1829. . Three Years at Cambridge. 473 
features of these heads would have been presumptuous ; we, therefore 
contented ourselves with ascertaining that they were indeed portions, 
however singular, of humanity ; and this achieved, we set out for P—-—tt’s 
rooms at Trinity, where we supped, after which, at an hour infinitely later 
' than usual, our whole party broke up, P—-—t proceeding on his road 
alone, in the direction of Barnwell, beneath a cold wintry sky ; and 
the remainder of us, each taking our departure for our respective abodes. 
Early the next morning, while I was yet living over in dreams the 
occurrences of the preceding day, I was roused from sleep by the abrupt 
appearance of my servant. “Oh, Sir,” he said, breathless with agitation, 
“have you heard the news? all Cambridge rings with it!” Scarcely had 
I time to reply, when three or four of my last night’s companions rushed 
into the room. “ Get up, for God’s sake get up,” they one and all ex- 
elairaed, “ Poor P——t"’ 
“ What of him?” I cried, springing from my bed in terror. 
* He is dead.” 
* Dead! dead !” the word pierced me like a shot. . In an instant I 
was up, and dressed, and flying as fast as grief and surprise could, bear 
me towards my poor friend’s rooms at Neville’s Court. Alas! the news 
was tootrue. P t, the social andmerry-hearted P t, he from whom 
I had parted but a few hours before, and the echoes of whose last words - 
were still ringing in my ear, was indeed a corpse! On his road to 
Barnwell, the night air operating on a frame heated with wine, and ren- 
dered sensitive by the warmth of a crowded supper-room, had brought 
on a resistless lethargy, under the influence of which, my ill-fated friend 
had laid himself down and tranquilly slept to death. His body was 
found at day-break by some labourers who were going to their work, 
stretched full length in a ditch scarce six inches deep in water, half 
naked, with his clothes and watch carefully placed beside him on the 
bank. He had actually imagined himself going to bed! 
Such were the tidings I heard as I stood absorbed in thought beside 
the corpse: of my late social, frank, and thoughtless crony. A few 
_ short hours ago, and who so full of life; now, who so dull, cold, and 
‘ assionless. How hushed was his sleep! how profound, how eternal ! 
0 fire shot from his eye—no mirth played round his lip—the fixed, 
hastly spirit of death, hung out its dreary banner on his countenance, 
beneath whose dread symbol of power my heart sickened and died away. 
_ That night, my few remaining debts discharged, I bade adieu to the 
_ University. The porters had just closed the college gates, and the last 
chimes from Saint Mary were pealing out their solemn tones, as the 
Leeds coach arrived at the Eagle and Child. How different were the 
feelings with which I had last entered into that same inn yard! Then I 
was just starting into life, full of hope and buoyancy ; now, my health was 
a tie 3 my prospects blighted; and I myself was flying by some 
ssistless impulse, from the grave of my best and earliest friend! These 
eflections rushed with inconceivable bitterness across my soul, as I 
med, while the coach proceeded swiftly down Trumpington-street, 
take one farewell glance of the scene I was quitting for ever. The 
ajestic spires of King’s College, shooting proudly up into the sky, 
ere still visible in the gathering gloom of the hour ; an instant, and 
were concealed from view ; and, as the last glimpse of Cambridge 
ided on the horizon, my heart sunk within me, for I was a wanderer 
‘the face of the earth ! 
M.M. New Series.—Vou. VII. No. 41. 3P 
