)rnia al «M.v4f«. THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ;^>r ^ THE COLLEGE CHUMS. A NOVEL, IN TWO VOLUMES. BY CHARLES LISTER, Esq. VOL. L LONDON : T. C. NEWBY, 72, MORTIMER St CAVENDI55II Sq. 184.5. PR 1 V THE COLLEGE CHUMS. CHAPTER I. In the Autumn of the year 18 — , the follow- ing paragraph appeared in " The Morning Post" : — " We understand that extensive preparations are being made for the celebration of the birth-day of ]Mr. Saville, heir presumptive to the Earhlom and estates of Glencurry. This accomplislicd young gentleman is the only child of the late distinguished and much la- mented Mr. Saville, and is at present residing at the University of Oxford, where he has, VOL I. B 824 ^:w> 2 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. upon more than one occasion, reaped acade- mical honors." George Saville was the only child of a younger brother of Lord Glencurry. His parents died in his earliest infancy. Never did bright promise and brilliant, worldly expectations prove more fleeting than in the instance of INIr. Saville and his lovely wife. Possessed of extraordinary abilities, which had acquired for him the highest distinction, at the early age of twenty-one, he was chosen as the representative of his native county in Parliament, where his zeal and elo- quence were the theme of every tongue. After some years the party to which he belonged was in the ascendant. At the election consequent upon the disso- lution of 18 — , the county was warmly con- tested. His opponent was early in the field. Every organ of bribery and intimidation was put into action ; but from the first Mr. Saville's supporters were confident that the attachment THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 6 and esteem felt for himself and for his princi- ples would ultimately crown their eiforts with success. The good cause at length triumphed, and never had any body of constituents more just reason to be proud of tlieii* Representative than the worthy electors of shire. Saville's friends had long watched, with secret uneasiness and heart-sinking misgivings, the eft'ects produced on his health by unremitting application to business. Two weeks previous to the election his health had been much affected ; fits of despondency and an undefined feeling of d(,'pression, succeeded by moments of unnatural, almost reckless gaiety, added more and more to the anxiety of his friends ; and the physician was only deterred from insisting ujion the abandonment of all exertion, from the fear of causing alarm to his patient, and exciting liis irritable and overheated tempera- ment. He resolved to defer giving liis veto to the latest possible moment, and was glad he u 3 4 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. luid done so, as he watched, with satisfaction, a gradual improvement in Saville's health, and a return to the even and natural tenor of his mind. So much was this tiio case, that the day previous to the nomination, all trace of his malady had abated and the alarm in the minds of his friends had suhdlded. Tlie succeeding day justified their hopes ; for, with the excep- tion of trifling fatigue, so trifling as not to breal: in upon his night's rest, no ill eifects were perceptible. The day of election arrived— at once the proudest and saddest in his life. The proudest as ushering in the success of his party, and in presenting an undoubted tribute to his own personal merits and high character — the saddest, as conveying to him the conviction that the career of usefulness he was pursuing must soon be at an end. The speech which he made on that occasion, tlie brilliant flow of his conversation, his spark- THE COLLEGE CHUMS. O ling wit at the dinner given to him by the electors, will long be remembered by those who were present. To the casual observer, his energies had never appeared to flag ; but to one experienced eye, which had watched, with intense anxiety, every movement of the speaker, one involun- tary action gave the alarm. Near the com- mencement of his address, as he reached behind him for refreshment, a sudden pang appeared to shoot through his brain —he staggered — raised his hand to his head — but the next in- stant resumed his apparent composure. That night he retired to rest followed by the cheers and congratulations of friends and followers. When morning daAvned the mind which had swayed thousands by its power — the mind, which by its brilliant sallies had dazzled and delighted the listener, was a dreary blank — his senses had deserted him. In the following week, on the anniversary of the day of his election, Mr. Saville died a b THE COLLEGE CHUMS. raving madman. No voice can tell, no words can convey the grief of his young widow, or the general horror which this event spread throughout the country. The most heartfelt sympathy was lavished upon the poor widow — she had loved her hus- band with that intense feeling which dares not to express its full extent — she was certain of his love, she dreamt not of change, and the contemplation of his death she banished from her mmd as an event too dreadful to be real. She survived but a twelvemonth, committing, with her last breath, her infant son to the guardianship of his uncle. Lord Glencurry, who, by a will of recent date was appointed joint executor and guardian with herself. The full extent and nature of the father's ma- lady had never been divulged to his son. The extreme susceptibility of his temperament giving rise to too much apprehension of the fatal consequence such a disclosure might entail upon him. It was, however, found impossible THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 7 wholly to conceal the truth from him, as he grew older, evincing as he did, the most lively- interest in every circumstance connected with that period of history in which his father's brief career was cited. As his interesting charge advanced in years. Lord Glencurry reluctantly determined to bear the pain of a separation, and to send his nephew to some place of public education, thinking that the house of a childless old man, where he had few opportunities of holding inter- course with children of his own age, was little calculated to eradicate the seeds of the malady which he apprehended was inherited from his father. After much deliberation Eton was the school selected — the school at which Lord Glencurry and his brother had been educated. To Eton, therefore, George Saville was sent, at the age of thirteen, and when he returned home, on each succeeding vacation. Lord Glencurry found much reason to rejoice at tho step he 8 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. had taken. The seriousness and melancholy nnusual in one so young, and which seemed before to have become habitual, left him after associating with boys of his own age — his health, which had before been delicate, im- proved rapidly, and his growing intelligence ;ind knowledge, far beyond his years, afforded ample proof of the improving and healthy state of his mind. At the age of eighteen, he left Eton, and after residing principally with his uncle for nearly a twelvemonth, he repaired to the University of Oxford, where he entered as a Commoner, at Christ Church. To a person of unusual elegance which could not fail to attract and interest, and to manners the most prepossessing, were added abilities of the liighest order, which Saville, unlike the generality of young heirs to titles and property, had cultivated with advantage and good taste. To excel in whatever he undertook was his aim, even in trifles. At Eton he was the THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 9 expertest cricketer and the best tennis player. His English essay displayed the most elegance, and his Latin verses the deepest learning, and when the school re-assembled after the vaca- tions, his school-fellows had to tell of his exploits as a sportsman ; all, in short, bore testimony to his excellence in whatever he undertook. He was, at the same time, the envy and the admiration of the whole school. \Yhen the period arrived for his quitting Eton, his absence created a blank in the little world in which he had moved, to which the lingerers were only reconciled by the anticipation of their reunion at College. At Oxford the same unbounded admiration attended him. To do anything like Saville — to have a look of Savillo, was considered the highest praise that could be awarded to any. Yet admired and courted by men of his own age, spoken confidently and loudly of by the tutors of his coUcffe as certain of the hirijhest academical honours, his manners ".vcre modest and unprc- B 5 10 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. tending, shewing no undue consciousness of his superiority over the common herd by which he was surrounded ; he was ever the most agreeable companion — no party of plea- sure was tolerable if he were absent, and to those who shared his confidence he was the firmest and best of friends — his judgment and advice the soundest and most consistent. For the opposite sex his admiration was ardent, and to them his manners were most attractive, for he was a perfect gentleman — " His manners were, pprliajjs, the more seductive, Because he ne'er seemed anxious to seduce, Nothing affected, studied, or constructive Of coxcombry or conquest ; no abuse Of his attractions marred the fair perspective. To indicate a Cupidon broke loose. And seem to say, resist us if you can, Which makes the dandy while it spoils the man." THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 11 CHAPTER II. At the period when our narrative commences, Saville had resided a twelvemonth at Oxford, during which time he had distinguished himself as the successful candidate for the Newdigate Prize. The elegant and impassioned delivery of his composition in the theatre gave promise of future success as an orator, and made its way direct to the hearts of his auditors. It is seldom that a young and inexperienced orator meets with discouragement when he first essays in public. In this instance the ap- 12 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. probation was sincere and heartfelt. The knot of malcontents and critics who are ever ready to carp at the most trifling faults or inaccu- racies, were silenced, and joined involuntarily in the enthusiastic and deafening applause which succeeded the concluding sentence. From his very numerous acquaintance at Eton, Saville had chosen, as his more intimate friend, a young man by one year his junior. His name was Dormer. Their friendship had commenced at school. The intimacies that have their rise in earliest youth, and especially between boys at a public school, lay the foundation of after friendships, the truest and most enduring of which our nature is capable. A boy's separation for the first time from his family — his first entrance on that world in miniature, a public school — is fraught with difficulties and trials, which no after life can experience, nor can their increase be in equal proportion to the encreasing strength and powers of endurance which a THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 13 more mature age may bring with it. The voice which speaks to him of kindness, the arm that supports him, under his first struggle for independence, with a boy twice liis own size, or rescues him from the oppression of some brutal tyrant, are never forgotten— the friend- ship of boyhood and youth may be inter- rupted ; but can never be obliterated. The basis of Dormer s attachment to Savillc was founded upon no trifling circumstance, for, while at Eton, Saville preserved, at immi- nent risk of his own, the life of his friend, who repaid him with all the gratitude and devotcd- ncss of which an amiable and ardent disposi- tion is capable. Saville was now anxiously looking forward to the arrival of his friend— he had been en- tered some time at a small college where he was now about to commence a residence which would reunite the friends after a short cessation of their intercourse consequent upon Saville's departure from Eton. 14 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. As I before stated, Henry Dormer was one year junior to Saville. He was gifted with talents far above mediocrity, yet inferior to those of his friend. With Heni-y the effects produced or the ends attained were the result of much and indefatigable labour. With Saville a scheme was no sooner conceived than exe- cuted, a plan formed than adopted. In every- thing he undertook Henry made Saville his standard of excellence — to imitate Saville was his ambition — to surpass him appeared impos- sible. He was perhaps everytliing that Saville was, and something more, for he was pre-emi- nent for a steadiness of character which Saville wanted. Sir William Dormer, Henry's father, was a man of extensive property in shire, well born, well bred, with a gentlemanly exterior and fascinating manners. Mixing much in society he was courted and became " the fashion ;" he had been a gay but never a profligate man of the world. He pos- THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 15 sessed strong principles as well as warm feel- ings and a sense of honour utterly impervious to attack. It was impossible to be in his com- pany an hour and not feel that he was a man to be respected— it was equally impossible to live with him a week and not feel that he was a man to be beloved. He had early formed an attachment to the daughter of an Irish Peer, Lady Elizabeth Long, who resided in his own neighbourhood, wooed and won her, and for a few years he enjoyed that greatest happiness which this world is capable of bestowing — the society and the love of one in whom wc could wish no change, and beyond whom we have no desire. But what evil cannot corrupt, fate seldom spares — a few months after the birth of a second daughter the young wife died. If the blow did not crush, it at least chanjred him — naturally of a cheerful and ardent dispo- sition his mind became now soberiscd Mid sedate, he shrunk from the gaieties and com- 16 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. panionships which he had before courted and enlivened, and for the first time in his life the mourner felt the holiness of solitude. As the motherless children, a son and two daughters, grew up, they gave an object to his seclusion and a relief to his reflections, he found pure and never failing delight in watch- ing the growth of their young minds and guiding theu' dispositions, and as time at length enabled them to return his aiFection and ap- preciate his care, he became once more sensi- ble that he had a home. About the middle of October, Henry Dor- mer and his father arrived at the Angel Inn, Oxford. After arranging for the occupation of lodg- ings and ordering dinner, they determined upon calling at once on the master of Henry's college, and sallied out into the High-Street, just as the sotting sun was gilding the scene before them with his parting rays. Wc arc ever ready to deck with unreal THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 17 graces the features of the past, and to mag- nify the pleasures of that period to the pre- judice of the present. Ever lingering is the look which dwells upon the past. With it is associated all that is lovely and valuable we have lost in our journey towards eternity. In the middle of life we turn to gaze upon the far scenes of our youth, and retrace our path, in imajjination, through the shadows of distance — and in age when the step is enfeebled and experience has chilled the heart, as the dreams arise which were the atmosphere of our youth — the heart grows soft and the eyes dim with tears. Sir Wilham was now re-visiting with his son the scenes of his early life — at a like age and under similar circumstances he had first visited Oxford. As he walked silently along the quiet streets every stone in whose structures ap- peared familiar to him, and wore tlic self-same 18 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. appearance as in former days ; the glowing hopes he had then conceived, the bright ima- ginings of that period, the friends with whom he had associated — their very forms and voices well remembered through the vista of years, rose vividly to his recollection, and a tear stole doAvn his cheek. It is by early impressions that man is forti- fied in his struggle with the temptations that beset his course — proper principles sown in the young bosom have withstood the tempest of time and the turmoil of the world. They cleave to the soil through good and through evil — truth and purity are ever abiding. Sir William Dormer had experienced the truth of this, for the lessons of his boyhood had fixed him permanently in what he valued as his highest consolation, religious belief. The chaff, the earthly dross had passed away and his good principles remained 'stedfast and un- sullied, like the precious metal which comes THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 19 forth in its -vdrgin beauty from the ordeal of the furnace. Henry, fearing to break in upon liis father's thoughts, and knowing that the events of that period were 'closely connected with his father's first acquaintance with his mother, remained silent. The streets were almost deserted, except by an occasional gownsman in the distance hurry- ing to and fro : the neighbourhood of the Bodleian and Brazennosc college gave no evi- dence of life. The twilight which had per- vaded this region was again intercepted as they entered Broad-Street — a few more steps brought them to the Principal's Door. The servant who answered their summons took Sir "William's card with a mysterious, en- quiring look, and after an unusual time had elapsed, returned and iiifonned them, in an audible whisper, that the blaster was at pre- sent particularly engaged, but that he would 20 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. be happy to see the gentlemen if they would w;ilk up stairs. Accordingly they were ushered into a small, comfortable looking room, which was evidently designated by its propi-ictor " the study." The servant having in the same suppressed voice said •* take a seat, sii*," to Sir William and Henry, again left them. Long and anxiously they waited in expecta- tion of their host's arrival At first they conversed together upon the various topics which their visit suggested, but conversation soon flagged. " "We have been here more than twenty minutes," said Sir William after a pause, and looking at liis watch, " shall I ring the bell, Henry, and tell the serA'ant that we will call to-morrow ?" The words had scarcely escaped liis lips when the door burst open, and in jirkcd a little, smirking man dressed in a suit of the sablest THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 21 (lye, a pair of unusually grave canonical bands were suspended from beneath his chin, in- tended no doubt to impress his visiters with a belief tliat in the hurry and press of business they had escaped his memory and notice. Bowing ceremoniously to Sir William and Henry, h.6 turned to the servant, raising his hand to his head, placed one finger upon his brow and said : " John, tell Dr. Velvet that the Master of is too much occupied to ride to- day." The door closed, and with many a wreathed smile and patronising look, he approached the spot where the father and son had been watch- ing, with infinite amusement, the airs of the would be important personage. Apologising for the delay, and throwing himself in an arm-chair and tossins; one Ic^' over the other, he commenced, in the most con- descending manner imaginable, to interrogate Ilcnry, respecting his first impressions of 22 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. Oxford and its classical and picturesque ap- pearance. Chance — or destiny — or his parents, had so ordered that Dr. , the present Master of College, should first see day- light in one of the favoured and endowed counties of England. He was chosen, in conse- quence of this fortunate circumstance, at an early age and without competition, a Scholar, and by dint of cramming, or as it is called *' coach-ing" and favor he " passed" creditably. The Degrees of B. A. and M. A. were con- ferred upon him in quick succession. His scholarship was succeeded by a fellowship. He stood first upon the list at the decease of his Principal, and was chosen at once as suc- cessor in the direction of one of the best col- leges in the University. Fortunate in the selection of his tutors, and having the good sense to conceal from others the deficiency which was too apparent to himself, he rendered himself with jrood will and earnestness to the CD discharge of the disagreeable duties of which THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 23 he was no unwilling slave. He was a useful member of convocation — a strenuous oppo- sitionist of innovation or improvement ; he entertained a true, orthodox antipathy and re- luctance in proceeding with the spirit of the ao-e, and advocated the cause of those who while they take to themselves the credit of administering knowledge to the poorer and middle classes of society are satisfied with that dangerous, half enlightening which ends in knowing something of the wrong side with- out the taking pains of investigating the right — or which, in the very pride of this dangerous denii-knowledge, scoifs at farther enquiry and information. His religion was of that charac- ter which contemplates with horror the viola- tion of any of the canons of the Protestant Church by law established, and is in itself essentially superficial. A tolerably well in- formed man — a reflecting being — a i)liilosopher even, will always be at heart, if not in practice a Christian. 24 THE COLLEGE CIIU3IS. It is impossible to conceive how a mind which has weighed the doctrines of Revelation, studied these principles and com- pared their effects on practical life — it is im- possible that such a mind can become sceptical — but there are few who have the will and capacity to penetrate the depths of Christian philosophy. It not only requires understand- ing to enter into the spirit of Christianity, but time and a solemn preparation of the mind, and there are few who have both the leisure and the Inclination to enter fully into the con- templation of that sublime theme. The present age no doubt favours superfi- ciality, from Avhich infidelity springs as a natural consequence ; our wants are so very numerous, our habits so luxurious as almost to render human life nothing more than an en- deavour to satisfy them, and the man whose soul is engrossed by the solicitudes of a life of luxury will scarcely pause to reflect on, the ultimate end of his being. THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 25 A young man just entering upon a college life, is naturall}' alive to and watchful over the habits of his tutors and masters ; he beholds one party of religionists ranged in hostile array against another; he sees around him, turn where he may, dissent, sectarianism, or infi- delity, and is inevitably involved in a state of society where the forms of religion only are observed —a state far more injurious and last- ing in its ill effects than one of even open vio- lation of the common decencies of civilised life. The crude dogmas of a blind and bigotted sect are too often palmed upon him, from which it naturally follows that he derives little profit, and unless the lessons of his boyhood have been rightly directed and deeply implanted, the even and right tenor of his whole life is utterly subverted. After some rambling conversation upon commonplace subjects, Dr. was just entering upon his favorite oration, commencing VOL. 1. c 26 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. with "when I was Vice Chancellor," when ISir A\ illiam cut him short by rising to take leave, and requesting to know when his son might calculate upon taking possession of his rooms. " I wish"' added Sir William, " to see my son comfortably settled before I leave Oxford, and I therefore hope you will cause as little delay as possible.'' " Certainly, Sir— William, certainly. Let n.e consider," said he, placing the tip of his finger upon his forehead, " Conolly, Dupre." enumerating a vocabulary of names. " We are so full this term. Sir "V^'illiam, that — but however you may depend with certainty upon seeing your son established to-morrow," and *\ ith this assurance Henry and his father took their departure. As they walked to the inn they indulged in a long suppressed fit of merriment at the ex- pense of the little great man. THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 27 " Did you hear," said Henry, " his injunction to his servant from the top of the stairs, to be sure to informthe Vice Chancellor ' that I shall be happy to see him between nine and ten to- morrow forenoon.'" c 3 28 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. CHAPTER HI. The following morning Henry and his father again repaired after breakfast to the house of the INIaster. They found him from home, having no doubt dispatched his breakfast and the Vice Chancellor. The servant delivered a note to Sir William of which the following is a breviate : " The Master of presents his com- pliments to Sir William Dormer, and regrets extremely that urgent business prevents the THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 29 possibility of a meeting this day. The Master has also to apologise for the delay occasioned in the apix)intment of rooms suitable for Mr. H. Dormer's occupation, which cannot be com- pleted until to-morrow, upon which day the Master will feel happy to see Sir William in person and make any further arrangements (if required and compatible with his duty) con- ducive to the permanent comfort of Mr. H. Dormer." Again disappointed in the attainment of their object, they repaired to Ch — Ch — in the hope of finding Saville, but he was not ex- pected for some days. " Let us return to the inn, Henry," said his father, " I will order a pair of horses and drive with yoii to see my old friend. Lord Wenman, to-dav instead of to-morrow. I wish you to become acquainted. You will find it agreeable, during your residence here, to escape occasionally from the monotony of your Oxford life. Li my day the county 30 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. people were much disposed to be friendly to vounac men. They were soon on their road to Lord Wen- man's. Sir AVilliam turned to survey his son as he tlirew himself back in the carriage. Henry had bestowed considerable pains upon his toilet, no doubt in anticipation of seeing Lady Emily, of whose beauty he had heard frequent mention, and whom he could faintly remem- ber as a playmate when they were children together in Grosvenor Square. His father surveyed him for an instant with a smile on his countenance, and then said laughingly : " What a dandy you are, Henry ! How should you relish being obliged to wear breeches instead of pantaloons, and shoes and buckles instead of Wellington boots." It was considered a grievous offence against the University rules to wear pantaloons. The most daring aspirants to fashionable notoriety THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 31 were then in the habit of wearing pantaloons and tucking them up as far as the knee, when likely to fall in with the Proctors." Henry smiled and his father continued, for Henry possessed the accomplishment of being a good listener. " I remember poor Greville, who was most recherche in his dress, being detected, while lionising a party of ladies, with a new pair of exquisitely made pantaloons on. Graham, who was the senior proctor met them, a coarse, vulgar minded fellow. He accosted Greville, asking his name and to what college he be- lonj;ed. The idea of an individual existinir in Oxford who did not know Jack Greville, at least by sight. ' Mr. who ?' persisted Graham, utterly regardless of the embarrassment and annoyance he was vmnecessarily causing to Greville's friends. ' Oh I Greville — is your name — is it, sir. Then I must desire you, Mr. Greville, to go forthwitli to your college, change your unseemly and womanly dress, 32 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. call upon me to-morrow morning at ten o'clock, and bring in your hand your copy of the authorised version of the University Statutes which was delivered to you at your matriculation.' He made Graham smart for it afterwards." The carriage stopped. " Here we are," said Sir William, as the lodge gate was thrown open by a venerable looking and apparently superanuatcd house servant in livery, whose face Sir William im- mediately recognised. The carriage rolled noiselessly along the broad sweep of gravel road that led to the house, a glimpse of which was visible at the extremity of the avenue of stately elms, ex- tending upwards of a mile in that direction. " What a fine place it is, is it not ?" said Sir William, " it was here, Heniy, that I first met your dear mother," he uttered an involuntary sigh, and threv/ himself back in one corner of the carriage. THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 33 His son occupied himself in looking at the beautiful scenery and both remainded silent until the carriagre reached the house. The summons was speedily answered by a double line of well appointed servants, and the welcome intelligence that the family were at home was announced to them. They were ushered into a small room, the entrance to which was partially obscured by a large screen, on making their way round which they found Lord Wenman reclining in an arm- chair, supporting his velvet-shod foot upon a gouty stool. A table strewed with the latest publications — reviews — open letters - and parliamentary papers was beside hira, and nearer the window, in which the choicest exotics stood embedded in moss, stood another table, upon which were scattered the paraj)hernalia for female occupa- tion. The piano was open, and near it stood an unclothed hurp. The whole roo'u luid an air of domestic comfort. 34 THE COLLEGE CHUM6. " Well, Dormer, my dear fellow,"' and "Well, Wenman,'' burst simultaneously from the lips of the two friends of by-gone days, once more united after an interval of many years. " And is this your son. Dormer ? but I need not ask you. I am delighted to see you," said Lord Wenman to Henry, at the same time shaking him warmly by the hand, " how like you, Dormer — how like his poor mother." As the eyes of the two friends met. Sir William's suffused with tears — his last visit to Lord Wenman was in company with his wife. After a pause Lord Wenman resumed, " I hope," he said, " we shall see you often, Mr. Dormer," addressing himself to Henry. •' You must become acquainted with my son and daughter. Your father and myself were early friends together, and 1 should be glad to see you acquainted. We have heard umch of } ou from my connexion, George Saville." " Well, Dormer, so you have seen Oxford ouce again," said Lord Wenman, turning to THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 35 Sir William, as he rang the bell to ask whe- ther Lady Wenman was within. Sir AVilliam looked round as the servant en- tered. He thought he recognised his face — and the well-bred servant bowed a smiling re- cognition as he lett the room. " Don't you remember Smith, Dormer ? my valet, whhen I was at Ch Ch ," said Lord Wenman, as the door closed, " he has been with me ever since, and a more faith- ful creature never breathed. I do not know what we should do without him. Do you re- collect going with me one night to a concert in Oxford, and finding Smith desperately drunk, seated in my carriage. When 1 at- tempted to remove hnn, he persisted in retain- ing his position, and protecting his lord's pn»perty — muttering at intervals the words, ' I am so drunk 1 cannot sit upon my perch.' " Sir William smiled at the recollectioiL " He never repeated the offence," resumed 36 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. Lord Wenman. " I believe a more sober man does not exist." " And how long have you been confined with the jjout ?" said Sir William. " I am attacked every autumn with a severe fit, which generally lasts about six weeks or two months. I have suiFered much from the disease, but far more from the remedies. I have consulted physician after physician to no purpose. The simplest and most effectual cure I have found to be cold water. I con- sulted a German quack last year, who pre- scribed tying up the part aflfected in a bag, with two lively Guinea-pigs, until the skin was excoriated by their scratching. This was with a view to extracting the disease, or rather transferi'ing it from the patient to the Guinea- pig. I need not t§ll you that this failed in toto. I am almost ashamed to confess that any one could practise so far upon my credu- ality, but however — " Here the conversation was interrupted by THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 37 the entrance of Lady Wenman. Her son and daughter were out. " How very unlucky," said Lord Wenman, " but I hope. Dormer, you will come again before you return into Hertfordshire —can't you ? won't you dine with us to-morrow ?" " No, thank you, I must return home, I have been delayed already much longer than I expected." '' Well, if you must go, God bless you, Dormer. Good bye, Mr. Dormer. How that boy does remind me of you, when I first became .acquainted with you." The door closed, and in unother minute after a few words of recognition and enquiry between Smith and Sir AVilliam, they were seated, and the carriage once more in motion. " Well, Henry, I am glad we called, nothing <-()uld be more kind and flattering than their manner, and their recepti(m of you. 1 liope you will cultivate their acquaintance." " I wish we liad iuund La<]v Emily at 38 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. home," said Henry, " I am so anxious to see her aojain." " Well," said his father, " it will be an in- ducement to you to renew your visit at an early opportunity. When you have seen her, let me hear your opinion of her ! Nothing, Henry, would give me more sincere pleasure than to see you married to the daughter of my old friend. You are both young, too young at present to marry. When an acquaintance has commenced, you will have leisure to mature the subject. In the meantime make good use of your time at Oxford, and endeavor to become a worthy object of attachment." THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 39 CHAPTEll IV. It was late when they reached tlie inn, where they found another note from the Master oi , couched in the following terms : — " The Master of , in ex- pressing his regrets that he was from liome tins forenoon, when Sir William Dormer was so obliging as to call, begs to assure Sir William Dormer that comfortable rooms will be in readiness this night, if indispensably necessary, or to-morrow early at latest. For 40 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. the convenience of IMr. Dormer, the Master has arranged that his luggage may be removed from the inn to within the College Avails forth- with." " "Well, Henry, what say you ? will you sleep within the College walls to-night, or stay here with me ?" Henry preferred the latter — and accordingly the following morning dawned upon Mr. Henry Dormer at the Angel Inn, and upon his luscGfajie within the walls of the College. And now the morning of departure had ar- rived. Many and oft repeated were the promises made between Henry and his father to correspond frequently, and fully. The carriage was at the door, the servant had let down the steps, and was holding the door open for his master. The words " God bless you, Henry — let us hear from you frequently," were uttered, and the pressure of the hand returned, and in the TUE COLLEGE CHUMS. 41 next moment Henry was standing alone upon the pavement, watching the receding carriage, as it was whirled rapidly along the street. He watched it till it was out of sight, and then turned gloomily into the inn, and ascended to the room they had occupied, to collect the books and other articles which lay scattered about. Plow forcibly, and always how sadly does a deserted room remind us of the absence of those we love. The last words — the last looks of the friends that are gone — the almost total silence, save the ticking of some tell-tale clock, where lately all was mirth and laughter. The chairs empty and in confusion —the tables strewed with envelopes and faded flowers -the book, wbich has been read aloud, all are me- mentos of the ha})py days that are gone, and of the friends, separated, })erhaps, never again to be united under the same happy circiun- stances. After contom])hitiiig the scene before liim 42 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. for a few mluutes, Henry mechanically col- lected what remained together, and gave di- rections that they should be taken to his room. He liad put on his hat, and was on the point of leaving the room, when a knock came at the door, and a well known voice saying, " May I come in ?" greeted his ear. The next mo- ment he was shaking his friend Saville by the hand. " Is your father gone ?" said he, looking round the room. " How very provoking. I found your card in ray rooms, on my arrival within the last hour, and thought I might be fortunate enough to see him before he left ; and how is your father, Henry, and how are you ? Come, you look sad ; let us stroll out together — you are sad at parting with your father — no wonder, all partings are sad." " Are many of our schoolfellows at Oxford, Saville ?" " Oh yes ; there are many of our own stand- ing to a day ; Melville came up to-day for the THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 43 first time, Smith has been residing several Terms ; he was a chum of ours at Eton, you know, and you will, no doubt, be glad to see him again ; shall we call upon him as we pass his lodgings ?" Henry assented. " I think we cannot see an old, familiar face too often. Smith was a good-natured, entertaining fellow," said Henry. " Is he much altered ?" " Oh, no ; the same as ever, only if any- thing, more amusing. It is quite sufficient, if you wish to fill your rooms, to say ' You will meet Smith,' and there will not be a vacant chair or corner in the room. He is the soul of a party and universally popular." " Is he in lodgings ?" asked Henry. " Yes ; he lodges at Randall's, the hatter's, in this street — here we are — walk in- ho won't cut you for not enacting the part of a retiring freshman — I suppose you arc aware that the University etiquette is this, that no freshman 44 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. call upon a senior resident under pain and penalty of forfeiting the latter's acquaintance for ever. I have heard that this rule is carried to such a ridiculous extent here, as well as at Cambridge, that the most intimate acquaint- ances have ceased to hold intercourse with each other, in consequence of one or other belonging to an inferior college or residing within the semi-barbarous precincts of St. Mary, or Newtron Hall. There is a story of a Cambridge man, who, like the Levite, passed by on the other side the way, when he saw his fellow collegian and former acquaintance strug- gling in the water. Upon being asked his reason for not rendering him assistance, he replied, that they had not been introduced. Saville, followed by Henry, here unceremo- niously entered Smith's room, the door of which stood open ; Smith was not within ; his room presented a scene of confusion. " What an untidy dog he is," said Saville ; " let us see if he has left any memorandum of TUti COLLEGE CHUWS. 45 his movements ; oh, here are some tidings of him, taking up a slip of paper, on which were written, in round capitals, the words ' I shall be in my rooms at four.' Well, that won't suit us, so we will be off." And they stumbled back to the door over an heterogeneous mass of Lexicons, Greek plays, boxing gloves, foils, hunting-whips, bespattered toj) boots and faded pinks. The two friends dined together, and before they separated for the night, Saville gave Henry hmts for the proceechngs of the following day, told the when and how to escape finding the Dons from home upon whom, from usage, he was obliged to calL You will usually find their rooms empty between three and four o'clock, if the weather prove fine. They sally forth about that time, for a constitutional walk up lieadington Hill, or round the Parks. You will see them dropping uti' the dour-way, at the ])orter's-lodge, like Ix'es out of their hive. 1 have made enciuiriee for you about 46 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. your tutors. Smith gave me the fullest infor- mation ; he says there are one or two good- natured, agreeable men among them, but he enjoins, on every account, to avoid O e He is sure to ask you to breakfast with him, and give you nothing to eat but a slice of dry toast and butter, and a cup of weak tea." Smith's description of his freshman's break- fast with him is admirable. Smith feigned the most overwhelming modesty which raised him an liundred fold at once in O e's estima- tion, who felt his own immeasurable superiority over, and condescension towards the retiring freshman, who sat silently sipping his sugared milk and water. Smith watched his opportu- nity, and while O e was pouring out for him another cup of tea said, looking up an instant from the water bewitched before him, and appealing to O e — " Green, I presume," said Smith. " No ; Souchong,"' replied O e, looking doubtingly at Smith. " There are eggs," said THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 47 O e, as they were about to rise from the table. " Thank you, sir," said Smith, " I will, if you please, have an egg. I am sorry to trouble you — I will ring the bell." No eggs were to be found in the room, and O e was obliged, in common civility, to send to the buttery for one boiled egg, which, when it arrived, Smith modestly declined to take from him. Thus ended the breakfast ; O e never has forgiven him for putting an unnecessary and extra item in his weekly account. " Well, you must go now, Dormer," added Saville, " or you will be late ; you have only just time to enable you to reach your college before the clock has struck twelve. I will walk with you across the (juadrangle, to the porterV-Iodge." The porter opened the gate. " What rooms, sir ?" he said to Henry. " Mr. Saville's. Good niglit ; we shall meet 48 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. to-morrow, I hope." And Henry ran off along the deserted and dimly lighted avenues leading to his college, encountering nothing in his way, save the muffled up watchman, going his accustomed beat, rattling, as he sauntered along, the doors and shutters of each house as he passed, and giving notice to all thieves of his approach, by Stentorian ejaculation of the hour of the night. He accosted Henry with a gruff " Good nio;ht." The clocks of the several churches were striking twelve, as Henry entered the porter's- lodge. " A note for you, sir," said the porter. When he reached his room, Henry with difficulty lighted his candle at the last spark of his fire, and read the note. He had anticipated an invitation from Lord Wenman ; but it only contained an invita- tion to breakfast, for the following morning, at the rooms of one of his school -fellows ; he repaired there at the hour appointed, and THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 49 found a large party already assembled, many of whose faces were familiar to to him. He was greeted cordially by all. " I wonder where Smith is," said one. " Oh, the lazy fellow," said another, " he is never ready for anything. I found him the other day undergoing the operation of having his head shaved. I never laughed so much in my life. Smith was sitting without his wig, with his flowered dressing-gown thrown negli- gently over him, his foot resting upon a stool, and supporting his right arm ; in his hand he held a review, from which he was cramming the barber with literary novelties." " Oh, here he is !" several voices exclaimed, as the door opened, and Smith walked slowly and solemnly into the room, with a look of the most ludicrous anxiety upon his coun- tenance. " Why, what is the matter with you ?" rung round the table. " You look as if you were VOL. I. D 50 TUE COLLEGE CHUMS. marching to your execution — as if you were about to be hanged." Smith at once recognised Henry Dormer, walked up to the spot where he was sitting, and shook him cordially by the hand. " Dormer," he said, " how are you, my dear boy y How do you like Oxford ? Did you sleep well last night ? That's well ; I am glad to hear you say so. I hope you will make yourself comfortable during your stay in Oxford." Smith seated himself, and cast an appealing look round the table. " Well, what is the matter. Smith ; do let us hear your grievances." " You said," he began, " that I looked as if I were marching to my execution. Now, it is my firm conviction, gentle- men," casting a mysterious look from one to another, " that I was not born to be hanged." " Why, Smith, why ?" rang round the table. THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 51 " I will tell you," resumed Smith, " last night, as I sat ruminating on the uncertainty of awaking at an early hour in the morning, I matured a plan in my mind, which, after one or two experimental attempts, I found would be made available for that purpose. Many of you, no doubt, are sensible that on the left hand side of my bed hangs an alarum of unusual magnitude. It has long slumbered in total inactivity. An idea struck me of makino; it useful. I found that by attaching the string of the alarum bell to the bed-clothes, they would be jirked off by the action of the clock, when striking the hour. Accordingly, glorying in my bright conception, I attached the string to the bed-clothes, set the alarum hand at six, and retired to bed, where I lay unconscious of the imminent danger which was impending. In the morning I was awakened to the full peril of my situation. The noise of the bell was rattling in my ear, and I was sensible of a D 3 52 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. strangling sensation around my throat, each minute becoming more stringent. I started up instantaneously, and found that the string of the alarum was round my throat, my body suspended beneath the deadly instrument, in which posture I was doomed to further morti- fication and trial, for at that identical moment of suspension, the door of my room burst open, and in walked my servant, who, I verily believe, thought I had laid violent hands upon myself, for, without a moment's delay, he cut me down. Wlien he discovered that the vital spark had not flown, and I told him the nature of my adventure, I thought the fellow would have died of convulsions. I have no doubt but that during the night I had tossed and tumbled from side to side, and had thus entangled the string around my throat." A roar of laughter followed Smith's descrip- tion, which was given with the ludicrous effect he 80 well knew how to produce. THE COLLEGE CHUJIS. 53 " Well, Dormer," he said, when he had finldhed, " have you seen any of your tutors ?" " No," replied Henry, " I have only seen the Master." " Did you derive great pleasure ? You found him, doubtless, overwhelmed with busi- ness of a most urgent nature ? Did he keep you waiting half an hour in his little study, and when he appeared, did he talk to you of the ' days that are gone' — the days when he was Vice Chancellor ? Ah ! yes, I thought he did. No doubt your friend Saville has told you that you are in duty bound to call upon the Dons indiscriminately ?" " I have given Dormer a description of your first breakfast with O -e," said Saville. " No, have you ? I understand he has been offered the Bishopric of Calcutta, and refused it on the plea of ill health. I think 54 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. bore, as he is, tlie College can ill afford to lose him." " "WHiere is Grenville ?" said Smith looking round the room. " You remember Grenville, don't you, Saville ?" *' No ; he was before my time," said Sa- ville. " Had he not a frightful accident at school ?" " Yes ; at football he received a blow upon the ankle, and was obliged to have his leg am- putated below the knee. He manages won- derfully well without it, and has found an admirable substitute in a cork one. He hunts as often as formerly, and when on horseback, it is scarcely possible to detect the deficiency. If you go into his rooms before chapel, when he is in bed, he will request you not to molest his leg, which you will sec booted and spurred upon a chair in one corner of the room. Is that eleven o'clock striking ? AVho possesses a watch ? I dissected mine last night. I have THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 55 a lecture to attend at eleven o'clock. They have bound me on my honor. * My honor is my life — both live in one.' " And with a theatrical gesture, Smith threw his gown across his shoulders, and walked from the room. 56 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. CHAPTER V. When Henry Dormer returned to his room, he repaired, after attending a lecture, to call on the Bursar, O e. To his dismay he found him in his rooms. Taking Henry's hand in his, he held it until he had shampooed it from the palm, to the tip of the fingers, regarding him the while with a complacent stare, and without uttering a word. " Take a seat, Mr. Dormer," he said at length. THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 57 Henry seated himself with an inward sigh of entire resignation to his fate. " You left your family quite well, I hope, Mr. Dormer." Henry answered " that they Avere quite well." " And now, Mr. Dormer, I will give you an outline, a faint sketch for your guidance of the line of conduct we wish pursued, and the habits to which we expect the undergraduate membez'S of this college, at all seasons, to con- form. I will commence with the morninnr. At half-past seven, you will be awakened from your sleep, by your scout, or college servant, who will enter your room at that hour. He will commence his duty by telling you the hour of the morning, and exhorting you to rise, when yours will connnence, for you will bo r(;([uired to answer the summons of the chapel bell, calling to morning devotion. At eight o'clock, you will find that your scout has been again mindful of his duty, and will have D 5 58 THE COLLEGE CIIUMS. laid your breakfast, after having partaken of Avliich, you will be expected to attend a course of lectures, an account of which you will find suspended on a board attached to the wall on either side of the hall-door within. Between the hours of one and two o'clock, the master and tutors have allowed the buttery, or kitchen, to be opened for one quarter of an hour, in order that the young men may partake of a slight refection, commonly called luncheon, lest they should faint after the duties of the morning. At three you may lay aside your cap and gown, put on your hat, and take a walk into the country, carefully avoiding, in your egress, all the leading thoroughfares ; you will thus, we will presume, seek the fields at three o'clock, and return punctually at four, in the Summer, and at five in Winter, at wliich hours respectively dinner is served up in the college hall. Dinner being ended, the master and tutors have kindly permitted fruit to be introduced within the college, for the use of THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 59 the undergraduates and their friends, and also the luxury of a glass of wine, both these luxuries being exclusive of the college ex- penses, an account of which is rendered and delivered to each member of the college at the expiration of every week, namely, on the Sa- turday. Every member is expected, on pain of expulsion, or such other penalty as the master and tutors may^deem expedient, to be in his rooms before the hour of twelve, that hour being the latest at which any member can be admitted, without incurring the deep censure and heavy displeasure of the college autho- rities." After a pause of a few minutes, during which he again stared at Henry in silence, he rose from his seat, and motionins to him, led him to a table, on which two massive folios lay open. Henry regarded them, and per- ceived that they contained a long list of names and a voluminous array of figures. " Upon me," said O e solemnly, " has 60 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. devolved the duty of keeping the college ac- counts. In this book, Mr. Dormer, you will perceive that I keep those accounts. You are expected to pay, in person, your battels, or college dues, to me, at the expiration of each Term, at which time, and in your presence, I shall affix, as you perceive I have done upon former occasions, this abbreviation, sol. i.e. solvit.^ He closed the book. " I trust our acquaintance, Mr. Dormer, will improve daily, and be of long continuance. I will not detain you. I see you are anxious to return to your studies." With another protracted shake of the hand, he suffered Henry to depart, who wished most heartily that his translation to the See of Cal- cutta had taken place, before he made his ac- quaintance. After the tedium of such a morning, Htnry resolved upon visiting Lord Wenman, hoping that he might, on this occasion, be more fortu- THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 61 nate in finding Lady Emily at home. He accordingly ordered Lis horse, and having par- taken of the slight refection allowed by the master and tutors of the college, he set out, and having reached Lord Wenman's, found the family at home. " Where is my nephew Saville ?" said Lord "VVeuman, after the first salutations were ended. " Why did not he accompany you ?" Henry said he was nowhere to be found. The servant announced luncheon, and Lady Wenman and Henry repaired together to the dining-room. " You must excuse me, Mr. Dormer," said Lord Wenman, " for I am unable to move from my chair." As Henry and Lady Wenman entered the room wliere luncheon was laid, the former saw that a small party had already assembled, and from among them his eye was not slow in aiijgling out tlie object of his Bolicitudc. Lady 62 THE COLLEGE CHUM6. Emily was standing up, and helping herself from a dish of smoking potatoes. As the door opened, she turned, and seeing Henry, ad- vanced to meet him. Her mother having in- troduced him to her daughter, he soon found himself talking to her with all the ease and familiarity of an old acquaintance. Emily Graham was in stature rather above the average height. Her form was moulded to the fairest model of perfection. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and of exquisite texture ; her eye-lashes and eye-brows of the same colour ; the former, long and silken, shaded eyes of the brightest blue. Her fea- tures were regular, and her whole countenance was lighted up by an expression of the most winning archness and simplicity. Emily enquired particularly after Henry's sisters — " I have a distant recollection of both your sisters," she said, " we were playmates together THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 63 in Grosvenor-Square, when quite children. I hope we shall have an opportunity of renewing our acquaintance." Henry expressed his acquiescence in this wish, and said he anticipated and expected his father and sisters to visit Oxford. " Oh, I shall be so glad," said Lady Emily, " and do you like Oxford, Mr. Dormer ? I hope you feel sufficiently barbarous in your new life, and appreciate fully the notice we take of you. You must know that the inha- bitant gentry of Oxfordshire and the neigbour- ing counties, contemplate with horror, the approach of an Oxonian. They have been led to expect little short of Cannibalism, I assure you. We see them but seldom, and then en masse, at the Commemoration, Installation, or upon some other public occasion, when the yells they utter are perfectly ap[)alling.'* " You seem to have taken a strong prejudice against the luckless University." " Well, well, Mr. Dormer, I will not be so Gi THE COLLEGE CHUMS. unceremonious in my censure, since I perceive it is a sore subject ; but I assure you with all candour, that we do occasionally meet an agreeable, gentlemanlike, and well behaved young man, whom, upon enquiry, we find is residing at Oxford. For instance, my cousin Saville, who, by the bye, is, I know, a friend of yours, for I have often heard him name you. Have you a taste for poetry, Mr. Dormer ? You have at all events, I have no doubt, read George's prize poem — don't you admire it very much ?" Henry had read, and admired it most en- thusiastically. " There is so much originality in it" re- sumed Lady Emily, " and I love originality." " Yes," said Henry, " when it does not border upon eccentricity." " I fear I even prefer eccentricity to the dull, commonplace of every day life. How much there is to admire in the character of Byron, with all his faults and eccentricities, THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 65 and don't you think his good qualities ara sadly undervalued ?" " I think," said Henry, " it is an admission of considerable danger. We are so prone to pardon or overlook the faults, and often even the crimes, of an eminently talented person. Byron certainly possessed the power of at- tracting persons around him, and of inspiring and entertaining, I doubt not, strong and lasting friendships. Moore, in his life of Lord Byron, has introduced numerous fresh traits of the native goodness of his disposition. No man appears to me to have been more the victim of circumstances, or to have been more unfortunate; in every relation of life thwarted, and the best springs of his existence turned into bitterness. The account of the devotion of his servants and followers to their master, and of his death-bed, are very toucliing." Emily and Henry had been so engrossed by their own conversation, that tlujy had not per- 66 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. ceived that they were left to the enjoyment of a tete-a-tete Henry rose to depart, first seeking Lord Weninan's room, where he found Lady Wen- man. After a few words at parting, he mounted his horse, and returned on his road to Oxford. Emily Graham, as is not unfrequently the case, where we are told that we must take an especial liking to this or that person, had invo- luntarily entertained a predisposition to dislike Henry Dormer. She had heard him spoken of as very clever, exceedingly handsome, but sedate, ceremonious, and forbidding in his manners. She was agreeably surprised to find that he was very different, in many respects, to the description she had received, and she thought when he was gone that she had never met with a more agreeable companion, and found herself indulging in a feeling of interest for Henry, and experiencing an anxiety to THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 67 know what his opinion of her might be, and when it was likely they should meet again. How often do our resolutions prove abor- tive, or in other words, what is so delusive as our affections — our security is our danger — our defiance is our defeat. Emily had resolved to dislike Henry Dormer before she had seen him. She had now seen liim, and as she retired to her room, to dress for dinner, she felt that to dislike him would be not only unjustifiable, but impossible. She must, she did like him, and as she recalled to her recollection the evident pleasure Henry had evinced in her society, she walked uncon- sciously to the window, from which she could see him, as he rode across the Park. She stood regarding him until the dai'k foliage of the trees hid him from her sight, and with a sigh turned away. Upon Henry the impressions made by his first introduction to Emily were most fa- vourable. 68 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. How often do our brightest hopes and blissful anticipations end in disappointment ? At one time, we hurry to some scene, antici- pating pleasure and enjoyment — ^wc return weary, and with a sinking heart ; at another, we are almost dragged from home into society which promises no enjoyment, but we find, in this very society, we are lingerers for days, weeks, months, beyond the time appointed for our departure, and when the hour at length arrives for separation, we have scarcely cou- rage to utter the words " good bye," and tear ourselves away from the scene where we have experienced so much happiness. Henry had long anticipated much pleasure in forming an acquaintance with Lady Emily, nor was he disappointed. The reality even exceeded his expectation, and during his ride home, his thoughts were wholly occupied with thinking over his visit, whilst giving head to his horse, he suffered him to take his own time surrendering his body to the easy sway of the THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 69 animal's motion, and soon found himself within sight of Oxford, when he trotted briskly forward- " I shall want Ginger the day after to-morrow," said Henry to his servant, as the latter was leading the horse into the stable. " You will ride him on in the morning to covert side. The hounds meet at Lord Wenman's. Call at my rooms to-morrow night, for my carpet bag. I shall dine there. 70 THE COLLEGE CHUMS. CHAPTER VI. Upon reaching his college, Henry found that he was too late for hall dinner. He therefore walked to Dickenson's coffee-house, and, after dining, sat down to write to his father. His opinion of Emily Graham was given in the following terms — " The high expectations I had raised, have not been disappointed. I have seen Lady Emily. I fear you will think that I have taken leave of my senses, and fallen over head and ears in love with her, if I describe one- THE COLLEGE CHUMS. 71 tenth of the feelings I experience and the admiration I entertain for her. She is, indeed, perfectly beautifid — the very style of beauty that I have so often conceived, but never until now have met with. Her features are regular and exquisitely chiselled — her mouth, her eyes, her teeth, excellent and in perfect harmony with the most patrician nose I ever saw ; but the attempt to describe her is fruitless. I hope you will take an early opportunity of coming to Oxford, in order to make her ac- quaintance. She enquired particularly after my sisters, whom she remembers as playmates. I did not see her brother : he was from home. Lord Wenraan is stiU confined to the house. The hounds meet there the day after to- morrow. I am invited to dinner on that day. I undcr8tan