For there is no man but he must, of necessity, influence,
to a more or less degree, the conduct of those he meets, whether he
will or no,--and there lies the terror of it! Thus, to some extent,
we become responsible for the actions of our neighbors, even after
we are dead, for Influence is immortal. Man is a pebble thrown into
the pool of Life,--a splash, a bubble, and he is gone! But--the
ripples of Influence he leaves behind go on widening and ever
widening until they reach the farthest bank. Oh, had I but dreamed of
this in my youth, I might have been--a happy man to-night,
and--others also. In helping others we ourselves are blessed, for a
noble thought, a kindly word, a generous deed, are never lost; such
things cannot go to waste, they are our monuments after we are dead,
and live on forever."
So, talking thus, they reached a gate, and, beyond the gate, a road,
white beneath the moon, winding away between shadowy hedges.
"You are for London, I fancy, young sir?"
"Yes."
"Then we part here. But before I bid you God speed, I would
know your name; mine is Darville--Ralph Darville."
"And mine, sir, is Barnabas--Beverley.
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