"Expatiate," said Chester, expanding his hands, and thereby revealing an odd little antique ring which he wore; "take mine ease, roaming, like the bee, from blossom to blossom. I will leave the earnest men--bah!--the men with a mission--to grub on in their vocation. I will renounce this land of cotton mills and universal suffrage. First for Paris, to walk the Boulevards, and go to the masked balls and the opera;--_vive la bagatelle!_--then for Rome, to saunter through the Vatican and the picture galleries,--but not to moralize with a long face over fallen grandeur, and the mutability of human affairs. No, no, gentlemen, I belong to another school of philosophy. I will sit among the ruins of the Forum, and laugh, like Democritus, at the image of Death. Then I will recreate myself at Capri, like the Caesars before me; then enjoy the _dolce far niente_ at Florence, and read the Tuscan poets in the shades of Vallombrosa." "But, Chester," interposed Wren, "don't you ever mean to marry and settle down?" "I object to that phrase, 'settle down.' It calls up disagreeable images. It reminds one of the backwoods, log cabins, men in shirt sleeves, and piles of pine boards and lumber. Yes, certainly, I mean to marry. What man of taste would leave matrimony out of his scheme of life? One likes to gather his treasures round him, his pictures, his vases, and statues; and how can he adorn his rooms with an ornament more exquisite--where can he find a piece of furniture more charmingly moulded--than a beautiful woman?" This flourish, between jest and earnest, he pronounced with a graceful wave of his hand. "If, when you have married your beautiful woman," said Morton, "you find you have caught a Tartar, it will serve you right." "Hear him," said Chester; "hear the barbarian. He will always be conjuring up some image of disquiet. 'Rest, rest, perturbed spirit.'" "He could not rest, if he tried," said Horace Vinal. "No, he is one of those unfortunates who lie under a sentence of endless activity. It is a disease, with which men are afflicted for the sins of their ancestors; and for the sins of mine I was born among a whole nation of such. Perpetual motion, bustle and whirl,--I grow dizzy to think of it. They cannot rest themselves, and will not let any one else rest. Always pursuing, always doing, never enjoying. A true American cannot enjoy. He would build a steam saw mill in Arcadia, and dam up the four rivers of Paradise for cotton factories." "But, Chester," said Wren, "that is not at all like Morton; you know he hates utilitarianism." "Yes, but still he cannot rest. He would not build saw mills and dams; but he would be sure to fire his rifle at some of Adam's live stock, and set all Eden by the ears. Come, Morton, I have told the company my plans. Let us hear what yours are." "My guardian wishes me to enter the law school." "You are twenty-one now," said Vinal, "and can do as you please."