The Portland daily press., 1876-09-30
THE PRESS.
[From Blackwood's Magazine ]
Johns Hero.

as you Judiclously observe, it is one without
which no .gentlemaD's library is complete.
You ask who wrote it. You will be sur
prised to hear that it was produced by two
authors. One of these is man of worldwide
reputation. The Japanese student has adopt
ed him with the graceful costume of English
CIVILIZATION, and his name Is misspelt by the
Partisan Journalist. The other author is COM
paratively unknown: he is my friend, and his
Christian name is John.
Tom, Dick, Harry, John and 1 were some
few years ago a set at an Oxford college.
Widely different in character, we had each
his friends outside the little circle; but we
five were bound most closely together by the
memory of bright days of boyhood and of
comical scrapes enjoyed by all together. But
enough of this We have left Oxford, and
the old ties are loosened. Each has found
for himself an absorbing occupation, and our
intimacy has in some cases dwindled to a
mere grunt in the street. The sagacious
Tom is already rising lawyer, and has lost
his color. The graceful Dick offers incense at
the shrine Of art. draws daily longer limbs of
sadder women, and has already painted ten
thousand sun-fowers. Harry, our golden
youth, whose Pactolus flows foaming from
the paternal yats, walks with stiff legs in the
park, and dances with bent knees in the ball
room. When in London he has his flowers
from the country; when in the country from
Covent Garden. He plays his hockey on
horseback, and does his skating on wheels;
keeps yacht in the harbor and stud in the
stable; pays for one theatre and goes to an
other-in short, sees life, and is as bored by
the sight as II he were not the grandson of a
jovial tapster. Henry, Richard and Thomas,
friends of my youth, you have gone from me!
Indeed have no time to cultivate you far
ther, for have an engrossing occupation too.
" UholQ firnQ and m uholo OF
given to the study and to the encouragement
Of John. John is the most remarkable young
man Of the age. Indeed he is too great for
an age Ia which the division of labor is car
ried to excess. Tom delights in law; but
how could John, with extended vision and
impatient genius, limit himself to the compo-
sition OF jargon for conveyancer? Dick
revels gracefully in art; but how should John
be content with reputation for painting the
likely that, as the great banker yields to the
joint-stock company. so will the great artist
he superseded by a union of the small, and
single canvas will display Mr.. Hobson's I'M
rivalled cows reclining beneath the world-re-
nowned elms of Mr.. Thompson, while the
stream duly patented j by Mr.. jackson
runs through the inimitable meadow OF
Mr. Harrison, and Mr.. Robinson's fam
Gus young lady in short-waisted white
muslin treads the unpretending daisy
of the modest Mr.. Dixon. So is it with
other professions. II it has been once adj
mitted that an actor can play an old French
man, the world will have none OF his young
Frenchman, nor of his old Englishman. He
may play the Dutcfman all his life and make
a fortune thereby, but people won't be both
cred by his German, however near the border
Finally, the man of letters, if he have rep
utation for the knowledge Of butter, will have
his essay on cream returned to him with
civil note from his publisher. In such
cannot be content to invent machine for
fixing the wire on corks. To make wire,
cork, bottle, and explosive liquor, would
scarce be work enough for him. He is a
giant in an age of clever pigmies, and should
have stood by the great Leonardo welding
the chisel, the brush. and the pen, or played
whole orchestra of instruments while he
planned fort or cathedral. To the sound
OF music the slender arches spring to the high
point OF meeting; the marble floor spreads
wide and white below; and the great church,
broad for all men and yearning up to God,
stands meet symbol for my friend. Is it
strange that should find the work of my life
In watching, encouraging and hoping for
him? But grow tedious, as I always do
when embark on this SUBJECT. l must to
my story.
One evening received note from John
who begged me to come to him the next
morning before breakfast. l am not an early
riser; but refuse my friend nothing I
found him alone in the simply furnished den
which opens out of his bedroom on the third
floor OF street, which you must forgive me
for not naming. 1t was cold, bright morn
ing, and yet I found my friend leaning on his
elbows at the open window. A pang OF fear
shot through me; all, even the most perfect
characters, have one weak point: I was GER
tain that John loved. The worst sign was
that heremained unconscious OF my presence.
With'a sensation of sickness I foresaw the
future, and myself without an occupation.
saw him in a suburban villa amid the odor
OF responsibility, owner OF adining-room with
side-board, wife with milliner, a coach
house with a perambulator. Could find
interest in watching him as he bent all his
great powers to the acquisition of Victoria
instead of the chariot of fame? / sighed;
and John. at last conscious of my presence,
seized me by the arm and, drawing me has,
tily to the window, babe me look. I was
dizzy and could scarcely see. I drew my
hand across my eyes, expectant of the picture
OF young girl watering her mignonette I
have read of such things in books, and
looked for that air of Innocent unconscious
ness OF male observation which is dear to the
sentimental novelist, and characteristic of the
more charming sex. How different a sight
met my eyes when they had recovered their
wonted powers!
On the second floor of the opposite house
was window, of which the lower part was
covered by muslin blind; above this b ind
appeared broad fat shoulder; and the
shoulder was undoubtedly masculine. Across
lis ample surface rough towel was passing
and repassing with wonderful celebrity.
"That shoulder" said John, solemnly,
Supports the best head in England, the head
of Mr.. Damon"
.tBut what is he doing3" I asked.
"He is promoting his circulation"
"After his bath, supposep"
~ can't say" answered John; "but every
morning at or about this hour 1 observe the
rub.''
Sand yet he is hero in your eyesv' I
exclaimed. t
eyes," said he. and his fine eyes flashed;
'ff were to see his statue in an aquarium,
he would still be my hero. He is the man
for whom have been waiting-a man OF the
most varied talents, of blameless conduct, of
perfect culture. am going 70 sit at his
feet"
s'Then can't 60 on sitting at yours"
cried I in some perturbation.
II can teach nothing" said he; "but," he
added, In tone of deep feeling, II am going
to learn"
"Do you know himT' asked.
mo; but I shall in less than two hours.
/ am going to him, as one can to a truly
great man, 10 tell him that have need OF
him. / will do anything for him, from black
ing his boots to correcting bis proofs"
Cor rubbing his back?" I ventured to
suggest.
81 cannot aspire to so much honor,' said
John.
We breakfasted almost in silence. My
friend was evidently nervous; and 1 was
wondering if there would be much change in
him, if he would be improved out OF my
reach, beyond NY power of appreciation. At
1890, he swallowed powerful dose of sal
volatile, wrung my hand in silence, and left
me. saw him cross the road. From the
opposite doorstep he waved his hand, like a
young and stainless knight bound on some
great quest, and disappeared.
If you wish to hear my account of my
friends intercourse with Mr.. Damon, I must
first warn you that some OF the details, in
which / delight, are inferred from others
which John has given me, and from my
knowledge of my friends character, which
have studied SO long. But you care nothing
for AM lot ~ Of