equally earnest
hopes that he might be sufficiently relieved to return to them before
the evening was passed; but Mary still lay in her father's arms, with
her face hidden, and noticed Herbert's departure neither by word nor
look.
"I have outraged her delicacy, and she cannot bear even to see me," he
said to himself.
In passing out he accidentally trod on the flowers which he had selected
with such care--"Crushed like my own heart!" he ejaculated mentally.
A fortnight passed before Herbert Latimer could take his accustomed
place in the office of Mr. Cavendish. His hand had been deeply
burned--so deeply that the pain had produced fever. During this period
of suffering, Mr. Cavendish had often visited him, and Mrs. Cavendish
had more than once taken his mother's place at his bedside; but Herbert
found little pleasure in their attentions, for he said to himself, "If
they knew all my presumption, they would be less kind."
His illness passed away, his hand healed, and he resumed his accustomed
avocations; but no invitation, however urgent, could win him again to
the house of Mr. Cavendish. "I have proved my own weakness--I will not
place myself again in the way of temptation," was the language of his
heart. Apologies became awkward. He felt that he must seem to his friend
ungracious if not ungrateful; and one day observing unusual seriousness
in the countenance of Mr. Cavendish on his declining an invitation to
dine with him, he exclaimed, "You look displeased, and I can hardly
wonder at it; but could you know my reason for denying myself the
pleasure of visiting you, I am sure you would think me right."
"Perhaps so; but as I do not know it, you cannot be surprised that your
determined withdrawal from our circle should wound both my feelings and
those of my family."
Herbert covered his eyes with his hand for a moment, and then turning
them with a grave and even sad expression on Mr. Cavendish, said, "I
have declined your invitations only because I could not accept them with
honor: I love your daughter--I have loved her almost from the first hour
of my acquaintance with her."
"And why have you not told me so before, Herbert?" asked Mr. Cavendish,
with no anger in his tones.
"Because I believed myself capable of loving in silence, and while I
wronged no one, I was willing to indulge in the sweet poison of her
society; but a moment of danger to her destroyed my self-control. What
has been may be again--I have learned to distrust myself--I cannot
tamper with temptation, lest I should one day use the position in which
you have placed me, and the advantages which you have bestowed on me, in
endeavoring to win from you a treasure which you may well be reluctant
to yield to me."
"Herbert, I only blame you for not having spoken to me sooner of this."
"I feel now that I should have done so--it was a want of
self-knowledge, the rash confidence of one untried which kept me
silent."
"No, Herbert--it was a want of knowledge of me--of confidence in my
justice--I will not say my kindness. What higher views do you suppose I
can entertain for my daughter, than to make her the wife of one who has
a prospect of obtaining the most distinguished eminence in my own
profession."
"If that prospect be mine, to you I owe it--could I make it a plea for
asking more?"
"You owe what I did for you to the interest and esteem excited by your
own qualities, and all I did has only given you a place for the exercise
of those qualities--I do not know how you will win Mary's forgiveness
for refraining from her society on such slight grounds."
"Dare I hope for your permission to seek that forgiveness?"
"Dare I hope for your company to dinner to-day?"
"Now that you know all, nothing could give so much pleasure--though I
fear----"
"What, fearing again!"
"I fear that Miss Cavendish is very much displeased with me."
"For saving her life?"
"No--not exactly that."
Herbert Latimer did not confide the cause of his fear to Mr. Cavendish,
neither did he suffer it to interfere with his visit on that day. He
went to dinner, but stayed to tea, and long after, and as Mary was his
companion for much, if not all of this time, we presume that her
displeasure could not have been manifested in any very serious manner.
It was about six weeks after this renewal of his visits that Mr.
Duffield meeting his friend Mr. Cavendish one morning, accosted him
with, "I hear that your daughter is going to be married to young
Latimer--is it true?"
"Yes, and I heartily wish the affair were over, for I hope Herbert will
recover his senses when he is actually married, as now I am obliged to
attend to his business and my own too."
"Not much profit in that, I should think--I manage somewhat
differently."
"Did you not tell me that you intended forming a partnership with young
Conway?"
"Yes--but before I had done so, I heard that Sprague, who is as well
connected as Conway, and a great deal more industrious, would go into
business with me on less exacting terms. He has been associated with me
for some time. He does all the drudgery of the business, and is content
with one-eighth of the profits for five years."
"Those are low terms--with talent and connection too, I should think he
could have done better."
"Why, you see his connections were of little use to him while he was
alone, for he was so desperately poor that they did not like to
acknowledge him, but I knew as soon as he began to rise they would all
notice him, and so it has proved. I have no doubt I shall gain through
them more than the thousand dollars a-year which Sprague will draw,
while I shall be saved every thing that is really disagreeable or
laborious in my practice; and you give two thousand dollars a-year, and
are to have your daughter married to a gentleman who leaves all the
business on your hands--which of us, do you think, has attended most
successfully to the main chance?"
"According to my views of the main chance, it is not to be determined by
such data--but even in your own view we may have a very different
account to render nine years hence?"
"Ah, well! Ten years from the day that Latimer passed we will compare
notes."
Ten years are long in prospective, but it seemed to both parties only a
short time when the appointed anniversary came. On that day Mr.
Cavendish invited several of his brother lawyers, and amongst them Mr.
Duffield, to dinner. Herbert Latimer, his wife and mother, his two noble
boys, and though last, not least in importance, if in size, his little
girl, her grandfather's especial pet, were of the party. It was a well
assorted party. The guests found good cheer and social converse--the
cherished friends of the house, food for deeper and higher enjoyment
When the ladies had withdrawn, calling Herbert Latimer to the head of
the table, Mr. Cavendish seated himself beside Mr. Duffield.
"Well, Duffield!" he exclaimed, "do you know that it is ten years to-day
since Herbert Latimer stood before us for examination?"
"Ah!" ejaculated Mr. Duffield, in the tone of one who did not care to
pursue the subject further.
"You remember our agreement--are you still willing to make our success
in that time a test of the truth of our respective principles?"
"It may afford a more conclusive proof of your better judgment in the
selection of an associate."
"Sprague stands very high in his profession."
"Yes--I knew he would, for he has talent and connection--therefore I
chose him; but he left me just at the time these were beginning to be
available, as soon as the five years for which our agreement was made,
had expired."
"What occasioned his leaving you?"
"Why, Duval offered him better terms than I had done--I should not have
cared so much for his going, but he carried off many of my clients, with
whom he had ingratiated himself during his connection with me. My
practice has scarcely recovered yet from the injury which he did it."
"He seems to have acted on your own principle, and to have considered
the main chance to mean the most money."
"And do you suppose Latimer would have remained with you if he could
have made better terms for himself?"
"I know that during my long illness he was offered double what he was
receiving, or could then hope ever to receive from my practice, and his
reply to the offer was that the bonds forged by gratitude and affection,
no interest could break. He has now built up the business again to far
more than it was when he joined me--I know that I owe most of it to him,
yet he will not listen to any advice to dissolve our partnership.
Gentlemen," he said, "I have a sentiment to propose to you, which you
may drink in wine or water as you like best. 'THE MAIN CHANCE--always
best secured by obedience to the golden rule--as ye would that others
should do unto you, do ye even so to them.'"