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288 Forum,—as Coriolanus may have talked, when he went out to war against his wife and children,—as Mr. John O'Connell may have talked, when he was about to die for his country on the floor of the House,—as any one may have talked, who, as our popular Comedians express it, have "been and gone, and done it," and voluntarily given themselves up to disagreeable alternatives.

All went on well till Christmas Eve. Like cloistered monks, we buried ourselves within the college walls, and only issued forth for rapid constitutionals. As Indians at the stake are said to relieve their pains by biting through their tongues, so we felt a certain relief in violent reading, and in thus revenging ourselves on those studies which kept us from so many pleasures. On Christmas-eve, Collins and I had gone out together alone for our diurnal constitutional, Willoughby having pleaded a headache; and when, after a stiff header round Hillingdon Hill, we had returned to my rooms, what was our surprise at reading the following laconic epistle, which was lying on the table:—