CHAPTER X
One of the greatest among our most English of English poets has finely expressed the melancholy transformation which one brief day may make in human destinies, thus:—
One day! one night! yet what a change they bring!
High in the clouds the same sweet birds may sing,
The same green leaves may rustle in the air,
And the same flowers unfold their blossoms fair,—
Still Nature smile, unchanged in all her plan,
But, oh, what change may blight the soul of man!
The sun may rise as brightly as before,
But many a heart can hail its beams no more;
’Tis but one turn of earth’s incessant ball,
Yet in that space what myriad hopes may fall!
What love depart! what friendship melt away!
Ay, Virtue’s self may wane to her decay,
Torn from her throne, heart-placed, in one eventful day!
And if this be true—as it is,—none of us should be surprised at the changes wrought in six years. Yet Major Desmond was so far removed from the philosophy of indifferentism as to be more than surprised at the complete metamorphosis of “young D’Arcy-Muir,” as he now called him in his own mind, instead of the old, familiar and endearing name of “Boy.” In half an hour’s walk with him through the London streets the Major, who had seen all sorts and conditions of men young and old,—lads beginning their career, and veterans on the verge of finishing it, gauged his disposition and temperament pretty correctly. Two characteristics were particularly marked in him which did not augur well for his future. One was a slighting contempt for women,—the result, of course, of contact with his mother’s shiftless, slovenly, useless mode of life. Her inability to awaken either admiration or respect in her son’s mind, was a seed of mischief which was beginning to bear abundant harvest. The other dominating point was a spirit of weariness, listless boredom and cynicism, which might be real or might be affected,—but which, whether it were one or the other, was indescribably irritating to a man of the Major’s frank and vigorous type. “Nil admirari” was not his Gospel. His particular habit of life was to consider all things with gratitude and appreciation,—to be thankful for the simple privilege of being alive, and having eyes wherewith to see the many varying wonders and beauties of the world which Providence had ordained to him as his home. But it may be remarked, in passing, that this is unfortunately not the ‘habit’ which is generally encouraged by the latter-day masters of schools and colleges among their boys. They make much of the difficulties of life,—but little of its pleasures. The hardships of learning are insisted upon, but not the delights. The little dry pedagogues who undertake the high and responsible business of fostering the growth and guiding the education of young unspoilt natures, do their best as a rule to cramp and destroy all that is fresh and eager and enthusiastic. A young colt gallops about in the meadows, and frisks and rolls on the soft green turf, rejoicing in his youth and strength,—but the young boy must take his college ‘sports’ as he takes his lessons,—by rule and line and with more or less severity, under the control of a master. Absolute freedom of body and soul,—or what may be called pure revelry in the mere fact of life, is almost unknown to the ‘crammed’ modern lad,—he is old before his time,—and it is no uncommon thing to see a stripling of fourteen or fifteen quite wrinkled in face, with that dull film in his eyes which used to be the special and distinctive sign of extreme old age. It is a sad pity!—for youth is a gracious thing and life is full of beauty, and the natural joy, the opulent vivacity and radiating force of a truly young heart, are the most cheerful of all physical influences. One of the pagan philosophers asserts that “if a country is peopled with joyous inhabitants, that is, those who take pleasure in innocent and healthful pastimes, in which young men and maids take equal part, such as country games, village feasts and dances, it is a safe and good country to live in, and you may be sure that the people thereof are more virtuous than vicious, more wise than foolish,—but if things are in such a condition that the youth of both sexes are constrained to dulness, and have no mirth set forth for them, such as meadow festivals of flowers, and harmless tripping forth together to the sound of music, then beware, for it is a country full of languors and vapourish discontents, where there will be seditions and troubles, if not sooner, then late, and men will agitate with those who labour, for excess of payment rather than excess of toil, while honesty and open dealing will be more known by memory than present fact.”
And if, in pagan times, they could so consider the merit and national advantage of the spirit of joy, how much more ought we, in our Christian generation, to feel that we cannot do too much to inculcate that happy spirit among the young,—we who have almost ‘touched’ immortality in the divine teaching of Christ,—we, who know there is no death but only a ‘passing on’ from joy to joy!
Major Desmond was one of those few remaining ‘grand old men’ who, without any cant or feigned excess of piety, believed humbly and devoutly in the holiness and saving grace of the Christian faith. Both as a man and a soldier,—safe at home, or face to face with death on the battlefield, he had guided his conduct as best he could by its plain principles, and it had, as he himself expressed it, ‘carried him through.’ But it lay too close to his heart for him to willingly make it a subject of conversation,—yet, while he talked with Boy, or rather while he elicited certain scrappy monosyllables from him in reply to his own easy chat, he became gradually aware that the lad was a complete atheist,—that he had no idea whatever of God, and no sense of the proportion and balance existing between the material and spiritual side of things. The deep, hard cynicism which showed itself more and more as the foundation of his character made him casual and flippant even in his ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; and by-and-by, after trying him on various themes,—his home, his studies, his ‘sports,’ his interests generally—Desmond instinctively realised that this young and embittered scrap of humanity was sitting in cold judgment on himself, and relegating him to the level of a garrulous old man who did not know what he was talking about. For irreverence to age is one of the unadmirable features of a large proportion of the rising ‘new’ generation. As soon as this idea was borne in upon his mind, the Major came to a sudden halt.
“Well, you’re nearly where you want to be, aren’t you?” he demanded.
Boy looked about him. They were at the corner of Trafalgar Square.
“Yes. It’s just down Northumberland Avenue.”
“All right!” and Desmond glanced at his watch—“Five minutes to three! You’d better look sharp! Good-bye!”