PENCILLINGS OF UNDERGRADUATES. "To point a moral."-DR. JOHNSON. CHAPTER I. Revenge and wrong bring forth their kind, Their den is in their guilty mind, And conscience feeds them with despair."-SHELLEY. COLLEGE students: God bless you! I could tell you tales con.. cerning them by the hour. I did not pass three years of an Undergraduate's course, without making observations respecting their habits of life, their long, long resistance to temptation, and their reluctant yielding to its spells at last. The following story,-it matters not how I became so minutely acquainted with its bearings; it is sufficient that I can vouch for their authenticity,-haud ignota loquar,-carries a moral with it, that- -but I will let my narrative speak for itself. a I was acquainted with Fitzherbert at Harrow. He was what was called, in the prevailing slang of the day, a devilish good fellow, slap-up trump. I was familiar likewise with many portions of his family history. He seldom alluded to them himself, for there was much that was sad and painful connected with the recollection of them. He had lost his mother in early life, but not before his infant mind had received that impress of her features, which would sometimes glance upon him, like the visitings of his better angel, amidst the midnight scenes of recklessness and debauchery. He once told me that, while pouring forth a torrent of profane oaths, during a quarrel with a fellow-student, he felt her thin and delicate fingers gliding softly through his hair, and parting it as she had used to do when he was a child. When he arrived at Cambridge, he was expected to do much. His known classical attainments, joined to the natural powers of his mind, induced a belief that his ambition might compass anything. How far these expectations were blighted, it is scarcely my object to relate: but I well remember that his apartments were, from his own choice, situated in the most retired corner of the spacious quadrangle ;-nearest the sky, moreover,-and then plainly furnished, in order that luxury and accommodation might not serve to establish them either as a resort for loungers, or gain for them the reputation of a Cigar-divan. Fitzherbert had not been at College many months, when a splash young Baronet, from Eton, with whom he had been formerly acquainted, arrived at Cambridge. They met at the rooms of a mutual friend; and renewed their previous intimacy. I was present myself, and remember well the occurrence. Sir Frank Haslewood loquitur“D—n it, Fitzherbert, they tell me you have turned Sim, and that you attend Littelwitt's church. Answer to the accusation. Is it true or false ?" "To the latter count," replied Fitzherbert, "I plead guilty shall I say? If you will have it so-yes! But with regard to the former, I can return you no answer, till you first give me the definition of a Sim, as you are pleased to term me." "A Sim," Haslewood returned,—“a Sim; let the character of a Sim be written down in the University annals Monstrum, horrendum, informe, ingens.' These are they who take from Christianity its fair fame, who desecrate the worship of God, by making pay-tables of his altars.* I cannot do justice to their hypocrisy. I must point out examples, from whose conduct you must gain your knowledge of the species. There's and and A pretty trio! What think ye of them ?" After some remarks from Fitzherbert, Parker, the friend before alluded to, changed the subject, by proposing a ride to Newmarket on the following day, which was instantly acceded to by the Baronet; but not so readily by Fitzherbert. His duties with his private tutor, --the strictness of the College Dons in enforcing regular attendance at hall, during the racing week, and many other objections, were started; all which Sir Frank Haslewood and Parker overruled, and Fitzherbert was compelled to consent. I do not know whether Fitzherbert betted at Newmarket; and at this time I have no means of ascertaining. Nor is it a part of my. plan to follow him through every intricate twist and turning of his College career. -'s, The first great event to which I must refer, was his visit to a notorious gambling-house in London. His companions were Haslewood and Parker. He had a considerable sum about his person. It was to discharge his College bills. In an evil hour he was induced to risk it, and—he lost. They tempted him to play again. "I have nothing to meet you with,-nothing;" and here he paused. "That ring," suggested Parker, as he glanced at the brilliant which Fitzherbert constantly wore. Fitzherbert pronounced these words in a firm voice, but the compression of his features indicated emotion. "Allow me to examine it," continued Parker; "it seems to be of the first water." Fitzherbert removed it from his finger, and handed it to him in silence. "It's a fine jewel, certainly," he said, when he had scrutinised it sufficiently. "Well, it's more than it's worth, — but you wish to be handsome, Haslewood, and Paget has lost every stake yet; what say you?-will you risk fifty against it?" "Fifty is a large sum," returned the wily Haslewood; "butdamme I don't know; I wish to be handsome, as you say." From the expression, "desecrating the worship of God, by making pay-tables of His altars," I should suppose Sir Frank Haslewood to allude to the rules of one of our large Colleges, which condemn the Scholars and Foundation Sizars to the loss of their commons, unless they submit to the imposition of a stated number of chapels per week.-PRINTER'S DEVIL. Fitzherbert felt the blood mounting to his cheeks, as he heard the proposition. His mother's ring. What if he lost it? Could he ever forgive himself? But then, on the other hand, there was the chance of winning, and money he must have. "It's an offer that you won't get repeated, I can tell you," said Parker, perceiving his hesitation. "Carry the bauble to a jeweller's, and he'll offer you twenty. Take your choice, you know that I am your friend." Fitzherbert bit his lip, but remained silent. else, if it had been the gift of another! her grave. If it had been anything But his mother! and in Still he could remember her as well without it. affection needed no jewel as a monitor. True Rapid as light these thoughts glanced across his brain. As speedily was he decided. And again were the boxes charged, and again-he lost! He caught up his hat, with a hideous imprecation, dashed towards the door, and disappeared. They called after him, but he returned no more. Scarcely knowing what he did, he hurried along the dark back street in which the gambling den was situated. The night was very cold; flakes of snow were falling, and a keen north wind set right in his face. The pavement, too, was so slippery, as to render it dangerous to proceed at a tolerably fast pace. He was in the street now, that was one comfort; and thus far unnoticed, except by the passers by. When he got into the Quadrant in Regent-street, he stopped, and lingered about by the shop-windows, for the purpose of diverting his attention. His dress being that of a gentleman, he was solicited for charity by a wretched-looking woman, with a dirty, ragged child in her arms. He had some confused notion that money was required of him, and he turned round and laughed in her face, which act of seeming cruelty drew forth a shower of abuse from the mendicant; but he laughed louder at this, and walked on. He passed a shop where he had been accustomed to purchase cigars; he had entered it before he remembered that his pockets were empty. The man approached, and bowed, as if waiting his commands. He stammered out something about a mistake, and made a retreat. The man, concluding him to be drunk, took no note of the circumstance. What must be his resource? He was in his landlady's debt, and could not think of returning there without the wherewithal to discharge her bill. He had no money,-and to go to an inn, at that time of night, without luggage, would be absurd ;-no innkeeper would receive him. He must do something. What must that something be? He had no cause to stifle remembrance, for his brain was too confused to allow him to recollect, with any degree of clearness, what had really happened. Something there was that came across him, that was unpleasantly associated with his mother's memory. And this idea fastening upon him, he began to fancy that she was really present, and had risen from her grave to chide him. He more than once caught himself listening in terror to her admonitions; and then, recollecting himself, he knew that what he supposed to be her voice, was only the wind whistling among the pillars of the Quadrant. But he felt his heart beat, and his hair to stand on end, notwithstanding. He began to walk fast, to keep himself warm. He buttoned his coat up tighter round his chin, and tied his pocket-handkerchief over his mouth. After all, it was mere personal inconvenience ;—in other circumstances, he would have enjoyed it ;—why not now? He passed along the Strand,-down Fleet-street,-up Ludgate-hill, -to St. Paul's. The snow had ceased,—the clouds had dispersed, and the moon cast a pale chill ray upon the whitened houses and the cold glittering streets. There were but few people abroad, and they were hurrying rapidly along: it was not a night to slumber upon duty. Even the policemen had exchanged their leisurely, monotonous pace for a stiff walk, and the cabmen, who dared not leave their charge, stamped their feet upon the ground, to keep the blood in circulation. About five in the morning, however, the wind suddenly shifted to the west; and a misty rain began to fall, bringing with it all the unpleasantness of a London thaw. As Fitzherbert made his way up Newgatestreet and Holborn, he passed several coffee-shops and early-breakfast houses, which were open for the accommodation of cads, and the lowest classes of artisans, who passed them on their way to work. He would gladly have sought rest and shelter even within these walls; but he was without money, and he walked on. There was a gin-shop in Oxford-street; it had recently been repaired and beautified, and its exterior was indeed handsomely fitted up, - gilded mouldings and superb cornices attracting the eye in all directions. The door was open, and Fitzherbert lingered, with a degree of curiosity, to observe the customers who frequented it at that early hour. From the crowd of persons before the bar, he seemed secure from the observation of the landlord, and as he was weary with his continual wandering to and fro, during the night, he seated himself on the nearest stool, and began to contemplate the scene before him. It was indeed a motley scene-possessing, however, one common feature-wretchedness. In every lineament of every feature, squalid want and wretched vice were depicted. Bleared eye,—sunken cheek, -tottering limbs. Faces that had been once fair, and which still retained some considerable traces of beauty. Females,―mere children, apparently, but grown old in vicious practices;-girls that should have been amongst the most delicate of nature's tracery. Fitzherbert's heart sickened as he gazed, for he was now brought into familiar contact with that which he had only heard of as a dream before. Many eyes were turned towards him; and to avoid unpleasant attention, he was obliged to depart. The sky was streaked with the first dawn of morning; and, one by one, the lamps in the street flickered, and went out. Then came the cry of the poor sweep, who of all human creatures seems to enjoy the least of this world's luxury. The mails and night-coaches, with their outside passengers, looking as unpleasantly comfortable as their situation might bespeak, were hastening to their respective offices. Bricklayers,-workmen of all kinds, were making for their place of employment; while occasionally the slight form of a young and delicate female might be seen hurrying to another day's incarceration at the work-table. |