Rising in the World CHAPTER 19.
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The history of this young man, as far as we have traced it, and much further beyond this point it is not our intention to go, exhibits the result of selfish ambition, acting upon a mind unsustained by sound principle. To rise in the world was the end with him. Thousands start with that end, and rise to a certain height; but rarely attain a distinguished position, for the reason that they are met at almost every step with temptations to deviate more or less from strict rectitude, in order to rise faster than would otherwise be the case, and thus invariably defeat the object they have in view. There is in the public mind, a certain degree of virtue, which will not tolerate known wrong actions. In fact, the public well-being depends upon integrity in the community, and every man — and therefore instinctively condemns all departures from just principles in others, because he feels that such acts done to him would be wrong.
On the other hand, a virtuous man is esteemed by all, both good and bad, for all feel that their interests are safe in his hands. If he possesses equal ability to serve the community, with another man in whose principles no faith is had — he will, as a natural consequence, rise above that man. And there is no danger of his falling back from any eminence which he may gain; because it is a real elevation from the force of internal principles acting upon his external conduct, and the force that elevated him is all-potent to sustain him in his elevation.
To rise truly in the world, is to rise internally as well as externally. If a man, while he is rising into eminence in any pursuit, is really growing corrupt and base — be admitting evil counselors into his mind and acting from their suggestions — he is not truly rising, but is actually in the descending scale, and will, either in this life or the next, find his right position. No man is truly elevated, who is not truly good. He may occupy an imaginary height; he may think himself great, and men who do not know what is really in him, may call him great; but true greatness is inseparable from that benevolence which regards the common good.
While Dunbar was fixing his mind upon the attainment of wealth and professional distinctions as ends — Doctor Hudson was seeking with untiring industry to perfect his knowledge of medical science by reading, observation, and experiment; not so much as the means of rising in the world — as from a desire to increase his skill and gain a wider circle of influence. It would not do to say that he was free from selfish ends; no man is free from them. But he understood that to be governed by selfish considerations was wrong, and he never permitted himself, when he was conscious that such considerations were prominent in his mind, to act from them. Thus instead of coming more and more under the dominion of blind selfishness — he was daily rising superior to its enticements. He was truly rising in the world — rising in intelligence and usefulness, and rising above the corrupt and debasing tendencies of our evil nature. And his family rose with him. No one was depressed, that he might be elevated; no one pushed aside, that his way might be clear.
Only three times did Lawrence Dunbar and Doctor Hudson meet, after they had started on their race for eminence. Once in the office of the student, as already related. The second time they met was a few weeks after the marriage of Dunbar with the heiress.
A large party was given by a wealthy family, in which Doctor Hudson had rendered eminent services in his profession. The doctor was highly esteemed by every member of this family, who knew his worth as a physician and as a man, and sought every opportunity to express the estimation in which they held him. His name and that of his lovely wife were among the first on the list, and the names of Dunbar and his wife among the last. Dunbar was invited for his wife's sake, who happened to be known to some members of the family. Doctor Baldwin and his wife were also in the number of guests.
Not long after Doctor Hudson and his wife had entered, they saw Dunbar come into the parlors with a lady richly dressed upon his arm, and walk in some state amid the mirthful company.
"Can that be his wife?" remarked Mrs. Hudson, when she at last got a fair view of the lady's face.
"I presume it is," replied her husband. "Did you ever see a more repulsive countenance?"
"One less homely, is rarely met," returned Mrs. Hudson, still looking intently into the lady's face."
"But she has wealth, and is well connected, as the phrase is. These, no doubt, cover a multitude of defects."
"They do not seem to have covered them in this case," said Mrs. Hudson, with a quiet smile, as she drew her arm closer within that of her husband. "At least they are very apparent this evening."
"She has her good points, no doubt," remarked the doctor. "All people have. We may not always determine the whole character from the face. Very good people sometimes have very homely countenances."
"Yes, that is true," said Mrs. Hudson. "But no woman whose heart was unselfish — no woman with a gentle, loving spirit — ever had a face like that!"
It took an hour at least for the different individuals of the company to get familiar with the various parties present, and to know what strangers and what acquaintances were there. Before this, Dunbar had noticed, with some surprise and without any particular increase of pleasure, that Doctor Hudson and his wife and sister were among the guests. He had never heard of the marriage of Ella with Doctor Baldwin, whose social standing he well knew.
"What young lady is that?" he asked of a friend, affecting not to know who Ella was.
"The charming woman on Doctor Baldwin's arm?"
"I mean the lady on the doctor's arm."
"That's his wife."
"Oh, no; you are in error. That cannot be his wife. If I mistake not, she is the daughter of old Hudson, the watchmaker. But how she found admission here, passes my comprehension."
"You are right as to her being the daughter of Hudson," replied the friend.
"Then she is not the wife of Doctor Baldwin."
"Yes, she is his wife; and he is as proud of her as if she were a queen; and, from all I can learn, justly so. She is a charming woman. I have met her several times during the year in large companies, and find that she is a favorite with all who know her. The doctor has shown himself to be a man of good taste."
"Incredible," returned Dunbar. "I remember Ella Hudson well enough, but never saw in her anything so charming."
"I don't know about what she was," said the friend; "but I do know, that she is at this present time as lovely, intelligent, and accomplished a woman as there is in this room, and as general a favorite. See! half a dozen gentlemen, whose taste even you will not dispute, have gathered around her and her husband, and you may observe that more than half their attention is directed to her."
"What is thought of Dr. Hudson's wife?" asked Dunbar. "I presume you know her."
"Oh yes. And if she were my sister, I could not more highly esteem her. She is not so generally attractive as Mrs. Baldwin; but all who come near to her are won by the sweetness of her character, and charmed by the half-retiring grace of her manner. She is one in a thousand, and is so considered by all who know her. As for her husband, I consider him one of the most fortunate of men in having secured so loving and lovely a companion for his journey through life."
The eyes of Dunbar turned, involuntarily, towards that part of the room where his wife sat, alone. One glance was sufficient. His gaze was quickly withdrawn. A sigh, but half repressed, struggled up from his bosom, and he turned away from the individual with whom he was conversing. He had already heard too much. What his thoughts were, it would be hard to tell. As he moved across the room he encountered Dr. Hudson and his wife. The two men looked at each other for an instant, but did not speak. They had not met before for years.
"If he has risen above his old conditions," said Mrs. Hudson, leaning towards her husband, "he has certainly not risen into happiness."
"No man does, who acts from an utter disregard of others," replied the doctor. "Dunbar started in life with the avowed determination to rise; and to rise on the most thorough selfish principles. What his exact elevation, as regard external things, may be, I do not know; but I have heard it whispered that he has at least been sadly disappointed in the amount of his wife's fortune. As to her character and disposition — I presume they were scarcely taken into the account; although he will, without doubt, find them of more serious importance than he at first imagined."
It seemed to Dunbar that he could turn no way during that unhappy evening, without seeing either the wife or sister of Doctor Hudson; and he never saw them without an involuntary assent to their loveliness — as contrasted with the woman to whom he had united himself for life. They were led to the dance by men of character, standing, and education, and were ever receiving attentions which any woman present would have felt to be complimentary in a high degree — while, with all her wealth and high connections, his wife sat neglected, except by those who felt for her some personal interest.
Dunbar likewise observed that Doctor Hudson was noticed by almost every one — and, for the first time, learned that he had recently been elevated to the chair of anatomy and surgery in one of the medical schools. There was something positive about this — a real elevation that could not well be called in question — while he perceived that his own position was as yet equivocal, and that, think as highly of himself as he might, he could not force others to do honor to his greatness.
The young attorney went home that night with feelings of humiliation deeper than he had ever known.
CONCLUSION.
Once again did the two men meet. It was not many years later. Doctor Hudson was just preparing to leave his office one afternoon about five o'clock, when a grey-headed man, plainly dressed, came in. He immediately recognized him as old Mr. Dunbar.
"Doctor," he said, with a good deal of agitation in his manner, "I want you to come to my house immediately."
"Is anything serious the matter?" asked Dr. Hudson.
"Yes, sir, very serious. My son arrived in the cars from Baltimore this afternoon, in a terrible condition. He has been shot, and stabbed in two places. How, why, or when — I have not yet been able to learn. He was brought in by two men, to whose account I did not half listen, before hurrying off for surgical aid. The bullet is still in his chest. Oh, Doctor! come with as little delay as possible."
Doctor Hudson inquired the direction, and promised to be at his house in half an hour. Soon after the unhappy father left, he took a case of instruments, and stepping into his carriage, drove to the residence of old Mr. Dunbar. The old man still kept a small grocery, through which the doctor passed into a poorly furnished room, and then up a dark stairway to a chamber over the store. Everything bore the stamp of poverty. At the door of the chamber he met the father and mother, the latter weeping bitterly, and the former with a face of deep distress.
"Doctor," whispered the old man, "I'm afraid all is hopeless. But we will trust in your skill for all that human aid can do."
Doctor Hudson entered the room, and stood beside the bed where his patient lay, feeling sadder than he had felt for a long time. There was the well-known face of his old friend and school companion; but white, and thin, and painful in its expression. The breath came feebly through his lips, and the motions of his chest were scarcely perceptible. He laid his finger upon his wrist, but the pulse was so low in the artery, if it beat at all — that he could not find it.
A slight examination of his injuries was now made. There were two deep wounds between the ribs on the right side, inflicted with a knife or dagger, and a gun-shot wound on the left chest. The bullet had struck the sternum, glanced upwards at an angle, and entered among the muscles of the left axilla or arm-pit, where it still remained, deeply imbedded. There was already considerable inflammation of all the wounds, which had received but temporary dressings. As for the patient, his mind was completely obscured. He noticed no one, and uttered nothing more than an occasional groan.
Any attempt to remove the bullet, at present, was considered too hazardous to be made. Slight dressings were applied to the wounds, and the best means used for allaying the inflammation.
Before Doctor Hudson left the house, one of the men who had brought the wounded man to Philadelphia came in, and from him were obtained the following facts:
About a month previous to the sad catastrophe from which Dunbar was suffering, he received an anonymous letter, charging upon his wife improprieties of conduct, and naming the individual with whom she was said to be too familiar. Long before this, all vestiges of regard for his wife, if there had ever been any in his mind, were extinguished. And it was the same with her. They had ceased to treat each other with anything more than the coldest politeness. Notwithstanding this, Dunbar was all on fire at the intelligence of his wife's misconduct. He did not go immediately to the man who was accused of doing him a deep injury, but waited until he was satisfied, by personal observation, that the accusation was just. The mode of retaliation then sought, was to go to the office of this individual with a pistol and a whip, and under the muzzle of a loaded pistol to whip him as long as he had strength to lift his hand. This was his intention, but he failed in carrying it out.
On entering the office of the man who had injured him, he locked the door, and throwing the key from the window, drew his pistol and his whip, and with a bitter oath struck the betrayer of his wife a severe blow. But he had miscalculated his opponent when he supposed that he would tamely submit to blows even under the muzzle of a pistol. He happened to be himself armed, and instantly drew a pistol. Both fired at the same instant. The bullet of Dunbar did not reach its mark; but he received the bullet of his adversary in his left arm-pit. Still furious, he struck three or four blows with his whip, when he fell from two stabs with a dagger in the right side. When those who had been alarmed by the noise of the affray burst open the door, Dunbar was lying on the floor weltering in his blood. The other had escaped from the window and fled. On removing the wounded man to his room at the hotel where he boarded, his wife was nowhere to be found. When this was mentioned to him, he cursed her through his clenched teeth, and asked to be immediately removed to Philadelphia to the house of his father, which was done.
Some time before this, he had fallen in with a company of gamblers, and been stripped of every dollar he was worth. As a lawyer, he had sunk into a mere quibbler, and his practice was chiefly confined to magistrate's and prison cases.
"Fallen! hopelessly fallen!" said Doctor Hudson, as he rode thoughtfully homeward.
When he next saw his patient, the change that had taken place told him but too plainly the sad truth that life was rapidly waning. Science and skill were of no avail in his hands. He could not hold back the grim monster, when he came with his fatal message.
The young man died — died a violent death in the very prime of life — with blighted hopes, corrupt principles, and a ruined character. And he came home to die. He breathed out his last breath in the presence of those he had wronged, despised, and insulted — himself fallen and degraded. It was a sad ending of all his bright anticipations.
It is almost needless to say that Doctor Hudson's upward movement was steadily continued. That it would be so, was in the nature of things. There are few more distinguishedand useful men in the country, than he is at the present time. And he is beloved as well as honored by all who know him. He is truly great and truly good, for his elevation has been internal as well as external.
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