University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.
PROGRESS OF OUR HERO'S EDUCATION.

There was but one drawback upon our hero's
happiness, on his arrival in England, and that was
his name, which he cursed ten times a day. “I
wish I had thought of it in time, and I would have
applied to have Sopus put at the beginning instead
of the end of my name, and then I could
have sunk the old tea merchant. Now it is too
late. But never mind—any name is genteel that is
taken for an estate.” But for all this he sunk the
Sopus, every where but in his banker's books, and
affected the name of Sheffield.

A man—a young man—with little experience
and plenty of money, soon finishes his education
abroad. It generally costs him more money than
time. “But time is money,” quoth poor Richard
—and spending money to save time is therefore
your true philosophy. Sopus had no more philosophy
than a wild-goose—but nature often instinctively
hits the true path of wisdom without a
guide. It was so with our hero. In about two years,
he got through the better half of half a million.
He spent money in equipages—he spent it in
horse races—at Brooke's—at taverns, and in worse
places than either of these. He fancied that his

half a million, was equal to a yearly income of
half a million, and therefore entered the lists of
folly with those who could afford to spend as much
in one year, as he could all his life. No wonder
he got on so fast with his education.

A party was going to Paris, having become
somewhat tired of the English modes of spending
money. There is nothing so tiresome, so sating,
so absolutely sickening and monotonous, as a life
of pleasure. While it incapacitates us for useful
or rational pursuits, it supplies their absence by
listlessness and vacuity. Our hero was tired of England,
notwithstanding he had actually acquired
some pretensions to the character of a Roué, which
of all others is the one most coveted by young men
of spirit, and most adored by young, aye, and old
ladies of ton in England. He had had an affair—
had taken his degree at Doctors Commons, and
had only paid five thousand pounds for destroying
the connubial felicity of a most amiable man,
on the score of having proved that there was
no connubial felicity to destroy. Nothing was
wanting to the consummation of his fame but a
duel. But alas! that was impossible. The injured
party was a clergyman. So our hero was
obliged to content himself with the honours of
gallantry, foregoing those of courage.

Other exploits had contributed to raise his reputation.
He had acted at a private theatre—
made a speech at a meeting of the society for

something or other—figured at a masquerade, and
been introduced to the king. If this is not worth
the half of half a million, I should like to know
what is?

On his way to Dover, our hero looked several
times out at the window of the post-chaise, but
soon fell asleep, and waked only to eat his meals.
“I came to study men and manners—it is not necessary
for my education, that I should study
landscapes and old Gothic trumpery—let painters
and poets look to that.” So he slept like a genuine
tourist, from London to Dover; with the interregnums
aforesaid.

In the steam-boat, he was politely accosted by a
plain, yet dignified old gentleman, who observed
that the boat was neither so elegant nor so swift
as some of those he had seen in America. “Can't
say, indeed,” said our hero, superciliously. “I
beg pardon,” said the old gentleman, “I am an
American, and thought I recognized you as a countryman.”
Friend Sopus was wroth: “What! not
rubbed off the yankee yet?” quoth he. “Am I
right?” asked the old gentleman. “Why—yes,”
said the other, “I was born in New-York—but
really, as I mean to spend the rest of my life”—
he ought to have said his money—“abroad, I have
given up my country. I am no longer an American.”

“Permit me to thank you, in the name of my

countrymen,” said the old gentleman, making him
a low bow, and turning on his heel.

The companions of our hero burst into a loud
laugh.

“What does the man mean?” cried he.

“He means that your countrymen are much
obliged to you.”

“If I thought so, I would—”

“Say nothing more about the matter,” quoth
his friend.

On arriving in Paris, Sopus called on the American
minister, in whose person he recognized the
old gentleman before whom he had abjured his
country. Sopus made his visit as short as possible.