In the pride of his young
ambition he had aspired to be a steamboat mate; and in fancy saw himself
dominating a forecastle some day on the Mississippi and dictating terms
to roustabouts in high and wounding terms. I look back now, from this
far distance of seventy years, and note with sorrow the stages of that
dream's destruction. Hay's history is but Howells's, with differences of
detail. Hay climbed high toward his ideal; when success seemed almost
sure, his foot upon the very gang-plank, his eye upon the capstan,
misfortune came and his fall began. Down--down--down--ever down: Private
Secretary to the President; Colonel in the field; Charge d'Affaires in
Paris; Charge d'Affaires in Vienna; Poet; Editor of the Tribune;
Biographer of Lincoln; Ambassador to England; and now at last there he
lies--Secretary of State, Head of Foreign Affairs. And he has fallen
like Lucifer, never to rise again. And his dream--where now is his
dream? Gone down in blood and tears with the dream of the auctioneer.
And the young dream of Aldrich--where is that? I remember yet how he sat
there that night fondling it, petting it; seeing it recede and ever
recede; trying to be reconciled and give it up, but not able yet to bear
the thought; for it had been his hope to be a horse-doctor.
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