The daily press. (Cincinnati [Ohio) 1859-1859, 1859-06-28
CHAPTER I

|
/ was a STUDENT
For loug, long years, dull ages of the brain,
l had waded through the misty labyrinths of
learning; with mad ambition to excel to be-
come human Esculapius, among the arteries
Of dead learning.
Long, long years ago-it seems but day to
me now-my poor father died, and my infant
feet followed down the narrow street, to the
last home; when the good old parson read the
burial prayers, and then - there was but o
dull falling of the sod upon the coffin lid. Even
now, can remember watching through my
tears, each glistening screw as it disappeared,
and - but it's over now, and an ancient
memory of the dead, is all that is left me.
He died, and left me legacy to the parish /;
for my mother never saw my face, and they Of
ten told nae that the old life went out, as the
new name came in-left another pauper for the
heel of wealth to trample on charity child.
l passed an apprenticeship in the workhouse,
and when my gracious masters bade me fare
well, as 1 stood on the threshold, and glanced
up at the blackened masonry that had bound
me from the outer world for ages Of the soul,
| only saw in it the starting point of my life
Gods Acre. was the goal.
Years sped on then fortune took a turn.
An uncle in the Indies-I could curse his mem
| ory now who had never in life wasted one
poor thought on the charity child, after
princely fortune to his friends and creditors,
wisely concluded to lift himself one degree
nearer heaven, by leaving some G2O0 TO the
| parish boy.
That money-the dregs of his coffers-was
godsend to me, and in q fortnight from the
day when it passed into my hands, was deep
in the crude volumes of written knowledge.
1 was proud as I was poor, and Oh ! what
little soul the good parish beadles left me,
| LoIIo Il, L,,1., ii lot,v
my fingers but it was the only hope had of
rising above the lot of the thousands who with
noble hearts and true, had gone down to Gods
Acre, with the Cain-like brand of charity
stamped upon their brows--shovelled through
the filth and slime of povertys life, by charity Is
hand, then shovelled into Gods Acre and
Charity, after crushing heart, soul and spirit
from them, kindly yielded q clod of English
dust to cover their bones in, and bit of stunted
shrub above their heads, to keep their memories
green.
Every child of charity is marketable; and
f20O was the price ofmy hearts dearest passion
an honest pride. l gained an education, and
then prepared to force subsistence from the
world, through my own exertions.
took lodgings of a certain Mrs. Mottle, in
Grosvenor Street-an extensive beginning for
one of my means, trusting to her for my rooms,
and heaven only knows to whom for my daily
bread.
I shall never forget the first day that en-
deavored to procure employment.
Early in the morning 1 made my way to
Lincoln's Inn, and commenced tour of in
spection. But the sanguine expectations in
which had INDUCED, seemed doomed to have
no realization, except in a constant perspective.
Briehess lawyers grinned sardonically in my
face, when L applied for employment as a
copyist; grey headed blue legs were not to be
pestered, and middle-aged attorneys, who wore
green spectacles, cOmmiserated deeply, and
squinted about in odd corners, after their i'm
aginary copyists, whom they always had a
large surplus of.
So the day wore on, and when the number
less clerks in the numberless rooms, ratified
everybody deaf with the closing hour, the
numberess blue legs crammed on their num-
beress hats, and hurried to their respective
homes.
I was disheartened. My last penny was
gone; and though those men knew it not, my
last hope rung out with the dying echoes Of
their footsteps as they went down the street. B.
1 had met the world; and beaten back, / felt
like soldier who is the first smitten down by
some inglorious blow, before he has gained q
foothold in the fight.
L sank down upon the stairs and clasped my
hands to my temples, for it seemed as though
the fever there was parching up my very brain
w uou lOOhOu up dbdluI tuoIo Cdluo u uul
yellow glare streaming down upon my face
from the misty glass above one Of the doors
directly opposite me.
1t was the last chance, and can remember
q strange reeling of my senses, as | arose anC
laid my hand upon the knob.
knocked repeatedly before there came {
reply; then voice said:
"Come in"
1t was a small, musty apartment, contain
!, | q aOlitarx naaE nd i'll cod hnolyo
which lay upon the shelf, besides thre
benches, and greasy looking lounge upol
three legs. A little charcoal furnace stoo,
in one corner, in which few faggots wer
smouldering, sending up little jets of smoke
which gave feverish closeness to the atmos
: phere. it
Before the desk sat pale young man, en-
gagged in copying some law reports, by tn
dim light of a broken candle, which wa
splitting ftful glare, as though weary {
. doing good to anybody. He looked up fror
his writing as l entered, then rendered me
bench.
"Good evening, sir" he said. "You wis
: to see Mr.. Southland, l suppose"
"Yes-that isl hardly know whom"
suffered, ~ was at present seeking employ
ment. Perhaps you might be in want of
cOpyist."
It The young man turned his eyes upon m
face, half sadly, half whimsically.
"I am afraid" he replied, "that you will
unsuccessful; am the only person at preseI
: in the employ of Mr.. Southland, and though
have really too much labor on my hands
. much, in fact"-and his pale temple fusht
strangely as he spoke, "that it has crushed o1
health, spirit, everything still, the reml
noration is so extremely small, that scarcely
well, well, 1 won't think of it! 1 wou
=. like-I can afford you no assistance. 1t
8, impossiblel Still, you might leave yov
Z. name--here, write it down--and will hand
- to him in the morning"
took the pen from his hand, and hayiI
finished, he held up the paper to the light al
read aloud.
/, "Gerald Vane, - Grosvenor street,
}, Mrs. Notifies, Let me think" and he ran
hand neryousy across his brow, as if to scar
out some ancient memory. "If rememb
Alright, have seen your name before"
"Possibly, SIR" t..t
- #God's Acre Is a term used throughout Great Br
ain in reference especially to burial grounds for
pers and the parish poor. Its slgnihcation is &c
eral, however Longtellow thus speaks OF II: