"Oh, the porter will show you; you'll find no difficulty about them,"
said the tutor.
"Have you anything further to ask me, Mr Home?" he inquired, after
another little pause.
"Nothing whatever, sir," said Julian, a little indignantly, for he began
to feel much like what a volcano may be supposed to do when its crater
is filled with snow. "Have you anything to tell me, sir?"
"No, Mr Home. I hope you'll--that is--I hope--good morning," he said,
as Julian, to relieve him from an unprofitable commonplace, backed
towards the door, and made a formal bow.
"Humph," thought Julian. "What an icicle; not much good to be got out
of that quarter. An intolerably cold reception. It's odd, too, for the
man must have heard all about me from Mr Carden."
As we shall have very little to do with Mr Grayson, we may here allow
him a cordial word of apology. What was to Julian the commencement of
an epoch, was, be it remembered, to the tutor a commonplace and almost
everyday event. The whole of that week he had been occupied in
receiving visits from "the early fathers," who came up in charge of
their sons, and all of whom seemed to expect that he would show the
liveliest and tenderest interest in their respective prodigies. Other
freshmen had visited him unaccompanied, and some of them seemed rather
inclined to patronise him than otherwise. He was a shy man, and always
had a painful suspicion at heart that people were laughing at him.
Having lived the life of a student, he had never acquired the polished
ease of a man of the world, and had a nervous dread of strangers. His
manners were but an icy shield of self-defence against ridicule, and
they suited his somewhat sensitive dignity. He persuaded himself, too,
that the "men" on his side were "men" in years and discretion as well as
name, and that they must stand or fall unaided, since the years of
boyish discipline and school constraint were gone by. It never occurred
to him that a word spoken in due season might be of incalculable benefit
to many of his charge. Being a man of slow sensibilities, he could not
sympathise with the enthusiastic temperament of youths like Julian, nor
did he ever single out one of his pupils either for partiality or
dislike. Yet he was thoroughly kind-hearted, and many remembered his
good deeds with generous gratitude. Nor was he wholly wrong in his
theory that a tutor often does as much harm by meddling interference as
he does by distance and neglect.
When a boy goes to college, eager, quick, impetuous, rejoicing as a
giant to run his course, he is generally filled with noble resolutions
and elevating thoughts. There is a touch of flame and of romance in his
disposition; he feels himself to be the member of a brotherhood, and
longs to be a distinguished and worthy one; he is anxious for all that
is grand and right, and yearns for a little sympathy to support his
determination and enliven his hopes. Some there may be so dull and
sensual, so swallowed up in selfishness and conceit, so chill to every
generous sentiment, and callous to every stirring impulse, that they
experience none of this; their sole aim is, on the one hand to succeed,
or on the other, to amuse and gratify themselves, to cultivate all their
animal propensities, and drown in the mud-honey of premature
independence the last relics of their childish aspirations. With men
like this, to dress showily, to drive tandem and give champagne
breakfasts, comes as a matter of course; while their supremest delight
is to wander back to their old school, in fawn-coloured dittos, and with
a cigar in their mouths, to show their superiority to all sense of
decency and good taste. But these are the rare exceptions. However
much they may conceal their own emotions, however dead and cynical, and
contemptible they may grow in after days, there are few men of ordinary
uprightness who do not feel a thrill of genuine enthusiasm when they
first enter the walls of their college, and who will not own it without
a blush.
Now Julian was an enthusiast by nature and temperament; all the
sentiments which we have been describing he felt with more than ordinary
intensity. It gave a grandeur to his hopes, and a distinct sense of
ennobling pleasure to remember that he was treading the courts which
generations of the good and wise had trodden before him, and holding in
his hand the torch which they had handed down to him. _Their_ memory
still lingered there, and he trusted that _his_ name too might in after
days be not wholly unremembered. At least he would strive, with a
godlike energy, to fail in no duty, and to leave no effort unfulfilled.
If he viewed his coming life too much in its poetical aspect, at least
his glowing aspirations and golden dreams were tempered with a deep
humility and a childlike faith.
After fuming a little at the icy reception which his tutor had given
him, he walked up and down the court, thinking of his position, and his
intentions--of the past, the present, and the future--until proud tears
glistened in his eyes. It was clear to him that now he would have to
stand alone amid life's trials, and alone face life's temptations. And
he was ready for the struggle. With God's help he would not miss the
meaning of his life, but take the tide of opportunity while it was at
the flood.
Before rejoining his mother, he determined to call on one of the junior
fellows, the only one with whom he had any acquaintance, the Reverend N
Admer. He only knew him from a casual introduction; but Mr Admer had
asked him to call, on his arrival at Saint Werner's, and Julian hoped
both to get some information from him to dissipate the painful feeling
of strangeness and novelty, and also partially to do away with the
effect of Mr Grayson's coldness.
Although it was now past ten in the morning, he found Mr Admer only
just beginning breakfast, and looking tired and lazy. He was received
with a patronising and supercilious tone, and the Fellow not only went
on with his breakfast, but occasionally glanced at a newspaper while he
talked. Not that Mr Admer at all meant to be unkind or rude, but he
hated enthusiasm in every shape; he did not believe in it, and it
wearied him--hence freshmen during their first few days were his
profound abhorrence.
After a few commonplace remarks, Julian ventured on a question or two as
to the purchases which he would immediately require, the hours of
lecture and hall, and the thousand-and-one trifles of which a newcomer
is necessarily ignorant. Mr Admer seemed to think this a great bore,
and answered languidly enough, advising Julian not to be "more fresh"
than he could help. It requires very small self-denial to make a person
at home by supplying him with a little information; but small as the
effort would have been, it was greater than the Reverend N Admer could
afford to make, and his answers were so little encouraging that Julian,
making ample allowance for the ennuye condition of the young Fellow,
relapsed into silence.
"And what do you think of Saint Werner's?" asked Mr Admer, taking the
initiative, with a yawn.
Julian's face lighted up. "Think of it! I feel uncommonly proud
already of being a Saint Werner's man."
"Genius loci, and all that sort of thing, eh?"
The sneering way in which this was said left room for no reply, so Mr
Admer continued.
"Ah you'll soon find all that sort of twaddle wear off."
"I hope not," said Julian.
"Of course you intend to be senior classic, or senior wrangler, or
something of that sort?"
"I expect simply nothing; but if I were inclined to soar, one might have
a still higher ambition than that."
"Oh, I see; an embryo Newton,--all that sort of thing."
"I didn't mean quite `all that sort of thing,' since you seem fond of
the phrase," said Julian, "but really I think my aspirations, whatever
they are, would only tire you. Good morning."
"Good morning," said Mr Admer, nodding. "We don't shake hands up here.
I shall come and call on you soon."
"The later the better," thought Julian, as he descended the narrow
stairs. "Good heavens! is that a fair specimen of a don, I wonder. If
so, I shall certainly confine my acquaintance to the undergraduates."
No, Julian, not a fair specimen of a don altogether, but in some of his
aspects a fair specimen of a certain class of university men, who
profess to admire nothing, hope for nothing, love nothing; who think
warmth of heart a folly, and sentiment a crime; who would not display an
interest in any thing more important than a boat-race or a game of
bowls, to save their lives; who are very fond of the phrase, "all that
sort of nonsense," to express everything that rises above the dead level
of their own dead mediocrity in intelligence and life. If you would not
grovel in spirit; if you would not lose every tear that sparkles, and
every sigh that burns; if you would not ossify the very power of
passion; if you would not turn your soul into a mass of shapeless lead,
avoid those despicable cynics, who never leave their discussion of the
merits of beer, or the powers of stroke oars, unless it be to carp at
acknowledged eminence, and jeer at genuine emotion. How often in such
company have I seen men relapse into stupid silence, because, if they
ventured on any expression of lively interest, one of the throng, amid
the scornful indifference of the rest, would give the only
acknowledgment of his remark, by taking the pipe out of his mouth, to
give vent to a low guttural laugh.
After this it was lucky for Julian that he had brought his mother and
sister with him, and that a moment after leaving Mr Admer he caught
sight of Hugh Lillyston. With a joyful expression of surprise, they
grasped each other's hands, and interchanged so friendly a greeting that
Julian in an instant had scattered to the winds the gloomy impression
which was beginning to creep over him.
"How long have you been here, Hugh?"
"I came yesterday."
"Have you seen your rooms yet?"
"No; I am just going to look for them."
"Well, come along; I know where they are."
"But stop," said Julian, "I must go to the Eagle first for my people.
They'll be expecting me."
"Really. So Mrs Home's here?" asked Lillyston.
"Yes, and my sister. If you've nothing to do, come and be introduced."
"How immensely jolly. I wish _my_ mother and sister had taken the
trouble to come with me, I know."
They went to the hotel, and Lillyston was able to gratify the curiosity
he had long felt to see his friend's relations.
"Whom do you think I've brought back with me, mother? guess," said
Julian, as he entered the room beaming with pleasure. "Here, Hugh, come
along. My mother--my sister--Mr Lillyston."
"What! is this the Mr Lillyston of whom we've heard so much?" asked
Mrs Home, with a cordial shake of the hand, while Violet looked up with
a quick glance of curiosity and pleasure.
"No other," said Hugh, laughing; "and really I feel as if I were an old
friend already."
"You are so, I assure you," said Mrs Home, "and I hope we shall often
meet now." Lillyston hoped the same, as he looked at Violet.
It was arranged that they should all four go at once to Julian's rooms,
and help in the grand operation of unpacking. The rooms were very
pleasant attics in the great court, looking out on the Fellows'
bowling-green, and the Iscam flowing beyond it. The furniture, most of
which Julian was going to take from the previous possessor, was neat and
comfortable, and when the book shelves began to glitter with his Harton
prizes and gift-books, Julian was delighted beyond measure with the
appearance of his new home.
For some hours the unpacking continued vigorously, only interrupted by
an excursion for lunch to the hotel, since Julian had as yet purchased
no plates and received no commons.