'
"'No answer was returned. I arose, went to the place, and
recognised poor Wellerby. His brow was moist, his cheek was warm.
A few moments earlier, and that dismal lake whereunto and wherefrom
the waters of life, the buoyant blood, ran no longer, might have
received one vivifying ray reflected from my poor casement. I might
not indeed have comforted--I have often failed; but there is one who
never has; and the strengthener of the bruised reed should have been
with us.
"'Remembering that his mother did abide one mile further on, I
walked forward to the mansion, and asked her what tidings she lately
had received of her son. She replied that, having given up his mind
to light studies, the fellows of the college would not elect him.
The master had warned him beforehand to abandon his selfish poetry,
take up manfully the quarterstaff of logic, and wield it for St.
John's, come who would into the ring. "'We want our man,'" said he
to me, "'and your son hath failed us in the hour of need. Madam, he
hath been foully beaten in the schools by one he might have
swallowed, with due exercise.'"
"'"I rated him, told him I was poor, and he knew it. He was stung,
and threw himself upon my neck, and wept.
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