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CHAPTER ONE.TREATS OF OUR HERO AND OTHERS.If the entire circuit of a friend's conversation were comprised in thewords Don't and Do,--it might perhaps be taken for granted that hisadvice was not of much value; nevertheless, it is a fact thatPhilosopher Jack's most intimate and valuable--if not valued--friendnever said anything to him beyond these two words. Nor did he evercondescend to reason. He listened, however, with unwearied patience toreasoning, but when Jack had finished reasoning and had stated hisproposed course of action, he merely said to him, Don't, or Do.For what end was I created? said the philosopher, gloomily.Wise and momentous question when seriously put, but foolish remark, ifnot worse, when flung out in bitterness of soul!Jack, whose other name was Edwin, and his age nineteen, was a student.Being of an argumentative turn of mind, his college companions haddubbed him Philosopher. Tall, strong, active, kindly, hilarious,earnest, reckless, and impulsive, he was a strange compound, with ahandsome face, a brown fluff on either cheek, and a moustache like alady's eyebrow. Moreover, he was a general favourite, yet this favouredyouth, sitting at his table in his own room, sternly repeated thequestion--in varied form and with increased bitterness--Why was I bornat all?
