“You have come to bring unholy memories,” said I.
“And you have come to reproach me,” said he, in tones of agony I shall never forget.
“No,” said I, “Leo Bergin, I give my hand. ‘Let the dead past bury its dead.’ Look not sorrowfully over the past—it comes not again—but with resolute heart and strong hand brave the future, and thou shall find a crown or a grave. List—not another word of the past; but, Leo Bergin, what of the future?”
“Thou art kind,” said he, with bowed head, and in good Bible phrase, “but I ill deserve your generosity.”
“List,” said I again, “Leo, what of the future?”
“The future?” said he, with bowed head, downcast eye, and awfully solemn voice, “the future? Because I know the past I feign would die; because I know not the future, I am cowardly enough to live. You know, my friend, my benefactor, that I have talent, good looks, and industry, but the world,” said he more sadly, “is against me.”
Yes, I had heard before that Leo Bergin had “talent, good looks, and industry.” In fact, Leo Bergin, on a memorable occasion, had himself confessed to me as much. Ah! my brothers, what good opinions we have of ourselves. All of us, men and women, think ourselves possessed of talent, good looks and social merits; but here our self-satisfaction ends, for the dull world, whom we could so well serve, failing to appreciate us, we are left a prey to neglect, and often to despair.
Ah! my brothers, we forget that we are not impartial judges; that the world is impartial and may be just in its conclusions. How kindly we think of ourselves! In the person who readily agrees with us, what noble qualities of soul and mind we discover. But ’tis well, for conceit, foolish as it may seem, often saves us from despair.
Yes, Leo Bergin had talent, education, good looks, and industry; but Leo Bergin, I had concluded from the occasion referred to, was erratic, “a shingle short”—in fact, not “all there.”