.

"And what do you think of Saint Werner's?" asked Mr Admer, taking the
initiative, with a yawn.

Julian's face lighted up. "Think of it! I feel uncommonly proud
already of being a Saint Werner's man."

"Genius loci, and all that sort of thing, eh?"

The sneering way in which this was said left room for no reply, so Mr
Admer continued.

"Ah you'll soon find all that sort of twaddle wear off."

"I hope not," said Julian.

"Of course you intend to be senior classic, or senior wrangler, or
something of that sort?"

"I expect simply nothing; but if I were inclined to soar, one might have
a still higher ambition than that."

"Oh, I see; an embryo Newton,--all that sort of thing."

"I didn't mean quite `all that sort of thing,' since you seem fond of
the phrase," said Julian, "but really I think my aspirations, whatever
they are, would only tire you. Good morning."

"Good morning," said Mr Admer, nodding. "We don't shake hands up here.
I shall come and call on you soon."

"The later the better," thought Julian, as he descended the narrow
stairs. "Good heavens! is that a fair specimen of a don, I wonder. If
so, I shall certainly confine my acquaintance to the undergraduates."

No, Julian, not a fair specimen of a don altogether, but in some of his
aspects a fair specimen of a certain class of university men, who
profess to admire nothing, hope for nothing, love nothing; who think
warmth of heart a folly, and sentiment a crime; who would not display an
interest in any thing more important than a boat-race or a game of
bowls, to save their lives; who are very fond of the phrase, "all that
sort of nonsense," to express everything that rises above the dead level
of their own dead mediocrity in intelligence and life. If you would not
grovel in spirit; if you would not lose every tear that sparkles, and
every sigh that burns; if you would not ossify the very power of
passion; if you would not turn your soul into a mass of shapeless lead,
avoid those despicable cynics, who never leave their discussion of the
merits of beer, or the powers of stroke oars, unless it be to carp at
acknowledged eminence, and jeer at genuine emotion. How often in such
company have I seen men relapse into stupid silence, because, if they
ventured on any expression of lively interest, one of the throng, amid
the scornful indifference of the rest, would give the only
acknowledgment of his remark, by taking the pipe out of his mouth, t