HYLAS. THEOCR. Id. XIII. I TROW that not for mortal hearts alone And taught him, as a father would his child, But when from rich Iolcos, son's son, He with young Hylas sought the well-bench'd ship And when the Pleiads rose, and growing lambs Browsed in far fields, the spring being past its prime, The godlike heroes set about their voyage. They took their places in the hollow ship, And came with three days' breathing of the South And landing there at evening, two and two He spied a fountain: round the margin grew Plunged it in deep, they clung about his hand, And sheer into the waters dim he fell As from the sky falls sheer into the sea A ruddy meteor, and the sailor cries To his mates 'Let go, my lads, there comes a breeze!" And on their knees the nymphs in gentle ruth Roaming the trackless hill; and what to him But Argo floated with her sails aloft, Went madly, as adventure led his feet J. H. C. THE CONFESSIONS OF AN OLD DON. Do you think I am quite blind to all the opinions that are uttered so freely about the older Members of the College fraternity? Do you imagine that such words as Monachism, Malthusianism, Sciolism, and a hundred other invidious-isms, never reach my ears? were never used by myself in my younger days, when the great Quadratic of life had not been worked out into the solution (and that the better one)? If you do, (and I am sure you seem to do it) you are much mistaken. Speak evil of the king, and a bird of the air shall carry it speak evil of the college dignities, and the birds of the college (the vultures) shall whisper it to them. The general opinion among the undergraduate world about an Old Don, is, that his main delight, nay, the chief end of his existence consists in getting up a good cellar of old wine for the next generation, (port in particular): a feast day in hall; a turn in the grounds on Sunday afternoon after the weekly grave and solemn attendance at St. Mary's: but most exquisite and supreme of all, to order young mad-caps* to put their gowns on. It is to correct such an impression erroneous as well as infamous and thoughtless, that I sit down to pen this my confession. I said erroneous, for let me ask this one question. If youngsters have grand dreams and hopes and aspirations, in their after-hall smoke, or lazy moods; if they forsooth think that a life of passion and activity, of earnestness and labour, of thoughts, book writing, and all the other phantasmagoria of a young brain that rails against Logic, and neglects Mathematics, and reads Homer and Sophocles for their beauties and not for the grammar, particles and allusions; if they do all this and at last turn out Senior Ops., or Not those caps, the board of which has been long shattered and gone to wreck. Talk Third Class Classics; what must have been the hopes, the aspirations, the mental struggles, the lofty passions of those who were high Classics and Wranglers, prize-poem writers, and prize-essayists? I trow something far higher. Talk not then of what your earthly and blind eyes cannot see. not of an Old Don as an old dry stick who delights in Greek particles and mazy problems and long series. Dream not that you are the only ones who see beauties in the antique literature, or think the end of all science is to produce stiff problems. You comprehend us not, our mission, our high and holy purposes, or the meaning and end of our pursuits. We read you all through and through. We pity but do not despise you, for in time you will look on things with other eyes. But, as Terentius says, Verbum sap., sat-To my tale. I was a Scholar of the College, and had worked steadily and not unsuccessfully for two years and a half. I will candidly admit that in those days I was not so particular in the matter of dress, bearing, or accent, as I now am, and I dare say (though NOT from Cumberland) was slightly Septentrionian. But what of that? I stuck to Mathesis, and the ardour of my devotion was only exceeded by the closeness of my application. I also read up the authorities for matters of faith a subject on which all undergraduates are strikingly ignorant. This was the round of my life from term to term, till, in the May of my third year, occurred an event on which even now I look back with wonder and sadness. One of the few chums I had for Sunday afternoon walks and ditto evening teas, had a visit from an aunt and sister for a week during that term, and I was called into requisition as cicerone and cavalier. One afternoon of the aunt, with her sharp nose and questions, her piercing spectacles, and dry discourses, sufficed for me, and afterwards as much as possible I attended on the niece Miss Eloisa J-, and she was worthy of all the attentions I could lavish on her. All attempts at description would be useless and might lead to identification. She was not one of those every day pretty girls who wear pink in Summer and blue in Winter. There was nothing positively striking about her, except her hand which was beautifully small and neat. Her hair was dark, smooth, and well done up. Her brow was not lofty, but, if anything, broad. Her cast of face was thoroughly English, none of the Roman hauteur or the Grecian contour about it. Her complexion, features, expression were all her own. Not like those of the vain young Cantabrigian belles, of a sallow wax |