My own reminiscences of Eric were numerous and
vivid, and several of my old schoolfellows and friends gladly supplied
me with other particulars, especially the Bishop of Roslyn, Mr. Rose,
Montagu, and Wildney. So the story of Eric's ruin has been told, and
told as he would have wished it done, with simple truth. Noble Eric! I
do not fear that I have wronged your memory, and you I know would
rejoice to think how sorrowful hours have lost something of their
sorrow, as I wrote the scenes in so many of which we were engaged
together in our school-boy days.
I visited Roslyn a short time ago, and walked for hours along the sands,
picturing in my memory the pleasant faces, and recalling the joyous
tones of the many whom I had known and loved. Other boys were playing by
the sea-side, who were strangers to me and I to them; and as I marked
how wave after wave rolled up the shore, with its murmur and its foam,
each sweeping farther than the other, each effacing the traces of the
last, I saw an emblem of the passing generations, and was content to
find that my place knew me no more.
Pages:
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493