Eugene Aram — Volume 01Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
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Eugene Aram — Volume 01
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
Aram, Eugene, 1704-1759 -- Fiction
"It may be so," said Walter, with a slight sigh. "I should at least like
to visit our great capital, and note the contrast; I should come back, I
imagine, with a greater zest to these scenes."
Aram laughed. "My friend," said he, "when men have once plunged into the
great sea of human toil and passion, they soon wash away all love and
zest for innocent enjoyments. What once was a soft retirement, will
become the most intolerable monotony; the gaming of social existence--
the feverish and desperate chances of honour and wealth, upon which the
men of cities set their hearts, render all pursuits less exciting,
utterly insipid and dull. The brook and the angle--ha!--ha!--these are
not occupations for men who have once battled with the world."
"I can forego them, then, without regret;" said Walter, with the
sanguineness of his years. Aram looked upon him wistfully; the bright
eye, the healthy cheek, and vigorous frame of the youth, suited with his
desire to seek the conflict of his kind, and gave a naturalness to his
ambition, which was not without interest, even to the recluse.
"Poor boy!" said he, mournfully, "how gallantly the ship leaves the port;
how worn and battered it will return!"
When they parted, Walter returned slowly homewards, filled with pity
towards the singular man whom he had seen so strangely overpowered; and
wondering how suddenly his mind had lost its former rancour to the
Student. Yet there mingled even with these kindly feelings, a little
displeasure at the superior tone which Aram had unconsciously adopted
towards him; and to which, from any one, the high spirit of the young man
was not readily willing to submit.
Meanwhile, the Student continued his path along the water side, and as,
with his gliding step and musing air, he roamed onward, it was impossible
to imagine a form more suited to the deep tranquillity of the scene. Even
the wild birds seemed to feel, by a sort of instinct, that in him there
was no cause for fear; and did not stir from the turf that neighboured,
or the spray that overhung, his path.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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