Julian Home Part 2

But what do you say to a turn in the open air? One can talk so much better walking than sitting down on opposite sides of a fireplace with no fire in it."

Julian readily a.s.sented, and Mr Carden took his arm as they bent their way down to the cricket-field. There they stopped involuntarily for a time, to gaze at the house match which was going on, and the master entered with the utmost vivacity into the keen yet harmless "chaff"

which was being interchanged between the partisans of the rival houses.

"What a charming place this field is," he said, "on a summer evening, while the sunset lets fall upon it the last innocuous arrows of its golden sheaf. When I am wearied to death with work or vexation--which, alas! is too often--I always run down here, and it gives me a fresh lease of life."

Julian smiled at his tutor's metaphorical style of speech, which he knew was in him the natural expressions of a glowing and poetic heart, that saw no reason to be ashamed of its own warm feelings and changeful fancies; and Mr Carden, wrapped in the scene before him, and the sensations it excited, murmured to himself some of his favourite lines--

"Alas that one Should use the days of summer but to live, And breathe but as the needful element The strange superfluous glory of the air Nor rather stand in awe apart, beside The untouched time, and murmuring o'er and o'er In awe and wonder, 'These are summer days!'"

"Shall we stroll across the fields, sir, before lock-up?" said Julian, as a triumphant shout proclaimed that the game was over, and the Parkites had defeated the Grovians.

"Yes, do. By the bye, what was it that you had to ask me about?"

"Oh, sir, I don't think I've told you before; but I'm going up to Saint Werner's as a sub-sizar."

Mr Carden looked surprised. "Indeed! Is that necessary?"

"Yes, sir; it's a choice between that and not going at all. And what I wanted to ask you was, whether it will subject me to much annoyance or contempt; because, if so--"

"_Contempt_, my dear fellow!" said Mr Carden quickly. "Yes," he added, after a pause, "the contempt of the contemptible--certainly of no one else."

"But do you think that any Harton fellows will cut me?"

"Unquestionably not; at least, if any of them do, it will be such a proof of their own absolute worthlessness, that you will be well rid of such acquaintances."

Julian seemed but little rea.s.sured by this summary way of viewing the matter.

"But I hope," he said, "that no one, (even if they don't cut me), will regard my society as a matter of mere tolerance, or try an air of condescension."

"Look here, Julian," said the master; "a sub-sizar means merely a poor scholar, for whom the college has set apart certain means of a.s.sistance.

From this body have come some of the most distinguished men whom Saint Werner's has ever produced; and many of the Fellows, (indeed quite a disproportionate number), began their college career in this manner.

Now tell me--should you care the snap of a finger for the opinion or the acquaintance of a man who could be such an ineffable fool as to drop intercourse with you because you are merely less rich than he? Don't you remember those grand old words, Julian--

"Lives there for honest poverty, Who hangs his head and a' that?

The coward slave we pa.s.s him by, And dare be poor for a' that."

"And yet, sir, half the distinctions of modern society rest upon accidents of this kind."

"True, true! quite true; but what is the use of education if it does not teach us to look on man as man, and judge by a n.o.bler and more real standard than the superficial distinctions of society? But answer my question."

"Well, sir, I confess that I should think very lightly of the man who treated me in that way; still I should be _annoyed_ very much by his conduct."

"I really think, Julian," replied Mr Carden, "that the necessity which compels you to go up as a sizar will be good for you in _many_ ways.

Poverty, self-denial, the bearing of the yoke in youth, are the highest forms of discipline for a brave and G.o.dly manhood. The hero and the prophet are rarely found in soft clothing or kingly houses; they are never chosen from the palaces of Mammon or the gardens of Belial."

They talked a little longer on the subject, and Mr Carden pointed out how, at the universities more than anywhere, the aristocracy of intellect and character are almost solely recognised, and those patents of n.o.bility honoured which come direct from G.o.d. "After a single term, Julian, depend upon it you will smile at the sensitiveness which now makes you shrink from entering on this position. At least, I a.s.sume that even by that time your name will be honourably known, as it will be if you work hard. You must never forget that 'Virtus vera n.o.bilitas' is the n.o.ble motto of your own college."

"Well, I _will_ work at any rate," said Julian; "indeed I _must_."

"But may I ask why you have determined on going up as sizar?"

"Oh yes, sir. I am far too grateful for all your many kindnesses to me, not to tell you freely of my circ.u.mstances."

And so, as they walked on that beautiful summer evening over the green fields, Julian, happy in the quiet sympathising attention of one who was not only a master, but a true, earnest, and affectionate friend, told him some of the facts to which we shall allude in the retrospect of the next chapter.

CHAPTER THREE.

A RETROSPECT.

"Give me the man that is not Pa.s.sion's slave, And I will wear him in my own heart's core, Yea, in my heart of hearts."

_Shakespeare_.

Julian's father was Rector of Ildown, a beautiful village on the Devons.h.i.+re coast. As younger son, his private means were very small, and the more so as his family had lost in various unfortunate speculations a large portion of the wealth which had once been the inheritance of his ancient and honourable house. Mr Home regretted this but little; contentment of mind and simplicity of tastes were to him a far deeper source of happiness than the advantages of fortune.

Immediately after his university career he had taken holy orders, and devoted to the genial duties of his profession all the energies of a vigorous intellect and a generous heart.

During his first curacy he was happy enough to be placed in the diocese of a bishop, whose least merit was the rare conscientiousness with which he distributed the patronage at his disposal. Whenever a living was vacant, the Bishop of Elford used deliberately to pa.s.s in mental review all the clergy under his jurisdiction, and single out from amongst them the ablest and the best. He was never influenced by the spirit of nepotism; he was never deceived by shallow declaimers, or ignorant bigots, who had thrust themselves into the notoriety of a noisy and orthodox reputation. The ordinary Honourable and Reverend, whose only distinction was his t.i.tle or his wealth, had to look for preferment elsewhere; but often would some curate, haply sighing at the thought that obscurity and poverty were his lot for this life, and meekly bearing both for the honour of his Master's work, be made deservedly happy by at last attaining the rewards he had never sought. Few, indeed, were the dioceses in which the clergy worked in a more hopeful spirit, in the certainty that the good bishop never suffered merit to pa.s.s unrecognised; and for talent and industry, no body of rectors could be compared to those whom Bishop Morris had chosen from the most deserving of the curates who were under his pastoral care.

Mr Home, after five years' hard work, had been promoted by the bishop to a small living, where he soon succeeded in winning the warmest affection of all his paris.h.i.+oners, and among others, of his squire and church-warden, the Earl of Raynes, who, from a feeling of sincere grat.i.tude, procured for him, on the first opportunity, the rectory of Ildown.

Here, at the age of thirty, he settled down, with every intention of making it his home for life; and here he shortly after wooed and won the daughter of a neighbouring clergyman, whose only dower was the beauty of a countenance which but dimly reflected the inner beauty of her heart.

Very tranquil was their wedded life; very perfect was the peacefulness of their home. Under her hands the rectory garden became a many-coloured Eden, and the eye could rest delightedly on its lawns and flower-beds, even amid that glorious environment of woods and cliffs, free moors and open sea, which gave to the vicinity of Ildown such a nameless charm. But the beauty without was surpa.s.sed by the rarer suns.h.i.+ne of the life within and when children were born to them--when little steps began to patter along the hall, and young faces to s.h.i.+ne beside the fire, and little strains of silvery laughter to ring through every room--there was a happiness in that bright family, for the sake of which an emperor might have been content to abdicate his throne. Oh that the river of human life could flow on for ever with such sparkling waters, and its margin be embroidered for ever with flowers like these.

Julian was their eldest son, and it added to the intensity of each parent's love for him to find that he seemed to have inherited the best qualities of them both. Their next child was Violet, and then, after two years' interval, came Cyril and Frank. The four children were educated at home, without even the a.s.sistance of tutor or governess, until Julian was thirteen years old; and during all that time scarcely one domestic sorrow occurred to chequer the unclouded serenity of their peace. Even without the esteem and respect of all their neighbours, rich and poor, the love of parents and children, brothers and sister, was enough for each heart there.

But the day of separation must come at last, however long we may delay it, and after Julian's thirteenth birthday it was decided that he must go to school. In making this determination, his father knew what he was about. He knew that in sending his son among a mult.i.tude of boys he was exposing him to a world of temptation, and placing him amid many dangers. Yet he never hesitated about it, and when his wife spoke with trembling anxiety of the things which she had heard and read about school-life, he calmly replied that without danger there can be no courage, and without temptation no real virtue or tried strength.

"Poor Julian," said Mrs Home, "but won't he be bullied dreadfully?"

"No, dear; the days of those atrocities about which you read in books are gone by for ever. At no respectable school, except under very rare and peculiar circ.u.mstances, are boys exposed to any worse difficulties in the way of cruelty than they can very easily prevent or overcome."

"But then those dreadful moral temptations," pleaded the mother.

"They are very serious, love. But is it not better that our boy should learn, by their means, (as thousands do), to subst.i.tute the manliness of self-restraint for the innocence of ignorance--even on the very false supposition that such an innocence can be preserved? And remember that he does not escape these temptations by avoiding them; from the little I have seen, it is my sincere conviction that for after-life, (even in this aspect alone, without alluding to the innumerable other arguments which _must_ be considered), the education of a public school is a far sounder preparation than the shelter of home. I cannot persuade our neighbour Mrs Hazlet of this, but I should tremble to bring up Julian with no wider experience than she allows to her boy."

So Julian went to Harton, and, after a time, thoroughly enjoyed his life there, and was unharmed by the trials which must come to every schoolboy; so that when he came back for his first holidays, the mother saw with joy and pride that her jewel was not flawed, and remained undimmed in l.u.s.tre. Who knows how much had been contributed to that glad result by the daily and nightly prayer which ever ascended for him from his parents' lips, "Lead him not into temptation, but deliver him from evil."

For when he first went to school, Julian was all the more dangerously circ.u.mstanced, from the fact that he was an attractive and engaging boy.

With his bright eyes, beaming with innocence and trustfulness, the healthy glow of his clear and ingenuous countenance, and the n.o.ble look and manners which were the fruit of a n.o.ble mind, he could never be one of those who pa.s.s unknown and unnoticed in the common throng. And since to these advantages of personal appearance he superadded a quick intelligence, and no little activity and liveliness, he was sure to meet with flattery and observation. But there was something in Julian's nature which, by G.o.d's grace, seemed to secure him from evil, as though he were surrounded by an atmosphere impermeable to base and wicked hearts. He pa.s.sed through school-life not only unscathed by, but almost ignorant of, the sins into which others fell; and the account which his contemporaries might have given of their schoolboy days was widely different from his own. He was one of those of whom the grace of G.o.d took early hold, and in whom "reason and religion ran together like warp and woof," to form the web of a wise and holy life. Such happy natures--such excellent hearts there are; though they are few and far between.

To Hugh Lillyston Julian owed no little of his happiness. They had been in the same forms together since Julian came, and the friends.h.i.+p between them was never broken. When Lillyston first saw the new boy, he longed to speak to him at once, but respected him too much to thrust himself rudely into his acquaintance. During the first day or two they exchanged only a few shy words; for Julian, too, was pleased and taken with Lillyston's manly, honest look. But both had wisely determined to let their knowledge of each other grow up naturally and gradually, without any first-sight vows of eternal friends.h.i.+p, generally destined to be broken in the following week.

Lillyston had observed, not without disgust, that two thoroughly bad fellows were beginning to notice the newcomer, and determined at all hazards to tell Julian his opinion of them. So one day as they left the school-room together, he said--

"Do you know Brant and Jeffrey?"