I Will Not Fatigue You By Any More Details Of My Studies At Oxford,
Though They Were Not Always As Severe As These; Nor Did I Always Pay As
Dear For My Lessons.
People may say what they please, a studious life
has its charms, and there are many places more gloomy than the
cloisters of a university.
To be brief, then, I lived on in my usual miscellaneous manner,
gradually getting a knowledge of good and evil, until I had attained my
twenty-first year. I had scarcely come of age when I heard of the
sudden death of my father. The shock was severe, for though he had
never treated me with kindness, still he was my father, and at his
death I felt myself alone in the world.
I returned home to act as chief mourner at his funeral. It was attended
by many of the sportsmen of the country; for he was an important member
of their fraternity. According to his request his favorite hunter was
led after the hearse. The red-nosed fox-hunter, who had taken a little
too much wine at the house, made a maudlin eulogy of the deceased, and
wished to give the view halloo over the grave; but he was rebuked by
the rest of the company. They all shook me kindly by the hand, said
many consolatory things to me, and invited me to become a member of the
hunt in my father's place.
When I found myself alone in my paternal home, a crowd of gloomy
feelings came thronging upon me. It was a place that always seemed to
sober me, and bring me to reflection. Now, especially, it looked so
deserted and melancholy; the furniture displaced about the room; the
chairs in groups, as their departed occupants had sat, either in
whispering tete-a-tetes, or gossiping clusters; the bottles and
decanters and wine-glasses, half emptied, and scattered about the
tables - all dreary traces of a funeral festival. I entered the little
breakfasting room. There were my father's whip and spurs hanging by the
fire-place, and his favorite pointer lying on the hearth-rug. The poor
animal came fondling about me, and licked my hand, though he had never
before noticed me; and then he looked round the room, and whined, and
wagged his tail slightly, and gazed wistfully in my face. I felt the
full force of the appeal. "Poor Dash!" said I, "we are both alone in
the world, with nobody to care for us, and we'll take care of one
another." The dog never quitted me afterwards.
I could not go into my mother's room: my heart swelled when I passed
Within sight of the door. Her portrait hung in the parlor, just over
the place where she used to sit. As I cast my eyes on it I thought it
looked at me with tenderness, and I burst into tears. My heart had long
been seared by living in public schools, and buffeting about among
strangers who cared nothing for me; but the recollection of a mother's
tenderness was overcoming.
I was not of an age or a temperament to be long depressed. There was a
reaction in my system that always brought me up again at every
pressure; and indeed my spirits were most buoyant after a temporary
prostration. I settled the concerns of the estate as soon as possible;
realized my property, which was not very considerable, but which
appeared a vast deal to me, having a poetical eye that magnified
everything; and finding myself, at the end of a few months, free of all
farther business or restraint, I determined to go to London and enjoy
myself. Why should not I? - I was young, animated, joyous; had plenty of
funds for present pleasures, and my uncle's estate in the perspective.
Let those mope at college and pore over books, thought I, who have
their way to make in the world; it would be ridiculous drudgery in a
youth of my expectations.
Well, sir, away to London I rattled in a tandem, determined to take the
town gaily. I passed through several of the villages where I had played
the jack-pudding a few years before; and I visited the scenes of many
of my adventures and follies, merely from that feeling of melancholy
pleasure which we have in stepping again into the footprints of
foregone existence, even when they have passed among weeds and briars.
I made a circuit in the latter part of my journey, so as to take in
West End and Hempstead, the scenes of my last dramatic exploit, and of
the battle royal of the booth. As I drove along the ridge of Hempstead
Hill, by Jack Straw's castle, I paused at the spot where Columbine and
I had sat down so disconsolately in our ragged finery, and looked
dubiously upon London. I almost expected to see her again, standing on
the hill's brink, "like Niobe all tears;" - mournful as Babylon in
ruins!
"Poor Columbine!" said I, with a heavy sigh, "thou wert a gallant,
generous girl - a true woman, faithful to the distressed, and ready to
sacrifice thyself in the cause of worthless man!"
I tried to whistle off the recollection of her; for there was always
Something of self-reproach with it. I drove gayly along the road,
enjoying the stare of hostlers and stable-boys as I managed my horses
knowingly down the steep street of Hempstead; when, just at the skirts
of the village, one of the traces of my leader came loose. I pulled up;
and as the animal was restive and my servant a bungler, I called for
assistance to the robustious master of a snug ale-house, who stood at
his door with a tankard in his hand. He came readily to assist me,
followed by his wife, with her bosom half open, a child in her arms,
and two more at her heels. I stared for a moment as if doubting my
eyes.
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