Tribune and telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1855-1856, 1856-08-21

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within week, and settled down to my new
course of life without much difficulty. had no
very gross vulgarities to get rid Of and Sir Will
hams conversation was as good antidote to any
thing OF the sort, as can be conceived. He had
read extensively, had traveled far, and had bene-
htteo largely by both experiences. His talk
was of that rare and courteous sort which seems
to acquire information while in reality it is i'm
parting it and presented a striking contrast to
his stubbornness and almost savage will / ad-
vanced readily in classics and, from desire to
please my benefactor, worked hard at the mathe-
matlcs; which | detested, and ever shall detest
4 seldom visited the village, it had become
hateful, from the unpleasant remarks and curl
Gus questions, that was sure to be there sub.
Jected to; but the park was world wide enough
for me. My patron seemed to grow better pleas
ed with me daily-and indeed he had nothing to
complain of, albeit purchased his favor at great
cost / had no feeling toward him warmer than
gratitude; and the perpetual guard l had to keep
upon my speech and actions was very irksome.
! could not choose but see how unjust, and even
cruel, he could be when dispeased, and was al
ways in ter or lest it should be my turn to excite
his wrath. 1t is net meet, Gray-it would be
painful to mysef-to narrate any of the many
instances of this; but you must take my word
| for it, and remember it, in case any quarrel
should happen between Sir William and his
adopted son. You look shocked at what have
already said, and think me an migrate If this
man, then, has in truth bought over my soul to
silence, as we'll as made me the automaton of
his will, do not think he has paid too much for
| it. Do not please him Am not standing
sign to him; the advertisement of his virtues the
! object through which his enemies delight to
pierce him the envy of my interiors, the scorn
of my equals, the pity of such as you Is there
nothing due to me Have not a right to have
been born as self-willed-as violent-as hep
Certainly, my good FRIEND said Gray, calm
| ly, 'and as unjust, and as cruel 2"
"You shall know what it is have to bear
Not a year ago, when l was coming up to this
college, at Sir Williams wish, he said to me, of
a sudden, Brooke, you must now take my
name knew this would anger his few relatives
( to the uttermost; that it would provoke endless
misapprehension of my own position; that it
would make me more his goods and chattel than
ever. l said, respectfully, Sir, would much
rather not Not liking to mention my real rea-
sons / mumbled something about destroying all
chance of my being found by my parents. He
broke forth WITH What, sirrah, do you want to
! be a beggars bra. again ! He took down a
walking stick, and / half suspected that he was
going to strike me with it, in which case, should
/ have left his house that instant, and shaken the
| dust from my shoes before his face but he only
pointed to the handle, which was of ivory, and
very i'll in keeping with the poor hazel stah.
| The top of this was once brown also sir, said
he "but it did not suit my fancy, The man
who made it demonstrated at my wishing it to
be changed. But changed it shall be- quoth !;
/ for do what will with my own; and changed
! it was. / wish you too, to have fine handle !;
| and you will be henceforth Mr.. Brooke Persey.'
Nor was this the first time within score, that l
have been brought to a knowledge of my pre-
carious place You know, then, all my history
my low beginning, my perilous height, and
the unreliable reed on which l lean. The night
! is DrOWinr chill, tsraV, Let US
| CHAPTER THE SECOND.
Brooke Persey was telow-commoner; Leon
ard Gray, the son OF plain yeoman, was a siZer.
| They had formed and acquaintance in the lee
/ tureroom, which had soon ripened into friend
| ship; but their companions and pursuits were
far different; the rich protege kept his couple
of horses and had dinner party at least once a
week; the scholar d;ned in the hall, and had
| enough to do apparently to keep himself He
mace use of his rich friend whatever; mot
through pride, be sure said he but because
cannot afford to spend much time in pleasure of
any sort; foot exercise is best for me, and your
wines would only incapacitate me from work
ing, like you, Persey, | have neither father,
mother, nor relative (save one dear little sister;
nay, and | have patron too, if choose, in my
tutor; who, for all his donnish ways and per-
sonal grandeur, is as kind man as breathes
He offered to lend me money to keep me up here
in manner / shall not easily forget but, hay
ing got so far without crutch, | must make
shift to finish my journey by help of my own
legs
1t was the season now at Cambridge when the
quaint college-gardens are filled with lovers and
sisters and friends; when the gownsman evin-
ces sudden interest in the museum, and plays
the Cicerone, not without the reward that he
most loves; when the father comes to visit the
scenes of his young, and recognizes his former
self in the complacent Freshman son; when the
sister thinks she never saw such handsome
youths before, and one whom she forgets to name
seems to be the king of all.
SO came Sir William Persey from his town
house; and by the same train, in q more hum
BILE class, came Gray's little sister, Constance,
from Audlsy End. Not that she was one hairs
breadth shorter than she ought to have been, or
the least less plump; but so much round the
fairy wrist and so much round the graceful neck,
and so much round the dainty, dainty waist in
the pertectest proportion that could be, as
should like to have proved by measure :; but she
was called little from endearment by every body.
There was a strange old person with her, who
seemed to have particular virtue beyond that
of loving her and of extolling Leonard, and who
must have been the orphans foster mother, and
to see the two (afer they had left their boxes at
some humble lodging) in the scholars attic was
pleasant sight. Such a charming little dinner
they had there, with audits ale-of which Con-
stance drank one thimblefu to please her brotn-
Grand ices at dessert, which rendered them on
observe, subsequently to the bedmaker, with
whom confidence, founded on Leonard's ex-
cellences, was established), 'that they
would lay cold at the pit other stomach for days
then the Cambridge coffee that is equalled no.
where else, and the anchovy toast which is a
special wonder of its own and it is time to 60
to chapel. Gray's tutor takes fair constance's
arm, and puts her in the best seat to hear the
anthem; and notwithstanding that she sighed,
hope, he thinks of his celIbate state when he
finds his eyes involuntarily wandering from his
book to her. The two hundred young men in
white SUPPLIES opposite, too, find their eyes, not
all voluntarily, doing likewise, and especially
Mr. Edward Brooke Persey was smitten through.
His patron, Sir William, sat on the masters
right hand, res diving many things in his deep
mind and thought, perhaps, of the days long
since when he had sat in those high seats in
youth, among the spangled gowns delighting
in the future, believing all who fOretod of his
brilliant future, and contrasted the past time
and its prophecies with the stern reality, with
his chldishness, and few gray hairs or looked
beneath him upon the fine face OF his adopted
son, and seemed to gather comfort, and almost
fathers joy; perhaps, too his heart was stirred
at the sight Of Constance and the wondrous
mystic music began to talk to him OF the happy
| dead who was once as fair as she.
! While the organ was yearning its last and the
/ IL .os he olra