After Ellen's departure, Fanshawe returned to his studies with
the same absorbing ardor that had formerly characterized him. His face was
as seldom seen among the young and gay; the pure breeze and the blessed
sunshine as seldom refreshed his pale and weary brow; and his lamp burned
as constantly from the first shade of evening till the gray morning light
began to dim its beams. Nor did he, as weak men will, treasure up his love
in a hidden chamber of his breast. He was in reality the thoughtful and
earnest student that he seemed. He had exerted the whole might of his
spirit over itself, and he was a conqueror. Perhaps, indeed, a summer
breeze of sad and gentle thoughts would sometimes visit him; but, in these
brief memories of his love, he did not wish that it should be revived, or
mourn over its event.
There were many who felt an interest in Fanshawe; but the influence of
none could prevail upon him to lay aside the habits, mental and physical,
by which he was bringing himself to the grave. His passage thither was
consequently rapid, terminating just as he reached his twentieth year. His
fellow-students erected to his memory a monument of rough-hewn granite,
with a white marble slab for the inscription. This was borrowed from the
grave of Nathanael Mather, whom, in his almost insane eagerness for
knowledge, and in his early death, Fanshawe resembled.
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