ed. As soon as he got
forward in the world, his vanity began to display itself, though not
in the ordinary method, that of making a figure and living away; but
still he was tormented with a longing desire to draw public notice,
and to distinguish himself. He felt a general discontent at what he
was with a general ambition to be something which he was not; but
this desire had not yet turned itself to any particular object. It
was not by his money he could hope to be distinguished, for half his
acquaintance had more, and a man must be rich indeed to be noted for
his riches in London. Mr. Fantom's mind was a prey to his vain
imaginations. He despised all those little acts of kindness and
charity which every man is called to perform every day; and while he
was contriving grand schemes, which lay quite out of his reach, he
neglected the ordinary duties of life, which lay directly before
him. Selfishness was his governing principle. He fancied he was lost
in the mass of general society; and the usual means of attaching
importance to insignificance occurred to him; that of getting into
clubs and societies. To be connected with a party would at least
make him known to that party, be it ever so low and contemptible;
and this local importance it is which draws off vain minds from
those scenes of general usefulness, in which, though they are of
more value, they are of less distinction.

About this time he got hold of a famous little book, written by the
NEW PHILOSOPHER, whose pestilent doctrines have gone about seeking
whom they may destroy; these doctrines found a ready entrance into
Mr. Fantom's mind; a mind at once shallow and inquisitive,
speculative and vain, ambitious and dissatisfied. As almost every
book was new to him, he fell into the common error of those who
begin to read late in life--that of thinking that what he did not
know himself, was equally new to others; and he was apt to fancy
that he and the author he was reading were the only two people in
the world who knew any thing. This book led to the grand discovery;
he had now found what his heart panted after--a way to _distinguish
himself_. To start out a full grown philosopher at once, to be wise
without education, to dispute without learning, and to make
proselytes without argument, was a short cut to fame, which well
suited his vanity and his ignorance. He rejoiced that he had been so
clever as to examine for himself, pitied his friends who took things
upon tr