Chapter 22

HOFFLAND MAKES HIS WILL.

When they had reached the open street, and the crowd of curious students were no longer visible, Hoffland, growing gradually calmer, and with faint smiles, related to his companion what had just occurred; that is to say, in general terms--rather in substance, it must be confessed, than in detail. Mr. Denis and himself, he said, had at first commenced conversing in a very friendly manner, the conversation had then grown animated, and Mr. Denis had become somewhat excited; then, at the conclusion of one of his (Hoffland's) observations, he had declared himself deeply offended, and farther, announced his intention of dispatching a mortal defiance to him on the ensuing morning.

Mowbray in vain endeavored to arrive at the particulars of the affair. Hoffland obstinately evaded detailing the cause of the quarrel.

"Well, Charles," said Mowbray, "you are certainly unlucky--to quarrel so quickly at college; but----"

"Was it my fault?" replied the boy, in a reproachful tone.

"I don't know; your relation is so general, you descend so little to particulars, that I have not been able to form an opinion of the amount of blame which attaches to each."

"Blame!" said Hoffland. "Oh, Ernest! you are not a true friend."

"Why, Charles?"

"You do not espouse my part."

Mowbray uttered a sigh of dissatisfaction.

"Do you know," he said, "that my place is rather yonder, as the friend and adviser of Denis?"

"Well, sir," said Hoffland, in a hurt tone, "as you please."

Mowbray said calmly:

"No, I will not embrace your advice; I will not leave you, a mere youth, alone, to go and range myself on the side of Denis, though we have been intimate friends for years. He has numbers of acquaintances and friends; you could count yours upon the fingers of one hand."

"On the little finger of one hand, say," Hoffland replied, regaining his good humor.

"Well," Mowbray said calmly, "then there is all the more reason for my espousing your cause--since you hint that I am the little finger."

"No, I will promote you," Hoffland answered, smiling; "you shall have this finger, one rank above the little finger, you see."

And he held up his left hand, touching the third finger.

Then the boy turned away and laughed as merrily and carelessly as before the disagreeable events of the evening.

Mowbray looked at him with a faint smile.

"Youth, youth!" he murmured; "youth, so full of joy and lightness--so careless and gay-hearted! Here is a man--or a child--who in twenty-four hours may be lying cold in death yonder, and he smiles and even laughs. Hoffland," he added, "let us cease our discussions in relation to the origin of this unhappy affair, and endeavor to decide upon the course to be pursued. With myself the matter stands thus: I have known Denis for years; he is one of my best friends; no one loves me more, I think----"

"Except one," said Hoffland, laughing.

"My dear Charles," said Mowbray seriously, "let us speak gravely. This affair is serious, since it involves two lives--especially serious to me, since it involves the life of a friend of many years' standing, and no less the life of one I have promised to assist, advise, and guide--yourself."

"Oh," said Hoffland, with a hurt expression, "you call Mr. Denis your friend, while I--I am only 'one you have promised to advise.' Ernest, that is cruel; you have not learned yet how sensitive I am!"

And Hoffland turned away.

"Really, I am dealing with a child," murmured Mowbray; "let me summon all my patience."

And he said aloud:

"My dear Hoffland, I am not one of those men who make violent protestations and feel sudden and excessive friendships. Friendship, with me, is a tree of slow growth; and I even now wonder at the position you have been able to take in my regard, upon such a slight acquaintance. There is a frank word--all words between friends should be frank. There, I call you my friend--you are such: does that please you?"

"Oh, very much," said Hoffland, smiling and banishing his sad expression instantly; "I know you are the noblest and most sincere of men."

And the boy held out to his companion a small hand, which returned the pressure of Mowbray's slightly, and was then quietly withdrawn.

"Well, now," said Mowbray, "let us come back to this affair. Denis will send you a challenge?"

"He says so."

"Well; then he will keep his promise."

"Or course he will act as a man of honor throughout," said Hoffland, laughing; "I am sure of that, because he is your friend."

"Pray drop these polite speeches, and let us talk plainly."

"Very well, Ernest; but Denis is a good fellow, eh?" asked Hoffland, smiling.

"Yes."

"Brave?"

"Wholly fearless."

"A good swordsman!"

"Very."

"And with the pistol?" asked Hoffland, laughing.

"The best shot in college," returned Mowbray, pleased in spite of himself at finding his companion so calm and smiling.

Hoffland placed his thumb absently upon his chin--leaned upon it, and after a moment's reflection said in a business tone:

"I think I'll choose swords."

"You fence?"

"I? Why, my dear Ernest, have you never seen me with a foil in my hand?"

"Never."

"Indeed? Well, I fence like the admirable Crichton himself. It was some allusion to that celebrated gentleman, in connection with myself, by the by, which excited Mr. Denis's anger."

"How, pray?"

"Well, well, it would embarrass me to explain. Let us dismiss Mr. Crichton. My mind is made up--I choose short-swords, for I was always afraid of pistols."

Mowbray looked with curiosity at his companion.

"Afraid?" he said.

"Yes, indeed," replied Hoffland; "you will not believe me, but I never could fire a pistol or a gun without shutting my eyes, and dropping it when it went off!"

With which words Hoffland burst into laughter.

Mowbray saw that it would be necessary to check the mercurial humor of his companion. He therefore suppressed the smile which rose unconsciously to his lips when Hoffland laughed so merrily, and said gravely:

"Charles, are you prepared for a mortal duel?"

"Perfectly," said Hoffland, with great simplicity.

"Have you made your will?"

"My will! Fie, Mr. Lawyer! Why, I am a minor."

"Minors make wills," said Mowbray; "and I advise you, if you are determined to encounter Mr. Denis, to make your will, and put in writing whatever you wish done."

"But what have I to leave to any one?" said Hoffland, affecting annoyance. "Ah, yes!" he added, "I am richer than I supposed. Well, now, this terrible affair may take place before I can make my arrangements; so I will, with your permission, make a nuncupative will--I believe _nuncupative_ is the word, but I am not sure."

Mowbray sighed; he found himself powerless before this incorrigible light-heartedness, and had not the resolution to check it. He began to reflect wistfully upon the future: he already saw that boyish face pale and bloody, but still smiling--that slender figure stretched upon the earth--a mere boy, dead before his prime.

Hoffland went on, no longer laughing, but uttering sighs, and affecting sudden and profound emotion.

"This is a serious thing, Ernest," he said; "when a man thinks of his will, he stops laughing. I beg therefore that you will not laugh, nor interrupt me, while I dispose of the trifling property of which I am possessed."

Mowbray sighed.

Hoffland echoed this sigh, and went on:

"First: As I have no family, and may confine my bequests wholly to my present dear companions, acquaintances, and friends--first, I leave my various suits of apparel, which may be found at my lodgings, to my dear companions aforesaid; begging that they may be distributed after the following fashion. To the student who is observed to shed the most tears when he receives the intelligence of my unhappy decease, I give my suit of silver velvet, with chased gold buttons, and silk embroidery. The cocked hat and feather, rosetted shoes with diamond buckles, and the flowered satin waistcoat, go with this. Also six laced pocket-handkerchiefs, which I request my dear tender-hearted friend to use on all occasions when he thinks of me, to dry his eyes with.

"_Item:_ My fine unit of Mecklenburg silk, with silver buttons, I give to the friend who expresses in words the most poignant regret. I hold that tears are more genuine than words, for which reason the best weeper has been preferred, and so has received the velvet suit. Nevertheless, the loudest lamenter is not unworthy; and so I repeat that he shall have the silk suit. If there be none who weep or lament me, I direct that these two suits shall be given to the janitor of the college, the old negro Fairfax, whose duty ever thereafter shall be to praise and lament me.

"Second: I give my twelve other suits of various descriptions, more or less rich, to the members of the 'Anti-Stamp-Act League,' of which I am a member. This with my love; and I request that, whenever they speak of me, they may say, 'Hoffland, our lamented, deceased brother, was a man of expanded political ideas, and a true friend of liberty.'

"Third: I give all my swords, pistols, guns, carbines, short swords, broad swords, poniards, and spurs, to my friend Mr. Denis, who has had the misfortune to kill me. It is my request that he will not lament me, or feel any pangs of conscience. So far from dying with the thought that he has been unjust to me, I declare that his conduct has been worthy of the Chevalier Bayard; and I desire that the above implements of war may be used to exterminate even the whole world, should they give him like cause of quarrel.

"Fourth: I give my books to those I am most intimately acquainted with:--my Elzevir Horace to T. Randolph--he will find translations of the best odes upon the fly leaves, much better than any he could make; my Greek books, the Iliad, Græca Minora, Herodotus, etc., which are almost entirely free from dog-ears and thumb-marks, as I have never opened them, I give to L. Burwell, requesting that he will thenceforth apply himself to Greek in earnest. My Hebrew books I give to Fairfax, the janitor, as he is the only one in the college who will not pretend to understand them; thus, much deception will be warded off and prevented.

"Fifth: I give and bequeath to the gentleman who passed us this afternoon on horseback, and who is plainly deep in love with some one--I believe he is known as Mr. Jacques--I bequeath to him my large volume of love-songs in manuscript, begging him to read them for his interest and instruction, and never, under any circumstances, to copy them upon embossed paper and send them to his lady-love, pretending that they are original, as I have known many forlorn lovers to do before this.

"Sixth: I bequeath to Miss Lucy Mowbray, the sister of my beloved friend, my manuscript 'Essay upon the Art of Squeezing a Lady's Hand;' begging that she will read it attentively, and never suffer her hand to be squeezed in any other manner than that which I have therein pointed out.

"Seventh: I bequeath my 'Essay upon the Hebrew Letter Aleph' to the College of William and Mary, requesting that it shall be disposed of to some scientific body in Europe, for not less than twenty thousand pounds--that sum to be dedicated to the founding of a new professorship--to be called the _Hoffland Professorship_ for the instruction of young men going to woo their sweethearts. And the professor shall in all cases be a woman.

"Eighth: Having disposed of my personal, I now come to add a disposition also of my invisible and more valuable property remaining. I bequeath my memory to the three young ladies to whom I am at present engaged--begging them to deal charitably with what I leave to them; and if harsh thoughts ever rise in their hearts, to remember how beautiful they are, and how utterly impossible it was for their poor friend to resist yielding to that triple surpassing loveliness. If this message is distinctly communicated to them, they will not be angry, but ever after revere and love my memory, as that of the truest and most rational of men.

"Ninth: I leave to my executor a lock of my hair, which he shall carry ever after in his bosom--take thence and kiss at least once every day--at the same time murmuring, 'Poor Charles! he loved me very much!'

"Tenth, and last: I bequeath my heart to Mr. Ernest Mowbray. I mean the spiritual portion--my love. And if I should make him my executor, I hereby declare that clause ninth shall apply to him, and be carried out in full; declaring that he may utter the words therein written with a good conscience; and declaring further, that my poverty alone induces me to make him so trifling a bequest as this, in the tenth clause expressed. Moreover, he had full possession of it formerly during my life-time; and, finally, I make him my executor.

"That is all," said Hoffland, laughing and turning away his head; "a capital will, I think!"

Mowbray shook his head.

"I have listened to your jesting in silence, Charles," he said, "because I thought it best to let your merry mood expend itself----"

"I was never graver in my life!"

"Then you were never grave at all. Now let us seriously consult about this unhappy affair. Ah, duelling, duelling! how wicked, childish, illogical, despotic, bloody, and at the same time ludicrous it is! Come, you have lost your key, you say--we cannot go to your lodgings: let us find a room in the 'Raleigh,' and arrange this most unhappy affair. Come."

And, followed by Hoffland, Mowbray took his way sadly toward the "Raleigh."