"Cypress or laurel!" cried my uncle, waving the book over his head.




CHAPTER VII.


I went out, and to see Francis Vivian; for on leaving Mr. Trevanion I
was not without anxiety for my new friend's future provision. But
Vivian was from home, and I strolled from his lodgings into the suburbs
on the other side of the river, and began to meditate seriously on the
best course now to pursue. In quitting my present occupations I
resigned prospects far more brilliant and fortunes far more rapid than I
could ever hope to realize in any other entrance into life. But I felt
the necessity, if I desired to keep steadfast to that more healthful
frame of mind I had obtained, of some manly and continuous labor, some
earnest employment. My thoughts flew back to the university; and the
quiet of its cloisters--which, until I had been blinded by the glare of
the London world, and grief had somewhat dulled the edge of my quick
desires and hopes, had seemed to me cheerless and unfaltering--took an
inviting aspect. It presented what I needed most,--a new scene, a new
arena, a partial return into boyhood; repose for passions prematurely
raised; activity for the reasoning powers in fresh directions. I had
not lost my time in London: I had kept up, if not studies purely
classical, at least the habits of application; I had sharpened my
general comprehension and augmented my resources. Accordingly, when I
returned home, I resolved to speak to my father. But I found he had
forestalled me; and on entering, my mother drew me upstairs into, her
room, with a smile kindled by my smile, and told me that she and her