This prison-house is not the edifice of his will; it was built around him by his destiny. This character is a highwayman. It came up behind him, like a thief in the night. It cried, "Halt! Stick 'em up!" And there he stopped, and stood, and delivered his youth; and after that he went no farther. And that is why men know where he stands, and can count on him.
Yes: they can count on him—and so they don't count him any longer. If he speaks in public, his friends don't come out; they know well enough what he will say. If he publishes a book, no one buys it; they have the book that he wrote ten years ago. If he is absent from a committee, no one misses his counsel: any one of his associates can easily present his "views." If a subscription list is circulating, they put him down for ten dollars without consulting him: he always gives ten dollars. If his own children conceive any enterprise, tainted with novelty, scandal, or promise of vivid interest, they first conspire with their mother to placate him, knowing
