"Then what golden hours were for us,
While we sate together there!
How the white vests of the chorus
Seemed to wave up a live air.
How the cothurns trod majestic,
Down the deep iambic lines,
And the rolling anapaestic
Curled like vapour over shrines!"
_E Barrett Browning_.
The incentives which lead young men to work are as various as the
influences which tend to make them idle. One toils on, however
hopelessly, from a sense of duty, from a desire to please his parents,
and satisfy the requirements of the place; another because he has been
well trained into habits of work, and has a notion of educating the
mind; a third because he has set his heart on a fellowship; a fourth,
because he is intensely ambitious, and looks on a good degree as the
stepping-stone to literary or political honours. The fewest perhaps
pursue learning for her own sake, and study out of a simple eagerness to
know what _may_ be known, as the best means of cultivating their
intellectual powers for the attainment of at least a personal solution
of those great problems, the existence of which they have already begun
to realise. But of this rare class was Julian Home. He studied with an
ardour and a passion, before which difficulties vanished, and in
consequence of which, he seemed to progress not the less surely, because
it was with great strides. For the first time in his life, Julian found
himself entirely alone in the great wide realm of literature--alone, to
wander at his own will, almost without a guide. And joyously did that
brave young spirit pursue its way--now resting in some fragrant glen,
and by some fountain mirror, where the boughs which bent over him were
bright with blossom, and rich with fruit--now plunging into some deep
thicket, where at every step he had to push aside the heavy branches and
tangled weeds--and now climbing with toilful progress some steep and
rocky hill, on whose summit, hardly attained, he could rest at last, and
gaze back over perils surmounted, and precipices passed, and mark the
thunder rolling over the valleys, or gaze on kingdoms full of peace and
beauty, slumbering in the broad sunshine beneath his feet.
Julian read for the sake of knowledge, and because he intensely enjoyed
the great authors, whose thoughts he studied. He had read parts of
Homer, parts of Thucydides, parts of Tacitus, parts of the tragedians,
at school, but now he had it in his power to study a great author
entire, and as a whole. Never before did he fully appreciate the
"thunderous lilt" of Greek epic, the touching and voluptuous tenderness
of Latin elegy, the regal pomp of history, the gorgeous and philosophic
mystery of the old dramatic fables. Never before had he learnt to gaze
on "the bright countenance of truth, in the mild and dewy air of
delightful studies." Those who decry classical education, do so from
inexperience of its real character and value, and can hardly conceive
the sense of strength and freedom which a young and ingenuous intellect
acquires in all literature, and in all thought, by the laborious and
successful endeavour to enter into that noble heritage which has been
left us by the wisdom of bygone generations. Those hours were the
happiest of Julian's life; often would he be beguiled by his studies
into the "wee small" hours of night; and in the grand old company of
eloquent men, and profound philosophers, he would forget everything in
the sense of intellectual advance. Then first he began to understand
Milton's noble exclamation--
"How charming is divine philosophy!
Not harsh and rugged as dull fools suppose,
But musical as is Apollo's lute,
And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets,
Where no crude surfeit reigns."
He studied accurately, yet with appreciation; sometimes the two ways of
study are not combined, and while one man will be content with a cold
and barren estimate of _ge_'s and _pon_'s derived from wading through
the unutterable tedium of interminable German notes, of which the last
always contradicted all the rest; another will content himself with
eviscerating the general meaning of a passage, without any attempt to
feel the finer pulses of emotion, or discriminate the nicer shades of
thought. Eschewing commentators as much as he could, Julian would first
carefully go over a long passage, solely with a view to the clear
comprehension of the author's language, and would then re-read the whole
for the purpose of enjoying and appreciating the thoughts which the
words enshrined; and finally, when he had finished a book or a poem,
would run through it again as a whole, with all the glow and enthusiasm
of a perfect comprehension.
Sometimes Kennedy, or Owen, or Lord De Vayne, would read with him. This
was always in lighter and easier authors, read chiefly for practice, and
for the sake of the poetry or the story, which lent them their
attraction. It was necessary to pursue in solitude all the severer
paths of study; but he found these evenings, spent at once in society
and yet over books, full both of profit and enjoyment. Lillyston,
although not a first-rate classic, often formed one of the party; Owen
and Julian contributed the requisite scholarship and the accurate
knowledge, while Lillyston and De Vayne would often throw out some
literary illustration or historical parallel, and Kennedy gave life and
brightness to them all, by the flow and sparkle of his gaiety and wit.
But it must be admitted that Kennedy was the least studious element in
the party, and was too often the cause of digressions, and conversations
which led them to abandon altogether the immediate object of their
evening's work.
Kennedy had a tendency to idleness, which was developed by the freedom
with which he plunged into society of all kinds. His company was so
agreeable, and his bright young face was so happy an addition to all
parties, that he was in a round of constant engagements--breakfast
parties, wines, supper parties, and dinners--that encroached _far_ too
much on the hours of work. At school the perpetual examinations kept
alive an emulous spirit, which counteracted his fondness for mental
vagrancy; but at college the examinations--at least those of any
importance--are few and far between; and he always flattered himself
that he meant soon to make up for lost time, for three years looks an
immense period to a young man at the entrance of his university career.
It was nearly as necessary, (even in a pecuniary point of view), for him
as for Julian to make the best use of his time; for although he was an
only son, he was not destined to inherit a fortune sufficient for his
support.
"Just look at these cards," he said to Julian one day; "there is not one
of them which hasn't an invitation scribbled on it. These engagements
really leave one no time for work. What a bore it is! How do you
manage to escape them?"
"Well--first, I haven't such a large acquaintance as you; that makes a
great deal of difference. But, besides, I make a point of leaving
breakfast parties at ten, and wines at chapel-time--so that I really
don't find them any serious hindrance. No hindrance, I mean, in
comparison with the delight and profit of the society itself."
"I wish I could make the same resolution," said Kennedy; "but the fact
is, I find company so thoroughly amusing, that I'm always tempted to
stay."
"But why not decline sometimes?"
"I don't know--it looks uncivil. Here, which of these shall I cut?" he
said, tossing three or four notes and cards to Julian.
"This for one," said Julian, as he read the first:--
"Dear Kennedy--Come to supper and cards at ten. Bruce wants to be
introduced to you. Yours,
"`C Brogten.'"
"Yes, I think I shall. I don't like that fellow Brogten, who is always
thrusting himself in my way," said Kennedy. "Heigh ho!" and Kennedy
leant his head on his arm, and fell into a reverie, thinking that after
all his three years at college might be over almost before he was aware
of how much time he lost.
"I hope you don't play cards much," said Julian.
"Why? I hear Hazlet has been denouncing them in hall with unctuous
fervour, and I do think it was that which led me to join in a game which
was instantly proposed by some of the men who sat near."
"I don't say that there's anything diabolical," said Julian, smiling,
"in paint and pasteboard, or that I should have the least objection to
play them myself if I wanted amusement, but I think them--except very
occasionally, and in moderation--a waste of time; and if you play for
money I don't think it does you any good."
"Well, I've never played for money yet. By the bye, do you know Bruce?
He has the character and manner of a very gentlemanly fellow."
"Yes, I know him," said Julian, who made a point of holding his tongue
about a man when he had nothing favourable to say.
"Oh, ay, I forgot; of course; he's a Hartonian. But didn't you think
him gentlemanly?"
"He has an easy manner, and is accustomed to good society, which is
usually all that is intended by the word," said Julian.
"I think I must go just this one evening. I like to see a variety of
men; one learns something from it."
Kennedy went. The supper took place in Brogten's rooms, and the party
then adjourned to Bruce's, where they immediately began a game at whist
for half-a-crown points, and then "unlimited loo." Kennedy was induced
to play "just to see what it was like." As the game proceeded he became
more and more excited; the others were accustomed to the thing, and
concealed their eagerness; but Kennedy, who was younger and more
inexperienced than any of them, threw himself into the game, and drank
heedlessly of the wine that freely circulated. Surely if guardian
spirits attend the footsteps of youth, one angel must have wept that
evening "tears such as angels weep" to see him with his flushed face and
sparkling eyes, eagerly seizing the sums he won, or, with clenched hand
and contracted brow, anxiously awaiting the result of some adverse turn
in the chances of the game. I remember once to have accidentally
entered a scene like this in going to borrow something from a
neighbour's room; and I shall never forget the almost tiger-like
eagerness and haggard anxiety depicted on the countenances of the men
who were playing for sums far too extravagant for an undergraduate's
purse.
How Kennedy got home he never knew, but next morning he awoke headachy
and feverish, and the first thing he saw on his table was a slip of
paper on which was written, "Kennedy _admonished_ by the senior Dean for
being out after twelve o'clock." The notice annoyed and ashamed him.
He lay in bed till late, was absent from lecture, and got up to an
unrelished breakfast, at which he was disturbed by the entrance of
Bruce, to congratulate him on his winnings of the evening before.
While Bruce was talking to him, Lillyston also strolled in on his way
from lecture to ask what had kept Kennedy away. He was surprised to see
the pale and weary look on his face, and catching sight of Bruce seated
in the armchair by the fire, he merely made some commonplace remarks and
left the room. But he met Julian in the court, and told him that
Kennedy didn't seem to be well.
"I'm not surprised," said Julian; "he supped with Brogten, and then went
to play cards with Bruce, and I hear that Bruce's card parties are not
very steady proceedings."
"Can't we manage to keep him out of that set, Julian? It will be the
ruin of his reading."
"Ay, and worse, Hugh. But what can one say? It will hardly do to read
homilies to one's fellow undergraduates."
"You might at least give him a hint."
"I will. I suppose he'll come and do some Euripides to-night."
He did come, and when they had read some three hundred lines, and the
rest were separating, he proposed to Julian a turn in the great court.
The stars were crowding in their bright myriads, and the clear silvery
moonlight bathed the court, except where the hall and chapel flung
fantastic and mysterious shadows across the green smooth-mown lawns of
the quadrangle. The soft light, the cool exhilarating night air were
provocative of thought, and they walked up and down for a time in
silence.
Many thoughts were evidently working in Kennedy's mind, and they did not
all seem to be bright or beautiful as the thoughts of youth should be.
Julian's brain was busy, too; and as they paced up and down, arm in arm,
the many-coloured images of hope and fancy were flitting thick and fast
across his vision. He was thinking of his own future and of Kennedy's,
whom he was beginning to love as a brother, and for whose moral weakness
he sometimes feared.
"Julian," said Kennedy, suddenly breaking the silence; "were you ever
seized by an uncontrollable, unaccountable, irresistible presentiment of
coming evil,--a feeling as if a sudden gulf of blackness and horror
yawned before you--a dreadful _something_ haunting you, you knew not
what, but only knew that it was there?"
"I have had presentiments, certainly; though hardly of the kind you
describe."
"Well, Julian, I have such a presentiment now, overshadowing me with the
sense of guilt, of which I was never guilty; as though it were the
shadow of some crime committed in a previous state of existence,
forgotten yet unforgotten, incurred yet unavenged."
"Probably the mere result of a headache this morning, and the night air
now," said Julian, smiling at the energetic description, yet pained by
the intensity of Kennedy's tone of voice.
"Hush, Julian! I hate all that stupid materialism. Depend upon it,
some evil thing is over me. I wonder whether crimes of the future can
throw their crimson shadow back over the past. My life, thank God, has
been an innocent one, yet now I feel like the guiltiest thing alive."
"One oughtn't to yield to such feelings, or to be the victim of a heated
imagination, Kennedy. In my own case at least, half the feelings I have
fancied to be presentiments have turned out false in the end--
presentiments, I mean, which have been suggested, as perhaps this has,
by passing circumstances."
"God grant this may be false," said Kennedy, "but something makes me
feel uneasy."
"It will be a lying prophet, if you so determine, Kennedy. The only
enemy who has real power to hurt us is ourselves. Why should you be
agitated by an idle forecast of uncertain calamity? Be brave, and
honest, and pure, and God will be with you."
"Don't be surprised," continued Julian, "if you've heard me say the same
words before; they were my father's dying bequest to his eldest son."
"Be brave, and honest, and pure--" repeated Kennedy; "yes, you _must_ be
right, Julian. Look what a glorious sky, and what numberless `patines
of bright gold.'"
Julian looked up, and at that moment a meteor shot across the heaven,
plunging as though from the galaxy into the darkness, and after the
white and dazzling lustre of the trail had disappeared, seeming to leave
behind the glory of it a deeper gloom. It gave too true a type of many
a young man's destiny.
Kennedy said nothing, but although it is not the Camford custom to shake
hands, he shook Julian's hand that night with one of those warm and
loving grasps, which are not soon forgotten. And each walked slowly
back to his own room.