 | CHAPTER IV. A volume from the life of Herbert Barclay |  |
4. CHAPTER IV.
A community that has reached a state
which implies an extensive cultivation of the
resources of human nature, presents much
variety in the characters of the individuals
and classes of individuals produced in its bosom.
The further the advance from barbarism,
the greater will be this variety. Savage
life is same. Its surface has little diversity,
because its depths are not stirred.—
Only a few primitive springs of action are
braced in it, and the motion which these impart,
although vigorous, and differing in degrees
of vigor, is, in each individual, in the
same direction. A tribe of savages differs as
much and in the same manner from a civilized
community, as a prairie with its growth of
variegated culture, where the fertile resources
of the soil, developed by tillage, present that
rich result which capacious nature always
yields to cunning art.
As the numerous and various faculties,—
barely awakened in the savage state,—emerge
into activity, they create a field for their own
operation. The interests and sympathies,
the occupations and pleasures, that multiply
with civilization, while they are the effect of
the enlargement of man's mental capacity, at
the same time afford him, in proportion to
their multiplicity, scope for the employment
of his intellect and the gratification of his
feelings. The numerousness of the sources
whence the craving faculties are solicited, and
the infinite combinations which the number
of the latter and the degrees of their power
admit of, necessarily cause great variety in
the objects of action, in the modifications of
opinion, in the manifestations of feeling, and,
consequently, great diversity in character.—
at the common centre of all human
doings, the mind,—the more numerous and
the longer will be the radii of thought and
deed that proceed from it; and, like the
beams from the sun, the further these stretch,
the wider will be the distance between them,
however, design, for specific ends, may combine
their agency.
In a thriving community like one of our
towns, this effect is conspicuous. A large
American city embraces the great results of
the advanced civilization of the age,—the arts
which minister to comfort and elegance,—the
institutions which, in addition to the provisions
of government, philanthropy and intellectual
enterprise establish for the protection
and progress of society. The tendency to
uniformity produced by the spirit of accumulation,
naturally so active in a new country, is
more than countervailed by the healthful vigor
imparted by multiform exertion; and the expansion
of individual dispositions encouraged
action.
Although by the constitution of human nature,
moral improvement follows the enlargement
and diffusion of knowledge, its progress
is slow. The waters of life, even when
most tranquil, cast up constant impurities;
and in the strong stirrings of them, ultimately
productive of good, so much of the impulse
is given by the self-seeking feelings, that often,
the deeper their motion the thicker and more
turbid are they, and thence the more capable
of bearing the gross burdens of selfishness
that are launched upon them. These float
here the more successfully, because in the
wide field for material effort temptingly displayed
in a new territory to a young people,
armed with all the immaterial power of the
oldest, there is more scope for coincidence
between private selfishness and public benefit.
He, who is capable, industrious, energetic,
will obtain credit and consequence, although
his character be faithfully described in these
he sacrifices to his ambition: he laughs at disappointments,
is inured to refusals, and no repulse
dismays him; this renders the whole
man always flexible to his interest: he can
defraud his body of necessaries, and allow no
tranquility to his mind, and counterfeit, if it
will serve his turn, temperance, chastity, compassion,
and piety itself, without one grain of
virtue or religion: his endeavors to advance
his fortune per fas et nefas are always restless,
and have no bounds, but when he is
obliged to act openly, and has reason to fear
the censure of the world.”—The boldness of
conceit and the confidence of tried sagacity
urge him into notoriety, where skill in dissimulation
enables him so to profit by the
general esteem of practical industry, as to appear
the very personification of public spirit,
while his thoughts are unceasingly, without
momentary divergence, concentrated upon
one single object,—so to plan and direct his
acts, that all of them, the smallest and the
Every movement he makes in
life is designed to tend to this result. A step
which is discovered to lead from it, is quickly
retraced. He will abjure opinions,—sacrifice
friends,—pervert truth,—fabricate falsehood,—
say any say, do any deed, which may be so
said or done as not to come with a shadow
between him and the sole source whence he
derives animating light,—public opinion. By
respecting the forms of morality; by captivating
individual favor through flattery; by
timing as well the ostentation of humility as
of triumph; by watchfully studying appearances;
by letting no occasion escape for making
what is wait upon what seems;—it is inconceivable,
by an upright mind, ignorant as
well as innocent of the arts of worldly rising,
what consideration may be obtained, and
sometimes for a long while retained, by a man
morally worthless. Such a man was Hugh
Langley.
When Herbert, after the dinner of Mrs.
Miss Walsall on his arm, Langley was among
the few guests already assembled. As quickly
as his sight was his mind fixed upon them.
He did not know Herbert. He moved nearer
to Mrs. Gore to hear his name. He then
addressed Miss Walsall with a manner of
mingled respectfulness and familiarity, and
with a smile which invariably attended his
approach to any one, as the wag of his tail
does that of a spaniel. This smile habit had
rendered involuntary, and it was in so far
natural. The first moment the attention of
Herbert was directed from them, he whispered
to Miss Walsall—“Introduce me to Mr.
Barclay;” which she did, and then, withdrawing
her arm from Herbert's, asked him
to come to her presently, as she wished to
introduce him to some ladies. Langley immediately
with a very cordial manner, engaged
in conversation with Herbert; spoke of
his uncle in warm terms of esteem; of his
studies and amusements at the university, responding
his own college life, invited Herbert to visit
him unceremoniously at his office, saying that
he should give himself the pleasure of calling
on him at his uncle's in a day or two; and
concluded by presenting him to several gentlemen
near them; so that Herbert when he
rejoined Miss Walsall, thanked her for so
sociable and intelligent an acquaintance.
Herbert was the object of general attention.
He inherited from his parents a standing
at once respectable and fashionable, which
his own qualities were well calculated to
support; and the high esteem universally entertained
for his uncle, strengthened the favorable
disposition towards him. Mrs. Gore's
party was the occasion of his introduction to
the fashionable society of the town. Mothers
and aunts, especially, took a lively interest in
him; and it is no imputation upon their
daughters and nieces, that his fine face was
by many of them transported to an important
position in their aerial castles.
He became at once a favorite with the old
and young of both sexes. A party was incomplete
without him, and some were given
in compliment to himself. He was intoxicated,—by
the liveliness of the scenes,—by the
beauty of women,—by the smiles that played
around him,—by the brilliancy, in a word, of
the spectacle; for life is at first but a spectacle,
when entered through the halls of fashionable
pleasure. Gay appearances only,
present themselves: reality is but superficially
or partially perceptible. Whatever is harsh,
or mean, or painful, or discordant, or inelegant,
is kept out of view: the experienced
know of their existence: to Herbert they
were not only invisible, but unknown. The
young savage who issues from his woods to
the sea, and lying down on its sunny shore,
enjoys the delicious exhilaration of its waters
breaking gently over him, dreams not that the
wave which laves his body, may have swept
over a wreck, or fed a monster, or echoed the
thunder of human conflict.
The conduct of Langley at Mrs. Gore's
requires explanation.
In the scheme of worldly elevation, the
prosecution of which was his daily labor, he
reflected, that a wife might be an efficient coadjutor.
In this he judged rightly. He who
gains renown through the efforts of pure intellect,—the
man of science or literature,—derives
no aid to his public career from women;
for he goes not personally into the arena,—
he sends his works to contend with rival
works. But the practical politician, who
seeks distinction, brings about his results by
contact,—by collision with men. He must
move in concert with, and in opposition to
other men. He must be constantly personally
visible and active. Hence, his wife can
co-operate with him. If she shares his ambition
and ability, she can give him direct assistance
and counsel. Her personal qualities
have scope for influence. His individual basis
is, too, extended by the addition of her
family to his own. Independently of these
and connections of the woman he marries,
marriage itself obtains for a man a certain
kind of consideration. It adds to his stability
in the public eye. He is looked upon as
having thereby more closely bound himself
to the community; as having taken a deeper
root; and, consequently, as being a safer dependence
for public confidence.
These considerations were embraced by
Langley's calculating mind. He was approaching
thirty: he had a standing in his
profession, at the bar, which already secured
to him a good income, and his reputation was
growing. He was now, therefore, himself
well equipped, on his own principle, for matrimonial
enterprise. He had, accordingly,
a short time before, determined to marry;
and in such a way, if possible, as to unite all
the public advantages of the step.
After a deliberate survey of the circle from
which a choice was to be made, his judgment
rested on Miss Walsall. She was the only
her family connection was extensive and substantial:
she was reputed intelligent, and was
personally attractive; and Langley, though
not of the constitution to be strongly susceptible
of emotions of beauty, and, therefore,
never swayed by it, knew its public value:
her father, he was confident, would favor his
suit, for he was aware that the Doctor had a
high opinion of his talents and prospects. A
few days before Mrs. Gore's party he had taken
his resolution; and, as with every thing
he undertook, his mind was from that moment
busied in planning the means to carry it into
effect, and with an earnestness proportioned
to the importance of its object. Already had
he made demonstrations towards Miss Walsall,
distantly and cautiously. He was prepared
to continue them, and was watching
for her arrival, when she entered with Herbert.
In spite of his habitual self-possession,
a scowl suddenly darkened for a moment his
even brow. He was taken by surprise. Had
Herbert's name relieved him. He knew that
he must be a new acquaintance of Miss Walsall.
He might, however, become a rival,
and a formidable one. His own part was instantly
taken. He determined to become intimate
with Herbert; to attach himself to him
as closely as he could. He would thus have
the means of observing his designs, and,
should they tend to cross his own, of counteracting
them, if this could be done.
| CHAPTER IV. A volume from the life of Herbert Barclay | |