OF >inO\-I,IGHT MUSINGS. 209 



nient rA caeicras that "lonir time ago^' used to trouble our nocturnal pe- 

 destrians so much, disturbing tlie equanimity and breaking in harshly 

 upon the reveries of many a "nice young man," who should by chance, 

 in the deliciousness of his trance, forget there were such unpoetical, 

 matter-of-fact-things as mud and water in existence. Via Benedlcta tra- 

 versed, I found myself strolling along the beautiful walks that intersect 

 the Campus, broidered by every variety of bud and bloom ; the grounds 

 around me, which, if I recollect rightly, were then an unrelieved ex- 

 panse of utter sterility, "herbless, treeless", were now swarded in the 

 richest green. 



The College bell had sounded the signal for So/mius to resume his 

 sway, yet many tapers remained luiextinguished — the light shines as 

 familiarly through one well-remembered window, as though it were still 

 my own sanctum and I had just returned from an evening's call expect- 

 ing to find my studious chum sitting by the untrimmed lamp, Hutton in 

 liand, busily engaged — slecj)ing. Around each twinkling taper 1 can al- 

 most fancy 1 discern the well-known features of some former friend. 

 There — do you observe that dim light — that's Jack's room — there surely 

 are a chosen few assembled to discuss a rich, steaming mince pie, whilst 

 those, who were so fortunate as to have had "rope," narrate the adven- 

 tures of the evening. So perfect is the allusion that I can hardly invest 

 my mind with the reality that I am no longer a youth at College, that 

 the friends whom I had loved are. not still lingering around the places 

 where I knew them. 



Indulging such dreamy reveries I stood, while the arch enchantress, 

 Memory, was busy in recalling incidents heretofore forgotten, and forms 

 and features of friends for a long time unthought of. Yet still, at length, 

 the feeling began gradually to force itself upon me, that I was a lone 

 stranger, with no acquaintance to welcome me back to my ^Ima mater. 

 The many and dear friends (or rather brothers, for so ray heart acknow- 

 ledged them,) whom I had known and loved and left the happy inmates 

 of these cloisters, where are they ? Scattered like the kindred leaves 

 from some tall monarch of the forest before the wild autumnal blast, no 

 two together. Not one of all that numerous band to greet my return — 

 not one kindred soul to recur with me to the days oi '■'•Jluld lung sync.'''' 

 Ah ! how many sad and sorrowful emotions, how many painful recollec- 

 tions of bright and sunny hours long since gone forever ! how many 

 linked associations of commingled pleasure and pain, how many known 

 and familiar faces of "loved and lost ones" throng upon the half suflb- 

 cated mind, while gazing upon one's Mma mater after long years of ab- 

 sence ! Does the pleasure or pain predominate in these saddening re- 

 26 



