Chapter 4
And of personal strength and prowess in bodily accomplishment, though of great help in the origin, yet are they not necessary; but the more thou lackest physical and mental powers the more must thou cling to the powerful and rise with them; the more careful must thou be of thy dress, and the more money will it cost thee, for thou must fill well the bladders that keep thee on the surface, else wilt thou sink.
And of reserve, let no man know anything about thee. If thy father is a greengrocer, as I dare say is the case with some of the most mighty powers in the land, what matter so long as another knoweth it not? See that thou quell all inquisitive attempts to discover anything about thine habits, thy country, thy parentage, and, in a word, let no one know anything of thee beyond the exterior; for if thou dost let them within thy soul, they will find but little, but if it be barred and locked, men will think that by reason of thy strong keeping of the same, it must contain much; and they will admire thee upon credit.
And of openness, be reserved in the particular, open in the general; talk of debts, of women, of money, but say not what debts, what women, or what money; be most open when thou doest a shabby thing, which thou knowest will not escape detection. If thy coat is bad, laugh and boast concerning it, call attention to it and say thou hast had it for ten years, which will be a lie, but men will nevertheless think thee frank, but run not the risk of wearing a bad coat, save only in vacation time or in the country. But when thou doest a shabby thing which will not reach the general light, breathe not a word of it, but bury it deeply in some corner of thine own knowledge only; if it come out, glory in it; if not, let it sleep, for it is an unprofitable thing to turn over bad ground.
And of distrust, distrust all men, most of all thine own friends; they will know thee best, and thou them; thy real worth cannot escape them, think not then that thou wilt get service out of them in thy need, think not that they will deny themselves that thou mayest be saved from want, that they will in after life put out a finger to save thee, when thou canst be of no more use to them, the clique having been broken up by time. Nay, but be in thyself sufficient; distrust, and lean not so much as an ounce-weight upon another.
These things keep and thou shalt do well; keep them all and thou wilt be perfect; the more thou keep, the more nearly wilt thou arrive at the end I proposed to thee at the commencement, and even if thou doest but one of these things thoroughly, trust me thou wilt still have much power over thy fellows.
A Skit on Examinations
_It should be explained that Tom Bridges was a gyp at St. John’s College_, _during Butler’s residence at Cambridge_.
WE now come to the most eventful period in Mr. Bridges’ life: we mean the time when he was elected to the shoe-black scholarship, compared with which all his previous honours sank into insignificance.
Mr. Bridges had long been desirous of becoming a candidate for this distinction, but, until the death of Mr. Leader, no vacancy having occurred among the scholars, he had as yet had no opportunity of going in for it. The income to be derived from it was not inconsiderable, and as it led to the porter fellowship the mere pecuniary value was not to be despised, but thirst of fame and the desire of a more public position were the chief inducements to a man of Mr. Bridges’ temperament, in which ambition and patriotism formed so prominent a part. Latin, however, was not Mr. Bridges’ forte; he excelled rather in the higher branches of arithmetic and the abstruse sciences. His attainments, however, in the dead languages were beyond those of most of his contemporaries, as the letter he sent to the Master and Seniors will abundantly prove. It was chiefly owing to the great reverence for genius shown by Dr. Tatham that these letters have been preserved to us, as that excellent man, considering that no circumstance connected with Mr. Bridges’ celebrity could be justly consigned to oblivion, rescued these valuable relics from the Bedmaker, as she was on the point of using them to light the fire. By him they were presented to the author of this memoir, who now for the first time lays them before the public. The first was to the Master himself, and ran as follows:—
Reverende Sir,
Possum bene blackere shoas, et locus shoe-blackissis vacuus est. Makee me shoeblackum si hoc tibi placeat, precor te, quia desidero hoc locum.
Your very humble servant, THOMASUS BRIDGESSUS.
We subjoin Mr. Bridges’ autograph. The reader will be astonished to perceive its resemblance to that of Napoleon I, with whom he was very intimate, and with anecdotes of whom he used very frequently to amuse his masters. We add that of Napoleon.
THOMAS BRIDGES
NAPOLEON
The second letter was to the Senior Bursar, who had often before proved himself a friend to Mr. Bridges, and did not fail him in this instance.
BURSARE SENIOR,
Ego humiliter begs pardonum te becausus quaereri dignitatum shoeblacki and credo me getturum esse hoc locum.
Your humble servant, THOMASUS BRIDGESSUS.
Shortly afterwards Mr. Bridges was called upon, with six other competitors, to attend in the Combination Room, and the following papers were submitted to him.
I
1. Derive the word “blacking.” What does Paley say on this subject? Do you, or do you not, approve of Paley’s arguments, and why? Do you think that Paley knew anything at all about it?
2. Who were Day and Martin? Give a short sketch of their lives, and state their reasons for advertising their blacking on the Pyramids. Do you approve of the advertising system in general?
3. Do you consider the Japanese the original inventors of blacking? State the principal ingredients of blacking, and give a chemical analysis of the following substances: Sulphate of zinc, nitrate of silver, potassium, copperas and corrosive sublimate.
4. Is blacking an effective remedy against hydrophobia? Against cholera? Against lock-jaw? And do you consider it as valuable an instrument as burnt corks in playing tricks upon a drunken man?
* * * * *
This was the Master’s paper. The Mathematical Lecturer next gave him a few questions, of which the most important were:—
II
1. Prove that the shoe may be represented by an equation of the fifth degree. Find the equation to a man blacking a shoe: (1) in rectangular co-ordinates; (2) in polar co-ordinates.
2. A had 500 shoes to black every day, but being unwell for two days he had to hire a substitute, and paid him a third of the wages per shoe which he himself received. Had A been ill two days longer there would have been the devil to pay; as it was he actually paid the sum of the geometrical series found by taking the first _n_ letters of the substitute’s name. How much did A pay the substitute? (Answer, 13_s._ 6_d._)
3. Prove that the scraping-knife should never be a secant, and the brush always a tangent to a shoe.
4. Can you distinguish between _meum_ and _tuum_? Prove that their values vary inversely as the propinquity of the owners.
5. How often should a shoe-black ask his master for beer notes? Interpret a negative result.
An Eminent Person
AMONG the eminent persons deceased during the past week we have to notice Mr. Arthur Ward, the author of the very elegant treatise on the penny whistle. Mr. Ward was rather above the middle height, inclined to be stout, and had lost a considerable portion of his hair. Mr. Ward did not wear spectacles, as asserted by a careless and misinformed contemporary. Mr. Ward was a man of great humour and talent; many of his sayings will be treasured up as household words among his acquaintance, for instance, “Lor!” “Oh, ah!” “Sech is life.” “That’s cheerful.” “He’s a lively man is Mr. . . . ” His manners were affable and agreeable, and his playful gambols exhibited an agility scarcely to be expected from a man of his stature. On Thursday last Mr. Ward was dining off beef-steak pie when a bit of gristle, unfortunately causing him to cough, brought on a fit of apoplexy, the progress of which no medical assistance was able to arrest. It is understood that the funeral arrangements have been entrusted to our very respectable fellow-townsman Mr. Smith, and will take place on Monday.
Napoleon at St. Helena
I see a warrior ’neath a willow tree; His arms are folded, and his full fixed eye Is gazing on the sky. The evening breeze Blows on him from the sea, and a great storm Is rising. Not the storm nor evening breeze, Nor the dark sea, nor the sun’s parting beam Can move him; for in yonder sky he sees The picture of his life, in yonder clouds That rush towards each other he beholds The mighty wars that he himself hath waged. Blow on him, mighty storm; beat on him, rain; You cannot move his folded arms nor turn His gaze one second from the troubled sky. Hark to the thunder! To him it is not thunder; It is the noise of battles and the din Of cannons on the field of Austerlitz, The sky to him is the whole world disturbed By war and rumours of great wars. He tumbled like a thunderbolt from heaven Upon the startled earth, and as he came The round world leapt from out her usual course And thought her time was come. Beat on him, rain; And roar about him, O thou voice of thunder. But what are ye to him? O more to him Than all besides. To him ye are himself, He knows it and your voice is lovely to him. Hath brought the warfare to a close. The storm is over; one terrific crash Now, now he feels it, and he turns away; His arms are now unfolded, and his hands Pressed to his face conceal a warrior’s tears. He flings himself upon the springing grass, And weeps in agony. See, again he rises; His brow is calm, and all his tears are gone. The vision now is ended, and he saith: “Thou storm art hushed for ever. Not again Shall thy great voice be heard. Unto thy rest Thou goest, never never to return. I thank thee, that for one brief hour alone Thou hast my bitter agonies assuaged; Another storm may scare the frightened heavens, And like to me may rise and fill The elements with terror. I, alas! Am blotted out as though I had not been, And am become as though I was not born. My day is over, and my night is come— A night which brings no rest, nor quiet dreams, Nor calm reflections, nor repose from toil, But pain and sorrow, anguish never ceasing, With dark uncertainty, despair and pain, And death’s wide gate before me. Fare ye well! The sky is clear and the world at rest; Thou storm and I have but too much in common.”
The Two Deans
I
WILLIAMS, I like thee, amiable divine! No milk-and-water character is thine. A lay more lovely should thy worth attend Than my poor muse, alas! hath power to lend. Shall I describe thee as thou late didst sit, The gater gated and the biter bit, When impious hands at the dead hour of night Forbade the way and made the barriers tight? Next morn I heard their impious voices sing; All up the stairs their blasphemies did ring: “Come forth, O Williams, wherefore thus supine Remain within thy chambers after nine? Come forth, suffer thyself to be admired, And blush not so, coy dean, to be desired.” The captive churchman chafes with empty rage, Till some knight-errant free him from his cage. Pale fear and anger sit upon yon face Erst full of love and piety and grace, But not pale fear nor anger will undo The iron might of gimlet and of screw. Grin at the window, Williams, all is vain; The carpenter will come and let thee out again. Contrast with him the countenance serene And sweet remonstrance of the junior dean; The plural number and the accents mild, The language of a parent to a child. With plaintive voice the worthy man doth state, We’ve not been very regular of late. It should more carefully its chapels keep, And not make noises to disturb our sleep By having suppers and at early hours Raising its lungs unto their utmost powers. We’ll put it, if it makes a noise again, On gatesey patsems at the hour of ten; And leafy peafy it will turn I’m sure, And never vex its own dear Sharpey more.
II
SCENE.—_The Court of St. John’s College_, _Cambridge_. _Enter the two Deans on their way to morning chapel_.
JUNIOR DEAN. Brother, I am much pleased with Samuel Butler, I have observed him mightily of late; Methinks that in his melancholy walk And air subdued whene’er he meeteth me Lurks something more than in most other men.
SENIOR DEAN. It is a good young man. I do bethink me That once I walked behind him in the cloister; He saw me not, but whispered to his fellow: “Of all men who do dwell beneath the moon I love and reverence most the senior Dean.”
JUNIOR DEAN. One thing is passing strange, and yet I know not How to condemn it, but in one plain brief word He never comes to Sunday morning chapel. Methinks he teacheth in some Sunday-school, Feeding the poor and starveling intellect With wholesome knowledge, or on the Sabbath morn He loves the country and the neighbouring spire Of Madingley or Coton, or perchance Amid some humble poor he spends the day, Conversing with them, learning all their cares, Comforting them and easing them in sickness.
SENIOR DEAN. I will advance him to some public post, He shall be chapel clerk, some day a Fellow, Some day perhaps a Dean, but as thou say’st He is indeed an excellent young man—
_Enter_ BUTLER _suddenly_, _without a coat or anything on his head_, _rushing through the cloisters_, _bearing a cup_, _a bottle of cider_, _four lemons_, _two nutmegs_, _half a pound of sugar and a nutmeg grater_.
_Curtain falls on the confusion of_ BUTLER _and the horror-stricken dismay of the two Deans_.
The Battle of Alma Mater
I
THE Temperance commissioners In awful conclave sat, Their noses into this to poke To poke them into that— In awful conclave sat they, And swore a solemn oath, That snuff should make no Briton sneeze, That smokers all to smoke should cease, They swore to conquer both.
II
Forth went a great Teetotaller, With pamphlet armed and pen, He travelled east, he travelled west, Tobacco to condemn. At length to Cantabrigia, To move her sons to shame, Foredoomed to chaff and insult, That gallant hero came.
III
’Tis Friday: to the Guildhall Come pouring in apace The gownsmen and the townsmen Right thro’ the market place— They meet, these bitter foemen Not enemies but friends— Then fearless to the rostrum, The Lecturer ascends.
IV
He cursed the martyr’d Raleigh, He cursed the mild cigar, He traced to pipe and cabbage leaf Consumption and catarrh; He railed at simple bird’s-eye, By freshmen only tried, And with rude and bitter jest assailed The yard of clay beside.
V
When suddenly full twenty pipes, And weeds full twenty more Were seen to rise at signal, Where none were seen before. No mouth but puffed out gaily A cloud of yellow fume, And merrily the curls of smoke Went circling ’thro the room.
VI
In vain th’ indignant mayor harangued, A mighty chandler he! While peas his hoary head around They whistled pleasantly. In vain he tenderly inquired, ’Mid many a wild “hurrah!” “Of this what father dear would think, Of that what dear mamma?”
VII
In rushed a host of peelers, With a sergeant at the head, Jaggard to every kitchen known, Of missuses the dread. In rushed that warlike multitude, Like bees from out their hive, With Fluffy of the squinting eye, And fighting No. 5.
VIII
Up sprang Inspector Fluffy, Up Sergeant Jaggard rose, And playfully with staff he tapped A gownsman on the nose. As falls a thundersmitten oak, The valiant Jaggard fell, With a line above each ogle, And a “mouse” or two as well.
IX
But hark! the cry is “Smuffkins!” And loud the gownsmen cheer, And lo! a stalwart Johnian Comes jostling from the rear: He eyed the flinching peelers, He aimed a deadly blow, Then quick before his fist went down Inspector, Marshal, Peelers, Town, While fiercer fought the joyful Gown, To see the claret flow.
X
They run, they run! to win the door The vanquished peelers flew; They left the sergeant’s hat behind, And the lecturer’s surtout: Now by our Lady Margaret, It was a goodly sight, To see that routed multitude Swept down the tide of flight.
XI
Then hurrah! for gallant Smuffkins, For Cantabs one hurrah! Like wolves in quest of prey they scent A peeler from afar. Hurrah! for all who strove and bled For liberty and right, What time within the Guildhall Was fought the glorious fight.
On the Italian Priesthood
_This an adaptation of the following epigram_, _which appeared in Giuseppe Giusti’s_ RACCOLTA DI PROVERBI TOSCANI (_Firenze_, 1853)
_Con arte e con inganno si vive mezzo l’anno_ _Con inganno e con arte si vive l’altra parte_.
In knavish art and gathering gear They spend the one half of the year; In gathering gear and knavish art They somehow spend the other part.
Samuel Butler and the Simeonites
_The following article_, _which originally appeared in the_ CAMBRIDGE MAGAZINE, 1 _March_, 1913, _is by Mr. A. T. Bartholomew_, _of the University Library_, _Cambridge_, _who has most kindly allowed me to include it in the present volume_. _Mr. Bartholomew’s discovery of Samuel Butler’s parody of the Simeonite tract throws a most interesting light upon a curious passage in_ THE WAY OF ALL FLESH, _and it is a great pleasure to me to be able to give Butlerians the story of Mr. Bartholomew’s_ “_find_” _in his own words_.
READERS of Samuel Butler’s remarkable story _The Way of All Flesh_ will probably recall his description of the Simeonites (chap. xlvii), who still flourished at Cambridge when Ernest Pontifex was up at Emmanuel. Ernest went down in 1858; so did Butler. Throughout the book the spiritual and intellectual life and development of Ernest are drawn from Butler’s own experience.
“The one phase of spiritual activity which had any life in it during the time Ernest was at Cambridge was connected with the name of Simeon. There were still a good many Simeonites, or as they were more briefly called ‘Sims,’ in Ernest’s time. Every college contained some of them, but their head-quarters were at Caius, whither they were attracted by Mr. Clayton, who was at that time senior tutor, and among the sizars of St. John’s. Behind the then chapel of this last-named college was a ‘labyrinth’ (this was the name it bore) of dingy, tumble-down rooms,” and here dwelt many Simeonites, “unprepossessing in feature, gait, and manners, unkempt and ill-dressed beyond what can be easily described. Destined most of them for the Church, the Simeonites held themselves to have received a very loud call to the ministry . . . They would be instant in season and out of season in imparting spiritual instruction to all whom they could persuade to listen to them. But the soil of the more prosperous undergraduates was not suitable for the seed they tried to sow. When they distributed tracts, dropping them at night into good men’s letter boxes while they were asleep, their tracts got burnt, or met with even worse contumely.” For Ernest Pontifex “they had a repellent attraction; he disliked them, but he could not bring himself to leave them alone. On one occasion he had gone so far as to parody one of the tracts they had sent round in the night, and to get a copy dropped into each of the leading Simeonites’ boxes. The subject he had taken was ‘Personal Cleanliness.’”
Some years ago I found among the Cambridge papers in the late Mr. J. W. Clark’s collection three printed pieces bearing on the subject. The first is a genuine Simeonite tract; the other two are parodies. All three are anonymous. At the top of the second parody is written “By S. Butler. March 31.” It will be necessary to give a few quotations from the Simeonite utterance in order to bring out the full flavour of Butler’s parody, which is given entire. Butler went up to St. John’s in October, 1854; so at the time of writing this squib he was in his second term, and 18 years of age.
A. T. B.
I.—_Extracts from the sheet dated_ “_St. John’s College_, _March_ 13_th_, 1855.” _In a manuscript note this is stated to be by Ynyr Lamb_, _of St. John’s_ (_B.A._, 1862).
1. When a celebrated French king once showed the infidel philosopher Hume into his carriage, the latter at once leaped in, on which his majesty remarked: “That’s the most accomplished man living.”
It is impossible to presume enough on Divine grace; this kind of presumption is the characteristic of Heaven. . .
2. Religion is not an obedience to external forms or observances, but “a bold leap in the dark into the arms of an affectionate Father.”
4. However Church Music may raise the devotional feelings, these bring a man not one iota nearer to Christ, neither is it acceptable in His sight.
13. The _one_ thing needful is Faith: Faith = ¼ (historical faith) + ¾ (heart-belief, or assurance, or justification) 1¾ peace; and peace=Ln Trust - care+joy _n_-_r_+1
18. The Lord’s church has been always peculiarly tried at different stages of history, and each era will have its peculiar glory in eternity. . . . At the present time the trial for the church is peculiar; never before, perhaps, were the insinuations of the adversary so plausible and artful—his ingenuity so subtle—himself so much an angel of light—experience has sharpened his wit—“_While men slept_ the enemy sowed tares”—he is now the base hypocrite—he suits his blandishments to all—the Church is lulled in the arms of the monster, rolling the sweet morsel under her tongue . . .
II.—_Samuel Butler’s Parody_
1. Beware! Beware! Beware! The enemy sowed tracts in the night, and the righteous men tremble.
2. There are only 10 good men in John’s; I am one; reader, calculate your chance of salvation.
3. The genuine recipe for the leaven of the Pharisees is still extant, and runs as follows:—Self-deceit ⅓ + want of charity ½ + outward show ⅓, humbug ∞, insert Sim or not as required. Reader, let each one who would seem to be righteous take unto himself this leaven.
4. “The University Church is a place too much neglected by the young men up here.” Thus said the learned Selwyn, {269} and he said well. How far better would it be if each man’s own heart was a little University Church, the pericardium a little University churchyard, wherein are buried the lust of the flesh, the pomps and vanities of this wicked world; the veins and arteries, little clergymen and bishops ministering therein; and the blood a stream of soberness, temperance and chastity perpetually flowing into it.
5. The deluge went before, misery followed after, in the middle came a Puseyite playing upon an organ. Reader, flee from him, for he playeth his own soul to damnation.
6. Church music is as the whore of Babylon, or the ramping lion who sought whom he might devour; music in a church cannot be good, when St. Paul bade those who were merry to sing psalms. Music is but tinkling brass, and sounding cymbals, which is what St. Paul says he should himself be, were he without charity; he evidently then did not consider music desirable.