The Bertrams. Anthony Trollope

is, he won't sink. I don't say he will. Nine-tenths of the men in the world neither swim nor sink; they just go along with their bows above the wave, but dreadfully water-logged, barely able to carry the burdens thrown on them; but yet not absolutely sinking; fighting a hard fight for little more than mere bread, and forgetting all other desires in their great desire to get that. When such a man does get bread, he can't be said to sink."

      "Ah! Wilkinson will do more than that."

      "Something more, or something less, as the case may be. But, believe me, he is not the man to make other men fall before him. Industry alone never does that, and certainly not that sort of industry which breaks down once in every six months. But come, Mr. Parker's champagne makes my head buzz: let us take a walk up the river; Twisleton's idea of going to dinner requires far too much pluck for me."

      And so they walked out along the towing-path, discussing many things of much importance to them.

"There is a tide in the affairs of men Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune."

      In nine cases out of ten, this flood-tide comes but once in life, and then in early years. A man may have a second or a third chance for decent maintenance, but hardly a second chance for fortune's brighter favours. The horse that is to win the race needs not make all his best running at once; but he that starts badly will rarely do so. When a young man discusses what shall be his future walk in life, he is talking of all that concerns his success as far as this world is concerned. And it is so hard for a youth to know, to make even a fair guess, as to what his own capacities are! The right man is wanted in the right place; but how is a lad of two and twenty to surmise what place will be right for him? And yet, if he surmises wrong, he fails in taking his tide at its single flood. How many lawyers are there who should have been soldiers! how many clergymen who should have been lawyers! how many unsuccessful doctors who might have done well on 'Change, or in Capel Court!

      Bertram had an inkling of this; and Harcourt had more than an inkling. His path in life was chosen, and he had much self-confidence that he had chosen it well. He had never doubted much, and since he had once determined had never doubted at all. He had worked hard, and was prepared to work hard; not trusting over much in his own talents, but trusting greatly in his own industry. But Bertram, with double his friend's genius, had, at any rate as yet, but little of his friend's stability. To him the world was all before him where to choose; but he was sadly in want of something that should guide his choice. He had a high, but at the same time a vague ambition. The law, the church, letters, art, and politics all enticed him; but he could not decide of which mistress the blandishments were the sweetest.

      "Well, when shall we have you up in London?" said Harcourt.

      "In London! I don't know that I shall go to London. I shall go down to Hadley for a few weeks of course"—Bertram's uncle lived at the village of that name, in the close vicinity of Barnet—"but what I shall do then, I don't in the least know."

      "But I know you'll come to London and begin to keep your terms."

      "What, at the Middle Temple?"

      "At some Temple or some Inn: of course you won't go where anybody else goes; so probably it will be Gray's Inn."

      "No, I shall probably do a much more commonplace thing; come back here and take orders."

      "Take orders! You! You can no more swallow the thirty-nine articles than I can eat Twisleton's dinner."

      "A man never knows what he can do till he tries. A great deal of good may be done by a clergyman if he be in earnest and not too much wedded to the Church of England. I should have no doubt about it if the voluntary principle were in vogue."

      "A voluntary fiddlestick!"

      "Well, even a voluntary fiddlestick—if it be voluntary and well used."

      "Of course you'll be a barrister. It is what you are cut out for, and what you always intended."

      "It is the most alluring trade going, I own;—but then they are all such rogues. Of course you will be an exception."

      "I shall do at Rome as Romans do—I hope always. My doctrine is, that we have no immutable law of right and wrong."

      "A very comfortable code. I wish I could share it."

      "Well, you will some of these days; indeed, you do now practically. But the subject is too long to talk of here. But as I know you won't go into the church, I expect to see you settled in London before Christmas."

      "What am I to live on, my dear fellow?"

      "Like all good nephews, live on your uncle. Besides, you will have your fellowship; live on that, as I do."

      "You have more than your fellowship; and as for my uncle, to tell you the truth, I have no fancy for living on him. I am not quite sure that he doesn't mean me to think that it's charity. However, I shall have the matter out with him now."

      "Have the matter out with him!—and charity! What an ass you are! An uncle is just the same as a father."

      "My uncle is not the same to me as my father."

      "No; and by all accounts it's lucky for you that he is not. Stick to your uncle, my dear fellow, and come up to London. The ball will be at your foot."

      "Did you ever read Marryat's novel, Harcourt?"

      "What, Peter Simple?"

      "No, that other one: I think of going out as another Japhet in search of a father. I have a great anxiety to know what mine's like. It's fourteen years now since I saw him."

      "He is at Teheran, isn't he?"

      "At Hong Kong, I think, just at present; but I might probably catch him at Panama; he has something to do with the isthmus there."

      "You wouldn't have half the chance that Japhet had, and would only lose a great deal of time. Besides, if you talk of means, that would want money."

      They were now walking back towards Oxford, and had been talking about fifty indifferent subjects, when Bertram again began.

      "After all, there's only one decent career for a man in England."

      "And what is the one decent career?"

      "Politics and Parliament. It's all very well belonging to a free nation, and ruling oneself, if one can be one of the rulers. Otherwise, as far as I can see, a man will suffer less from the stings of pride under an absolute monarch. There, only one man has beaten you in life; here, some seven hundred and fifty do so—not to talk of the peers."

      "Yes, but then a fellow has some chance of being one of the seven hundred and fifty."

      "I shall go in for that, I think; only who the deuce will return me? How does a man begin? Shall I send my compliments to the electors of Marylebone, and tell them that I am a very clever fellow?"

      "Exactly; only do something first to show that you are so. I mean also to look to that; but I shall be well contented if I find myself in the house in twenty years' time—or perhaps in thirty."

      "Ah, you mean as a lawyer."

      "How else should a man without property get into Parliament?"

      "That's just what I want to know. But I have no idea, Harcourt, of waiting twenty years before I make my start in life. A man at any rate may write a book without any electors."

      "Yes, but not have it read. The author who does any good must be elected by suffrages at least as honestly obtained as those of a member of Parliament."

CHAPTER III.

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      THE NEW VICAR.