regards, remorse, and
despair, requesting that his name might be taken off the college books,
and intimating a wish and expectation that death would speedily end the
woes of the disgraced Arthur Pendennis.

Then he slunk out, scarcely knowing whither he went, but mechanically
taking the unfrequented little lanes by the backs of the colleges, until
he cleared the university precincts, and got down to the banks of the
Camisis river, now deserted, but so often alive with the boat-races, and
the crowds of cheering gownsmen, he wandered on and on, until he found
himself at some miles' distance from Oxbridge, or rather was found by
some acquaintances leaving that city.

As Pen went up a hill, a drizzling January rain beating in his face, and
his ragged gown flying behind him--for he had not divested himself of
his academical garments since the morning--a postchaise came rattling
up the road, on the box of which a servant was seated, whilst within, or
rather half out of the carriage window, sate a young gentleman smoking a
cigar, and loudly encouraging the postboy. It was our young acquaintance
of Baymouth Mr. Spavin, who had got his degree, and was driving
homewards in triumph in his yellow postchaise. He caught a sight of the
figure, madly gesticulating as he worked up the hill, and of poor Pen's
pale and ghastly face as the chaise whirled by him.

"Wo!" roared Mr. Spavin to the postboy, and the horses stopped in their
mad career, and the carriage pulled up some fifty yards before Pen. He
presently heard his own name shouted, and beheld the upper half of the
body of Mr. Spavin thrust out of the side-window of the vehicle, and
beckoning Pen vehemently towards it.

Pen stopped, hesitated--nodded his head fiercely, and pointed onwards,
as if desirous that the postillion should proceed. He did not speak:
but his countenance must have looked very desperate, for young Spavin,
having stared at him with an expression of blank alarm, jumped out
of the carriage presently, ran towards Pen holding out his hand, and
grasping Pen's, said, "I say--hullo, old boy, where are you going, and
what's the row now?"

"I'm going where I deserve to go," said Pen, with an imprecation.

"This ain't the way," said Mr. Spavin, smiling. "This is the Fenbury
road. I say, Pen, don't take on because you are plucked. It's nothing
when you are used to it. I've been plucked three times, old boy--and
after the first time I didn't care. Glad it's over, tho