his high resolves and daring thoughts, was blessed with that tenderness of
soul which is sometimes linked with an ardent imagination and a strong
will. The traveller was an orphan, more than that, a solitary orphan. The
sweet sedulousness of a mother's love, a sister's mystical affection, had
not cultivated his early susceptibility. No soft pathos of expression had
appealed to his childish ear. He was alone, among strangers calmly and
coldly kind. It must indeed have been a truly gentle disposition that
could have withstood such hard neglect. All that he knew of the power of
the softer passions might be found in the fanciful and romantic annals of
schoolboy friendship.

And those friends too, so fond, so sympathising, so devoted, where were
they now? Already they were dispersed; the first great separation of life
had been experienced; the former schoolboy had planted his foot on the
threshold of manhood. True, many of them might meet again; many of them
the University must again unite, but never with the same feelings. The
space of time, passed in the world before they again met, would be an age
of sensation, passion, experience to all of them. They would meet again
with altered mien, with different manners, different voices. Their eyes
would not shine with the same light; they would not speak the same words.
The favourite phrases of their intimacy, the mystic sounds that spoke only
to their initiated ear, they would be ashamed to use them. Yes, they might
meet again, but the gushing and secret tenderness was gone for ever.

Nor could our pensive youth conceal it from himself that it was affection,
and mainly affection, that had bound him to these dear companions. They
could not be to him what he had been to them. His had been the inspiring
mind that had guided their opinions, formed their tastes, directed the
bent and tenor of their lives and thoughts. Often, indeed, had he needed,
sometimes he had even sighed for, the companionship of an equal or