Part 9

Is now fast falling into _forgetfulness_, though there was a time when he was hailed by Granta's choicest spirits, as one who never failed to "set the table in a roar." Poor Jemmy! I shall never forget the manner in which he, by one of those straightforward, not-to-be-mistaken flashes of wit, silenced a brow-beating Radical Huntingdon attorney, at a Reform-meeting in Cambridge market-pace. Jemmy was a native of Cambridge, and was the son of a former chapel-clerk of Trinity College, who gave him an excellent classical education, and had him articled to an eminent solicitor, with fine talents and good prospects. But though Jemmy was "a cunning man with a hard head," such as his profession required, he had a soft heart,--fell in love with a pretty girl. That pretty girl, it is said, returned his passion, then proved faithless, and finally coquetted and ran off with a "_gay_ deceiver," a fellow-commoner of Trinity College,--optically dazzled, no doubt, with the purple robe and silver lace, for Jemmy was a fine, sensible-looking man. Poor Jemmy! he was too good for the faithless hussy; he took it to heart, as they say, and, unfortunately, took to drinking at the same time. He soon became too unsettled, both in mind and habits, to follow up his profession with advantage, and he became a _bon-vivant_, a professed wit, with a natural turn for facete, and the _cram-man_ of the more idle sons of Granta, who delighted in his society in those days when his wits were unclouded, nor did the more distinguished members of the university then disdain to hail him to their boards. For many years Jemmy lived to know and prove that "learning is most excellent;" and having a good classical turn, he lived by writing _Themes_ and _Declarations_ for non-reading Cantabs, for each of which Jemmy expected the physician's mite, and, like them, might be said to thrive by the _Guinea_ Trade. It is, no doubt, true, that some of his productions had college prizes awarded to them, and that, on one occasion, being recommended to apply for the medal, he indignantly answered, "It is no credit to be first in an ass-race!" Notwithstanding, Jemmy's in-goings never equalled his out-goings, and many a parley had Jemmy with his empty purse. It was no uncommon thing for him to pass his vacations in _quod_--_videlicet_ jail--for debts his creditors were well aware he could not pay; but they well knew also that his friends, the students, would be sure to _pay him out_ on their return to college. These circumstances give occasion for the publication of the now scarce caricatures of him, entitled, "Term-time," and "Non-term." In the first he is represented spouting to one of his _togaed_ customers, in the latter he appears cogitating in "durance vile." Besides these, numerous portraits of Jemmy have been put forth, for the correctness of most of which we, who have "held our sides at his fair words," can vouch. A full-length is extant in Hone's Every-Day Book, in the Gradus ad Catabrigiam is a second; and we doubt not but our friend Mason, of Church-Passage, Cambridge, could furnish a collector with several. Poor Jemmy! he has now been dead several years. His latter days were melancholy indeed. To the last, however, Jemmy continued to sport those distinctive marks of a man of _ton_, a _spying-glass_ and an _opera-hat_, which so well became him. Latterly he became troublesome to his best friends, not only levying contributions at will, but by saying _hard things_ to them, sparing neither heads of college, tutors, fellows, students, or others whose names were familiar to him. On one occasion, oblivious with too much devotion to _Sir John_, as was latterly his wont, his abuse caused him to be committed to the _tread-mill_--_sic transit_--and after his term of _exercise_ had expired, meeting a Cantab in the street whose beauty was even less remarkable than his wit, he addressed our recreant with, "Well, Jemmy, how do you like the tread-mill?" "I don't like your ---- ugly face," was the response. Jemmy's recorded witticisms were at one time as numberless as the stars, and in the mouth of every son of Granta, bachelor or big-wig; now some only are remembered. He one day met Sir John Mortlock in the streets of Granta, soon after he had been knighted; making a dead pause, and looking Sir John full in the face, Jemmy _improvised_--

"The king, by merely laying sword on, Could make a knight of Jemmy Gordon."

At another time, petitioning a certain college dignitary for a few shillings to recover his clothes, pledged to appease his thirst, he said, on receiving the amount, "Now, I know that my redeemer liveth."

Jemmy, in his _glorious days_, had been a good deal patronised by the late Master of Trinity College, Bishop Mansel, like himself a wit of the first water. Jemmy one day called upon the bishop, during the time he filled the office of Vice-Chancellor, to beg half-a-crown. "I will give you as much," said the Bishop, "if you can bring me a greater rogue than yourself." Jemmy made his bow and departed, content with the condition, and had scarcely half crossed the great court of Trinity, when he espied the late Mr. B., then one of the Esquire Bedels of the University, scarcely less eccentric than himself. Jemmy coolly told him that the Vice-Chancellor wanted to see him. Into the Lodge went our Bedel, followed close by Jemmy. "Here he is," said Jemmy, as they entered the Bishop's presence, _arcades ambo_, at the same instant. "Who?" inquired the Bishop. "You told me, my Lord," said Jemmy, "to bring you a greater rogue than myself, and you would give me half-a-crown, and here he is." The Bishop enjoyed the joke, and gave him the money. A somewhat

SIMILAR STORY IS TOLD OF AN OXFORD WAG,

In Addison's Anecdotes, stating, that about the beginning of the eighteenth century, when it was more the fashion to drink ale at Oxford than at present, a humorous fellow of merry memory established an ale-house near the pound, and wrote over his door, "Ale sold by the pound!" As his ale was as good as his jokes, the Oxonians resorted to his house in great numbers, and sometimes stayed there beyond the college hours. This was made a matter of complaint to the Vice-Chancellor, who was desired to take away his license by one of the Proctors. Boniface was summoned to attend accordingly, and when he came into the Vice-Chancellor's presence, he began hawking and spitting about the room. This the Vice-Chancellor observed, and asked what he meant by it? "Please your worship," said he, "I came here on purpose to clear myself." The Vice-Chancellor imagining that he actually _weighed his ale_, said, "They tell me you sell ale by the pound; is that true?" "No, an' please your worship." "How do you, then?" "Very well, I thank you, sir," said the wag, "how do you do?" The Vice-Chancellor laughed and said, "Get away for a rogue; I'll say no more to you." The fellow went out, but in crossing the _quod_ met the proctor who had laid the information against him. "Sir," said he, addressing the Proctor, "the Vice-Chancellor wants to speak with you," and they went to the Vice-Chancellor's together. "Here he is, sir," said Boniface, as they entered the presence. "Who?" inquired the Vice. "Why, sir," he rejoined, "you sent me for a rogue, and I have brought you the greatest that I know of." The result was, says the author of _Terræ-Filius_ (who gives a somewhat different version of the anecdote,) that Boniface paid dear for his _jokes_: being not only deprived of his license, but committed to prison.

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CAMBRIDGE FROLICS.

I recollect once being invited, with another Cantab, to _bitch_ (as they say) with a scholar of Bene't Coll. and arrived there at the hour named to find the door _sported_ and our host out. We resolved, however, not to be _floored_ by a _quiz_, and having gained admission to his rooms per the window, we put a bold face upon matters, went straight to the buttery, and ordered "_coffee and muffins for two_," in his name. They came of course; and having feasted to our heart's content, we finished our revenge by hunting up all the _tallow_ we could lay hands on, which we cut up to increase the number, and therewith illuminated his rooms and beat a retreat as quick as possible. The College was soon in an uproar to learn the cause for such a display, and we had the pleasure of witnessing our _wag's_ chagrin thereat from a nook in the court. This anecdote reminds me of one told of himself and the late learned physician, Dr. Battie, by Dr. Morell. They were contemporary at Eton, and afterwards went to King's College, Cambridge, together. Dr. Battie's mother was his _jackall_ wherever he went, and, says Dr. Morell, she kindly recommended me and other scholars to a chandler at 4_s._ 6_d._ per dozen. But the candles proved dear even at that rate, and we resolved to vent our disappointment upon her son. We, accordingly, got access to Battie's room, locked him out, and all the candles we could find in his box we lighted and stuck up round the room! and, whilst I thrummed on the spinnet, the rest danced round me in their shirts. Upon Battie's coming, and finding what we were at, he "fell to storming and swearing," says the Doctor, "till the old Vice-Provost, Dr. Willymott, called out from above, 'Who is

SWEARING LIKE A COMMON SOLDIER?'

'It is I,' quoth Battle. 'Visit me,' quoth the Vice-Provost. Which, indeed, we were all obliged to do the next morning, with a distich, according to custom. Mine naturally turned upon, 'So fiddled Orpheus, and so danced the _brutes_;' which having explained to the Vice-Provost, he punished me and Sleech with a few lines from the _Epsilon_ of Homer, and Battie with the whole third book of Milton, to get, as we say, by heart." Another College scene, in which Battie played a part, when a scholar at King's, is the following:--

CASE OF BLACK RASH,

Given on the authority of his old college _chum_, Ralph Thicknesse, who, like himself, became a Fellow. There was then at King's College, says Ralph, a very good-tempered six-feet-high Parson, of the name of Harry Lofft, who was one of the College chanters, and the constant _butt_ of all both at commons and in the _parlour_. Harry, says Ralph, dreaded so much the sight of a gun or a pair of pistols, that such of his friends as did not desire too much of his company kept _fire-arms_ to keep him at _arm's length_. Ralph was encouraged, by some of the Fellows, he says (_juniors_ of course,) to make a serious joke out of Harry's foible, and one day discharged a gun, loaded with powder, at our six-feet-high Parson, as he was striding his way to prayers. The powder was coarse and damp and did not all burn, so that a portion of it lodged in Harry's face. The fright and a little inflammation put the poor chanter to bed, says Ralph. But he was not the only frightened party, for we were all much alarmed lest the _report_ should reach the Vice-Chancellor's ears, and the good-tempered Hal was prevailed with to be _only ill_. Battie and another, who were _not_ of the _shooting party_ (the only two fellow-students in physic,) were called to Hal's assistance. They were _not_ told the real state of the case, and finding his pulse high, his spirits low, and his face inflamed and sprinkled with red spots, after a serious consultation they _prescribed_. On retiring from the sick man's room, they were forthwith examined on the state of the case by the impatient plotters of the wicked deed, to whose amusement both the disciples of Galen pronounced Hal's case to be the _black rash_! This, adds Ralph, was a never-to-be-forgotten _roast_ for Battie and Banks in Cambridge; and if we may add to this, that Battie, in after life, sent his wife to Bath for a _dropsy_, where she was shortly _tapped_ of a fine boy, it may give us a little insight into the _practice of physic_, and induce us to say with the poet--

"Better to search in fields for wealth unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught."

The same Ralph relates a humorous anecdote of

THE FATE OF THE DOCTOR'S OLD GRIZZLE WIG.

The Doctor, says Ralph, was as good a punch as he was a physician, and after he settled at Uxbridge, in the latter character, where he first opened his _medical budget_, with the proceeds of his Fellowship at King's College alone to depend on, Ralph took advantage of a stay in London to ride over to see his old college chum and fellow-punster, and reached his _domus_ in the Doctor's absence. Ralph's wig was the worse for a shower of rain he had rode through, and, taking it off, desired the Doctor's man, William, to bring him his master's _old grizzle_ to put on, whilst he dried and put a dust of powder into his. But ere this could be accomplished, the Doctor returned, as fine as may be, in his _best tye_, kept especially for visiting his patients in. As soon as mutual greetings had passed, "Why, zounds, Ralph," exclaimed the Doctor, "what a cursed wig you have got on!" "True," said Ralph, taking it off as he spoke, "it is a bad one, and if you will, as I have another with me, I will toss it into the fire." "By all means," said the Doctor, "for, in truth, it is a very _caxon_," and into the _fire_ went the fry. The Doctor now began to skin his legs, and calling his man, William, "Here," said he, taking off his tye, "bring me my old wig." "Mr. Thicknesse has got it," said William. "And where is it, Ralph," said the Doctor, turning upon his visiter. "_Burnt_, as you desired; and this illustrates the spirit of all mankind," said Ralph; "we can see the shabby wig, and feel the pitiful tricks of our friends, overlooking the disorder of our own wardrobes. As Horace says, 'Nil habeo quod agam;'--'mind every body's business but your own.'" Talking of _gunpowder_ reminds me of

TWO OTHER SHOOTING ANECDOTES.

All who know anything of either Oxford or Cambridge scholars, know well enough, that their _manners_ are not only _well preserved_ at all seasons, but that when they are in a humour for sporting, it is of very little consequence whether other folk preserve their manners or not. When the late eccentric Joshua Waterhouse, B.D. (who was so barbarously murdered a few years since by Joshua Slade, in Huntingdonshire,) was a student of Catherine Hall, Cambridge, of which he became a Fellow, he was a remarkably strong young man, some six feet high, and not easily frightened. He one day went out to shoot with another man of his college, and his favourite dog, Sancho, had just made his first point, when a keeper came up and told Joshua to take himself off, in no very classic English. Joshua therefore declined compliance. Upon this our keeper began to threaten. Joshua thereupon laid his gun aside, and coolly began taking off his coat (or, as the fancy would say, to _peel_,) observing, "I came out for a day's sport, and a day's sport I'll have." Upon which our keeper shot off, leaving Joshua in possession of the field, from which he used to boast he carried off a full bag. At another time

A PARTY OF OXONIANS,

Gamesomely inclined, were driving, _tandem_, for the neighbourhood of Woodstock, when passing a stingy old _cur_, yclept a country gentleman, who had treated some one of the party a _shabby_ trick, a thought struck them that now was the hour for revenge. They drove in _bang up_ style to the front of the old man's mansion, and coolly told the servant, that they had just seen his master, who had desired them to say, that he was to serve them up a good dinner and wine, and in the meantime show them where the most game was to be found. This was done, and after a _roaring_ day's sport, and a full gorge of roast, baked and boiled, washed down with the best ale, port and sherry, the old boy's cellar could furnish, they made Brazen-nose College, Oxon, 8, P.M., much delighted with the result, and luckily the affair went no further, at the time at least.

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BISHOP WATSON'S OWN ACCOUNT OF HIS PROGRESS AT CAMBRIDGE.