Philosopher Jack
By R. M. Ballantyne
14 Jul, 2020
If the entire circuit of a friend's conversation were comprised in the words "Don't" and "Do,"-it might perhaps be taken for granted that his advice was not of much value; nevertheless, it is a fact that Philosopher Jack's most intimate and valuable-
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If the entire circuit of a friend's conversation were comprised in the words "Don't" and "Do,"-it might perhaps be taken for granted that his advice was not of much value; nevertheless, it is a fact that Philosopher Jack's most intimate and valuable-if not valued-friend never said anything to him beyond these two words. Nor did he ever condescend to reason. He listened, however, with unwearied patience to reasoning, but when Jack had finished reasoning and had stated his proposed 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, if not 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 had dubbed him Philosopher. Tall, strong, active, kindly, hilarious, earnest, reckless, and impulsive, he was a strange compound, with a handsome face, a brown fluff on either cheek, and a moustache like a lady's eyebrow. Moreover, he was a general favourite, yet this favoured youth, sitting at his table in his own room, sternly repeated the question-in varied form and with increased bitterness-"Why was I born at all?" Less