CHAPTER XIX.
PENDENNIS OF BONIFACE.
Our friend Pen was not sorry when his Mentor took leave of the younggentleman on the second day after the arrival of the pair in Oxbridge,and we may be sure that the major on his part was very glad to havedischarged his duty, and to have the duty over. More than three monthsof precious time had that martyr of a major given up to his nephew.--Wasever selfish man called upon to make a greater sacrifice? Do you knowmany men or majors who would do as much? A man will lay down his head,or peril his life for his honor, but let us be shy how we ask him togive up his ease or his heart's desire. Very few of us can bear thattrial. Say, worthy reader, if thou hast peradventure a beard, wouldstthou do as much? I will not say that a woman will not. They are used toit; we take care to accustom them to sacrifices: but, my good sir, theamount of self-denial which you have probably exerted through life, whenput down to your account elsewhere, will not probably swell the balanceon the credit side much. Well, well, there is no use in speaking of suchugly matters, and you are too polite to use a vulgar _tu quoque_. ButI wish to state once for all that I greatly admire the major for hisconduct during the past quarter, and think that he has quite a right tobe pleased at getting a holiday. Foker and Pen saw him off in the coach,and the former young gentleman gave particular orders to the coachmanto take care of that gentleman inside. It pleased the elder Pendennis tohave his nephew in the company of a young fellow who would introduce himto the best set of the University. The major rushed off to London andthence to Cheltenham, from which watering-place he descended upon someneighboring great houses, whereof the families were not gone abroad, andwhere good shooting and company was to be had.
A quarter of the space which custom has awarded to works styled theSerial Nature, has been assigned to the account of one passage in Pen'scareer, and it is manifest that the whole of his adventures can not betreated at a similar length, unless some descendant of the chronicler ofPen's history should take up the pen at his decease, and continue thenarrative for the successors of the present generation of readers. Weare not about to go through the young fellow's academical career with,by any means, a similar minuteness. Alas, the life of such boys does notbear telling altogether. I wish it did. I ask you, does yours? As longas what we call our honor is clear, I suppose your mind is pretty easy.Women are pure, but not men. Women are unselfish, but not men. And Iwould not wish to say of poor Arthur Pendennis that he was worse thanhis neighbors, only that his neighbors are bad, for the most part. Letus have the candor to own as much at least. Can you point out tenspotless men of your acquaintance? Mine is pretty large, but I can'tfind ten saints in the list.
During the first term of Mr. Pen's academical life, he attendedclassical and mathematical lectures with tolerable assiduity; butdiscovering, before very long time, that he had little taste or geniusfor the pursuing of the exact sciences, and being, perhaps, ratherannoyed that one or two very vulgar young men, who did not even usestraps to their trowsers, so as to cover the abominably thick andcoarse shoes and stockings which they wore, beat him completely in thelecture-room, he gave up his attendance at that course, and announced tohis fond parent that he proposed to devote himself exclusively to thecultivation of Greek and Roman literature.
Mrs. Pendennis was, for her part, quite satisfied that her darling boyshould pursue that branch of learning for which he had the greatestinclination; and only besought him not to ruin his health by too muchstudy, for she had heard the most melancholy stories of young studentswho, by over fatigue, had brought on brain-fevers and perished untimelyin the midst of their university career. And Pen's health, which wasalways delicate, was to be regarded, as she justly said, beyond allconsiderations or vain honors. Pen, although not aware of any lurkingdisease which was likely to endanger his life, yet kindly promised hismamma not to sit up reading too late of nights, and stuck to his word inthis respect with a great deal more tenacity of resolution than heexhibited upon some other occasions, when, perhaps, he was a littleremiss.
Presently he began too to find that he learned little good in theclassical lecture. His fellow-students there were too dull, as inmathematics they were too learned for him. Mr. Buck, the tutor, was nobetter a scholar than many a fifth-form boy at Gray Friars; might havesome stupid humdrum notions about the meter and grammatical constructionof a passage of AEschylus or Aristophanes, but had no more notion of thepoetry than Mrs. Binge, his bed-maker; and Pen grew weary of hearing thedull students and tutor blunder through a few lines of a play, which hecould read in a tenth part of the time which they gave to it. After all,private reading, as he began to perceive, was the only study which wasreally profitable to a man; and he announced to his mamma, that heshould read by himself a great deal more, and in public a great dealless. That excellent woman knew no more about Homer than she did aboutalgebra, but she was quite contented with Pen's arrangements regardinghis course of studies, and felt perfectly confident that her dear boywould get the place which he merited.
Pen did not come home until after Christmas, a little to the fondmother's disappointment, and Laura's, who was longing for him to make afine snow fortification, such as he had made three winters before. Buthe was invited to Logwood, Lady Agnes Foker's, where there were privatetheatricals, and a gay Christmas party of very fine folks, some of themwhom Major Pendennis would, on no account, have his nephew neglect.However, he staid at home for the last three weeks of the vacation,and Laura had the opportunity of remarking what a quantity of fine newclothes he brought with him, and his mother admired his improvedappearance and manly and decided tone.
He did not come home at Easter; but when he arrived for the longvacation, he brought more smart clothes: appearing in the morning inwonderful shooting-jackets, with remarkable buttons; and in the eveningin gorgeous velvet waistcoats, with richly-embroidered cravats, andcurious linen. And as she pried about his room, she saw, oh, such abeautiful dressing-case, with silver mountings, and a quantity of lovelyrings and jewelry. And he had a new French watch and gold chain, inplace of the big old chronometer, with its bunch of jingling seals,which had hung from the fob of John Pendennis, and by the second-handof which the defunct doctor had felt many a patient's pulse in his time.It was but a few months back Pen had longed for this watch, which hethought the most splendid and august time-piece in the world; and justbefore he went to college, Helen had taken it out of her trinket-box(where it had remained unwound since the death of her husband) and givenit to Pen with a solemn and appropriate little speech respecting hisfather's virtues and the proper use of time. This portly and valuablechronometer, Pen now pronounced to be out of date, and, indeed, madesome comparisons between it and a warming-pan, which Laura thoughtdisrespectful, and he left the watch in a drawer, in the company ofsoiled primrose gloves, cravats which had gone out of favor, and of thatother school watch which has once before been mentioned in this history.Our old friend, Rebecca, Pen pronounced to be no longer up to hisweight, and swapped her away for another and more powerful horse, forwhich he had to pay rather a heavy figure. Mrs. Pendennis gave the boythe money for the new horse; and Laura cried when Rebecca was fetchedaway.
Also Pen brought a large box of cigars, branded _Colorados_,_Afrancesados_, _Telescopios_, Fudson, Oxford-street, or by some suchstrange titles, and began to consume these not only about the stablesand green-houses, where they were very good for Helen's plants, but inhis own study, of which practice his mother did not at first approve.But he was at work upon a prize-poem, he said, and could not composewithout his cigar, and quoted the late lamented Lord Byron's lines infavor of the custom of smoking. As he was smoking to such good purpose,his mother could not, of course, refuse permission: in fact, the goodsoul coming into the room one day in the midst of Pen's labors (he wasconsulting a novel which had recently appeared, for the cultivation ofthe light literature of his own country as well as of foreign nationsbecame every student)--Helen, we say, coming into the room, and findingPen on the sofa at this work, rather than disturb him, went for aligh
t-box and his cigar-case to his bed-room which was adjacent, andactually put the cigar into his mouth and lighted the match at which hekindled it. Pen laughed, and kissed his mother's hand as it hung fondlyover the back of the sofa. "Dear old mother," he said, "if I were totell you to burn the house down, I think you would do it." And it isvery likely that Mr. Pen was right, and that the foolish woman wouldhave done almost as much for him as he said.
Besides the works of English "light literature" which this diligentstudent devoured, he brought down boxes of the light literature of theneighboring country of France: into the leaves of which when Helendipped, she read such things as caused her to open her eyes with wonder.But Pen showed her that it was not he who made the books, thoughit was absolutely necessary that he should keep up his French by anacquaintance with the most celebrated writers of the day, and that itwas as clearly his duty to read the eminent Paul de Kock, as to studySwift or Moliere. And Mrs. Pendennis yielded with a sigh of perplexity.But Miss Laura was warned off the books, both by his anxious mother, andthat rigid moralist Mr. Arthur Pendennis himself, who, however _he_might be called upon to study every branch of literature in order toform his mind and to perfect his style, would by no means prescribe sucha course of reading to a young lady whose business in life was verydifferent.
In the course of this long vacation Mr. Pen drank up the bin ofclaret which his father had laid in, and of which we have heard the sonremark, that there was not a headache in a hogshead; and this wine beingexhausted, he wrote for a further supply to "his wine merchants,"Messrs. Binney and Latham of Mark Lane, London: from whom, indeed, oldDoctor Portman had recommended Pen to get a supply of port and sherry ongoing to college. "You will have, no doubt, to entertain your youngfriends at Boniface with wine parties," the honest rector had remarkedto the lad. "They used to be customary at college in my time, and Iwould advise you to employ an honest and respectable house in London foryour small stock of wine, rather than to have recourse to the Oxbridgetradesmen, whose liquor, if I remember rightly, was both deleterious inquality and exorbitant in price." And the obedient young gentleman tookthe doctor's advice, and patronized Messrs. Binney and Latham at therector's suggestion.
So when he wrote orders for a stock of wine to be sent down to thecellars at Fairoaks, he hinted that Messrs. B. and L. might send in hisuniversity account for wine at the same time with the Fairoaks bill.The poor widow was frightened at the amount. But Pen laughed at herold-fashioned views, said that the bill was moderate, that every bodydrank claret and champagne now, and, finally, the widow paid, feelingdimly, that the expenses of her household were increasing considerably,and that her narrow income would scarce suffice to meet them. But theywere only occasional. Pen merely came home for a few weeks at thevacation. Laura and she might pinch when he was gone. In the brief timehe was with them ought they not to make him happy?
Arthur's own allowances were liberal all this time; indeed, much moreso than those of the sons of far more wealthy men. Years before, thethrifty and affectionate John Pendennis, whose darling project it hadever been to give his son a university education, and those advantagesof which his own father's extravagance had deprived him, had begunlaying by a store of money which he called Arthur's Education Fund. Yearafter year in his book his executors found entries of sums vested asA. E. F., and during the period subsequent to her husband's decease,and before Pen's entry at college, the widow had added sundry sumsto this fund, so that when Arthur went up to Oxbridge it reached noinconsiderable amount. Let him be liberally allowanced, was MajorPendennis's maxim. Let him make his first _entree_ into the world as agentleman, and take his place with men of good rank and station: aftergiving it to him, it will be his own duty to hold it. There is no suchbad policy as stinting a boy--or putting him on a lower allowance thanhis fellows. Arthur will have to face the world and fight for himselfpresently. Meanwhile we shall have procured for him good friends,gentlemanly habits, and have him well backed and well trained againstthe time when the real struggle comes. And these liberal opinions themajor probably advanced, both because they were just, and because hewas not dealing with his own money.
Thus young Pen, the only son of an estated country gentleman, with agood allowance, and a gentlemanlike bearing and person, looked to bea lad of much more consequence than he was really; and was held bythe Oxbridge authorities, tradesmen, and undergraduates, as quite ayoung buck and member of the aristocracy. His manner was frank, brave,and perhaps a little impertinent, as becomes a high-spirited youth. Hewas perfectly generous and free-handed with his money, which seemedpretty plentiful. He loved joviality, and had a good voice for a song.Boat-racing had not risen in Pen's time to the _fureur_ which, as we aregiven to understand, it has since attained in the University; and ridingand tandem-driving were the fashions of the ingenuous youth. Pen rodewell to hounds, appeared in pink, as became a young buck, and notparticularly extravagant in equestrian or any other amusement, yetmanaged to run up a fine bill at Nile's the livery stable-keeper, andin a number of other quarters. In fact, this lucky young gentleman hadalmost every taste to a considerable degree. He was very fond of booksof all sorts: Doctor Portman had taught him to like rare editions, andhis own taste led him to like beautiful bindings. It was marvelouswhat tall copies, and gilding, and marbling, and blind-tooling, thebooksellers and binders put upon Pen's book-shelves. He had a veryfair taste in matters of art, and a keen relish for prints of a highschool--none of your French opera dancers, or tawdry racing prints, suchas had delighted the simple eyes of Mr. Spicer, his predecessor--butyour Stranges, and Rembrandt etchings, and Wilkies before the letter,with which his apartments were furnished presently in the most perfectgood taste, as was allowed in the University, where this young fellowgot no small reputation. We have mentioned that he exhibited a certainpartiality for rings, jewelry, and fine raiment of all sorts; and itmust be owned that Mr. Pen, during his time at the University, wasrather a dressy man, and loved to array himself in splendor. He and hispolite friends would dress themselves out with as much care in orderto go and dine at each others' rooms, as other folks would who weregoing to enslave a mistress. They said he used to wear rings overhis kid gloves, which he always denies; but what follies will not youthperpetrate with its own admirable gravity and simplicity? That he tookperfumed baths is a truth; and he used to say that he took them aftermeeting certain men of a very low set in hall.
In Pen's second year, when Miss Fotheringay made her chief hit inLondon, and scores of prints were published of her, Pen had one of thesehung in his bed-room, and confided to the men of his set how awfully,how wildly, how madly, how passionately, he had loved that woman. Heshowed them in confidence the verses that he had written to her, andhis brow would darken, his eyes roll, his chest heave with emotion ashe recalled that fatal period of his life, and described the woes andagonies which he had suffered. The verses were copied out, handed about,sneered at, admired, passed from coterie to coterie. There are fewthings which elevate a lad in the estimation of his brother boys, morethan to have a character for a great and romantic passion. Perhaps thereis something noble in it at all times--among very young men it isconsidered heroic.--Pen was pronounced a tremendous fellow. They said hehad almost committed suicide: that he had fought a duel with a baronetabout her. Freshmen pointed him out to each other. As at the promenadetime at two o'clock he swaggered out of college, surrounded by hiscronies, he was famous to behold. He was elaborately attired. He wouldogle the ladies who came to lionize the University, and passed beforehim on the arms of happy gownsmen, and give his opinion upon theirpersonal charms, or their toilets, with the gravity of a critic whoseexperience entitled him to speak with authority. Men used to say thatthey had been walking with Pendennis, and were as pleased to be seenin his company as some of us would be if we walked with a duke downPall Mall. He and the proctor capped each other as they met, as ifthey were rival powers, and the men hardly knew which was the greater.
In fact, in the course of his second year, Arthur Pendennis had becomeone
of the men of fashion in the University. It is curious to watchthat facile admiration, and simple fidelity of youth. They hang round aleader: and wonder at him, and love him, and imitate him. No generousboy ever lived, I suppose, that has not had some wonderment ofadmiration for another boy; and Monsieur Pen at Oxbridge had his school,his faithful band of friends, and his rivals. When the young men heardat the haberdashers' shops that Mr. Pendennis of Boniface had justordered a crimson satin cravat, you would see a couple of dozen crimsonsatin cravats in Main-street in the course of the week--and Simon, thejeweler, was known to sell no less than two gross of Pendennis pins,from a pattern which the young gentleman had selected in his shop.
Now if any person with an arithmetical turn of mind will take thetrouble to calculate what a sum of money it would cost a young man toindulge freely in all the above propensities which we have said Mr.Pen possessed, it will be seen that a young fellow, with such liberaltastes and amusements, must needs in the course of two or three yearsspend or owe a very handsome sum of money. We have said our friend Penhad not a calculating turn. No one propensity of his was outrageouslyextravagant; and it is certain that Paddington's tailor's account;Guttlebury's cook's bill for dinners; Dillon Tandy's bill with Finn, theprint-seller, for Raphael-Morghens, and Landseer proofs; and Wormall'sdealings with Parkton, the great bookseller, for Aldine editions,black-letter folios, and richly illuminated Missals of the XVI. Century;and Snaffle's or Foker's score with Nile the horse-dealer, were, eachand all of them, incomparably greater than any little bills which Mr.Pen might run up with the above-mentioned tradesmen. But Pendennis ofBoniface had the advantage over all these young gentleman, his friendsand associates, of a universality of taste: and whereas young LordPaddington did not care twopence for the most beautiful print, or tolook into any gilt frame that had not a mirror within it; and Guttleburydid not mind in the least how he was dressed, and had an aversion forhorse exercise, nay a terror of it; and Snaffle never read any printedworks but the "Racing Calender" or "Bell's Life," or cared for anymanuscript except his greasy little scrawl of a betting-book:--ourCatholic-minded young friend occupied himself in every one of thebranches of science or pleasure above-mentioned, and distinguishedhimself tolerably in each.
Hence young Pen got a prodigious reputation in the University, and washailed as a sort of Crichton; and as for the English verse prize, incompetition for which we have seen him busily engaged at Fairoaks, Jonesof Jesus carried it that year certainly, but the undergraduates thoughtPen's a much finer poem, and he had his verses printed at his ownexpense, and distributed in gilt morocco covers among his acquaintance.I found a copy of it lately in a dusty corner of Mr. Pen's book-cases,and have it before me this minute bound up in a collection of oldOxbridge tracts, University statutes, prize-poems by successful andunsuccessful candidates, declamations recited in the college chapel,speeches delivered at the Union Debating Society, and inscribed byArthur with his name and college, Pendennis--Boniface; or presented tohim by his affectionate friend Thompson or Jackson, the author. Howstrange the epigraphs look in those half-boyish hands, and what a thrillthe sight of the documents gives one after the lapse of a few lusters!How fate, since that time has removed some, estranged others, dealtawfully with all. Many a hand is cold that wrote those kindly memorials,and that we pressed in the confident and generous grasp of youthfulfriendship. What passions our friendships were in those old days, howartless and void of doubt! How the arm you were never tired of havinglinked in yours under the fair college avenues or by the river side,where it washes Magdalen Gardens, or Christ Church Meadows, or winds byTrinity and King's, was withdrawn of necessity, when you enteredpresently the world, and each parted to push and struggle for himselfthrough the great mob on the way through life! Are we the same men nowthat wrote those inscriptions--that read those poems? that delivered orheard those essays and speeches, so simple, so pompous, so ludicrouslysolemn; parodied so artlessly from books, and spoken with smug chubbyfaces, and such an admirable aping of wisdom and gravity? Here is thebook before me: it is scarcely fifteen years old. Here is Jack moaningwith despair and Byronic misanthropy, whose career at the Universitywas one of unmixed milk-punch. Here is Tom's daring Essay in defenseof suicide and of republicanism in general _apropos_ of the death ofRoland and the Girondins--Tom's, who wears the starchest tie in all thediocese, and would go to Smithfield rather than eat a beefsteak on aFriday in Lent. Here is Bob of the ---- Circuit, who has made a fortunein railroad committees, and whose dinners are so good--bellowing outwith Tancred and Godfrey, "On to the breach, ye soldiers of the cross,Scale the red wall and swim the choking foss. Ye dauntless archers,twang your cross-bows well; On, bill and battle-ax and mangonel! Plybattering-ram and hurtling catapult, Jerusalem is ours--_id Deus vult_."After which comes a mellifluous description of the gardens of Sharon andthe maids of Salem, and a prophecy that roses shall deck the entirecountry of Syria, and a speedy reign of peace be established--all inundeniably decasyllabic lines, and the queerest aping of sense andsentiment and poetry. And there are Essays and Poems along with thesegrave parodies, and boyish exercises (which are at once frank and false,and so mirthful, yet, somehow, so mournful), by youthful hands, thatshall never write more. Fate has interposed darkly, and the young voicesare silent, and the eager brains have ceased to work. This one hadgenius and a great descent, and seemed to be destined for honors whichnow are of little worth to him: that had virtue, learning, genius--everyfaculty and endowment which might secure love, admiration and worldlyfame: an obscure and solitary churchyard contains the grave of many fondhopes, and the pathetic stone which bids them farewell--I saw the sunshining on it in the fall of last year, and heard the sweet villagechoir raising anthems round about. What boots whether it be Westminsteror a little country spire which covers your ashes, or if, a few dayssooner or later, the world forgets you?
Amidst these friends then, and a host more, Pen passed more than twobrilliant and happy years of his life. He had his fill of pleasure andpopularity. No dinner or supper party was complete without him; andPen's jovial wit, and Pen's songs, and dashing courage, and frank andmanly bearing, charmed all the undergraduates, and even disarmed thetutors who cried out at his idleness, and murmured about his extravagantway of life. Though he became the favorite and leader of young men whowere much his superiors in wealth and station, he was much too generousto endeavor to propitiate them by any meanness or cringing on his ownpart, and would not neglect the humblest man of his acquaintance inorder to curry favor with the richest young grandee in the University.His name is still remembered at the Union Debating Club, as one ofthe brilliant orators of his day. By the way, from having been anardent Tory in his freshman's year, his principles took a sudden turnafterward, and he became a Liberal of the most violent order. He avowedhimself a Dantonist and asserted that Louis the Sixteenth was servedright. And as for Charles the First, he vowed that he would chop offthat monarch's head with his own right hand were he then in the room atthe Union Debating Club, and had Cromwell no other executioner for thetraitor. He and Lord Magnus Charters, the Marquis of Runnymede's son,before-mentioned, were the most truculent republicans of their day.
There are reputations of this sort made quite independent of thecollegiate hierarchy, in the republic of gownsmen. A man may be famousin the honor-lists and entirely unknown to the undergraduates: whoelect kings and chieftains of their own, whom they admire and obey, asnegro-gangs have private black sovereigns in their own body, to whomthey pay an occult obedience, besides that which they publicly professfor their owners and drivers. Among the young ones Pen became famous andpopular: not that he did much, but there was a general determinationthat he could do a great deal if he chose. "Ah, if Pendennis of Bonifacewould but try," the men said, "he might do any thing." He was backed forthe Greek Ode won by Smith of Trinity; every body was sure he would havethe Latin hexameter prize which Brown of St. John's, however, carriedoff, and in this way, one university honor after another was lost byhim, until, after two or three failures, Mr. Pen
ceased to compete. Buthe got a declamation prize in his own college, and brought home to hismother and Laura at Fairoaks, a set of prize-books begilt with thecollege arms, and so big, well-bound, and magnificent, that these ladiesthought there had been no such prize ever given in a college before asthis of Pen's, and that he had won the very largest honor which Oxbridgewas capable of awarding.
As vacation after vacation and term after term passed away without thedesired news that Pen had sate for any scholarship or won any honor,Doctor Portman grew mightily gloomy in his behavior toward Arthur,and adopted a sulky grandeur of deportment toward him, which the ladreturned by a similar haughtiness. One vacation he did not call upon thedoctor at all, much to his mother's annoyance, who thought that it was aprivilege to enter the Rectory-house at Clavering, and listened to Dr.Portman's antique jokes and stories, though ever so often repeated, withunfailing veneration. "I can not stand the doctor's patronizing air,"Pen said. "He's too kind to me, a great deal too fatherly. I have seenin the world better men than him, and I am not going to bore myself bylistening to his dull old stories and drinking his stupid old portwine." The tacit feud between Pen and the doctor made the widow nervous,so that she too avoided Doctor Portman, and was afraid to go to theRectory when Arthur was at home.
One Sunday in the last long vacation, the wretched boy pushed hisrebellious spirit so far as not to go to church, and he was seen atthe gate of the Clavering Arms, smoking a cigar, in the face of thecongregation as it issued from St. Mary's. There was an awful sensationin the village-society, Portman prophesied Pen's ruin after that, andgroaned in spirit over the rebellious young prodigal.
So did Helen tremble in her heart, and little Laura--Laura had grown tobe a fine young stripling by this time, graceful and fair, clinginground Helen and worshiping her, with a passionate affection. Both ofthese women felt that their boy was changed. He was no longer theartless Pen of old days, so brave, so artless, so impetuous, and tender.His face looked careworn and haggard, his voice had a deeper sound, andtones more sarcastic. Care seemed to be pursuing him; but he onlylaughed when his mother questioned him, and parried her anxious querieswith some scornful jest. Nor did he spend much of his vacations at home;he went on visits to one great friend or another, and scared the quietpair at Fairoaks, by stories of great houses whither he had beeninvited, and by talking of lords without their titles.
Honest Harry Foker, who had been the means of introducing ArthurPendennis to that set of young men at the University, from whosesociety and connections Arthur's uncle expected that the lad wouldget so much benefit; who had called for Arthur's first song at his firstsupper-party; and who had presented him at the Barmecide Club where nonebut the very best men of Oxbridge were admitted (it consisted in Pen'stime of six noblemen, eight gentlemen-pensioners, and twelve of the mostselect commoners of the University), soon found himself left far behindby the young freshman in the fashionable world of Oxbridge, and being agenerous and worthy fellow, without a spark of envy in his composition,was exceedingly pleased at the success of his young _protege_, andadmired Pen quite as much as any of the other youth did. It was hewho followed Pen now, and quoted his sayings; learned his songs, andretailed them at minor supper-parties, and was never weary of hearingthem from the gifted young poet's own mouth--for a good deal of thetime which Mr. Pen might have employed much more advantageouslyin the pursuit of the regular scholastic studies was given up to thecomposition of secular ballads, which he sang about at parties accordingto university wont.
It had been as well for Arthur if the honest Foker had remained forsome time at college, for, with all his vivacity, he was a prudentyoung man, and often curbed Pen's propensity to extravagance: but Foker'scollegiate career did not last very long after Arthur's entrance atBoniface. Repeated differences with the university authorities causedMr. Foker to quit Oxbridge in an untimely manner. He would persist inattending races on the neighboring Hungerford Heath, in spite of theinjunctions of his academic superiors. He never could be got to frequentthe chapel of the college with that regularity of piety which Alma Materdemands from her children; tandems, which are abominations in the eyesof the heads and tutors, were Foker's greatest delight, and so recklesswas his driving and frequent the accidents and upsets out of his dragthat Pen called taking a drive with him taking the "Diversions ofPurley;" finally, having a dinner-party at his rooms to entertain somefriends from London, nothing would satisfy Mr. Foker but painting Mr.Buck's door vermilion, in which freak he was caught by the proctors;and, although young Black Strap, the celebrated negro-fighter, who wasone of Mr. Foker's distinguished guests, and was holding the can ofpaint while the young artist operated on the door, knocked down two ofthe proctor's attendants and performed prodigies of valor, yet thesefeats rather injured than served Foker, whom the proctor knew very welland who was taken with the brush in his hand, and who was summarilyconvened and sent down from the University.
The tutor wrote a very kind and feeling letter to Lady Agnes on thesubject, stating that every body was fond of the youth; that he nevermeant harm to any mortal creature; that he, for his own part, would havebeen delighted to pardon the harmless little boyish frolic, had not itsunhappy publicity rendered it impossible to look the freak over; andbreathing the most fervent wishes for the young fellow's welfare--wishesno doubt sincere, for Foker, as we know, came of a noble family on hismother's side, and on the other was heir to a great number of thousandpounds a year.
"It don't matter," said Foker, talking over the matter with Pen--"alittle sooner or a little later, what is the odds? I should have beenplucked for my little-go again, I know I should--that Latin I can notscrew into my head, and my mamma's anguish would have broke out nextterm. The governor will blow like an old grampus, I know he will--well,we must stop till he gets his wind again. I shall probably go abroad andimprove my mind with foreign travel. Yes, _parly voo's_ the ticket.It'ly, and that sort of thing. I'll go to Paris and learn to dance, andcomplete my education. But it's not me I'm anxious about, Pen. As longas people drink beer I don't care--it's about you I'm doubtful, my boy.You're going too fast, and can't keep up the pace, I tell you. It's notthe fifty you owe me--pay it or not when you like--but it's the everyday pace, and I tell you it will kill you. You're livin' as if therewas no end to the money in the stockin' at home. You oughtn't to givedinners, you ought to eat 'em. Fellows are glad to have you. Yououghtn't to owe horse bills, you ought to ride other chaps' nags. Youknow no more about betting than I do about algebra: the chaps will winyour money as sure as you sport it. Hang me if you are not trying atevery thing. I saw you sit down to _ecarte_ last week at Trumpington's,and taking your turn with the bones after Ringwood's supper. They'llbeat you at it, Pen, my boy, even if they play on the square, which Idon't say they don't, nor which I don't say they do, mind. But I wontplay with 'em. You're no match for 'em. You ain't up to their weight.It's like little Black Strap standing up to Tom Spring--the Black's apretty fighter, but, Law bless you, his arm ain't long enough to touchTom--and I tell you, you're going it with fellers beyond your weight.Look here--If you'll promise me never to bet nor touch a box nor a card,I'll let you off the two ponies."
But Pen, laughingly, said, "that though it wasn't convenient to himto pay the two ponies at that moment, he by no means wished to be letoff any just debts he owed;" and he and Foker parted, not without manydark forebodings on the latter's part with regard to his friend, who,Harry thought, was traveling speedily on the road to ruin.
"One must do at Rome as Rome does," Pen said, in a dandified manner,jingling some sovereigns in his waistcoat-pocket. "A little quietplay at _ecarte_ can't hurt a man who plays pretty well--I came awayfourteen sovereigns richer from Ringwood's supper, and, gad! I wanted themoney."--And he walked off, after having taken leave of poor Foker, whowent away without any beat of drum, or offer to drive the coach out ofOxbridge, to superintend a little dinner which he was going to give athis own rooms in Boniface, about which dinners, the cook of the college,who had a great respect for Mr. Pendennis
, always took especial painsfor his young favorite.