Charles Reding was the only son of a clergyman, who was in
possession of a valuable benefice in a midland county. His father
intended him for orders, and sent him at a proper age to a public
school. He had long revolved in his mind the respective advantages and
disadvantages of public and private education, and had decided in
favour of the former. “Seclusion,” he said, “is no security for virtue.
There is no telling what is in a boy's heart: he may look as open and
happy as usual, and be as kind and attentive, when there is a great
deal wrong going on within. The heart is a secret with its Maker; no
one on earth can hope to get at it or to touch it. I have a cure of
souls; what do I really know of my parishioners? Nothing; their hearts
are sealed books to me. And this dear boy, he comes close to me; he
throws his arms round me, but his soul is as much out of my sight as if
he were at the antipodes. I am not accusing him of reserve, dear
fellow: his very love and reverence for me keep him in a sort of
charmed solitude. I cannot expect to get at the bottom of him.
'Each in his hidden sphere of bliss or woe,
Our hermit spirits dwell.'
It is our lot here below. No one on earth can know Charles's secret
thoughts. Did I guard him here at home ever so well, yet, in due time,
it would be found that a serpent had crept into the heart of his
innocence. Boys do not fully know what is good and what is evil; they
do wrong things at first almost innocently. Novelty hides vice from
them; there is no one to warn them or give them rules; and they become
slaves of sin, while they are learning what sin is. They go to the
University, and suddenly plunge into excesses, the greater in
proportion to their inexperience. And, besides all this, I am not equal
to the task of forming so active and inquisitive a mind as his. He
already asks questions which I know not how to answer. So he shall go
to a public school. There he will get discipline at least, even if he
has more of trial: at least he will gain habits of self-command,
manliness, and circumspection; he will learn to use his eyes, and will
find materials to use them upon; and thus will be gradually trained for
the liberty which, any how, he must have when he goes to college.”
This was the more necessary, because, with many high excellences,
Charles was naturally timid and retiring, over-sensitive, and, though
lively and cheerful, yet not without a tinge of melancholy in his
character, which sometimes degenerated into mawkishness.
To Eton, then, he went; and there had the good fortune to fall into
the hands of an excellent tutor, who, while he instructed him in the
old Church-of-England principles of Mant and Doyley, gave his mind a
religious impression, which secured him against the allurements of bad
company, whether at the school itself, or afterwards at Oxford. To that
celebrated seat of learning he was in due time transferred, being
entered at St. Saviour's College; and he is in his sixth term from
matriculation, and his fourth of residence, at the time our story
opens.
At Oxford, it is needless to say, he had found a great number of his
schoolfellows, but, it so happened, had found very few friends among
them. Some were too gay for him, and he had avoided them; others, with
whom he had been intimate at Eton, having high connections, had fairly
cut him on coming into residence, or, being entered at other colleges,
had lost sight of him. Almost everything depends at Oxford, in the
matter of acquaintance, on proximity of rooms. You choose your friend,
not so much by your tastes, as by your staircase. There is a story of a
London tradesman who lost custom after beautifying his premises,
because his entrance went up a step; and we all know how great is the
difference between open and shut doors when we walk along a street of
shops. In a university a youth's hours are portioned out to him. A
regular man gets up and goes to chapel, breakfasts, gets up his
lectures, goes to lecture, walks, dines; there is little to induce him
to mount any staircase but his own; and if he does so, ten to one he
finds the friend from home whom he is seeking; not to say that
freshmen, who naturally have common feelings and interests, as
naturally are allotted a staircase in common. And thus it was that
Charles Reding was brought across William Sheffield, who had come into
residence the same term as himself.
The minds of young people are pliable and elastic, and easily
accommodate themselves to any one they fall in with. They find grounds
of attraction both where they agree with one another and where they
differ; what is congenial to themselves creates sympathy; what is
correlative, or supplemental, creates admiration and esteem. And what
is thus begun is often continued in after-life by the force of habit
and the claims of memory. Thus, in the choice of friends, chance often
does for us as much as the most careful selection could have effected.
What was the character and degree of that friendship which sprang up
between the freshmen Reding and Sheffield, we need not here minutely
explain: it will be enough to say, that what they had in common was
freshmanship, good talents, and the back staircase; and that they
differed in this—that Sheffield had lived a good deal with people
older than himself, had read much in a desultory way, and easily picked
up opinions and facts, especially on controversies of the day, without
laying anything very much to heart; that he was ready, clear-sighted,
unembarrassed, and somewhat forward: Charles, on the other hand, had
little knowledge as yet of principles or their bearings, but understood
more deeply than Sheffield, and held more practically, what he had once
received; he was gentle and affectionate, and easily led by others,
except when duty clearly interfered. It should be added, that he had
fallen in with various religious denominations in his father's parish,
and had a general, though not a systematic, knowledge of their tenets.
What they were besides, will be seen as our narrative advances.