Part 13

And they are sure to miscalculate whenever they inter-meddle with such matters, declined entering her two sons at Cambridge in the same year, that, as she said, "They might not stand in each other's way." _Id est_, they were to be both _senior wranglers_. They, however, never caught sight of the _goal_. I recollect, on one occasion, the second son being _floored_ in his college mathematical examination. He was said to have afterwards carried home the paper (containing twenty-two difficult geometrical and other problems,) when one of his sisters snatched it out of his hand, exclaiming, "Give it to me," and, without the slightest hesitation (in good Cambridge phrase,) she "_floored_" the whole of them, to his dismay. This lady was one of a bevy of ten beauties whom their mamma compassionately brought to Cambridge to _dance_ with the young _gentlemen_ of the University at her parties, and after so officiating for some three or four years, notwithstanding they were all _Blues_, and had corresponding names, from _Britannia_ to _Boadicea_, the Cantabs suffered them all to depart _spinsters_. But Papas also sometimes overrate their sons' talents and virtues. A gentleman, a few years since, on

PRESENTING HIS FAVOURITE SON

To the sub-rector of a certain College in Oxford, as a new member, did so with the observation, "Sir, he is _modest_, _diffident_, and _clever_, and will _be an example to the whole College_." "I am glad of it," was the reply, "we want such men, and I am honoured, sir, by your bringing him here." Papa made his exit, well pleased with our Welshman's hospitality, for of that country our Sub-Rector, as well as the gentleman in question was. The former, too, had been a chaplain in Lord Nelson's fleet, in his younger days, and was not over orthodox in his language, when _irritated_, though a man with a better heart it would have puzzled the Grecian sage to have traced out by candle-light. A month had scarcely passed over, when Papa, having occasion to pass through Oxon, called on the Sub-Rector, of course, and naturally inquired, "How his son demeaned himself?" "You told me, sir," said the Sub-Rector, in a pet, and a speech such as the quarter-deck of a man-of-war had schooled him in; "you told me, sir, that your son was _modest_, but d--n his _modesty!_ you told me, sir, he was _diffident_, but d--n his _diffidence!_ you told me, sir, he was clever; he's the greatest dunce of the whole society! you told me, sir, he would prove an example to the whole college: but I tell you, sir, that he is neither _modest_, _diffident_ nor _clever_, and in three weeks," added the Sub-Rector, raising his voice to a becoming pitch, "he has ruined half the College by his example!" We can scarcely do better than add to this, by way of tail-piece, from that loyal Oxford scourge _Terræ Filius_ (ed. 1726)--(to be read, "cum grano," and some allowance for the excited character of the times in which it was written)--

ITER ACADEMICUM; OR, THE GENTLEMAN COMMONER'S MATRICULATION.

Being of age to play the fool, With muckle glee I left our school At _Hoxton_; And, mounted on an easy pad, Rode with my mother and my dad To _Oxon_. Conceited of my parts and knowledge, They entered me into a college _Ibidem_. The master took me first aside, Showed me a scrawl--I read, and cried _Do Fidem_. Gravely he took me by the fist, And wished me well--we next request A tutor. He recommends a staunch one, who In _Perkins'_ cause had been his Co- Adjutor. To see this precious stick of wood, I went (for so they deemed it good) In fear, Sir; And found him swallowing loyalty, Six deep his bumpers, which to me Seemed queer, Sir. He bade me sit and take my glass; I answered, looking like an ass, I can't, Sir. Not drink!--You don't come here to pray! The merry mortal said, by way Of answer. To pray, Sir! No, my lad; 'tis well! Come, here's our friend _Sacheverell_; Here's _Trappy_! Here's _Ormond!_ _Marr!_ in short, so many Traitors we drank, it made my _crani- um_ nappy. And now, the company dismissed, With this same sociable Priest, Or Fellow, I sallied forth to deck my back With loads of _stuff_, and gown of black _Prunello_. My back equipt, it was not fair My head should 'scape, and so, as square As _chess-board_, A _cap_ I bought, my scull to screen, Of cloth without, and all within Of _paste-board_. When metamorphosed in attire, More like a parson than a squire They'd dressed me. I took my leave, with many a tear, Of _John_, our man, and parents dear, Who blest me. The master said they might believe him, So righteously (the Lord forgive him!) He'd govern. He'd show me the extremest love, Provided that I did not prove Too stubborn. So far so good; but now _fresh fees_ Began (for so the custom is) My ruin. Fresh fees! with drink they knock you down; You spoil your clothes, and your new gown You sp-- in. I scarce had slept--at six--tan tin The bell goes--servitor comes in-- Gives warning. I wished the scoundrel at old Nick; I puked, and went to prayers d--d sick That morning. One who could come half drunk to prayer They saw was entered, and could swear At random; Would bind himself, as they had done, To statutes, tho' he could not un- derstand 'em. Built in the form of _pigeon-pye_, A house[A] there is for rooks to lie And roost in. Their laws, their articles of grace, _Forty_, I think, save half a brace, Was willing To swear to; swore, engaged my soul, And paid the _swearing broker_ whole _Ten shilling_. Full half a pound I paid him down, To live in the most p--d town O' th' nation: May it ten thousand cost _Lord Phyz_, For never forwarding his vis- itation.

[A] Theatre

* * * * *

A STORY

Is told, and, "in the days that are gone," is not at all improbable, that a youth being brought to Oxon, after he had paid the Tutor and other the several College and University fees, was told he must _subscribe to the Thirty-nine Articles_; "with all my heart," said our freshman, "pray how much is it?"

* * * * *

FRESHMEN OFTEN AFFORD MIRTH

To both tutors, scholars, scouts, gyps, and others, by their blunders. They will not unfrequently, upon the first tingle of the college bell (though it always rings a quarter of an hour, by way of warning, on ordinary occasions, and half an hour on saints' days, in Cambridge,) hurry off to hall or chapel, with their gowns the wrong side outwards, or, their caps reversed, walk unconsciously along with the hind part before, as I once heard a _soph_ observe, "the peak smelling thunder." They are also very apt to mistake characters and functionaries:--I have seen a freshman _cap_ the college-butler, taking him for _bursar_ at least. The persons to be so complimented are the Chancellor, the Vice-Chancellor, the Proctors, the head of your college, and your tutors. When the late Bishop Mansell was Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge, he one day met two freshmen in Trumpington-street, who passed him unheeded. The Bishop was not a man to '_bate_ an iota of his due, and stopped them and asked, "If they knew he was the Vice-Chancellor?" They blushingly replied, they did not, and begged his pardon for omitting to _cap_ him, observing they _were freshmen_. "How long have you been in Cambridge?" asked the witty Bishop. "Only eight days," was the reply. "In that case I must excuse you; puppies never see till they are _nine_ days old."

* * * * *

ANOTHER FRESHMAN

Was unconsciously walking beyond the University church, on a Sunday morning, which (at both Oxford and Cambridge) he would have been expected to attend, when he was met by the Master of St. John's College, Dr. Wood, who, by way of a mild rebuke, stopped him and asked him, "If the way he was going led to St. Mary's Church?" "Oh, no, sir," said he, with most lamb-like innocence, "this is the way," pointing in the opposite direction. "Keep straight on, you can't miss it." The Doctor, however, having fully explained himself, preferred taking him as a guide.

* * * * *

WE MUST DO SOMETHING FOR THE POOR LOST YOUNG MAN.

Lords Stowel and Eldon both studied at Trinity College, Oxford, with success, and, it is well known, there laid the foundation of that fame, which, from the humble rank of the sons of a Newcastle coal-fitter, raised them to the highest legal stations and the English peerage. The former first graduated, and was elected a Fellow and Tutor of All Soul's College (where he had the late Lord Tenterden for a pupil) and became Camden Professor. The latter afterwards graduated with a success that would have ensured him a fellowship and other University distinctions, but visiting his native place soon after he took A.B. he fell in love with Miss Surtees (the present Lady Eldon) daughter of a then rich banker, in Newcastle, who returned his affection, and they became man and wife. Her family were indignant, and refused to be reconciled to the young pair, because the lady had, as the phrase ran, "married below her station." Mr. Scott, the father, was as much offended at the step his son had taken, which at once shut him out from the chance of a fellowship, and refused them his countenance. In this dilemma the new married pair sought the friendship of Mr. William Scott (now Lord Stowell) at Oxford. His heart, cast in a softer mould, readily forgave them,--his amiable nature would not have permitted him to do otherwise. He received them with a brotherly affection, pitied rather than condemned them, and is said to have observed to some Oxford friends, "We must do something for the poor _lost_ young man!" What a lesson is there not read to mankind in the result! A harsher course might have led to ruin--the milder one was the stepping-stone to the _woolsack and a peerage_.

* * * * *

LIKE O' WHISSONSET CHURCH.

A Cantab visited some friends in the neighbourhood of Whissonset, near Fakenham, Norfolk, during the life of the late rector of that parish, who was then nearly ninety, and but little capable of attending to his duty, but having married a young wife, _she_ would not allow him a curate, but every Sunday drove him from Fakenham to the church. In short he was hen-pecked. His clerk kept the village public-house, and was not over-attentive to his duties. Our Cantab accompanied his friends to church at the usual time, arriving at which they found doors close; neither "Vicar or Moses" had arrived, nor did they appear till half an hour after. Under these circumstances our Cantab threw off the following epigram:

Like o' Whissonset church In vain you'll search, The Lord be thanked for't: The parson is old, His wife's a scold, And the clerk sells beer by the quart.

The people who go Are but so so, And but so so are the singers; They roar in our ears Like northern bears, And the devil take the ringers.

* * * * *

CUSTOM, WHIM, FASHION, AND CAPRICE,

Have been pretty nearly as arbitrary in our universities as with the rest of the world. When John Goslin was Vice-Chancellor, he is said to have made it

A HEAVY FINE TO APPEAR IN BOOTS.

A student, however, undertook, for a small bet, to visit him in them, and, to appease his wrath, he desired the doctor's advice for an hereditary numbness in his legs. So far was the Vice-Chancellor from expressing any anger, that he pitied him, and he won his wager. Another vice-chancellor is said to have issued his mandate for all members in statu pupillari, to appear in

YELLOW STOCKINGS.

The following singular order, as to dress and the excess thereof, was issued by the great statesman, Cecil, Lord Burleigh, as chancellor of the University of Cambridge, in the days of Elizabeth, which is preserved in the _Liber Niger_, or Black-book, extant in the Cambridge University Library. The paper is dated "from my house in Strand, this seventhe of May, 1588," and runs thus:--1. "That no hat be worne of anie graduate or scholler within the said universitie (except it shall be when he shall journey owte of the towne, or excepte in the time of his sickness.) All graduates were to weare square caps of clothe; and schollers, not graduates, round cloth caps, saving that it may be lawful for the sonnes of noblemen, or the sonnes and heirs of knights, to weare round caps of velvet, but no hats."

2. "All graduates shall weare abroade in the universitie going owte of his colledg, a gowne and a hoode of cloth, according to the order of his degree. Provided that it shall be lawful for everie D.D., and for the Mr. of anie coll. to weare a sarcenet tippet of velvet, according to the anciente customes of this realme, and of the saide universitie. The whiche gowne, tippet, and square caps, the saide Drs. and heads shall be likewise bound to weare, when they shall resorte eyther to the courte, or to the citie of London."

3. "And that the excesse of shirt bands and ruffles, exceeding an ynche and halfe (saving the sonnes of noblemen,) the fashion and colour other than white, be avoided presentlie; and no scholler, or fellowe of the foundation of anie house of learninge, do weare eyther in the universitie or without, &c., anie hose, stockings, dublets, jackets, crates, or jerknees, or anie other kynde of garment, of velvet, satin, or silk, or in the facing of the same shall have above a 1/4 of a yard of silke, or shall use anie other light kynde of colour, or cuts, or gards, of fashion, the which shall be forbidden by the Chancellor," &c.

4th. "And that no scholler doe weare anie long lockes of hair vppon his head, but that he be notted, pouled, or rounded, after the accustomed manner of the gravest schollers of the saide universitie." The penalty for every offence against these several orders being six shillings and eightpence: the sum in which offenders are mulcted in the present day.

THE FASHION OF THE HAIR

Has been not less varied, or less subject to animadversion, than the dress of the members of the universities. The fashion of wearing long hair, so peculiar in the reign of Charles II., was called the APOLLO. His Royal Highness the Duke of Gloucester, the present Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, "was an Apollo" during the whole of his residence at Trinity College, says the _Gradus ad Cant_. Indeed his royal highness, who was noted for his personal beauty at that time, was "the last in Cambridge who wore his hair after that fashion." "I can remember," says the pious Archbishop Tillotson, as cited by the above writer, discoursing on this HEAD, viz. _of hair_! "since the wearing the hair _below_ the ears was looked upon as _a sin of the first magnitude_; and when ministers generally, whatever their text was, did either find, or make, occasion to reprove the great _sin_ of long hair: and if they saw any one in the congregation guilty in that kind, they would point him out particularly, and _let fly_ at him with great zeal." And we can remember, since wearing the hair _cropt_, i. e. _above_ the ears, was looked upon, though not as "a sin," yet, as a very vulgar and RAFFISH sort of a thing; and when the _doers_ of newspapers exhausted all their wit in endeavouring to rally the new-raised corps of CROPS, regardless of the late noble Duke (of Bedford) who headed them; and, when the rude rank-scented rabble, if they saw any one in the streets, whether time or the tonsor had thinned his flowing hair, they would point him out particularly and "_let fly at him_," as the archbishop says, till not a shaft of ridicule remained! The tax upon hair-powder has now, however, produced all over the country very plentiful CROPS. Charles II., who, as his _worthy friend_ the Earl of Rochester, remarked,

---- never said a foolish thing; Nor ever _did_ a wise one,

sent a letter to the University of Cambridge, forbidding the members to wear _periwigs_, smoke tobacco, and read their sermons!! It is needless to remark, that TOBACCO has not yet made its EXIT IN FUMO, and that _periwigs_ still continue to adorn "THE HEADS OF HOUSES." Till the present all-prevailing, all-_accommodating_ fashion of CROPS became general in the university, no young man presumed to dine in hall till he had previously received a handsome trimming from the hair-dresser (one of which calling was a special appointment to each college.) The following inimitable imitation of "The Bard" of Gray, is ascribed to the pen of the late Lord Erskine, when a fellow-commoner of Trinity College, Cambridge. Having been disappointed of the attendance of his college-barber, he was compelled to forego his _commons_ in hall. But determining to have his revenge, and give his hair-dresser a good DRESSING, he sat down and penned the following "Fragment of a Pindaric Ode," wherein, "in imitation of the despairing Bard of Gray, who prophesied the destruction of King Edward's race, he poured forth his curses upon the whole race of barbers, predicting their ruin in the simplicity of a future generation."

I.

Ruin seize thee, scoundrel Coe! Confusion on thy frizzing wait; Hadst thou the only comb below, Thou never more shouldst touch my pate. Club, nor queue, nor twisted tail, Nor e'en thy chatt'ring, barber! shall avail To save thy horse-whipp'd back from daily fears, From Cantab's curse, from Cantab's tears! Such were the sounds that o'er the powder'd pride Of Coe the barber scattered wild dismay, As down the steep of Jackson's slippery lane, He wound with puffing march his toilsome, tardy way.

II.

In a room where Cambridge town Frowns o'er the kennel's stinking flood, Rob'd in a flannel powd'ring gown, With haggard eyes poor Erskine stood; (Long his beard and blouzy hair Stream'd like an old wig to the troubled air;) And with clung guts, and face than razor thinner, Swore the loud sorrows of his dinner. Hark! how each striking clock and tolling bell, With awful sounds, the hour of eating tell! O'er thee, oh Coe! their dreadful notes they wave, Soon shall such sounds proclaim thy yawning grave; Vocal in vain, through all this ling'ring day, The grace already said, the plates all swept away.

III.

Cold is Beau * * tongue, That soothed each virgin's pain; Bright perfumed M * * has cropp'd his head: Almacks! you moan in vain. Each youth whose high toupee Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-cropt head, In humble Tyburn-top we see; Esplashed with dirt and sun-burnt face; Far on before the ladies mend their pace, The Macaroni sneers, and will not see. Dear lost companions of the coxcomb's art, Dear as a turkey to these famished eyes, Dear as the ruddy port which warms my heart, Ye sunk amidst the fainting Misses' cries. No more I weep--they do not sleep: At yonder ball a slovenly band, I see them sit, they linger yet, Avengers of fair Nature's hand; With me in dreadful resolution join, To CROP with one accord, and starve their cursed line.

IV.

Weave the warp, and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of barber's race; Give ample room, and verge enough, Their lengthened lanthorn jaws to trace. Mark the year, and mark the night, When all their shops shall echo with affright; Loud screams shall through St. James's turrets ring, To see, like Eton boy, the king! Puppies of France, with unrelenting paws, That crape the foretops of our aching heads; No longer England owns thy fribblish laws, No more her folly Gallia's vermin feeds. They wait at Dover for the first fair wind, Soup-meagre in the van, and snuff roast-beef behind.

V.

Mighty barbers, mighty lords, Low on a greasy bench they lie! No pitying heart or purse affords A sixpence for a mutton-pye! Is the mealy 'prentice fled? Poor Coe is gone, all supperless to bed. The swarm that in thy shop each morning sat, Comb their lank hair on forehead flat: Fair laughs the morn, when all the world are beaux, While vainly strutting through a silly land, In foppish train the puppy barber goes; Lace on his shirt, and money at command, Regardless of the skulking bailiff's sway, That, hid in some dark court, expects his evening prey.

VI.

The porter-mug fill high, Baked curls and locks prepare; Reft of our heads, they yet by wigs may live, Close by the greasy chair Fell thirst and famine lie, No more to art will beauteous nature give. Heard ye the gang of Fielding say, Sir John,[7] at last we've found their haunt, To desperation driv'n by hungry want, Thro' the crammed laughing Pit they steal their way. Ye tow'rs of Newgate! London's lasting shame, By many a foul and midnight murder fed, Revere poor Mr. Coe, the blacksmith's[8] fame, And spare the grinning barber's chuckle head.

VII.

Rascals! we tread thee under foot, (Weave we the woof, the thread is spun;) Our beards we pull out by the root; (The web is wove, your work is done.) "Stay, oh, stay! nor thus forlorn Leave me uncurl'd, undinner'd, here to mourn." Thro' the broad gate that leads to College Hall, They melt, they fly, they vanish all. But, oh! what happy scenes of pure delight, Slow moving on their simple charms unroll! Ye rapt'rous visions! spare my aching sight, Ye unborn beauties, crowd not on my soul! No more our long-lost Coventry we wail: All hail, ye genuine forms; fair nature's issue, hail!

VIII.

Not frizz'd and frittered, pinned and rolled, Sublime their artless locks they wear, And gorgeous dames, and judges old, Without their tetes and wigs appear. In the midst a form divine, Her dress bespeaks the Pennsylvania line; Her port demure, her grave, religious face, Attempered sweet to virgin grace. What sylphs and spirits wanton through the air! What crowds of little angels round her play! Hear from thy sepulchre, great Penn! oh, hear! A scene like this might animate thy clay. Simplicity now soaring as she sings, Waves in the eye of heaven her Quaker-coloured wings.

IX.

No more toupees are seen That mock at Alpine height, And queues, with many a yard of riband bound, All now are vanished quite. No tongs or torturing pin, But every head is trimmed quite snug around: Like boys of the cathedral choir, Curls, such as Adam wore, we wear; Each simpler generation blooms more fair, Till all that's artificial expire. Vain puppy boy! think'st thou you essenced cloud, Raised by thy puff, can vie with _Nature's_ hue? To-morrow see the variegated crowd With ringlets shining like the morning dew. Enough for me: with joy I see The different dooms our fates assign; Be thine to love thy trade and starve, To wear what heaven bestowed be mine. He said, and headlong from the trap-stairs' height, Quick thro' the frozen street he ran in shabby plight.

[7] Sir John Fielding, the late active police magistrate.