God bless you."
Pen wrote a droll account of his doings in London, and the play, and the
visit to the old Friars, and the brewery, and the party at Mr. Foker's,
to his dearest mother, who was saying her prayers at home in the lonely
house at Fairoaks, her heart full of love and tenderness unutterable for
the boy: and she and Laura read that letter and those which followed,
many, many times, and brooded over them as women do. It was the first
step in life that Pen was making--Ah! what a dangerous journey it is, and
how the bravest may stumble and the strongest fail. Brother wayfarer! may
you have a kind arm to support yours on the path, and a friendly hand to
succour those who fall beside you. May truth guide, mercy forgive at the
end, and love accompany always. Without that lamp how blind the traveller
would be, and how black and cheerless the journey!
So the coach drove up to that ancient and comfortable inn the Trencher,
which stands in Main Street, Oxbridge, and Pen with delight and eagerness
remarked, for the first time, gownsmen going about, chapel bells clinking
(bells in Oxbridge are ringing from morning-tide till even-song)--towers
and pinnacles rising calm and stately over the gables and antique
house-roofs of the homely busy city.
Pages:
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394