passionate of body. The
arms and the field have been divers; can have been the same, I
suppose, to no two men, but the battle must have been the same to
all. One here and there may have had a foretaste of it as a boy;
but it is the young man's battle, and not the boy's, thank God
for it! That most hateful and fearful of all realities, call it
by what name we will--self, the natural man, the old Adam--must
have risen up before each of us in early manhood, if not sooner,
challenging the true man within us to which the Spirit of God is
speaking, to a struggle for life or death.

Gird yourself, then, for the fight, my young brother, and take up
the pledge which was made for you when you were a helpless child.
This world, and all others, time and eternity, for you hang upon
the issue. This enemy must be met and vanquished--not finally,
for no man while on earth I suppose, can say that he is slain;
but, when once known and recognized, met and vanquished he must
be, by God's help in this and that encounter, before you can be
truly called a man; before you can really enjoy any one even of
this world's good things.

This strife was no light one for our hero on the night in his
life at which we have arrived. The quiet sky overhead, the quiet
solemn old buildings, under the shadow of which he stood, brought
him no peace. He fled from them into his own rooms; he lighted
his candles and tried to read, and force the whole matter from
his thoughts; but it was useless; back it came again and again.
The more impatient of its presence he became, the less could he
shake it off. Some decision he must make; what should it be? He
could have no peace till it was taken. The veil had been drawn
aside thoroughly, and once for all. Twice he was on the point of
returning to Hardy's rooms to thank him, confess, and consult;
but the tide rolled back again. As the truth of the warning sank
deeper and deeper into him, the irritation against him who had
uttered it grew also. He could not and would not be fair yet. It
is no easy thing for anyone of us to put the whole burden of any
folly or sin on our own backs all at once. "If he had done it in
any other way," thought Tom, "I might have thanked him."

Another effort to shake off the whole question. Down into the
quadrangle again; lights in Drysdale's rooms. He goes up, and
finds the remains of the supper, tankards full of egg-flip and
cardinal, and a party playing at _vingt-un_. He drinks freely,