THE LAST GLIMPSE OF OXFORD.
Oxford. The front of Magdalen Hall, about which the least said the
soonest mended. On the left, further on, All Souls, which seems to have
been built by the same happy hand which built the new courts of St.
John's, Cambridge (for they are about equally bad). On the right, the
Clarendon and the Schools, blocking out the western sky. Still more to
the right, a bit of Exeter, and all Brazenose. In front, the Radcliff,
the third dome in England, and, beyond, the straight façade of St.
Mary's, gathering its lines upward ever, till tired of window and
buttress, of crocket, finial, gargoyle, and all the rest of it, it leaps
up aloft in one glorious crystal, and carries up one's heart with it
into the heaven above.
Charles Ravenshoe and Marston. They stood side by side on the pavement,
and their eyes roamed together over the noble mass of architecture,
passing from the straight lines, and abrupt corner of the Radcliffe, on
to the steeple of St. Mary's. They stood silent for a moment, and then
Marston said--
"Serve him right."
"Why?" said Charles.
"Because he had no business to be driving tandem at all. He can't afford
it. And, besides, if he could, why should he defy the authorities by
driving tandem? Nobody would drive tandem if it wasn't forbidden."
"Well, he is sent down, and therefore your virtue may spare him."
"Sent down!" said Marston, testily, "he never ought to have come up. He
was only sent here to be pitchforked through the Schools, and get a
family living."
"Well, well," said Charles; "I was very fond of him."
"Pish!" said Marston. Whereat Charles laughed uproariously, and stood in
the gutter. His mirth was stopped by his being attacked by a toothless
black-and-tan terrier, who was so old that he could only bark in a
whisper, but whose privilege it was to follow about one of the first
divinity scholars of the day, round the sunniest spots in the town. The
dog having been appeased, Charles and Marston stood aside, and got a
kindly smile from the good old man, in recognition of their having
touched their caps to him.
"Charley," said Marston, "I am so glad to hear of your going on so
well. Mind you, if you had stuck to your work sooner, you would have had
more than a second in Moderations. You must, and you shall, get a first,
you know. I will have it."
"Never, my boy, never;" said Charles: "I haven't head for it."
"Nonsense. You are a great fool; but you may get your first."
Thereupon Charles laughed again, louder than before, and wanted to know
what his friend had been eating to upset his liver. To which Marston
answered "Bosh!" and then they went down Oriel Lane, "And so by Merton,"
as the fox-hunters say, to Christ Church Meadow.
"I am glad you are in the University eight," said Marston; "it will do
you a vast deal of good. You used to over-value that sort of thing, but
I don't think that you do so now. You can't row or ride yourself into a
place in the world, but that is no reason why you should not row or
ride. I wish I was heavy enough to row. Who steers to-day?"
"The great Panjandrum."
"I don't like the great Panjandrum. I think him slangy. And I don't
pardon slang in any one beyond a very young bachelor."
"I am very fond of him," said Charles, "and you are bilious, and out of
humour with every one in heaven and earth, except apparently me. But,
seriously speaking, old man, I think you have had something to vex you,
since you came up yesterday. I haven't seen you since you were at
Ravenshoe, and you are deucedly altered, do you know?"
"I am sure you are wrong, Charles. I have had nothing--Well, I never
lie. I have been disappointed in something, but I have fought against it
so, that I am sure you must be wrong. I cannot be altered."
"Tell me what has gone wrong, Marston. Is it in money matters? If it is,
I know I can help you there."
"Money. Oh! dear no;" said Marston. "Charley, you are a good fellow. You
are the best fellow I ever met, do you know? But I can't tell you what
is the matter now."
"Have I been doing anything?" said Charles, eagerly.
"You have been doing a great deal to make me like and respect you,
Charles; but nothing to make me unhappy. Now answer me some questions,
and let us change the subject. How is your father?"
"Dear old dad is very well. I got a letter from him to-day."
"And how is your brother?"
"Well in health, but weak in mind, I fear. I am very much afraid that I
shall be heir of Ravenshoe."
"Why? is he going mad?"
"Not a bit of it, poor lad. He is going into a religious house, I am
afraid. At least he mentioned that sort of thing the last time he wrote
to me, as if he were trying to bring me face to face with the idea; and
be sure my dearly beloved Father Mackworth will never let the idea
rest."
"Poor fellow! And how is Adelaide the beautiful?"
"_She's_ all right," said Charles. "She and aunt are the best friends in
the world."
"They always were, weren't they?"
"Why, you see," said Charles, "sometimes aunt was cross, and Adelaide is
very high-spirited, you know. Exceedingly high-spirited."
"Indeed?"
"Oh, yes, very much so; she didn't take much nonsense from Lady
Hainault, I can tell you."
"Well," said Marston, "to continue my catechising, how is William?"
"He is very well. Is there no one else you were going to ask after?"
"Oh, yes. Miss Corby?"
"She is pretty well, I believe, in health, but she does not seem quite
so happy as she was," said Charles, looking at Marston, suddenly.
He might as well have looked at the Taylor building, if he expected any
change to take place in Marston's face. He regarded him with a stony
stare, and said--
"Indeed. I am sorry to hear that."
"Marston," said Charles, "I once thought that there was something
between you and her."
"That is a remarkable instance of what silly notions get into vacant
minds," said Marston, steadily. Whereat Charles laughed again.
At this point, being opposite the University barge, Charles was hailed
by a West-countryman of Exeter, whom we shall call Lee, who never met
with Charles without having a turn at talking Devonshire with him. He
now began at the top of his voice, to the great astonishment of the
surrounding dandies.
"Where be gwine? Charles Ravenshoe, where be gwine?"
"We'm gwine for a ride on the watter, Jan Lee."
"Be gwine in the 'Varsity eight, Charles Ravenshoe?"
"Iss, sure."
"How do'e feel? Dont'e feel afeard?"
"Ma dear soul, I've got such a wambling in my innards, and--"
"We are waiting for you, Ravenshoe," said the Captain; and, a few
minutes after, the University eight rushed forth on her glorious career,
clearing her way through the crowd of boats, and their admiring rowers,
towards Iffley.
And Marston sat on the top of the University barge, and watched her
sweeping on towards the distance, and then he said to himself--
"Ah! there goes the man I like best in the world, who don't care for the
woman I love best in the world, who is in love with the man before
mentioned, who is in love with a woman who don't care a hang for him.
There is a certain left-handedness in human affairs."