It was thus the morning broke for me, with all the ecstasy of danger passed, and all the crowding hopes of a happy future. The hundred speculations which in poverty I had formed for the comfort of the poor and the humble might now be realized; and I fancied myself the centre of a happy peasantry, confiding and contented. It would be hard, indeed, to forget “the camp and the tented field” in the peaceful paths of a country life. But simple duties are often as engrossing as those of a higher order, and bring a reward not less grateful to the heart; and I flattered myself to think my ambition reached not above them.
The moments in which such daydreams are indulged are the very happiest of a lifetime. The hopes which are based on the benefits we may render to others are sources of elevation to ourselves; and such motives purify the soul, and exalt the mind to a pitch far above the petty ambitions of the world.
To myself, and to my own enjoyments, wealth could contribute less than to most men. The simple habits of a soldier's life satisfied every wish of my mind. The luxuries which custom makes necessary to others I never knew; and I formed my resolution not to wander from this path of humble, inexpensive tastes, so that the stream of charity might flow the wider.
These were my waking thoughts. Alas, how little do we ever realize of such speculations! and how few glide down the stream of life unswayed by the eddies and crosscurrents of fortune! The higher we build the temple of our hopes, the more surely will it topple to its fall. Who shall say that our greatest enjoyment is not in raising the pile, and our happiest hours the full abandonment to those hopes our calmer reason never ratified?
As yet it had not occurred to me to think what position the world might concede to one whose life had been passed like mine, nor did I bestow a care upon a matter whereon so much of future happiness depended. These, however, were considerations which could not be long averted. How they came, and in what manner they were met must remain for a future chapter of my history.
CHAPTER XXXVII. HASTY RESOLUTION
In my last chapter I brought my reader to that portion of my story which formed the turning-point of my destiny. And here I might, perhaps, conclude these brief memoirs of an early life, whose chief object was to point out the results of a hasty and rash judgment, which, formed in mere boyhood, exerted its influence throughout the entire of a lifetime. Only one incident remains still to be told; and I shall not trespass on the good-natured patience of my readers by any delay in the narrative.
From being poor, houseless, and unknown, a sudden turn of fortune had made me wealthy and conspicuous in station; the owner of a large estate,—almost a lead-ing man in my native county. My influence was sufficient to procure the liberation of M'Keown; and my interference in his behalf mainly contributed to procure for Fortescue the royal pardon. The world, as the phrase is, went with me; and the good luck which attended every step I took and every plan I engaged in was become a proverb among my neighbors.
Let not any one suppose I was unmindful or ungrateful, if I confess, that even with all these I was not happy. No: the tranquil mind, the spirit at ease with itself, cannot exist where the sense of duty is not. The impulse which swayed my boyish heart still moved the ambition of the man. The pursuits I should have deemed the noblest and the purest seemed to me uninteresting and ignoble; the associations I ought to have felt the happiest and the highest appeared to me vulgar, and low, and commonplace. I was disappointed in my early dream of liberty, and had found tyranny where I looked for freedom, and intolerance where I expected enlightenment; but if so, I recurred with tenfold enthusiasm to the career of the soldier, whose glories were ever before me. That noble path had not deceived me; far from it. Its wild and whirlwind excitement, its hazardous enterprise, its ever-present dangers, were stimulants I loved and gloried in. All the chances and changes of a peaceful life were poor and mean compared to the hourly vicissitudes of war. I knew not then, it is true, how much of enjoyment I derived from forgetful ness; how many of my springs of happiness flowed from that preoccupation which prevented my dwelling on the only passion that ever stirred my heart,—my love for one whose love was hopeless.