Chapters of College Romance. First series

Front matter

CHAPTEES OF COLLEGE ROMANCE. ET ISAAC BUTT, Esq., Q. C, M. P., AUTHOR OE "HISTORY OE ITALY," ETC. Jfirst $txm. LONDON : CHARLES J. SKEET, PUBLISHER, 10, KING WILLIAM STREET, CHASING CEOSS. 1863. The Eight os Translation is reserved. CHAPTERS OP COLLEGE ROMANCE, INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. " Chapters of College Romance !" Do not, reader, be startled at the words. I am about to present to you some few recollections of scenes which have passed within the walls of that grey old building that looks so gravely and soberly over the leading thoroughfare of the metropolis of Ireland. From some of these scenes I will offer you the romance of truth — that truth which is often stranger than fiction. Do not imagine that within these sombre and dusty walls — within these courts dedicated to learning, there is no place for " romance."

That word means something else than tales of ladye-love and chivalry. vol. I. B There is romance wherever there is a devia tion from the modes of acting or of thought that are common among men ; there is romance wherever there is a disinterested act ; wherever there is a high and ardent spirit to break through, by one eccentric effusion of its native generosity, the dull monotony of the selfishness of ordinary life. There is romance wherever interest is sacrificed to feeling— wherever there is love or friendship. Then, why should there not be romance in College ? Are there not within its walls young hearts over whom the world has not yet thrown its deadening spell, to wither up all their feelings into the sear insensi bility of what the world calls prudence ? Are there not there young Irishmen to whom their nativity has attached the epithet of wild, and who certainly possess the birthright of being enthusiastic.

There is, then, romance in college, and these pages will present you with much that is sad, and much that is gay, chequered just Tke the world in which we live, with all the strange mixtures of mirth and misery, with the alternate lights and shadows of gladness and sorrow. INTRODUCTORY

Chapter. 3

When I say that these pages will be the ro mance of truth, I mean that they are true. It has so happened that I was much, very much longer an inmate of Alma Mater than falls to the average lot of her sons ; and, since I have ceased to sojourn within her chambers, accident, or perhaps I should say inclination, has thrown me very much into the society of college men. Many strange incidents have thus come to my knowledge ; some of them relating to events in which I took a share, others to those that had happened long before my day, and some few that have taken place since. It has often occurred to me that these incidents, if collected together, would form a curious and interesting commentary on the wayward follies and the vain ambition of youth ; and for years I em ployed my leisure hours in collecting materials for such a commentary.

On the appearance of a Mag-azine bearing; the name of the " Univer sity," it immediately suggested itself to me, that its pages would be the fittest medium for pre senting the result of my memoranda to the public. Upon a reperusal I found that some of these memoranda it would not, perhaps, be ad- B visable to publish ; however, quite enough of materials remained behind to form an inte resting, and, I hope, not altogether an unprofit able work. I am very sure that if I succeed in simply bringing before the reader's eyes the life and the death of many whom I myself remem ber gay and light-hearted, and " following the ways of their own heart, while their heart cheered them in the days of their youth," I shall have done something towards impressing on his mind the lesson "remember thy Creator!"

My reader must not, however, understand me as saying that sadness and gaiety can mingle in anything like equal proportions in the memories I have to record. In glancing over the titles of my memoranda, I can select but few that do not tell of disappointed hopes, of wasted energies, of lost ambitions, of bright visions of the future clouded by guilt or marred by folly, or closed in the darkness of an early grave. Yet, most as suredly, these are not the average, or anything like the average, incidents of College life. Most of the remembrances of these early days are full of life, and happiness, and joy. But my readers must recollect that the course of the prosperous INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. man is a tame one. But little can be said of the student who, without any struggle, made his even way to the honours and emoluments of the world.

In College, as elsewhere, the poetry of life is to be found in the histories of trials, of sorrows, of adversities, and even of crime. Few stories that recorded none of these, could rise above the common-place dullness of ordinary life. Yet, even in the retrospect of what once was bright, how much of melancholy mingles. Time has been called the great consoler ; but surely if he tempers, as he passes on, the anguish of re cent sorrow, he is spreading its sadness over all the memories of the past. The most cheerful remembrances of by-gone days come tinged with sorrow to our heart. Standing near the base of the mountain our eye rests upon the pictures of life, and gladness upon its side ; the warm cottage glistens in its sheltered nook, the white rill tumbles in its silvery joyousness from crag to crag.

Look on the same scene from afar off, all these and a thousand other joyous images are gone — they have disappeared, or faded into specks upon the outline of the dim, and distant, and melancholy blue. So it is with the memories of our youth — we look back on the sunniest and brightest, through the melancholy haze of intervening years. There are those to whom the very title of these chapters will recall associations, and bring back memories under the influence of which they will receive the writer who reminds them of their College days as a friend. Many a heart reverts in after-life, with some indescribable affection, to that gray old pile of buildings, within the walls of which so many of the hours of its youth were passed. Many a man amid the busy employments, the distracting cares, or the maddening ambitions of the world, recalls with mingled pleasure and regret the scenes, the companions, and the occupations of those price less hours.

There are few who have been edu cated within those walls to whom everything that comes with the name of College does not bear a charmed sound. However imperfect may be my " Chapters," there are those to whom they will be welcome for the sake of the name they bear, and the associations they recall. That they will be worthy of that name or of those recollections I cannot presume to assert. I can only INTRODUCTORY

CHAPTER. 7

say that they are the reminiscences of one who has had a larger opportunity than most men of noting down strange incidents that have chec quered the realities of College life. But even those who cannot recur to a time when they were inmates of the chambers in which most of my scenes must be laid, may yet feel an interest in the description of the feelings and the passions that have agitated and torn young hearts within their walls. I cannot forget that in this latter class are included all of the gentler sex, those whose judgment on tales like these is always the most just and true. With out further preface, therefore, 1 ask of my reader — whether he has had in his youth the happiness of being a College man or not — I ask of my reader of that gentler sex to which, at least in our British Universities, College life is forbidden — to turn over to the next page, where will be found the first of the chapters into which the memoranda of my note-book are to be woven, and to judge for himself or herself whether I have anything to say which it is worth while to tell. Until we meet on the other side of the page, farewell !

Chapter I. The Billiard Table

If there be among the young, whose light and careless eye may glance over these pages, or whose attention is arrested by the words with which I have headed this chapter ; if there be one to whom The Billiard Table comes as a familiar sound — one who is just yielding to the seductive fascinations of gambling, without knowing the vortex into which he is insensibly drawn ; if he is beginning to devote his evenings, perhaps his mornings, to what he may call a quiet game at billiards ; if he has ventured occasionally upon a small bet — and if, in the excitement of loss, or the exultation of success, he has been tempted to hazard a larger stake, and has felt a deeper interest in the issue — let — THE BILLIARD TABLE. him pause — let him no longer excuse himself with the plea that he is moderate in his play.

Every gambler has thus begun, and many a gambler has commenced his career of ruin by a quiet game at billiards. If, reader, you be still hovering on the verge of destruction — if you have already begun to frequent the billiard-room, believe me that you are in danger. The sad experience of many will testify that the billiard rooms that infest every city, are but, as it were, so many entrances to the hell of infamy to which they lead — so many porches built around the dark temple in which the foul fiend of gambling, in all its terrible potency, is enshrined. Were the doors of that temple thrown open, none would enter ; but there is a porch pre pared, into which the unwary may be drawn, and they learn to linger there awhile ; while they are, as it were, prepared for the more terrible scenes that are enacted within.

But, alas ! the transition is too easy ; a door opens from each porch, by which, after a little period of initi ation, the victims are admitted to the foul rites of the inner shrine. Some may escape ; but how many never turn back, until they come with shattered fortunes and ruined souls. It may be that in the porch you may see but little indication of your neighbourhood to ruin ; but still there is a door that leads straight from the spot where you stand to destruction. Every billiard-room is such a porch : the very atmosphere you breathe is tainted ; the passage to the darkest, to the foulest, the most dishonourable mysteries of gambling is close behind you ; the priests of the temple lurk around to drag you down that passage, from which you never will return ; sharpers are watching your unguarded moments ; " Arise and depart — this is no place for you ; it will destroy you, even with a sore destruction."

Do not imagine that I am preparing a tale to inculcate a moral. No : I am but relating that which happened. You will perceive, as I pro ceed, that I am presenting you with a narrative of events, many of which do not add to the force of the lesson I desire to convey. I confess, the moral I wish to be drawn from what I write is, the danger of venturing at all upon gambling : it is playing with poison — it is like amusing one's self by running into a poisoned — THE BILLIARD TABLE. atmosphere. This is the lesson 1 wish my narrative to convey ; but I feel that, by colour ing the facts which I relate, by suppressing something of the truth, I might make that lesson stand out in more bold and terrible dis tinctness. But the business I have proposed to myself is simply to relate facts ; and God knows that, even as they did occur, there is enough to appal the stoutest heart from the accursed fascinations of the gambling-table.

Edmund Connor was the only child of a gentleman who had amassed a considerable property in mercantile transactions. At the age of eighteen Edmund entered the University. Shortly after this, his father's death left him heir to about twelve hundred a year. By the some what curious conditions of his father's will, his guardians were to allow him three hundred a year until the period of his graduation, when he was to come into the full possession of his inheritance ; the balance in the interim was one half to go to a distant relation, and the other half to be paid into the funds of a charitable institution, in the vicinity of Dublin.* * I do not know whether this may suggest a clue by I had been acquainted vvith Mr. Connor some time before his death. I was senior by a few years in standing to Edmund ; and I believe that he originally attached himself to me from a feeling which I have observed to be very preva lent among those who have just entered college — a desire to be much in the society of those whose seniority gives them an academic rank superior to their own.

In the eyes of a gib (I believe my academic readers will still understand the term) a so phister is quite a respectable being, and he naturally desires to be his associate. It is but a modification of the same feeling that prompts the country gentleman to be a parasite at the table of the duke, and the duke to be a loiterer in the court of a king. For about two years after Edmund's entrance all went on smoothly. He was a young man of good, although not extraordinary talent ; and which the real name of the subject of this story may be detected. There is one of the trustees of this institu tion, who will, I am sure, recollect the circumstance of the receipt of £i?>0 for five years. But he is already acquainted with all the particulars. — THE BILLIARD TABLE. he pursued his academic course with some ho nour.

It was at the end of this time that I began to know him better. I found in him very many qualities to love. It is strange that it was just about the same time that his own folly chequered his path in life with the events that may, perhaps, serve to make his history a lesson. He and I were both in the habit of visiting at the house of a family of the name of Jephson. The Jephsons were not very distant relations of my own. My intimacy with Edmund created, per haps, an additional intimacy between my friend and my relations. I did not mean to put the words in the antithesis in which I have placed them, but let it be ; friend and relation are very, very different words ; " There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother." The Jephsons were, however, relatives, whom I never could look upon as friends ; they were, in every sense, people of the world.

They occasionally gave fine entertainments, as often as a good, although not a splendid, fortune would admit ; they drove a handsome carriage, and subscribed to all the charity balls that were got up under fashionable patronage. Hence, they had the character of being a peculiarly amiable family, and their acquaintance was eagerly sought after, even in the circles which the frequenters of them, with the tacit consent of the rest of the world, call the best. My aunt — for so she insisted on my calling her, although I did not stand in quite so near a relationship as that of her nephew — my aunt was a busy, active, and somewhat pompous woman : with very little intellect, she really was what is called an excellent manager. I had the good fortune to obtain some premiums in my di vision, and I had made one or two foolish speeches in tlie Historical Society, of which a favourable account had been carried to the Jeph sons.

This made me a prime favourite with the whole family. Mrs. Jephson immediately set me down as a Fellow of College and Lord Chancellor of Ireland, and took every oppor tunity of commending those great abilities which she fancied I must possess. Years have now gone by, and I am neither a Fellow nor Lord Chancellor, but an obscure and humble indi vidual, whose existence is of consequence to no — THE BILLIARD TABLE. one but myself, and even of little to myself. The vanity of youth has found its corrective in the sad experience of life ; and now I may confess that this flattery, although, sometimes, I was too sensible of its ridiculousness not to be annoyed, yet was pleasing. I am, however, speaking of a time previous to that at which my narrative properly commences. I was begin ning to outgrow my vanity at the period when Edmund Connor became intimate with the Jephsons.

It was when I first entered College, when I fancied that a January premium neces sarily stamped its possessor as a man of genius, that I listened with pleasure to my aunt's pane gyrics upon my talents: With a strange in consistency, the opinion of myself was the only one of her opinions on which I set any value ; and I really imagined that when I was sent to walk with my cousins, as was not unfrequently the case, they had imbibed so much of their mother's spirit as to feel proud of walking with so distinguished an individual. This, perhaps, was. but the natural vanity of a young man. It soon passed away ; and I learned to contemplate my relatives in their true characters, without being dazzled by their flattery. I believe that there is nothing so likely to conciliate your good opinion of others as to find that they either entertain, or profess to entertain, exaggerated notions of yourself.

" A gift," says Solomon, " perverteth the wise ;" and what gift so pleasing to the vanity of the human heart as that one which, after all, costs least to offer — flattery ! You cannot judge impartially of those who have judged favourably of you. The smoke of the incense which they offer you rises up between you and them ; and you see them through the coloured medium of that cloud, with all their good qualities magni fied, and all their imperfections dimmed. There was one trait in Mrs. Jephson's character which it required no great penetration to discover. She had an overweening and ill-con cealed desire to make for her daughters what she called good matches — that is, matches with men who might have plenty of money and keep up a fashionable appearance. To effect this desirable object, she spared no pains; and in deed she had admirably trained the young ladies themselves to assist her in her intrigues.

Many — THE BILLIARD TABLE. 17 a " net had been spread" for some rich old or young " bird" by Caroline, the eldest daughter, but hitherto " it had been spread in vain." I remember one occasion upon which she had thought herself quite sure of a very eligible prize — a half-pay captain of dragoons, with a large fortune and one eye. He had been her partner two or three times at balls ; he had then become a constant visitor at the house. My aunt, having made all due inquiries as to his fortune and connexions, had directed poor Caro line to encourage him; and, like an obedient daughter, she obeyed. She played for him — she showed him her drawings — the Captain pro fessed the most unqualified admiration of her accomplishments. Mamma contrived to leave the lovers alone together. The Captain looked very awkward and sighed — Caroline was quite sure he was just going to take her hand in his, and was preparing her cheek to blush, according to the most approved fashion — when one of her brothers most unseasonably entered the room.

Alas ! alas ! for male constancy and female hopes ! Three days after this interesting inter view was thus unfortunately interrupted, the vol. r. c news was brought to poor Caroline that the Captain had gone off with his own cook. I confess I was wicked enough to enjoy the con fusion this intelligence created in the camp, where, I fear, my readers will suspect me of acting as a spy. Caroline went into a species of hysterics, and abused the Captain as a vile man. My aunt, however, who did not wish for her daughter the dangerous reputation of having been jilted, took a much wiser course. She immediately issued cards for a large party, at which Caroline appeared particularly gay ; and it was whispered, in confidence, to two or three of the most talkative old dowagers of her acquaintance, that " poor Captain S was very much to be pitied : he had proposed for Caro line, who had indignantly refused him ; and, driven to madness by her cruelty, he had made the rash step which had been the cause of so much conversation.

Perhaps," added my aunt, as she lowered her voice to a confidential whis per, to an old lady to whom she told the story, " perhaps, to tell the truth, Caroline was to blame. She too much encouraged his attentions at first ; but then, you know, girls will do — THE BILLIARD TABLE. 19 these things." My aunt certainly did not place her daughter in the most amiable light, and I thought her very silly : but I was mistaken ; for a speculation in the matrimonial market, a young lady would be less injured by the fame of having jilted ten lovers than the disgrace of having been jilted by one. My aunt also made it a particular request of me that I would en deavour, without appearing to do so, to explain the matter wherever I could. Time, however, passed on, and years grew upon Caroline, and she was just verging on that period of life at which young ladies can first realize to themselves the disagreeable possibility of their becoming old maids.

Her mother's anxieties were, of course, redoubled, even though they were divided with her sister Letitia, who was now of an age to occupy a portion of her mother's matrimonial diligence. It is time for me, perhaps, to introduce those two young ladies to my readers. Caroline, the eldest, was not handsome. She had, however, a fashionable appearance and a good figure. She had the reputation of possessing some wit, although I confess I could never find it out. She was very c much admired as a performer upon the piano forte; and her singing certainly was very correct, as far as the notes were concerned. I could never admire her singing or playing; be cause, although she appeared to throw a great deal of feeling into her voice, it generally happened that she was most pathetic when the words least required it.

However, good judges admired her performance very much ; and not having any great beauty to boast of, she was generally known as the amiable and accomplished Miss Jephson. Letitia, who was some six or seven years younger than her sister, was really a pretty, and, if she had been well brought up, she would have been a nice girl. She had delicate features, pale complexion, and golden ringlets hanging down about her face. Poor thing ! she had naturally some feeling ; but her mother and sister used to laugh at every instance of its ex hibition, and so she became as cold-hearted and fashionable as her sister. Caroline did her best to keep her in the background ; and, al though she had no pretensions to her beauty, and very little to her sense, the elder sister — THE BILLIARD TABLE. generally contrived, by the dashingness of her manner, to engross the attention of the com pany.

Mrs. Jephson was not much displeased at this, as she, of course, was most anxious to get Caroline off her hands. Such was the state of things when Edmund Connor began to be intimate at the house. Caroline was busily engaged in laying siege to the heart of a half madman, half-fool, who fancied himself an enthusiastic admirer of her musical powers ; Letitia was occupied most of the day in prac tising on the harp, for which, naturally, she had not the slightest taste, but to which she was condemned for eight hours a-day. The time of her confinement had been originally twelve ; but the poor girl got a pain in her chest, and the medical man who was consulted, having re commended air and exercise, her mother reluctantly consented to cut down the practising to eight. Indeed, she did not even consent to this reduction until she ascertained that such constant application would injure her com plexion, beyond the power of cosmetic washes to restore.

Edmund Connor had much of enthusiasm in his disposition, perhaps more than was consistent with steadiness of conduct, certainly more than was consistent with the possession of prudence. He had mixed little, very little, in the world ; and there was about Letitia Jephson an affectation of fashionable refinement, that exterior deportment which some call polish, which always has its fascinations for the inexperienced. He had not known her long before I perceived that he regarded her with peculiar feelings. His eyes followed her through the crowded drawing-room. If she played, he was always standing behind her, sometimes venturing to turn over the pages of the music, but oftener gazing at her without either uttering a word or moving. He sometimes contrived to sit next her ; but in her presence he hardly ventured on a word of conversation ; and yet he would still sit by her, and appear happy in her neighbour hood, while he yet absolutely appeared to want courage to talk to her.

I watched him closely. I had even then formed a habit in which I found amusement — that of studying human nature in every modifi cation of circumstance or character under which — THE BILLIARD TABLE. 23 I might have an opportunity of observing it. It is a habit of which I have never divested my self; but alas ! it is one in pursuing which I have found more pain than amusement. I was then, however, a novice, and, like all novices, an enthusiast in the occupation. But I feel that I am too fond of talking of myself. I wished, however, to account for the accuracy of my ob servations. The fact was, I made them as a matter of curiosity. My study was human nature, and I lost no opportunity, that might assist my investigations. There was, however, another who watched the indications of Edmund's incipient passion with no less attention, and perhaps more in terest than I did — one whose speculations upon its progress were not so purely theoretical.

My readers may mean me to understand either the young lady herself or her mother : in either case, they will not be astray. The former was, per haps, the first to perceive that she had made a " conquest" — the latter was not slow in deciding that it might lead to an eligible settlement- Edmund had a good property ; he had then a good character. His reputation for talent was very far beyond what he deserved: he had money to spend, and in college he found many to speak well of him. Mrs. Jephson at once concluded, that with his independent fortune and fair prospects at the bar, for which he was preparing, he would be a desirable match for Letitia, and she promptly determined that no remissness on her part should stand in the way of her daugh ter's interest. Edmund was accordingly invited frequently to the house, and Miss Letitia put in practice all those little arts which are often, in similar instances, successful, but which, perhaps, in the present were unnecessary.

Edmund, I believe, loved her with an ardent and en thusiastic admiration. I know that the casuists of love have said that it is easier for a woman to win a lover than to retain him ; but I, in my simplicity, as I watched Letitia's complicated movements, could not help thinking that it was an unnecessary display of coquetry to employ artifice towards one who had already yielded to her the spontaneous homage of a generous and confiding heart. But I am not about to present my readers with the details of a fashionable flirtation ; and THE BILLIARD TABLE. 25 yet in calling it so, I am doing one of the par ties injustice. Edmund Connor loved, loved deeply ; but then, at least, his love was not returned. It was a strange thing to see him thus squandering all the young affections of his heart upon one who thought of them but as they affected her interest.

It was strange to see the deep devotion of his soul contrasted with the cold and calculating selfishness of her who valued him not for what he was, but for what he possessed ; it was a picture that had the lights and shadows of the human heart ; it was just the development of the two great principles that set all life in motion, and actuate the generous or the prudent deeds of man. There was selfish ness and feeling — romance and prudence. But we must soon turn another page in Edmund's history, and we will find the next a darker one. " Give me neither poverty nor riches," is an obsolete, but yet, perhaps, a wise prayer. I am not sure that fortune is an advantage to a young man. In some of these chapters I must be called on to paint the ills of poverty, to describe a noble spirit crushed by the influence of want — a mighty heart made sick by that hope that is long deferred — a proud mind smitten to the earth, and sinking exhausted by its struggles with the cruellest of all antagonists, want ; and now I am speaking of one who was nursed in the lap of prosperity, and one to whom fortune had been kind ; and yet it would seem as if, to the young man, her smiles were as fatal as her frowns.