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Updated: June 12, 2025
Cosine told me yesterday that 'Boss' has called on Clarian about his cutting so many prayers and recites, and that, after seeing the unfinished picture, he gave the youngster carte blanche as to time, till it is completed; so it must be something worth looking at" "I guess Ned Blount's glad the picture is finished," said Tone Ninyan, turning to me, "a'n't you, Ned?"
Clarian placed three or four candles, made us be seated, filling pipes for us, and taking one himself, a most rare occurrence with him, all the while talking with more vivacity than I had seen him exhibit for several months. "I have carefully studied my subject, fellows," said he, "and have striven after perfection.
Clarian sprang to his feet, his pale face all ablaze with indignation. "You have no right to say such things to me, Sir," he cried, "for you know well enough" "I know well enough that you are a crack-brained jackanapes, with your damned fantastics!" bellowed Mac, angry in his turn.
Blount, that the young man, if he goes on, will experience the fate of Orpheus, and so needs to be curbed in time. 'Medio tutissimus ibis', saith Naso, a maxim the non-observance of which cost him the pain and disgrace of exile. And you should strive to impress the truth of it upon Clarian; spare no pains to rouse him. This seclusion is what I most dread.
Thus it came to pass with him, as it does with us all who overwork ourselves, that actually he did less than he might have done, and warped himself in a most pitiable way indeed. A conscientious fellow, as he was, Clarian had hitherto been very faithful to his duties in the regular curriculum, but now all this was changed.
That night, after we had talked long and lovingly together, and were now sitting, each absorbed in his own thoughts, and emulating the quiet that reigned around college, Clarian softly joined us, and placed an open book in Mac's hands. "Will you, dear Mac?" murmured he.
Thorne, pointing to a sort of salver resting upon a low tripod directly in front of the picture. "Where is Clarian?" asked I. "He looks awful," someone began in a whisper, when the lad's feeble voice called out from the bedroom, "Is it Ned and Mac?" The door was pulled open, and Clarian came towards us. "I am glad to see you, my friends. Dr. Thorne, you are truly welcome. Pray, be seated.
Augustine, and would have delighted that ex-sophist hugely; for, great as he was, and self-denying as he was, he always had a hankering after the dialectic flesh-pots. How he would have rubbed his hands, when Clarian wanted to persuade us that the herb Pantagruelion was no other than Haschish, the expander of souls! Hollo! yonder goes the lad now. I wonder what he is up to.
Don't blush, you're not the first young man who has made an a ahem made a mistake. Fie! Learn men, Clarian, and then you will come to know man, the surest way, I take it, of knowing the Multitudinous God. So read you Shakspeare, and AEschylus, save the 'Prometheus, that was begotten of Bactrian lore upon the mysteries of Karnac, and does not touch man nearly, spite of all its grandeur.
Thank Heaven, in a day or two Clarian was pronounced to be out of danger, and promising rapid recovery. We had removed him to our rooms, as soon as the violence of the convulsion left him, in order to spare him the associations connected with his own abode. Still, the lad continued very weak, and Thorne said he had never seen so slight an attack followed by such extreme prostration.
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