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 3

 
 COLLEGE 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTKD FOR 
 
 JX)NGMAN, HURST, HEES, ORME, BROWN, AND GREEN, 
 
 PATERNOSTER- ROW. 
 
 1825.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by A. & H. Spottiswoodc, 
 Ncw-Strcet-Square.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 OF 
 
 THE EDITOR. 
 
 THE Sketches here submitted to the public 
 are taken from the manuscripts of a person, 
 who wrote them originally with some view to 
 their publication, but became disheartened 
 during the progress of his work, and shrunk 
 from the thought of presenting himself be- 
 fore the world as an author. They are 
 published by his executor, to whom, a little 
 before his death, he intrusted his papers, 
 with permission to publish any .sketches 
 which might appear worthy of notice. The 
 editor has not thought himself at liberty, in 
 any case, to substitute real names for those 
 by which the author thought proper to de- 
 signate his characters ; and he has observed 
 this caution even where concealment would 
 
 W10608
 
 IV ADVERTISEMENT OF THE EDITOR. 
 
 be unattainable as in the sketch of Waller, 
 which will be generally recognised as in- 
 tended for the character of the late Rev. 
 Charles Woulfe, author of the " Lines on 
 the Burial of Sir John Moore." It is, how- 
 ever, to be understood that, except the 
 names, scarcely any thing contained in this 
 little volume can properly be termed ficti- 
 tious. If the sketches now published -shall 
 be thought deserving of attention, the editor 
 will feel himself encouraged and authorised 
 to make further extracts from the manu- 
 scripts of which he has been made the 
 depositary.
 
 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 1 HOPE I may have perseverance enough to employ 
 my unoccupied hours, for some time to come, in 
 the task of recording occurrences, and describing 
 situations in which it was my fortune to be an ob- 
 server, or an actor, during the years of my collegiate 
 life. I have arrived at a period when I can most 
 faithfully record them. Before this, the memory of 
 them was associated with feelings which might have 
 communicated to my narratives an exaggerated 
 colouring, and I think I can foresee, that if I de- 
 fer my purpose long, the remembrance of college 
 days may fade from my mind, according as stronger 
 or nearer interests shall cause the importance of 
 college associations to lessen in my regard. I am 
 greatly changed since that time, but am not less 
 happy. ' I can think of all that then was interest- 
 ing : of the friends with whom I enjoyed such 
 VOL. i. B
 
 2 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 entire communion: of those social hours in 
 which sportiveness and study were so delight- 
 fully blended together : I can think of the agitating 
 excitement which interests, such as then appeared 
 great, had the power to make me feel ; and I can 
 think upon the time when hope promised every 
 thing bright and valuable, and a confiding spirit 
 received her promises as truth. I can think of 
 those days, with a certainty that none like them 
 shall occur again in this world, and without a wish 
 that they should return. Could I desire a happier 
 frame of mind in which to record my College Re- 
 collections ? 
 
 The character of college life in the Dublin uni- 
 versity is not so properly academic as it is in 
 either of the great English institutions. The situ- 
 ation of the Dublin college, and the lenity with 
 which its government is administered, facilitates 
 an union between the habits derived from society 
 as it exists in the world, and those acquired by 
 academic pursuits. My recollections, therefore, 
 may appear, in some cases, to have little of the cha- 
 racter which one might at first expect, but still they 
 are in general very different from recollections not 
 conversant with college life. However little se- 
 qluded from society the students in the university of
 
 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 Dublin may be, they nevertheless imbibe, in their 
 collegiate pursuits, a spirit which they could not 
 catch in the world. The respect which is insensi- 
 bly acquired and established for intellectual pre- 
 eminence, the hope of distinction, and the dread 
 of disgrace, cannot but mould all generous minds 
 into a character different from that which would be 
 formed by mere intercourse with the world ; and 
 amongst those who are distinguished, or who 
 aspire at distinction, there is a constant looking 
 out towards the future, which gives to youth a 
 character not naturally its own. From this habit 
 of looking forward, at first, perhaps, no farther 
 than to the time of college honours, then towards 
 the distinctions and advantages in the world, of 
 which the academic successes were only encou- 
 raging omens, the youthful mind frequently be- 
 comes invested with a portion of that dignity 
 which is thought more properly characteristic of 
 mature age, and affords a spectacle not often to be 
 observed in the world ; a young man in all the 
 warmth and flush of opening life, not more affected 
 by the passions and pleasures which would make 
 him the captive of the present hour, than by the 
 visions and presentiments which would preserve 
 him for the future. 
 
 B 2
 
 4 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 It was my fortune in college to have formed, 
 although a limited, a very varied society ; a society 
 comprising some of those who were most distin- 
 guished for talents and attainments, and some who 
 were equally remarkable, although nature and idle 
 habits had left them without .any reasonable hope 
 of attaining literary distinction. How scattered 
 are all the members of this society now ! Some 
 are dead ; some are altered ; and yet there are 
 instances in which the alteration in circumstances 
 and habits, and tastes, has spared the affections, 
 and left the spirit of friendship, and that spirit 
 only, unaffected. But I have seen that too 
 changed; and at this moment, the remembrance 
 which presses most strongly upon me, is that of 
 him whom I once regarded with the liveliest 
 though not the deepest affection, and from whom 
 I have learned the lesson, that, although friendship 
 may withstand the influence of pride or ambition, 
 or even avarice, it cannot abide in the heart of 
 one who devotes himself to a profligate life. I will 
 endeavour to describe him. He is dead ; and my 
 hope of being united in friendship with one for 
 whom I still felt a regard, which open profligacy 
 ought to have destroyed, was punished as it de- 
 served.
 
 LORTON. 
 
 1 o a general observer, who knew my character, 
 it would appear as if the dispositions and habits of 
 Lorton must be for me peculiarly repulsive. He 
 had been uncontrolled in childhood, having lost both 
 his parents at a very early age ; had delivered 
 himself to all the impulses of youth, with little 
 consideration for himself or others, and when I 
 became acquainted with him, it was evident, on 
 the slightest inspection, that he was under the in- 
 fluence of no fixed principle. Such a character 
 was not likely to prove attractive to any man, but 
 must be thought repulsive and terrifying to one 
 who loved and practised (at least external) moral- 
 ity. Yet he, without literary pretension, or cap- 
 tivating manners, or prepossessing exterior, was a 
 person to whom I attached myself with more 
 warmth perhaps than I felt for much more valued 
 B 3
 
 6 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 friends. I thought I discovered in him a gene- 
 rosity and an enthusiasm which more than coun- 
 terbalanced his defects. Associating with him 
 only at times when he was not under the influence 
 of criminal passions, or engaged in vicious pur- 
 suits, I found in his habits of thinking a gallantry 
 and a refinement which he must have had from 
 nature, and I did not think that the nature which 
 originated such sentiments could ever harbour 
 meanness or duplicity. 
 
 He was about twenty years of age when I first 
 met him : his appearance was much more youth- 
 ful than might be expected from his age, and his 
 knowledge of the world more considerable. He 
 had a presence of mind which never forsook him, 
 and an adroitness in the management of difficult 
 affairs, and a readiness in devising expedients 
 which seemed to increase in proportion to the 
 emergency requiring their exercise. He was 
 one of the very few men of whom it may with 
 truth be affirmed that they love and court danger. 
 He seemed to think of it only as a pleasing and 
 powerful excitement, and so little did it leave of 
 painful or troubled reflection behind, that I have 
 seen him, when he had but just extricated himself 
 from some imminent peril, enter into company, and
 
 I.OHTON. 7 
 
 converse with as easy and disengaged an air as if 
 he had only at that moment quitted his books. 
 
 It may readily be imagined, that to such a man 
 the quiet habits of a studious life must be distaste- 
 ful. He could, however, at times devote himself 
 with much ardour to study, and even find pleasure 
 in it; but as soon as the capricious impulse of the 
 moment had subsided, and labour became irk- 
 some, he at once abandoned all his good resolu- 
 tions, making no effort to struggle with himself 
 and overmaster his idle inclinations. On such 
 occasions, his practice was to restore his books to 
 their shelves, dress himself, as he always did, with 
 great attention, and sally out (as he expressed it, 
 and as was literally the case) in quest of adventures. 
 
 For a life of this kind nature had given him 
 many advantages. His personal appearance was, to 
 those who were judges of its expression, far from 
 prepossessing. There was in his countenance 
 something of half-hidden ferocity, which, though 
 kept from flashing out into action by his pro- 
 jects or his success, appeared always ready to ma- 
 nifest itself, if excited by opposition ; and there 
 was, also, an expression of mingled boldness 
 and sensuality, as if he had ceased to feel either 
 dread or shame of sin. But I have known many 
 
 B l
 
 8 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 who thought his appearance more than pleasing. 
 His features were such as are generally considered 
 good, and there was diffused over his countenance 
 that fine and smooth colouring, which seems to 
 many an eye the hue of good-nature; while his 
 figure, light, well-proportioned, and handsome, 
 (though rather below than above the middle height,) 
 set off by a bold and graceful carriage, wore fre- 
 quently an air of perfect candour. Add to these 
 external advantages, an effrontery not to be 
 subdued, and a kind of instinct by which he 
 seemed at once to know the characters upon which 
 he was most likely to produce a favourable im- 
 pression, and upon whom he used to pour forth, like 
 a torrent, a species of eloquence, which, if it did 
 not make them feel deeply, allowed them but little 
 time to think; and you will have the qualifications 
 for evil adventures of a man to whom conscience 
 never spoke the language of warning, nor ever 
 appeared in any other likeness than that of re- 
 morse. 
 
 I was walking with him one day on the banks 
 of the canal : some circumstance, which I cannot 
 now recollect, had caused the walks to be more 
 than usually crowded, and Lorton was in high 
 spirits, and commenting in a very amusing manner
 
 LORTON. 9 
 
 on the groups which passed us by. Suddenly he 
 paused, and said, in an altered tone, to one of our 
 party, " Is not that man on the bridge V- - ?" 
 Yes." 
 Immediately he went up to the gentleman. 
 
 " Your name, Sir, is V ?" 
 
 " It is, have you any commands with me ?" 
 " Yes ! I learned last night, that you were base 
 enough to speak disrespectfully of my cousin, Miss 
 
 A , and I intended calling on you to-day, to 
 
 get your signature to a paper, denying that you 
 ever used the expressions imputed to you, or to 
 chastise you as your conduct deserves." 
 
 " Sir, I shall' offer no explanation to a person 
 who demands it in so improper a manner." 
 
 " Then I tell you that you have behaved in an 
 infamous manner, that you are a liar and a coward. 
 Now if you have any -demand to make on me, 
 this is my address." 
 
 At this point of the dispute I attempted to in- 
 terfere, for before this it was impossible. I said 
 
 that Mr. V would make allowance for Lor- 
 
 ton's feelings, if he knew how they had been ex- 
 cited, and endeavoured to appease him by various 
 representations, but to no purpose. He inter- 
 rupted me.
 
 10 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 " Sir, the nature of the misunderstanding is 
 altered, I am the person who have received an 
 insult not to be borne." Then turning to Lorton, 
 he said, " You shall hear from me before night." 
 
 The conversation terminated for the time we 
 turned away and walked on for some time in 
 silence. The first who spoke was Lorton. 
 
 " What a pretty girl that was who was leaning 
 
 on V 's right arm : did you see how pale she 
 
 grew, and how her lip trembled while I was speak- 
 ing to that scoundrel ?" 
 
 " No, indeed, I saw no such thing, and I wonder 
 how you can talk about it." 
 
 " I tell you, I can talk and think of nothing 
 else, and that if I get well out of this affair, I will 
 make it my business to have myself introduced to 
 her. I don't doubt but that I will make it one of 
 
 the conditions of accepting an apology from V 
 
 that he shall be my gentleman usher : come now, 
 don't be looking like the witness in the city of 
 the plague, as O'Brien says, crying, ' Woe to the 
 bloody city !' let us get through one hour merrily 
 here, and then back to college, and think of what 
 may happen." 
 
 It was in this manner he talked on during the 
 whole time of our promenade. When we found
 
 LORTON. 1 1 
 
 ourselves at home his mind was changed, but the 
 change was still more shocking, for he seemed 
 now alive to nothing but thoughts and wishes of 
 revenge: however, the matter ended peaceably, 
 
 for Mr. V 's friend, who called on us at four 
 
 o'clock in the evening, was a calm rational man, 
 and from the representations I made to him, con- 
 sented, on V 's part, to make such concessions 
 as appeased Lorton's vindictive feelings, and in- 
 duced him to express regret for the intemperance 
 of his conduct. 
 
 On the third evening after this, we were sitting at 
 a large window which looked out into the college 
 park, and conversing in a tone which a person unac- 
 quainted with the depths of Lorton's mind, would 
 have thought little suited to his character. It was 
 in the time of the long vacation, and the students, 
 except the few who had no other home than their 
 chambers, and the still fewer who preferred re- 
 maining in the deserted college, as better adapted 
 for their literary labours, had dispersed to their 
 various friends. At this season, the silence and soli- 
 tude in which the evening closes, invest the beau- 
 tiful structures within the college enclosures, with 
 something of a monumental character, and diffuse 
 over the minds of such as can feel their influence,
 
 12 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 a more than ordinary solemnity. We were look- 
 injr into the park, where a no less pensive influence- 
 appeared to preside. The air was perfectly still, 
 and the forms of the large trees before us were 
 motionless, and without a single ray of light upon 
 them to break the monotonous repose in which 
 the evening was fading away. From the streets 
 outside the park, there was only a faint and in- 
 articulate murmur of life, and the solitary forms of 
 the few gowned stragglers who had come out, like 
 the owl, at the day's departure, to breathe the 
 free air they had earned by toil and confinement, 
 served only to render the loneliness around them 
 still more remarkable. 
 
 No man, at times, had more complete sympathy 
 with nature than Lorton. He appeared to imbibe 
 the spirit of this evening scene, and, as if to give 
 the fullest effect to the influence of the hour, while 
 we were speaking in low suppressed tones, on the 
 solemn subjects which the scene was calculated 
 to inspire, the death bell of St. Mark's church 
 sounded. There is something almost irresistible 
 in the first toll of a large bell, when the mind is 
 properly attuned for it. It surprises you like a 
 startling incident. If it have nothing preternatural 
 about it, it is, at least, strikingly distinct from all
 
 LORTON. IS 
 
 natural sounds. It does not come gradually upon 
 you, making for the ear some note of preparation. 
 It issues into existence full formed, and announces, 
 as it were, something finished and irrevocable, 
 announcing it too, with a solemnity and a stern- 
 ness, which make you feel that all expostulation 
 is vain; and, even in its dying fall, when it ap- 
 pears to have assumed something like sympathy 
 for human sorrow, it still preserves its character 
 of decision, and although no sound is more 
 estranged from hope, yet it seems as if hope lin- 
 gered until the last vibration of the note, and died 
 as it sunk away. If the grave had found a voice 
 and proclaimed that all was vanity, it could not 
 have impressed Lorton more powerfully. 
 
 It appeared as if he had dedicated himself to 
 newness of life, and that from that moment he 
 was to be an altered man. " I have had," said 
 he, " frequent presentiments of evil. I have 
 often thought that my end was to be sudden and 
 dreadful ; and, the other day, even when the bal- 
 loon was ascending, and the cloud received it from 
 our sight, and it then appeared, higher up, like a 
 speck in the sky, I felt as if it were intended for 
 my condemnation, as if to announce to me that I 
 should never ascend toward the region I was re-
 
 14- COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 minded of. It seemed to say to me, there is a 
 heaven where you shall never be; and the first 
 toll of this bell had for a moment the same effect : 
 but I know this is felly, and why should not I, as 
 well as others, win good hopes by a good life." 
 
 This was the tone in which we were conversing, 
 until we were interrupted by a foolish good-na- 
 tured fellow, who came whistling into the room : 
 " Oh ! these bells," said he, " I wish somebody 
 would bring in an act of parliament against every 
 bell that ever was cast for church or college. What? 
 You like it, do you ? By all accounts you deserved 
 to have enough of it, and at your ease too. What 
 a pretty fellow you were, Lorton, to go insult 
 a man six feet high on the canal bridge. If he 
 served you right, he'd have popt you into the 
 lock, and sent your soul indignant to Pluto's 
 drear abodes : there you'll be weeping and wail- 
 ing, as Mawworm says in the play: there's that 
 bell again : oh ! you're a pretty fellow ! it ought 
 to be tolling for you. * A pit of clay for to be 
 made.' Did you see Conway last night ? He 
 played his part like shot. Don't you think Miss 
 O'Neil a fine girl ? But she's not half so pretty as 
 the girl on the canal bridge. Singleton showed 
 her to me just now as we were coming down
 
 LORTON. 15 
 
 Dame-street. * There's the lady,' says he, ' that 
 was walking with the fellow that Lorton was 
 going to fight.' " 
 
 " Where did you see her?" said Lorton. 
 
 " In Dame Street, and I saw her not ten minutes 
 since, go into Allen's shop. " 
 
 Instantly, as if a solemn thought had never 
 crossed his mind, Lorton started up, and before I 
 could form the least idea of his intentions, he was 
 passing rapidly through the college courts, and 
 was soon out of sight. Thompson remained 
 behind wondering at what mad whim had taken 
 possession of " that crazy Lorton ;" and when he 
 had exhausted all terms of abuse against his folly, 
 he entertained me with accounts of Conway and 
 Miss O'Neil, and occasional regrets that there 
 was ever such a language invented as Lathi or 
 Greek, or such things as Euclid aiyl Algebra ; and 
 earnest wishes that government ' would condemn 
 all science, except Gunnery, and Fortification, and 
 things that were of some use. 
 
 In less than hour Lorton returned, humming to 
 himself something like the air of a popular song, 
 as he usually did when in particular good humour, 
 and willing to be laughed at for the singular awk- 
 wardness of his musical attempts, in which the
 
 16 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 nicest ear could not discover any two notes in 
 tune. 
 
 " Thompson, my good fellow," said he, " will 
 you find out Singleton, and bring him with you 
 to supper at ten o'clock ?" 
 
 " I wanted to get that fool away," said he, as 
 Thompson closed the door, " for I have a great 
 deal to tell you. I walked home with that beautiful 
 girl, and am already almost intimate with her. I 
 made her laugh several times, and give me her 
 hand at parting ; but I wish you could have 
 seen the comical appearance of her protector 
 when I first came up to address her. It was just 
 as if he was galvanised," and he remained for 
 some time laughing and describing with great 
 drollery the gentleman's appearance; he resumed 
 his narrative. " I saw her at first coming out of 
 Allen's shop, but she was, I believe, afraid of me, 
 for when she saw me advancing, she went back 
 again. All's fair, said I, I have laid no plan of 
 operations yet, so you need be under no present 
 apprehensions. I went into Archer's, and when 
 she saw that I was not making any nearer approach, 
 she took courage, and came out. I let her pass 
 me, and saw that she was walking with a tall 
 strong-looking man. If this gentleman's anger,
 
 LORTON. 17 
 
 thought I, be greater than his prudence, he will of 
 course attempt to knock me down ; so, if possible, 
 I'll take care that the rencounter shall be in a 
 private street. Every thing favoured me they 
 passed the College, and turning down into Nassau 
 Street, went along towards the square; and at last 
 I found that we were all in Mount Street. Now is 
 my time, said I, and passing over to the opposite 
 side of the street from that on which they were walk- 
 ing, I got before them ; I then sprang back to the 
 side at which they were, and stood in the way they 
 were going, at about the length of this room from 
 them. It was not until now they saw me. I heard 
 her say " Look !" and she appeared to be ex- 
 cessively frightened. As soon as her eyes met 
 mine, I took off my hat, and bowing in my best 
 and most respectful manner," (he prided himself on 
 his bow,) " I advanced, hat in hand, to the place 
 where they were standing, as if transfixed with 
 astonishment." 
 
 " Can this be possible ?" interrupted I, " or are 
 you merely exerting your inventive powers ?" 
 
 " Truth," said he, " all truth, upon my honour. 
 The only account I can give in explanation is, 
 that she believed me to be deranged and now 
 that I think of my conduct on the canal, and 
 
 VOL. i. t:
 
 18 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 what my appearance was likely to have been 
 this evening, I think such a supposition very 
 probable. I am sure I must have looked very 
 fierce; for as I came up, I expected that the man 
 would knock me down. However, on I went. 
 Without noticing her present fear, I was beginning 
 an apolegy for the alarm I had given on the canal, 
 when she said, with evident terror, but with an at- 
 tempt at spirit, that she required no apology, and 
 would take it as a favour, if I would leave her to 
 pursue her walk. At this the gentleman who accom- 
 panied her thought himself called upon to inter- 
 fere. ' Sir,' said he, * I have the honour to be 
 
 this lady's protector, and' I interrupted him : 
 
 that is the only honour I am disposed to envy you : 
 my business is with the lady, afterwards I am at 
 your service. I then resumed my apologies to her, 
 and the end was, that I was permitted to accom- 
 pany her through the town, as far as the turn to 
 
 Street, where she lives ; and that, as a proof 
 
 she forgave me, she gave me her hand when we 
 were parting. I have found out from her, that she 
 is the daughter of Mr. , and that she goes to 
 Bethesda every Sunday evening." 
 
 About this time I went into the country, where 
 I remained for some months, and at my return to 
 College found Lorton visibly altered for the worse.
 
 LORTON. 1 9 
 
 He had lost the appearance of frankness which 
 often distinguished him before ; his fits of ill-temper 
 and moroseness were more frequent, and of longer 
 continuance, and he had lost all relish for the 
 quiet pleasures which he used to enjoy highly, and 
 to which his own exuberant spirits and oddity of 
 humour served greatly to contribute. I was con- 
 fident that this change in his manners was a con- 
 sequence arising out of the life he led ; yet still I 
 did not lose my interest in him, and to do him 
 justice, he still submitted to advice and expostu- 
 lation from me, with an appearance of deference 
 and attention. I was, however, no longer the 
 depositary of his secrets, and my knowledge of him 
 henceforth was for the most part acquired, by acci- 
 dent, from himself, or by enquiries from some other 
 person. 
 
 It was principally owing to accident, that I 
 learned the sequel of the canal adventure. On 
 an evening in the following spring, I happened to 
 see Lorton in company with a very beautiful but 
 unhappy looking girl. She was just about to leave 
 him, and was looking into his face with an earnest- 
 ness, and yet a timidity that was almost akin to 
 terror. It seemed as if he had made her feel that 
 a fate depending on him was not a gentle one. 
 
 c 2
 
 20 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 '' Farewell !" said he, " think of what I have been 
 saying !" This he said with a hard and unfeeling 
 air and tone, and the poor girl seemed to shrink 
 into herself, as if all was lost. She made him no 
 reply, but hastily drawing down her veil, clasped 
 her hands for a moment together, and then turning 
 from him, walked rapidly but steadily away. He 
 looked after her for a moment, and then, turning 
 about, found that I had joined him. I asked him 
 who the lady was who had just left him : " O 
 
 don't you remember her ? that's Miss : you 
 
 know my canal acquaintance. I was urging her 
 
 to marry V , who has proposed for her, but she 
 
 says she cannot bear the thought of being his or 
 any man's wife. Poor girl, she once hoped to be 
 mine." 
 
 "And did you give her reason to think she 
 should?" 
 
 Yes, I did." 
 
 " And do you not mean to realize the hopes you 
 excited ?" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! Do I mean to realize ? You 
 may be a good moralist, for aught I know ; but 
 you are not one to my mind. I do not mean to 
 realize her hopes or her wishes. She was pleasing 
 to me when I made her promises. She is no longer
 
 LORTON. 21 
 
 so. She has contracted a fear of me, and it has 
 destroyed all her agreeable qualities. So I wish 
 never to see her again, and hope she may become 
 
 reasonable, and be a good wife to V , or to 
 
 Robin Gray, or any other man. These are my 
 principles." 
 
 " Your principles ?" 
 
 " Yes, my principles. Why may not I have my 
 principles as well as you, or any other moralist or 
 fanatic that hopes to be saved? I suppose I can 
 bear the consequences ; and, at all events, I shall 
 ask no man to take my place." 
 
 We walked along in silence, and after some time 
 he resumed : 
 
 " You think I have behaved cruelly, and that I 
 ought to make what is called atonement : I tell you 
 that I owe it elsewhere. Listen, for I am in the 
 mood to speak of myself, and you will find how I 
 have outdone this business. While you were in 
 the country, I made an excursion one day from 
 town ; it was indeed with the expectation of 
 meeting this poor girl, who was going with her 
 friends on a party of pleasure. I had taken care 
 to be on the grounds before her party, and was 
 lurking about waiting for them, and keeping 
 myself concealed among the trees. I don't know 
 
 c 3
 
 22 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 how long my patience would have lasted, but it 
 was not tried, for my thoughts were suddenly 
 diverted by the sight of two young girls, one of 
 them very beautiful and modest looking, and 
 both of the lower order. I immediately went 
 up and accosted them with some indifferent ques- 
 tion, and after a little time entered into particular 
 conversation with my poor victim. I allowed her 
 to bring me home, andintroduce me to her parents, 
 as Mr. Maxwell of the Stamp office. I found a 
 poor old couple, who used to work at a neighbour- 
 ing factory, and who had no other child than 
 Susan they called her. They boasted of the 
 care they took of her morals and education ; how 
 they would not let her go to the factory, but kept 
 her constantly at school, and now they had the 
 benefit of it. I told them, I hoped to make them 
 amends for all their care : they were of course de- 
 lighted. I was so modest and honourable, they 
 could trust me if they loved her still better. Well, 
 what will you have of it? I remained there a week. 
 Every day I was left to entertain their dear Susan; 
 at first she had a companion, then this precaution 
 was dispensed with, and when I went away at the 
 end of the week, I brought Susan with me." 
 "You did!"
 
 LORTON. 2.3 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " O heaven ! and what has become of her ?" 
 
 " Become of her ! what becomes of every one 
 that trusts me? and she was not sixteen years of 
 age." 
 
 He seemed to live now a life of uninterrupted 
 profligacy. If upon the most ordinary occasion 
 he was asked his name or address, he gave a false 
 one ; and even kept about him cards printed with 
 false names, containing directions to various hotels 
 at opposite extremities of the town. After a short 
 time, our intercourse was totally at an end. Cere- 
 monious and distant visits, constrained and cold 
 salutes, could not satisfy persons who had been once 
 on terms such as ours, and we soon came to pass each 
 other without any note of recognition, with a look 
 of defiance always on his part, and on mine with a 
 feeling of horror and pity. He neglected altogether 
 his College duties; all his acquaintances had shrunk 
 away from him, and his name and character were 
 becoming notorious in town. He was anxious to 
 leave the country for ever, and through the interest 
 of a friend, whom he had formerly served, he pro- 
 cured an official employment in one of our colonies. 
 This much I learned from general rumour, but I 
 was to have fuller information, and that from un- 
 c 4
 
 24- COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 happy Lorton himself, who wrote me a letter, 
 giving an account of the state in which his mind 
 was, and had been, for some time before. It was 
 dated from the harbour where he then was, and on 
 the night before he sailed. 
 
 " You are, I have no doubt, somewhat sur- 
 prised to find that I should still think myself 
 privileged to address you. I have wronged you, 
 you know. I have traduced you ; this you have 
 yet to learn : but I have made reparation ; not 
 from anxiety about you, but that I would not give 
 people I despised the satisfaction of imagining, 
 that they might think meanly of one who had ever 
 been my friend. You are so no longer ! I 
 know it : who could be my friend now ? and yet 
 the remembrance of our early intimacy has forced 
 itself upon me in such a manner as to make the 
 intervening time lose all its dreadful memorials, 
 and I am tempted to reveal myself to you as I 
 used in those vanished hours, when you listened 
 to my regrets and resolutions with interest and 
 affection. If I yield to such a feeling, it is at 
 worst my last weakness : to-morrow I shall re- 
 sume all the recklessness which my case requires ; 
 and if 1 may credit my physician's report, I shall,
 
 LORTON. 25 
 
 in the course of a very few weeks, have no cha- 
 racter to perform. 
 
 " Has it appeared strange to you that I never, 
 in any stage of my profligate life, questioned or 
 scoffed at the most minute article of religion ? I 
 could not do it: I had a witness of its power 
 within me. Holy men speak of the witness of the 
 Spirit, and declaim upon its peaceful and sanctify- 
 ing character. This was not my witness ; yet mine 
 was no less constraining. The devils, you know, 
 
 believe and no, I did not tremble, because I 
 
 apprehended nothing worse than I experienced ; 
 but still mine was the faith of the devils, for I be- 
 lieved and I despaired ! Can you bring to your 
 recollection a night when we were assembled 
 round the fire in my rooms, and speaking on the 
 subject of the gospel parables; and when you 
 turned the conversation from truths more ob- 
 viously intelligible, to that mysterious account of 
 the devil who goeth through dry places seeking 
 rest, and finding none. You spoke of the condi- 
 tion of a rebel spirit, condemned for ever to wander 
 through the wilderness, seeking rest in vain. You 
 described him, rushing with eager delight upon 
 every green and refreshing spot, and finding 
 that, in the instant his unblest wings have sha-
 
 2$ COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 (lowed it, it has become an abomination. This 
 was the manner in which you spoke, but I made 
 a more terrible application of your words, and of 
 the subject. I thought of the innocent hearts 
 over which my shadow had passed, and of the 
 loathing with which I used to turn away from the 
 desolation I had caused. I thought of the restless 
 spirit within me, continually driving me out to 
 seek new objects. I thought of this spirit charmed 
 into something like enjoyment, while plotting and 
 devising schemes of ruin ; and then shrinking away 
 disgusted and cursed when the ruin was completed. 
 I thought that there was, as it were,^ flame raging 
 within me which I sought to appease, and found 
 that I had only blasted the objects I approached, 
 and converted them into mournful resemblances 
 of myself: and, as these thoughts impressed them- 
 selves more and more strongly upon me, I ima- 
 gined that I was, not figuratively, but in letter 
 and in truth, that evil spirit which goes about 
 seeking rest and not finding it. Judge what my 
 life must have been, and what it is, but do not 
 imagine that fear is among my afflictions. No ! 
 In five weeks at most, I shall be in the world of 
 spirits ; but my world shall be there, what it is 
 here, memory : there needs no greater torture to
 
 LORTON. '27 
 
 satisfy any justice. I neither wish nor fear to 
 die, because death cannot alter me. Do you 
 remember how ardently I used to long for a life 
 at sea, and haw eagerly I would have embraced 
 once the opportunity of making a long sea voyage. 
 Is it not strange that my first voyage should be 
 one in which I am going to death ? The ocean is 
 spreading before me; the ocean, over which all 
 my romantic fancies used to expatiate. Its expres- 
 sion is altered now ; there is neither moon nor 
 star, but I can see its waters moving quietly, 
 and hear the waves as they advance with a low, 
 regulated soflpd. The sound is to me as of a 
 voice which claims me, and the quiet heaving of 
 the water seems as if it had life and sense, and 
 was tranquilly expecting the day when it is to 
 receive a new inhabitant. 
 
 " No more of this fooling; I would sustain it 
 longer if I could, but memory will not be defrauded. 
 You cannot conceive the agony with which at this 
 moment, the wrongs of one I have most injured 
 force themselves upon me. Poor betrayed Susan ! 
 the remembrance of my treachery to you is an 
 unimaginable misery. Will you seek her out? 
 will you try to see her parents ? I enclose money ; 
 administer it, if it can give relief. Bring her back
 
 28 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 to them if it be possible. Tell her, if she knew 
 my wretchedness, she would forgive me. Tell 
 her I never loved but her; and tell her that I 
 have no misery here, and that I dread no agony 
 in the world to which 1 am hastening, worse than 
 the remembrance of her wrongs. I cannot con- 
 tinue. 
 
 " Farewell, 
 
 " LORTON." 
 
 This letter was accompanied with some details 
 written on the envelope, by means of which I 
 should discover the unhappy girl. As to poor 
 Lorton, his apprehensions were well founded, 
 and he died before he reached the end of his 
 voyage.
 
 WALLER. 
 
 1 DO not know whether it is a peculiarity in my 
 nature, that, in certain cases, when I meditate on 
 departed friends, my thoughts do not revert to the 
 circumstances in which I can remember them, but 
 rather are carried onward, as if toward their present 
 condition. I do not mean to say that my imagin- 
 ation bodies forth some form of light and glory, 
 with shining robes and wings of immortal youth ; 
 but what is much more extraordinary, I seem to my- 
 self to have an idea or conviction of existence (how 
 borne in upon my soul I know not) distinct from 
 all the attributes by which it makes itself known 
 through the senses. At this moment, I have my
 
 30 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 mind, whether thinking or feeling I cannot say, 
 but in whatever state it is, conscious, I might 
 almost assert, of the presence of Waller. I am not 
 thinking of any scene in which, before he left this 
 earth, he was conspicuous : . I am not imagining 
 that region of blessedness into which he has 
 entered; and yet, without any definite image or 
 remembrance, I find a thought or a feeling of him 
 predominant in my soul. I have occasionally, for 
 an instant, bright but only half revealed glimpses 
 of a heavenly countenance glancing upon me, and 
 then gradually fading, or suddenly withdrawn ; but 
 the impression upon the soul is steady, and seemingly 
 quite independent of either memory or imagination . 
 I do not know whether it is intended in the book 
 of Job, (in that sublime account of the state of mind 
 in which Eliphaz represents himself conscious of 
 the presence of a spirit,) to give us an intimation 
 of some power distinct from the senses, by which 
 external objects are made apprehensible by the 
 soul. " It stood still," he says, " but I could not 
 discern the form thereof: an image was before 
 me." My accompanying sensations are far dif- 
 ferent, but certainly I have a distinct and con- 
 straining conviction of the existence of my departed
 
 WALLER. 31 
 
 friend Waller, although my fancy does not array 
 the conviction in any bodily shape, or direct it 
 towards any local presence. 
 
 I shall not continue longer in this strain; it might 
 belong more properly to an essay on abstract 
 ideas, than to the recollection of a valued friend, 
 I cannot say lost, although departed : neither my 
 hopes nor my feelings will allow me to say that I 
 have lost him. 
 
 It is not much more than a year since I met him 
 for the last time, after three years' separation. We 
 were placed at opposite extremities of the kingdom ; 
 and although we each of us made periodical visits to 
 the metropolis, yet it so happened that mine were 
 always unhappily timed, and that I generally 
 arrived only to hear all our common friends speak- 
 ing warmly of Waller, who had been with them 
 for some time, and to learn he was gone. Latterly, 
 reports were beginning to circulate that his health 
 was declining. It was said, that he neglected him- 
 self too much, and he was visited with affectionate 
 upbraidings and expostulations, about the duty 
 which was laid upon him to take care of the 
 talents of which he was likely to make so good an 
 use. At last, he was compelled to give way before
 
 32 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 the pressure of disease, and to withdraw himself 
 from the important labours of a calling which will 
 not accept a divided homage. Poor Waller gave 
 it his life. When I met him, it was on the occa- 
 sion of his coming up to town for medical advice : 
 we met but for a moment ; it was in the law 
 courts, where we had each of us been drawn by a 
 report that Mr.Plunketwas to speak on an important 
 cause. Our meeting was quite accidental, and was 
 accompanied by little more than a warm salute, 
 and a few brief and mutual enquiries ; but it was 
 to me particularly interesting. 
 
 We had, I said, been separated at a wide inter- 
 val in space, and had not maintained any cor- 
 respondence ; but we were engaged in the same 
 cause, and this was a cause best calculated to con- 
 quer the oblivious power of absence. We have 
 often heard of lovers who felt a solace in an agree- 
 ment to look at the moon at the same hour ; but 
 how little is any such medium of contact (as I 
 suppose Mesner might say) to be compared with 
 the influence of labouring in the same great and 
 everlasting cause ? There was a time, at which I 
 thought that religion was destructive of all indivi- 
 dual affection ; but I have learned to think other-
 
 WALLER. 33 
 
 wise. The truest feelings of private friendship are 
 perfectly compatible with the most devoted zeal for 
 the service of God ; and are so far from being lost 
 or confounded amidst the more important duties, 
 that their character is purified and ennobled by 
 the piety which they do not disturb but embellish. 
 There is, therefore, something of a more exalted 
 human feeling, mingling with the finer and grander 
 sentiments of religion ; giving friendship a more no- 
 ble character, and, I might almost say, communicat- 
 ing to religion a dearer interest, in the consciousness 
 of being engaged in the service of the Master to 
 whom your friend has with all singleness of heart 
 devoted himself. I have always felt deep interest 
 in a passage to be found in Miss Holford's poem of 
 " Wallace." She may not perhaps have written a 
 good poem, but I like her notions of the heroic 
 character. The passage I allude to is that where 
 Wallace, having seen his fellow-soldiers fallen 
 around him, imagines that he hears at the remote 
 wing of the battle the war-cry of his dearest friend ; 
 and the proud enthusiasm into which he is elevated 
 by the prospect of another hope for Scotland, is 
 softened and made beautiful amidst the horrors of 
 the fight, by the sweet gleam of affection which 
 breaks through all his sternness, in the apostrophe 
 to his " gallant Graeme :" 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 Hark ! 'tis Graeme's well known battle cry, 
 And yet methinks I can descry 
 
 His banner in the west. 
 Oh, gallant Graeme . 
 
 If I should make any application of this passage 
 to myself, or my feelings about Waller, the reader 
 would stare, or perhaps turn away disgusted, as if 
 I were not entitled to speak so about persons un- 
 known to fame and the world. Our feelings, 
 however, will not always seem accurately pro- 
 portioned to the causes which produce them : and 
 mine would, perhaps, offend against all rule, if 
 they were to be considered as excited by a meet- 
 ing with a young man, an obscure country curate, 
 whose name was not to be found in any newspaper 
 or review. Now this was one of the principal 
 reasons why I was so moved by his appearance. 
 As soon as a man has become conspicuous to the 
 eyes of the world at large, my interest in him is 
 sensibly diminished. I have not the same comfort 
 in his friendship. I remember having heard that 
 an old gentleman, who sat down in a public room to 
 regale himself on a roast duck, complained thafthe 
 noise about him was so great that he really did not 
 know what he was eating" I am sure that I should 
 feel my enjoyment of a friend's society disturbed, 
 in the same manner, by his having acquired a very
 
 WALLEH. 35 
 
 brilliant reputation by his having, in fact, in 
 any way, become a very noted public character. 
 His society would thenceforth be like dining in 
 public. I could scarcely detach myself from the 
 thought that he belonged to the world. I should 
 feel something like the uneasy sensation which I 
 once experienced when I found, that in order to 
 facilitate the progress of tourists through the 
 county of Wicklow, there had been a coach-road 
 carried on through one of its most beautiful and 
 sequestered vallies. 
 
 I do not, for myself either, wish for great fame : 
 come it will, and I must bear it when it arrives ; 
 it will shine upon the close of my life, and make 
 my memory bright. This I cannot prevent, so I 
 must submit myself to fate or necessity ; but I can 
 delay it, and therefore I will not let the world 
 know how vast my abilities are, and what a great 
 work I have just ready for the press. For a 
 length of time I shall enjoy the little nibbles 
 which we who haunt the brooks may be favoured 
 with. I look upon fame to be a delightful mistress, 
 but a very termagant as a wife. The first ad- 
 vances towards her favour are full of delight ; but 
 when she is completely won, there is but one 
 triumphant sensation, and then follows jealousy 
 D 2
 
 s<J6 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 and alarm. I remember that once, in my early 
 youth, I was, in the little circle which was my 
 world, famous for a possession, which 1 shall not 
 make mention of now. When first I learned the 
 admiration I excited, I was troubled and astonished, 
 and intoxicated with joy and triumph ; but soon 
 the pleasure was gone : I felt no longer any grati- 
 fication in the admiration which I expected, and 
 thought my due ; while, if I did not obtain it, or 
 if another outshone or equalled my lustre, I felt all 
 the mortification of defeat. Well, like a wise 
 man, I relinquished such a disagreeable champion- 
 ship, where nothing new was to be gained, and 
 where loss was always hazarded ; and, warned in 
 time, I declare now that I will not accept the 
 uneasy glory of a high reputation. Therefore, as 
 I do not love great fame for myself, and as it in 
 some measure spoils my satisfaction in my friends, 
 the excitement of feeling with which I met Waller 
 was what the world would consider dispropor- 
 tionate to the occasion. It might, perhaps, serve 
 to procure some indulgence for me, to have it 
 known that he was likely to be acknowledged in 
 the world as a man of genius ; and that, on some 
 occasions, when by accident, or by the contrivance 
 of his friends, some careless effusions of his pen
 
 WALLER. 37 
 
 had found their way into the public prints, they 
 were eagerly seized upon, copied into almost all 
 the periodical publications in the kingdom, and 
 attributed to some veteran in the literary world. 
 I shall mention but one instance of this kind ; but 
 it is one which will, I have no doubt, convince 
 many a reader, that the Waller of my story was 
 no ordinary person. He was the author of the 
 " Lines on the Burial of Sir John Moore." I ana 
 sure I need not apologize to my reader for giving 
 the history of this spirited little composition. 
 
 He called, by appointment, one fine summer 
 evening, on his friend Sydney, who shared in my 
 chambers as (what was called in college technicals) 
 my chum. 
 
 " Waller," said Sydney, " you must not go 
 until I have read for you this account of Sir John 
 Moore. It is quite worthy of Southey, who is, I 
 am persuaded, the author." 
 
 Sydney was not a man to have his imperatives 
 disputed ; and Waller, although eager for his 
 walk, sat down patiently to hear the account of 
 Sir John Moore's burial, as given in the Annual 
 Register. He kindled into high enthusiasm as h 
 listened ; and, during the time of our walk into 
 the country, scarcely spoke. When we returned, 
 D 3
 
 38 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 while I, as the " minister sedulus," was preparing 
 coffee, Waller and Sydney were conferring 
 together, and hearing the latter passing a very 
 eloquent encomium on something that Waller had 
 done, I enquired what it was, and found that he 
 had just finished two verses of the lines on Sir 
 John Moore those which appear in the printed 
 copies, the first and last. I joined in the praises 
 of them with great warmth, but Sydney's praise 
 was accounted valuable by his friends ; and whether 
 Waller felt it an encouragement, or that the 
 subject continued to act upon him and to sustain 
 his enthusiasm, on the next morning, at breakfast, 
 he produced the entire poem as it is now printed. 
 Its publication was quite accidental. It never was 
 Waller's intention that it should appear in print ; 
 but a friend of his, who had been favoured by 
 Sydney with a copy, read it for (I think) Mr. 
 Stewart, author of " The History of Armagh," 
 and, at that time, proprietor of the " Newry 
 Telegraph." He succeeded in obtaining permis- 
 sion to insert it, and, to Waller's great astonish- 
 ment, we saw paper after paper, through the 
 succeeding months, taking up the poem, and each 
 ascribing it to some writer of acknowledged 
 celebrity.
 
 WALLER. 39 
 
 Tliis was the friend whom I was so much 
 moved at meeting. He was evidently sadly 
 altered in appearance ; and although, for a mo- 
 ment, there was a bright flush over his counten- 
 ance, and his eye sparkled with more than its 
 wonted lustre, yet, short as our greeting was, I 
 saw these happy omens fade away ; and I shortly 
 after left Dublin with a heavy presentiment upon 
 my mind that I should not see him again. How 
 differently I retired to my chambers from the 
 company where I had first met him ! That was a 
 proud evening. It was at a supper given to 
 celebrate his first very distinguished triumph in 
 his college career. 
 
 He had early acquired a very high reputation : 
 for the first two years of his residence in college, 
 he had devoted himself to classical studies, which 
 seemed more congenial to his fine taste and spark- 
 ling fancy ; and during this time he had carried 
 off all the prizes, and was admitted to be, by 
 eminence, the most distinguished man of his day. 
 In the third year, when languages are no longer 
 objects of exclusive interest, he found that his 
 inferiority in the sciences precluded him from his 
 accustomed distinction. As usual, his friends used 
 to rush eagerly up to the hall when the bell an- 
 D 4
 
 40 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 nounced that the examination had ended, and the 
 multitudes issued forth at the opened doors; but 
 not as usual did Waller receive their congratula- 
 tions, and he had, examination after examination, 
 to read in the countenances around him an expres- 
 sion of disappointment. This was not to be 
 endured. However distasteful to him the sciences 
 were, it was more disagreeable to be defeated and to 
 see his friends mortified. The division in which 
 he happened to be was that in which the best 
 science scholar in the undergraduate course had, 
 for nearly three years, maintained an undisputed 
 ascendency. Waller might, if he pleased, have 
 had himself transferred into a division where he 
 would have had a fairer prospect of success ; but 
 this would not satisfy his ambition. It demanded 
 a more noble triumph. He accordingly held his 
 place in his class, and devoted himself only the more 
 earnestly to what might almost be termed a new 
 study. During the entire interval between the 
 examinations he kept his noble faculties concen- 
 trated, and in intense action, upon what had been a 
 most distasteful pursuit, and felt himself, when the 
 time of trial drew near, possessed of knowledge 
 and power which he had, in the beginning, but 
 faint hopes of attaining.
 
 WALLER. 41 
 
 During the examination, (whicli is continued at 
 intervals for two days,) the interest and speculation 
 respecting the result it is almost impossible to 
 describe. At these trials of academic proficiency, 
 no persons are permitted to be present except the 
 examined and their examiners. After the first 
 morning, it was noised abroad that Waller had 
 answered with great ability, and had solved some 
 difficult problems ; and it was observed, that 
 Crampton, his great adversary, did not pass across 
 the courts to his room with his accustomed super- 
 cilious composure : the report at the close of the 
 day was, that Waller had maintained, and, indeed, 
 increased the character he had made in the morning; 
 and some said, that he had gained a decided advan- 
 tage over Crampton. The next day passed in the 
 same manner, the interest becoming more general 
 through the college ; and if a stranger, during the 
 last hours of the examination, were to pass through 
 the courts, he would have had his attention strongly 
 arrested by the faces of the different groups scat- 
 tered in various directions about, and by the rest- 
 lessness with which single stragglers were in mo- 
 tion ; now at the closed door of the hall, now 
 looking up to the college clock, and seeing that 
 there were still five minutes to pass ; and he would
 
 42 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 have felt certain, that something of much more 
 than ordinary interest was in agitation. At last 
 the small bell tingled, and the doors were thrown 
 open. It is little to say, that the wave from within 
 was met by a more precipitous rush from all the 
 parts of the court without, to know the result ; 
 and although there were, perhaps, thirty pre- 
 miums adjudged, yet the whole interest of the 
 enquiries seem to be centered in the fate of one ; 
 and, for a moment, the faces of friends and bro- 
 thers were unnoticed, in the eagerness to explore, 
 amidst the moving mass, the face of Crampton and 
 his opponent Waller. The first who came out 
 was Crampton. His features seemed sunk and 
 pale, and there was a bewildered air over his 
 countenance, as if he was incapable of compre- 
 hending whether all around him was real. This 
 was soon understood, when Waller was distin- 
 guished, with a suppressed enthusiasm breaking 
 out in every feature and every expression of his 
 countenance, and his friends now needed not to 
 be told, that he had been successful; and yet, 
 amidst all their joy and exultation, the appearance 
 of Crampton crossing the courts with a hurried 
 and disordered air, and without taking notice of 
 the few friends who accompanied him, had the
 
 WALLEB. 43 
 
 power effectually to check any disposition which 
 they might have felt of making a public demon- 
 stration of their triumph. 
 
 It was on the evening of this day that I met 
 him for the first time ; I cannot but call it a proud 
 evening for him. Every person in company, ex- 
 cept myself, was a tried and loved friend, and he 
 knew how truly I esteemed his character ; there 
 was not, therefore, an individual present, whom he 
 did not know to rejoice in his triumph : and I 
 cannot conceive what can be called a proud mo- 
 ment, if that be not one, in which a man feels 
 himself surrounded by a group, in whose counte- 
 nances he can trace a sympathy with his own re- 
 joicing ; and where he knows, that, in every heart, 
 however elevated, and however full of frolic and 
 glee, there is, under all its varied emotions, a 
 feeling of delight at his triumph, which ardent and 
 exhilarated spirits cannot and will not chase away. 
 
 As the night advanced, and as various guests one 
 by one passed away, the conversation began to grow 
 more serious and more interesting. Every one 
 knows how much more full and unrestrained the 
 communion of hearts becomes, according as the 
 social circle narrows. We spoke now no longer on 
 general topics ; I say we, because, with the warmth
 
 44 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 of our age, and under the enthusiasm of sucli a time, 
 our friendship had cemented. We spoke of the day's 
 triumph ; we made Waller recount the various 
 emotions and alarms which he had experienced; 
 we heard of questions such as struck him for the 
 moment with dismay, and of the animation with 
 which his whole faculties had concentrated them- 
 selves, as if into one powerful impulse, and borne 
 him through the difficulty suddenly. These would 
 be details in which the unconcerned reader could 
 feel no interest, so I shall not give them. From 
 speaking of the event of the day, we were drawn 
 on to speak of the future ; and it became a general 
 wish, that he would devote himself to the study in 
 which he had made so happy a commencement, 
 and give himself up to the labour of fellowship 
 reading. There were many reasons why his 
 friends urged this upon him. He was of a very 
 religious character, and would be an ornament 
 to the clerical profession : and then, for other 
 professions he seemed little qualified, from his 
 uncommon simplicity of mind and ignorance of 
 the world. He was certainly very agreeable 
 in manner, and possessed of a very high in- 
 tellect ; but he never employed his mental powers 
 in judging of men : and, although he could ana-
 
 WALLER. 4-5 
 
 lize with equal beauty and precision the characters 
 which history set before him, yet he seemed to 
 lay all this power of judging aside when it was 
 to be employed in the affairs of daily life, and 
 was always likely, from his candour and his un- 
 suspecting temper, to be deceived by the least 
 artful imposture. A fellowship, therefore, it was 
 decided, was the object towards which Waller 
 should look, and a fellowship in the yielding kind- 
 ness of his heart, through compliance with his 
 friends' entreaties, he determined to seek. 
 
 Many a female voice was raised against this de- 
 cision when it was communicated to his friends in 
 town, for Waller was a very general favourite in 
 female circles. Though his person was rather 
 awkward and heavily formed, yet there was some- 
 tiling in his look and air, which said he was a 
 gentleman ; and in his countenance there was 
 such an expression of purity, and intelligence, and 
 enthusiasm, that you never took into account 
 against him the smallness of his eyes, and that 
 the shape of his face was heavy. It was the 
 triumph of mind over matter, and his constant 
 cheerfulness of temper, and easily excitable spirits, 
 did for his features, what they did for every sub- 
 ject he spoke upon, diffusing their own character
 
 4-G COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 and their own light over what might otherwise, 
 remain unnoticed or uninteresting. 
 
 " Is it true," said a very pretty girl, " that Mr. 
 Waller has decided on reading for a fellowship. 
 Mamma said last night that he had, and that he 
 told her so. I am sure there are men enough to 
 be fellows, and now I suppose he will never come 
 out to a party any more; and if ever we see him, 
 he will be so solemn and so dull, that it would be 
 better to be one of his books than his partner." 
 
 However, Waller did not in the least alter in man- 
 ner or disposition. During the day he was faithfully 
 employed in his arduous labours ; but the moment 
 night came on, his happy spirits rallied about him, 
 and he was to be seen the most joyous and en- 
 livening member of every circle which was happy 
 enough to have a claim upon him. 
 
 It was not ordered that this life should continue 
 long. He had been absent on a visit with a college 
 friend, and when he returned, we observed a con- 
 siderable alteration in his manner. He was rest- 
 less and elevated : he did not settle himself as he 
 used to his books ; and some closer observers than 
 I was, said that they had seen him frequently 
 throwing himself back in his chair, and covering 
 his eyes, as if (they said) he wished to make some
 
 WALLER. 47 
 
 fair vision rise more vividly before him. He had 
 acquired a most bewildered character of counte- 
 nance. External objects seemed to reach him as 
 through a dream ; as if some inward action, some 
 intense consciousness of internal sensations had 
 seized and shaped into accordance with their own 
 character every external impression. Still I had 
 no apprehensions that his affections were engaged. 
 Highly as I valued and admired him, I did not 
 think of him as of one who was capable of an un- 
 divided affection. He had that ever-ready en- 
 thusiasm of manner which seems so capricious, 
 and which trifles can so easily excite". It gave 
 sober minds the idea, that he was deficient in the 
 real enthusiasm which keeps its fire within, which 
 cannot communicate with inferior minds ; that 
 enthusiasm which is so distinct from merely animal 
 excitement, and which seldom gives any promi- 
 nence to the manner. Waller's qualities seemed 
 to be all, if I may use such an expression, in a 
 gaseous state ; they required the operation of some 
 principle, in which his nature appeared to be de- 
 ficient, in order to their being concentrated into a 
 fixed and efficient form. His mind was full of effer- 
 vescence ; but (if I may use the privilege of my 
 country) I would say that it wanted body. In con-
 
 48 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 sequence, it happened that he was, in his flights 
 of enthusiasm, frequently alone ; and it sometimes 
 occasions an awkward embarrassment, to feel that 
 you have been betrayed into an exaggerated man- 
 ner, and have not been able to communicate your 
 excited feelings to any individual in the quiet circle 
 around you. The story of the French lady is well 
 known ; who, having praised an actress as possess- 
 ing genius superior to what had been witnessed at 
 any former period of the world, and finding that 
 she could not kindle a spark of enthusiasm in 
 the cold bosoms of her hearers, thought it most 
 expedient to abate her own ardour ; and, lowering 
 herself to concert pitch, actually demanded whe- 
 ther they would not at least allow that the poor 
 wretch acted as well as she could? Something 
 like this took place, at times, in Waller's manner. 
 A passage or a character appeared to him, for a 
 moment, exquisite or noble, but, as soon as his 
 enthusiasm had evaporated, the object of admir- 
 ation was shorn of its beams, and he wondered 
 how he could have been so excited. Still, expe- 
 rience had not schooled him into sobriety or stea- 
 diness of manner, and, in consequence, his interest 
 was considerably lessened in the judgment of those 
 who can distinguish between enthusiasm and ex-
 
 WALLER. 4-9 
 
 citement. Characters of this kind are such as 
 possess the graces of youth, but put forth little 
 promise of dignity for mature age. With such 
 notions of Waller, I had no fears that he could 
 ever feel an attachment powerful enough to in- 
 fluence his life. 
 
 His character, however, was to experience a 
 total change, from the admission of a new principle 
 into his nature. It was certain that he loved, and 
 loved unhappily. It is not in my power to state 
 the progress of his passion, and the incidents which 
 might serve as epochs, from the first pensive rest- 
 lessness, in which, like Britomart, after having 
 seen Artegal in the magical mirror, 
 
 " He wist he was not well at ease, perdy ; 
 
 " Yet thought it was not love, but some melancholy," 
 
 up to the hour, when the consciousness came upon 
 him of his love and its hopelessness. This was a 
 subject upon which he never spoke ; and his friends 
 respected him too highly to put him to that torture 
 which is often so needlessly inflicted, or to indulge 
 any inquisitiveness on a subject to which he never 
 alluded. 
 
 His character, I intimated, was changed ; and, 
 were it not for his obvious unhappiness, the change 
 
 VOL. I. F.
 
 50 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 was an improvement. No one could now complain 
 of his ardent and exuberant spirits, nor yet ac- 
 cuse him of being absent or abstracted. He paid 
 a polite attention to every thing that was passing 
 in company ; not a seeming, but a real attention, 
 as long as he could keep down the strong sensa- 
 tions of his heart. I have seen him sometimes, 
 apparently overcome, cover his eyes with his 
 hand, and seemingly give a loose to his inward 
 feelings ; and then, when he roused himself to re- 
 sume his place in company, I could see that the 
 expression of his countenance was, as it were, a 
 a struggle between tenderness and severity, as if 
 he had felt a tear rising to his eye, and had 
 frowned it away indignantly. It was, of course, 
 when alone, that the power of his affection most 
 overmastered him, and then the influence of ab- 
 stract studies was but a poor auxiliary against the 
 impetuosity of a domineering passion. 
 
 The reader will be able to form an opinion of 
 the state in which he passed his private hours 
 from a circumstance which occurred, one evening, 
 in a company where I was present. I had been 
 sitting with some friends on a winter night, 
 after our several studies for the day were over, 
 when we were joined by a visitor whose character
 
 WALLER. 51 
 
 would well deserve a longer notice than I can 
 here afford to give of it. He was very much ad- 
 dicted to mathematical pursuits, and had attained 
 a high proficiency in them, but upon most other 
 subjects was but very slightly informed. Indeed 
 he had an inward contempt for all other studies 
 than those in which he himself excelled, and, 
 more particularly, for all connected with taste and 
 imagination. 
 
 " What have we here ?" said he, looking at the 
 open book upon the table. " Wordsworth's Excur- 
 sion. This is the man that babbles about green 
 fields. Well, gentlemen, don't let me interrupt 
 your agreeable conversation. Don't, I beg of you, 
 speak sense in compliment to me. I have got 
 some papers of Waller's to look over, and so you 
 may speak poetry while I am examining them." 
 
 We resumed our conversation, and he pro- 
 ceeded to the examination of the papers. Some 
 indistinct murmurs drew our attention towards 
 him, and we saw an expression of sarcastic triumph 
 in his countenance. After remaining for some time 
 silent, and apparently enjoying the discovery he had 
 made, he said, " Gentlemen, some of you who are 
 better acquainted with this kind of language than 
 I am, may be able to explain an expression I have 
 E 2
 
 52 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 met with here, and which I do not think strictly alge- 
 braic." He showed us the paper: it was intended 
 for a calculation of a comet's parhelion distance ; 
 but the calculation had been interrupted by some 
 thought which Waller had not been able to sup- 
 press, and he had given it expression. 
 
 " That smile I'll remember for ever." 
 
 It was in this manner that his passion displayed 
 itself in pursuits so seemingly uucongenial. In one 
 place we found a most ingenious and beautiful 
 solution of a very difficult problem. Even our 
 sarcastic visitor muttered his applause ; and just 
 under the calculation there was written ; " Oh grief, 
 grief !" It was a painful thing to witness the proofs 
 which these papers afforded of the anguish to 
 which poor Waller's mind had become a prey ; 
 and to see that his virtuous struggles to disengage 
 himself from the remembrances which were con- 
 suming him, were of so little avail. His studies 
 had become more desultory ; and his memory was 
 no longer tenacious; and when the examination for 
 the adjudgment of fellowships drew near, he found 
 that he could not, with credit to himself, appear as 
 a candidate. Some time after this I met him on 
 his return from the law-courts. He spoke of some
 
 WALLER. 53 
 
 of our old acquaintances, whom he had seen en- 
 gaged in the labours, or, at least, endeavouring to 
 advance themselves in the knowledge of their pro- 
 fession ; and he felt as if he had remained station- 
 ary, during the general progress of all his contem- 
 poraries. He spoke as if he could not continue to 
 devote himself to his present studies ; that he must 
 have imperious and active duties to perform : and 
 that it was only by active employment in such 
 duties, he could hope to atone for his past idleness, 
 and to compensate his friends for the disappoint- 
 ment he had caused them. 
 
 He certainly did arouse himself nobly out of the 
 lethargy in which he lay. I have heard people 
 say, that he became religious; but they did not 
 know him who said so. He had always, or at 
 least long, been religious ; and the change in his 
 character now was, not that he for the first time felt 
 the influence of religious hopes and principles, but 
 that the nature of his sentiments was altered into 
 an accommodation to his wants. Religion had 
 before appeared amiable in the purity of his happier 
 hours, and his charity, and his meekness ; it now 
 had to sustain him in suffering, and to elevate him 
 above the power of afflicting remembrances, and 
 tt assumed the majestic bearing by which it could 
 E 3
 
 54; COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 overcome sorrow and the world. He had respected 
 its restraints, and valued its promises, even while 
 the sunny existence he enjoyed was most calculated 
 to dazzle and mislead him : and now, in the time of 
 affliction, it seemed to reveal new glories, and to 
 offer new encouragements; and Waller felt the 
 change, and his manner assumed a gentle authority 
 which was unobtrusive but prevailing; and the 
 melancholy, which had now become predominant 
 in his character, was freed from every thing hu- 
 miliating or painful. I could say much of his 
 labours in the profession to which he devoted 
 himself, and of the admiration which courted him, 
 and of the brilliant expectations he excited in the 
 minds of his admiring friends : but it is not fitting 
 to advert to considerations like these. My 
 thoughts instinctively follow to the region into 
 which his spirit has passed. He is there with pu- 
 rified affections, and with disencumbered faculties, 
 and has become a new link between my thoughts 
 and the world to which they properly belong. I 
 frequently reflect upon the days of my early youth, 
 and on the friends who have departed ; but it is 
 not for the purpose of introducing into my soul a 
 feeling of dreariness or dejection ; not for the pur- 
 poses of feeling, like the solitary lingerer in a ban-
 
 WALLER. 55 
 
 quet-hall deserted ; but that I may be influenced 
 by the stories of their lives and of their deaths, and 
 that I may strengthen myself against the world and 
 its temptations and its sorrows, by the conscious- 
 ness, that the affections which gave it its highest 
 interest, are, many of them, now transferred to 
 another life. 
 
 4
 
 56 
 
 AN IDLER. 
 
 \YHEN Ormsby entered college, his friends were 
 full of proud hopes that he would arrive rapidly 
 at distinction. At school, he had maintained a 
 high character, and appeared to be a person of a 
 very reflecting mind; and it was expected that 
 when introduced into a new and enlarged sphere, 
 he would display acquirements, such as are rarely 
 found in the character at his time of life. He had 
 not been addicted to any boyish sports, not through 
 the indolence of his nature, for when engaged in 
 school-boy frolics, he was as animated and as 
 devoted to the interest of the hour, as the most 
 thoughtless of his companions ; but these sports 
 were not suited to the atmosphere in which his 
 mind seemed most naturally to repose or to ex-
 
 AN IDLER. 57 
 
 patiate. Even so early, he was thoughtful and 
 visionary ; not visionary as poets are, although, 
 perhaps, there was a poetical tinge over all his 
 thoughts, which might have changed them into its 
 own bright nature, if circumstances had favoured 
 the transformation. It is certain, however, that 
 he did not become a poet, and that the studies to 
 which he was most attached were what to common 
 minds seem remote from the region of poetry ; 
 but he possessed that melancholy of character in 
 which, as in a congenial climate, the poetical 
 faculties grow; and, although the powers which he 
 delighted to exercise were rather those which 
 investigate than those which combine, still, the 
 influence of his character appeared to diffuse over 
 those graver pursuits something of a poetical 
 charm. He loved to examine and analyse the 
 deep and shadowy affections of his soul. He 
 noted new emotions as they arose within him: 
 he could tell, in after life, when his romance 
 seemed first to awaken, and when he first felt, 
 upon the departure of a friend, a strong emotion, 
 and something like a void in his mind. In short, 
 it seemed as if the external world to which, in 
 general, the opening faculties are most directed, 
 had but little influence over him, and could not
 
 58 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 draw him off from investigating the phenomena of 
 the world which he felt within him. 
 
 His school-fellows, however, knew nothing of 
 the subjects to which Ormsby's attention was 
 devoted. They acknowledged his abilities and 
 attainments in the school course ; they saw that 
 he employed but little pains to gain and to pre- 
 serve a superiority among themselves ; and when 
 they found him studious and retired in his general 
 habits, they naturally imagined that he was ac- 
 quiring stores which were to be displayed when 
 the business of college studies gave him an op- 
 portunity of earning higher distinction. The 
 manner in which he indulged in his strange 
 reveries strengthened this opinion. He did not 
 wilfully and with premeditation devote himself to 
 them; he usually took with him some weighty 
 volume, upon which he intended to employ him- 
 self exclusively, but he never could read long 
 before something which he read, or thought, sug- 
 gested matter for speculation, and he soon lost all 
 idea of the book or the study in which he had de- 
 termined to engage himself. But when, frequently 
 on some summer day, his school-fellows saw him, 
 whenever they passed near, lying under his favor- 
 ite tree, they had no idea that the study which
 
 AN IDLER. 59 
 
 their tumults could not interrupt might be dis- 
 tracted by any thoughts in which play was not a 
 prominent object. 
 
 However, certain it is, he passed through 
 school with little legitimate knowledge, and ac- 
 quired there very desultory habits ; and his friends 
 and he soon learned that such habits and such 
 knowledge were not to be rewarded with college 
 honours. I have made use of the word " friends," 
 merely in the popular acceptation, as denoting 
 that class of his acquaintances who were well-dis- 
 posed towards him, and who would willingly join 
 in his praises. In the precise sense of the word, 
 Ormsby's friends were very few indeed ; his cha- 
 racter was not, perhaps, such as attaches ordinary 
 minds ; between him and most of his acquaintances 
 there were few common subjects or common in- 
 terests ; and although, even in his school days, he 
 was considered to be generally pleasing, yet he 
 had not felt any thing like a strong affection in 
 more than two instances out of all his school com- 
 panions. 
 
 His boyish days passed away in continual 
 mourning. Year after year was saddened by the 
 death of some fond and loved friend or protector ; 
 and the frame of mind produced by those re-
 
 60 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 peated afflictions more and more estranged him 
 from communion with his happier companions. I 
 believe grief has a powerful effect in causing a 
 rapid development of the faculties ; and certainly 
 Ormsby had, in his manner and habits of think- 
 ing, anticipated the progress of several years, and 
 the few intimacies he formed were with persons 
 much more advanced in life than himself. 
 
 When he entered college he might almost be 
 said to be alone. His natural connections had 
 been most of them removed. His parents were 
 dead ; and of his relations, the one to whom he 
 was most habituated to turn with reverence and 
 love, he had veiy lately attended to the grave. 
 Perhaps, under these circumstances, it was not to 
 be expected that he should display energy enough 
 to conquer his desultory habits, and acquire a 
 college reputation. But it might be hoped that, 
 as the influence of grief departed from him, he 
 would begin to take an interest in the competition 
 for honours, which might have a salutary effect on 
 his character. So, perhaps, it would have been, 
 but for one of those untoward circumstances that 
 baffle all human calculation. He had recovered 
 from the oppression of sorrow, and emerged from 
 his remembrances into the world: he began to
 
 AN IDLER. ' 61 
 
 look around him with a new interest upon passing 
 objects, and to be sensible of the injury which he 
 had suffered from the inactivity of the preced- 
 ing months. His life had been the life of a soli- 
 tary being, and he now began to feel the want of 
 some friend, with whom he could communicate his 
 thoughts and feelings. He had formed no ac- 
 quaintances; for, to avoid all irksome duties or 
 occupations, he had, instead of residing in college, 
 taken lodgings in town ; and generally spent his 
 days in rambling about the most unfrequented 
 parts of the sea-shore. He determined now on 
 a total reformation; he would yield himself no 
 longer to his remembrances ; he would brace all 
 his faculties into new vigor, and devote him- 
 self systematically to the studies which were to 
 make his mind hardy, and his life prosperous. 
 All this was well resolved. But the performance, 
 how did that follow ? For an entire week he de- 
 voted himself bravely to the task, and endeavoured 
 to inure himself to difficulty; but a change of 
 habits is in all cases very painful; and nothing 
 could be less congenial to the character of 
 Ormsby's straggling thoughts, than the abstract 
 studies in which he laboured to engage them. He 
 found that he attained truths, but the truths at-
 
 62 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 tained he did not value. He had been so long 
 habituated to indulge in speculations upon life and 
 man and his own heart, and to indulge in those 
 speculations without regulation or restraint, that 
 his new and uninteresting discipline was most irk- 
 some to him. He felt, as savages feel under the 
 restraint of new civilization ; or, perhaps, as Ariel 
 under the magician's sway. He used to say, after- 
 wards, that the reason why the spirits of our de- 
 parted friends did not visit us often, was in con- 
 sequence of the difficulty they felt in providing 
 themselves with a bodily vehicle. " You ought 
 not to consider that occurrences of this kind are 
 so rare," he would say; " think what a hardship 
 it must be to a free spirit to accumulate particles 
 of matter about it, and assimilate them to itself. 
 I know I can judge very well of the difficulty, from 
 what I felt in the fortnight when I was struggling 
 to become a mathematician." This was the kind 
 of thing he considered an argument. However, as 
 I said, he was vigorously engaged in abstract 
 studies for some short time ; and, had he continued 
 his exertions, he would have surmounted all his 
 repugnancy to such studies, and brought out in his 
 mind a faculty capable of feeling interest and de- 
 light in them. But he was soon interrupted, and
 
 AN IDLER. 63 
 
 all his good resolutions were dissipated into thin 
 air. 
 
 It was in the time of college vacation, and his 
 very few friends or acquaintances had been for 
 some time in the country. Every body knows 
 how dreary it is to feel oneself in the midst of a 
 large city without an acquaintance; and Ormsby 
 felt it, perhaps, the more severely, in consequence 
 of his recent grief. As you begin to recover 
 from the effects of any heavy calamity, and to feel 
 natural interests reviving in your heart, one of 
 your first wishes is for the softness and freedom of 
 friendly intercourse. Your mind requires aid and 
 protection, and as you are renewing your connec- 
 tion with the world, you wish that the links which 
 join you to it shall be the sympathies of friend- 
 ship. It is at such a time peculiarly dreary to be 
 surrounded by faces and forms of beings with 
 whom you can have no understanding; to feel 
 yourself enveloped, as it were, in a sphere of re- 
 pulsion, through which all communion with your 
 fellows is obstructed. Ormsby felt this, and sought 
 refuge in his studies ; but here he was unfortunate. 
 Much has been said of the foppery ofgenius, and great 
 men have been accused of absurdity, for asserting 
 that there were seasons at which their faculties were
 
 64 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 in a state of more than ordinary perfection ; but no 
 one, I am sure, who has had experience to direct 
 him, will attribute absurdity to the position, that 
 summer is peculiarly unsuited to the commence- 
 ment of mathematical studies. There is a languor in 
 the mind brought on by the summer heat, and by 
 the low and monotonous sounds with which the air 
 is filled ; which disposes it to pensiveness, and fits 
 it rather for dissolving into visions, than for dis- 
 ciplining itself to regulated toil. Ormsby felt it 
 so : but still he persevered in his uninteresting 
 employment; allowing himself no other relax- 
 ation than the indulgence of a solitary evening 
 ramble into the country. 
 
 On his return from these walks, he had, for 
 some time, observed, that flowers had been re- 
 peatedly placed at his window, but so much was he 
 engrossed by the state of his mind, that he scarcely 
 asked himself how they came there, and soon 
 forgot altogether to think about them. One even- 
 ing, however, his attention was more forcibly ar- 
 rested, for, on sitting down to his labours, he 
 found on the paper which was lying on his table, 
 and on the middle of the sheet, a printed motto 
 containing the words Je vous aimc. ** This," 
 thought he, " is very extraordinary, how came it
 
 AN IDLER. 65 
 
 here ?" and he remained pondering for some time, 
 and incapable of arriving at any explanation. 
 However, he soon returned to his studies, and 
 forgot the circumstance, until his walk on the 
 following evening, when it again recurred to his 
 mind, and a thousand strange and fanciful con- 
 jectures were suggested by it. Upon this evening 
 he returned home with some anxiety about him, 
 and an expectation such as had no definite object, 
 but which he struggled against, as if it arose only 
 for the purpose of exposing him to disappointment. 
 The first thing which caught his eye upon enter- 
 ing his sitting-room was a rose, which seemed 
 freshly gathered, lying on his paper; and, on 
 drawing near, he saw that the motto which he 
 had thrown aside on the former evening had been 
 replaced, and on taking it up to examine more 
 nearly, he saw that it had concealed from him, 
 written in a small female hand, the words which it 
 contained itself, Je vous aime. 
 
 How his heart beat ! He was loved he was 
 loved by some fair and gentle being, who had 
 broken the trammels of custom that she might 
 send him a message of rejoicing. He was no 
 longer alone, even in the dreariness of the crowded 
 city : there was one heart one soft bosom in 
 
 VOL. i. F
 
 66 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 which there lived an interest in his welfare. But 
 what was he to do ? Was he to speak aloud ? 
 to throw open his door, and send his voice through 
 the house proclaiming his gratitude and devotion ? 
 Was he to call on the fair object of his enthu- 
 siasm to be present and to receive his homage ? 
 No; he must be careful to guard in silence the 
 sweet secret with which he was enriched. Hours 
 must drag themselves away, before the time can 
 arrive at which his feelings may be known to her 
 who had excited them. He sketched a few hur- 
 ried lines to substitute in the place of the motto 
 which he had taken up, changed them for others, 
 and passed the greater part of the night in framing 
 something which might serve to intimate the 
 strange agitations which he experienced, and 
 which were in a state of perpetual change, so that 
 the billet of the past minute was foreign from the 
 feelings of this. Frequently, while writing, he felt 
 as if a form was bending over him he could 
 almost fancy that he heard the sound of soft breath- 
 ing, and was sensible, as it were, of the kind of 
 silent rustle with which the air is affected by 
 such an influence; and he sometimes lifted his 
 eyes, expecting that a sweet countenance would 
 meet their glances; and actually felt disappoint-
 
 AN IDLER. 67 
 
 inent when they rested only on the walls of hj& 
 lonely chamber. 
 
 He experienced no such disappointment when 
 his agitations at length had rocked him into 
 slumber. His dreams were full of happiness. 
 He was walking through the crowded streets, but 
 not with the sad and lonely feelings to which he 
 had been long accustomed ; there was a fair being 
 by his side, and leaning upon him, and every fond 
 and brilliant emotion or sentiment arrayed itself in 
 appropriate language. His feelings seemed all, as 
 it were, expanding and unfolding in his heart, and 
 a new and unhoped prosperity spread its light 
 around many faded and dying faculties, and re- 
 called them to life and animation. Every thing 
 seemed joyous and kindly around him ; and not a 
 face passed which did not look affectionately upon 
 him, and smile, as it were, a congratulation upon 
 his happy fortune. At another time he was 
 wandering through those sequestered walks, and 
 by those unfrequented waters where he loved of 
 late to indulge his melancholy musing; his me- 
 lancholy had returned upon him, and he stood in 
 a pensive mood above the smooth dark water. A 
 beautiful shadow meets his eye, reflected in the quiet 
 stream on which his tears had so often fallen, and, 
 F 2
 
 68 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 as if he had just awakened from a horrid dream, 
 he turns to fold to his bosom the fair creature 
 who stands with such a sweet smile beside him. 
 Night rises on his dreams, but not a night of 
 darkness : bright clouds are hanging in the sky, 
 and heavenly forms lean forward, and fair round 
 arms are bent gracefully down, scattering through 
 the air scrolls with shining star-studied inscrip- 
 tions, and radiant boys have caught them as they 
 fell, and borne them along in a thousand various 
 directions ; arid all the skies, wherever the de- 
 lighted eye was turned, were gloriously illuminated, 
 and every where the inscription was sparkling 
 Je vous aime, Je vous aime , and these were the 
 words that seemed ringing upon his ear from the 
 voice of one of those heavenly youths who came to 
 summon him away to a splendid triumph, until 
 the increasing loudness of the watchman's voice 
 had transformed his nocturnal heaven, with its 
 gorgeous illumination, into the cold reluctant 
 light in which the early morn arrays herself. 
 Nor even with the day would his visions depart : 
 they proved too mighty for his studies ; his mathe- 
 matical diagrams became roses and true-love 
 knots ; and when he turned for refuge to his 
 Greek, it seemed to recede before his ardent ima-
 
 AN IDLER. 69 
 
 gination, as the waters shrunk from Kehamah. 
 The page of Demosthenes seemed to discharge all 
 its characters, and to be impressed with a new 
 stamp ; and sometimes there appeared a fair, 
 wide space in the middle of the page, where the 
 motto which haunted his imagination was vividly 
 displayed, and the Greek characters had with- 
 drawn on every side, and formed a kind of wild 
 and mysterious frame-work to enclose the three 
 magical words, Je vous aime. It is not my 
 purpose to record a tale of love or romance. 
 Ormsby was loved, but his fair mistress was 
 unknown, nor would she yet be prevailed upon 
 to reveal herself, although she continued to 
 interchange thoughts and sentiments with him, 
 through the medium of their strange correspond- 
 ence, during which Ormsby deposited a billet on 
 his table every day, and found, on returning from 
 his evening excursion, a reply from his unknown 
 innamorata. I shall not recount all the efforts he 
 made, and the entreaties he urged in vain, that he 
 might, only for one instant, be favoured with a 
 glimpse of her for whom he felt such a blind 
 devotion ; how he complained of his uncertainty, 
 lest he should be guilty of infidelity, by taking to 
 his heart a false image. This I shall pass by : nor 
 F S
 
 70 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 shall I dwell on the fears which sometimes made 
 him shudder, lest there might be some horrid 
 reason for concealment; age or foul deformity. 
 Once a chilling suspicion crossed his mind. 
 There lived in the house a female advanced in 
 life, half-friend, half-menial to the owner of the 
 mansion. She was about fifty years of age, short 
 and clumsy, with a rugged aspect, and bearded 
 like the pard. He thought, one evening, as she 
 met him on the staircase, and handed him, in his 
 servant's absence, a lighted candle, that the acer- 
 bity of her countenance seemed mitigated, and 
 that she looked up at him with an expression of 
 grotesque tenderness through her one loving and 
 efficient eye (for the other was intended for orna- 
 ment, and made of glass) ; and he hurried from 
 her with a feeling made up of mockery and anger 
 and disappointment. I have heard of a gentleman 
 who was serenading a fair soft-hearted creature, 
 whom he hoped to entice from her home by his 
 melody, and his cloak, and his Spanish hat ; but 
 the scheme was interrupted by a very disagreeable 
 intruder, who, just as the lady had condescended 
 to appear at her opened window, and as the 
 gentleman was softening his voice into a more 
 touching expression of tenderness and love, to
 
 AN IDLER. 71 
 
 give greater effect to the close, " Lilla, come down 
 to me," rushed suddenly from a dark \iook, un- 
 solicited, unwished for, to make a third in the 
 scene ; and, without the least attention to the pro- 
 priety of the drama, or the slightest attempt at 
 preserving the harmony of the song, or the 
 smallest consideration for the feelings of the fair 
 Lilla at her window, or of her lover with his 
 flapped hat and cloak and guitar, said, with the 
 calm, unmoved, unmusical voice of his profession, 
 " Sir, you must come with me !" and the gentle- 
 man knowing his occupation, and that resistance 
 was vain, after a short address to himselfj made 
 up of oaths and laughter and exclamations, took 
 an unceremonious leave of his dearest Lilla, and 
 exchanged the open air and the starry firmament 
 for a secure lodging up two pair of stairs, under 
 the protection of the stern being who had shown 
 such an unseasonable regard for his morals. With 
 similar feelings Ormsby entered his chamber ; but 
 they did not continue long ; when he regarded the 
 delicacy of the handwriting of his fair unknown, 
 and reflected on the sentiments she expressed, he 
 at once rejected the odious suspicion, by which he 
 telt as if he had dishonoured her. 
 
 The time, however slowly, at last arrived, when 
 F 4-
 
 72 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 all his doubts were to be for ever removed. He 
 has received a billet promising a meeting on the 
 following evening, when the young lady's mother 
 (now for the first time mentioned) was to be from 
 home. I pass over the agitations of that night, 
 and the restless heaviness of the following day 
 I pass over the mingled feelings of alarm and 
 expectation with which his heart beat at the 
 strange manner in which, for the first time, he was 
 to speak to, and hear from woman the language of 
 affection. I may pass over the interview, too, it 
 was so short and silent ; both were young, and 
 timidity and emotion for a moment obstructed 
 their utterance. Ormsby had taken the lady's 
 hand and bent one knee, as he had been instructed 
 by the stage. She had turned away her face, and 
 shaded it with her hand. Perhaps he might then 
 have acquired the power of speech ; but, just at 
 that moment, a loud knocking at the door dis- 
 turbed them, and the lady commanded him to fly 
 as he valued her. He obeyed her command, and, 
 without a word hastily retired to his own apart- 
 ments, and, with a total change of feeling, sat down 
 to reflect upon the circumstances in which he was 
 now placed. With altered feelings it may well be 
 said, for all his romantic enthusiasm had passed
 
 AN IDLER. 73 
 
 away, and left his thoughts and feelings behind 
 colourless and uninteresting. Such a change as 
 this what words can describe ? It would be easy 
 to speak of changes in external nature from which 
 we might be able to frame some analogy. We 
 could speak, what we have read, of the changed 
 aspect of a fairy bower, when, upon the utterance 
 of its secret protecting spell, the delusions have 
 faded. We could speak of the power of harle- 
 quin's wand, when it suddenly silences the melody 
 of the grove, and withers its opened flowers, and 
 causes all the beauty of a sunny landscape to 
 shrink away from the cold and desolate waste over 
 which the eye, in the next instant, wanders wearily. 
 I might say this and much more, but it could not 
 illustrate the change which was instantaneously 
 effected in Ormsby's mind, a change such as left 
 him in possession of his intellectual faculties and 
 his animal affections, but seemed to have with- 
 drawn from his nature, or to have rendered in- 
 operative in it, some principle which, though it 
 had no power to create a thought or an impression, 
 yet had the power to diffuse over every sentiment 
 and sensation a rich and romantic embellishment. 
 And how was this extraordinary change effected? 
 Was it the result of age or deformity, or of any
 
 74 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 indelicate forwardness ? No ; perhaps his imagin- 
 ation had not created a more beautiful image than 
 he had seen realized in the form and face of the 
 fair creature he had just quitted. She was sitting 
 at the farthest extremity of the room when he en- 
 tered, as if shrinking from the permission she had 
 given, and wishing that . she could recal it. In- 
 voluntarily, as it were, she arose, but immediately 
 resumed her sitting posture with her eyes bent on 
 the ground ; and the marble paleness of her coun- 
 tenance, rendered more remarkable by -her dark 
 ringlets, and by her long black eyelashes, and 
 the beauty of her features, and the gracefulness of 
 her form, and of the fixed attitude in which she 
 sat, would have made her seem some fair illusion, 
 were it not that the constant and violent heaving 
 of her bosom betrayed an inward agitation ; and 
 when he ventured to touch her hand, and attempted 
 some words, which died on his tongue as they 
 arose, such a glow flushed her cheek, so pure and 
 so radiant; and she averted her face with such 
 an air of shame and embarrassment ; and when 
 she turned to bid him depart, and for the first 
 time he saw her eyes, there was, even in their fear, 
 such an innocent expression, and their long silken 
 fringes were so weighed down with bright large
 
 AN IDLER. 75 
 
 tears, that it was not possible for him to conceive 
 otherwise of her than as of one whose modesty 
 equalled her affection. And yet this figure, so 
 beautiful and so interesting, dissipated all Ormsby's 
 romance. How this happened I cannot take upon 
 me to say. I am not competent to enumerate all 
 the various principles by which our nature is in- 
 fluenced, and to find out which of them may ac- 
 count for Ormsby's change. Perhaps he had so 
 long cherished a false image in his imagination, 
 that the reality, which had the power to dissipate 
 his visions, could not call up others to replace 
 them. Perhaps his imagination was of that class 
 which derives a charm from the indistinctness of 
 the details in every image it produces, and which, 
 consequently, loses much of the interest to be] de- 
 rived from images submitted through the senses. 
 Perhaps, in his raised and enthusiastic mind, his 
 feelings towards the unknown object, were as if he 
 loved something spiritual ; the thought of earth 
 or humanity never intruded into his soul ; he 
 loved an essence, a bright and spiritual emanation ; 
 and the aspect of mortality, however fair it seemed, 
 had the power to disperse visions to which its ap- 
 pearance was uncongenial, and to dissipate the 
 beautiful delusions -through which his thoughts.
 
 76 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 were wandering. But however this be, whether it 
 account for the fact or not, certain it is that 
 Ormsby's enthusiasm had evaporated, and left him 
 to more sober reflections. 
 
 It was some time before his thoughts could re- 
 vert steadily to the object which one might have 
 thought best calculated to fix them ; and then he 
 was sensible of the presence of feelings and senti- 
 ments less bright and visionary than those he had 
 lately known, but by no means less influential. He 
 did not love ; but he was deeply sensible to the 
 charm of an affection so generously bestowed upon 
 him. The remembrance of the form he had seen 
 rose before him so beautiful, so touching ; the 
 expression of the countenance, so visionary, so un- 
 suspecting. The voice seemed again in his ear ; 
 the voice so low and tremulous with emotion. He 
 thought of the confidence which reposed on his 
 truth and honour, of the affection which had 
 chased away the dreariness of his dark days ; and 
 although his late emotions taught him that what 
 he now felt was not love, that he was capable of a 
 feeling much more impetuous and absorbing ; yet 
 still the tenderness he experienced had great 
 power over him, and he mentally resolved, that no 
 evil which it was possible for him to avert should
 
 AN IDLER. 77 
 
 ever befall a creature so generous and affectionate. 
 He gave a sigh to his faded visions, as if he 
 mourned the departure of what he loved ; and his 
 life, he determined, should be devoted to her who 
 loved him. This was the determination he came 
 to. He would have thought differently, perhaps, 
 in after life ; but at this time he was but eighteen 
 years of age; chivalrous, influenced by religious 
 principles, and unacquainted with the world. 
 
 He soon obtained another interview, which was 
 not interrupted as the former had been, and, after 
 this, arranged what his future proceedings should 
 be. He pledged himself to be always faithful and 
 affectionate. I am, said he to himself, making a 
 sacrifice: I am resigning all the hopes which 
 sometimes fluttered in my heart, of loving fondly 
 and entirely : but what is there in the world for 
 me which I should prize so highly as this fair 
 creature's generous affection ? and what should I 
 labour so zealously to promote as her happiness ? 
 He therefore bade adieu to all fanciful hopes, 
 and decided that the romance of life was ended. 
 Nothing could be less like the ardour of love than 
 his feelings now were ; but still the consciousness 
 of the sacrifice he made, and the high resolution 
 he had adopted, communicated to his manner a
 
 78 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 character of melancholy and elevation, such as 
 might well be considered to have its rise in a deep 
 and tender emotion. He decided upon quit- 
 ting his lodgings and going to reside in college, 
 thinking it rashness to remain exposed to the ha- 
 zards which must arise from frequent and solitary 
 interviews with so much beauty and such confid- 
 ing tenderness. Arrangements were accordingly 
 made by which he could form an open acquaint- 
 ance, such as would sanction his future visits ; and 
 this having been accomplished, he left his lodgings 
 and became an inmate in the college. 
 
 On the evening before his departure, he had an 
 interview with the lady, I may not say of his love, 
 but of his devotedness ; she seemed greatly 
 alarmed at the prospect of his going. " It is not 
 your absence," said she, " though you may per- 
 haps never know how much I shall feel that you 
 are no longer under the same roof with me ; but 
 this is a positive pain, and I know I can bear it 
 without complaining. But what I cannot school 
 myself to endure, is the apprehension which your 
 going among new friends must be continually 
 exciting. You are going where I am told woman's 
 love is lightly prized ; they will teach you to hold 
 it as a toy, and you may think that love so lightly
 
 AN IDLER. 79 
 
 won may be sported with and flung away. No, do 
 not protest, dear Ormsby, I do not, cannot doubt 
 your affection ; but I could give worlds that mine 
 was still silent in my own full heart, and that you 
 were unconscious as you were when I used to watch 
 for you from my window, and feel happy when I 
 saw you come, and happy when I heard your door 
 closed, and knew that until morning the same 
 house contained us. How little I thought then 
 that my affection would ever become what it is. 
 No, Ormsby, do not interrupt me now; never 
 again perhaps can I be able to speak to you fully of 
 my love; and perhaps," said she, in alow, suppressed 
 tone, " perhaps it may be of consequence to do so 
 now. Endeavour to believe that my love was not 
 light. Strengthen me against my own regrets, for 
 having too lightly revealed it. At first it was not 
 love I felt, but a deep interest about you. I saw 
 you in your mourning dress ; and your melancholy 
 looks and your gentle voice, and your apparent 
 insensibility to every thing around you, affected 
 me strongly. Then, when, as you remained longer 
 in the house, I found, or imagined, that you were 
 without friends in this large city ; I pitied you, and 
 wished that I could have the privilege to be your 
 friend. Often, very often, when I have been sur-
 
 80 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 "rounded by anxious and affectionate friends, I have 
 ceased to feel their presence, and have imagined 
 you to myself solitary and unknown ; and have 
 thought how delightful it would be to summon 
 you into our happy circle, to arrange every thing 
 in the manner most likely to draw you from your 
 griefs, and to bring out all the charms and the 
 virtues which, from the first, I was sure you pos- 
 sessed. At that time I had no intention to dis- 
 cover myself. We were to leave town in a short 
 time, and I thought to pass away from you into 
 darkness, without giving you the pain of ever 
 knowing or pitying me; but when the time of our 
 departure drew near, I could not keep my resolu- 
 tion, and gave way to all the madness of my feel- 
 ings when only two days remained. I appointed 
 to meet you. We were to have left town on the 
 following morning, but my mother changed her 
 intentions; and itVas her unexpected return to 
 communicate her decision which alarmed me so 
 at our first meeting. Here is the progress of my 
 imprudent love. Had you been happy, no earthly 
 power should have made me disclose it. It was 
 your apparent grief to which I yielded up all my 
 maidenly reserve. I o"id not think myself suing 
 for your regard so much as expressing sympathy
 
 AN IDLER. 81 
 
 for your sorrow. Think of this, dear Ormsby, if 
 ever the thought should visit your mind that I have 
 loved too fondly: and now," said she, wiping 
 away her tears, and smiling through them as they 
 started, " I have furnished you with the means of 
 correcting my pride ; if ever I should dare to grow 
 haughty, you have only to remind me of the hum- 
 ble intreaty I have now made, and I shall bid 
 farewell to all my greatness." 
 
 All this was spoken with various interruptions, 
 and frequent expostulations from Ormsby, not to 
 give way to any such groundless apprehensions. 
 He solemnly assured her of his truth and con- 
 stancy ; and succeeded in reassuring her and giving 
 her better hopes : and when he took his leave for 
 the night, she smiled at herself for the heroics 
 which she said she had been acting, and promised 
 him to be less foolish in future. When parting 
 
 on the following day from Julia and Mrs. F , 
 
 her mother, he was, as he expected to be, invited 
 to make them frequent visits at a house which 
 they had recently taken in another part of the 
 town. 
 
 Soon after the commencement of his residence 
 in college, he became a member of our society, and 
 we found him a valuable acquisition. He had 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 such an agreeable talent for trifling ; such a mix- 
 ture of reflection and sportiveness in his manner 
 and conversation, that he kept the attention con- 
 stantly up, and always rewarded it. Sometimes 
 he gave you the notion that he talked on 
 foolishly because he did not conceive the com- 
 pany worthy of a serious conversation ; but then 
 there was such an air of frankness and suavity about 
 him ; and he was at times so ready to follow any 
 discussion that we started, and he interspersed 
 his trifling with such valuable maxims and such 
 appropriate quotations, and anecdotes so amusing 
 and so oddly introduced, that we soon lost all un- 
 pleasant ideas respecting him, and were satisfied to 
 take the good things he had provided us, without 
 questioning the principle upon which he bestowed 
 them. His character, however, seemed naturally 
 serious and almost pensive, and, even in his most 
 sportive moments, some thought would occasionally 
 break forth, which showed his experimental ac- 
 quaintance with affliction. I dare say, it has been 
 anticipated, that he was not to be found among the 
 studious ; his efforts had been all counteracted, 
 and he had not resolution enough to recommence 
 them. Before every examination, indeed, he de- 
 voted one or two days immediately preceding, to
 
 AN IDLER. 83 
 
 the purpose of acquiring some slight knowledge ; 
 and during these days he laboured incessantly, 
 and succeeded in surprising his class-fellows, and 
 frequently extorted a barren compliment from the 
 examiner ; but always had the mortification or the 
 felicity to find that Sparta had many worthier 
 sons, and that idleness ought not to court her 
 honours. It was late in his college course before 
 he could aspire to them successfully. 
 
 G 2
 
 84- 
 
 AN IDLER. 
 
 (CONTINUED.) 
 
 OKMSBY now led an idle agreeable life enough ; 
 he was loved and valued by the few who knew 
 him in the university, and he was admired by his 
 female acquaintances in town. He was, however, 
 regarded in college as a man of little promise ; 
 and if he were to estimate the future which was 
 reserved for him, by the vain and poignant regrets 
 he experienced at each examination, his antici- 
 pations would be of no enviable nature. And yet, 
 during all this time, he continued to cherish 
 ambitious aspirings ; he looked forward to great 
 celebrity in the world, and had framed the wisest 
 and most benevolent- schemes for the governance 
 of his pubh'c life; but never employed himself 
 about the means of attaining pubh'c station. It is 
 much easier to dream about prosperity than to 
 toil for it, and he chose the easier part. I have
 
 AN IDLER. 85 
 
 heard him compared to a man tossed about in a 
 little boat at sea, and instead of bending all his 
 energies to the task of reaching land, delighting 
 himself with fancies of the happiness he should 
 enjoy, and the good things he would do when he 
 arrived there. May I here remark the distinction 
 which has been observed between the conduct of 
 our Lord and that of blind enthusiasts ? these last 
 dwelling with so much particularity upon the 
 various felicities of the heaven they promise, while 
 our Lord is particular in describing the duties by 
 which, we are to be prepared, but general in his 
 account of the heaven which he has procured for 
 us. 
 
 Ormsby was as the enthusiasts; and while he 
 dreamed of renown and public success, he saw 
 every examination bring discomfiture with it ; and 
 found that, as time passed away, it left behind no 
 honourable records to grace his character. It is 
 true, that in the historical society, of which he had 
 become a member, he was generally admired. He 
 was looked upon as a person of strong reasoning 
 power and bold imagination ; but he was known to 
 be idle; and in the society, as well as in the 
 college, at this time idleness was a sin against 
 hope, and unpardonable. Of this sin he bore, and 
 G 3
 
 86 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 deserved, the imputation ; and, with the exception 
 of a few days at the recurrence of each examin- 
 ation, during which he paid the penalty of idleness 
 in the mortification he endured, he lived on seem- 
 ingly a kind of butterfly-existence. But still he 
 was constantly employed in acquiring portions of 
 knowledge, which, although as being only broken 
 and dislocated fragments, they were little valued 
 in the schools, were nevertheless of great service 
 to a mind like his, which had now acquired con- 
 siderable power in combining and arranging ideas. 
 He had done nothing in science, a college tutor 
 observed, but he could do much 'with science, even 
 with the little, the very little of which he had a 
 knowledge ; and I have often seen scientific men 
 surprised at the happy illustrations he borrowed 
 from their favourite studies, and the skill with 
 which he arranged his arguments according to the 
 best formularies of the certain sciences. He was 
 like the Irishman who, being asked how he called 
 a particular tree which was pointed out to him, 
 said, that in his country they never called them, 
 but cut one down when they wanted it. Ormsby 
 never knew the extent of his stores, until the 
 exigences of the moment discovered them to him. 
 He never learned a book at> the author wrote it :
 
 AN IDLER. 87 
 
 he comprehended rapidly, and suffered the thoughts 
 to arrange themselves according to their nature, 
 and according as they might happen to combine 
 themselves with any systems previously forming 
 in his mind; and as they would disengage only 
 to unite with something of more powerful attrac- 
 tion, the extent of his acquirements was but little 
 known. His thoughts were like those genii which 
 start into light and existence only at their proper 
 spell: they would not exhibit themselves, like 
 liveried servants, to swell the master's pomp, but 
 they would come forth, like true friends, the moment 
 any necessity required their particular interference. 
 He used to say of himself, that his thoughts 
 started to meet each other, and sprang up to 
 unite with any new idea introduced into his mind, 
 according to the law of chemical affinities; and 
 that volition was necessary rather to prevent com- 
 binations than to form them. You might some- 
 times see him in company appearing, not, indeed, 
 absent, but indifferent and uninterested ; allow- 
 ing others to usurp the conversation, and seem- 
 ingly well contented to be spared all fatigue; but 
 if, at any pause, he happened to make a remark, 
 about which he thought as he made it, no matter 
 how indifferent the subject was, that moment it 
 G 4-
 
 88 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 became interesting to him ; and you might see him 
 increasing in animation, and gracing the subject 
 with such unexpected allusions, and indicating 
 such remote connections, and throwing out such 
 profusion of imagery now leaving a thought 
 half-formed, to arrest some new one which was 
 rushing rapidly by him, and again, perhaps, led 
 back to that which he had left incomplete, by 
 some new necessity in his subject, that the changes 
 of the kaleidoscope were not more extraordinary, 
 nor more various, than those which any subject 
 received that was shown you through Ormsby's 
 mind. But still, however he shone occasionally in 
 his own circle, his college pursuits were altogether 
 neglected, and his prospects of respectability in 
 life proportionably dim. 
 
 I believe his attentions to Julia had been very 
 much encouraged at the commencement. Her 
 mother saw that he was a young man of promise, 
 and calculated on his having the means of offering 
 to her daughter a suitable establishment; she, 
 therefore, allowed, or rather encouraged, an inter- 
 course in which she saw no danger, and from which 
 she hoped much advantage. It never entered into 
 her thoughts that her daughter's peace might be 
 affected. She made her calculations that Ormsby's
 
 AN IDLER. 89 
 
 affections were to be engaged, and that she might 
 afterwards act as circumstances should direct : but 
 about her daughter she felt no anxiety or alarm ; 
 t she had trained her up in implicit obedience, and 
 she had no idea that her affections could move in 
 any other manner than as it might please her to 
 command them. Some years had now gone by, 
 and Ormsby's name had not been established as 
 she at first imagined it would have been. She knew 
 of many who had outstripped him in his college 
 career, and she was informed that he had attached 
 to himself the character of an idle man. It was 
 time, she thought, to give up all idea of uniting 
 her daughter to him and his doubtful fortunes ; 
 and she did not feel much delicacy about the 
 manner in which all intercourse with him was to 
 be broken off. 
 
 " Julia," said she, one evening as she was sit- 
 ting at her fire-side and her daughter working at 
 the table near her, " Julia," said she, " I wonder 
 you can be losing your time with that empty, 
 foolish Ormsby ; all last night you were speaking 
 with him the whole time he was here, and Mr. 
 Hartop, of Hartop Place, a man of a thousand a 
 year, and his own master, wishing to converse 
 with you."
 
 90 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 " Ma'am ?" said poor Julia, who laid down her 
 work in utter astonishment at the disrespectful 
 terms in which, for the first time, she had heard 
 Ormsby named, and was scarcely able to collect 
 her faculties so as to believe she had heard right. 
 
 " Ma'am?" said her mother, mimicking her, 
 " did you hear me child ; I tell you I will have 
 no more such doings. Mr. Hartop is not a match 
 to be had every day ? a man who does not owe a 
 shilling, and who has such a fine estate, and such 
 a handsome place ; and he must sit silent in the 
 window, while every prating coxcomb is to be en- 
 tertaining young madam ; but I know what I am 
 to do, and I tell you, young lady, that if you do 
 not alter your manners, and, instead of idling 
 away your time, pay proper attention to respect- 
 able men, and such as have an establishment to 
 offer, I shall attend to my duty, and free my house 
 from such unprofitable visitors as those that I see 
 you taken up with ; and, child, if you wish to spare 
 me a task that I can perform if it be necessary, 
 let me see your mind altered. No down looks, 
 but go to your room, and mind what I have been 
 saying." 
 
 Poor Julia retired, and sat down in her cham- 
 ber, petrified with astonishment and terror. She
 
 AN IDLER. 91 
 
 had so long heard Ormsby spoken of only to be 
 admired, that she could hardly credit her senses. 
 She had never before entertained a doubt but that 
 her mother looked upon him in the most favour- 
 able light; and, although no conversation had 
 taken place in direct reference to future arrange- 
 ments, yet her mother had thrown out such fre- 
 quent hints of how much she valued " dear 
 Ormsby," and what hopes she entertained of his 
 future advancement, and of the happiness which 
 he would be likely to confer on the woman he 
 should choose for a wife, that Julia (if ever she 
 thought on such a subject) entertained no fears, 
 either of Ormsby's future success and independ- 
 ance, or of her mother's full concurrence in all 
 her wishes. 
 
 Ormsby found her on the following day visibly 
 affected. She had not yet been able to summon 
 up resolution enough to act a part, and her dis- 
 tress was apparent. While they were sitting to- 
 gether, Mr. Hartop's name was announced, and 
 Ormsby beheld with astonishment Julia's colour 
 change, and her whole appearance agitated ; and 
 in the next moment heard her mother say, " Mr. 
 Hartop, I am so glad to see you ; my daughter 
 Julia can think of nothing but your beautiful white
 
 92 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 mice ; won't you let us see the dear little things 
 soon again ?" 
 
 Mr. Hartop, with great solemnity, professed 
 himself much flattered by the honour of Miss 
 
 F 's approbation, and expressed a wish that 
 
 he might be permitted to make an offering of his 
 little favourites to so amiable a young lady, with 
 whom, he was sure, they would be much happier 
 than they could possibly be with a man of his 
 rude habits ; but Julia, with sudden spirit, in spite 
 of her mother's frown, was beginning a determined 
 refusal, and a denial of all that had been attributed 
 to her, until she saw a very significant glance di- 
 rected towards the astonished Ormsby, and she 
 instantly checked herself, and remained in the 
 most embarrassed and distressing silence. The 
 end was, that the mice, in their cage, were ordered 
 up from Mr. Hartop's curricle, and presented to 
 Julia, as " little favourites of whose happiness he 
 had token care for some years, but from whom he 
 parted without regret, under the certainty he felt 
 that they would be gainers by the exchange." 
 
 Ormsby soon understood the . meaning of all 
 
 those strange appearances. Mrs. F found 
 
 him an obstruction to her designs, and determined 
 on forbidding his visits ; and the only indulgence
 
 AN IDLER. 93 
 
 poor Julia could procure, was the permission to 
 soften the message by delivering it herself. I can- 
 not say that Ormsby's feelings were very poignant. 
 I believe that those of men, on such occasions, are 
 usually less poignant than women's ; and although 
 Ormsby felt the greatest interest in Julia's happi- 
 ness, and extreme regret that it should be so in- 
 terrupted, yet I believe the pangs of unhappy 
 love are much keener than those which he expe- 
 rienced. However, if his sufferings were not 
 acute, his purposes were honest, and he now, more 
 than ever, regretted the lost opportunities which 
 might have been employed to such good purpose, 
 and resolved, more steadily than at any former time, 
 to let no other opportunity escape him ; and, for the 
 first time in his life, he continued, during several 
 months, in habits of industrious and well-directed 
 exertion. 
 
 In the mean time Mrs. F was equally in- 
 dustrious in advancing her designs against Hartop 
 Place ; and while Ormsby was submitting to all 
 privations, and devoting himself to toil, that he 
 might be enabled to promote her daughter's hap- 
 piness, she was labouring incessantly to obliterate 
 the impression which she now saw he had made
 
 94- COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 on her child's heart. She carried on her designs 
 with the most artless air imaginable ; she never 
 affected to suppose that Julia felt any secret at- 
 tachment, nor did she decline speaking upon the 
 topic which she knew was nearest to her mind. 
 She knew that Julia would think, and that thoughts 
 are not less dangerous for being silent. Therefore 
 she frequently introduced Ormsby's name, and 
 spoke of his character with such an impartial 
 manner, and so disengaged an air, and such real 
 vigilant malice, that she contrived, at least, to as- 
 sociate his name with what was most disagreeable, 
 and yet Julia had no suspicion of her design nor 
 means of evading it. She was one night sitting 
 in great wretchedness, listening, or rather endea- 
 vouring not to listen,- to her mother, who was 
 talking to a full company in this strain. Julia was 
 labouring to shut herself up in her own thoughts, 
 but was every now and then painfully recalled by 
 some cruel and seemingly careless stroke of ridi- 
 cule and contempt, when she heard a young gen- 
 tleman hastily observe, 
 
 " Ormsby, did you say, Ma'am ? Hill, was not 
 Ormsby the gentleman we heard to-day ?' 
 
 " Yes, it was."
 
 AN IDLER. 9 
 
 " Then, Ma'am, I can tell you a story about 
 him which will surprise you, if your Ormsby and 
 mine are the same." 
 
 Every one, except Julia, called out to him to 
 tell the story. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " I will, and tell it methodi- 
 cally, too, for I have read worse in the papers. 
 
 " You must know, then, that as I was coming 
 out of college to-day, my friend Hill met me, and 
 told me that I positively should not go, but that 
 I must instantly get on my gown, and come with 
 him to hear the premiums for compositions ad- 
 judged. * There are to be,' says he, * some of 
 the most celebrated men candidates, and you may 
 have no other opportunity of hearing them.' So 
 I said, Yes ! and on we marched to the ring, and 
 Hill showed me all the candidates. As one of 
 the examiners was taking the names, I heard him 
 say, ' Mr. Ormsby, you cannot be a candidate ;' 
 and blank enough the poor fellow looked ; but he 
 soon got up his courage, and argued with the 
 examiner, that he could be a candidate for one 
 premium, and at last convinced every body that 
 he was right. Well, the names were all taken 
 down, and there we sat silently waiting for the con- 
 test to commence. ' Here's the Provost coming,'
 
 96 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 says Hill, and we heard his quick steps ad vane- 
 ing near; the door was thrown open, and all stood 
 up as he came in. * Who are the candidates?' 
 said he, taking up the list * Ormsby ! the 
 regulations are against him :' then there was the 
 same arguing to be gone through again. ' I be- 
 lieve,' said the Provost, ' Ormsby may be right, 
 according to the copy of the regulations set up 
 here, but I imagine there must be some mistake 
 in them, so I shall examine the original documents 
 to ascertain the truth.' I was looking at Ormsby 
 while the Provost was away to consult the re- 
 gister, but now he seemed quite calm, as if he 
 had made up his mind for the worst. Well, the 
 Provost returned, the rule was in Ormsby's fa- 
 vour, and the trial began. Ormsby was the last 
 to read, and it was easy to see he had the smallest 
 number of friends. There were two or three per- 
 sons who seemed at first to have a great anxiety 
 about him, but the audience in general appeared 
 careless enough. I heard one or two whispering 
 each other, ' Here's Ormsby coming, 'twould be 
 better for him that the Provost had decided against 
 him.' ' And for his hearers, too,' rejoined an- 
 other.'" Here Mrs. F interrupted him to 
 
 say, how much she regretted that Ormsby had
 
 AN IDLER. 97 
 
 so completely disappointed the hopes of all who 
 thought well of his talents. " I am sure," said 
 she, " I was myself much prejudiced in his favour, 
 but I have long seen that he can never come to 
 good." " So," resumed the speaker, " they all 
 thought to-day, when he was called on to read 
 his essay ; and he himself seemed to think so too, 
 if I might judge by his dejected look, but he soon 
 lost that look ; and I saw that the Fellows began 
 to put up their glasses to their eyes, and when he 
 went back to his seat after reading, while the 
 examiners were whispering together and compar- 
 ing their notes, every one, that was not looking at 
 the Fellows, was looking at Ormsby and speaking 
 of him. Our suspense was soon at an end. The 
 Provost stood up to adjudge Ormsby the first 
 premium ; and there he sat, listening to his praises, 
 as pale as if he was hearing his condemnation pro- 
 nounced. It is not for a Freshman to dare fol- 
 lowing the Provost in his speech, but I remember 
 the conclusion. ' These premiums,' said he, 
 ' were instituted for the purpose of calling forth 
 talent, and never, perhaps, was their object more 
 fully attained than on this day.' Then we all 
 dispersed, and Ormsby I saw hastening away ; 
 and just as he was getting out of the door, that 
 VOL. i. H
 
 98 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 fine venerable Dr. stopped him. * Ormsby,' 
 
 said he, ' I congratulate you, and I wish that 
 your success in life may be as brilliant as it has 
 been to day.' I would not have missed hearing 
 that for all the rest." 
 
 Julia would not have missed it either, but she 
 could not bear to hear more ; and, while all the 
 company were expressing their various comments, 
 she contrived to glide out of the room, and suc- 
 ceeded in hiding her tears from all except her 
 vigilant mother. She sat in the window of her 
 chamber, looking through her happy tears across 
 the moonlight sky. Her prospect was not ob- 
 structed, for there were no houses opposite hers, 
 which was separated from a meadow by the road. 
 Suddenly she saw a figure rise in the field, and 
 spring over the hedge. She could not be mis- 
 taken ; it was Ormsby ! Ormsby who must have 
 been there watching for her. By a strong effort 
 she suppressed a scream, and only spread out her 
 arms silently towards him. He did not speak ; 
 but showed a letter which he had come to deliver. 
 Julia, as if struck by some sudden thought, made 
 a sign to him to remain, and disappeared. Pre- 
 sently she returned again, and coming to the win- 
 dow, took up some flowers and held them towards
 
 AN IDLER. 99 
 
 him, and then showed him something which, as it 
 shone in the beams of the moon, he saw was a key, 
 and he concluded that she wished to intimate to 
 him that she had found means of admitting him 
 into the garden. He was right, and having gone 
 round to the back of the house to whicli a by-lane 
 led him, he found she was already at the garden 
 door, and prepared to meet him when she heard 
 his voice. " Oh, Ormsby," said she, as soon as 
 she was able to speak, " how delighted I was 
 to-night. We heard of your great success." 
 
 "Yes, Julia, it was encouraging; but we cannot 
 speak of it now. I have been haunting your house 
 for the last week, anxiously seeking an opportunity 
 to speak with you. I have very important things 
 to say ; and I had written this note to request you 
 would contrive a meeting. Can you hear now 
 what I wish to tell you ?" 
 
 " No, no, Ormsby," said Julia, alarmed at his 
 serious manner, " not now ; I am not prepared to 
 hear any thing very disheartening. I will prepare 
 myself, and then you may communicate any tidings 
 whatever ; but the state of mind in which I have 
 just now been, has unfitted me for any thing which 
 it requires fortitude to bear." 
 
 H 2
 
 100 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 " But," said Ormsby, " what I have to say re- 
 quires the exercise of no such virtue : I hope I 
 shall not have such tidings ever to communicate to 
 my Julia. It is advice I am come to offer you, 
 advice which I am confident will cause you neither 
 sorrow nor alarm." 
 
 " Oh then, dear Ormsby, let me hear it ! never 
 was creature more forlorn of all kinds of advice 
 than I am; but don't give it with that solemn face. 
 Every thing affects me now; and you cannot 
 imagine what an air of sadness the moon spreads 
 over your features." 
 
 " Well, Julia, since I cannot chase from the 
 moon its pensive beam, nor laugh loud to make its 
 light grow merry, I shall take my place behind 
 this broad shady tree. And now, fair moon, with 
 all thy pensive power, here, where faint odours 
 mingle with thy loveliness here, amidst these 
 shrubs and flowers which pay thee their mute 
 homage, on which thy lovely light rests still and 
 spiritual, as the raised looks of silent prayer 
 here, where in all thou seest thy sway is owned 
 I tell thee thou'rt defied. Henceforth I worship 
 thee no more. I am a man more sinned against than 
 sinning. I brought into thy presence an honest 
 purpose and unclouded look; but thou didst shed
 
 AN IDLER. 101 
 
 a sickly influence down, and, with wan aspect beam- 
 ing, thou didst steep my smile in pensiveness. 
 Will this satisfy my Julia, or must I rave on longer, 
 to show that 
 
 ' I, one Snug the joiner, am 
 No lion fierce, and eke no lion's dam ;' 
 
 but that my purpose and my roaring shall be gentle 
 as any dove ? " 
 
 " How you do run on, Ormsby," said Julia, 
 who, leaning on Ormsby's arm and looking into 
 his face, would have gladly heard him run on for 
 ever; " how you do run on, making night 
 hideous. Come, leave this horrible mouthing, and 
 begin : here am I, ready to hear your sage advice ; 
 and you must not fear that pleasure shall soon 
 make me forget it." 
 
 " Then, Julia, I shall not trust to accident or 
 design for another opportunity of telling you, that 
 you must be very cautious in your conduct towards 
 a gentleman who has lately become intimate at 
 your house. I mean Mr. L ; he is an unprin- 
 cipled man." 
 
 " Unprincipled ! Oh no, Ormsby, you quite mis- 
 take him ; he is the kindest friend I have now, and 
 admires you more than you can think. Besides, he 
 is of the very greatest service to me, and it is by his 
 H 3
 
 102 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 assistance that 1 continue to keep that odious 
 Hartop at a distance. He is a married man, too, 
 you know, so I can be more unrestrained with 
 him ; and sometimes, while I am in appearance all 
 gaiety and interest about what he is saying, Har- 
 top is looking on with such an expression of self- 
 importance in his whole air, and his large foolish 
 eyes look so scared, and sometimes so angry, 
 that I shall have a comfortable time of it when I 
 am his wife ; then he will make me suffer for my 
 present impertinence. But I have my doubts 
 whether he wont take mamma, he talks to her so 
 about propriety and prudence, and I make L 
 plague him so, that I don't think he will have me. 
 He has not ventured to make love to me yet, except 
 through mamma; so I think he will leave me to my 
 wretched fate and you: and then grief, I suppose, 
 will kill me, or I shall run mad in white satin." 
 
 " Well, but Julia, all this has not convinced 
 me that you are right in admitting such an inti- 
 macy with L , and entering into this offensive 
 alliance with him. Trust me the direct course is 
 always the safe course: but I wonder your mo- 
 ther can permit you to behave in the manner you 
 describe." 
 
 " Oh, mamma, to be sure, is sometimes very an-
 
 AN IDLER. 103 
 
 gry ; but then Mr. L knows how to manage her 
 so well. Sometimes she seems ready to fly out; and 
 just then Mr. L quits me, and goes over to 
 speak with her about some of her old friends and 
 her law-suit ; and then, when he has got her mind 
 occupied, he often contrives to make her call upon 
 Hartop, or calls upon him himself, for some 
 information; and, as soon as he has engaged him 
 and mamma together, he comes back to me, or 
 he takes his leave, so that mamma never recollects 
 her anger, or speaks to me about him when he is 
 gone." 
 
 " I see, then, that Mr. L is a man of no little 
 art ; and I am told that he is a man of very little 
 principle. I feel a great annoyance in thinking that 
 such a person should be admitted into your confi- 
 dence. You do not know, my Julia, you never 
 may know, the spirit that is in man ; you cannot 
 imagine how apt we are to misunderstand you, and 
 to draw inferences and advantages from your 
 smallest attentions, such as it would shock you to 
 think of. I cannot with certainty speak of any 
 thing flagitious in the conduct of this Mr. L ; 
 but I am told that he is very unprincipled ; that he 
 is a bad husband, and has been a false friend; and, 
 I confess, that the specimen you have given me of 
 
 H 4
 
 104 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 his artful and watchful manner has, in no small 
 degree, increased the alarm which his acquaintance 
 with you has occasioned me." 
 
 " Now, Ormsby, I have heard you out : you 
 tell me that certainly you know nothing dishonour- 
 able of L ; but that you have heard him de- 
 scribed as unprincipled, and a bad husband. I am 
 sure your information must have been incorrect ; 
 for when I went with mamma to visit Mrs.L ,she 
 seemed so surrounded with comforts and affluence, 
 and Mr. L seemed so attentive to all her wants 
 and wishes, that mamma came away in raptures with 
 him ; and I am sure that if Mrs. L was not the 
 disagreeable cold woman which I am convinced by 
 her countenance she is, she would be the happiest 
 married woman among my acquaintances. 
 
 " Well, well, Julia, I see that if I am to have 
 my assertions credited, I must enable myself to 
 place them in a more positive shape ; in the mean 
 time, for my sake, endeavour to assume some little 
 caution, and do not continue that manner which, 
 if it were adopted by any other woman than 
 you, would lessen her respectability. You can- 
 not imagine the shuddering sensation I have 
 sometimes experienced, at the homage I have 
 seen a profligate offering to an innocent and tin-
 
 AN IDLER. 105 
 
 suspecting creature. Do you remember how you 
 started when you saw Kemble, in Richard, patting 
 so gently with his murderous hand the heads of 
 the young princes ? And one great misfortune is, 
 that in the cases of the most dangerous profligates, 
 their nature actually experiences a kind of trans- 
 formation in the presence of their intended victims. 
 You said, this evening, that the moonlight 
 made me look sad. Innocence has its light, and 
 whatever it falls around, seems to be affected by its 
 influence. You do not see the characters of bad 
 men in a light of their own colour ; but softened 
 and relieved by that which you yourselves shed 
 upon them. With respect to Mr. L you may 
 be right ; but the account you give of his manoeuv- 
 ring manner confirms me in my own opinion of 
 him. It can, at all events, serve no bad purpose, 
 that you should guard against any very close or 
 confidential intimacy, such as, I am afraid, would 
 be the consequence of your continuing to plague 
 that poor Hartop. Be assured, that your better 
 course will be to give up such a system ; and even 
 if, in consequence, you suffer some additional an- 
 noyance, think that it is for me you are suffering, 
 and hope that all our annoyances may soon be 
 over."
 
 106 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 " Do with me what you please, dear Ormsby, 
 I shall try to be every thing you desire. Yet I 
 wish you could meet Mr. L , or hear how 
 warmly and nobly he has sometimes spoken of you, 
 although he does not know you, except by report. 
 But what is he to me in competition with your 
 slightest wish ?" 
 
 So Julia thought ; and for some time she gave up 
 all idea of plaguing Mr. Hartop, or coquetting 
 with Mr. L ; but then she was so persecuted by 
 her odious lover, and she felt so much the want of 
 those conversations in which she used to speak 
 
 unreservedly with Mr. L on the subject 
 
 dearest to her, and to hear praises, dearer far than 
 of herself, so animatedly spoken ; and then she was 
 so confident that all Ormsby's suspicions were un- 
 founded; and it was evident that they were, r she 
 thought, since he had not discovered any grounds 
 for them, that in the end, by slow and insensible 
 degrees, she resumed her former manners and 
 habits; and Mr. L had become so agreeable, 
 and rendered himself so serviceable to Mrs. F , 
 that she agreed to become a joint tenant in a large 
 house which he had taken for the summer, near 
 the village of . 
 
 In the mean time, Ormsby was vigorously em-
 
 AN IDLER. 107 
 
 ployed in his literary pursuits, and was every day 
 increasing in knowledge and respectability. He 
 was a rare instance of a man labouring to acquire 
 an independence from such disinterested motives. 
 His suspicions respecting Mr. L had long been 
 removed. He could not find any means of sub- 
 stantiating the charges which had been made 
 against him ; and it is not in such a mind as his, that 
 suspicion can find an internal power to keep it 
 waking. But his alarm was excited again; for 
 whispers began to circulate, such as caused him an 
 uneasiness he had never felt before. I doubt, whe- 
 ther it is in the nature of human love to be so to- 
 tally free from doubt as Ormsby's affection was. It is 
 the privilege reserved for a purer and a more per- 
 fect love than earth admits, that it casteth out all 
 fear. But in Ormsby's mind there was a freedom 
 from all fear ; and he so constantly regarded Julia 
 in the light of one for whose happiness he was ex- 
 erting himself, and he was so occupied in watching 
 his own mind and his ardent feelings, lest any thing 
 might start up there which could in any manner 
 disturb her peace, that the possibility of a change 
 of affection on her part, or of any important im- 
 prudence, never once cast a shadow across his 
 mind.
 
 108 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 Now his fears were dreadfully excited. He 
 had caught the indistinct whispers which, how- 
 ever slight they are, magnify themselves so upon 
 the memory. He had witnessed the sudden silence, 
 and the cautious manner which does not conceal the 
 meaning it suppresses, but spreads around it, like a 
 mist, through which it looks still more monstrous 
 and appalling. He had seen the studied and la- 
 borious change] of conversation, where the con- 
 strained manner, and the involuntary silences, 
 broken as soon as noticed, give convincing proof 
 that the subject from which the speakers wish to 
 turn is in all their minds, and will not suffer them 
 to be disengaged from it. All this he was com- 
 pelled to witness, and knew not what measures 
 he could adopt, to obtain acknowledge of the scan- 
 dal or to refute it. He soon came to the resolu- 
 tion to seek a meeting with Julia, and to be decided 
 by circumstances whether he should acquaint her 
 with these horrid calumnies. For this purpose he 
 
 went down to , and spent his whole time in 
 
 efforts to see her: but some days his attempts 
 were fruitless ; the precaution he was obliged to 
 adopt in keeping himself concealed from her mo- 
 ther, disconcerting all his plans. 
 
 At last he saw her. He learned that a party from
 
 AN IDLER. 109 
 
 her house were to spend the greater part of the 
 day at the Dargle ; and he went there, determined 
 to watch narrowly, and hoping that some accident 
 might afford him an opportunity of seeing Julia 
 for an instant alone, when he thought it likely 
 she could arrange some plan for a future meeting. 
 When at the Dargle, he chose the most unfre- 
 quented paths ; and, after some time, he could dis- 
 tinguish through the trees in the walks below him 
 the glitter of female dresses, and could hear voices, 
 which he knew, speaking in various tones ; and loud 
 laughter sometimes was brought to him on the air. 
 " Poor Julia," said he, " I cannot distinguish your 
 sweet voice ; if you are in that group, their merri- 
 ment gives you little pleasure." Suddenly the 
 thought occurred to him that she might not have 
 come with the party, and that, if he returned back 
 towards her house, his efforts were likely to be suc- 
 cessful. Instantly he was climbing up the steep 
 side of the hill, that he might return by the shortest 
 way, when, what was his astonishment, just as he 
 arrived at a little green spot surrounded by shrubs, 
 he found himself standing before Julia, who was 
 sitting alone with Mr. L , his arm thrown fa- 
 miliarly round her. At sight of Ormsby, she 
 screamed, and, starting up with the utmost wild-
 
 110 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 ness of manner, flew rapidly from him. Mr. L 
 was more deliberate : he bowed coldly, and smiled 
 as he pased. But Ormsby thought little of his smile ; 
 it could not aggravate the wound his heart had re- 
 ceived. He flung himself down at the root of the 
 tree where they had been sitting ; wild and con- 
 fused thoughts and images whirling round his 
 brain. At length all his agitation ceased ; but a kind 
 of lethargy spread over his faculties, and he re- 
 mained still lying on the grass incapable of thought 
 or motion. How long he remained in this state 
 he could not tell. He was roused by a voice 
 which pronounced his name in a faint and hesi- 
 tating tone. It was Julia's, who had heard from 
 Mr. L that Ormsby had fallen to the ground 
 and had returned in terror for his safety. 
 
 Ormsby heard her voice, and attempted to rise, 
 but failed ; and now, for the first time, tears rolled 
 down his face, and he turned away his head. " He 
 despises me," said Julia. " I deserve it all, and yet 
 itis not necessary ; my punishment is severe enough 
 within me." 
 
 " No, Julia," said Ormsby, turning round, " I 
 do not despise you ; if you could see my heart you 
 would see that it is for you I am at this moment 
 suffering."
 
 AN IDLER. 1 11 
 
 " I know it, I know it," said she, throwing 
 herself on the ground, and clasping his feet, 
 which she kissed with vehemence, " I know your 
 noble heart ; I know your angelic disposition ; 
 and what was I that I should ever dare to profane 
 it with my love. What was I? No, Ormsby, 
 do not believe me. I was pure and innocent 
 as you yourself once: that was in our early days. 
 Oh, if I had listened to your advice : but I never 
 was worthy of you. I was giddy and proud ; and 
 now I am humble enough and wretched enough 
 and wretched enough," she repeated ; and draw- 
 ing herself away, she covered her face with her 
 hands, and burst into a violent fit of sobbing and 
 weeping. 
 
 " Julia," said Ormsby, powerfully affected by 
 her sorrow, " dear Julia" 
 
 She raised her face at the word, and looked stea- 
 dily at Ormsby for the space of a minute. " Dear 
 Julia," said she, in a calm low tone, as if trying the 
 sound on her ear: then she continued in a mono- 
 tonous but rapid manner, with the same low inward 
 voice, "Bless you for that word, Ormsby dear 
 I shall remember that when my despair is strongest. 
 I shall remember it when those wicked thoughts 
 would destroy my soul. God bless you for it,
 
 112 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 Ormsby. Your image will not now be so very 
 terrible. You will not be frowning in my dreams, 
 and withering me with your disdain. God bless 
 you," said she, and she took one of his hands in 
 both hers, and raised it towards her lips ; but sud- 
 denly, with a convulsive agitation through her whole 
 frame, she suffered it to drop from her. Ormsby, 
 quite overcome, took her hand, and bending towards 
 her as she shrunk away, pressed his lips to her 
 forehead, and turning rapidly was out of sight. 
 
 It may well be imagined that it was some time be- 
 fore he could resume his studies: but he did recover; 
 and engaged himself in his labours as vigorously 
 as before. Julia, too, I believe, recovered from her 
 grief arid humiliation ; for, in less than a year from 
 the day upon which Ormsby parted with her under 
 such strange circumstances, she was announced to 
 her friends as Mrs. Hartop. I have heard that she 
 acquainted Hartop with her conduct ; but that her 
 mother, who had acquired a complete ascendancy 
 over him, learned the secret, and made him believe 
 that Julia had invented a story only to make him dis- 
 continue his addresses ; and convinced him that she 
 would be anexcellent wife, when once he had made it 
 impossible for her to think about that foolish Ormsby. 
 So Hartop, delighted at the thought of foiling the
 
 AN IDLER. ] 13 
 
 the two lovers by their own arts, and having no 
 doubts of Julia's becoming reasonable by an inter- 
 course with him, made all due arrangements, and is 
 now residing at Hartop Place with Julia and her 
 mother. 
 
 Ormsby is generally regarded as a young man 
 of promise. His heart has, since his separation 
 from Julia, given entrance to a more vivid affec- 
 tion than he had experienced before; and his ac- 
 count of the change it effected in his character is 
 curious : " I had resigned myself to my fate, and 
 imagined (a Hibernicism) that all the imaginative 
 affections were dead within me. I thought that no 
 Jively fancies could ever again have glanced across 
 me. My mind I considered in the light of a mu- 
 seum where the naturalist disposes his dried insects, 
 and I imagined that whoever could look into it, 
 would see my feelings preserved in perfect form, 
 (I was going to say like Bluebeard's wives, but 
 they were I suppose decapitated,) each of them 
 deserving the commendation which Orlando gives 
 his mare, that of having every virtue and only 
 one fault, the fault of being dead. So I thought 
 of my feelings; they would answer very well to 
 paint from, but they were never to flutter again. 
 But I was mistaken ; for when a new affection 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 touched my heart and made a summer there, they 
 all started up, like the dead men in Bayes's Re- 
 hearsal, a little paler, to be sure, than they were, 
 but serviceable still ; and I trust, that by good 
 looking after, and by not putting them upon very 
 hard duty, they shall continue to be effective upon 
 a kind of peace establishment for the period of my 
 natural life."
 
 115 
 
 TR AVERS. 
 
 AT the commencement of the college summer 
 vacation, and at the recommencement of study in 
 the month of November, it was customary to ter- 
 minate and to resume the proceedings of the 
 historical society by a speech, delivered from the 
 chair, on the subjects of study which were cul- 
 tivated by its members. This was called the 
 opening and closing of the session ; it was origin- 
 ally intended merely as a review of the proceed- 
 ings which had already taken place, or a medium 
 of communicating advice with respect to those 
 which ought to be adopted; but, hi process of 
 time, the speech from the chair became a more 
 ambitious thing, and ended by becoming a de- 
 clamation on .the subjects of history, oratory, and 
 poetry. The most distinguished speaker in the 
 society was generally the one appointed to a task 
 
 ; 2
 
 116 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 which was every year becoming more arduous, 
 and, in his performance of which, he encountered 
 the critical examination of not merely his fellow 
 students, but that of many literary individuals in 
 the various professions ; for, upon this occasion, 
 the society opened its doors, and admitted all 
 persons to be present. The public availed them- 
 selves largely of the permission, and the hall of 
 meeting was always crowded to excess upon the 
 night of opening and closing the session. 
 
 Upon one of these occasions, when the number 
 of hearers was, as usual, very great, an old gentle- 
 man, who was unable to emerge from the press 
 at the door, was complaining loudly of his un- 
 pleasant condition, and endeavouring to make his 
 way back again to the stairs. Ormsby, who was 
 sitting near the door, struck with his appearance 
 of age and vexation, came forward to his assist- 
 ance, and, with some difficulty, succeeded in ex- 
 tricating him from the crowd, and in procuring 
 him a seat. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, Sir," said the old 
 gentleman, " it would be annoying to be sent back 
 " again, after all my trouble, without even getting 
 " a sight of the chair. I have attended every 
 " open night of the society for the last thirty years,
 
 TRAVERS. 117 
 
 " without missing one, till within these two years 
 " back." 
 
 " Then, Sir, I am glad that this night is not 
 to be an exception to your general habit, and 
 I also hope you will not be disappointed in the 
 pleasure you expect. We reckon Mr. Travers, 
 who is to speak to-night, a very able young man." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so ; I did not 
 expect to hear good speaking here again : since 
 your board excluded the extern members, I thought 
 no good could come to the society. It was a sad 
 blow to have all those fine young fellows shut out 
 sit once. Many a great man I have heard speak 
 from that chair : I must not forget, though, to 
 put down the name of Mr. Travers, is not it ?" 
 
 Yes, Sir." 
 
 Here he took out a small clasped book, and 
 opening it, showed Ormsby that it contained the 
 names of all the persons whom he had heard 
 speak from the chair of the historical society ; and 
 opposite each name he had marked the length of 
 the speech. When he had entered the name of 
 Travers, he resumed : 
 
 " Pray, Sir, who is the young gentleman now in 
 the chair ? he seems a fine-looking young man." 
 
 " Mr. Heavyside, Sir ; he was our last auditor." 
 i 3
 
 118 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 " Heavy side ! Oh, I remember now, it must 
 have been his uncle that I have heard close a ses- 
 sion in the year. He was a short, dark man, 
 with a turned up nose, but a wonderful orator ; 
 he spoke for seventy-two minutes : though, in- 
 deed, I ought not to say this positively, for I was 
 a little overcome by the heat of the room, and was 
 dozing just at the end of his speech, so that I 
 cannot accurately state the precise moment at 
 which he ended ; but it was not, I think, half a 
 minute more or less than seventy-two ; and you 
 know, Sir, that it is not a matter of much con- 
 sequence." 
 
 " No, Sir, especially as you spent" 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha, you are jocular ; but don't think 
 that I have made it a common practice to sleep 
 during the speeches : no, no, I know better than 
 that; and always made it a rule to take a nap 
 after my dinner, for fear of being caught napping 
 here, ha, ha, ha; but who is this Mr. Travers 
 that we are to have to-night ? is he a fine fellow ? 
 Is he in the house ?" 
 
 " Do you see the gentleman at the extreme end 
 of the bench, just near the chair ?" 
 
 " What! that proud-looking, dark -haired man ?" 
 " No, Sir, the person next him."
 
 TR AVERS. 119 
 
 " Who ? the lively looking gentleman with the 
 brown hair, who is looking through an eye- 
 glass ?" 
 
 " No, Sir, the gentleman at the other side." 
 
 " Who ? that dismal lank-looking youth with 
 his head down ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir, that is Mr. Travers." 
 
 " That Mr. Travers !" said the old gentleman, 
 with his eyes still fixed upon him after a short 
 pause he turned suddenly round and looked into 
 Ormsby's face with a most comic expression of 
 countenance, suspicion and credulity mingling 
 strangely together, " That Mr. Travers, Sir ?" 
 Then finding that Ormsby, who with difficulty 
 suppressed a smile, did nevertheless preserve his 
 gravity, he added, " Pray, Sir, may I ask, is 
 Mr. Travers a friend of yours ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir," said Ormsby, " but quite at your 
 service to abuse him as much as ever you please." 
 
 " Why then, Sir, since you are so good as to 
 allow me such a freedom, I must say, that I think 
 it would be kinder to send him home and have 
 him put to bed, than to make him a speaker for 
 the historical society. He make a speech ! God 
 Almighty bless my poor soul ! Why he looks 
 more like a poor dunce at school that did not 
 i 4
 
 120 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 know his task than like an orator. I beg your 
 pardon, Sir, I know I ought not to speak in this 
 manner; but when I remember Emmett and 
 Bushe, and all the great men I have heard, and 
 to see what the times are come to, Well, Well ! 
 Lord have mercy upon us all; that's what I say. 
 You'll forgive me, Sir, for speaking of your friend ; 
 I don't mean any thing disparaging." 
 
 " Oh, Sir, I forgive you with all my heart ; but 
 I do not think you can forgive yourself so easily 
 when you have heard him." 
 
 " Do you tell me so? Well may be he is 
 better than he looks. Curran, to be sure, was a 
 very ugly fellow ; but then he had an eye like 
 fire." 
 
 " And Travers, Sir, has a heart of fire ; and 
 you shall see how it will make him blaze by and 
 bye." 
 
 " Well, I hope so ; I shall give him a fair 
 hearing. I will not allow myself to be prejudiced 
 by his looks ; but still well, no matter, he will 
 soon begin now." 
 
 The appearance of Travers on this night was 
 certainly not calculated to prepossess a distant 
 spectator in his favor. His hair was cut so close 
 as to give no shade whatever to his face, and the
 
 TRAVERS. 121 
 
 hair was, itself, of so pale a brown, as to differ 
 very little in hue from the color of his pale 
 face. Those who were near him, saw that his 
 features were handsome and very fine, and the 
 expression of his countenance at times mournful 
 and tender; but, at a distance, these minuter 
 graces were not discernible ; and, as his counte- 
 ance wanted the marking of an eyebrow, and the 
 light which a bright eye throws around it, his 
 look seemed rather sullen and abstracted, than 
 indicative of the passion and the power which he 
 possessed abundantly. 
 
 The routine business of the society had now 
 been gone through ; the medals were conferred, 
 and the motions, of which notice had been given, 
 were duly made, when it was moved that the 
 chairman leave the chair, and that Mr. Travers 
 take it. 
 
 " Poor fellow," said Ormsby's new acquaint- 
 ance, " how pale he has grown." 
 
 Ormsby saw that a sicklier paleness had crossed 
 his friend's face, and that he seemed to press his 
 lips more closely together, as if he would not 
 suffer even the act of breathing to break his rigid 
 composure. He is now invested in the robes of 
 state, and has sat down for a short time ; while, in
 
 122 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 the most perfect silence, every eye in the thronged 
 assembly is bent upon him. At last he seemed to 
 recover himself; and when he had arisen and 
 pronounced the words "Gentlemen of the historical 
 society," all his embarrassment seemed to have 
 passed away, and he stood before his hearers a 
 completely altered creature. There was no grace- 
 ful affectation of humility in his manner, nor did 
 he endeavour to overbear the mind by an as- 
 sumption of state ; he stood with the independent, 
 collected look of a man who knew the difficulty 
 of the task he had undertaken, and knew also the 
 extent of his own abilities. There was something 
 exceedingly interesting in his entire performance. 
 The appearance of extreme youth, combined with 
 a look of independence, in which no enemy could 
 trace any thing of presumption ; his obvious dis- 
 dain of all frivolous ornament, and his reliance on 
 the legitimate sources of distinction which he pos- 
 sessed in a fine imagination and a generous mind. 
 He spoke as one who, in no instance, stooped 
 from his course to commune with inferior beings ; 
 and although his ornaments were sufficiently 
 brilliant and abundant to captivate those who 
 were incapable of appreciating higher merits, yet 
 they were so judiciously disposed, that, for intel-
 
 TRAVERS. 123 
 
 lectual natures, they served only to set off the 
 more majestic beauties of sentiment and passion. 
 Through the whole speech there was nothing 
 drooping or languid ; just calmness enough to 
 allow of the necessary repose ; but in the animated 
 parts, there was, in the thought, the expression, 
 voice, and manner, such an untamed and glow- 
 ing enthusiasm, that it seemed to one who con- 
 trasted the present appearance and manner of the 
 speaker, with his former languid and abstracted 
 looks, as if a cloud upon which we had been 
 gazing should suddenly unfold its bosom, and 
 show that it was all fire within. 
 
 " A wonderful creature !" said the old gentle- 
 man, as Ormsby was helping him to put on his 
 coat, " a wonderful young man indeed ; I predict 
 that he will be a great man, and yet who could 
 expect such a speech from a youth like him. It 
 reminds one of the old stories of metamorphoses, 
 he was so totally changed ; a perfect Proteus, Sir, 
 a perfect Proteus, even to the * mails alienis / is 
 not that the expression, Sir ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir ; and he has equalled Proteus in his 
 most wonderful feat, for you saw that he became 
 fire."
 
 124 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 " Very good, Sir, very good indeed ; he became 
 fire that is in Lucian, I think yes, it is in 
 Lucian. Well, Sir, I thank you for all your at- 
 tentions, and hope I may have an opportunity 
 
 of seeing you at my house in Street. May I 
 
 ask what is your number in college?" 
 
 Ormsby gave him his address, and the old gen- 
 tleman said he hoped soon to see him again. 
 
 " I wish you a good night, Sir," said he, " and 
 you may tell your friend Mr. Travers, that an old 
 gentleman, who has heard almost every speech 
 from the chair for the last thirty years, never felt 
 higher surprise and admiration than on this 
 night." 
 
 The old gentleman was a Mr. Newton, who 
 having lost, in early life, a much loved brother, 
 highly distinguished in the historical society, felt 
 always a strong interest in its fortunes, and for 
 the young men who had obtained its honors. 
 And although he was observed always on his 
 return from the society, to feel a sadness arising 
 out of the memories which it had revived, yet he 
 never failed to attend on the open nights. At his 
 return home on the memorable night here spoken 
 of, he did not, as usual, go into the drawing-room
 
 TRAVERS. 125 
 
 to visit his (laughter ; but, hearing that some ladies 
 were with her, he retired immediately to his 
 chamber; and having desired his servant to let 
 him know when the company had gone away, dis- 
 missed him, and went to rest. In about an hour 
 the servant returned, and told him that the ladies 
 were gone. " Then," said he, " tell Miss Anne 
 to come to me." 
 
 Anne came, a beautiful young creature, " with 
 braided hair and bright black eye." " Ah, 
 Sir. it was very cruel of you to steal away 
 from us ; and I had my aunt Jane and Mrs. 
 Williams here, on purpose to amuse you at 
 your return from that odiojus historical society. 
 I wish you could be persuaded to give it up; I 
 think we must contrive to get up a rival talking- 
 house here at home, and make aunt Jane chair- 
 man ; I'm sure she is eloquent enough ; and you 
 know if she had got on a large dressed wig instead 
 of the false curls and the roses, she would look as 
 solemn as the clipped yew tree in the garden." 
 
 " Well, my dear," said the old man smiling, 
 although there were tears on his cheek, " we will 
 talk it over to-morrow ; but it does me great good 
 to go out on these nights, although you think it 
 makes me low spirited. I like to think of your
 
 126 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 poor uncle ; and then you know for all the year, 
 except those two days, I am not at all sad about 
 him. He was a fine youth, Anne, I see nothing 
 like him now ; and always on those days I think 
 of him just as he jumped, with his clothes on, 
 into the water and saved me from drowning. 
 Poor William, he was a good soul. But," said 
 he, after a pause, " it was not to talk of William I 
 sent for you ; but to bid you prepare yourself for 
 a new beau that I intend to ask here to-morrow." 
 
 " A new beau, Sir, and how, pray, am I to 
 receive him ? Is he to be a lover, Sir ? If he come 
 in that capacity, he must have great charms to get 
 a place, for my list is full at present. Do you 
 know that I have as many lovers as Portia in the 
 Merchant of Venice, and who care as little about 
 me." 
 
 " Very good indeed ; so you have lovers, have 
 you ? but you need not fear that I am bringing you 
 a new one : but I mean to bring here, that is, if I 
 can get him to come, one of the finest young 
 fellows " 
 
 " Oh dear Sir, will you ? we shall be so glad : 
 shall we bring him to the play with us ? I suppose 
 he will be quite resplendent in a side box."
 
 TRAVERS. 127 
 
 " No, he will not be quite resplendent in a side 
 box or any other box : and now that I think better 
 of it, you shall not hear another word about him 
 until you see him here ; but mind what I say, be 
 respectful to him, and do not let me see you or 
 your young friends playing any of your ridiculous 
 tricks : so now you may go to bed, but first set that 
 small table near me, and put the candle on it : well, 
 very well ; get me now some paper and ink, and 
 here, take my snuff-box out of that pocket, and 
 place it on the table so, very well kiss me, dear 
 child, and good night. Now shall I address this 
 young orator in a way that he little expects : I will 
 not write vile prose, he shall have a sample of my 
 poetical talents." 
 
 Here the old gentleman wrote off at once the 
 first line of his poetical address, expecting, I sup- 
 pose, that a second would follow. 
 
 " Oh thou, near whom all orators look dim." 
 
 But when he had got so far without fear or im- 
 pediment, he came to a pause: it was like opening 
 a door and finding a wall instead of a passage. 
 He read the line which he had written over and 
 over again, dipped his pen into the ink repeatedly ; 
 and still no second line came to his assistance.
 
 128 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 " That dim," said he, " is an unfortunate word a 
 very unfortunate word indeed ! I wish I had 
 begun with some other ; but now I am in for it, I 
 must get forward as well as I can, and dim 
 it must be, if I toiled till morning. Dim 
 Hymn rhymes to it; and whim, and limb, and 
 grim : grim, grim, that may do. 
 
 " Oh ihou, near whom all orators look dim, 
 Gentle as Maro, and as Gorgon grim. 
 
 " That will do, I think, pretty well And as 
 Gorgon grim. 
 
 " Thou who canst shake the soul with horrid fear, 
 And with glad sport the shiv'ring spirits cheer, 
 Come to the bard, who lies in sorrow dark, 
 And cheer him 
 
 " Where can the rest of that line be gone ? I 
 had it all this instant in my mind, and now it is lost : 
 And cheer him and cheer him Oh, I have it; 
 
 " And cheer him with thy soul's scintillant spark." 
 
 It was in this manner he spent a considerable 
 portion of his night, in the task of preparing a poe- 
 tical address to Travers, which, on the next day, 
 he left at his rooms, together with a visiting ticket. 
 It was with great difficulty that Ormsby, who was
 
 TRAVERS. 129 
 
 noticed also, could prevail on Travers to return the 
 visit. He would send an excuse ; he would write 
 an apology ; he would do any'thing, in short, except 
 visit : such a loss of time ; such a disagreeable em- 
 ployment, it was not to be endured. At last, how- 
 ever, he consented^ and on the next day Ormsby 
 and Travers found themselves in the old gentle- 
 man's house, and were introduced to his beautiful 
 daughter Anne. 
 
 After that day, there needed no persuasion to 
 make Travers visit at Mr. Newton's. 
 
 A great change was soon visible in his character 
 and demeanour. Before this time there was one 
 disagreeable feature in his manners : it was, that in 
 the company of his intimate acquaintances, there 
 was something of irony mingling in all his remarks. 
 Were he in conversation with a single friend, his 
 fine mind and heart would spontaneously expand 
 and show all the riches and the tenderness which 
 they contained ; but, in company, he seemed to be 
 under some kind of possession which made himself 
 dumb, and caused his faculties to speak in a sar- 
 castic or ironical tone, such as left it impossible 
 for you to know whether he was serious or in jest. 
 This caustic manner, I should observe, always 
 yielded to his ardor when any topic in which he 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 was very highly interested was brought forward. 
 If it were necessary to defend a character which 
 he admired, he became natural and candid and 
 energetic; but still upon all ordinary topics there 
 was, when in society, an ironical influence around 
 every thing he said, which had frequently a chilling 
 and repulsive effect upon the sympathies of his 
 companions. 
 
 But now this had all melted away. There was 
 no longer any bitterness in his spirit ; he was sub- 
 ject to more frequent and heavier fits of dejection ; 
 he had acquired a still more abstracted look ; but he 
 no longer spoke in that tone of careless irony, which 
 is so disappointing in anything connected with the 
 affections. 
 
 Ormsby was speaking to him one evening at his 
 rooms in college of this change in his manner, 
 " Of course," said he, " we are to thank Miss 
 Newton for it. She seems a clever agreeable girl." 
 
 " Oh, how can you speak of her in such a way. 
 You do not know her as I do, or you would not 
 use such terms." 
 
 " My dear fellow, for ' know' read ' love,' and 
 you may be right. I do not love her as you do ; 
 and, not to speak it profanely, independently of 
 my disinclination to be your rival, I should be 
 sorry that I did."
 
 TR AVERS. 131 
 
 " Oh, if you had seen her as I have, soothing 
 antl cheering her father when under the irritation 
 of illness, you could not but worship her as I do ; 
 I have sat gazing on her until I felt tears coming 
 to my eye." 
 
 " That is very affectionate indeed, and she cer- 
 tainly is beautiful enough to excuse any folly you 
 may commit ; but have you yet determined what 
 you are to do ? Have you told her in mere com- 
 mon words that you love her ?" 
 
 " Told her that I love her ! no, not if my life 
 depended on telling her. You cannot imagine what 
 a strange state of mind I have sunk into. It is 
 not merely love I feel ; but, without any defineable 
 reason for it, I have a presentiment that my affec- 
 tion will cause me to feel such misery as can 
 hardly be endured. I have no reason why I should 
 be afflicted with such a thought. She certainly 
 loves no other man, and I think she distinguishes 
 me; and still, the anticipation of disaster is always 
 in my mind. The other night at the theatre, 
 
 when that handsome Mr. was coming over 
 
 to hand her to her carriage, and I was hesitating 
 whether I should avail myself of being nearer to 
 her although she saw that he was coming to- 
 wards her, she took my arm, and allowed me to at- 
 K 2
 
 132 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 tend her out ; and still, the moment that the first 
 almost intolerable joy had thrilled through my 
 whole frame, the same kind of depression which 
 always is about me returned ; and even while her 
 arm was in mine, it had power over me. You 
 cannot conceive any thing like it. Sometimes I 
 make a violent effort, and say to myself, that I will 
 enjoy the present moment whatever may be the 
 consequence ; and sometimes when she breaks 
 upon me with one of her beautiful smiles, I feel 
 as if nothing could resist it, and my whole heart 
 dissolves before the enchantment ; and then, per- 
 haps, the instant after, I feel just as if an unde- 
 fined and fearful solicitude introduced some future 
 sorrow into my soul ; and there are times but I 
 cannot bear to speak of that dreadful image into 
 which her smiles sometimes seem to fade." 
 
 Ormsby and he were silent for some time, and 
 he resumed " I must tell you a dream I had some 
 nights ago ; indeed, the very night after I had been 
 with her at the theatre. I thought we were in a 
 small boat on the lake at f the Seven Churches.' 
 It was a beautiful grey evening, and the air per- 
 fectly silent. We were alone, and although we 
 neither of us spoke, we seemed to understand 
 every thing that was in each other's mind. She
 
 TR AVERS. 133 
 
 knew my love and returned it ; and we felt as if 
 life were ended, and we were two spirits reposing 
 without fear, or passion, or hope, in a sensation 
 that seemed perfect blessedness. We knew that 
 we lived and loved ; no earthly affections mingled 
 with the sentiment; and every thing that was 
 beautiful and solemn around us lost itself, as it 
 were, in this one feeling. But while we were in 
 this state of existence, so solemn and so exquisite, 
 her hand in mine and her head on my bosom, I 
 heard a voice, low but perfectly distinct, pronounce 
 in the air above me, * It will not last.' We started 
 and looked up, and a little above our heads there 
 was an eagle motionless in the air, with his wings 
 spreading like a pall over us, and his eye bent, as 
 if sorrowfully, down. Anne turned her face to my 
 breast, and I pressed my arm around her, keeping 
 my eyes fixed on the eagle. The sound was not 
 repeated ; and, after a short time, he wheeled slowly 
 around us, and then arose and soared out of my 
 sight. When I looked down again, I found that 
 we were no longer on the lake. We were now 
 in a church-yard; the evening was darker but 
 still calm ; the church door was open and a bell 
 was tolling ; but no one was in sight. I was en- 
 deavouring to soothe Anne's spirits ; but the low 
 K 3
 
 134 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 melancholy tone in which I spoke, appeared only 
 to increase her distress ; when I heard, at a dis- 
 tance, a heavy lumbering sound as of some wheeled 
 vehicle coming slowly on ; and, looking towards 
 the place from which it came, I saw through the 
 trees, the black plumes of a hearse which was 
 moving slowly towards us. Anne seemed not to 
 hear it, and I did not speak, but endeavoured to 
 bring her off the path before it could arrive near 
 us ; but I found we walked so slowly, as that every 
 instant the noise was coming nearer to us. At 
 last, when the sound of wheels seemed very near, 
 I turned round and saw a hearse drawn by four 
 black horses; but there was no driver and no 
 coffin ; it stopped and all the black plumes 
 bent down as if saluting me. When I turned back 
 again, Anne was gone, and was no where in view. 
 In the greatest alarm I sought her; but, hearing a 
 light flutter in the air, I looked up and saw her 
 ascending in the sky. I gazed with a kind of 
 stupefaction until the grey clouds which opened 
 to receive her closed, when she had passed 
 through them ; and then I cried out with a loud 
 voice, and called upon her name with so much 
 agony that it awoke me ; and I remained all the 
 rest of the night walking about her house, sure of
 
 TKAVERS. 135 
 
 hearing something horrible in the morning ; and, 
 although I at last learned that she was quite well, 
 two days had passed before I could look at her, 
 without a recurrence of the most frightful sensa- 
 tions." 
 
 " No wonder you should feel sad after such a 
 dream. I have myself, on one or two occasions, 
 felt my mind for some days influenced by the inci- 
 dents of a dream, and have retained, among the 
 cheerful realities which were around me, a de- 
 spondence equally real although its cause was so 
 visionary. Dreams certainly exercise an extra- 
 ordinary influence over us, or rather that power, 
 whether within or without us, which creates them 
 and gives body and shape and energy to the vision- 
 ary agent. But I must not forget to tell you that 
 if you were well skilled in such lore, you would salute 
 your dream as a favourable omen ; for, to dream of 
 a funeral, my nurse has told me, always denotes a 
 coming marriage, so that you find (unless you re- 
 fuse to yield to this high authority) you have reason 
 to rejoice in your dream. By the way, have you 
 ever formed a notion of Mr. Newton's sentiments ? 
 Do you think he has any views for his daughter 
 such as would render him averse to a proposal on 
 your part ?' 
 
 K *
 
 136 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 " I cannot say that he has ; he treats me with the 
 most marked kindness and attention on all occasions, 
 and sometimes speaks to me in the confidential tone 
 of one who felt an extraordinary interest in me. 
 But what of that? I never reflected upon his conduct 
 with any reference to the views you mention. I 
 wonder at myself to hear you suggest them with 
 calmness ; for once that such a thought arose in 
 my mind, I started, and recoiled from it with such 
 agitation, that I felt my heart beating long after the 
 thought had departed. But I do not know how it 
 has happened that 1 heard you speak of the same 
 thought now ; and it has not startled me." 
 
 " And why should it startle you ? What is there 
 about you that should make you doubt of success ? 
 You certainly have not a large income ; but you 
 have a fair competence, and you have a right to 
 form high expectations. What cause is there then 
 that you should not form a reasonable hope of suc- 
 cess ? There is one cause certainly, and that is 
 your diffidence. How strange that a man of your 
 intrepidity, one that feels difficulty nothing more 
 than an excitement, should distrust himself so much 
 in the case where he is most concerned. Forgive me 
 for speaking so roughly to you; I do it just as Doctor 
 walks with his heavy step and rough manner
 
 TR AVERS. 137 
 
 into the room of a nervous patient, merely to show 
 that there is no danger. I have no doubt but that 
 you may succeed with father and daughter, if you 
 behave with proper promptitude and decision ; and, 
 at all events, it is desirable that you should come 
 to a resolution at once. Your days are passing 
 away without leaving any thing useful behind 
 them, and your health actually wasting; and all, 
 because you shrink from a step which you will be 
 becoming every day more disinclined to take." 
 
 " All that you say is very true and reasonable ; 
 but still it does not enable me to adopt such a (I 
 might almost say) desperate resolution. There 
 are moral impossibilities which are just as uncon- 
 querable as natural." 
 
 " To be sure there are, but what moral impos- 
 sibility is there in your case ? If you could follow 
 my directions only by violating some strong sense 
 of duty, then I could understand you. There are 
 moral impossibilities ; and I do not think that there 
 can be on this earth a more interesting spectacle 
 than that of a human being debarred from every 
 thing which he most desires, at a time when it 
 was naturally attainable, by some moral or religious 
 scruple which he cannot, because he will not, violate: 
 but surely there is nothing such in your case. I
 
 138 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 must tell you what does prevent. You cannot 
 come to the resolution which I want you to take, 
 because you apprehend that if you fail, you must 
 withdraw yourself from the object of your love." 
 
 " How could you mention such a thing," said 
 Travers, lifting his head suddenly, and looking 
 into Ormsby's face, " how could you mention part- 
 ing ? There was a thought of such a kind lying at 
 the bottom of my heart, I believe ; but if you had 
 not spoken the word it would not have started up 
 into such a dreadful distinctness as I see it in now. 
 How could I part with her, what should I be 
 withouther?" Herehestarted up and paced the room, 
 " Oh ! merciful God," said he, " pardon me and 
 drive away all impious temptations from my soul.' 
 After some time he became more calm and resumed 
 his seat. " Ormsby," said he, " I know your inten- 
 tion was good, but there are things which I cannot 
 bear to hear : they sometimes force themselves 
 upon my thoughts ; but, I do not know how it is, 
 they are more terrible in words." 
 
 All this only convinced Ormsby that he was 
 right ; and that the necessity for some resolution 
 was even more urgent than he had at first ima- 
 gined. He did not, therefore, relinquish his 
 purpose ; but still continued to urge upon Travers
 
 TRAVERS. 139 
 
 the expediency of the step he had proposed. He 
 could very well comprehend how difficult it must 
 be for a lover to summon up the resolution of 
 disclosing his passion. He knew that, amidst all 
 the fears and disappointments of his condition, 
 there is a delicious influence thrown like a charm 
 around him, which little annoyances cannot dis- 
 sipate. He knew that his condition was a dream, 
 in which love and hope threw a beautiful light 
 over pains and alarms ; and he did not wonder at 
 a reluctance to perform any act by which the 
 dream should be broken, and real happiness or 
 solitary unmitigated pain substituted for the sweet, 
 though troubled delusions in which he had been 
 wrapped before. This, however, did not prevent 
 him from continuing to urge Travers. He saw 
 that his feelings were undermining his health, and 
 that he was becoming every day more incapable of 
 making resistance ; and, at last, having inspired 
 him with something of courage, and roused his 
 mind to exertion, he made him promise that he 
 would take his advice. 
 
 " I will take the first opportunity that offers of 
 trying her father's sentiments." 
 
 " No, my dear Travers, but make an opportu- 
 nity. ' Kill a Hessian for yourself,' said the
 
 14-0 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 rebel sweep, when a comrade wanted to see the 
 watch which he had just gained as fair plunder : 
 and I tell you to make an opportunity for your- 
 self, for, if you wait for circumstances, they never 
 will shape out one exactly to your mind: and, 
 remember, make it soon."
 
 141 
 
 TRAVERS, 
 
 (CONTINUED.) 
 
 A. YEAR has passed, and circumstances are greatly 
 altered. Poor Mr. Newton has been nine months 
 dead, and Travers is the accepted lover of his 
 daughter. The old gentleman had received his 
 declaration of attachment with great satisfaction. 
 He had been for some time suffering under a 
 complication of ailments, and knew that he 
 could not live long. He one day communicated 
 this to Travers when they were alone; and, see- 
 ing him greatly moved, attempted to speak to him 
 some comfort. " You know," said he, " I have 
 been a long time here. I have outlived most of 
 my relatives, and so I have nothing to complain 
 of hi being taken away. I hope God will be 
 merciful to me, and that he will take care of 
 poor Anne. She is my only concern. I wish she 
 was well married before I leave the world. I am
 
 142 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 greatly afraid of that foolish aunt of hers ; she 
 will never know how to choose a husband for the 
 poor child. It is only a father, and one that 
 knows the world, who can make a choice." 
 
 " I hope Sir," said Travers, " that God will be 
 pleased to leave you here long, to be Miss Newton's 
 protector yourself. Indeed, young women require 
 wise protectors now, when so many men of bad 
 principles and broken fortunes are going about, one 
 might almost say, seeking whom they can devour. 
 To find all the requisites of rank and fortune and 
 amiable dispositions united is a rare thing." 
 
 As to rank and fortune, my dear Travers, I do 
 not want Anne to marry a title, or a coach and four. 
 She can be happy enough without these things. 
 It is a maxim which I copied, I do not know from 
 what author, Enough is riches to the wise ;' and 
 although Anne's education has depended too much 
 on her aunt (for I never had time to attend to it), 
 yet I always taught her not to think about being 
 rich and great. ' Anne,' I used to say to her some- 
 times, * never wish to be rich and great, because 
 high conditions are full of temptations and flatter- 
 ers ; and besides, your wishing to be great will 
 never make you great:' so that I think I have 
 kept her mind sober. You see how a pru-
 
 TR AVERS. 143 
 
 dent father can be of great service to a child, 
 although he may not be constantly watching over 
 her; but I shall not have long to watch over my poor 
 Anne. She will be left, poor thing, without one to 
 advise her or to love her." 
 
 " Oh Sir," said Travers, " if I were worthy :" 
 he broke off overcome by his feelings, and by the 
 suddenness of the effort he had made. 
 
 " If you were worthy," said the old gentleman, 
 looking at him with glistening eyes, and taking his 
 hand ; " of what is it that you are not worthy?" 
 
 Thus encouraged, Travers spoke of his affection, 
 and of the fearfulness with which he had guarded 
 it from the knowledge of its object. 
 
 The old gentleman wished to communicate with 
 Anne himself; but at last assented to the earnest 
 wish of Travers that he would allow him to learn 
 her sentiments before he spoke to her on a subject 
 that might be painful. In a few days after this, 
 the old gentleman was found dead in his chair, 
 calm as if in a sleep, the Bible lying open on a 
 small table before him, and an unfinished para- 
 phrase of the fifteenth psalm. 
 
 That day has been gone by for nine months. 
 Anne is living with her aunt Jane, and Travers is 
 a favoured lover. His attentions during the bitter-
 
 144- COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 ness of Anne's sorrow have made, and could not 
 but make, an impression upon her ; and when he 
 declared his love, although he would not enforce 
 his claim by her father's sanction, yet she confessed 
 with tears, that she knew how gratifying it would 
 have been to him had he heard the declaration of 
 Travers, and known how she received it. Aunt 
 Jane, however, loves him not; and although she 
 yields a reluctant assent to Anne's wishes, yet it is 
 on the condition, that no marriage shall take place 
 until Travers has been called to the bar, and in 
 some respect established in his profession : but at 
 all events, he must have entered upon it, and 
 before this can be effected, an interval of two years 
 must still elapse. 
 
 Neither Travers nor Anne were free from an- 
 noyance. Travers found that visiting at the house 
 of Miss Newton's aunt was not the same thing as 
 visiting at her father's. 
 
 There isjsomething in the love of literature which 
 (however defective the taste and judgment may be) 
 either occasions or implies a generosity of senti- 
 ment. At least, it was so in the case of poor Mr. 
 Newton. His love of what was distinguished in 
 mind caused him to respect most the ascendancy 
 of genius ; and therefore, you did not often meet
 
 TRAVERS. 145 
 
 at his house anything of the insolence of rank, or 
 the sordid pride of riches. But Aunt Jane was 
 an avowed admirer of rank and fashion, and ac- 
 cordingly, she endeavoured to assemble around 
 her all those who could contribute most to the 
 fashionable celebrity and eclat of her parties. In 
 her labours for this purpose, Anne was a powerful 
 auxiliary. Her perfect beauty, beauty, too, of an 
 unusual kind, and a certain naivete of manner, 
 together with her being a new face, and a fortune, 
 soon made her the fashion of the season ; and her 
 aunt's house was constantly full of visitors during 
 the early part of the day, and in the evening, when- 
 ever she was not accompanying her niece to some 
 other scene of gaiety. 
 
 Among the many visitors who were to be found 
 in her drawing-room, there was a Mr. Wakefield, 
 who particularly distinguished himself by his as- 
 siduities ; and who, it was evident, stood high in 
 Aunt Jane's estimation. He was very wealthy 
 and of good fashion, and frequently drove his 
 sister in a barouche and four to make a visit with 
 him. Aunt Jane was quite sure that Anne could 
 have married him ; and sometimes gave vent to her 
 disappointed feelings, by contrasting the circum- 
 stances which might be around Anne, if she had 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 been prudent, with those to which she was likely to 
 be reduced. " She must give up all her present 
 friends, for she could not maintain an intercourse 
 with them after her marriage with Travers. Her 
 fortune was sufficient to procure her a good match, 
 or to make her independent ; but it was not suffi- 
 cient with his small income to enable her to live in 
 anything of a proper stile: and it was mortifying," 
 she used to add, with a sigh, " to think that her 
 dear child, the most admired young woman in 
 any circle in town, should be moping at home 
 every evening with a petty lawyer, who must be so 
 much engrossed with his papers, as that he could 
 not afford even to speak with her. How it would 
 make 'all their friends stare ! one that might have 
 such excellent offers, and to give up all for a man 
 that had so little to recommend him. Well, if she 
 had been consulted, as she ought to have been in 
 time, this should never have taken place." 
 
 I grieve to say that, miserable as such eloquence 
 was, it had an improper effect on Anne. It is cer- 
 tain that she never could have felt any thing like a 
 strong attachment to Travers. She preferred him, 
 certainly preferred him, far above any other young 
 man she knew ; but her preference was not such as 
 to make her satisfied with renouncing for him all
 
 TRAVERS. 147 
 
 her fashionable acquaintances. While she was at 
 her father's, and these acquaintances few, and her 
 successes at public places not very brilliant or nu- 
 merous, she could resign them without pain ; but 
 now, all the fascinations of life were around her : 
 she was so admired, so flattered, so caressed. Life 
 seemed to flourish in these gay scenes, and every 
 where else to be a languid exotic. She could not 
 think without a sigh, of bidding farewell to all the 
 gaieties which she had learned so highly to value, 
 and estimated, at least, at its full price, the sacrifice 
 which she must make for Travers. 
 
 While things were in such a state, it was not to 
 be expected that their courtship could consist of 
 those halcyon days, which, under other circum- 
 stances, might have constituted that poetical season. 
 Travers had still the same unhappy presentiment 
 which formerly disturbed him, added to his other 
 uneasinesses, and sometimes, it is painful to add, a 
 capriciousness of temper where he could least bear 
 it. These last annoyances, however, were not 
 frequent ; for there was in Travers nothing servile, 
 and any insult roused a spirit in him which made 
 him resist with a firmness and independence such as 
 compelled respect for him. 
 i, 2
 
 148 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 He had been for some time in London main- 
 taining a regular correspondence with Anne, when 
 reports began to spread abroad that she was to be 
 married to Mr. Wakefield. It was certain that he 
 had become more assiduous in his visits, and that 
 his attentions were more public and particular : 
 nor did Miss Newton appear to be at all indifferent 
 to them. On the contrary, she was to be seen in 
 all public places with Mr. Wakefield at her side ; 
 and even could listen with complacency to his 
 caricature descriptions of the man, to whom she 
 had promised her hand. 
 
 One night, at her aunt's, he was amusing the 
 company in this manner, and seemed animated into 
 extraordinary spirit by the presence of Ormsby, 
 to whom he imagined his remarks must be par- 
 ticularly galling. He began by enquiring, " What 
 had become of the silent young gentleman with 
 the strait hair and the sober visage, who used to 
 come like a minature-painter, to study Miss 
 Newton's face ; and who never minded any body 
 else in the room ?" 
 
 " Mr. Travers you mean: he is attending his 
 law terms in London." 
 
 " What, does he mean to be a barrister ? 
 What, in the name of wonder, can he do at the bar ?
 
 TRAVERS. 14-9 
 
 Is it by silence he hopes to get on ? It was very 
 unkind in you, Miss Newton, not to give him 
 some lessons in behaviour : you ought to have de- 
 sired him to get a drill-serjeant to make him walk 
 like a man as if he were alive: and you ought to 
 have (for I know he is a lover of yours ; and you 
 should be grateful, you know, ha, ha, ha!) You 
 ought to have taught him to divest himself of the 
 little studious peculiarities, which unfit him so to 
 mix with ordinary men." 
 
 Ormsby felt himself burning : and the more so, 
 because he saw that Miss Newton did not feel 
 this insolence, as he thought she should have 
 felt it. 
 
 " There is one 'peculiarity," said he in a quiet 
 unmoved voice, " there is one peculiarity, at least, 
 which I am sure Miss Newton will not deprive 
 him of." 
 
 " And pray, Sir, what is that valuable pecu- 
 liarity ?" 
 
 " It is, that no man has ever yet spoken in the 
 presence of Mr. Travers, in the manner that you 
 have spoken in his absence." 
 
 " What do you mean by that, Sir? Do you 
 mean to say, that I have said anything which 
 I would not have said before any one on earth ?" 
 L 3
 
 150 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 " Indeed, I cannot take upon me to imagine 
 what you might or might not say. I measure no 
 man's hardihood or rashness ; but this I will repeat, 
 that neither you nor any other man ever has spo- 
 ken in the presence of Travers, so disparagingly as 
 you have spoken to-night, when he cannot hear 
 you." 
 
 " Explain yourself, Sir ; what do you mean by 
 that." 
 
 " My meaning I think evident enough ; I mean 
 nothing more or less than my words imply, and 
 these I will write for you, if you please, that you 
 may study them, if you think proper, at your 
 leisure." 
 
 " There is no occasion, Sir. I shall remember 
 them as they deserve." 
 
 At Ormsby's return to college, he went in search 
 of Mr. Lorton, who was, at the time,, one of the 
 most intimate of his acquaintances. He found him, 
 and related the circumstances of the night. 
 
 " It will be necessary for us," said he, " to re- 
 main at home to-morrow, for I think it likely that 
 Mr. Wakefield will send here." 
 
 " No, no," said Mr. Lorton, "he will not; there 
 was nothing in your words which could give him 
 a claim on you."
 
 TRAVERS. 1,51 
 
 " But he may send to enquire whether I meant 
 to insult him : and if he do, my answer shall be, 
 that I meant nothing more than my words imply ; 
 and these I cannot retract." 
 
 All that night and the next day, Ormsby spent 
 in the greatest suffering. Fully conscious of all the 
 horrors of the predicament into which he had 
 plunged himself; sensible of the criminality of 
 the act which he was perhaps soon to commit ; the 
 open violation of God's law ; the defiance of his 
 judgment ; and the proof he was about to give that 
 he valued his own stubborn passions more than the 
 love of God, and respected the opinion of the 
 world more highly than he did the supreme will ; 
 yet all these reflections could not sway him from 
 his purpose, and the final resolution to which he 
 came, was, that he would go out at the call of Mr. 
 Wakefield, and hazard his own life, but make no 
 attempt upon that of another. 
 
 On the evening of the second day, he was freed 
 from all anxiety by Lorton. " Do you know," 
 said he, "that I have been speaking to Mr. 
 Wakefield about your business." 
 
 " Have you indeed ? Well, what does he mean 
 to do?" 
 
 " Just what I told you ; nothing at all." 
 L 4
 
 152 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 " Has your friend Ormsby," said he, " told you 
 of a misunderstanding between him and me." 
 
 " Oh, some trifling thing, which occurred at 
 supper the night before last." 
 
 " The same : I was a good deal nettled at some- 
 thing he said ; I had some serious thoughts about 
 it. But, on consideration, and consulting my friends, 
 I found that it did not require of me to take notice 
 of it ; and, to say the truth, I deserved well that he 
 should be severe upon me, for the liberties I took 
 with his friend's character." 
 
 Ormsby could no longer restrain his feelings, 
 and, desiring Lorton to excuse him, retired to his 
 chamber, where, falling on his knees, he remained 
 for some time speechless; but, with prayer and 
 contrition in his heart, and in that feeling of peni- 
 tence formed a resolution which he was never after 
 in danger of violating. When he returned, he 
 found Lorton looking at a profile likeness of 
 Travers, in shade, which happened to be lying 
 on the table. 
 
 " What a pity it is," said he, " that this noble- 
 minded fellow should be so infatuated about that 
 stupid girl. I danced with her a few nights since 
 
 at Lady 's, and scarcely ever met with a less 
 
 interesting creature."
 
 TRAVERS. 153 
 
 " She is very beautiful, is she not ?" 
 
 " She is a painter's beauty, fine features and 
 hair and colour ; but she is cold-hearted ; and poor 
 Travers thinks that she loves him." 
 
 " Indeed, I am afraid he is deceiving himself 
 sadly." 
 
 " Deceiving himself ! to be sure he is. She 
 love him ! She is incapable of loving. She can- 
 not love any thing not even dress or admira- 
 tion. She feels no passion strongly no, not 
 even vanity ; and when she sacrifices Travers, 
 which it is most likely she will, it will not be be- 
 cause any violent ambition overcame her better feel- 
 ings ; but merely because, on cold calculation, a more 
 eligible lot is offered to her : and she will feel no 
 other pain than what may be caused by apprehen- 
 sion for her character. How is it possible that 
 Travers should have been caught by her ? She is 
 always either talking voluble nonsense, with the 
 fools for whom she is best adapted ; or else she is 
 sitting in stupid silence, or making some insipid 
 remarks when any one of common sense is talking 
 with her." 
 
 " It is, certainly, very extraordinary, that he 
 should have been so completely infatuated ; but, 
 you know, the infatuation of men of genius is pro-
 
 154 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 verbial. Do you remember the first night we saw 
 Kean, what a variety of ingenious points and per- 
 fections we discovered in his acting, which we soon 
 found to be quite unintentional on his part; and 
 to have their origin only in our own heated minds ? 
 'Tisjust so, and in, of course, a higher degree, that 
 a man of much fancy is always finding out motives 
 and designs in the woman he loves, such as nobody 
 else can discover, and such as she herself is quite 
 unconscious of. Even the knowledge of her de- 
 fects becomes, in this manner, a new link of his 
 chain. A man of genius in love acquires, in one 
 particular, a resemblance to the character of Siir 
 Thomas Browne. He says of himself that he 
 always found some fitness in every part of every 
 production of nature or art ; and that, where others 
 could see a blemish or a deformity, he could 
 find out some happy adaptation of this defect which 
 increased the value of the subject in which it 
 was found. Men of genius all resemble him in 
 the particular instance where their affections are 
 set. I remember one day, when I could venture 
 to speak to Travers as I thought, suggesting 
 to him that, although Miss Newton was agree- 
 able, yet she possessed no high talents. ' No,' 
 said he, * she has not much of what we call
 
 TRAVERS. 155 
 
 talent. She has not many facilities for holding com- 
 munication with the world ; but her soul, Ormsby, 
 her soul is all purity and heaven. I look upon it as 
 one of those blessed islands upon which a celestial 
 light is always shining; and which, to those who 
 arrive at it, is more delicious still, from the know- 
 ledge that it has been set apart for them, and that 
 there is no communication between it and the 
 world which they have left. I have fixed my whole 
 soul upon the contemplation of her, until I have 
 left talents and accomplishments, and all external 
 things far behind ; and have worshipped, I might 
 almost say, before her spirit, and have beheld that 
 pure spirit possessing, oh ! more of heaven than 
 ever was retained by any other mortal creature.' - 
 What can you expect of a man so deeply devoted 
 as this ?" 
 
 " Very little that is reasonable, certainly ; but 
 he ought to be informed of the manner in which 
 Mr.Wakefield's attentions are < received. Travers 
 is a spirited fellow ; and I know, however he may 
 suffer, he will act as becomes a man." 
 
 " I dare say, before this time, he is well enough 
 acquainted with all that concerns him. His friend 
 Sydney has gone over to London ; and he has, of 
 course, informed him of all proceedings here. But
 
 156 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 come quickly to this window. Is not that Travers' 
 servant, with the trunk, coming over towards his 
 rooms ? Certainly it is ;" he threw up the 
 window " John, whose trunk is that you are 
 carrying ?" 
 
 " My master's, Sir ; he is coming on with Mr. 
 Sydney, we have all just landed from the packet." 
 
 Presently after, they saw two figures, such as 
 could not be mistaken, even in the dusk, crossing 
 the courts and coming towards them. The lion 
 port, and stately form of Sydney, was at once dis- 
 tinguished, and Travers too was more erect than 
 usual, more in his proper dimensions, and with a 
 carriage more congenial to the proud gait of his 
 companion. Ormsby and Lorton hastened down 
 to meet them " Ormsby," said Travers, " I 
 have just heard of your conduct the other night, 
 and the peril you put yourself in on my account : 
 1 thank you for it." 
 
 " Oh, never mind it," said Ormsby ; " there 
 was nothing of peril at all ; it was a thing of no 
 consequence." 
 
 " It was nothing more than I should have ex- 
 pected, certainly ; but I don't thank you the less 
 on that account. May I believe the account 
 which I had from Waller? (I have just left him in 
 the street.) Is it all over?"
 
 TRAVERS. 157 
 
 " It is, upon my honour. Lorton met Mr. 
 Wakefield to-day ; and he has no intention of tak- 
 ing any notice of my expressions : but come up 
 to my rooms. John is there with your trunk." 
 
 " Yes," said Travers, " I will ; but it is of little 
 consequence where I go ; all places are alike to me 
 now." 
 
 Nothing on earth would have less the appearance 
 of an unhappy or discarded lover than Travers. 
 There was neither dejection nor impetuosity in his 
 manner. At times, the tone of his voice used to rise 
 for an instant above its ordinary pitch ; and some- 
 times his head would droop, and he would speak 
 on some ordinary matter, in the tone which be- 
 longed to his inmost feelings; but he always re- 
 covered himself, and, during the whole evening, he 
 displayed a self-possession and an intelligence 
 which excited the admiration of his friends. 
 
 He had not been quite unprepared for the 
 tidings which Sydney brought him. The letters 
 which he received from Miss Newton had, latterly, 
 been greatly changed from their former character. 
 She no longer spoke of herself or her affections ; 
 she availed herself frequently of those indeter- 
 minate words, those ambiguous phrases which 
 keep the word of promise to the ear and break it
 
 158 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 to the heart. In fact, they had become letters 
 just calculated to awaken the indignation of an 
 impassioned and spirited young man ; and thus 
 procure an excuse for a violated engagement on 
 the lady's part, while to an indifferent person there 
 might appear no grounds to justify the injured 
 lover's indignation. Travers was not slow in 
 imagining that aunt Jane was the compiler of these 
 artful epistles; but still was unwilling to bring 
 matters to an extremity, from an apprehension 
 which he still cherished that he might possibly be 
 deceived. He however complained to Anne of her 
 altered manner, and received only the same kind 
 of evasive replies as those which had occasioned 
 his first alarm. 
 
 One evening, a very remarkable circumstance 
 occurred to him, which I hesitate much whether I 
 should relate. It is said that authors may with 
 greater propriety record falsehoods than improba- 
 bilities ; but still I will venture to be the narrator 
 of one incident which is, at the same time, impro- 
 bable and true. 
 
 Travers, the reader may have observed, was one 
 of those persons who are not free from superstitious 
 imaginations. I believe it will be found that all 
 powerful passions predispose the mind to entertain
 
 TRAVEBS. 1 59 
 
 sentiments which, if the affections were composed, 
 would be at once rejected ; and I would not there- 
 fore undertake to say, that in an excursion which 
 Travers made to Norwood, he was influenced only 
 by the beauty of a fine summer evening, and his 
 inclination to ramble far away from the noise and 
 smoke of the city. Whatever his motives were, 
 on such an evening, he was engaged in conference 
 with an old gipsey woman, who proffered her ser- 
 vices in disclosing to him the secrets of the future. 
 Contrary to the usual habits of her craft, she prer 
 dieted nothing which the enquirer would wil- 
 lingly have paid for. She announced to him that 
 he was on the eve of a misfortune, and that he 
 would have performed a journey before the twen- 
 tieth day of the following month. The first part 
 of her prediction he thought probable enough ; but 
 he had resolved that no private grief should have 
 the power to overcome his resolution of remaining 
 in London the entire time he had originally fixed 
 upon ; and he was therefore little inclined to regard 
 the prophecy. But circumstances caused him to 
 alter his resolution. An event totally unexpected, 
 and quite unconnected with his engagement to 
 Miss Newton, rendered it necessary for him to 
 return to his friends; and he was entering the
 
 160 CPLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 bay of Dublin on the very evening which the 
 gipsey had predicted. I do not wish to give 
 importance to this little incident. The coincidence 
 appeared to me remarkable enough to be noticed 
 in this slight sketch ; and I leave it to the reader 
 with no other comment than that it is strictly 
 true. 
 
 Travers still cherished a notion that some very 
 harsh or deceitful measures must have been 
 adopted, to alienate from him a heart which he 
 thought entirely his. 
 
 " I will not go there to-night," said he; " I wish 
 to have my first interview without witnesses. I 
 shall be at their door early to-morrow." 
 
 In the morning of the following day he called, 
 and was received by Miss Newton's aunt with 
 great civility and kindness ; " but Anne would be 
 so sorry not to have the pleasure of seeing him, 
 she had just set out for the country, and was to be 
 for some time absent." 
 
 " Where has she gone ? It is indispensably 
 necessary that I should see her." 
 
 " My dear Sir, to speak confidentially, it will be 
 much better that you should not. Poor Anne's 
 mind and spirits are greatly changed since you 
 were here. Oh, it is a terrible thing to make an
 
 TR AVERS. 161 
 
 engagement which binds a poor young unthinking 
 creature. I always knew that it must end badly. 
 Mr. Travers, you are a very sensible young man 
 and a very distinguished character, and it is for 
 this reason that I speak so openly to you. In my 
 mind, Anne has formed an attachment to another 
 gentleman ; and I think it would be better for your 
 mutual peace that you should not meet again. 
 You see what confidence I place in you, because I 
 know your honorable mind and heart." 
 
 During all this time Travers was listening in 
 perfect silence, his eyes fixed calmly on the 
 speaker, and not by a word or gesture betraying 
 his feelings. It seemed as if the steady gaze which 
 he fixed upon her countenance had the effect of 
 confusing her, for she spoke in a hurried, confused 
 manner, and, it is probable, departed from the 
 plan she had devised of making Travers himself 
 responsible for the violation of Anne's engage- 
 ment. 
 
 When she had ended speaking, Travers again 
 calmly demanded where Miss Newton was, but re- 
 ceiving again the same kind of evasive reply, better 
 arranged now, as the disturbance his presence 
 occasioned was passing away ; "I demand of 
 you Madam," said he, " a direct answer to my 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 question. Where has Miss Newton gone ? I sus- 
 pect that she has been in some strange manner 
 foully deceived, and I must learn from her own 
 lips whether I am in error." 
 
 " Sir, let me tell you that you are in error, that 
 you can learn your error from my lips, for I can 
 tell you that neither force nor deceit was used to 
 make Anne Newton regret her engagement, if en- 
 gagement it can be called, to you." 
 
 " Very well, Madam, but still you evade my 
 demand ; I have to request that you will answer 
 directly to one question. Will you inform me 
 where Miss Newton has gone, or will you not ?" 
 
 " No gentleman has a right to demand such an 
 answer from me ; but, Sir, I do now distinctly an- 
 swer that I am not obliged, and that I will not 
 give you such information." 
 
 " Then I am answered. Oh ! what a scene of 
 base and complicated treachery may I have to un- 
 ravel. It was to no common arts she could have 
 fallen a prey. All pure and excellent as she was, 
 I knew some dreadful delusion was practised upon 
 her. ' Madam,' said he, advancing quietly to- 
 wards the lady, * you refuse me the information 
 which I had a right to expect on your own head 
 be the responsibility of your refusal. I am not so
 
 TRAVERS. 163 
 
 ignorant as not to know where J may demand inr- 
 formation with more authority than I have a right 
 to exert towards you.' " 
 
 He turned to depart, but, terrified at his last 
 menace, the lady called him back ; she apprehend- 
 ed that if he went directly to Mr. Wakefield some 
 consequences might ensue by which her arts would 
 be all exposed and frustrated ; and she thought it, 
 better to hazard any thing herself, than to risk the 
 consequences which might ensue from the violent 
 passions of two, young men. 
 
 " You are so hasty," said she, as Travers re- 
 turned, " you are so unmanageable. I wished to 
 spare you a painful moment, and you will not allow 
 me to consult for you, but since you are so obsti- 
 nate, I must yield. Anne is at this moment in the 
 house ; remain here, and I will bring her to confirm 
 with her own lips the information I have given. 
 
 Travers remained, standing in the middle of the 
 room, and although he heard footsteps approach- 
 ing, he could not advance to the door. At last, 
 after a moment which seemed to him intolerably 
 long, Anne entered, leaning on her aunt. 
 
 " Here, Sir, I have brought" and even aunt 
 Jane faultered, at the wild looks with which 
 Travers was regarding Anne. There was in his 
 M 2
 
 164 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 countenance a mixture of astonishment and horror 
 and despair, such as she had never witnessed be- 
 fore, and the tone of unconsciousness with which 
 he pronounced the words " She is false ! she is 
 false !" as if insensible that he was expressing his 
 conviction, forced a tear from her eye. She hastily 
 procured some water, and offered it to Travers, 
 but he motioned it from him. 
 
 " Anne," said he, " I demand no explanation 
 I ask you no question every thing is answered 
 to me in this world ; I loved you, Anne, and you 
 betrayed me, but see how calm I am I do not 
 upbraid you." 
 
 " Dear Mr. Travers," said the aunt, " be mode- 
 rate, be collected." 
 
 " Moderate I am moderate," said he, in the 
 same low tone " rejoice in your work ; you 
 have darkened the fairest spirit that ever came 
 down upon this earth rejoice, Madam, in your 
 work, and remember it. Anne, I do not upbraid 
 
 you." 
 
 Anne had been silent until now, overawed by the 
 passion with which Travers was agitated. At last 
 she seemed to have caught from him an excite- 
 ment which enabled her to speak, and she said, 
 " Travers, don't speak so, you wring my heart."
 
 TRAVERS. 165 
 
 He started, "Your voice is not changed, Anne, 
 it sounds as it did before you brought this terrible 
 ruin upon me but I would not wring your 
 heart oh no, I would not give you pain ;" and 
 softened by the sound of her voice, and perhaps by 
 the remembrances it awakened, tears came to his 
 eyes, and dropped on Anne's hand, which rested on 
 the table near him. At this she was quite over- 
 come, and sunk back on a sofa near which she 
 was standing, in a violent fit of sobbing. Her 
 aunt now fearing that the interview might become 
 dangerous to her purposes, hastily declared to 
 Travers that Anne was engaged to Mr. Wakefield, 
 and was deeply attached to him. 
 
 "Is that true Anne," said he,"is it true? oh, speak 
 and tell me that it is not, and you will make me 
 blessed. Speak to me, dear Anne." 
 
 " It is true," said she, " my aunt speaks the 
 truth." 
 
 That evening Travers was employed in collect- 
 ing every thing which he had at any time received 
 from Anne, every piece of poetry which she had 
 copied for him every letter every little orna- 
 ment which she had pencilled for him he col- 
 lected all, and enclosed them under a cover for her. 
 In the next week he was in London, where he 
 M 3
 
 166 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 learned, in about the course of a month, that Anne 
 was married to Mr. Wakefield, and that the 
 happy pair had set out for Paris. In the course 
 of the following summer he visited his friends in 
 Dublin, and shocked them all by the appearance 
 of his altered looks ; but he said that there was no 
 alarming symptom about him. 
 
 " I have not," said he, ' neglected my health ; 
 I know the claims that are upon me, and by the 
 assistance of God I shall be enabled to answer 
 them. If I am ill, it is altogether owing to my 
 severe study. My labours are certainly intense, 
 and they are not lightened by any pleasure I 
 can feel in them ; I cannot yet take an interest 
 in them ; but it will not be always so, and I 
 shall in the course of time be repaid for my ex- 
 ertions." 
 
 Ormsby was once repeating to him some verses 
 which he had written on the return of Louis he 
 had written them in the character of a partizan of 
 the former dynasty ; they began thus : 
 
 " He came when our laurels of glory were blasted, 
 When our champions had shrunk this fair country was 
 
 wasted ; 
 
 Not a wreath on his brow, not one scar on his breast, 
 To insult the proud throne which our hero had press'd."
 
 TUAVEUS. 167 
 
 Here followed some passages which I cannot re- 
 member. Travers listened silently until Ormsby 
 repeated the following lines 
 
 " Now no more shall the beams of the bright sun in vain 
 Glance faint o'er the glooms of our war-clouded plain, 
 Nor the merciless spoiler with lightning and brand 
 Blast his course through the beautiful vales of our land;" 
 
 and he here interrupted him with an expression 
 of praise. 
 
 " I cannot write now ;" said he, " I am quite 
 incapable of expressing a poetical sentiment ; but 
 I am still alive to every tone of feeling or fancy. 
 I am," said he ; " that is left me still but I 
 never again shall be what I was. Music is an incon- 
 ceiveable pain to me ; and even poetry sometimes 
 agitates me dreadfully. Come with me," said he, 
 " and I will show you the only safe enjoyment I 
 have left." 
 
 He went into his bed-room and showed Ormsby 
 his Bible lying open. " Here," said he, " is the 
 book with which I open my day, and with which 
 I endeavour to compose myself at night. You 
 cannot imagine you who have never experienc- 
 ed such affliction as mine ; you cannot imagine the 
 effect of our Saviour's character on a wounded 
 M 4-
 
 168 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 heart. I do assure you that I have felt a calm in- 
 sensibly stealing over my whole spirit as I read 
 his discourses : they speak to me like the voice of 
 a friend. It is as if some one who knew all my 
 sorrows, was gently reminding me of my hopes 
 not speaking with austere majesty of the littleness 
 of all I at present am and feel, and contrasting it 
 with the future ; but as if Christ were a kind and 
 indulgent friend, who treats me with the tenderness 
 which my sufferings require who knows that my 
 sorrows are great to me, and alleviates them by 
 sympathising with me. I assure you that I feel 
 at times as if He were actually taking a part of my 
 sorrows from me, and communicating to me new 
 strength and new hope, to sustain me against all 
 the despondencies into which I should otherwise 
 have sunk." 
 
 Here it was that this pure-minded man sought 
 support, and it was not denied him. It is not 
 many years since his hopes were all so terribly 
 blasted and he has regained his spirits and his 
 health. He still feels pain in speaking of his un- 
 happy attachment, and he cannot think it possible 
 that he shall ever regard another woman with 
 affection, but still his mind is composed, and the 
 interests of life are capable of exciting him to
 
 TRAVERS. 169 
 
 action ; and he famishes one of the instances of 
 persons in whom the feelings of this world have 
 been revived and purified by the influence which 
 has been derived from the resources of another.
 
 170 
 
 SIDNEY. 
 
 was not a mathematician. I told him 
 one day, that he looked exactly like the caricature 
 of " taking physic." " You will not wonder at 
 that," said he, " when I tell you that I have just 
 taken Helsham's propositions on the cycloid ;" but 
 he used to observe, that it was not the unpleasant- 
 ness of the task which caused him to shrink from 
 mathematical pursuits, but what he considered to 
 be its utter unprofitableness. " I am practised 
 enough," he would say, " to make me adhere to 
 the formularies of reasoning : the higher order of 
 reasoning I conceive to be almost independent of 
 little technicalities ; and how can I without disgust 
 employ hours in proving what I am quite satisfied 
 to take for granted, and what perhaps, when known 
 and proved, is altogether worthless. In criticism,
 
 SIDNEY. 171 
 
 in moral philosophy, in history, in legislation, in 
 the study of man, every fact I arrive at is important 
 in itself, and assists in solving the enigma of our 
 being; but in the mathematial studies, unless we 
 arrive at the very highest departments, and at high 
 eminence in these departments, the discoveries are 
 of but little value. Life to be sure may have de- 
 rived advantage from the developement of scientific 
 principles ; the arts have been improved, and many 
 mechanical contrivances have been discovered by 
 means of which our comforts and conveniencies are 
 much increased ; but, very probably, most of these 
 contrivances are the inventions of men totally igno- 
 rant of mathematics as a science, and who take for 
 granted the truth of the principles which they find 
 applicable to their particular purposes. But, as I 
 am altogether destitute of mechanical genius, I do 
 not see how I could benefit life by addicting my- 
 self to mathematics, unless I could attain such an 
 eminence as to establish some new principle to be 
 acted upon by men of contriving minds ; and I can- 
 not discover any benefit likely to accrue to myself 
 from investigating the reasons why mathematical 
 certainties in which I see no importance, are de- 
 monstratively true. Indeed, I look upon Lucian's 
 dream of the contest between Statuary and Science,
 
 172 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 as extremely applicable to the studies of mathe- 
 matics and of the more liberal philosophy. 
 
 " A mere mathematician is most probably, a 
 man of narrow mind. He is sagacious, but his 
 mind is not comprehensive : with him ideas are 
 valued not by reason of their intrinsic importance, 
 or for the consequences they involve, but according 
 as he can find links to connect them together. 
 Like the statuary, he goes out of his own mind to 
 work according to the models (however mean they 
 may be) set before him; and although in both 
 pursuits of the artist and of the mathematician, 
 great minds have broke out upon the world and 
 realised for themselves an almost imperishable 
 glory, still, in the ordinary progress of both, 
 there can be but little of that liberal and lofty 
 habit of thinking, which gives to man his ascend- 
 ancy above meaner creatures, and connects him 
 with beings of a superior order." 
 
 With such sentiments, Sidney, it may easily be 
 imagined, was not distinguished in the scientific 
 course of Dublin college; and even in the classical 
 department, he was less conspicuous than might 
 have been expected from his fine taste, and his dili- 
 gent study of the ancients. He obtained, to be sure, 
 collegiate honours, but it sometimes happened that
 
 SIDNEY. 173 
 
 prizes were won from him by persons considered 
 very much his inferiors. The fact was, that Sidney 
 was not always best supplied with that disposeable 
 kind of knowledge which would, as it is said, tell 
 for him at his examinations. He was rich in 
 curious medals, but not over-furnished with cur- 
 rent coin. He was, in comparison with some of 
 his competitors, what a sportsman is in knowledge 
 of a country, as compared with a man whose in- 
 formation has been derived from maps and books 
 of geography. The sportsman may not perhaps 
 be so accurately informed about the regular line of 
 road, the distance between various towns, and the 
 population of them ; but he far exceeds the geo- 
 grapher in knowledge of those picturesque and 
 secluded spots which lie remote from the public 
 ways. He can shew you where you are to plunge 
 into the dark glens, and where to struggle on 
 towards a sparkling spring or a savage cataract: 
 he can show you where nameless streams are 
 murmuring, and fair lawns opening ; and where 
 habitations of men are sprinkled in the reces.ses of 
 a lonely mountain, or within the covert of a seem- ' 
 ingly pathless wood. Sidney could not pass over 
 the fields of classic lore in the manner of a land- 
 surveyor : wherever there was a noble thought or
 
 174 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 a happy expression he remembered tenaciously; 
 indeed, it might be said, that in such cases, the 
 thought or the expression incorporated itself with 
 his own habits of thinking and feeling, so as to take 
 up a residence within his mind for ever ; but the di- 
 gressions into which he was thus led, and the vivid- 
 ness of his sensations in studying the more interest- 
 ing parts of any work, left him, in some cases, 
 destitute of much useful though common-place 
 knowledge, and dulled the faculty of memory with 
 respect to those parts of a writing which were less 
 important. However, if prizes were to be adjudged 
 according to the mental improvement of the can- 
 didates, Sidney could never have gone unreward- 
 ed ; for it would be seen, that even when he did 
 not appear laden with the food which was to be 
 consumed, he nevertheless presented himself with 
 all those attributes which indicated the soundness 
 of the diet he fed on ; while many a person, who 
 was to be seen with his basket well stored, could 
 at once be detected to be only the slave burdened 
 with rich viands which he dared not appropriate 
 to his own use, or which would not assimilate with 
 his system. 
 
 Among his fellow students it was that Sidney's 
 talents and attainments were most highly appre-
 
 SIDNEY. 175 
 
 ciated. Reasons on compulsion he might not give, 
 but reason and wit and eloquence he yielded li- 
 berally to the bland constraints of society. Alike 
 familiar with the argument and the eloquence of 
 the noble compositions which we studied, he was 
 rich in varied quotation ; and his discrimination in 
 matters of taste was so instantaneous, and so well 
 evidenced its propriety to us when we considered 
 it; and his acquaintance with the principles of 
 legislation and with the policy of different govern- 
 ments was so considerable, and our admiration en- 
 creased so with our own acquirements, that all of 
 us who were among Sidney's intimate friends, 
 looked upon him as the most gifted man of his 
 class, and as the one who was most likely to run 
 a splendid course over the arena of life. 
 
 Where is Sidney now ? I seem to myself to have 
 been writing an exordium to the history of a life 
 in which the world is concerned. The reader may 
 perhaps expect, that my hero is some one of those 
 eminent persons upon" whose wisdom the nation 
 depends, or whose eloquence sways the senate. 
 And is it so ? Have I designed under a feigned 
 name to describe any great statesman the orna- 
 ment of the ministerial benches, or a thunderbolt 
 of the opposition? No such thing. Sidney is
 
 176 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 a pains-taking curate in the church of England, 
 buried in the duties of his station, and breaking 
 up, to enlighten an affectionate flock, humbly and 
 successfully the brilliant endowments which we 
 had fondly hoped would have been proudly con- 
 centrated to make himself conspicuous. And is 
 nothing more to be expected from Sidney ? Is a 
 story which set forth with pretensions so pompous, 
 with promises so very magnificent, to terminate in 
 so miserable performance ? 
 
 I have no reply to make, except that whatever 
 be the result of Sidney's labours, and whatever the 
 complexion of his life, the blame does not rest with 
 me. In the task I have proposed to myself, my 
 labours would be quite incomplete if I did not 
 present at least one such sketch as that of Sidney. 
 The Irish Church might furnish many such. It 
 would supply many an instance of genius bowed 
 down to toils, worthy certainly of every faculty, 
 but not perhaps better performed by men of the 
 highest mental endowments than by men of more 
 ordinary intellect equally zealous for the interests 
 of religion. Many a young man has entered into 
 orders in the Irish Church, and filled the minds 
 of all who knew him with the most sanguine ex- 
 pectations that he would speedily become a great
 
 SIDNEY. 177 
 
 public blessing ; and for some time has sustained 
 and heightened these favourable expectations by 
 noble specimens of Christian eloquence ; and then 
 gradually has subsided into a level with persons 
 greatly inferior to him in all mental endowments, 
 although perhaps animated by an equally fervent 
 spirit of faith and devotion. How is such a problem 
 to be solved ? The object of this paper is to solve 
 it ; and I sincerely wish that injurious consequences 
 may be prevented, by an early statement of the 
 principle from which they are likely to proceed. 
 
 The great evil in the Irish Church system is its 
 want of popularity. I do not mean to intimate by this 
 any want of public favour, but an inattention to the 
 best means of procuring general reverence and love. 
 It is surely a strange defect, that, in a church which 
 prescribes, as a part of its office, a weekly address 
 from the minister to his congregation, there should 
 not be a single appointment subject to Episcopal di- 
 rection calculated to promote the study of Christian 
 oratory. Let no one think lightly of the conse- 
 quences which may result from this neglect, until he 
 has attentively considered them. It would not, to 
 be sure, be desirable, even if it were of easy attain- 
 ment, that every clergyman should be an orator; but 
 it would be of great importance, indeed, that there 
 
 VOL. i. N
 
 178 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 should be, in various parts of the country, men who 
 had had leisure and inclination to cultivate their po- 
 pular talents, and who were qualified to set forth the 
 merits of the church to which they belonged, in 
 such a manner as should engage the affections of 
 the people ; while, at the same time, they served 
 as useful models to the clergy of their respective 
 vicinities. There is something in genuine eloquence 
 which procures for it an influence over all hearts, 
 and which, even to the illiterate, asserts and vin- 
 dicates its superiority above the pretensions of rash 
 and zealous declamation ; although, in the absence 
 of the higher quality, very inferior powers will pro- 
 duce considerable effects. The Church of Eng- 
 land may have cause yet to regret its want of 
 attention to this obvious truth ; and it may see its 
 own pure doctrine and excellent discipline fall into 
 neglect and disesteem, because the talents which 
 might have presented them in such a manner as to 
 have their merit recognised, are engaged in setting 
 forth a form of religious doctrine seemingly more 
 simple, but destitute of that divine philosophy 
 which causes the Church of England system to be 
 truly a reasonable service. It is not that talent is 
 seldom found in the Church, nor yet that pure 
 religion rarely accompanies it ; but that zeal and
 
 SIDNEY. 179 
 
 ability are not free to exert themselves in the man- 
 ner most likely to set forth the majesty of religion, 
 and to convey to the hearts of men the impressions 
 which are naturally to be produced by the revealed 
 beauty of holiness. 
 
 How is Sidney employed ? Is it in a manner 
 in which the cause of religion and the church may 
 receive most benefit from his services ? Sidney is 
 a person of philosophical mind, capable of com- 
 muning with men of cultivated understanding, and 
 of setting before them religious truth in a manner 
 calculated to make them feel its applicability to 
 human necessities, and to make them reverence 
 the church in which this important truth is so 
 guarded and illustrated. And how is he em- 
 ployed? For himself and his eternal interests 
 happily ; but how, for the interests of the order 
 to which he belongs ? He is employed in a very 
 large congregation composed almost exclusively 
 of the poor. Of these, vast multitudes are inces- 
 santly craving for the relief of their animal wants ; 
 and Sidney, who, with leisure, and in a proper 
 sphere, would become an ornament to his order, 
 and a light to direct many high minds to a know- 
 ledge of the truth, is now obliged to divest himself 
 of his genius, and to devote himself to labours 
 N 2
 
 180 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 which would be equally well performed by any 
 person of zeal and of ordinarily good understand- 
 ing. What was the employment of my departed 
 friend Waller? For himself noble. For himself 
 it was the best calculated to work out an imperish- 
 able crown. He was engaged in labours of a 
 humbling and a purifying nature ; labours cal- 
 culated to subdue the pride of talent, and to extin- 
 guish the fire of a natural but an unworthy am- 
 bition ; labours on which the approbation of God 
 was shining, and in which he was animated and 
 soothed by the blessings of the lowly and the 
 afflicted. Such were his labours for himself. 
 But what were they for the church ? Com- 
 paratively nothing. Waller lost his life as they 
 do who gain life. But the church may be said to 
 have altogether lost the benefit of his services. 
 Had there been in the church such an attention to 
 the proper division of labour, as would have per- 
 mitted these highly-gifted young men to cultivate 
 their talents under favourable circumstances and 
 in a proper sphere, the world might have derived 
 advantage from exertions which will now, perhaps, 
 remain in a great measure unknown ; or known so 
 far as to occasion a regret that they were not more 
 beneficially directed . In a ministration where en-
 
 SIDNEY. 181 
 
 lightened minds demanded of them knowledge, 
 Waller and Sidney would have been, as it were, 
 conductors for the remote truths and deep mys- 
 teries of religion, to a people who could value them 
 when thus communicated, although the habits of 
 their lives might not be favourable to the discovery 
 of them. In this their proper sphere, Waller and 
 Sidney would have profoundly searched the Scrip- 
 tures with the assistance which prayers procure, and 
 under the influence of all the lights which could 
 be collected from antiquity, as well as from modern 
 times. They would have been, as it were, a kind 
 of " Intcrpretes Divum" for the literature of the 
 schools : they would have selected all that was 
 valuable ; and, by the aid of an active fancy guided 
 by a sound judgment, they would have conveyed 
 to the hearts and intellects of their hearers, many 
 important truths which had otherwise remained 
 hidden. 
 
 Waller and Sidney are not the only persons 
 of whose talents the church (from want of a suit- 
 able sphere) has failed to benefit. Many a curate, 
 even now, gives frequent proofs of what he might 
 be, if circumstances favoured the development of 
 his abilities ; and causes regret to those who can 
 make allowance for the brief preparation he is 
 N 3
 
 182 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 able to bestow upon his public duties, in conse- 
 quence of the more obscure labours by which his 
 time is so fully occupied, and in which his strength 
 is wasted. Is it not to be much regretted, that 
 the Irish Church affords no means of cultivating a 
 popular talent, the importance of which it so fully 
 recognises. Opportunities for deep study it affords 
 to the incumbents of thinly peopled country pa- 
 rishes ; but where the congregation is such as to 
 demand and improve talents for sound and ani- 
 mated preaching, the duties of private visiting are 
 so heavy, as to leave little time for cultivating any 
 talents whatever, except such as may be in daily 
 and laborious employment. The consequence 
 must be, that in time, all popular eloquence will 
 be detached from the Church detached from it, 
 if not professedly, at least virtually ; for the exer- 
 cised abilities even of ministers belonging to the 
 Church of England, may be employed in a 
 manner which does not promote religious know- 
 ledge so as to make it most permanently use- 
 ful. There is an opportunity afforded for the 
 cultivation of popular talent in various chapels, 
 of which the officiating minister is a member 
 of the Church of England. In these, the popu- 
 lar qualities may be cultivated, because there is 
 not annexed the incumbrance of parochial duty,
 
 SIDNEY. 183 
 
 indeed, popular qualities must be cultivated, be- 
 cause frequently they are necessary to the support 
 of the minister and the institution ; but in these, 
 the government is in a great measure of a lay cha- 
 racter, and, in the choice of a minister, it will be 
 provided, that his sentiments respecting doctrine 
 shall accord with those of his employers. The 
 doctrine received may not be different from that of 
 the church, except in attaching an undue impor- 
 tance to something generally received, but not 
 dwelt upon to the exclusion of other important 
 truths; and hence it may follow, that, in time, the 
 symmetry of the Church of England will be de- 
 stroyed by insisting upon any one part of its doc- 
 trine, to the exclusion of other necessary subjects of 
 consideration. Many of the clergy, under such 
 training, may, by the cultivation of their popular 
 talents, have the power to render their view of the 
 church more interesting and attractive than the 
 more correct views of those who, although they 
 have a clear knowledge of the truth, cannot, from 
 their want of power, set it forth to advantage ; and 
 thus the love and reverence of the laity may be 
 directed rather to the instructor whose merits they 
 can understand, than towards a system of which 
 the beauty is not clearly exhibited to them. 
 N 4*
 
 18* COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 To prevent the consequences which may follow 
 from such a state of things, I would propose, that 
 in certain churches which may be considered pro- 
 per for such a purpose, there should be appointed 
 ministers whose duty was to consist exclusively of 
 preaching, and whose remuneration should be suf- 
 ficiently liberal, to allow of their devoting their 
 whole strength to the cultivation of a useful talent. 
 To do this, would be to comply not only with the 
 principles on which national prosperity depend, but 
 it would be in accordance with the injunctions so 
 frequently given by the apostle Paul, of cultivating 
 especially the gift which the Spirit has bestowed 
 on each individual. The consequence would be, 
 that the church would become rich in pulpit 
 eloquence ; and that a spurious kind, which owes 
 its popularity more to an accordance with the pre- 
 judices of the hearers, than to the merit or useful- 
 ness of the preacher, would fall into disesteem. 
 The whole majesty of the church would be set forth: 
 it would be shewn in such a manner, as to have the 
 beauty of its proportions recognized: the truth 
 and importance of all its doctrines would be made 
 sensible to the hearts of the people ; and it is im- 
 possible, when thus its merits were continually 
 illustrated by high and cultivated and religious
 
 SIDNEY. 185 
 
 minds, that it should not secure for itself an 
 estimation in the minds of men, such as would 
 make them reverence it, as the means appointed 
 by a merciful God to communicate to them his 
 choicest blessings.
 
 186 
 
 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 SOME time after I had quitted college, and had 
 come to reside in the country, I assisted at a mourn- 
 ful ceremony, which, notwithstanding the period 
 when it took place, is naturally connected with these 
 recollections. It was the funeral of a female, very 
 unhappy and very young. I remember the morn- 
 ing on which her remains were committed to the 
 earth. It seemed peculiarly unsuitable for such a 
 purpose. I do not know why it is, nor shall I 
 stop to enquire ; but we certainly expect, that at 
 the burial of the beautiful and young, nature 
 should appear as if it sympathised in the feelings 
 of the human heart; as if it would not, by any 
 rudeness of the elements, disturb that deep moral 
 interest which, under such circumstances, death is 
 fitted to excite. But this was a morning 'calcu- 
 lated to disenchant the most poetical imagination.
 
 THE FUNERAL 187 
 
 It was not violently stormy, nor did rain pour 
 heavily down ; but the wind blew angry and petu- 
 lant blasts at intervals, and a cold sleet was driven 
 harshly through the air. The sun had not risen 
 when we arrived at the burying-ground ; and there 
 was a thin but a cheerless-looking mist over all the 
 country around us. 
 
 When we left the little village of to pro- 
 
 ceeed on our melancholy office, the morning had 
 not yet dawned, and the heavens were so dark 
 with heavy clouds as to yield us scarcely any light. 
 The form of the hearse in which the coffin was 
 carried could be seen but very imperfectly ; and 
 the stragglers who walked in silence behind or 
 around it appeared so shadowy and indistinct, that 
 although the heaviness at my heart soon corrected 
 any wanderings of my fancy, yet I used at times 
 to forget the business in which I was engaged, and 
 feel myself as if oppressed by a confused and mys- 
 terious dream, where I expected the occurrence of 
 some awful event, but knew not yet what it was 
 to be. 
 
 The deceased was a stranger in the village of 
 
 ; she had been there but a few days before 
 
 her death, and her name and her sorrows were un- 
 known; yet many of the poor inhabitants were
 
 188 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 come out to pay her remains the last tribute of 
 respect. I cannot but think this reverence for 
 humanity, exemplified in a concern for the dead, a 
 beautiful trait in the Irish character. That cha- 
 racter is sadly changed. A preternatural malignity 
 appears to have taken the place of the unreflecting 
 violence which, in its fiercest ire, was capable of 
 melting into tenderness. The innocent superstitions 
 of the last age have passed away, and the legends 
 of the moated field, and of glens and silent hills, are 
 far more fearful than when fairies guarded these 
 their charmed haunts. No rustic now expects to 
 see, by the side of the smooth lake, the benshi's 
 beautiful form, as she looses her fair tresses to the 
 moon's soft light, and weeps, and sings with her 
 wild sweet voice the song that bodes deep lament- 
 ation in some lordly house. All these superstitions 
 have faded away. Far different are the narratives 
 of the cottage hearth, from those which in past 
 times filled the rustic mind with a pleasing alarm. 
 The limits of fairy-land have been narrowed, and 
 over the greater part of Ireland the consequences 
 of extreme and long-continued poverty acting upon 
 uneducated minds, have familiarised the people to 
 such terrible realities, as have taken away all power 
 of excitement from the imaginary horrors of the
 
 THE FUNERAL. 189 
 
 last age. The majesty with which the character 
 of the wandering pilgrim invested itself is gone. 
 His benison, once so highly valued, is heard with 
 slight regard. The mendicant still finds his asy- 
 lum where he seeks it ; but his respectability has 
 perished with the past years. He is no longer an 
 entertaining guest, well repaying the hospitality he 
 receives by merry jests and marvellous narrations. 
 He has been forced to unlearn the loquacity of his 
 calling, and, as he passes away from every threshold, 
 to leave behind him the memory of what he heard 
 within. If he dare speak of what he heard and 
 witnessed, he would speak, not of nights enlivened 
 by stories of fairy gambols, or fearfully given up 
 to ghostly legends, but charactered by records of 
 real crime, or by the plotting some new atrocity. 
 He could say, that the paleness which spread 
 over the cheeks that crowded round the blaze 
 of the hearth, was sent up from hearts where 
 an angry remembrance had stamped passionately 
 the thoughts of dire and deadly vengeance against 
 some living being ; and he could say, that he had 
 seen the wild flashing of fierce eyes, and marked 
 the triumphant tone of voice, as the narrative told 
 of the murderous stroke, by which revenge had 
 been successfully achieved.
 
 190 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 Such are the narratives and such are the acts with 
 which the Irish peasantry are now familiar : and 
 with these things the gentle superstitions of former 
 times can have no fellowship. They are gone 
 and with them a train of many virtues has departed; 
 but, still however brutal (and I might even say 
 demoniacal) the minds of the people have become, 
 a kind of reverence for the relics of the dead 
 remains, quite distinct from every thing of sorrow 
 and compassion ; and it would seem as if the spirit 
 of humanity, dislodged from all obvious strong- 
 holds, continued to inhabit the heart under the 
 guise of this one kind feeling, and waited mourn- 
 fully for the time when a moral renovation of 
 the Irish character should restore it to its lost 
 ascendancy. 
 
 Thoughts like these arose in my mind, as I 
 looked upon the numbers who exposed themselves 
 to the inclemency of a severe winter morning, 
 that they might honour and assist at the interment 
 of a poor and almost friendless stranger. I have 
 said, that the merits or the sorrows of the deceased 
 were unknown to the inhabitants of the village. 
 There was, however, one individual present who 
 knew them well. She was very old, seemingly 
 just ready to sink into the grave, and was sitting
 
 THE FUNERAL. 191 
 
 silently and firmly beside the coffin which con- 
 tained her grand-daughter's remains. I was riding 
 near her, and lamenting, but without speaking, 
 her exposure to the severity of the blast, which 
 dashed the cold sleet full against her unsheltered 
 face. " This wind," said she, " this spiteful wind, 
 
 and a poor child that never harmed a fly. But 
 what an old fool I am ! She does not feel it now. 
 Yes, yes, you may blow on, and rain too, and hail; 
 but she is away with her God ! oh, she is with God 
 
 
 
 she is with God. Don't you think, Sir," said 
 she, observing me looking at her, " that I am very 
 brave. Look well at me, and you will see that I 
 have not shed a tear no no and you don't 
 hear me groan ; but may be you don't know the 
 reason : I know I shall not be separated from her 
 again. No, my sweet babe," said she, looking down 
 at the coffin, and weeping as she spoke, " I lost you 
 when you were young, and I found you in misery ; 
 and soon I shall follow you where no misery can 
 come." I could only express a hope that, in God's 
 good time, we might all be re-united ; but she did 
 not hear me, her attention was given to her own 
 thoughts, and she continued to gaze earnestly at 
 the coffin, until we arrived at the church-yard gate. 
 Here I attempted to dissuade her from entering
 
 192 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 the bui-ying-ground. I knew the vastness of our 
 capacity for suffering ; and I knew that even the 
 grief of such a bereavement as this poor woman's, 
 was capable of increase. I had had experience as 
 my teacher ; and I knew that, bitter as my sorrow 
 had been, I had not felt the full reality of my loss, 
 until the last office to the dead was peforming : 
 until then, great as my affliction was, it was not at 
 its height. I thought, indeed, that it was not sus- 
 ceptible of any aggravation; but when I heard the 
 words of the solemn service pronounced, when I 
 heard the coffin of my friend return that dull life- 
 less sound, and when I saw it disappear from me 
 into its narrow bed, I felt such a sudden rush of 
 of agony, as if, until that moment, I had been only 
 dreaming of misery, and that now my eyes were, 
 forced open, and I awakened to a most keen sense 
 of my utter desolation. Therefore I attempted to 
 persuade this poor old woman that she ought to 
 retire into a house at the road-side, and wait until 
 I could procure a vehicle to carry her back again. 
 " Oh, Sir." said she, " have you no greater faith in 
 God than that? I am seventy -eight years of age, 
 and I have never murmured at the sufferings He 
 inflicted on me ; and do you think, that after being 
 supported, on my long journey to this child, through
 
 THE FUNERAL. 193 
 
 every misery oh, do you think that he brought 
 me here, only to send me on the world again with 
 a sorer heart than ever woman lived with ? No ! 
 no ! my God ! my hope is strong in you ; and I 
 know you will give me my release. God almighty 
 bless you, Sir, for what you have done for my poor 
 child ; and if prayers will avail you in heaven, there 
 will be two there that will not forget you : but 
 look, Sir, they are ready at the gate, and I can 
 walk up quite steadily." 
 
 She did advance steadily, leaning o"nly on a 
 slight staff, and heard a part of the burial-service 
 read, standing, and looking full in my face with 
 such an expression of countenance, as if she had 
 discovered in every sentence some particular mean- 
 ing, or as if it were all a message addressed in- 
 dividually to her. At the grave, she was, after 
 some time, obliged to sit back upon a low tomb, 
 where she still continued to listen with the same 
 earnestness ; but when I had repeated the words, 
 " We therefore commit her body to the ground," 
 she rose up suddenly, and stood in an erect pos- 
 ture, with her head lifted towards heaven, and I could 
 see her lips moving, and could hear some indistinct 
 sounds, as if she was repeating after me the words 
 of the service. I paused ; and all the crowd turned 
 VOL. i. o
 
 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 to look with strong emotion upon the singular ap- 
 pearance before them, as of one who was wrapt in 
 communion with some unseen being. But the en- 
 thusiasm of her feelings was not able to support 
 her long ; and she sunk back again into her former 
 position. I continued the service, and observed 
 no farther manifestation of any strong feeling to 
 agitate her'; but, after the prayers, when the coffin 
 was let down into the grave, and the first earth 
 flung on it, I heard a faint scream, scarcely louder 
 than a sigh, but audible from the deep stillness of 
 the moment ; and, in the next instant, the poor 
 old woman was beyond the sufferings of mor- 
 tality. 
 
 She is buried in the same grave with her grand- 
 child. It is a spot which I sometimes visit ; and the 
 simple inscription on the stone above it, awakens 
 in me mournful and sweet remembrances ; but 
 I dare not often indulge in them, for they diffuse 
 a languor over all my faculties, such as might 
 in the end unfit me for the performance of my 
 active duties, and make me waste, upon shapeless 
 visions and undirected emotions, powers that have 
 been bestowed on me for, I trust, more useful 
 purposes. 
 
 Deep as my interest was in these poor sufferers,
 
 THE FUNERAL. 195 
 
 and closely as they are connected with some of my 
 most tenacious remembrances, my acquaintance 
 with them was very brief; and my knowledge of 
 their very existence quite accidental. The first 
 time -I saw the grandmother was on a Sunday, 
 about a fortnight before the funeral. I was enter- 
 ing into the vestry-room of my parish church, 
 when I saw the sexton (rather too zealously) re- 
 move from the door an old woman who was stand- 
 ing there. I saw her lift up her head suddenly, 
 and turn her eyes towards him with a quick look 
 of surprise, and with something of expostulation 
 in her manner, as if rudeness had not become 
 familiar to her. Although I passed hastily by, I 
 could see distinctly, that nothing less accorded 
 with her features and the naturally soft and inno- 
 cent expression of her countenance, than the ex- 
 treme wretchedness of her attire. 
 
 " Do you know," I asked the sexton, " any thing 
 about that poor woman who is standing outside the 
 door?" 
 
 " No, Sir, nothing at all ; but I suppose she is 
 one of those strolling beggars that ought to be 
 taken up and sent to hard labour : they ought to 
 be made work for their bread. What a hard case, 
 Sir, that the magistrates will let these strollers go 
 
 o 2
 
 196 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 about the countiy defrauding the poor of their 
 right." 
 
 " But this poor creature seems incapable of as- 
 sisting herself in any way, and she must perish if 
 we neglect her." 
 
 " Oh, I'm sure," said the sexton ; " far be it 
 from me to grudge her what she may get, if it be 
 not taken from the mouths of the poor of our own 
 town." 
 
 It was easy to perceive that the sexton was not 
 likely, in this case, to give an unprejudiced report 
 of the state in which the poor stranger might be ; I 
 therefore determined to find out where she lodged, 
 and to make personal enquiries about her condition. 
 Some business, however, put it out of my thoughts 
 to make the enquiries during that day and the fol- 
 lowing ; and on the morning of the third I per- 
 ceived her at my door. I wish I could describe 
 her appearance, as at this moment it rises before 
 me. The wind shaking the thin grey mantle and 
 the cold-looking black stuff gown, which I learned 
 afterwards was the poor shivering creature's only 
 covering : the silver hair turned closely up under 
 a scanty black bonnet : the fair, pale face, and the 
 delicate features which extreme age had not ren- 
 dered ungraceful : and the light-brown eyes in
 
 THE FUNERAL. 197 
 
 which it would seem as it' an unaccustomed light 
 had been newly kindled. 
 
 It is not for those who have not been witnesses 
 of such a union, to conceive what a strange effect 
 is produced by combining with the character of 
 old age a strong expression of surprise. Nothing 
 new under the sun seems to be legible in every 
 time-wrinkled brow ; but, to the poor woman on 
 whom I was looking, it seemed as if every thing 
 was new as if with all the feebleness of an ex- 
 hausted mind and frame, she was undergoing the 
 dicipline of youth. She had heard of cold, and 
 want, and neglect; and you could trace in her coun- 
 tenance the wonder she felt, at finding them her 
 companions. Her voice corresponded with the 
 notion her appearance raised in me, that her pre- 
 sent adversity was new to her : but although I did 
 not think she was an impostor, still I had been so 
 often duped, that I thought it necessary to observe 
 some caution, and said, in reply to her entreaties 
 for charitable relief, " that the poor of our town 
 were so numerous as to render it almost criminal 
 in me to attempt relieving strangers. " The will 
 of God be done," said she ; " but it is a hard 
 thing to be left to die in the streets, and my jour- 
 ney so nearly ended. Ah, Sir, I am nol a com- 
 o 3
 
 198 COLLEGE HECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 mon beggar. I set out on a tedious journey, with 
 clothes and some little money ; and I declare be- 
 fore God, that I did not stoop to ask charity until 
 I had sold the last article I could part with ; and, at 
 this moment, I have no garment inside this mi- 
 serable gown, that has let the cold pierce through 
 me; and I went to the people's doors, and some 
 of them smiled at me, and more said I was a 
 stranger. Oh, God help the poor stranger !" 
 
 I thought there was much truth in her manner ; 
 and that the light high tone of voice in which she 
 spoke, without loudness or querulousness, was the 
 voice of one upon whom the hackneying influence 
 of the mendicant profession had not taken effect : 
 and, that I might speak to her more at ease, I de- 
 sired her to come in from the cold air. " You 
 told me," I said to her when she was seated before 
 the fire, " that you were performing a journey ; 
 how far are you going from this ?" 
 
 " To to see my grand-daughter." 
 
 " Are you to live with her when you arrive 
 there?" 
 
 " Ah, Sir ! all I ask of God is, to see her once 
 alive, and to hear her speak one word to me before 
 she goes. Isn't it a strange thing, Sir, that I 
 should feel cold or hunger ; and I on such a jour-
 
 THE FUNERAL. 199 
 
 ney ? I am going, Sir, to see my grandchild, the 
 only creature I have now in the world, and she is 
 dying in : and I have been crying, Sir, ac- 
 tually crying from cold and want ; and sure I 
 ought to think little about them now : and when 
 I first heard that she was there, I thought nothing 
 of the weary way that was before me, but I felt as 
 if I was a bird, and that I could be with her like a 
 wish. And since that day, three heavy weeks have 
 passed, and I have been sick and weak, and could 
 not drag on my wretched body with me ; and 
 now I expect little better than to lie down on her 
 grave and die : but that's where I ought to die. and 
 she'll have a welcome for the poor stranger. Yes," 
 said she, smiling, "you will welcome me, my poor 
 sorrowful child ; and the world will be rid of the 
 stranger. I'm not sorry to quit it, Sir; it was a 
 sore world to me always. When I was young, I 
 was unhappy, and misfortune was with me through 
 my life ; and now, in the end of my days, there is 
 not one creature on earth to love me or care for 
 me, but she that is dying among strangers, if she is 
 not already out of the power of the whole world.** 
 
 I asked her, had she no children ? 
 
 " No, Sir ; I never had but one, and we were 
 too proud of hr and her heart was broken, 
 o 4
 
 200 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 She married, Sir; and we could not deny her, 
 although we knew it was not a wise match ; and 
 her husband was a hard and wicked man : and 
 when she found that her father and I were giving 
 our little substance, and all was but little, to his 
 extravagancies, she pined away, poor thing ! and 
 she used to look at us with such a sorrowful face, 
 and not speaking a word. Oh, if I was to live a 
 thousand years, I never can forget the morning 
 when her poor old father was carried off to gaol for 
 her husband's debts, and we so cautious that she 
 should not know it. And I was going with the men 
 down the little avenue, and thinking the poor child 
 asleep in her bed, when I heard such a frightful 
 cry from the house ; and there was my poor tender 
 child running with the speed of wind, and never 
 stopped until she fell so deadly pale into her 
 father's arms. Oh, that was the sorrow ! ' Is she 
 gone ?' said the poor man : but she was not dead 
 - and I brought her home again ; and my hus- 
 band soon got out of prison : but I always thought 
 that that was the day when my poor daughter's 
 heart was broken. She lingered, Sir, with us for 
 some time; and after that, she never spoke of her 
 cruel husband, who had left her and her infant ; 
 but she gave me the child, and made me promise
 
 THE FUNERAL. 201 
 
 that I would never part with it : but God is above 
 all, Sir, and he separated us, and a sore separation 
 it was to me. She was our comfort in every hard- 
 ship ; and when we were obliged to leave our 
 sweet little place, and go look for employment 
 among strangers, that dear child made us think 
 little of all our sorrow. We kept her, Sir, we kept 
 her, as if care was never to come near her ; and 
 when my poor husband and I used to come home 
 from our work, and pray for God's blessing on 
 our beautiful child and a beautiful creature she 
 was ; and all the neighbours allowed, that a 
 sweeter or a prettier-behaved girl was not to be 
 found in the whole country round than dear Susan 
 Maxwell " 
 
 " Than whom?" said I ; " where did you live ?" 
 
 " Lord, Sir," said the poor woman, astonished 
 at my vehemence, " what is the matter with you ? 
 
 we lived at , and worked at Mr. 's fac- 
 
 tory." 
 
 I could not suppress a groan " Oh, Lorton, 
 what dreadful mischief have you done." 
 
 " Did you know him, Sir ?" said she, " did you 
 know him ? Did you know the destroyer of my 
 child ? I know him now he called himself Smith ; 
 but I learned who he was."
 
 202 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 It was awful to look upon the wreck which pro- 
 fligacy had made of this poor family. They had 
 been as happy as, under the circumstances, could 
 have been reasonably hoped for, before disgrace 
 came upon them. The poor old couple, feeble as 
 they were, were highly respected by their em- 
 ployer, and engaged in such easy works as were not 
 beyond their exhausted strength ; and all the people 
 employed at the factory looked up to them as to per- 
 sons of superior station and respectability. When 
 their child was carried from them, they left their 
 little cottage and proceeded to Dublin in search of 
 her or of her seducer. There the old man sunk 
 under his griefs ; and his poor widow, after surviving 
 the loss of every thing she valued, was, through 
 the exertions of a benevolent man, placed in one 
 of those charitable asylums which so strikingly cha- 
 racterise the habits of a Christian people. 
 
 " I lived on," said she, " for many a heavy day ; 
 and the thought of my poor forlorn child was 
 never out of my mind : and often I used to 
 enquire of the strangers that visited the house 
 whether they had seen her ; poor foolish creature ! 
 I never thought that they did not know my Susan. 
 At last, one of the women in our house, who 
 knew me in better days, got a letter from her son,
 
 THE VUNEKAL. 203 
 
 telling her that my poor child was in , and 
 
 lying sick in a house near where he lived. At this 
 I did no more but ask her for the letter (I have it 
 with me), and I went out, without saying a word 
 to mortal, and sold two gold rings; and then I 
 sent back a message to the house to say I was 
 gone to my child, and went straight upon the 
 road. I came part of the way in the mail-coach ; 
 but my money would not pay as far as I thought ; 
 and so then I was obliged to come on foot : and I 
 grew sick, and was confined to my bed, and lost a 
 great deal of time : and, for three days before I 
 came here, I was creeping on with my blistered 
 feet ; and now, if it was to recover my child from 
 the grave, I cannot walk a mile farther." 
 
 I told her that she need not travel farther on 
 foot, as I purposed to accompany her on the 
 remainder of her journey, which was now but 
 short. In order the better to direct our move- 
 ments, I asked to see the letter, and I copy the 
 part which related to the object of our search. 
 
 " You'd be very glad, my dear mother, to know 
 who is here, only that I'm sorry to tell you, she is 
 sick and keeping her bed. It was a moving thing 
 to me to see her so wasted and gone ! I was put- 
 ting in a pane of glass the other day at Mrs. Wil-
 
 204 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 liams's ; and nobody being by but myself, I was 
 singing at my work, when a girl opened a door at 
 the other end of the room, and desired me not to 
 sing, for there was a young woman sick, and I 
 was disturbing her; and I stopped and begged 
 pardon, and was going to finish my work, when I 
 heard some one in the room within say, in a very 
 easy voice, ' tell that young man I want to see 
 him ;' and so the girl at the door bid me come in, 
 and I never knew who was in the bed, she looked 
 so pale and sorrowful, until she said ' Don't you 
 know me, Robert ? don't you remember Susan 
 Maxwell ?' And at that I could'nt keep myself, 
 but cried like a child ; and a Turk could'nt keep 
 from crying that remembered her as I did, and 
 saw her lying so worn on the bed. I told her 
 that her grandmother and you were living together; 
 and she desired me to tell you that she is not 
 able to write a letter herself, but as soon as she is 
 
 able to travel, she will go up to . I pray 
 
 God she may be able to quit this place alive." 
 
 With this letter to direct us, we easily found 
 out the young man ; and learned from him, that 
 Susan had thought herself so far recovered, that, 
 on the day before, she had set out on a hired car 
 for , from which she intended to travel in
 
 THE FUNERAL. 205 
 
 the stage-coach; so we had to retrace our steps 
 rapidly if we would overtake her : but, on enquir- 
 ing from the carman, who had returned, we learned 
 that she was so ill when he was leaving her, as to 
 be confined to her bed; and that he thought it 
 would be some days before she could proceed on 
 her journey. By this time I had informed the old 
 woman of my close intimacy with Lorton, and of 
 the letter respecting her child, which I had re- 
 ceived from him before his departure from Ireland ; 
 and we had arranged, that Susan should be re- 
 moved to my house from the village, which was 
 no more than three miles distant. But the moment 
 I saw her, I perceived that she was in the last 
 stage of a rapid consumption; and that, for the few 
 days she was likely to live, it was better that she 
 should not be disturbed, as the apartment in which 
 she lodged was commodious, and the inn quiet. 
 Having sent a message that a clergyman begged 
 permission to see her, I was admitted, and found 
 her sitting up in bed, her eyes and colour re- 
 splendent in that ethereal beauty with which death, 
 in cases like her's, delights to decorate his victim. 
 I thought to have prepared her for the sight of 
 her grandmother; and for that purpose prevailed 
 on the old woman to remain below stairs until I
 
 206 COLLEGE RECOLLECTION'S. 
 
 sent for her ; but my precautions were rendered 
 vain by ai child who came into the room and 
 asked to have the poor woman admitted. " Won't 
 you," said she, " tell the gentleman to let up the 
 poor woman who says you are her child, and that 
 she has come a great long way to see you ?" The 
 poor girl spread out her hands, " It is my 
 grandmother, rny poor grandmother !" and when 
 the feeble old creature came into the room, she 
 had sunk back in the bed ; but still retained her 
 consciousness, and kept her eyes open and fixed 
 on her grandmother, but without speaking, and 
 grasped her hand, which she pressed to her heart 
 and kissed passionately, and bedewed with a 
 copious shower of tears which came at length to 
 her relief. She recovered sooner than I expected, 
 and was much less weakened by her agitation 
 than I had feared. Her emotion was more alarm- 
 ing on recognition of me. I said, after some 
 time, that she perhaps had heard my name ; and 
 instantly, on pronouncing it, all colour left her 
 cheeks, and she trembled violently, and gasped 
 for breath, making repeated attempts to speak ; 
 but her efforts failed for some time, and she could 
 only articulate some disjointed expressions : 
 " Were you," at last she said, in a voice sunk to
 
 THE FUNERAL. 207 
 
 a whisper, and with her eyes for the first time 
 raised to mine, " were you Lorton's friend ?" 
 
 I pass over all the particulars of this our first 
 interview. The poor grandmother remained with 
 her until her death, which took place in a few days 
 after ; and I spent the greater part of every day 
 with her, returning in the evening to my house in 
 the adjacent village. The account she gave of the 
 events of her life, from the period of her quitting 
 Lorton, the reader might be anxious to learn. He 
 had carried her to various parts of the county of 
 Wicklow, such as were least frequented ; and then 
 brought her to Dublin, where he placed her in very 
 retired lodgings, leaving her, whenever he went 
 from home, particular cautions against allowing 
 herself to be seen, and feeding her fancy with 
 hopes that he would shortly make her his wife, 
 and publicly acknowledge her. She soon, how- 
 ever, had convincing proof, that she was but one of 
 his victims, and felt herself deserted. Obliged to 
 give up the lodgings where he had placed her, her 
 first thought was to return to her .grandfather's ; 
 and, on a September evening, she found herself 
 near their cottage door. Dreadful as was the 
 thought of appearing before the aged couple, her 
 sensations were still more distressing at the sight
 
 208 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 of the house standing silent, and with closed doors 
 and windows, and bereft of all the little air of neat- 
 ness and ornament by which it had been formerly 
 graced. 
 
 " I stole," said she, " to the back of the house, 
 to look in at the little room where we used to sit : 
 it was quite empty ; and as I leaned against the 
 window, it pushed open, and the wind sounded 
 through the lonesome house so dismally ; and the 
 room was full of brown leaves, and when the wind 
 came in and stirred them, they flew all about ; and 
 I began to lose my reason ; and still I could no 
 more turn my head from the window, or keep 
 from looking in, than if my grandmother was lying 
 dead before me." How long she remained in this 
 state she could not tell, but the night was closing 
 in, when a lady returning home, found her sobbing, 
 and, as it appeared to her, sometimes laughing, with 
 her head in at the open window. After some time, 
 she succeeded in gaining the poor'girPs attention ; 
 and found to her astonishment, who she was. She 
 brought her home with her ; and, in the course of 
 a few weeks, poor Susan had recovered from a 
 slight temporary derangement, and was enabled to 
 feel all [the misery of her condition. She heard of 
 her grandfather's death, and a report that her
 
 THE FUNERAL. 209 
 
 grandmother too had sunk under her sorrows. 
 The lady who had brought her home, and who 
 had known her character in early days, would not 
 do good by halves, but, trusting that a return to 
 virtue was not yet hopeless, kept Susan about 
 her own person, and endeavoured to strengthen all 
 her good resolutions, and to renovate the prin- 
 ciples which evil counsel and yielding affections 
 had been successful in undermining. 
 
 She was beginning to recover something like 
 tranquillity, when all her hopes seemed destroyed, 
 by new arrangements which were likely to sepa- 
 rate her from her mistress. " They were dreadful 
 tidings to me," said she, " when I heard that my 
 mistress was going abroad with her two daughters ; 
 and although I did all I could not to let my grief 
 be seen, yet they soon saw it." " Susan," said my 
 mistress, * I see you are sorry to lose us,' and 
 then I could not keep in my tears, for where could 
 I find such a mistress as I had found in her." She 
 was, however, relieved from her fears, for her mis- 
 tress, unwilling to leave her exposed to the dangers 
 of an unprotected condition, proposed that she 
 should accompany her, and Susan gave, it may be 
 imagined, a glad and grateful assent. 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 A few days before that which was fixed for their 
 departure, her mistress called Susan, and told her 
 that she had something of consequence to commu- 
 nicate : this was, to inform her that Lorton was 
 to sail in the same vessel with them ; and to en- 
 treat her, if she had not sufficient resolution to 
 avoid him, to give up her intention of going with 
 them. After the first agitation was over, Susan 
 said that she could not deny her affection for her 
 betrayer she loved him still, and no earthly 
 object could she put in competition with the hope 
 of being of use to him in infusing religious prin- 
 ciple into his mind ; but she knew her own weak- 
 ness too well to attempt any such plan, and she 
 thought she could answer for herself, that if her 
 mistress would not leave her behind, she would 
 be strengthened so as to resist every inclination 
 which might urge her to make herself known to 
 Lorton ; and she hoped, that, from the manner in 
 which they were to live while on board, she might 
 easily keep herself concealed. Her mistress de- 
 pended on her, and they sailed. " Oh, Sir," said 
 she, " 'twas a sore trial to see him, as I sometimes 
 saw him, so pale and thin, and to hear the deep 
 /short cough and all the time to see him so care-
 
 THE FUNERAL. 211 
 
 less about himself. It was easy for me to be con- 
 cealed, for he took little notice of any one, and I 
 spent all the day in my ladies' cabin, and came up 
 on deck only in the evening and morning for the 
 benefit of the air. One day my mistress told me, 
 that she thought he felt for me, for that on men- 
 tioning the factory, he seemed greatly agitated, 
 and presently left the room ; and I observed, that, 
 on that evening, he was looking very sorrowful, 
 and that he remained on the deck alone, gazing on 
 the sea, and quite motionless. Oh, what would 
 I not have given to speak, and tell him who I 
 was?" 
 
 It happened that on an evening after Lorton 
 had shewn great distress of mind at an allusion to 
 the place where Susan lived, he was on the deck, 
 leaning over the water the moon was rising, and 
 Susan was in attendance on her young ladies, who 
 were enjoying the evening air. " I never," said 
 one of the ladies, " saw an expression of such total 
 despair in any countenance as on that young man's ; 
 what can he be thinking of?" " He is thinking 
 of me," said Susan ; " I am sure he is, and I cannot 
 resist the impulse I feel." " I know, Sir," said she 
 to me, "it was wrong, and that I ought not to 
 have acted so, but at the time a kind of madness, 
 p 2
 
 212 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 was upon me, and I did not well know what I was 
 doing." 
 
 Immediately, intreating the ladies to remain 
 where they were, she took off her bonnet, and 
 letting her hair down, she stood behind Lorton in 
 the moonlight, which had now spread its influence 
 all around. For some time he remained gazing 
 upon the streaks of rippling light on the waves ; at 
 last he turned round, and his eyes rested on the 
 beautiful fragile form which was standing motionless 
 before him. His mind had been so full of Susan, 
 that, changed as she was, he at once knew her ; 
 and the moonlight only served to throw a more spi- 
 ritual expression around her figure, heightening 
 the delusion in which he gazed on her. She was 
 terrified at her own conduct, and was beginning 
 to retire from his presence, but at this, he regained 
 the power of speech. " No, no," said he, " stay 
 do not forsake me ; you come to summon me 
 I am ready I am ready. Great God !" said he, 
 speaking in the same low inward tone, " thou 'wilt 
 accept my prayers. I could not pray before. 
 If a broken heart was an offering to thee, thou 
 knowest, and thou only, that I offered such a sa- 
 crifice but still I could not pray, I could not 
 and did not ask for mercy. Thou hast sent it
 
 THE FUNERAL. 2J3 
 
 Lord thou sendest this bright vision as thy mes- 
 senger of grace ; she is not left behind me, to the 
 miseries of living thou hast released her, Oh my 
 God, and thou wilt accept the penitent spirit in 
 which I bow myself in thankfulness before thee. 
 Susan, forgive me ; God has forgiven me, else he 
 would not have sent thee here pronounce my for- 
 giveness with thy sweet calm voice, and I depart 
 with thee from the world;" and he fell upon his 
 face before her, as she was standing in astonish- 
 ment at the manner in which he addresed her. 
 
 They were to have been married when they 
 reached land, there being no clergyman on board ; 
 but some days before the termination of their voy- 
 age, poor Lorton was no more. He made a will, 
 bequeathing to Susan all he possessed, and gave 
 her a letter for me, directing that I should see her 
 put in possession of the small income which still 
 remained out of the wreck of his Irish property. 
 Susan prevailed on the captain to have his body 
 brought to land ; and his grave, which she everv 
 day visited, became so dear a spot to her, that she 
 could not be persuaded to return to Ireland, when 
 her health declined, and native air was ordered 
 for her. At length, from one of the visitors at the 
 house of her former mistress, where she still lived, 
 p 3
 
 2 1 4- COLLEGE 11ECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 although no longer as a servant, by some accidental 
 circumstances she learned that her grandmother 
 was alive, and she determined, and put her deter- 
 mination into immediate execution, that she would 
 return home, and comfort, to the utmost of her 
 abilities, the declining years of her venerable pa- 
 rent : but her strength was too far exhausted, 
 and she returned^only to receive her grandmother's 
 forgiveness, and to die in her arms. 
 Lorton's letter was as follows : 
 
 " This letter will be handed you by Susan 
 Maxwell, who is, in the sight of heaven, my wife, 
 and to whom I have bequeathed whatever property 
 I possess, here, and in Ireland. Enclosed^ you 
 have directions how she is to be put in possession 
 of it ; and I depend on your integrity, to have her 
 guarded against any wrong. I have now but three 
 days, as I am informed, to live for the sake of 
 poor Susan, I could be contented to live longer, 
 but I leave her comparatively happy, for she lias 
 forgiven me, and she has reason to believe that I 
 shall meet forgiveness in heaven. Yes, my dear 
 friend, I feel that I shall obtain forgiveness. Re- 
 joice with me I know you will rejoice. I am 
 no longer the stern, desperate man who had hard
 
 THE FUNERAL. 21.5 
 
 ened himself to meet death with sullen indifference.. 
 My nature is changed my heart is softened, and 
 a feeling has penetrated my soul that there is 
 mercy even for me. How could I doubt it ? Has 
 not God preserved me through the dangers of my 
 profligate life ? Has he not sustained me to this 
 hour through sickness and despair? Oh, has he not 
 sent her whom I had most injured to speak my par- 
 don, and to calm my restless agonies ? and am I 
 not now approaching death with a heart melted 
 by love and gratitude towards a merciful God, and 
 amidst the precious consolations which he has sent 
 me? I am calm, my friend calm as an infant, 
 and God has justified his ways to me. There 
 have been times when I have questioned His 
 justice, and thought my lot severer than I merited ; 
 when I seemed to stand out from myself, and (as if 
 I were a third person) used to feel a pity for my. 
 own sufferings. I have thought of myself deprived 
 in early life of all parental care, denied the advan- 
 tage of religious or moral instruction; deceived and 
 opposed by those who ought to be my friends ; and 
 wronged by those who were appointed my protect- 
 ors. I looked back upon times when circum- 
 stances, over which I had no control, made me a 
 companion for profligates and scorners ; when I had 
 
 p 4
 
 216 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 no opportunity of hearing good principles named, 
 except in the language of mockery, or religious per- 
 sons spoken of otherwise than as hypocrites ; when 
 the books I read were, most commonly, such as in- 
 flamed my imagination, and tended to impair the 
 good feelings which might, for a time, have sup- 
 plied the place of principle; and I thought it severe, 
 that, for a life led in accordance with such early 
 habits, I was made the accursed thing which I felt 
 myself to be. But God has deigned to vindicate 
 his ways, and I feel that He will not cast me off. 
 I have no grief upon my mind, but for my poor, 
 forgiving Susan, and even that is happiness in com- 
 parison with what my fears for her had been. The 
 bitterness of death is past. The nature of grief is 
 changed the heart which is softened towards 
 God cannot know the grief I had lately felt ; and 
 Susan will survive me with the remembrance of 
 my peaceful death, and with a hope of our speedy 
 re-union. You will be her friend, and, after the 
 keenness of her first anguish is over, she will feel 
 the value of your friendship, and she will be able 
 to speak with you on the mercy of God to me ; 
 and she will not be afraid to think of any thing 
 amiable in my character, through a terror that it 
 was only the ornament of a lost creature. You
 
 THE FUNERAL. 217 
 
 will be her friend and her protector. I have 
 robbed her of those who were her natural guard- 
 ians, but I do not fear to meet them now, for 
 Susan h#s forgiven me, and God has wiped away 
 
 all tears from their eyes. Farewel, dear , I 
 
 loved you when I seemed your enemy, but it was 
 according to the fashion of my stubborn and im- 
 patient heart. I love you now with the affections 
 of a heart which the mercy of God has melted; 
 and, although my sentiments and feelings are not 
 painful, yet there is a tear starting into my eye 
 as I bid you the last farewel that can be uttered 
 on earth. 
 
 " God bless you, my earliest friend, 
 
 " LORTON."
 
 THE LAST NIGHT OF 
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY. 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT OF THE EDITOR. 
 
 1 HE following paper, containing some account of 
 the " Historical Society" of Dublin College, was, 
 I believe, the first sketch which my friend had 
 executed ; and from which, perhaps, he had been 
 led on to those which I have already, in this little 
 volume, laid before the public. In the remarks 
 on the Historical Society, there is plainly discern- 
 ible, a feeling of deep regret for its dissolution ; 
 a regret in which many have participated with my 
 departed friend. - Strong, however, as the regret 
 may be, that such an institution was not strictly 
 compatible with the discipline of the University, I 
 believe there are few who do not feel considerable 
 satisfaction that the Society is not now in existence. 
 In cjuiet times, when no violent party principles 
 are in operation, and no party feeling is widely
 
 220 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 diffused, an institution conducted according to the 
 regulations adopted in the Historical Society, might 
 be of great benefit, and might be a source of much 
 profitable enjoyment : but in times like the present, 
 when political feelings of a very exasperated nature 
 have penetrated into the remotest privacies, and 
 are of so prevailing an interest, as that they cannot 
 be excluded even from the seats of learning ; it is 
 a circumstance upon which, perhaps, Ireland may 
 be congratulated, that there is no such institution 
 under the shelter of the University as might call 
 forth these violent passions, and give scope and 
 occasion for very pernicious debate. At all 
 events, it is to be hoped, that, if the society is to 
 be revived, the Governors of the University will 
 wait for quieter times than the present. I have 
 thought it necessary to preface my friend's little 
 narrative with these remarks, because I know that 
 they are of the same nature as those which he 
 himself woukl have made, had he been spared to 
 witness the dissensions which have ripened in his 
 unhappy country.
 
 221 
 
 THE LAST NIGHT OF THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY. 
 
 WHAT strange, incomprehensible things most of 
 our emotions are. What cause can there be, 
 that my recollections of the Historical Society 
 should be shadowed by precisely the same kind 
 (not degree) of melancholy as that which tinges 
 my remembrance of some departed friend ? How 
 is it that such a feeling should be produced ? and 
 to what can it belong ? Most of the friends whom 
 I knew in that society are still alive, and few of 
 them are unfortunate. If the society were flou- 
 rishing I am not so circumstanced as to derive 
 any benefit from it; and yet the thought of it 
 never fails to awaken in me a feeling of bereave- 
 ment. It is not merely a regret that, by the dis- 
 solution of the Historical Society, Dublin College 
 has lost its brightest ornament ; nor is it a concern 
 for the privation to which so many young men 
 must now submit. All this I could easily under- 
 stand. I can even recognize mournful remem- 
 brances of emotions which shot forth vividly in 
 more ardent hours, and which perished with the 
 society; but, beside all this, I am conscious of a 
 undefinable feeling which belongs less l<>
 
 222 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 the society than to some genius which presided 
 over it. It is as if the interest of the society was 
 not a thing which resulted merely from its members 
 and its regulations; but that there was some pre- 
 siding influence which diffused a secret charm 
 around, the power which I felt, although I could 
 not discern its cause ; and the memory of which is 
 mingling with my palpable, obvious, reasonable re- 
 grets, and communicating to them a visionary and 
 mysterious expression by which their character is 
 totally altered. 
 
 It is not my intention, nor my wish, to enter 
 into any arguments respecting the claims which 
 the Historical Society may have had on the for- 
 bearance or protection of the College-Governors. 
 My recollections shall be kept carefully estranged 
 from every thing that might minister to angry feel- 
 ings they are, essentially, of a peaceful nature, 
 and shall not dwell upon any subject of complaint 
 afforded by petulance on the part of the Society, 
 or severity exercised by " the Board." Wiser 
 thinkers, and more experienced persons than I am, 
 saw good reason to pursue a line of conduct differ- 
 ent from that which I would have preferred ; and 
 it does not in any degree lessen my respect for 
 their characters, or the estimation in which I hold
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 223 
 
 their intellect and acquirements, that I am not able 
 to enter into the views which demanded the annihi- 
 lation of so interesting a society. I speak as I feel 
 myself I look back to the society with a fond 
 regret, as to the source of pure and elevating en- 
 joyments; I look back to it with gratitude, as to 
 the influence under which I first learned to think, 
 and where I taught my straggling faculties to sub- 
 mit to whatever discipline they have received ; I 
 look back to the Historical Society, as if the re- 
 membrance had arisen upon me of some sweet and 
 sheltered enclosure, where interesting and high- 
 minded youths used to resort for instruction or 
 delight, where the diligent came to enjoy a profit- 
 able relaxation, and the idle were brought into 
 contact with educated minds, and made acquainted 
 with subjects of lofty thought and generous senti- 
 ment, and where all the superabundant spirit of 
 first youth was attracted by the elegancies of li- 
 terature, and engaged in the service of a purifying 
 ambition. These are the remembrances of the 
 Historical Society, which dwell upon my mind ; 
 and I cannot think of such meetings without feel- 
 ing deep regret that they have been discontinued. 
 It is, however, the object of my present occupation 
 to record, not my regrets, but my remembrances. I
 
 224- COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 am to sketch briefly some recollections of the His- 
 torical Society; and although my intention is prin- 
 cipally to detail the proceedings of that night on 
 which its meetings terminated, yet it is necessary, 
 for the betterunderstanding such a detail, to review, 
 in a very few words, the manner in which the busi- 
 ness of the society was ordinarily conducted. At the 
 regular meetings of the society, which were held 
 on every Wednesday evening during the greater 
 part of the year, business commenced at half-past 
 six o'clock, by an examination in a certain portion of 
 history, appointed at the preceding meeting; and 
 at the end of the period (consisting of thirteen 
 nights) two silver medals were conferred on the best 
 answerers. After this examination, directed par- 
 ticularly to those who had prepared themselves as 
 candidates for the prizes ; but which the examiner 
 (the chairman for the night) was at liberty to make 
 general, the members adjourned for refreshments 
 (consisting of tea and coffee) to a withdrawing 
 room. Here they spoke to each other of the oc- 
 currences of the preceding meeting, and inquired 
 about the speakers who were to appear at this. 
 Every where around you there was eager dialogue, 
 and wit was sparkling, and laughter unrestrained; 
 and yet very seldom was an observation to be
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 225 
 
 heard which could there or elsewhere shame the 
 speakers ; and this company, consisting of persons 
 little more than boys, needed no other censors to 
 ensure propriety of language and behaviour, than 
 the illustrious names which were familiar to their 
 lips, and the aspiring thoughts from which they 
 could not stoop to anything sordid and debasing. 
 As the hour of debate drew nigh, you saw the 
 groups thronging out into the society-room, and 
 broken up into small distinct parties. Here 
 you might discern, amidst their friends and ad- 
 mirers, rival candidates for the oratory prizes, and 
 veteran speakers arranging with their partizans the 
 order of their proceedings ; and many an untried 
 man, in whose countenance you could read the 
 most determined resolution to eclipse the glories 
 of all modern names, while his words disclaimed 
 every hope of distinction, and he had come per-? 
 haps " merely to be a looker-on, and to learn 
 how the medals were likely to be adjudged." 
 
 The chair is now taken, and the usual forms 
 having been observed, the question for discussion 
 is proposed, and the pleaders (two persons ap- 
 pointed by the society three weeks previously 
 to the meeting) are called upon to open the 
 debate on either side. Then followed the volun* 
 
 VOL. i. Q
 
 226 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 teer speakers ; and, although perhaps, in the 
 course of a long debate, the oratory was not sti- 
 mulating enough to counteract a tendency to 
 drowsiness and yawning; yet still the speakers in 
 general showed that they had made themselves 
 acquainted with many facts connected with their 
 subjects, and sometimes recompensed your atten- 
 tion, by an ingenious allusion, or an eloquent 
 appeal. When all who wished to address the 
 chair on the regular question for debate had 
 spoken, the exertions of the more matured speak- 
 ers commenced, the doors were closed, and the 
 subject of debate became something connected 
 with the business of the society; the reports of 
 * committees were received ; the conduct of officers 
 was discussed ; new laws and regulations were 
 proposed; and extraordinary honours were soli- 
 cited for deserving but unsuccessful aspirants. 
 
 In this part of its business, I thought the appear- 
 ance presented by the society extremely interesting 
 so many young men ardent in their mutual oppo- 
 sition, and inflamed by the excitement of debate ; 
 and yet, preserving the most unbroken respect 
 for established forms, and the most entire sub- 
 mission to the president's authority; and in the 
 very heat of the fiercest conflict, in mutual charges
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 227 
 
 and mutual recrimination, observing such defer- 
 ence to the place and for each other, that their 
 bitterest invectives were almost always free from 
 the disgrace of personality ; and the opponents of 
 this hour could meet in the next without an angry 
 or an uneasy feeling. 
 
 Many a name I could enumerate of youths who, 
 in these debates, were preparing themselves for 
 the eminence towards which, in various depart- 
 ments, they are now advancing, and which some 
 of them have attained. There you might discover 
 the various kinds of talent indicating already the 
 direction which they were to take. You might see 
 the future master of precedent, fortifying himself 
 in debate, amidst the forms of the society ; and re- 
 fusing to surrender to any summons from reason- 
 ing, unless authority were on its side. There 
 were the votaries of fancy, who displayed not their 
 subject but themselves ; who gave you images for 
 arguments, and attempted to win their way to 
 your heart, not by a direct assault upon its bar- 
 riers, but by sounding sweet music around them. 
 There was the expert and excitable debater ; and 
 there you might perceive how the argument of the 
 watchful and wily sophist grew insensibly ; and 
 how the more ardent speaker brooked not the delay 
 2 2
 
 228 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 of refuting arguments in parts; but struggled, 
 like the strong man, to break his way, by one 
 impetuous effort, through the chains and difficulties 
 in which his crafty opponent had endeavoured to 
 entangle him. 
 
 But whenever I call up again the memory of 
 these debates, I have two forms invariably in the 
 fore-ground of my recollections ; and all the other 
 speakers are merely shadows which attend on the 
 entrance of these high personages, and then de- 
 part into oblivion. These two were always to- 
 gether in their exertions; and though of equal dis- 
 tinction, yet it is hardly possible to conceive any 
 two beings who, at first view, seemed set in more 
 decided contrast. Figure to yourself the air of the 
 Belvidere Apollo ; and, if you can divest your re- 
 membrance of the perfect grace of that noble 
 figure, and disturb the beauty of the face with 
 something of harshness, you may have an idea 
 of Sidney's appearance. It was not possible to 
 see him in his serious moments, without recognising 
 the presence of an elevated emotion reigning in 
 his mind. His gestures were frequently awkward, 
 and not quiet enough for the character of com- 
 mand which was natural to him ; but the effect of 
 his lofty stature of his noble head of his clas-
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 229 
 
 sical features, and his animated countenance* 
 although it was sometimes impaired by his action, 
 could not be destroyed by it; and I cannot call 
 to my remembrance a single attitude in which I 
 ever saw him, which was not dignified or com- 
 manding. Mind seemed present in every part of 
 his appearance. The wonderful flexibility of his 
 countenance appeared to, be derived from the 
 vigour with which the governing principle con- 
 tinually acted upon it ; and yet I often remarked, 
 that however varied the expression of his coun- 
 tenance might be, whether it assumed a character 
 of tragic pomp, or reflected, as was frequently the 
 case, an appearance of broad humour, still, a 
 shade of pensiveness, such as pervades all varieties 
 of our Irish melodies, might be plainly discern- 
 ible. In speaking, it was remarkable, that however 
 violent or ungraceful his action might sometimes 
 be, his thoughts and his language seemed always to 
 arrange themselves into the most graceful forms : 
 whatever he thought or said, he accomplished in 
 the best manner ; his declamation, never dis- 
 figured by any flimsy ornament, not often either 
 adorned with fanciful images, or surprising you 
 by dominant words, always bore the stamp of a 
 noble mind, and was graced with turns of ex- 
 Q 3
 
 280 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 pression so felicitous, and was so full of vigorous 
 thought, that, although he used to allow himself a 
 much wider latitude in his selection of topics than 
 ordinary speakers could venture to claim, yet he 
 had the happiness to bring with him the minds of 
 his hearers ; and it scarcely ever happened that 
 when Sidney was animated, his audience was not 
 deeply attentive. In his reasonings, too, although 
 there were among his competitors some who were 
 more apparently pointed and ingenious, yet he 
 had no superior in the art of unfolding and en- 
 forcing the grand original principles on which the 
 subject depended ; nor was there any speaker in 
 the society who had power to exhibit his argu- 
 ments in a clearer light, or who could show them 
 from a better point of view. 
 
 His friend Travers, in every thing except abili- 
 ties, was his opposite. In figure, Travers was of 
 the middle height, and was gracefully and elegantly 
 proportioned ; but there was a listlessness and a 
 seeming want of energy about him, which caused 
 his stature to shrink, as it were, into meaner dimen- 
 sions, and which gave his whole appearance an air 
 of habitual inertness not the inertness into which 
 you sometimes see a person of energetic mind 
 sinking from intense action not the heaviness
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 231 
 
 which follows from despondence or defeat ; these 
 appearances indicate excitability and the presence 
 of thought, and do not bear upon them the stamp 
 of an abiding character. He looked like a man 
 destitute of vital action there was mind and body, 
 to be sure ; but there was nothing which to a care- 
 less observer denoted the presence of an energetic 
 principle. But with all this appearance of cold- 
 ness and inactivity, he was like an electric cloud 
 highly charged; and the slightest contact with any 
 thing calculated to arouse him, caused all his hid- 
 den energies to burst forth into powerful operation : 
 his appearance became at once totally changed; his 
 half-closed eyes showed themselves awakened into 
 looks of fire; his figure became animated, and his 
 gestures empassioned; and his voice, like the sound 
 of an ill-mastered trumpet, had, in its discordant, 
 or rather unfaithful tones, a martial and heroic ex- 
 pression, which made you think little about the 
 want of a happier modulation : and, immediately 
 after delivering a speech full of fire, highly argu- 
 mentative and richly ornamented, you might see 
 him relapsing into his torpor as he resumed his 
 seat, or lounging out of the society-room with his 
 eyes half-closed, and his gait spiritless, as if he no 
 2 *
 
 232 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 longer retained power enough to give erectness to 
 his figure, or life to his motions. 
 
 Nothing could be more strongly contrasted with 
 such an appearance than that of Sidney, who 
 looked, whether in action or repose, " the eagle of 
 his tribe." Nor was there less of dissimilitude be- 
 tween the styles in which these two friends delivered 
 their sentiments in debate. Travers expressed his 
 thoughts in sentences which seemed as if they 
 had all been cast in moulds there was something 
 of quaintness about his manner, when commencing 
 an address, because the forms of expression he 
 adopted were not those of common life ; and he 
 took no pains to disguise the want of resemblance* 
 His figures were all distinct, and were raised out 
 from the subject. His antithesis was strongly and 
 almost obtrusively marked ; and there was alto- 
 gether such an appearance of compactness in every 
 one of his expressions; and each preserved its 
 identity so obstinately ; and there was condensed 
 in all of them such thought and passion, that we 
 used to compare them to ball-cartridges, with which 
 Travers was supplied to an infinite abundance. It 
 Was remarkable that something of this formality of 
 manner clung round him through an entire speech ;
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 233 
 
 you forgot it to be sure : there was such an ardour 
 in his manner, and his knowledge was so extensive, 
 and his historical applications so well judged, and his 
 imagery so beautiful and so chaste, and the melody 
 of his sentences so agreeable, that you could not 
 think of imperfections ; but still, when you reflect- 
 ed, you could not fail to discover this formality of 
 manner, and something of sameness in the struc- 
 ture of his sentences. 
 
 Sidney, on the contrary, was, even then, a master 
 of the art of composition. I believe it would be 
 possible to find, in any one of his speeches, an ex- 
 ample of every kind of sentence which could accord 
 with his subject. He usually began in the simplest 
 form, and with the most obvious and admitted 
 truths; he seemed unwilling to take it for gran ted that 
 his audience knew any thing until he had given 
 them information. This was sometimes a fault; but 
 it was a fault which was patiently endured, because 
 he kept up the interest of his hearers by such un- 
 expected graces of expression, and by the anxiety 
 too, which he made them feel in his own difficul- 
 ties, that the persons to whom his thoughts were 
 previously known, scarcely ever complained of 
 weariness while he was instructing the less in- 
 formed. During all this time there was not the
 
 234- COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 slightest appearance of form in his language or 
 arrangement. You had no means of judging of 
 one sentence by comparing it with another. Each 
 performed its own office, but there seemed no kind 
 of concent or correspondence between their re- 
 spective forms. The figures, if there were any, 
 had quite a subordinate office they were intended 
 merely to illustrate or heighten the effect of some- 
 thing in the subject, and, contented with performing 
 this duty, attracted but little notice to themselves. 
 It was not until he had made the nature of his 
 subject plain to every capacity, that he began to 
 display any thing of himself. Having stated the 
 subject as it was, he proceeded to show what it 
 ought to be. This he usually entered upon by a 
 series of animated and unexpected interrogations. 
 About this time you could perceive the attention 
 of the experienced hearers becoming more intense, 
 and more fearful of losing any of his expressions. 
 Every interrogation he employed taught you to 
 feel suddenly some want which you were not aware 
 of before ; and when he resumed the direct manner 
 of addressing his hearers, he found them always 
 more animated and more full of interest than they 
 had been. His manner now changed ; it adapted 
 itself to the changed feelings of his audience, and
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 235 
 
 became lofty and energetic. Passion delights in 
 antithesis and alliteration. Because it magnifies 
 the importance of every thing which it touches, 
 it loves to contrast opposing thoughts ; but as it 
 acts powerfully upon the organs of utterance, it 
 causes a tendency to a repetition of the same sound 
 by the material organs, which makes alliteration 
 natural. I know that men of cultivated taste have 
 expressed themselves as if alliteration pleased, 
 rather by its artificial connection with an empas- 
 sioned thought in the way of an agreeable con- 
 trast ; but I appeal to the experience of any man 
 who has felt the influence of strong passion, if, in 
 expressing himself, he has not felt a tendency to 
 alliteration natural. So it always appeared when 
 Sidney employed it ; but he had so much skill in 
 the management of all his expressions, that he never 
 continued any form longer than his subject required, 
 and his hearers could be affected by it ; and these 
 regulated forms of expression were only like the 
 snatches of melody which spring up in a fine piece 
 of music, where, among the ever* varying harmonies 
 which seem to be natural combinations, you hear 
 at times a return upon some sweet melody, which 
 just indicates form and design, and then loses itself 
 amidst the more unconfined graces of the subject.
 
 236 COLLEGE IlECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 In this he was strikingly unlike Travers, whose 
 compositions, and whose oratory, was rather like 
 a combination of numerous and varied melodies, 
 each having its own proper close, than a regulated 
 and extensive arrangement of harmony. There 
 was something pointed and epigrammatic about the 
 latter which gave each sentence its own distinct 
 and independant existence ; while in Sidney's sytle, 
 every expression was not more remarkable for its 
 inherent beauty, than for its appropriateness to the 
 place in which it was disposed. He was also 
 much more sparing of illustrations and allusions 
 than Travers. Whenever he introduced formally 
 one of these figures, it always produced a powerful 
 effect, for the figure was in itself striking, and the 
 subject demanded it. I remember well the man- 
 ner in which I was once struck by an allusion 
 of Sidney's. He was speaking on the advantages 
 <of " sensibility," in reply to a number of speakers 
 who had endeavoured to prove that it was an evil ; 
 and after a ludicrous enumeration of all the argu- 
 ments which had been used, and which he com- 
 pared to the arguments by which Sir Luke Lump 
 would prove his wooden leg better than a leg of 
 flesh and blood, he applied himself seriously to 
 the consideration of the subject. A very strong
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 237 
 
 sensation had been produced by the description 
 which one gentleman had given of the sufferings to 
 which poets were subject : he had produced some 
 instances of their distresses, and enlarged on the 
 story of their melancholy lives and deaths, on the 
 falling away of friends, and on their miseries hi a 
 world which was made a desert to them. Sidney 
 found it necessary to combat these arguments ; and, 
 after labouring to show how many had by their 
 poetical talents, arrived at happiness as well as 
 distinction, he endeavoured to substitute for the 
 impression which his competitor had produced by 
 an eloquent enumeration of a poet's calamities, 
 something which would be less injurious to his 
 cause. " His friends may forsake him, and the 
 world may be a desert ; and yet, even ifi such ca- 
 lamities, he finds a solace in his genius. Yes, Sir, 
 like the prophet of old, he finds a joy in the wil- 
 derness, and his muse is the bird that brings him 
 food from Heaven." 
 
 I do not quote this as by any means eminent 
 among the figures which Sidney employed; but as 
 a specimen of what they were. He employed me- 
 taphor as often as it was subservient to explanation 
 or conciseness, and not oftener ; he not unfrequently 
 instituted analogies, by which he could make tlx
 
 238 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 distinctive character of his views better understood, 
 but he was very sparing of those illustrations which 
 attract to themselves the attention of hearers, and 
 which he took care should never disturb the effect 
 he had previously laboured to produce. Travers 
 indulged more in those illustrations where simili- 
 tude is unexpectedly discovered in things appa- 
 rently dissimilar; and where, in consequence, the 
 imagination of the speaker is more conspicuous. 
 
 There was another difference. Travers was al- 
 ways more largely furnished with historical refer- 
 ences ; Sidney's success in such applications arising 
 frequently out of the art with which he employed 
 the facts which had been previously alluded to in 
 debate. The difference arose from the different 
 manner in which the faculties of these young men 
 were exercised. They were both constantly em- 
 ployed in framing theories of morals and policy ; 
 but Sidney drew from himself and from what he 
 thought his knowledge of man ; and then applied to 
 history to procure a corroboration for his opinions, 
 and a medium of communicating and enforcing them 
 toothers: while Travers, on the contrary, began with 
 history, and, from an examination of facts, deduced 
 his theory. He consequently, by simply retracing 
 his own steps in argument, could explain his most
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 239 
 
 abstruse speculation; while Sidney, who had not 
 collected his theory from observation, but had 
 formed it by an act of mind purely internal, must 
 altogether go out of himself in explaining it, for 
 otherwise every step, which was with him intui- 
 tive, would be disputed by persons of weaker ima- 
 ginations and humbler intellect. 
 
 I have dwelt so long upon the characters of 
 these young men, in consequence of a charge often 
 urged against the Historical Society, that it was a 
 means of fostering that flimsy style of composition 
 which it is the pleasure of modern critics to deno- 
 minate " Irish eloquence," a species of eloquence 
 in which fancy and imagination are exercised not 
 to explain, but to confuse, and where reason is 
 made their victim. Nothing could be more unjust 
 than to put forward such a charge against the 
 Historical Society. I do not mean to say that 
 speeches of such a character were not sometimes 
 delivered amongst us, but they were not the 
 speeches which had power to win distinction. I 
 believe young speakers, in general, if they possess 
 fancy, will, under any circumstances, indulge it in 
 wild and frequent excursions; but they did not 
 in the Historical Society long unwisely indulge-it. 
 They soon found that we expected more than dra-
 
 240 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 pery ; that the man who gave the most of thought, 
 and who gave it in the best manner, was the man 
 who was most respected ; and accordingly, very 
 soon, every one who possessed the power to attain 
 distinction was to be found speaking in such a 
 manner, as that, even though the ornament and 
 the drapery were cast aside, there could be found 
 beneath them a definite and substantial form. To 
 speakers of this class only was our approbation 
 given. 
 
 It is my intention, however, not to leave the 
 character of the society dependent on the views 
 which I have given. By a particular combination 
 of circumstances, I have obtained possession of a 
 manuscript containing a report of the proceedings 
 of the members at their last meeting; and from this 
 report, which was originally taken in short-hand, 
 it is my purpose to select the principal speeches, 
 and lay them before my reader. The society was, 
 perhaps, at no former period, in a more prosperous 
 state than at the time of its extinction. Some 
 years previous to this, its proceedings had been 
 frequently disturbed by angry political discussion ; 
 because the leading members were persons en- 
 gaged in active professional pursuits, and who 
 made the Historical Society an arena for exer-*
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 241 
 
 rising themselves in those discussions which oc- 
 cupied the public attention. This inconvenience 
 was obviated by a very wise decree of the govern- 
 ing body in the university, which directed, that no 
 person not under the control of college discipline 
 should continue to be a member of the Historical 
 Society. The effect of this law was, at first, by 
 excluding the most experienced speakers, to di- 
 minish considerably the interest of the debates ; 
 but it was soon felt that there was much talent 
 among the junior members which was now called 
 forth, and which (before the night when the soci- 
 ety finally adjourned its meetings), had restored to 
 its proceedings much of their former interest. 
 
 The debate which terminated so unhappily in 
 the annihilation of the society was, perhaps, as full 
 of interest as any former debate had been. It 
 arose on a question of granting to the auditor (the 
 principal officer of the society) on resigning his 
 office, a public approbation of his conduct. This 
 was generally an occasion for trying the strength 
 of opposing parties, and circumstances gave the 
 present debate something of a peculiar character. 
 During the auditor's administration, a new code of 
 laws had been framed, and the former abrogated ; 
 and when the motion to return thanks was made, 
 
 VOL. i. R
 
 24-2 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 and resisted on the ground that violation of the 
 law had rendered the auditor undeserving of such 
 a tribute, it was replied on his behalf, that it was 
 not just to subject his conduct to the rigor of 
 ex post facto laws. It was contended, on the other 
 hand, that as the new laws were framed under the 
 inspection of the auditor, and as he had destroyed 
 the old, he had, by permitting no other laws to 
 exist than the new, left the society no other means 
 of forming a judgment upon his deservings; 
 and that it was very unreasonable to expect, that 
 the society should express an unqualified approval 
 of the conduct of a person, who had left only one 
 mode of judging whether his conduct was correct, 
 and who would not be judged by that. On this 
 irregularity the opposition eagerly seized ; and for 
 thirteen nights, during which the person immedi- 
 ately concerned abstained from attendance at the 
 meetings, the question of " the remarkable 
 thanks," as they were called, was violently debated. 
 It will be understood that this was a question in 
 no respect involving the character of the highly 
 respectable young man who at that time was au- 
 ditor ; but that it was altogether a trial of strength 
 between the opposition and what, from their as- 
 cendancy, may be termed the ministerial party.
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 243 
 
 Unfortunately it was a trial not altogether con- 
 fined within the walls of the society rooms. Some 
 personal altercations, the consequence of these 
 protracted debates, arose among the college stu- 
 dents ; the persecuting spirit of the opposition was 
 violently censured, and the fearless disregard of 
 public justice, and public opinion, manifested by 
 the ministerial benches, as violently retorted. One 
 of these disputes was enflamed to such a height, 
 that, but for the interference of wise friends, it 
 might have terminated most unhappily. The at- 
 tention of the college authorities was thus drawn 
 to the subject, and having discovered the source 
 in which the unhappy contention had originated, 
 they, in order to cut off all such occasions for the 
 future, sent a mandate to the auditor of the society, 
 ordering that in future there should be no discussion 
 on the business which had furnished matter for 
 what we called " the after debate ;" that a committee 
 should be appointed to arrange all the proceedings 
 of the society, and that there should be no inqui- 
 sition into the conduct of this committee, and no ap- 
 peal from their decisions. It was also directed, that 
 in future no person should be permitted to become 
 a member until he had completed his junior 
 sophister year; and as the expences of the society 
 R 2
 
 244- COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 were defrayed principally by the persons thus ex- 
 cluded, it was thought by many that this second 
 restriction was equivalent to the total dissolution 
 of the society. In consequence, humble remon- 
 strances were addressed to the provost and senior- 
 fellows ; repeated communications were made and 
 received ; and the society were at last summoned 
 to hear the final decision of their governors, a de- 
 cision from which there was not to be the slightest 
 departure. 
 
 When the auditor had communicated the reply 
 of the provost and senior-fellows to the remonstrance 
 of the society, a gentleman rose to address the chair, 
 who was known by the appellation of " the inde- 
 pendent member." There were in the Historical 
 Society, as in other more dignified assemblies, two 
 great parties ; but Mr. Harvey, although he had 
 attained high distinction, and had filled the office 
 of auditor as well as minor offices with great 
 credit, had never belonged to either. He rarely 
 took part in the debates, and generally, when he 
 did, confined himself to a very brief statement of 
 his views and opinions ; nor did he, on this night, 
 deviate from his habit, although more than the 
 usual interest was excited by his appearance, and 
 a slight murmur of expectation ran through the
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 245 
 
 assembly, when Mr. Harvey, decorated with all 
 his honours (for on the last night of meeting the 
 distinguished members wore their medals), arose 
 to deliver his sentiments. 
 
 " Mr. Chairman, 
 
 " Upon the communication from the board 
 which your auditor has just read, I am to observe, 
 that it is to be regarded as the final decision of 
 the provost and senior fellows, in reply to various 
 remonstrances which were respectfully laid before 
 them on the part of the society. As chairman of 
 the committee appointed to prepare and present 
 these applications, it is my duty to lay before 
 you a particular account of the remonstrances 
 which we presented, and the replies we received 
 previous to that which your auditor has commu- 
 nicated as the final decision of the board. (Here 
 he read a report of the proceedings of the com- 
 mittee, and then resumed.) The society will have 
 seen by this report, that the restrictions to which 
 our submission is required, are not such as some 
 members of the board may have inconsiderately 
 proposed, and which, consequently, we might find 
 in time withdrawn. You will have seen that every 
 article in the communications was duly weighed by 
 your committee ; and that, as far as was in our 
 R 3
 
 24-6 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 power, we endeavoured to show, that, under the 
 proposed restrictions, the Historical Society could 
 not exist. Our remonstrances are before you, and 
 you have heard the decision of the board. You 
 find it declared in that decision, that the regula- 
 tions which our governors propose they will insist 
 on; and you find it distinctly stated, that from 
 their present determination they will not swerve. 
 Under these circumstances there remains for us 
 but one course to dissolve our society. If there 
 be any one here who imagines that we may submit 
 to the restrictions, and continue to derive profit from 
 subsequent meetings, I do not ask his voice, I make 
 no attempt to gain it ; but if you are all convinced 
 that, under the new regulations, our society cannot 
 exist with honour or advantage, you will not, I 
 trust, allow any mistaken notion of deference for 
 authority to influence your decision. We pay all 
 due respect to college authorities ; we obey their 
 commands ; but they do not command that we 
 accept permission to exist on terms which would 
 neutralize the benefits, and impair the dignity of 
 our society. I have the honour, therefore, to pro- 
 pose, thai, in consequence of the restrictions to 
 which the society is henceforth to be subject, we 
 do now adjourn our meetings sine die"
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 24-7 
 
 The motion having been duly seconded, Mr. 
 Austin arose. This was a young man who had been 
 but for a short time a member of the society. He had 
 obtained all the honours of the college course, and 
 when his superiority in the departments of classical 
 and scientific attainment could not be put in 
 jeopardy by exertions in a new pursuit, he had 
 become a member of the Historical Society. 
 
 Here he observed the same regularity, and ex- 
 erted himself with the same diligence which had 
 crowned his fine talents with success in a severer 
 course of study. He remained for one period a silent 
 member; in the second he obtained the first ora- 
 tory prize by prepared speeches ; and he was now 
 in his third period cultivating his powers in the 
 extempore debate, and with a fair prospect of at- 
 taining high distinction. It is mournful to reflect 
 upon the loss which society may have sustained 
 in the deaths of two young men such as he and 
 Harvey were. Both on the eve of entering 
 into the profession of the law ; about to enter into 
 it with the fairest prospects of attaining professional 
 eminence; both possessing information extraordi- 
 nary for their years, and encouraged to hope 
 for high success by the predictions of some of the 
 most distinguished members of the profession they
 
 248 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 had chosen ; both were snatched away from their 
 friends and their country ; one by the cureless 
 malady which originated in overwrought and too 
 protracted exertion; one by an accident of the 
 most afflicting kind. But on this night both were 
 in full strength, and elevated in the consciousness 
 of worth, and in the remembrance of atchieved 
 distinction. The one, Harvey, a veteran in the 
 society, as well as unmatched in his college career, 
 who rarely now assisted in our debates, and 
 who, conscious of the authority which accom- 
 panied his words, thought it sufficient, except in 
 very complicated cases, to declare his sentiments. 
 The other, something his junior, but equally emi- 
 nent in his class, was, comparatively, a young- 
 member in the society; but his character was high, 
 and his ambition was upon all occasions to single 
 out some eminent opponent, particularly such a 
 one as Harvey, who held so high a place in the 
 society, and who was at no very distant period to be 
 his competitor for the honours and advantages of 
 professional celebrity. With all these feelings in 
 his mind, and with a strong concern for the inte- 
 rests of the society and the authority of the gover- 
 nors of the college, he spoke to oppose the motion 
 for adjournment.
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 249 
 
 " Mr. Chairman, 
 
 " It is a great disadvantage to any fair reasoner 
 that he should have not only to oppose the argu- 
 ments of his antagonist, but also to imagine them ; 
 and it is under this disadvantage that I rise to ex- 
 press my decided opposition to the motion which 
 you are about to propose. The honourable ex- 
 auditor, in submitting his motion, has not thought 
 himself called upon to state the reasons by which 
 it is to be justified ; but seems to take it for 
 granted, that every member of the society has 
 already determined what course he is to adopt, or 
 else will determine at once upon hearing the ex- 
 auditor's opinion. I know, Sir, well, how sparing 
 that honourable gentleman usually is of his argu- 
 ments ; I know also how well he has earned the 
 authority to which his claim is now so unhesitat- 
 ingly acknowledged. I know how he has fought 
 his way, with all the power of argument and elo- 
 quence, to the ascendancy he has attained ; and 
 how unfair it would be to expect that he should, 
 upon ordinary occasions, descend into the arena 
 of debate, and involve himself in a contest with 
 perhaps an unworthy opponent : but, on such a 
 night as the present, I did expect that every mem- 
 ber of the society, not even excepting that distin-
 
 250 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 guished gentleman, would come down from his 
 honourable eminence and apply himself to the de- 
 liberation in which we are to engage, claiming no 
 other distinction for himself than that which his 
 exertions and the wisdom of his counsels should 
 procure for him. I have been disappointed. The 
 honourable gentleman has not condescended to 
 adopt this course. He has, to be sure, spoken to 
 you of the honour of the society; and he has insinu- 
 ated that your obedience to the directions of our 
 governors will have the effect of tarnishing it. He 
 has intimated that even the existence of the society 
 cannot be prolonged under the severe restrictions 
 to which we are called on to submit; but he has 
 not given you one single argument to justify the 
 motion he has made. Where shall we then seek 
 for the arguments by which it may be justified ? 
 The honourable gentleman declares that the soci- 
 ety can judge, because the decision of the board 
 has been read, and the remonstrance of the society 
 is in your secretary's hands. Is it then in these 
 documents that we are to find the principles upon 
 which the extraordinary motion of this night is 
 founded ? Is it in the communications of the 
 board? which, if they propose severe regulations, 
 are, at the same time, expressed in a tone of pro-
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 251 
 
 tection and regard. Surely it is not by a commu- 
 nication uttered in such a spirit that we should 
 feel ourselves constrained to dissolve this valuable 
 society. Are we to look for arguments in the re- 
 monstrances which the honourable gentleman has 
 read? Examine these documents or, rather, will 
 the auditor read the final remonstrances, in which 
 the arguments of the preceding ones are briefly 
 summed up. (Here the auditor read the remon- 
 strances, and Mr. G proceeded.) If I am 
 
 right, and I speak under the correction of the so- 
 ciety and the honourable mover of the resolutions 
 upon which we are to decide, the remonstrance 
 you have heard contains no more than two prin- 
 ciples upon which the motion can be founded. 
 One is, that the suppression of the " after debate" 
 will destroy much of the interest which the society 
 possessed for the more mature members ; and the 
 other, that the exclusion of the junior sophister 
 class will so diminish our numbers, as in time to 
 sap the very existence of the society. I am ready 
 to acknowledge that the exclusion of this class 
 will very seriously diminish our numbers, but I 
 am not disposed to go all the lengths of the 
 honourable gentleman. 
 
 " Such arguments as are now brought forward I
 
 252 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 remember to have heard urged upon a former oc- 
 casion, something similar to the present, in which 
 the board exercised its right to legislate for the 
 society. It was announced, that none should be 
 members of the society who were not still under 
 the control of college discipline ; and that, in con- 
 sequence, all gentlemen whose names had been 
 erased from the college books should be no longer 
 considered as members of the society. What 
 voices and what earnest expostulations were put 
 forward against this rigorous law. The society, 
 it was said, would lose all its attraction and all its 
 efficacy. The members who had the power to 
 educate the tastes and animate the exertions of 
 younger men would be seen in your debates no 
 more. The lights of the society would be all at 
 once withdrawn, and disastrous eclipse would fall 
 upon our meetings. Well, these lights have been 
 withdrawn ; the spirit of the society, as the talent 
 of those brilliant men was called, has passed away, 
 and the society has not perished, it has not remained 
 as a "caput mortuum" behind ; but I will venture to 
 pronounce, that the junior members have derived 
 more benefit in the absence of these luminaries, 
 and have had their aspirings brought out more 
 powerfully, and have had their faculties better ex-
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 253 
 
 ercised and better educated than in the society's 
 more gorgeous days. And when I look around me 
 to-night on the members which throng your 
 benches, and on the distinguished speakers who 
 are to be recognized on every side, I cannot but 
 feel, that the severity of the board, in the exclusion 
 of the extern members, has conferred a more lasting 
 benefit upon us than many of those kind and ge- 
 nerous compliances with our own wishes which 
 I find recorded with gratitude upon your journals. 
 Should not such a result as this a result so con- 
 trary to all anticipation, teach us to be extremely 
 cautious how we adopt any rash and irrevocable 
 proceeding ? It is true that the restrictions to which 
 our submission is required, are severe ; they will 
 narrow the field of interesting discussion in which 
 we have to expatiate ; they will diminish our num- 
 bers, and so take away the imposing appearance of 
 our assemblies, and something of the excitement 
 which we feel in them. Our after-debate is abridged, 
 but what advantage was to be derived in it, which 
 we cannot have with greater security in the discus- 
 sion of the regular question ? Have we not all that 
 is striking in history all that is interesting in phi- 
 losophy all that is elegant and affecting in litera- 
 ture ? and with all this in our power, how can we
 
 2.54- COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 suppose that the Historical Society must languish, 
 because its own insignificant details are no longer 
 to agitate our debates, and to keep us night after 
 night disputing about trivial concerns, and inflam- 
 ing ourselves about the violation of laws and pre- 
 cedents which are worthless with respect to the 
 great purpose for which we meet the purpose 
 of mutual improvement ? Sir, it is monstrous to 
 hear such a proposition asserted. I trust that the 
 gooql sense of the society will reject it ; and reject 
 it without a dissentient voice. It is not for us to de- 
 prive our successors of the advantages which in this 
 place they may derive. We are not, for any in- 
 dulgence to our own irritated feelings or our ex- 
 travagant notions, to close die doors of this venerated 
 temple against those who might hereafter upbraid 
 our memories for the loss they must sustain. I 
 trust, Sir, that the society will reflect upon the 
 solemn duty they owe their successors, on the obe- 
 dience we owe our college governors ; and that, 
 even though they may consider their present re- 
 strictions as a grievance, they will regard it as a 
 grievance which it is their duty to bear, until they 
 can persuade their rulers to withdraw it, or until 
 other governors and other times may grant to 
 them a more acceptable arrangement. "
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 255 
 
 Here several persons arose ; but the chairman 
 ruled that Mr. Travers was in possession of the 
 chair. 
 
 " Sir, 
 
 " I agree with the honourable gentleman. We 
 should wait for better times and more indulgent 
 governors but we should wait for them in the 
 dignity of silence, not in the abjectness of ineffectual 
 supplication; we should wait for better times, 
 but we should not accustom ourselves to any de- 
 grading submissions in the present." (Order, order, 
 by several voices ; and the chairman interrupted 
 Mr. Travers, to observe that no submissions which 
 the college board demanded could be degrading 
 to the students ; and that he could not consent to 
 hear any thing which implied disrespect for any of 
 the college authorities.) Mr. Travers " Sir, I 
 mean nothing disrespectful ; there is not a person 
 beneath this roof there is not on the college 
 books, the name of an individual more averse than 
 I am from any thing which might appear disre- 
 spectful ; but I cannot admit, that in the use of 
 the expression for which I have received your 
 censure, there is any thing which may justly be 
 condemned. If the provost and senior fellows had 
 allowed us no option ; but insisted that we should
 
 256 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 accept the regulations they offer on pain of their 
 displeasure, and of censure for disobedience, then 
 I admit, that to suppose the restrictions degrading 
 would be t* impute improper conduct to the 
 board. But, Sir, we are not called upon to obey, 
 therefore we may question the dignity of obedi- 
 ence ; we are not called upon to make these sub- 
 missions, we may therefore call it degrading to 
 make them. The language of the board is not 
 'We desire that the Historical Society shall be 
 maintained, but under new regulations;' it is, 'We 
 send regulations by which you are in future to be 
 governed, and we leave you the option of submit- 
 ting to the regulations or dissolving your society.' 
 Is not this, Sir, to make us judges of the alterna- 
 tive ? Is it not to leave it to our own minds what 
 our conduct is to be ? Who then but ourselves 
 is to determine upon the manner in which we are 
 to regard the submissions which the last honour- 
 able speaker requires you to make ? I therefore 
 repeat it, Sir, that the honourable gentleman who 
 has just sat down requires of us that we submit 
 to regulations which must dishonour us. The board 
 requires no such submission ; it leaves us at full 
 liberty to yield, or to withhold our assent. It 
 leaves it to our own feelings whether we shall ac-
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 25? 
 
 count submission honourable, or the reverse : and 
 I make use of the privilege which the board allows, 
 and repeat again, that if we submit to the regula- 
 tions it proposes, we shall be dishonoured in the 
 eyes of our contemporaries, and dishonoured in 
 the judgment of our successors. We owe, the 
 honourable gentleman says, a solemn duty to those 
 successors. Yes, Sir, we owe them a solemn 
 duty ; but it is the duty by which we are bound to 
 preserve inviolate the honour of this society. It is 
 not the duty which constrains us to petition for 
 life life on any terms life. It is not the 
 duty which constrains us to exchange animated 
 and free debate for meagre and listless disqui- 
 sitions. It is not the duty which constrains us to 
 exchange a crowded and interested auditory, for 
 meetings at which a few straggling figures shall 
 serve to make it only the more apparent that our 
 benches are deserted. No, Sir ; let our successors 
 behold this society in its strength ; or let them 
 respect its memory. Let them feel it in the 
 liberalizing spirit which it diffuses through all 
 classes of our community ; or let them mourn that 
 that spirit has departed. Let them see it in its 
 majestic course flowing along with fertilizing in- 
 fluence : let them hear that it has been dried up ; 
 VOL. i. s
 
 258 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 but let them not behold its glory and its power 
 shrunk away : let them not behold it without grace 
 or richness, or majesty. 
 
 Arentera Xanthi cognominis rivum. 
 
 " This, Sir, is what I deprecate. I can bear well 
 that the society should cease to exist. I scarcely 
 know any price too great at which the continuance 
 of its existence should be prolonged ; but that it 
 should exist in the manner in which it must from 
 henceforth manacled inglorious abject ; 
 if I could consent to this, I should feel almost as 
 if the journals of its past days, as if the very walls 
 of this place which have so often echoed to free 
 discussion, had looked reproachfully upon me. 
 
 " It is suggested to you, that because the society 
 has borne the loss wliich it sustained in the exclu- 
 sion of its extern members, it shall likewise survive 
 the present projected dismemberment. It might 
 with equal propriety be inferred, that because a 
 man has survived the loss of his right-eye, he may 
 live on still when his heart has been torn from 
 him. Look around you, Sir, and see who are 
 they who occupy the largest portion of our benches, 
 and you will recognize on all sides of you members 
 of the junior sophister class. Who are they whose
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 259 
 
 uniform attendance at our meetings is most remark- 
 able? the junior sophister class. And who are 
 they (and this, Sir, is no slight consideration) who 
 contribute the most largely to defray the expences 
 of the society ? still the junior sophister class. 
 When the governors of our college came to the 
 resolution of depriving us of the advantages we 
 derived from the presence of extern members, 
 they imposed a hardship on us; but it was one 
 which we could bear. Our society was stripped 
 of its brightest ornaments; but the principle of its 
 existence was not invaded. Our pecuniary re- 
 sources were in no respect diminished; nor was 
 the fulness of our meetings sensibly decreased. 
 We were deprived of much profit and delight ; 
 but perhaps it may be true, that the complete 
 separation from the busy world which we purchased 
 by this loss, and the estrangement which ensued 
 from every topic of political excitement, and the 
 increased spirit with which junior members were 
 encouraged to engage in debates where then* exer- 
 tions could no longer be termed presumptuous, 
 were more than an equivalent for the privation to 
 which we submitted. 
 
 " But what is there in the present restriction to 
 which we can find any thing analogous in the honour- 
 s 2
 
 260 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 able gentleman's example ? The extern members 
 contributed nothing to the necessary expences of 
 the society. The junior sophister class defrays the 
 greater portion of them. The extern members 
 contributed in a very small degree to the fulness 
 of our meetings. The junior sophister class con- 
 stitutes, in general, more than half of our assembled 
 body. The extern members furnished us with some 
 few cultivated orators and expert debaters, who re- 
 pressed every ardent daring of younger men by 
 the visible display of practised forensic ability ; and 
 we all of us w r ere well contented to be silent 
 admirers of their talents : we all of us furnished 
 merely the grouping of the assembly in which we 
 served to set off these leading figures. But the 
 junior sophister class takes its place in a different 
 manner. It mingles in our debates, or it studies 
 our institutions. It instructs us by its ability, or 
 encourages by its attention. Here is then, Sir, a 
 distinction which cannot be evaded : and no rea- 
 sonable man can expect to persuade his hearers, 
 that because the society has survived the loss of 
 members, who neither contributed to the expences, 
 nor aided largely the purposes of the institution, 
 it must survive when it has lost the assistance of a 
 class which has so v#*y largely contributed to both.
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 26 T 
 
 " It cannot be necessary that I should occupy the 
 time of the society by speaking at any length on 
 the nature of the second restriction. We are told, 
 that although we are excluded from all tangible 
 matter for debate, the regions of literature and phi- 
 losophy are open to us. To many a mind this is 
 like the permission of Minos, when he left the air 
 free for the unfortunate artist. We soon lose the 
 power to draw from such subjects any oratorical 
 excitement. There is nothing of uncertainty about 
 them. Our efforts must be quite unavailable as to 
 any result ; and we contemplate all such subjects 
 in a spirit of calm investigation, rather than ani- 
 mate them by the ardour of our own excited pas* 
 sions. It is not then to be expected, that debates 
 upon such subjects should be efficient in cultivating 
 the practical effective energies of a public speaker, 
 in the same degree as we can be educated by the 
 excitement and emergencies of our after-debate. 
 But, however, this a point which 1 would be con- 
 tent to waive ; and, however I might regret the re- 
 striction, I would be satisfied to submit to it at 
 least for the present, and make trial of its eonse-- 
 quences. But the other is a restriction which I 
 am well convinced we cannot endure ; and there- 
 fore even if I were alone in my opposition, I should 
 s 3
 
 262 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 raise my voice against it. But alone in my oppo- 
 sition I shall not be. You feel too well the im- 
 portance of the present motion, not to yield to it 
 the attention which it deserves ; and to examine it 
 with an unprejudiced mind, is to adopt it. 
 
 " You are legislating, as you have been told, not 
 for yourselves only ; you are to fix your minds 
 upon the interests of your successors also, and 
 upon the manner in which they will regard your 
 determination. The honourable gentleman calls 
 upon you to preserve for them the wreck of a 
 society where the meetings shall be without dig- 
 nity, and the debates lifeless ; a society in which 
 there shall be recognised no grace or vigour, which 
 might serve to shield it from the humiliation into 
 which it shall be reduced, and in which it must 
 of itself languish away into a merited oblivion, or 
 be extinguished by the slightest breath of college 
 disapprobation. This is the proposition of the 
 honourable gentleman. Against this we protest. 
 We call upon you, now, before you are shorn of 
 your beams, while you are strong in the resources 
 of zeal and ability ; while you are honoured in the 
 approval of friends whose praise is fame; while 
 you have it in your power to make the college 
 dark by your departure, and to bequeath a glorious
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 263 
 
 memory to your successors. We call upon you 
 now to dissolve. Let no wasting influence sap your 
 strength, or cause your honours to wither away. 
 Let no blasted, mutilated, unlovely trunk be, at 
 a future day, your piteous representative. Now, 
 while you are flourishing and vigorous ; now, be- 
 fore one shadow has fallen upon your reputation ; 
 now dissolve, and choose rather that your society 
 shall live in the memories of admiring successors, 
 then that it should waste away lingeringly and in- 
 gloriously before them." 
 
 Here Mr. Travers sat down amidst loud and 
 general applauses. After some time, Mr. Sykes 
 arose ; this was a gentleman, who, by dint of assi- 
 duity, had obtained some reputation in his college- 
 course, but who had not sought any honours in 
 the society. He was not without abilities; but 
 he was almost totally destitute of generous senti- 
 ment, and in consequence, having nothing of what 
 has been called the credulity of great souls, or of 
 that power by which they can find excitement and 
 interest in objects which are not obviously attended 
 by profit, he imagined himself established in a 
 superiority over his more enthusiastic cotem- 
 poraries ; he seldom entered into the spirit of any 
 debate; it was his pleasure, as far as his power 
 s 4
 
 264 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 extended, to render by ridicule every debate unin- 
 teresting, and to represent in a ludicrous aspect 
 the sentiments and the animation of other speakers. 
 Every member of the society had means of judg- 
 ing, as well as he had, the degree of importance 
 which should be attached to its debates ; all were 
 capable of being hurried away in the elevation and 
 enthusiasm of the moment, with the single exception 
 of Sykes. No excitement had power to disturb the 
 supercilious calmness with which he regarded 
 these puerile discussions, and he mistook the want 
 of that generous ardour with which other hearts 
 were fired, for the possession of a superior under- 
 standing. There was in his appearance a mingled 
 expression of meanness and reflection. You would 
 not say that his thoughts were occupied about 
 mean objects, but you could scarcely fail to ob- 
 serve the presence of vulgar sentiments. Over his 
 whole air and manner there was diffused a re- 
 dundant spirit of self-complacency, arising out of 
 an insensibility to all that was dignified above him; 
 and his eyes which were prominent and small, (or 
 rather ill-opened,) gave to his countenance an ex- 
 pression which was destitute at the same time of 
 candour and sagacity. Such was the man who 
 arose from the back benches of the society room,
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 265 
 
 and from a little knot of admirers (for he, too, 
 had his admirers), spoke in a tone of mock-heroic 
 to the following effect. 
 " Mr. Chairman, 
 
 " Well does the gentleman who has just sat 
 down deserve the plaudits with which he has 
 been greeted, for he has taught us all to think with 
 feelings of proper respect of the Historical Society. 
 Until to-night, I had imagined, ignorantly no 
 doubt, that we constituted a society, useful per- 
 haps to ourselves, but obscure in the eyes of the 
 world. I had thought that our meetings had little 
 more to recommend them than the pleasure arid 
 profit they afforded ; but now I find how greatly I 
 had been mistaken, and how unworthy an estimate 
 I had framed. We can make the college dark, 
 we can make the world mourn ; we can recal in 
 our decline a memory of the ruin which has 
 passed over ancient cities ; all Europe, I suppose, 
 is hushed into a fearful suspence, awaiting the 
 decision of this night; and I expect that the chro- 
 niclers of future times shall report it as a remark- 
 able coincidence, that in the same century the 
 Dynasty of Napoleon passed away, and the His- 
 torical Society of Dublin College adjourned 
 finally its meetings. Oh, mighty conjunction of 
 events reserved for our age to behold ! Oh, fa-
 
 266 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 voured assembly that we are, destined to take a 
 part in such magnificent events ! Well may the 
 honourable gentleman speak to us of honour, 
 when he knows that the whole civilized world stands 
 gazing on our proceedings. Well may he speak to 
 us of honour, when he knows that there is not a 
 language written upon earth in which the decision 
 of this night shall not be blazoned, and the name of 
 the society recorded in public journals familiarly as 
 in our own ' Morning Freeman.' And who can 
 shrink at such an awful moment from the post of 
 honour ? who can calmly estimate the advantages 
 to be derived from caution, against the injury 
 which might be done to our unstained reputations? 
 It is true, that, by observing the dictates of cold 
 prudence, we might serve ourselves and the society. 
 We might convince the Board, that petulance does 
 not govern our deliberations. We might convince 
 them, that we are well pleased to be guided by their 
 experience, and that we respect their authority. 
 We might, by a continuance in such conduct, win 
 back permission to open our doors again to fuller 
 numbers, and obtain a wider latitude for our de- 
 bates ; and we might satisfy ourselves, and convince 
 all who may be disposed to malign every thing 
 noble, that in our decision, there is nothing hasty 
 or intemperate ; but that, having it always in our
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 267 
 
 power to pass the motion for final adjournment, 
 but having no power to recall such a resolution if 
 once adopted, we did not rashly pass the motion, 
 but waited until it was unavoidable. These ad- 
 vantages we might, to be sure, expect from delay. 
 But are they an equivalent for meeting the gaze of 
 a disappointed world ? Are they to be a com- 
 pensation for our forfeited honour, and for a muti- 
 lated society ? No, Sir, let us indulge the honour- 
 able orator, and the honourable mover. Let us, 
 in opposition to all maxims of prudence and duty, 
 consent to the adjournment. But let us give no 
 cold or quiet consent ; the world expects that we 
 perform some act worthy of ourselves and of the 
 occasion. Mere words are not sufficient; we 
 must do a deed, which will in reality immortalize us. 
 The Historical Society must not expire without 
 appropriate honours ; it must not go out like the 
 rush-light over a cottage-hearth ; we must per- 
 form an act which shall cause our names to be 
 enrolled in bright story ; we are pressed on every 
 side by an imperious enemy ; he has cut off our 
 resources, and threatens our destruction, or, worse 
 than worst, the destruction of our honour. We 
 must disappoint this overbearing enemy, and 
 make ourselves more illustrious in ruin than we
 
 268 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 were in the pride of acknowledged greatness. 
 * Numantia must be acted again and we must 
 die all die nobly die like demigods. 
 
 " I have therefore the honour to move, as an 
 amendment to the motion for adjournment, that, 
 impressed by a sense of the difficulties which sur- 
 round us, the society adopt the resolution of 
 perishing phoenix-like ; that, for this purpose, we 
 collect all the benches, desks, and books, into a 
 large funeral pile, in the centre of which the mem- 
 bers shall stand assembled ; that nothing be re- 
 served except the chairman's robe, which is to 
 serve as a pall for the collected ashes ; that when 
 all is prepared, one member shall provide himself 
 with a torch, and having reached the door of the 
 society-room, he shall fling back the torch into 
 the pile, properly prepared to catch at once the 
 flames ; and that on the following day he shall 
 return to pay all appropriate honours to the ashes 
 of the immolated members. This, Sir, is my 
 amendment, and I offer myself as a sacrifice on the 
 altars of honour, to be the miserable member who 
 survives." 
 
 Mr. Sidney rose. 
 
 " If the present, Sir, were an ordinary occasion, 
 I should think it not out of course to offer some
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 269 
 
 remarks on the conduct and address of the last 
 honourable speaker, and might perhaps venture to 
 offer him, with all deference, some little advice. 
 I might venture to remind him, that irony is not 
 always a mark of superiority; and that when 
 Homer speaks of a man whose habit it was to 
 interrupt grave councils, and disturb, with the lan- 
 guage of buffoonery, the debates of zealous men, 
 he characterises him as the basest man in the 
 entire Grecian army ; and I should entreat of the 
 honourable gentleman not to sully his reputation 
 by imitating conduct so unworthy of himself, and 
 so unsuitable to the present occasion. But upon a 
 night like this, it is not possible to permit a single 
 thought to deviate from the subject of debate, 
 however irritating the language may be, which 
 would distract us from our solemn duty. We are 
 met on a grave, and to us a momentous occasion. 
 A question involving nothing less than the exist- 
 ence of our society stands at issue. We do not 
 fancy that we possess any important place in the 
 world's regard. We do not imagine that our 
 conduct can occupy any prominent place in pub- 
 lic discussions 5 but we all of us know, that a 
 generous man will blush at the thought of dis- 
 honour, though darkness and seclusion were to be
 
 270 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 for ever around him ; and we, therefore, obscure 
 and unimportant as our meetings are, shrink from 
 the thought of any thing degrading, with as trem- 
 bling a regard to our honour as if we occupied a 
 station upon which the looks of the whole world 
 were intently fixed. I trust, Sir, that our decision 
 shall not be such as to disgrace us, and that we 
 shall determine upon motives as far removed from 
 petulance on the one side, as they are distant on 
 the other from any mean or selfish consider- 
 ations. 
 
 " It has been observed, that the honourable 
 gentleman who opened the debate, did not preface 
 his motion by any arguments : but who could ima- 
 gine, that, on an occasion like this, argument 
 should be thought necessary ? Are we^ come to 
 the discussion of any new and unexpected mea- 
 sure ? No, Sir, we are met to decide on a question, 
 which has, for the last three weeks, filled the mind 
 of every member of the Society; a question which 
 has been present to our thoughts at every moment 
 of that time, and from which, I will venture to affirm, 
 we could not disengage ourselves : and shall it be 
 expected, that now, when we come here to record 
 our determination, rather than to form it, any man 
 shall entertain the chimerical notion, that he can
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 271 
 
 alter his opponent's conviction, or render his friends 
 assurance still more sure, by producing some un- 
 thought of argument? Argument ! A man may 
 display ingenuity by devising a new one ; but to 
 think that he can thus add to the authority of the 
 testimony by which our convictions are enforced, 
 he might as well hope to increase the mathe- 
 matician's certainty with respect to an admitted 
 truth, by presenting him with a new demonstration 
 of it. The honourable mover knew this, and he 
 consulted alike for the dignity of this assembly, 
 and for his own high reputation, by disdaining to 
 occupy your time with any cold or unnecessary 
 argumentation. But, Sir, since argument is re- 
 quired, I do not refuse to our respected adversaries 
 the satisfaction they demand ; and here, where so 
 many junior members are assembled, it may not 
 perhaps, be without its use, that they should hear 
 a recapitulation of what perhaps, they all already 
 know, and what they have heard in part to-night 
 so eloquently stated ; the reasons by which we feel 
 ourselves called upon to adopt the extreme mea- 
 sure of dissolving the society." 
 
 Here Mr. Sidney entered into a particular de- 
 tail of the reasons which rendered the measure of 
 adjournment unavoidable. He began by stating
 
 272 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS, 
 
 from authentic documents, the amount of income 
 derived from the junior sophister class, and the 
 fulness of attendance which was ensured by their 
 admission into the society. He next proceeded 
 to show the importance of the debates which arose 
 on the internal management of the concerns of the 
 society, or what was called the after-debate, This 
 part of his speech was prefaced by the following 
 remarks : 
 
 " Whatever our society might have been at its 
 first institution, it has now become, more especially, 
 a school for the cultivation of oratory. We give 
 prizes for the acquirement of historical knowledge ; 
 we encourage and cherish poetical aspirings ; but 
 for the cultivation of these objects an association 
 is not necessary. Solitude is more congenial to 
 the true poet; solitude is better adapted to the 
 calm study of history ; but 1 believe there is but 
 a single instance recorded of eloquence nurtured 
 in seclusion; and this an instance totally inap- 
 plicable to the case of ordinary men ; and, indeed, 
 to the nature of modern assemblies. We study 
 oratory now as much for the sake of becoming 
 ready, as of becoming great, speakers. The ad- 
 vantage to a modern of oratorical exercise, is not 
 that it should enable him to come forward with a
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 273 
 
 power and persuasion which may by a single effort 
 render his name immortal ; but that it may have 
 procured for him a facility of arranging his thoughts 
 amid the emergencies of debate in lucid order, and 
 with the most effective conciseness. This is the 
 great end of oratorical exercise amongst us, that 
 it shall relieve us from the embarrassment which 
 clings round an unpractised speaker, and threatens 
 to disturb or strangle his thoughts as they arise. 
 Into a school for such preparation our society has 
 been converted ; and although we still denominate 
 it historical, and although we liberally encourage 
 exertions in other departments, we encourage them 
 rather as essential to an orator's education, than 
 from any hope that our encouragement can raise 
 them to an independent pre-eminence." 
 
 Sidney then proceeded to prove the importance 
 of the " after debate," as constituting a material 
 part of the orator's education. He showed, that 
 if, in preparing for the debate on the regular 
 question of the night, the judgment and the taste 
 were exercised, and knowledge acquired and ar- 
 ranged; in the debate on the concerns of the society, 
 the members acquired an expertness and an ad- 
 dress which they could not otherwise attain : and 
 that readiness of reply was much more likely to be 
 
 VOL. i. T
 
 274 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 obtained in the emergencies of such a debate, than 
 in the discussion of a subject where all the argu- 
 ments might be previously known, and all the 
 objections anticipated: and he dwelt on the im- 
 portance of preserving a debate where the speakers 
 must be inventive to a much greater degree, than 
 in a contest, whei'e all that was to be said on 
 either side had been already discoursed of by able 
 men. He then proceeded to show, that the effect 
 of discontinuing this second debate, would be to 
 deprive the meetings of the society of the interest 
 derived from the exertions of the more matured 
 speakers]: and, after having shown that this must 
 be a necessary consequence, he proceeded thus : 
 " Suppress this second debate, therefore, and 
 you strike out of your rolls the names of all those 
 who are advanced enough to be benefited by it. 
 Suppress this debate, and the purity of our insti- 
 tution, although it may be unsullied, may not be 
 unimpeached. The officers of the society cease to 
 be obnoxious to the voice of your censure. Your 
 approbation is no longer an object of their desire ; 
 and whether an officer conduct himself with a fair 
 and honourable regard for the interests of the 
 institution, or whether he study to promote some 
 private purpose of himself or his immediate friends,
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 275 
 
 whether an auditor fairly announce the question 
 for debate at> the same time to the entire society, 
 or give previous information to some friend who 
 means not to contend for your oratory prizes, but 
 to purloin them, whether he propose, as the 
 portion of history to be read, a subject generally 
 interesting or useful, or only some (perhaps un- 
 edifying) passage in which he knows his friend to 
 be fully informed, you can have no voice in the 
 determination, you must submit to private in- 
 terest, instead of being governed by motives of 
 general application ; and the officer, when the 
 date of his commission has expired, passes away 
 from his public duties, without the gratification of 
 your approval, or the pain of your expressed dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 " Who, Sir, could take an interest in such a 
 society? Who could endure the disgust, or even 
 the doubt, to which he would be exposed by the 
 operation of such a dictatorship ? Who could 
 endure to have a proposal which he thought pro- 
 fitable for our body, not rejected by the assembly 
 for whose service it was intended, but thrown back 
 upon him by the veto of some supercilious officer? 
 If, Sir, our society is to be interesting, our debates 
 must be free; and when you have made your 
 
 T 2
 
 276 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 government an oligarchy, and an oligarchy not 
 responsible, you have pronounced the sentence 
 which banishes eloquence and excitement from 
 amongst us. Here, then, are the reasons why I 
 give my support to the motion for adjournment. 
 They are, that under the proposed restrictions, 
 the interest of our society must be totally de- 
 stroyed ; for, without the aid of the junior sophister 
 class, our resources must be feeble, and our as- 
 semblies thin ; and without the operation of the 
 after-debate, the purity of our proceedings must 
 become questionable, and the great purposes for 
 which we have been instituted cannot be attained. 
 For these reasons ; because the proposed re- 
 strictions must immediately destroy the interest of 
 the society, and speedily terminate its existence, I 
 vote for the adjournment. To such a vote we 
 must certainly all soon give assent ; and the only 
 question to be considered is, whether we shall 
 immediately adopt it. An honourable gentleman 
 has told you that this is unnecessary and unwise. 
 He tells you, that the extreme measure is always 
 in your power ; but that, if once adopted, it can 
 never be recalled. I would ask that honourable 
 gentleman, Sir if you, on this night, submit to 
 the restrictions within which you are henceforth
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 277 
 
 to act, what remains in your power? Power to dis- 
 solve ! You have such a power now ; but if you 
 refuse to exert it, where will it be at your next 
 meeting ? Let it be, for an instant, supposed that 
 we accept the regulations which are offered to us 
 by the board ; and suppose, that on our next 
 meeting, or, let it be said, in the course of a few 
 months from this, we find our assemblies de- 
 serted by all those who are now their ornament ; 
 suppose the debate to have become wearisome, 
 and that the benches are but partially occupied by 
 a few languid hearers ; suppose the decline of 
 what was valuable in the society to advance with 
 rapid strides; suppose that, instead of a generous 
 competition for honours, and the consequence of 
 the spirit which it fosters, high intellectual efforts 
 in every department of study which you encour- 
 age, you are compelled to behold your prizes 
 made the prey of ignoble minds, and obtained by 
 dishonourable intrigue ; suppose yourselves thus 
 condemned to witness the departure of every thing 
 that graced and enlivened your meetings, and the 
 introduction of much that is vile ; suppose this 
 imagination realized, and ask yourselves, or ask 
 the honourable gentleman, where are your means 
 of redress ? Are you then, and not until then, to 
 T 3
 
 278 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 find, that no means are left you to express the 
 honest indignation you feel, that your society 
 has fallen so low ? Shall there be nothing left, but 
 that every member who could reflect credit on the 
 institution shall withdraw himself from meetings 
 in which it would be disgraceful to assist ; and 
 shall the Historical Society, called into existence, 
 and reared up to a flourishing maturity, by the 
 exertions of great men, who were here the best 
 loved children of the university, and who were, in 
 their after lives, the bulwarks and the glory of 
 their country, shall this majestic society become 
 only the foul resort of spirits not honourable 
 enough to feel that the worth of a prize depends 
 upon the means by which it has been won; that 
 success is but the crowning of the efforts which 
 have procured it; and that, where the efforts have 
 been vicious, their consummation, of what kind 
 soever it be, must be reproachful ? 
 
 " On this position, Sir, a position which the 
 honourable gentleman has himself laid down, I 
 take my stand. From this, I warn the society not 
 to suffer the opportunity which is left them, to 
 escape. Reject the motion for adjournment. 
 Accept the regulations of the board; and zilthougli 
 your society shall degenerate into extreme cor-
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 279 
 
 ruption, you have deprived yourselves of all power 
 to signify more than an individual dissatisfaction, 
 by withdrawing your name from its rolls. But if 
 you will adopt the honourable resolution, (honour- 
 able I repeat, Sir, however little it may suit the 
 notions or the feelings of any sarcastic or facetious 
 member), the resolution to adjourn, you will soon find 
 that the most honourable course is that which is most 
 wise. You will then have established no precedent 
 for lifeless and uninteresting discussions. You will 
 not have familiarised the society and the university 
 to listless and thin assemblies. You will not have 
 accustomed your members to yield all power of judg- 
 ing and acting to an irresponsible council. You will 
 not have rendered your prizes worthless, by mak- 
 ing the adjudication of them an object of suspicion ; 
 but, having existed to this hour in the fulness of 
 reputation and utility, you will leave behind you 
 a spirit to animate the exertions of worthy suc- 
 cessors, and a pure and perfect model according 
 to which they may fashion the structure* of a 
 future society." 
 
 When Sidney sat down, the motion for adjourn- 
 ment was proposed from the chair, and carried 
 with scarcely any dissent. Thus ended the last 
 debate of the Historical Society. The account
 
 280 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 which I have laid before my reader is necessarily 
 imperfect. Taken down, as it was, by a person of 
 little practice or experience in the art of short-hand 
 writing, it cannot give a completely adequate idea 
 of either the faults or the merits which character- 
 ized the different speakers ; and I should also ob- 
 serve, that I have omitted some details, which, 
 however necessary and pertinent at the time when 
 the arguments were delivered, might at present 
 appear tedious and uninteresting. Still I consider 
 the debate as, on the whole, a fair specimen of 
 what we were accustomed to regard as good 
 speaking, the kind of speaking to which we 
 gave, most readily, the encouragement of our 
 attention and applause. 
 
 It is among my regrets, that at this last, most 
 interesting debate, I was not present. I was 
 compelled, by important duties, to be absent during 
 the early part of the night, and had promised my 
 friends that I would attend at an hour before 
 which I imagined the debate could not have com- 
 menced ; but, unfortunately for me, all "ordinary 
 business had been set aside on that night, and the 
 question of adjournment was that which was first 
 discussed. Not taking into account that such an 
 arrangement was probable, I thought that I had
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 281 
 
 anticipated the time of debate, when I found my- 
 self approaching the society-rooms some minutes 
 before the time appointed for my attendance. It 
 had been, on former occasions, a habit in which I 
 frequently indulged, to pause on the staircase and 
 listen to the sound of a speaker's voice, before I 
 could distinguish his words. I felt it pleasing to 
 hear the various cadences of the voice ; to distin- 
 guish in the same speaker the varieties of feeling 
 which manifest themselves in a young orator in his 
 briefest efforts ; to hear by turns the raised tone of 
 passion, the steady, deliberate manner which 
 denoted confidence in one's subject or resources, 
 and the hesitating, unassured intonations when the 
 subject failed, or the thoughts became perplexed 
 or wandering. I had found it pleasing to catch 
 these various tones as they came, without convey- 
 ing any definite meaning, through the closed doors 
 of the society-room, sometimes reaching my ear 
 in detached interrupted .sounds, with frequent 
 pauses between ; sometimes borne upon me in 
 a rapid and continuous flow, as the increasing 
 energy of the speaker gave him a greater com- 
 mand over thoughts and language. But, upon 
 this night, I was too sensible of the importance of 
 the subject to be discussed, to indulge myself in
 
 282 COLLEGE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 such dainty and fantastical enjoyment. I did not 
 observe even that there was silence around me, 
 until, as I ascended the staircase, I beheld the 
 open doors of the society-room ; and then, for the 
 first time, I conjectured that the last meeting had 
 been held, and that the society existed no longer. 
 On entering, instead of the animated conflict I 
 had lately expected, I found the rooms silent and 
 deserted, but the lights were still blazing, and 
 every thing remained in the most exact order, 
 except that some person had cast the president's 
 robe as a pall over the forsaken chair of state, and 
 that the busts of great men which ornamented the 
 various niches had their faces averted from the 
 lights, and turned towards the wall. 
 
 The sensations which I experienced at that 
 moment, although some years have since elapsed, 
 cannot yet, when I remember them, call forth a 
 smile. Nor, although it may, perhaps, be true, 
 that the course of collegiate studies is improved, 
 and that science is cultivated with a more entire 
 devotedness, can I yet think it a childish regret, 
 with which I look back to the extinction of the 
 society. I cannot think it childish to feel a regret 
 that the graceful and animated competition which 
 the society made so general, and the innocent and
 
 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY'S LAST NIGHT. 283 
 
 elegant relaxation which it afforded, should be dis- 
 severed from the advantages of collegiate life ; and 
 even though it were proved (and proof, I imagine, 
 it would be difficult to obtain) that, according to 
 the system now adopted, some few scholars of 
 higher eminence have been made, or shall be 
 made, still I would not think it childish to assert,, 
 that a slight inferiority of some few scholars in a 
 single department of science, was amply compen- 
 sated by the diffusive and liberalizing influence of 
 the Historical Society. This influence, whatever 
 it might have been, is now extinct. If, in the 
 course of years, it be felt that its loss is to be 
 deplored, an effort will surely be made to revive 
 it; and it should be the wish of all who were 
 acquainted with the society at its close, that there 
 may be found at its restoration, spirits as generous 
 and talents as cultivated and as high, as those 
 which constituted its glory at the period when 
 extiitction came upon it. 
 
 THE END.
 
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