THE SORROWS OF THE SLOW.
IS there any comfort to be found for those people who are slow in all they think, say, or do, and who are painfully conscious of their own slowness? They need consolation, if it could be discovered anywhere, for it is a most depressing and wearisome consciousness, and the more so because it is continual. From
morning to night it underlies all that is said or done, and the certainty of to-morrow's slowness is almost as present with them as the remembrance of the slowness of yesterday or to- day. Almost, but not quite, for there is a glamour about to- morrow which no experience can entirely dispeL Td-day may bring some unexpected pleasure of its own, so that we would arrest the course of time to enjoy it longer, if we could ; but for all purposes of work, for anything we ought to do, and for all plans that we make, to-morrow will always be worth far more than to-day. Still, for the people who are weighted with the burden of their slowness, even the working hours of the morrow are diminished, and the shadow lengthens out through days to come.
There is one form of consolation which they will reject at once, and unluckily it is precisely the form in which it is generally offered to them. They will have nothing to do with that style of comfort which is embodied in the common say- ing, "Slow and steady wins the race," and which is more fully set forth in the fable of the hare and the tortoise. Was there ever a story more universally known and quoted? The slightest mention of it calls up the pictures in old editions of the fables which we studied in childhood, and we once more see the hare, preternaturally lively and eager, awaiting the fox's signal to be off, with the tortoise by its side, a flat and melan- choly animal. It amused us then, but it will not comfort us in later life. "Slow and steady" is a combination which cannot be taken for granted. That which is done slowly is not necessarily done steadily ; in fact, the slowness may be principally caused by hesitation and uncertainty, which do not exactly conduce to steadiness, nor ensure success in any race. Slowness is so far from being always the plodding progress of enduring strength, that it may be merely a kind of mental short-sightedness, wasting time in trying each step to make sure that the footing is secure, and painfully examining the ground which keener eyes would have surveyed in a moment. The fable of the hare and the tortoise is usually misapplied, for it is evident that it was originally intended as a warning to the hare, and not at all as an encouragement to the tortoise. There will always be some people who are boastful, and others who have very little to boast of, and it was the most natural thing in the world that the latter should take a very early opportunity of composing an un- pleasant little fable, to show their brilliant friends that quick- ness was not everything, but that to be successful, it needed to be combined with other qualities. It was a true and very useful lesson, for brilliancy and quickness may un- doubtedly be found apart from perseverance, raising hopes which will not be realised,—and no doubt there were many people who were delighted to repeat and emphasise the warning. But since men are good-natured, as a rule, and prompt to offer consolations, if they happen to have any ready-made ones at hand, they were willing enough to use the fable as an encouragement to those who might naturally be dis- couraged in the great race. And in point of fact, it is nearly always quoted for that purpose. The dull child poring over his lessons hears it, and the youth who is just starting in life, and who cannot by any stretch of friendly partiality be complimented on his quickness, will find some allusion to it in the parting speeches of his relations. This use of it proves more kindliness of intention than discernment. The author of the fable intended, as was said, to show that quickness is not everything ; but on his own showing it is so very nearly everything, that he found it necessary to combine it with the most egregious folly, to make his story hold together till he could arrive safely at the moral. The tortoise has no real advantage over his antagonist. If the quick men were always fools, who presumed on their quickness, there would be something in the fable, and slowness might come in time to be considered a valuable quality. Even then we might ask whether the success which the tortoise achieved is to be seriously offered to slow people as the type of a desirable triumph. There are some who might feel that the victory which was due entirely to the over-confidence of an opponent, and which was secured by carefully sneaking past him, and not rousing him to display his powers, was a victory which would be a great deal less honourable than many defeats. To triumph thus could hardly have given the tortoise confidence in anything but his ability to detect and profit by the follies of his fellow-creatures,—a valuable talent, no doubt, but not the object of universal ambition, and not necessarilyallied to slowness of any kind. And even if we do concede every- thing, if it be taken for granted that speed is associated with instability, and slowness with steadfast tenacity of purpose,
the tortoise could have no advantage except in a prolonged con- test. But many races, for many of the pleasant things of life, are short and quickly decided ; and every such race is lost before- hand by the man who longs for the prize, but is not swift. He hardly knows that the race is to be run, before the winner is at the goal.
Rejecting this consolation, then, what other remains? It is difficult to see any, unless it may be suggested that the man who is aware of his own slowness is, perhaps, not likely to be particularly vain. Unluckily, he is not a whit more secure from self-consciousness, from selfish absorption in his own de- sires and aims, and from thin-skinned irritability, than his quicker neighbours. And he may be just as eager for praise, just as "hungry for acknowledgment," as the vainest of man- kind. His security only amounts to this,—that he will not have what is, after all, the pleasantest form of vanity, that delight in one's own powers which is shown by playing with them, it may be a little ostentatiously now and then, but still in a manner which conveys to the bystanders a happy feeling of deftness, assurance, and ease. The slow man never plays with his powers, —he has not time, even if he were not doubtful of them. It is humiliating to be taken unawares, and he is taken unawares every day of his life, and is always expecting to be taken unawares, till he loses confidence in himself. He may strive to be ready, but it is impossible to foresee all contingencies, and his neighbour will adapt himself to the unforeseen circumstances while he hesitates. When he talks, he catches a joke, or an allusion, or the simple meaning of a phrase, a little after every- body else, and is afraid of a sudden remark, lest it should not immediately suggest an answer. By means of an anxious and unremitting effort, he contrives to maintain himself in his place, a little behind his friends, who are talking easily. In his con- versation, at any rate, he will have no touch of vanity ; but is that a gain worth mentioning ? He will hardly think it each. Mrs' s Broughton has a scene in one of her stories where the hero and heroine fall into a river, and when they have escaped, and stand wet and shivering on the bank, the man discovers that though he happens to have his pocket-flask with him, it is very nearly empty. The girl is doubtful about drinking what little brandy there is, but she is assured that there is not the slightest chance of its making her drank, as she fears, and that it would be the best thing possible for her if it did. There are times when the man who is weary of his own slowness and anxious sobriety of mind is half inclined to think that it might be the best thing possible for him if success could intoxicate him a little, send the blood more quickly and recklessly through his veins, and slightly confuse that cold and deliberate self-judgment which checks him in every ambition. But it needs a potent draught to produce so great an effect. He may have only half-desired that it should be produced, but if he has even faintly desired it, he can hardly reckon immunity from the risk as a happiness which will counter- balance all his disadvantages. Among the things which trouble him, he will count the im- possibility of persuading his quicker neighbours to understand how slow he is. There are some things which never can be explained. No one, for instance, who finds his way about by a happy instinct, can ever realise the state of mind of an unlucky man who can seldom tell where he has been, and can never tell where he is going. The clear- headed friend thinks that he realises it perfectly, but he invariably gives directions which take for granted that the questioner knows what everybody knows, while that is precisely what he wants to know. And it is just as impossible to make the fortunate man, who is quick about everything he says or does, understand what it is to be really slow. He is sure he knows, but in estimating it he passes lightly over much of which he has never thought, and will never think, with any reference to time at all. And the certainty that his difficulties will not be understood troubles the man who is slow, even though his work should be finished and crowned with success. The very praise that he has longed for, to give him the confidence that he sorely needs, has in it a note of expectation which alarms him. People seem to assume that he will do much more than he has already done. He is haunted by a vision of himself as others imagine him, and he sees his double making promises for the future, which he will be called upon to perform. At his best and proudest moment he feels that it is his destiny to disappoint all his friends, and he looks forward anxiously to the verdict of his critics, knowing that those who can show but little as the result of their life's work, must expect to have that little more sternly judged.
Is there any consolation to be found for him ? Is there any compensating advantage, great or small, annexed to slowness? Or even—to look for comfort of that negative and unsatisfactory kind which consists in finding out the discomforts of our neighbours— is there any disadvantage attached to speed which can for one moment be weighed against the burden just thrown into the scale? One would be Inclined to pronounce decisively that there is not, but for the difficulty of speaking on both sides of such a question as this. And there is another reflection which may well cause us to hesitate. It is so seldom that one is allowed to enjoy a grievance at all boastfully without being called upon to recog- nise the rival grievances of one's neighbours, that it would seem to be always safest to assume that they exist, even if they are not very easy to discover. The proverb tells us that every man knows where his own shoe pinches, and the shoe may pinch in this case as well as in any other. But it is hard for all who are heavy-footed and plodding to think that those who are lightly shod, and go quickly and surely on their way, can be other than the most enviable of mankind.
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