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this I should plume myself； that no one ever played the truant with
more deliberate care； and none ever had more certificates for less
education。 One consequence； however； of my system is that I have
much less to say of Professor Blackie than I had of Professor
Kelland； and as he is still alive； and will long； I hope； continue
to be so； it will not surprise you very much that I have no
intention of saying it。
Meanwhile； how many others have gone … Jenkin； Hodgson； and I know
not who besides； and of that tide of students that used to throng
the arch and blacken the quadrangle； how many are scattered into
the remotest parts of the earth； and how many more have lain down
beside their fathers in their 〃resting…graves〃！ And again； how
many of these last have not found their way there； all too early；
through the stress of education！ That was one thing； at least；
from which my truantry protected me。 I am sorry indeed that I have
no Greek； but I should be sorrier still if I were dead； nor do I
know the name of that branch of knowledge which is worth acquiring
at the price of a brain fever。 There are many sordid tragedies in
the life of the student； above all if he be poor； or drunken； or
both； but nothing more moves a wise man's pity than the case of the
lad who is in too much hurry to be learned。 And so； for the sake
of a moral at the end； I will call up one more figure； and have
done。 A student； ambitious of success by that hot； intemperate
manner of study that now grows so common； read night and day for an
examination。 As he went on； the task became more easy to him；
sleep was more easily banished； his brain grew hot and clear and
more capacious； the necessary knowledge daily fuller and more
orderly。 It came to the eve of the trial and he watched all night
in his high chamber； reviewing what he knew； and already secure of
success。 His window looked eastward； and being （as I said） high
up； and the house itself standing on a hill； commanded a view over
dwindling suburbs to a country horizon。 At last my student drew up
his blind； and still in quite a jocund humour； looked abroad。 Day
was breaking； the cast was tinging with strange fires； the clouds
breaking up for the coming of the sun； and at the sight； nameless
terror seized upon his mind。 He was sane； his senses were
undisturbed； he saw clearly； and knew what he was seeing； and knew
that it was normal； but he could neither bear to see it nor find
the strength to look away； and fled in panic from his chamber into
the enclosure of the street。 In the cool air and silence； and
among the sleeping houses； his strength was renewed。 Nothing
troubled him but the memory of what had passed； and an abject fear
of its return。
〃Gallo canente； spes redit；
Aegris salus refunditur；
Lapsis fides revertitur；〃
as they sang of old in Portugal in the Morning Office。 But to him
that good hour of cockcrow； and the changes of the dawn； had
brought panic； and lasting doubt； and such terror as he still shook
to think of。 He dared not return to his lodging； he could not eat；
he sat down； he rose up； he wandered； the city woke about him with
its cheerful bustle； the sun climbed overhead； and still he grew
but the more absorbed in the distress of his recollection and the
fear of his past fear。 At the appointed hour； he came to the door
of the place of examination； but when he was asked； he had
forgotten his name。 Seeing him so disordered； they had not the
heart to send him away； but gave him a paper and admitted him；
still nameless； to the Hall。 Vain kindness； vain efforts。 He
could only sit in a still growing horror； writing nothing； ignorant
of all； his mind filled with a single memory of the breaking day
and his own intolerable fear。 And that same night he was tossing
in a brain fever。
People are afraid of war and wounds and dentists； all with
excellent reason； but these are not to be compared with such
chaotic terrors of the mind as fell on this young man； and made him
cover his eyes from the innocent morning。 We all have by our
bedsides the box of the Merchant Abudah； thank God； securely enough
shut； but when a young man sacrifices sleep to labour； let him have
a care； for he is playing with the lock。
CHAPTER III。 OLD MORTALITY
I
THERE is a certain graveyard； looked upon on the one side by a
prison； on the other by the windows of a quiet hotel； below； under
a steep cliff； it beholds the traffic of many lines of rail； and
the scream of the engine and the shock of meeting buffers mount to
it all day long。 The aisles are lined with the inclosed sepulchres
of families； door beyond door； like houses in a street； and in the
morning the shadow of the prison turrets； and of many tall
memorials； fall upon the graves。 There； in the hot fits of youth；
I came to be unhappy。 Pleasant incidents are woven with my memory
of the place。 I here made friends with a plain old gentleman； a
visitor on sunny mornings； gravely cheerful； who； with one eye upon
the place that awaited him； chirped about his youth like winter
sparrows； a beautiful housemaid of the hotel once； for some days
together； dumbly flirted with me from a window and kept my wild
heart flying； and once … she possibly remembers … the wise Eugenia
followed me to that austere inclosure。 Her hair came down； and in
the shelter of the tomb my trembling fingers helped her to repair
the braid。 But for the most part I went there solitary and； with
irrevocable emotion； pored on the names of the forgotten。 Name
after name； and to each the conventional attributions and the idle
dates： a regiment of the unknown that had been the joy of mothers；
and had thrilled with the illusions of youth； and at last； in the
dim sick…room； wrestled with the pangs of old mortality。 In that
whole crew of the silenced there was but one of whom my fancy had
received a picture； and he； with his comely； florid countenance；
bewigged and habited in scarlet； and in his day combining fame and
popularity； stood forth； like a taunt； among that company of
phantom appellations。 It was then possible to leave behind us
something more explicit than these severe； monotonous and lying
epitaphs； and the thing left； the memory of a painted picture and
what we call the immortality of a name； was hardly more desirable
than mere oblivion。 Even David Hume； as he lay composed beneath
that 〃circular idea；〃 was fainter than a dream； and when the
housemaid； broom in hand； smiled and beckoned from the open window；
the fame of that bewigged philosopher melted like a raindrop in the
sea。
And yet in soberness I cared as little for the housemaid as for
David Hume。 The interests of youth are rarely frank； his passions；
like Noah's dove； come home to roost。 The fire； sensibility； and
volume of his own nature； that is all