Correspondence may even be ventured on,
enclosing locks of hair, and interchanging rings, and paper oaths of
eternal fidelity.
But the old Cerberus is very wakeful: the letters fail; the lamp that
used to glimmer for a sign among the sycamores is gone out; a stolen
wave of a handkerchief, a despairing look, and tears,--which you fancy,
but do not see,--make you miserable for long days.
The tyrant teacher, with no trace of compassion in her withered heart,
reports you to the college authorities. There is a long lecture of
admonition upon the folly of such dangerous practices; and if the
offence be aggravated by some recent joviality with Dalton and the
Senior, you are condemned to a month of exile with a country clergyman.
There are a few tearful regrets over the painful tone of the home
letters; but the bracing country air, and the pretty faces of the
village girls, heal your heart--with fresh wounds.
The old Doctor sees dimly through his spectacles; and his pew gives a
good look-out upon the smiling choir of singers. A collegian wears the
honors of a stranger, and the country bucks stand but poor chance in
contrast with your wonderful attainments in cravats and verses.
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