Attempt > Volume 1 and Select writings

162
THE ATTEMPT
lising in t|e
I do not allude to the man who attains the height of six feet or upwards, enviable
though that altitude may appear to the small men who breathe a lower atmosphere,
but to those who, though accustomed in early life to the use of a horn spoon, are the
embryo possessors of silver ones—those on whom the conviction grows that not on any
beast that walks the field, but in the depths of the earth, lies the utensil which shall
minister to their material wants.
Having attained the silver spoon position, where so many err, is in not
acknowledging, nay, utterly ignoring their useful though vulgar friend of early days.
I daresay you have heard this advice given by one who had studied human nature,
and knew its weaknesses—“ If your grandmother was a washerwoman, mention it
occasionally.” Depend upon it, if you don’t, obliging friends will do it for you.
Apropos of washerwomen. Have you ever noticed how many people who have “risen
in life ” have owned ancestors who followed this humble calling 1 Surely there must
be some elevating influence in the contact with soap suds. I would suggest this as
one way of attaining “ the bubble reputation.” Every one has seen the caricature in
Punch of a couple just returned from the diggings. An early acquaintance with the
horn spoon is written on every line of their gold-bedecked persons. But no matter,
they have plenty of silver ones now, emblazoned with a showy crest—of course, their
own—that is to say, it is paid for.
There is a subtle difference between the quiet, unobtrusive talent which must work
its way upwards, and the noisy self-assertion which is often mistaken for natural
ability. The latter, with elbows squared, pushes through the crowd, and does not even
refrain from setting its foot upon a friend so that its own end be attained, and a place
in the front rank secured.
But I have hitherto only alluded to those whose minds have not expanded with
their purses. All honour to the noble men who, born to few advantages, nay, with
hindrances at every step, have hewn a path through the tangled brushwood, and
emerging from the wood where all their days might have been passed, find the whole
world open to them, and the applause of civilized nations to cheer them on. But,
alas ! few of the hard-working bees of society meet with due appreciation. It is only
when their place is empty that the drones exclaim, “ Oh, if we had known sooner! ”
Then they buzz about, collect money, build statues; but, as I have already said, the
place is empty.