ARTHUR HARRINGTON.

OR A YOUTH OF PROMISE.

———

BY F. E. F., AUTHOR OF “AARON’S ROD,” “PRIZE STORIES,” ETC.

———

I yearn for the future, vague and vast;And lo! what treasure of glorious thingsGiant Futurity sheds from his wings.M. Tupper.

I yearn for the future, vague and vast;

And lo! what treasure of glorious things

Giant Futurity sheds from his wings.

M. Tupper.

“Mother, which shall I be—which would you rather have me be—an author or statesman?” said Arthur Harrington, a handsome boy of some twelve years of age, looking up from his Latin exercise to his mother, who sat reading at the same table where her son was studying.

The mother laid down her book, and smiling as she looked in the glowing face of her boy, answered,

“I hardly know, Arthur. The statesman who presides in his country’s councils, and guides at the helm of state, has a proud, a noble position. But the author, again, who influences a nation’s mind, and stirs up the heart of a people, is one of the benefactors of his race. I should wish, however, that you consult your own taste and genius in the choice of your future career, my son.”

“There was Sir Walter Scott, mother—he surely stirred up the heart of a people. To be read all over the world must be glorious! And yet to be William Pitt—prime minister at one-and-twenty!—I think, mother, I’d rather be William Pitt—”

“You had better study your lesson, Arthur,” said Frank Ashhurst, a youth of about the same age, in a low tone, without raising his eyes from the Greek page which lay open before him.

But Arthur, too intent upon the comparative merits of statesmen and authors, Sir Walter Scott and William Pitt, took little heed of his friend’s suggestion, but eagerly pursued the conversation with his scarce less interested mother, who gazed in his sparkling eyes and animated face, and thought every question the indication of aspiring genius and the prompting of proud ambition.

Mrs. Harrington was a woman of some reading, and lively imagination, and, full of theories, thought herself a genius; and so she delighted in what she called “cultivating Arthur’s mind;” and thus they talked on of heroes and authors and great men, while Arthur’s spirit soaring beyond his Latin exercise, and expanding in the region of castle building, (which his mother, not less than himself mistook for the land of inspiration,) quite forgot the studies of the morrow.

Francis Ashhurst, meanwhile, never raised his eyes from the book he so intently studied, while the silent but rapid movement of his lips, and earnest expression of his dark eyes, showed he had no ears for the discussion going on at his side. Presently drawing a long breath, he closed his book and put it one side.

“Have you finished your Greek already, Frank?” asked Arthur.

“Yes,” he replied, opening his mathematics. “You had better be studying. It is late.”

“We had better talk no more now, Arthur,” said Mrs. Harrington gently. “You do not know all your lessons yet.”

Arthur sighed, and studied a little while, and then yawned, and presently began again with,

“But, mother, do you think that literary fame is as great—as glorious—as political or—military even—Wellington and Napoleon were greater—”

“Arthur,” said Frank, in a low, quiet tone, “you have your Greek yet, and your problems—”

“Oh, I hate mathematics!” said the boy, impatient of his cousin’s sober interruption. “A mathematician is never a man of genius. And I have no genius for mathematics,” he added contemptuously, “though you have, I believe, Francis.”

Francis made no reply. He was deep in a problem, and did not look up to answer, or perhaps did not even hear his cousin’s taunt.

Mrs. Harrington had, however, the sense to follow Francis’s suggestion, and remind her son of the lateness of the hour; and taking up her own book, advised him to pursue his studies.

Silence reigned for half an hour perhaps in the little party, which was at last broken by Arthur’s throwing his book on one side, saying, “There—I’ve done with you. Frank, give me the Greek Lexicon.”

Francis complied with his request, saying with surprise, “Do you know it?”

“Yes—well enough—I’ll look it over in the morning.” And in the same way he skimmed through his remaining studies.

“Come, Frank,” said he, at last, “have you not almost done? How you do stick at those problems!” he continued impatiently.

“Presently,” replied the other. “Don’t speak to me now.” And after some minutes intense application, he raised his head with a bright, calm look and said, “I’ve finished. What now, Arthur?”

“You are studying for the mathematical prize, I suppose, Frank?” said Arthur.

“For the prize! No,” replied Francis, with surprise.“I never thought of such a thing. Harry Forrester will carry that off, of course. You know he is far ahead of me.”

“No—is he?” said Arthur. “I did not know it. What then makes you study so, if you have no chance of the prize?”

“Why, Arthur,” said Frank, laughing, “if we only study to gain prizes, most of us may as well close our books at once, for there are but half a dozen prizes, and over a hundred boys. What is your number?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Pretty low. If I can’t be head, I don’t care where I am. Mathematics is not the bent of my genius,” replied Arthur.

“Nor mine, that I know of,” said Frank—“but, hang it, my genius hasgotto bend to it for all that.”

And there was a resolute tone, and a look of determination that showed that Frank Ashhurst was one who did not look for “aid and comfort” to his “genius” always, in difficulties.

Mrs. Harrington smiled as she listened to the conversation. She said afterward to her husband —

“Frank is a boy of no ambition. But he is a steady, plodding lad, and a very safe companion for Arthur. He’s a heavy boy—no genius—very different from Arthur.”

And Arthur was a boy, in truth, that would have gratified the pride, and flattered the vanity, of most mothers, for he was what most parents like, a precocious,showyboy. He was quick in abilities, handsome in person, tall of his age, with bright hazel eyes, and a round, glowing cheek; graceful, too, in his manners, and very fluent in speech—altogether a striking boy—somewhat forward, perhaps—but his good looks and cleverness made his peace with those who might have found fault with his want of diffidence.

Now Frank was a lad no one ever noticed. Perhaps now and then some one of unusual discernment might have said, “that youth has a fine countenance;” but it was a remark that always elicited surprise when it was made, for most persons would have said, with Mrs. Harrington, that he was a “heavy boy.” He was shorter by a head nearly than Arthur, and heavily moulded, and people generally are apt to take the body for the soul, and judge the spirit by the flesh. And, then, though Frank had a fine brow, and clear, well set, deep eye, there was nothing of what Mrs. Harrington called the “flash of genius in his look up.” It was a calm, earnest face, and when in study, there was an intensity of expression, a concentration of attention, that is rare—otherwise he was not a striking, and certainly not a handsome boy. He was rather shy, too, and awkward when brought forward, and one of those who never made a figure on “exhibition days.” In short, he was not one of theshow boys, which Arthur was. Heads of schools, and teachers generally, are very quick to know the effect produced by such pupils as Arthur. They like to put them forward. All they knowtells, and what they don’t know is not seen. Manner and appearance never go further than on such occasions. The human heart naturally warms to beauty, and to youthful beauty it is particularly indulgent; and when united to any thing like precocity of talent, it is sure to take the greater part of parents.

Consequently Arthur carried off more than one prize at the examinations, that, had he not been so highly endowed with external gifts, might not have been so readily awarded him.

But this exhibition, to Mrs. Harrington’s surprise and mortification, Arthur carried off none of the highest premiums. The boy himself was loud in his complaints of injustice and ill-treatment, and Mrs. Harrington lent a willing and indignant ear to all he said.

It never occurred to the loving mother that Arthur might not deserve the prizes. She did not remember that his application had rather relaxed than increased with the increasing difficulties of his studies, and that much of the time that should have been devoted to work had been passed in light reading, or quite as often, perhaps, in talking with herself. She only felt that Arthur had been most unjustly treated, and tried to soothe and console his wounded feelings, and talked of the “too frequent fate of unrewarded merit.” But the more she talked, the keener grew his sense of slighted talents. He grumbled and talked—and finally called his teacher names, and then his mother yielded; for as she afterward said to her husband—“When a boy loses hisrespectfor his teachers, the moral influence that should work is destroyed.” And the good man assented, without very clearly understanding what she meant. He only comprehended that his wife was dissatisfied with Arthur’s school, and he himself was indignant at the idea of his boy’s being treated with injustice. He never inquired into Arthur’s studies, nor examined into his progress. “He had not time.” He was a hard-working, money-making man, and while he slaved body and soul to amass a fortune, he left the education, mental, moral and physical, of his only son to his wife. A not uncommon case, we are sorry to say; for the most intelligent and cultivated of mothers have rarely the firmness, and never the knowledge of men and the world, required in the education of boys. Not that we would disparage woman or her acquirements, nor lessen the influence due to mothers, but only suggest that she is not to bebothfather and mother, and hint that men have other duties beside the all-absorbing one of making money. Mr. Harrington was steeped to the very lips in commercial affairs. Business was his occupation—his pleasure—his life—the breath of his nostrils—everything in short.

He went early to the counting-house and came home late, and generally tired, and often perplexed, and did not want then to be worried with domestic matters.

He loved his boy, and was proud of him; and his wife told him he was a very uncommon boy, andhe believed her. She talked a great deal of the peculiarities of his mind, and the traits of his character, and told many anecdotes indicative of his superiority, mental and spiritual, and much that the husband would have thought “great nonsense,” if it had been anybody buthiswife talking, andhisboy she was talking of. But as it was, it was amusing to see the complacence with which he listened. He paid the bills regularly, and left the rest to his wife; satisfied that he had put his money out to good interest, and never doubting that he had done his whole duty. So when at the present time she told him she thought they had better withdraw Arthur, and place him at a “select school, where only twenty boys were taken,” he assented, and told her to do as she thought best.

“The Rector of the Grammar School,” she said, “is not a man of enlarged mind. He does not enter sufficiently into the original capacities of boys, but makes them all go through the same mill, no matter how different their natural talents. Indeed, the school is so large, that it would be out of the question for him to do justice to them all, even if he were a man of more comprehensive and discriminating mind than he is. There are upward of a hundred boys there, I believe.”

“Ah! there it is,” said Mr. Harrington, indignantly; “they will take in such a crowd.” Quite forgetting that other men beside merchants may like to make money in their professions, too. So it was pretty well settled that Arthur was to go to this “select school,” of which Mrs. Harrington had heard a great puff from Mrs. Osborn, for many mothers beside Mrs. Harrington manage their sons’ education in this “work-day world” of ours. There are a good many moral “half orphans” in our community. And so Mrs. Harrington consulted some half-dozen of her friends, quite as deep as herself in the work of education, before she decided, and spoke at last to Mrs. Ashhurst, who replied —

“We have no idea of withdrawing Francis. His father is quite satisfied with his progress.”

Mrs. Harrington was surprised at hearing a father cited as authority, but she turned and applied herself to Mr. Ashhurst, for she was one of those who rather liked to have others do as she did, and patronize a school, or withdraw their children, according as she inclined, but Mr. Ashhurst said —

“I am perfectly satisfied, my dear madam, where Frank is. He studies hard, which is the great point, and I think the general system of the establishment good. I am always unwilling to make a change in a child’s school, without I see strong reasons for doing so, for much time I think is lost in changing studies and teachers. New systems, new books, are always introduced, and not often for the better, and as long as Frank studies well, and has time for exercise, I am satisfied where he is.”

“The scholarship may be equal,” replied Mrs. Harrington, “in these great schools, although even that I doubt, but what I chiefly object to for my son, Mr. Ashhurst, is the contaminating influence of such a crowd of all sorts of boys.” (Now Mrs. Harrington had a holy horror of “all sorts” of people, at any time of life.) “Now the moral influence must be so much purer, so much healthier, of a select number of boys, whose families you know.”

“There, my dear madam, I differ from you,” said Mr. Ashhurst, smiling. “I look upon the moral influence of a public school as decidedly—not perhaps what you would call purer—but healthier than that of a ‘select few.’ Indeed, if it were not for the languages, I had rather Frank went to a district school than any other.”

“Oh, Mr. Ashhurst! A district school! You surely are not in earnest. Pray, what advantage can they or any public school have over a private one?”

“Just the one,” said Mr. Ashhurst, smiling, “that you seem so much to dread—‘all sorts of boys.’ Manliness of character, that first point in education, is only to be acquired by throwing a boy early on himself. Of course it is a parent’s duty to watch over his child; and to cultivate the higher moral feelings is the home part of the business. But to make himhardyand vigorous in mind as well as body is the great object of out-door education.”

“But, my dear sir, you would not wish your son to acquire unrefined habits and boorish manners, which he must, if you condemn him to mix with his inferiors, by way of making him hardy, as you call it.”

“By no means,” replied Mr. Ashhurst. “But I am very far from thinking that I condemn him to mix with his inferiors, when I let him find his own footing among his equals, and perhaps superiors. And I look to the influence of home for the refinement of his habits and manners.”

Mrs. Harrington had been a little annoyed at the turn the conversation had taken—not that it altered her views and opinions in the least, what conversation ever does—but that her husband happened to be present; and as he occasionally indulged in some slap against the “white-kid gentry,” she feared Mr. Ashhurst’s arguments might meet a more ready acquiescence than she desired, so saying,

“Well, we must talk this over another time,” hastily turned the subject, and there the matter dropped.

“Ashhurst is a sensible man,” observed Mr. Harrington to his wife as they walked home.

“Yes,” she replied, well knowing the track her husband’s mind was on, and shaping her answer to meet it. “Yes, he’s a sensible, though a coarse man.”

Mr. Harrington’s countenance changed.

“I am sorry,” she continued, “that he is unwilling to give Francis the best advantages; but I presume he cannot afford it very well. He has a large family. And though he did not like to acknowledge it, the terms are an object to him.”

“Of course,” said Mr. Harrington, in a tone of approbation that alarmed her.

“I am satisfied,” she continued, “that the ‘Institute’ is the best place for Arthur. The Howards, and the Harpers, and the Astleys and Langdons all speak of it in the highest manner, and their boys have been there several years.”

Mr. Harrington could not withstand this. The names his wife had mentioned, and purposely mentioned, were those of some of the wealthiest men in the community. They were men after whose names he took pride in placing his on a subscription list—or seeing them lovingly associated in the papers as bank directors, or as trustees for life, fire, trust, or any other monied institutions, and so, on the same principle, he relaxed at once, and saw with complacency his Arthur placed among the select few, the dimes fresh from the mint of “good society.”

Mrs. Harrington, satisfied of having gained her point, never stopped to question herself as to the means. She never paused to inquire as to whether she had done her part, as woman and wife, when she roused her husband’s weakness to take advantage of the failing. She never asked whether it was womanly or wise—if she could only “put her finger on fortune’s pipe, and sound what stop she pleased,” she did not look much higher.

And yet Mrs. Harrington was a woman of fine theories, exalted views, rather a transcendentalist—till it came to action, and then what she wanted she must have—if she could get it.

With some imagination, considerable enthusiasm, and a something mixed of the two, that she called romance, she had yet married Mr. Harrington, who was the opposite of every thing to her taste. And why? Because, though she would have been glad to have united the ideal with the real in her choice, she had yet no idea of sacrificing luxury to feeling. And with all her poetry she had an intense appreciation ofwell being. She found she could not gratify romance, ambition, and ease, too, and so between the body and soul she preferred the body. But the love and ambition she had sacrificed in her marriage she now centered in her son. The wife was nothing, the mother all in all.

——

Ah! poor youth! in pitiful truth,Thy pride must feel a fall, poor youth!What thou shalt be well have I seen—Thou shalt be only what others have been.. . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . .The commonest drudge of men and things,Instead of your—conquering heroes and kings!Martin Tupper.

Ah! poor youth! in pitiful truth,

Thy pride must feel a fall, poor youth!

What thou shalt be well have I seen—

Thou shalt be only what others have been.

. . . . . . . . .

The commonest drudge of men and things,

Instead of your—conquering heroes and kings!

Martin Tupper.

Arthur Harrington continued very much at the “Institute” what he had been at the grammar school, a show boy, with now an incipient dash of the dandy. From thence he was transferred to college, which he did not enter as high as he and his mother expected. She took it for granted that he must enter the Junior year, as Frank Ashhurst had done, though most boys of his age commence with the Freshman. And here again, but for the crying injustice that always followed Arthur, when he found himself not rated higher than others, he would have taken the first honors. But, somehow, though Arthur was universally reckoned a “promising youth,” he never achieved any decided distinction when put to the test. At the debating societies he was ready and fluent, though often incorrect as to his facts, (but that made little impression on his auditors, who did not expect exact information from so young an orator,) and there he was quite conspicuous. He was a scribbler, too; wrote for magazines and papers, and now and then had the triumph of having an article inserted in one of the graver reviews. Altogether he had quite a reputation with parents, though the boys did not rate him as much.

“He’s a conceited chap,” they would say, and their elders and betters thought they were jealous. But give me a boy’s reputation with boys, and I’ll give you the future man’s among men. However, let that pass. Arthur graduated, and this time with an honor. It was not the highest, but he did not care much for that. It gave him an opportunity of delivering an oration; and fluent and easy, sparkling with well-turned phrases and showy antithetical sentences, though containing little thought, and no originality, it drew down frequent applause, and, in short, made quite a hit. The graceful manner and handsome person of the youthful orator went a great way—three-fourths certainly—for Francis Ashhurst, who took the valedictory, really delivered an oration that showed the germ (and that is all that can be looked for on such occasions) of real power. But then the manner was so bad that few listened to the matter, and he hurried through as fast as he could, and retired, much to his own relief and that of the audience.

On quitting college, Mr. Harrington would have been glad to have had his son enter the counting-house. But “Harrington & Son” did not shine as proudly in the mother’s eyes as in her husband’s. And Arthur thought it was the “old man’s” business to make money, not his, and negatived the proposition decidedly, not to say haughtily. He was destined to be a great man—the head of the bar—the leader of the Senate, possibly an author, certainly an orator, perhaps an ambassador—the path was not clearly defined—in fact, it was crossed with too many bright lights to be very distinct—but it was to be something distinguished—that point had been settled by his mother when he was in his cradle—and he himself had entertained the same views ever since he had been out of petticoats.

The bar, of course, was the only stepping-stone to these future honors, and it chanced that he and Francis Ashhurst entered the same office.

Francis had gone on quietly but steadily, the same boy and lad that he now entered life as man, and set himself in earnest to his profession.

Arthur talked earnestly, nay enthusiastically of his profession, and delighted in attending court when any great cause was being argued. But for the reading Blackstone, Coke and Littleton he found heavy work, and the dull routine of office business quite disgusting. He was fond of general reading, and skimmed the surface of things with great rapidity. He was quite a brilliant talker, too, for one so young, though more remarkable for his fluency than facts, and always made an impression, particularly on a first acquaintance. He had a decided reputation for talents in general circles, though in the office Mr. Osgood never turned to him when he wanted any thing of consequence done. He had soon found that Ashhurst was the man for real work, and being a man of keen perceptions, and but few words, he said nothing, but placed every thing that required attention in his hands.

Arthur was unpopular with the young men of the office. They called him “shallow and conceited.” The fact was, he assumed a superiority they were unwilling to accord to him. He prided himself not only on his talents, but his position, and thought they entitled him to a consideration that he never dreamt of according to others.

He did not mean to give offence, nor was even aware of his haughty tone of superiority, for it never occurred to him that his fellow-students could put themselves on a footing of equality with himself. They did not mix in the same circles—had neither fashion, nor wealth, nor consequence of any kind. What claims had they to his civility? He looked upon them merely as Mr. Osgood’s “clerks,” who did the underwork of the office; and from a boy Arthur had only associated with lads as delicately brought up as himself, and he now shrunk from the association of others as an annoyance. He would rather they had not come between the “wind and his nobility;” but since it was a “necessary evil,” he endured it. Ashhurst was the only one of them with whom he was on any terms of fellowship, and that was rather from early habit than from real feeling. Besides Ashhurst’s family belonged to the same clique as his own, and therefore was entitled to some respect, though Ashhurst himself seldom frequented the gay circles of which Arthur formed quite a prominent member. Mrs. Harrington delighted to see him conspicuous in society, and looked anxiously around to select from the youthful belles of the day the most distinguished for his wife. But Arthur showed no disposition to lay his heart as yet on the shrine of any fair one. In fact he was too much wrapped up in himself to find interest in others, and thereupon grew fastidious, and gave himself airs. Perhaps this somewhat enhanced his fashion, as he had the reputation of talent, and was decidedly good looking; beside which, as the only son of a rich man, he was called a “good match.” Ah! thatbon parti—how much does it help and cover in “good society.”

Much, therefore, was excused him that might not have been so kindly received had circumstances been different. And so, what with reading a little law, and a good deal of light literature, mixing much in society, and doing none of the drudgery of the office, the three years of Arthur’s preparatory studies glided by pleasantly enough, at the end of which time he passed his examination, and supposed himself fairly started for his future career. But there’s nothing brilliant in the life of ayounglawyer, let his talents and application be what they may. It’s hard work for the present with compensation in the future. Now Arthur had never done work—real work—in his life. His quick abilities had enabled him to skim the surface of subjects, and make a show with whatever knowledge he had. But the law is not to be skated over so rapidly; and Arthur had neither the taste, and, indeed, scarcely the power now of the close application the dry study required; and not being urged by necessity, he scorned the small business that might have fallen in his way, and taught him something. He longed for a great cause—which he could not have tried if he had got it; and being tired now of society, panted for distinction, and became impatient and dissatisfied with a profession which required labor, and brought in no immediate returns of reputation. There was such a crowd, too, of young lawyers that it was quite disgusting; and so he neglected his office rather more, perhaps, than he had ever done Mr. Osgood’s, and began to turn his weary, impatient spirit to politics, as the “only arena, after all, worthy of a man of talent;” and “the lawyer rarely makes a great statesman—the study contracts the mind; the most distinguished of them seldom rises above a special pleader, when called upon in the more elevated sphere of public business.”

Mr. Harrington died suddenly about this time—fell in the traces, exhausted with the labors and anxieties of his arduous life; and it was found to the surprise of most people, that his fortune was not the half of what it had been estimated. No doubt it had been greater at different times, but the variations of commercial affairs are known to all, and Mr. Harrington had had his ups and downs as well as others. It happened to be at one of these times of depression that he died, and the estate he left was scarcely more than a comfortable provision for his wife and son. Arthur was no longer looked upon as a young man of fortune; but then he had what he had at command, and that satisfied him for the present quite as well, and perhaps better, than fortune in perspective. It enabled him to do as he chose just then, and gave him the immediate consideration he wanted with a certain class of politicians. He attended public meetings, and spoke frequently, and took sides hotly and denounced men and measures that did not meet his views fiercely; and as he threw himself with ardor in the opposition party, and spent liberally, he was received with open arms and cheered heartily.

This was the excitement he had longed for. Henow felt that he had gained the open space he wanted, and his mother, flattered and delighted, spoke of him as one of the leaders of the party. There’s no telling the visions with which his brain now teemed; but as most dreamers, whether waking or sleeping, are the principal figures in their visions, so he himself always occupied the foreground in all his mental pictures. Meantime his nights were passed chiefly in clubs, and halls, and committee-rooms, where he condescended, in the hot conflict of political feeling, to companionship he would once have stood aloof from as from something quite contaminating. He made himself conspicuous at the next election, expecting to be taken up after that as one of the prominent men himself. But when the second term came round, Arthur saw his means well nigh exhausted, and he no nearer the goal than when he first started. His mortification and disappointment were extreme, when he found he had no chance for any nomination whatever, either for general, state, or even City Councils; for he would have been glad to run for any thing rather than not run at all. But they would not even take him up. In fact they found he was neither a useful nor a popular man. Talents and information of a commanding order may dispense with the minor morals of good manners; but Harrington’s conceit was not atoned for by any such qualifications; and arrogance that is not backed by decided talent and sound information meets with small favor from the community at large.

And so he had had a few years of excitement, and spent his little patrimony, and was now just where he had started—if that can be said of any man, when years have passed over his head bringing neither added reputation nor knowledge. He had lost time and gained nothing; and, moreover, as we have said, had spent the little independence left him by his father.

It was now necessary for him to do something, for though his mother could give him a home, her fortune was not sufficient for them both. There was his profession, which he hated. He could not go back and drudge for dollars and cents. Beside it was too late—others that had started with him had got before him. Those who had kept to the beaten well-worn path, while he had been hunting for a short-cut, had reached the goal before him. As for Ashhurst, he was not only doing a good business, but beginning to be known. His name was mentioned with respect, and he was often associated as junior counsel with the leaders of the bar.

There, too, was his pen. But sketchy articles and slight productions, which are kindly received as the efforts of a boy, elicit no applause when coming from a man of mature years. And Harrington had not risen with the public; he had been called a “youth of promise” when a lad, but his manhood had not kept pace with the promise. He had made no friends and some enemies in his state of political effervescence, when he had dealt round accusations and epithets that scarcely even electioneering excitement will excuse. So now what to do he knew not. He paused and looked around, discomfited and mortified. He complained loudly, of course, of the treatment that he had met with—for injustice, as we have seen, had pursued Arthur from a boy, and now he was growing bitter—a keen sense of ill-usage is sometimes a great comfort—and his mother listened to his out-pourings with the deepest sympathy; for Arthur’s ambition and conceit had been of her cultivation. She had planted the seed, and now the tree over-shadowed her. She was deeply chagrined by his failure in all he had undertaken, or rather, we should say, commenced; for, like him, she did not comprehend that there is no rail-road to fame. But still she did not give up. Matrimony, woman’s great resource, was left him. She had always wanted him to marry; and now an heiress seemed the readiest means of mending his broken fortunes. Harrington himself saw no other; and so he entered society again with other views beside amusement.

A new set of beaux and belles were occupying the places of those who had been prominent when he first came forward; those who had been the gayest of the dancers then, were now wives and mothers, and most of them withdrawn from such assemblies. The men looked to him like boys, and the “boys” returned the compliment, and called him an “old fellow.” The beauties were most of them penniless; and it so happened that the few girls of fortune in society just at that time, were any thing but beauties; and Harrington wanted to suit his taste as well as his necessities, and he hated to do any thing he did not like; and he detested an ugly woman. He had always been very dainty of his feelings, and he could now neither work nor marry, if it was not in exact accordance with his taste. And, altogether, society did not seem to him the same as it once had been. Somehow it had lost its zest and freshness. He did not know where the change was, but he felt there was a change that robbed it of all its charm.

The secret was, that he was no longer a person of consequence, and excited no sensation among the young belles he saw around him. His first glow of youth and beauty was gone; and he had acquired no reputation to stand him in its stead in youthful eyes. He had no fortune either, and mammas and daughters don’t court and flatter aci-devant jeune homme, who is no match. Nor was he called agreeable. He was bitter, and cynical, and egotistical; and girls don’t want to talk to men who talk always of themselves, particularly when there is nothing in their attentions to flatter their vanity. Women expect either to be amused, or to have their feelings interested, or their pride gratified. Now Arthur Harrington did none of these things, and consequently he thought society a “bore,” and society was beginning to return the compliment.

There was but one person who at all interestedhim, not that he thought of her—for she had no fortune, and would not do—but still he admired her. Sybil Effingham he could not look at nor listen to, without partly forgetting himself. She was in truth a bright, spirited, beautiful creature, high-toned, with a look of sensibility and disinterestedness—a something to touch the imagination—altogether a being that made him sigh as he thought of his altered fortunes; and though he meant nothing, he could not help visiting at her father’s more frequently than he thought quite prudent. To his surprise he occasionally met Ashhurst there; and what surprised him more was the consideration with which he was received when he did come. But Ashhurst was now a marked man, distinguished for his age, and women always yield a ready homage to talent, and delight in honoring those whom the world honors. And, moreover, Ashhurst was a man to please, though Harrington could not comprehend it; and, indeed, few men understand the female taste in that respect. What is called a “lady’s man,” is not, as men suppose, the most agreeable to women. Those are not the men who excite enthusiastic and romantic attachments. A woman’s imagination must be roused before her heart is deeply touched; and it is only a man of superior mind and character that does that.

And Ashhurst’s was an earnest, vigorous spirit, and the beautiful Sybil felt her soul awaken in his presence, and she listened to his words of power and truth as she listened to no other man. But if Harrington was surprised and vexed to see the reputation and ascendancy Ashhurst was gaining, his feelings were as nothing to his mother’s on the subject. It was really amusing to see the tenacity with which she clung to early impressions, (and Mrs. Harrington was a woman who had great faith in her own “impressions.”) She had pronounced him then a “heavy boy,” and altogether thought him a very coarse piece of clay, compared to her son of delicate porcelain; and how he had stood the fire and heat, and come out so much truer tempered through the rough usage of the world, was a matter she did not comprehend or patiently acquiesce in.

But to return to Arthur. He found it would not do to spend his time dangling after Sybil Effingham; and, perhaps, the coolness with which she received his attentions helped to awaken him to their folly; and about this time, too, a really pretty, high-bred heiress made her appearance on the horizon of fashion, and set all the gay world in a commotion, and among the first and most assiduous of her admirers was Arthur Harrington. But the young lady, like most heiresses and beauties, knew her own claims quite as well as anybody, and expected as much for her money as Arthur could for his name and talents; and so, to his great wrath and amazement, he was coolly rejected.

Her fashion and beauty were now his misfortunes, as in making her prominent in society, they also made her suitors conspicuous, and consequently, Arthur’s rejection was immediately as well known to the public as if it had been published in the papers; and he who one heiress wont have, another is very apt to refuse, because he has already been rejected—and one or two offers settles him as a fortune-hunter, and then his business is done.

And so it was with our hero. And this mortification he and his mother felt more keenly, perhaps, than all the rest—for there could be no injustice or foul play in these cases; and angry though he might be, he could not complain. He anathematized the whole sex in his heart, and said to his mother,

“I’ve supported politics—let politics now support me.” The meaning of which grand sentiment was, that he would turn office-seeker—a party politician for private purposes—the meanest of all professions.

Meanwhile Ashhurst had won the beautiful Sybil; and not only that, but was deemed a great match for her, for he had made an independence and a name, and might justly look forward to the highest honors that are open to genius and industry.

“That Harrington is a disagreeable man,” was one day remarked by some one, “he abuses every body—only no one cares for his abuse.”

“He’s a disappointed man,” was the reply.

“Disappointed!” rejoined the first speaker, “I like that! And what right hasheto be disappointed? What are his claims to any thing more than he has?”

“Well, I hardly know,” replied the other, smiling, “now that you bring me to the point. But, somehow, we all expected Harrington to make a figure in the world; and why he has not done so I don’t know.”

“Then I’ll tell you,” said the first speaker; “because he’s a poor creature—there’s no stamina in him. He has neither vigor of mind or character. He’s been cursed with ambition without industry. He has not the energy to act out his own dreams. He was just one of those promising youths who never come to any thing.”

“Pity ’tis true; but there’s no reputation without labor; and he who expects it, will turn out like Arthur Harrington, bitter and cynical. He may give himself the airs of a disappointed man, but that does not alter the fact of his being only a ‘poor creature.’ ”

And so Arthur Harrington sunk to a place-hunter; and, poor devil! “To dig he was unable, and beg he was ashamed.”

ENGRAVED BY J. SARTAIN FOR GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE

Your obtServtZ. TaylorFROM A SKETCH BY CAPT. EATON, AID DE CAMP CAMARGO, MEXICO, AUGUST 15TH1845

Your obtServtZ. Taylor

Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1847 by Geo. R. Graham in the Clerks’ office of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.

GENERAL ZACHARY TAYLOR.

A Memoirof Gen. Taylor’s life is, to one who writes it with no purpose but to do justice to a bright particular star in the constellation of our country’s patriots, a pleasant and easy task; for his career and character present no inconsistencies to be reconciled, no acts that crave vindication. His actions form his eulogy; and the severest narrative of what he is, and what he has done, is the most appropriate tribute to his modesty and merit, and to the gratitude and admiration of his country.

Zachary Taylor is descended from one of the oldest and most distinguished families of those who, two centuries since, settled in Virginia; and is kindred to James Madison, John Taylor of Caroline, Judge Pendleton, and others, the most ardent and spotless patriots of their time. His father was one of the pioneers of Kentucky, one of those who worshiped with their rifles beside them, and listened, in the pauses of their labor, for the yell of the Indian. Of the heroes of the dark and bloody ground he is said to have been the most daring. To that wilderness of wo, for such it then was, he bore his family, including Zachary, who was born in Orange county, Virginia, in the year 1790. It was under these auspices that the young hero was educated. His way to school was beset by savage foes, and in one instance, one of his mates snatched from him by the Indians. There could be no better school to form the mind and fix the character of the warrior, to teach caution and thoughtfulness, and to inspire enterprise and a contempt of danger. This education—the education of early Kentucky—has been admirably described by Byron, in his verses on Boone —

And tall and strong, and swift of foot were they,Beyond the dwarfing cities’ pale abortions,Because their thoughts had never been the preyOf care or gain; the green woods were their portions;No sinking spirits told them they grew gray,No fashion made them apes of her distortions;Simple they were, not savage; and their rifles,Though very true, were not yet used for trifles.

And tall and strong, and swift of foot were they,

Beyond the dwarfing cities’ pale abortions,

Because their thoughts had never been the prey

Of care or gain; the green woods were their portions;

No sinking spirits told them they grew gray,

No fashion made them apes of her distortions;

Simple they were, not savage; and their rifles,

Though very true, were not yet used for trifles.

Derived from such a stock, and invigorated by such an education, he grew, as might be expected, a man ardent but thoughtful, bold but guarded—one likely to be successful in any sphere, and if after life afforded the means of maturing his powers, certain to be eminent. His early life abounds in anecdotes characteristic of generous and noble qualities, which, though derived from the best authority, our limits compel us to omit. From the first to the last, he has been regarded by those who knew him as above the common stature of his fellow men. In his retirement he was characterized as one whose genius and power were adequate to any exigency, civil or military, and who lacked only an opportunity to leave his name

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