Hence, when Clarian came to college, he knew very little of life
indeed,--and, moreover, he cherished not a few ascetic notions, deeming
this world "all a fleeting show," from whose vain illusions it was one's
chief duty to shield one's self. He had never read a novel, save "some of
Scott's,"--nor ever seen or read a play, not even of Shakspeare's. How I
envied him this new world, in whose usages I had been _blase_ long before I
was of an age to appreciate its beauties,--this bright, fancy-fostering
world, to which he was to go all fresh and unsophisticated, like a bride to
the nuptial sheets! In literature of a more solid kind his practice was
quite considerable: he had surveyed many fields of Art, History, and
Theology, all of which, however, had first been submitted to the test of
that anxious maternal _Index Expurgatorius_, lest some drop of infidelity
or impurity should trickle in unawares, to darken or embitter the pure
crystal waters of his soul. Ah, thou poor fond mother, so unreasoningly
ignoring the fact that each of us must somehow eat his "peck of dirt"!
Thus intrusted to my charge, and having such attractive elements in his
character, I naturally took great interest in Clarian, and particularly
spared no effort to give him use in college ways. I saw that the lad was
not one to bear being laughed at, and so did all I could to screen him from
the embarrassments of ignorance,--taught him our customs, our fashions, and
gave him lessons upon that immemorial dialect in which college sublegists
delight.
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