Family Column.

Wellington Independent, Volume XVII, Issue 1808, 25 December 1862, Page 4

Family Column.

% JH OIL 'A CE' SAL TOU N. •uj v ' ■■' •' [From the CornhilL] . ' =' f,i?4B? Days with Grind and •lii iy/Si* , i; ; GbINDEBS.-^-(CONTINUED.) ass nWhenl encountered Miss Qtway in society firt^Whicn, however, from my onerous avocations 4 i;^asCracerely. enabled to do— she received me' oj-ffdni the first with a, marked cordiality, hardly -d warranted by our previous very slight acquaint. r-;ance. Was thisj as she took care to inform me ; i because I was the friend of Horace? or was it to • enlist my sympathy and secure my i^'sileflce .as to what I might have formerly seen lii and heard of character P I was uucharitable 1 enough 4o believe the latter; and if I considered ;ia her a thorough coquette, I had the satisfaction aw of knowing that a good many raed, and a large =?; majority of women, were of my way of thinking. i'.Hjowever, it; was obviously not my place to ini^iterfere;'? I^tried to give her credit for future s f^S^ fi^ 3 ' and t0 helieve in her afifectibn «^fo^ Horace, against my own conviction. And t>n tamnot the first man, nor shall I be the last, lejiwhovhaslenticredit to a. fair ftce. t.W- ••¥es,ll;am;sproud, of Horace," she said to rs^meifonere^niogiJwhen the fancy took her to Uan confidingly on my arm. We both watched # i %|S w f' fa J*'. and .^ the *W* hefsaid, somevp#i's9jfc«»Si?;^We from his g>eat Light. .W^e/M^ „^ s is so masculine and ;' V^J^^j^'k Very^wimn and^ctip^ite dis- •:'- j^Kwon,'. 6nd ; a.most unselfish heart, Miss \^Sl^SK^4'-ipw^'ftt-jno.tell you, is a very rare

generally fails to meet with its deserts," I added, a little saddly. " You know Horace can do no wrong in my eyes, doctor," returned Cecile, " and that ought to content even your friendship, exigeant as it is," And again the old honeyed smile. " We will hope it may always continue to be the case," I -replied, in a rather churlish manner. A few weeks after this Horace came to me, looking terribly out of sorts. He lit a large cigar and puffed away at it furiously, as if he wished to get rid of some secret irritation. I continued writing, without boring him by inquiries. At last out came bis grievance- • " I say, Paul, old Otway is going abroad for a twelvemonth, and Cecile is going with him." " How does she like that?" I asked. " That is the point. I can't understand it," j he said, dashing down his cigar in uncontrolled mpatience. " She likes it very well indeed, and takes to it as a child does to new milk. She says she is very much grieved, and all that ; •ndeed, she shed tear 3" (this with a little oftening in his tone, " and I may have pressed her too hard; but still she does not really care — she hordly pretends." " Why not marry at once, and save her the trouble and expense of the voyage ; or at least, let her make the tour in your company, instead of her father's ?" " Exactly what I urged ; you know there is no earthly reason, why we should not. lam making more than £900 per annum now, besides £200 a year of my own, and the absolute certainty of more at my mother's death ; and as to a house one can procure anything for money in. London, from a castle down to a wigwam. I did. implore and beg. Was ever anj woman yet so cold and so gentle ? She wept and caressed, and talked about her duty to her father, until I was bewildered." I said nothing; but I thought she owed a duly to her intended husband no less than to her father, who was in perfect health, and by no means a gentleman mi laid -solitude much to heart. Indeed, if sheened tears, she should .have let her father see them, as I had ample reason to know that he never denied her any request. " She says she cannot bear the idea of her father being quite alone," he continued. " She knows he would most likely marry again if he where," I said, coolly. Horace looked disgusted. "What a brute you are 1 I almost hate you, Paul." Then the poor fellow began to reproach himself for ever having blamed her even for an instant. " It's not that. I doubt her truth and constancy, however little I am worthy of her," he said, humbly. "I believe in her," continued the good trusting heart, "as Ido in heaven ! But my lonely home— my solitary hearth — that is what cows me^ Oh ! the horror of going every night into theWbuae which contains no face to gladden at your presence, no ear to listen for your footstep, no eye to brighten at your approach. I tell you it is tbe knowledge that as I pace these weary, crowded, seething streets, if I were to fall down dead I should be carried to the nearest hospital, and no moan would be made — none would own me, unless one of my own lads got hold of me " " Nay — this is morbid j Horace. It is not true {hat no one cares for you, and you know it. Cecile Otway is not the only woman in the world." . . "She is all that this world has of woman for me" he returned, with a dogged dismalness that almost tempted me to smile, provoked as I was at tbe whole affair. "She complains of my impetuosity, Paul, though her words are gentle enough. If lam impetuous, it is not without reason. Women hardly understand how far they try a man when they make regulations simply by the light of their own experience. However, I must submit. I know her truth. lam well assured of her real love; and I'll do my duty, never doubting, and 'take the first best that offers,' as the German sage says." In due time the vessel sailed, the Otways left England, and Horace was no longer fevered by the presence of Cecile. He was rather gloomy and moping at first, but soon threw himself with ardour into hard work; which is, after all, the best specific in love. Cedit amor rebus : res aye, tvius eris. He was soon after formally offered the professorship of — — at " Hospital. At first I urged him to accept it, in spite of his exhibiting 1 a most unaccountable disinclination, to do so. " I'm more independent as I am, Paul," he argued:;. ; " ; I lecture my ; own men : I .can say .what,! please,;as I please, when and where I please;; the number of my pupils increases every term, so that I make a fair income independent of my practice.. You know I'm an odd fellow : I don't like binding myself down to any particular views, or to be pledged to any unchangeable round of duty. Come and see my fellows some duty, and judge for yourself." I took him at his word, and some time after this conversation I repaired in good time in the morning to the large, dingy room in a certain' quiet street, where he held his classes. There were, I suppose, upwards of a hundred students assembled, every description of man being there represented. One or two I recognized as old acquaintances, and others I knew owing (o my connection with Hospital. Take, them altogether, they were a rough-look-ing lot, though several were dressed in the extreme of fashion ; but these were exceptions. I saw a facej I knew; it was that of a sallow, sodden-visaged fellow, the son of a hardworking incumbent in the south. He had long been the plague of his father's heart, and for the last three years he had been cut down to a pound a week, paid every Monday morning. Here was an earnest, slow-witted, pale-faced lad, who looked as if he wished to study, but could'nt. And here was another, of unmistakeably Hebrew descent, all rings, and chains, and paths. Beards were not as common then as .they are now ; but there was a large sprinkling of moustaches, a great dearth of clean shirts, and an all-pervading smell of tobacco. Very soon Saltoun strode in, dashed down his hat, and 1 without notes or papers — without, apparently, preparation of any kind — he at once plunged into his subject. It comprehended some of the most intricate anatomy of part of the knee-joint; and I was amazed at the striking and lucid manner in which he handled so dry a subject. ?He did it in a thoroughly masterly style, illustrating it with imagery, sometimes forcible sometimes grotesque, and clenching the point wilh some humourous remark, or some anecdote stricl]y suitable to an audience whose fault ., was that of being too fastidious. He was a swift and skilful draughtsman, and the sketches he made as he proceeded were such that the veriest dolt must .needs have learned somewhat. A few on the front benches were the constant object of bis lecture, balf conversational as it was ; and from time to time he declared that be read that in their countenances which induced him to believe they wished and felt competent themselves to elucidate the point in hand. Tbe unfortunate men who thus found themselves tbe object of attention to the whole class, could not shirk the public appeal ; arid accordingly, as they acquitted themselves, they were rewarded by the applause or tbe jeers ol their fellows. There was about Saltoun, an ienergy which seemed to diffuse itself irresistibly among the men ; a kind of concentrated vitality, which, 'by the. power of hisstrong individual will, inspired those near him, and carried them with him. ■ =■• : ■ . .'•, „.,;..-.• -\. .-\.r,.J:^ After nearly two hours of brilliantjdemonstration, Horace suddenly taught my eye, and concluded by saying,— "And now, gentlemen.

In a moment every man was on his legs. Horace pushed through the crowd, slipped his arm through mine, and we passed into the hall, where a . few men were exchanging, students' chaff with the untidy maid who acted as gyp for the whole establishment ; and 'to do her justice, she appeared ou the best of terms with the young feilows, and in the encounter of wits it was not she who had the worst of it. "How do you like my crew, Paul P — a rough lot, eh ? But some of them are Very good fellows, in their way. You see it is not the most elegant, nor yet the most promising of the students, wuo resort to me ; but the black sheep, and the lost, the laxy, tbe hopelessly stupid, prodigal sons generally, and the often plucked ones particularly; they all come to me." And he gave bis old boisterous, genial laugh. " Surely, Horace, I saw one or two men who were mates of mine ?" " I daresay you did. They have stuck in the mud, and it is Heicules' own work to hoist them out again. Did you notice that scampish quick-eyed, dissipated fellow to the right front ? He was plucked years ago ; since then he has been dresser and assistant abroad with one of the contingents. He is up to his work— indeed, a good many of them are ; but they either cannot or will not read. When the bigwigs say, ' Now, Mr — , in such a case what would you do ?' they mostly answer right enough ; but when they demand, further, • Why would you pursue that course of treatment ?' they are altogether at sea. One of my men answered, boldly, * Because it's the best plan to cure your patient; and I defy the college to improve on it.' It got him through : but he told it about, and some of the hopeless ones looked on it os a charm, tried the same dodge, and were sent to the right about: 'recommended to pursue their studies for six months longer' — and I think that is the euphemistic phrase employed." 11 Who was that dull, grave, dispirited look* ing man in a corner ?" " Oh, the men call him, rather profanely, the ' God-forgotten man.' He has been grinding away under different tutors for five years, and he has not passed yet. Poor fellow, I hope he will ; he is dresser at one place and dispenser at another, and is a hard plodder ; but somehow his brain wants quality. His wife came to me the other day: 'Now, Mr Saltoun, Alfred knows the cavity of the chest, and the muscles of the face and neck, and the thoraric regions, but he is not up in the knee-joint, the wrist, and 'carpal articulations.' Fancy that! he is a married man ; so I gave him the knee to-day. Those eight in the front rank go up to-night ; two of them will be spun ; two more may pass ; the other four must, if they are ordinarily easy examinations." v And you like this better than a Professor's chair." " Yes, I do ; I enjoy it. I get quite fond of my en fans terribles, and I am as keenly interested in their success as it is possible to be. I live ray student life over again in them : yet some of them are the most awful scamps, too," he aded, laughing. . '*! think you infuse energy into them." " I? is, depend on it, a reciprocal action then ; for they infect me with their youth." I may mention here, that, owing to unfoi* seen circumstances, the opportunity of purchasing the entire of the practice on which 1 had entered presented itself much sooner tbau I anticipated; and as I have already explained that I was entirely dependent on my own exertions, it found me unprepared— in truth I had not had time to save, and I was reluctantly about to relinquish the idea of succeeding to it. This reached Saltoun's ears, and, quite unsolicited, he advanced the money in the most delicate manner, without my knowledge ; refusing . to accept any formal acknowledgement. I was able in a short time to repay him; but I was deeply touched by his kindness: This is only one of his many generous actions to old friends, always performed with the same absence of ostentation. When I endeavoured to thank him, and to insist on his taking some security, he made the most frightful grimaces, and begged me, as I valued his peace, to let tbe subject drop. About six or eight months after this he surprised me with a visit ; as I knew it was not his disengaged time, it was tbe more unexpected when he announced that he meant to stay some days ; and I observed with real anxiety, that he was very thin— for him almost emaciated — and seemed wretchedly out of spirits. The dinner-bell rang, but he did not appear, so I went up to his room with an exordium on punctuality, ready to deliver; I found him with his razors out, coolly preparing to shave. " My good fellow, leave your stubble till after dinner." '•I've sharpened my razors," he said obstinately, " and I may as well use them." " But the dinner?" " Stay until I've finished," he replied ; "if you do, I promise you you will see me down a good deal earlier than you otherwise would." I concluded he was in one of his queer humours, and unwilling to cross him, I sat down until the operation was concluded, We then J went downstairs. Now I can hardly account i for it except by some sort of instinct ; but I gave previous orders that no wine should appear at dinner, and when the deficiency became manifest, I contented myself with remarking, " I know you are a water-drinker, and I find it too heating this warm weather." He acquiesced, and so it passed; but that night, after our evening cigar, just before we turned in, he grasped my shoulder, or rather clutched it, and said, " Tell me the truth, Paul ; what made you order that there should be no wine ? Did I look as if I wanted drink ? Do you think other people can detect tbe demon that possesses me?" I merely replied, " It is better never to enter into temptation : but I'm quite certain, Horace, no one imagines that such an occasional impulse exists with you." He compressed his lips. " Well, Paul, put me under treatment ; for when I came down to you it was because I knew it was my safety. I felt the most awful, infernal craving that any one out of hell can imagine. I don't want to drink. It is — O God I — it is that I want to feel drunk. T don't often undergo it, and I know when it is. coming on. I begin to feel miserable and gloomy without knowing wby-r---only that everything seems going wrong, and that something dreadful is about to happen ; or else I feel so irritated and quarrelsome at the slightest contradiction from others that I turn away and actually shed tears because I must notstrike them ; when that wears off, this terrible desire to get madly intoxicated follows. I think of it with rapture : it seems to promise me heaven — oblivion from all present misery; and at the bare thought of it excessive joy comes to me. I felt gloomy enough to hang myself this morning as I came down here.', , . " Or cut your throat ?" I said. "Or cut my throat," he repeated with emphasis. The only thing to be done was to nip it in the bud, if possible. I put him uuder a course of sedatives, combined with tonics;, insisted on regular hours, cheerful society, bathing, &c; and I had the satisfaction of seeing my prescription dp its work. The tears came into his eyes, as I he, wrung my band in .parting. , , :. rv-You will always find, me here, Horace, and »a welcome' for you." ] , ' ' > . s"AH right, old fellow," he replied, with the. most perfect composure, «fj, ;hoj)e the next visit will not be for aye and for ever." '"*' So we parted. .