APOLOGIZING for the prolixity of my last chapter on drunkenness only
by the hope that a recital of my own ridiculous behavior may induce
some slave of Bacchus, who may recognize any part of the account as
familiar, to renounce his allegiance and be free, I invite my readers
to take another skip with me.
A year has passed and it is Commencement week. I am a Junior, while
Frank is to graduate.
Since his defeat, last year, for Marshal, he has gone rapidly down,
till he has lost all moral and social position in college. He is drunk
nearly all the time, and has gathered around himself a crowd of low
associates, that place him almost beyond the pale of recognition.
We have had very little intercourse since his defeat, though I have
recently desired to notice him more out of pity than anything else,
because so many others cut him. His brilliant mind, in spite of his
dissipation, still achieves something in his studies, and it is thought
he will get one of the honors in his class.
The Saturday before Commencement he surprised me very much by coming to
our room with an open letter in his hand, and saying:
“John, I have just received a letter from Lulie. She and one or two of
the Wilmington girls are coming up to our Commencement, and, as I will
be busy in speech making and graduating, I must beg you to help me out
in attending to them.”
“It will give me great pleasure to do so,” I replied. “What day will
they get here?”
“On Monday,” he said, looking at the letter. “I believe you have not
been to Wilmington since your father left, but you used to know all
these ladies. You must introduce some fellows to them, so they will
have a pleasant time.”
“Of course I will; but take a seat, Frank, you have not been in my room
before in a long time.”
“No, thank you, I have an engagement at twelve.”
He left the room, and I sat for some time in unpleasant reflection. If
Lulie came to Chapel Hill, and received attention from Frank and his
set, she would be put down as second class, and my circle of friends
would hardly wait on her, even at my request. Knowing her high social
position at home, I knew that Dr. Mayland, as well as herself, would
be deeply mortified when they knew the character of her associates,
if she visited Chapel Hill under Frank’s auspices; on the other hand,
if I went to her and warned her when she came she would regard my
information as a fiction of my prejudice against Frank, and despise me
for it. Yet I felt sure he did not love and respect her, for only a day
or two before he had said, when I asked if he were going to be married
after Commencement, that he was going to see something of life first,
that Lulie would keep for a year or two yet without spoiling, and that,
even if she did prove false and love another, he had about tired of her.
After thinking over the matter I determined to wait and see whom
Frank introduced to her, as his own pride might induce him to select
companions suitable to her refinement and culture.
Going to the post-office that afternoon I received a letter from
father, dated at London, saying that they would start the next day but
one for the United States. They would land at Halifax, and come through
Canada to Niagara, where they would wait for me to join them as soon
as my college exercises were over. He spoke of the wondrous beauty of
Carlotta, now that she was a woman, and said that fortunes and honors
in profusion had been laid at her feet, but that she had refused all,
and he did not think her heart had yet been touched. Her cousin,
Herrara Lola, a young Cuban of rank and fortune, had joined them at
Madrid, and had been travelling with them ever since. He was coming
South with them to spend the summer and autumn, returning to Havana in
the winter.
“And your mother and I fear,” continued he, “that when he leaves he
will take away with him our beautiful Carlotta.”
I closed the letter with a great aching restlessness in my heart. Lose
Carlotta! I had feared it ever since I had told her farewell, but my
heart had not dared to acknowledge even to itself the possibility of
such a loss. As I had received letter after letter telling of her ever
increasing charms of person and character, I had longed with a great
desire to see her once again and tell her how I loved her far more than
any other dared to love, a desire made all the stronger by its utter
hopelessness. And I had taken out my little ringlet each day, and,
kissing it tenderly, wondered if she kept her pledge and ever thought
of me. As I had learned the past winter of her successful _debut_ in
society, and her numberless triumphs, I felt that my hopes were forever
fallen. She would return now puffed up with pride and conscious of
superiority, while I would only appear to her as a rustic younger
brother, whom she would be ashamed to exhibit to the arrogant Herrara.
“I won’t go to Niagara,” I said, savagely, crumpling the letter in
my hand; “they will all look down on me now, and even father and
mother will think I lack polish, after their European tour, for travel
invariably breeds conceit.”
I took up my _Herald_ to divert my thoughts, and running my eyes over
its columns, saw the following among the marriage announcements:
“MARSHMAN—CARROVER. At the residence of the bride’s uncle, Mr. Isaac
T. Carrover, No.——Fifth Avenue, by the Rev. Dr. Deeler, assisted
by the Rev. Mr. Prynn, Hon. Palmer Marshman, M. C. for the—th
Congressional District, to Miss Lillian Carrover. No cards.”
Poor Marshman, thought I, the rose leaves are plucked, only thorns for
thee!