It has been my misfortune to meet with many men of the class called "educated," who knew absolutely nothing that was worth the knowing; and George was one of these. He had received college instruction, yet no one could spend five minutes in his company without thinking of the phrase "ignorant idiot." Like most people of his class, his folly was made amusingly conspicuous, by his assumption of an intellectual superiority over the rest of his companions. Like most people, too, he had his vexations, the greatest being that his superiority was not always acknowledged. On the contrary, he was often chagrined by the discovery: that the light of his genius--like that of the lamp that burned in Tullia's grave--could not be seen of men. His eccentricities were at times amusing. Perhaps he had not been created in vain, though it was difficult to determine what had been the design of bestowing existence upon such a man--unless to warn others against the absurdities, by which he daily distinguished himself. He was a living lesson in the sixth volume of the great work of Nature; and none could study him, without subjecting themselves to a severe self-examination. Useless as I may have supposed the existence of this man to be, I must acknowledge myself indebted to him for many valuable lessons. My observation of his follies had the effect of awakening within me certain trains of thought, that removed from my own mind many strong prejudices hitherto possessing it. In this sense, I might say, that, he had not been created in vain, though his intended mission could not have been that of delving for gold on the fields of Ballarat. Another of our firm had been an apothecary's assistant in London; and had but recently made his _debut_ on the diggings. He could not think of anything else, nor talk on any other subject, than the "shop," and what it contained; and I could not help fancying myself close to a chemical laboratory, whenever this individual came near me. The other two partners of the concern used to make their appearance on the claim, about ten o'clock in the morning; and generally in a state of semi-intoxication. These two men kept my mind in a constant state of trepidation--that is, when they were at work with me. I could never feel safe, in the shaft below, when I knew that either of the two was at the windlass. Any man, in the least degree affected by drink, is a dangerous associate in the working of a gold mine--especially when entrusted with the charge of the windlass. He may not see when a bucket wants landing; or, when trying to lower it, he may hang the handle over the wrong hook--an almost certain consequence of which will be the crushing in of the skull of whoever may have the misfortune to be below! No wonder that I felt some apprehension, while toiling in the companionship of my intoxicated partners. Volume Two, Chapter XXXII. A SUDDEN DISSOLUTION OF PARTNERSHIP.