1829.] Three Years at Cambridge. 465 
splendours, that fade and become extinct as reason dawns on the mind. 
Formed in a moment of confidence, they expire with the cause that 
originated them—the unreflecting sensibility of the young heart. “Self 
militates against them. Engaged in after years too much with Number 
One, to bestow a thought on Number Two, our attention is solely occu- 
pied in bustling through the crowd that every where retards our pro- 
gress. Though we see him whom we once loved, jammed—pressed— 
and finally trodden beneath our feet, we gaze with indifference at the 
sight. Perhaps, at that moment, a thought of past times darkens our 
brow. We cast a cautious glance about us—the crowd thickens—the 
hazard increases—we sigh out, “ Poor fellow !” and then pass on, leav- 
ing the object of our early love to perish or escape, as may happen: 
Thus is it with human nature. The affections of the heart, like streams 
flowing on towards the sea, roll awhile in different channels, but are all 
at last engulphed in the one wide grasping ocean of self. | 
At this particular juncture, however, I had yet to feel the full truth of 
the foregoing remarks. P. t was still the same frank, though some- 
what fanciful fellow, I had known at Reading; I was equally disposed 
to admire him; and, to cement our union, “each had sufficient funds to 
enable him to be independent of the other. If you wish to preserve 
your friend, whether at school, college, or in the world, avoid borrow- 
ing money of him. Friendship, that can stand the test of almost every 
thing, that can bear with advice and be patient under vituperation, 
shrinks from that superhuman ordeal—the loan of money. Depend on 
it, Pylades never owed Orestes a single farthing; had he done so, he 
would most probably have died in some Grecian Newgate, and the world 
a lost as pretty a bit of sentiment as school-boy ar school-girl could 
esire. 
It was on my road home from the Lecture-Rooms that I first lighted on 
P——t. After the usual greetings, he proposed that I should accompany 
him to Sapsford’s (the Merman of the Cam), and take an hour's boating 
on the river. No sooner said than done: our caps and gowns, those 
“ outward and visible signs of an inward and spiritual” intellect, were 
instantly thrown off, the boat unmoored, the sails unfurled, and away 
we went, with a fair wind, at the uncommonly mercurial pace of two 
miles and a half an hour. - Ina short time we reached Chesterton, where 
we landed, went into the billiard-room, and amused ourselves with 
watching the bad play of two consequential fellow-commoners—that 
amphibious compromise between the glittering rank of the nobleman 
and the staid gentility of the pensioner. Of all the sports to which 
our British youth are addicted, I know of none so utterly without 
apology as billiards. Sailing I can fancy, and even exult in, for there 
is something ennobling to the mind in being able to render a new 
element subservient to one’s purpose, in enslaving the free winds, and 
moulding its very caprices to one’s wants ; in driving, a sense of power 
is felt, and dexterity called into action ; in skaiting, the elegance of the 
7 form is put forth in all its attractions ; the pulse beats high, a 
ous ferment warms the blood, and the whole man becomes elastic 
—mercurial—spiritualized (if I may venture to use an expression which 
skaiters alone will comprehend)—but in billiards, the whole gist of 
which consists in knocking two bone balls, like two thick heads, against 
h other, and shoving them into a yellow worsted bag, at the same 
ime stretching out the legs and arms to an extent provocative of dislo- 
ion—in this amusement, I am yet to learn where lies the extraors 
M.M. New Scries—Vouw. VII. No. 41. 30 
