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Green, an Oxford Under-Graduate, by Cuthbert Bede
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Title: The Further Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green, an Oxford Under-Graduate
Being a Continuation of 'The Adventures of Mr. Verdant
Green, an Oxford Under-Graduate'
Author: Cuthbert Bede
Release Date: July 26, 2012 [EBook #40338]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FURTHER ADVENTURES OF VERDANT GREEN ***
Produced by Annie R. McGuire. This book was produced from
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[Illustration: Book Cover]
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES
OF
MR. VERDANT GREEN
FRONTISPIECE.
(See page 30.)
[Illustration: CUTHBERT BEDE, INVT. KT. DELT. E. EVANS, SC]
MR. VERDANT GREEN FURNISHES THE SUBJECT FOR A STRIKING
FRONTISPIECE.
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES
OF
MR. VERDANT GREEN,
An Oxford Under-Graduate.
BEING A CONTINUATION OF "THE ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN, AN OXFORD
FRESHMAN."
BY CUTHBERT BEDE, B.A.
With numerous Illustrations,
DESIGNED AND DRAWN ON THE WOOD BY THE AUTHOR.
"A COLLEGE JOKE TO CURE THE DUMPS."
SWIFT.
SECOND EDITION.
H. INGRAM & CO.
MILFORD HOUSE, MILFORD LANE, STRAND, LONDON;
AND BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.
1854.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I. Mr. Verdant Green recommences his existence as
an Oxford Undergraduate 1
CHAPTER II. Mr. Verdant Green does as he has been done by 5
CHAPTER III. Mr. Verdant Green endeavours to keep his Spirits
up by pouring Spirits down 14
CHAPTER IV. Mr. Verdant Green discovers the difference between
Town and Gown 26
CHAPTER V. Mr. Verdant Green is favoured with Mr. Bouncer's
Opinions regarding an Under-graduate's
Epistolary Communications to his Maternal
Relative 39
CHAPTER VI. Mr. Verdant Green feathers his oars with skill
and dexterity 50
CHAPTER VII. Mr. Verdant Green partakes of a Dove-tart and
a Spread-eagle 59
CHAPTER VIII. Mr. Verdant Green spends a Merry Christmas and
a Happy New Year 68
CHAPTER IX. Mr. Verdant Green makes his first appearance on
any Boards 75
CHAPTER X. Mr. Verdant Green enjoys a real Cigar 87
CHAPTER XI. Mr. Verdant Green gets through his Smalls 95
CHAPTER XII. Mr. Verdant Green and his Friends enjoy the
Commemoration 104
PART II.
CHAPTER I.
MR. VERDANT GREEN RECOMMENCES HIS EXISTENCE AS AN OXFORD UNDERGRADUATE.
The intelligent reader--which epithet I take to be a synonym for every
one who has perused the first part of the Adventures of Mr. Verdant
Green,--will remember the statement, that the hero of the narrative "had
gained so much experience during his Freshman's term, that, when the
pleasures of the Long Vacation were at an end, and he had returned to
Brazenface with his firm and fast friend Charles Larkyns, he felt
himself entitled to assume a patronising air to the Freshmen, who then
entered, and even sought to impose upon their credulity in ways which
his own personal experience suggested." And the intelligent reader will
further call to mind the fact that the first part of these memoirs
concluded with the words--"it was clear that Mr. Verdant Green had made
his farewell bow as an Oxford Freshman."
But, although Mr. Verdant Green had of necessity ceased to be "a
Freshman" as soon as he had entered upon his second term of
residence,--the name being given to students in their first term
only,--yet this necessity, which, as we all know, _non habet leges_,
will occasionally prove its rule by an exception; and if Mr. Verdant
Green was no longer a Freshman in name, he still continued to be one by
nature. And the intelligent reader will perceive when he comes to study
these veracious memoirs, that, although their hero will no longer
display those peculiarly virulent symptoms of freshness, which drew
towards him so much friendly sympathy during the earlier part of his
University career, yet that he will still, by his innocent simplicity
and credulity, occasionally evidence the truth of the Horatian maxim,--
"Quo semel est imbuta recens, servabit odorem
Testa diu;"[1]
which, when _Smart_-ly translated, means, "A cask will long preserve the
flavour, with which, when new, it was once impregnated;" and which, when
rendered in the Saxon vulgate, signifieth, "What is bred in the bone will
come out in the flesh."
It would, indeed, take more than a Freshman's term,--a two months'
residence in Oxford,--to remove the simple gaucheries of the country
Squire's hobbodehoy, and convert the girlish youth, the pupil of that
Nestor of Spinsters, Miss Virginia Verdant, into the MAN whose school
was the University, whose Alma Mater was Oxonia herself. We do not cut
our wise teeth in a day; some people, indeed, are so unfortunate as
never to cut them at all; at the best, two months is but a brief space
in which to get through this sapient teething operation, a short time in
which to graft our cutting on the tree of Wisdom, more especially when
the tender plant happens to be a Verdant Green. The golden age is past
when the full-formed goddess of Wisdom sprang from the brain of Jove
complete in all her parts. If our Vulcans now-a-days were to trepan the
heads of our Jupiters, they would find nothing in them! In these
degenerate times it will take more than one splitting headache to
produce _our_ wisdom.
So it was with our hero. The splitting headache, for example, which had
wound up the pleasures of Mr. Small's "quiet party," had taught him that
the good things of this life were not given to be abused, and that he
could not exceed the bounds of temperance and moderation without being
made to pay the penalty of the trespass. It had taught him that kind of
wisdom which even "makes fools wise;" for it had taught him Experience.
And yet, it was but a portion of that lesson of Experience which it is
sometimes so hard to learn, but which, when once got by heart, is like
the catechism of our early days,--it is never forgotten,--it directs us,
it warns us, it advises us; it not only adorns the tale of our life, but
it points the moral which may bring that tale to a happy and peaceful
end.
Experience! Experience! What will it not do? It is a staff which will
help us on when we are jostled by the designing crowds of our Vanity
Fair. It is a telescope that will reveal to us the dark spots on what
seemed to be a fair face. It is a finger-post to show us whither the
crooked paths of worldly ways will lead us. It is a scar that tells of
the wound which the soldier has received in the battle of life. It is a
lighthouse that warns us off those hidden rocks and quicksands where the
wrecks of long past joys that once smiled so fairly, and were loved so
dearly, now lie buried in all their ghastliness, stripped of grace and
beauty, things to shudder at and dread. Experience! Why, even Alma
Mater's doctors prescribe it to be taken in the largest quantities!
"Experientia--_dose it_!" they say: and very largely some of us have to
pay for the dose. But the dose does us good; and (for it is an
allopathic remedy), the greater the dose, the greater is the benefit to
be derived.
The two months' allopathic dose of Experience, which had been
administered to Mr. Verdant Green, chiefly through the agency of those
skilful professors, Messrs. Larkyns, Fosbrooke, Smalls, and Bouncer, had
been so far beneficial to him, that, in the figurative Eastern language
of the last-named gentleman, he had not only been "sharpened up no end
by being well rubbed against University bricks," but he had, moreover,
"become so considerably wide-awake, that he would very soon be able to
take the shine out of the old original Weazel, whom the pages of History
had recorded as never having been discovered in a state of somnolence."
Now, as Mr. Bouncer was a gentleman of considerable experience and was,
too, (although addicted to expressions not to be found in "the Polite
Preceptor,") quite free from the vulgar habit of personal flattery,--or,
as he thought fit to express it, in words which would have taken away my
Lord Chesterfield's appetite, "buttering a party to his face in the
cheekiest manner,"--we may fairly presume, on this strong evidence, that
Mr. Verdant Green had really gained a considerable amount of experience
during his Freshman's term, although there were still left in his
character and conduct many marks of viridity which--
"Time's effacing fingers,"
assisted by Mr. Bouncer's instructions, would gradually remove. However,
Mr. Verdant Green had, at any rate, ceased to be "a Freshman" in name;
and had received that University promotion, which Mr. Charles Larkyns
commemorated by the following _affiche_, which our hero, on his return
from his first morning chapel in the Michaelmas term, found in a
conspicuous position on his oak.
Commission signed by the Vice-Chancellor of the University
of Oxford.
MR. VERDANT GREEN to be an Oxford Undergraduate, _vice_ Oxford
Freshman, SOLD out.
It is generally found to be the case, that the youthful Undergraduate
first seeks to prove he is no longer a "Freshman," by endeavouring to
impose on the credulity of those young gentlemen who come up as Freshmen
in his second term. And, in this, there is an analogy between the biped
and the quadruped; for, the wild, gambolling, school-boy elephant, when
he has been brought into a new circle, and has been trained to new
habits, will take pleasure in ensnaring and deluding his late companions
in play.
The "sells" by which our hero had been "sold out" as a Freshman, now
formed a stock in trade for the Undergraduate, which his experience
enabled him to dispose of (with considerable interest) to the most
credulous members of the generations of Freshmen who came up after him.
Perhaps no Freshman had ever gone through a more severe course of
hoaxing--to survive it--than Mr. Verdant Green; and yet, by a system of
retaliation, only paralleled by the quadrupedal case of the
before-mentioned elephant, and the biped-beadle case of the illustrious
Mr. Bumble, who after having his own ears boxed by the late Mrs. Corney,
relieved his feelings by boxing the ears of the small boy who opened the
gate for him,--our hero took the greatest delight in seeking every
opportunity to play off upon a Freshman some one of those numerous
hoaxes which had been so successfully practised on himself. And while,
in referring to the early part of his University career, he omitted all
mention of such anecdotes as displayed his own personal credulity in the
strongest light--which anecdotes the faithful historian has thought fit
to record,--he, nevertheless, dwelt with extreme pleasure on the
reminiscences of a few isolated facts, in which he himself appeared in
the character of the hoaxer.
These facts, when neatly garnished with a little fiction, made very
palatable dishes for University entertainment, and were served up by our
hero, when he went "down into the country," to select parties of
relatives and friends (N.B.--Females preferred). On such occasions, the
following hoax formed Mr. Verdant Green's _pièce de résistance_.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Horace, Ep. Lib. I. ii., 69.
CHAPTER II.
MR. VERDANT GREEN DOES AS HE HAS BEEN DONE BY.
One morning, Mr. Verdant Green and Mr. Bouncer were lounging in the
venerable gateway of Brazenface. The former gentleman, being of an
amiable, tame-rabbit-keeping disposition, was making himself very happy
by whistling popular airs to the Porter's pet bullfinch, who was
laboriously engaged on a small tread-mill, winding up his private supply
of water. Mr. Bouncer, being of a more volatile temperament, was amusing
himself by asking the Porter's opinion on the foreign policy of Great
Britain, and by making very audible remarks on the passers-by. His
attention was at length riveted by the appearance on the other side of
the street, of a modest-looking young gentleman, who appeared to be so
ill at ease in his frock-coat and "stick-up" collars, as to lead to the
strong presumption that he wore those articles of manly dress for the
first time.
"I'll bet you a bottle of blacking, Giglamps," said little Mr. Bouncer,
as he directed our hero's attention to the stranger, "that this
respected party is an intending Freshman. Look at his customary suits of
solemn black, as Othello, or Hamlet, or some other swell, says in
Shakspeare. And, besides his black go-to-meeting bags, please to
observe," continued the little gentleman, in the tone of a wax-work
showman; "please to hobserve the pecooliarity hof the hair-chain,
likewise the straps of the period. Look! he's coming this way. Giglamps,
I vote we take a rise out of the youth. Hem! Good morning! Can we have
the pleasure of assisting you in anything."
"Yes, sir! thank you, sir," replied the youthful stranger, who was
flushing like a girl up to the very roots of his curly, auburn hair;
"perhaps, sir, you can direct me to Brazenface College, sir?"'
"Well, sir! it's not at all improbable, sir, but what I could, sir;"
replied Mr. Bouncer; "but, perhaps, sir, you'll first favour me with
your name, and your business there, sir."
"Certainly, sir!" rejoined the stranger; and, while he fumbled at his
card-case, the experienced Mr. Bouncer whispered to our hero, "Told you
he was a sucking Freshman, Giglamps! He has got a bran new card-case,
and says 'sir' at the sight of the academicals." The card handed to Mr.
Bouncer, bore the name of "MR. JAMES PUCKER;" and, in smaller characters
in the corner of the card, were the words, "_Brazenface College,
Oxford_."
"I came, sir," said the blushing Mr. Pucker, "to enter for my
matriculation examination, and I wished to see the gentleman who will
have to examine me, sir."
"The doose you do!" said Mr. Bouncer sternly; "then young, man, allow me
to say, that you've regularly been and gone and done it, and put your
foot in it most completely."
"How-ow-ow, how, sir?" stammered the dupe.
"How?" replied Mr. Bouncer, still more sternly; "do you mean to brazen
out your offence by asking how? What _could_ have induced you, sir, to
have had printed on this card the name of this College, when you've not
a prospect of belonging to it--it may be for years, it may be for never,
as the bard says. You've committed a most grievous offence against the
University statutes, young gentleman; and so this gentleman here--Mr.
Pluckem, the junior examiner--will tell you!" and with that, little Mr.
Bouncer nudged Mr. Verdant Green, who took his cue with astonishing
aptitude, and glared through his glasses at the trembling Mr. Pucker,
who stood blushing, and bowing, and heartily repenting that his
school-boy vanity had led him to invest four-and-sixpence in "100 cards,
and plate, engraved with name and address."
"Put the cards in your pocket, sir, and don't let me see them again!"
said our hero in his newly-confirmed title of the junior examiner; quite
rejoiced at the opportunity afforded him of proving to his friend that
_he_ was no longer a Freshman.
"He forgives you for the sake of your family, young man!" said Mr.
Bouncer with pathos; "you've come to the right shop, for _this_ is
Brazenface; and you've come just at the right time, for here is the
gentleman who will assist Mr. Pluckem in examining you;" and Mr. Bouncer
pointed to Mr. Four-in-hand Fosbrooke, who was coming up the street on
his way from the Schools, where he was making a very laudable (but as it
proved, futile) endeavour "to get through his smalls," or, in other
words, to pass his Little-go examination. The hoax which had been
suggested to the ingenious mind of Mr. Bouncer, was based upon the fact
of Mr. Fosbrooke's being properly got-up for his sacrifice in a white
tie, and a pair of very small bands--the two articles, which, with the
usual academicals, form the costume demanded by Alma Mater of all her
children when they take their places in her Schools. And, as Mr.
Fosbrooke was far too politic a gentleman to irritate the Examiners by
appearing in a "loud" or sporting costume, he had carried out the idea
of clerical character suggested by the bands and choker, by a quiet,
gentlemanly suit of black, which, he had fondly hoped, would have
softened his Examiners' manners, and not permitted them to be brutal.
Mr. Four-in-hand Fosbrooke, therefore, to the unsophisticated eye of the
blushing Mr. Pucker, presented a very fine specimen of the Examining
Tutor; and this impression on Mr. Pucker's mind was heightened by Mr.
Fosbrooke, after a few minutes' private conversation with the other two
gentlemen, turning to him, and saying, "It will be extremely
inconvenient to me to examine you now; but as you probably wish to
return home as soon as possible, I will endeavour to conclude the
business at once--this gentleman, Mr. Pluckem," pointing to our hero,
"having kindly promised to assist me. Mr. Bouncer, will you have the
goodness to follow with the young gentleman to my rooms?"
Leaving Mr. Pucker to express his thanks for this great kindness, and
Mr. Bouncer to plunge him into the depths of trepidation by telling him
terrible _stories_ of the Examiner's fondness for rejecting the
candidates for examination, Mr. Fosbrooke and our hero ascended to the
rooms of the former, where they hastily cleared away cigar-boxes and
pipes, turned certain French pictures with their faces to the wall, and
covered over with an outspread _Times_ a regiment of porter and spirit
bottles which had just been smuggled in, and were drawn up rank-and-file
on the sofa. Having made this preparation, and furnished the table with
pens, ink, and scribble-paper, Mr. Bouncer and the victim were admitted.
"Take a seat, sir," said Mr. Fosbrooke, gravely; and Mr. Pucker put his
hat on the ground, and sat down at the table in a state of blushing
nervousness. "Have you been at a public school?"
"Yes, sir," stammered the victim; "a very public one, sir; it was a
boarding-school, sir; forty boarders, and thirty day-boys, sir; I was a
day-boy, sir, and in the first class."
"First class of an uncommon slow train!" muttered Mr. Bouncer.
"And are you going back to the boarding-school?" asked Mr. Verdant
Green, with the air of an assistant judge.
"No, sir," replied Mr. Pucker, "I have just done with it; quite done
with school, sir, this last half; and papa is going to put me to read
with a clergyman until it is time for me to come to college."
"Refreshing innocence!" murmured Mr. Bouncer; while Mr. Fosbrooke and
our hero conferred together, and hastily wrote on two sheets of the
scribble-paper.
[Illustration]
"Now, sir," said Mr. Fosbrooke to the victim, after a paper had been
completed, "let us see what your Latin writing is like. Have the
goodness to turn what I have written into Latin; and be very careful,
sir," added Mr. Fosbrooke, sternly, "be very careful that it is Cicero's
Latin, sir!" and he handed Mr. Pucker a sheet of paper, on which he had
scribbled the following:
"To be Translated into Prose-y Latin, in the Manner of
Cicero's Orations after Dinner.
"If, therefore, any on your bench, my luds, or in this assembly,
should entertain an opinion that the proximate parts of a
mellifluous mind are for ever conjoined and unconnected, I submit
to you, my luds, that it will of necessity follow, that such
clandestine conduct being a mere nothing,--or, in the noble
language of our philosophers, bosh,--every individual act of overt
misunderstanding will bring interminable limits to the empiricism
of thought, and will rebound in the very lowest degree to the
credit of the malefactor."
"To be Turned into Latin after the Master of the Animals
of Tacitus.
"She went into the garden to cut a cabbage to make an apple-pie.
Just then, a great she-bear coming down the street, poked its nose
into the shop-window. 'What! no soap!' So he died, and she (very
imprudently) married the barber. And there were present at the
wedding the Joblillies, and the Piccannies, and the Gobelites, and
the great Panjandrum himself, with the little button on top. So
they all set to playing Catch-who-catch-can, till the gunpowder
ran out at the heels of their boots."
It was well for the purposes of the hoaxers that Mr. Pucker's
trepidation prevented him from making a calm perusal of the paper; and
he was nervously doing his best to turn the nonsensical English word by
word into equally nonsensical Latin, when his limited powers of Latin
writing were brought to a full stop by the untranslateable word "Bosh."
As he could make nothing of this, he wiped the perspiration from his
forehead, and gazed appealingly at the benignant features of Mr. Verdant
Green. The appealing gaze was answered by our hero ordering Mr. Pucker
to hand in his paper for examination, and to endeavour to answer the
questions which he and his brother examiner had been writing down for
him.
Mr. Pucker took the two papers of questions, and read as follows:
"HISTORY.
"1. Draw a historical parallel (after the manner of Plutarch)
between Hannibal and Annie Laurie.
"2. What internal evidence does the Odyssey afford, that Homer
sold his Trojan war-ballads at three yards an obolus?
"3. Show the strong presumption there is, that Nox was the god of
battles.
"4. State reasons for presuming that the practice of lithography
may be traced back to the time of Perseus and the Gorgon's head.
"5. In what way were the shades on the banks of the Styx supplied
with spirits?
"6. Show the probability of the College Hornpipe having been used
by the students of the Academia; and give passages from Thucydides
and Tennyson in support of your answer.
"7. Give a brief account of the Roman Emperors who visited the
United States, and state what they did there.
"8. Show from the redundancy of the word [Greek: gas] in
Sophocles, that gas must have been used by the Athenians; also
state, if the expression [Greek: oi Bharbaroi] would seem to
signify that they were close shavers.
9. Show from the-words 'Hoc erat in votis,' (Sat. VI., Lib. II.,)
that Horace's favourite wine was hock, and that he meant to say
'he always voted for hock.'
"10. Draw a parallel between the Children in the Wood and Achilles
in the Styx.
"11. When it is stated that Ariadne, being deserted by Theseus,
fell in love with Bacchus, is it the poetical way of asserting
that she took to drinking to drown her grief?
"12. Name the _prima donnas_ who have appeared in the operas of
Virgil and Horace since the 'Virgilii Opera,' and 'Horatii Opera'
were composed."
"EUCLID, ARITHMETIC, and ALGEBRA.
"1. 'The extremities of a line are points.' Prove this by the rule
of railways.
"2. Show the fallacy of defining an angle, as 'a worm at one end
and a fool at the other.'
"3. If one side of a triangle be produced, what is there to
prevent the other two sides from also being brought forward?
"4. Let A and B be squares having their respective boundaries in E
and W. ends, and let C and D be circles moving in them; the circle
D will be superior to the circle C.
"5. In equal circles, equal figures from various squares will
stand upon the same footing.
"6. If two parts of a circle fall out, the one part will cut the
other.
"7. Describe a square which shall be larger than Belgrave Square.
"8. If the gnomon of a sun-dial be divided into two equal, and
also into two unequal parts, what would be its value?
"9. Describe a perpendicular triangle having the squares of the
semi-circle equal to half the extremity between the points of
section.
"10. If an Austrian florin is worth 5.61 francs, what will be the
value of Pennsylvanian bonds? Prove by rule-of-three inverse.
"11. If seven horses eat twenty-five acres of grass in three days,
what will be their condition on the fourth day? Prove by practice.
"12. If a coach-wheel, 6-5/30 in diameter and 5-9/47 in
circumference, makes 240-4/10 revolutions in a second, how many
men will it take to do the same piece of work in ten days?
"13. Find the greatest common measure of a quart bottle of Oxford
port.
"14. Find the value of a 'bob,' a 'tanner,' a 'joey,' and a
'tizzy.'
"15. Explain the common denominators 'brick,' 'trump,' 'spoon,'
'muff,' and state what was the greatest common denominator in the
last term.
"16. Reduce two academical years to their lowest terms.
"17. Reduce a Christ Church tuft to the level of a Teddy Hall man.
"18. If a freshman A have any mouth _x_, and a bottle of wine _y_,
show how many applications of _x_ to _y_ will place _y_+_y_ before
_A_."
Mr. Pucker did not know what to make of such extraordinary and
unexpected questions. He blushed, attempted to write, fingered his
curls, tried to collect his faculties, and then appeared to give himself
over to despair; whereupon little Mr. Bouncer was seized with an
immoderate fit of coughing which had well nigh brought the farce to its
_dénouement_.
"I'm afraid, young gentleman," said Mr. Four-in-hand Fosbrooke, as he
carelessly settled his white tie and bands, "I am afraid, Mr. Pucker,
that your learning is not yet up to the Brazenface standard. We are
particularly cautious about admitting any gentleman whose acquirements
are not of the highest order. But we will be as lenient to you as we are
able, and give you one more chance to retrieve yourself. We will try a
little _vivâ voce_, Mr. Pucker. Perhaps, sir, you will favour me with
your opinions on the Fourth Punic War, and will also give me a slight
sketch of the constitution of ancient Heliopolis."
Mr. Pucker waxed, if possible, redder and hotter than before, he gasped
like a fish out of water; and, like Dryden's prince, "unable to conceal
his pain," he
"Sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd,
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again."
But all was to no purpose: he was unable to frame an answer to Mr.
Fosbrooke's questions.
"Ah, sir," continued his tormentor, "I see that you will not do for us
yet awhile, and I am therefore under the painful necessity of rejecting
you. I should advise you, sir, to read hard for another twelvemonths,
and endeavour to master those subjects in which you have now failed.
For, a young man, Mr. Pucker, who knows nothing about the Fourth Punic
War, and the constitution of ancient Heliopolis, is quite unfit to be
enrolled among the members of such a learned college as Brazenface. Mr.
Pluckem quite coincides with me in this decision." (Here Mr. Verdant
Green gave a Burleigh nod.) "We feel very sorry for you, Mr. Pucker, and
also for your unfortunate family; but we recommend you to add to your
present stock of knowledge, and to keep those visiting-cards for another
twelvemonth." And Mr. Fosbrooke and our hero--disregarding poor Mr.
Pucker's entreaties that they would consider his pa and ma, and would
please to matriculate him this once, and he would read very hard, indeed
he would--turned to Mr. Bouncer and gave some private instructions,
which caused that gentleman immediately to vanish, and seek out Mr.
Robert Filcher.
Five minutes after, that excellent Scout met the dejected Mr. Pucker as
he was crossing the Quad on his way from Mr. Fosbrooke's rooms.
"Beg your pardon, sir," said Mr. Filcher, touching his forehead; for,
as Mr. Filcher, after the manner of his tribe, never was seen in a
head-covering, he was unable to raise his hat or cap; "beg your pardon,
sir! but was you a lookin' for the party as examines the young gents for
their matrickylation?"
"Eh?--no! I have just come from him," replied Mr. Pucker, dolefully.
[Illustration]
"Beg your pardon, sir," remarked Mr. Filcher, "but his rooms ain't that
way at all. Mr. Slowcoach, as is the party you _ought_ to have seed, has
_his_ rooms quite in a hopposite direction, sir; and he's the honly
party as examines the matrickylatin' gents."
"But I _have_ been examined," observed Mr. Pucker, with the air of a
plucked man; "and I am sorry to say that I was rejected, and"----
"I dessay, sir," interrupted Mr. Filcher; "but I think it's a 'oax,
sir!"
"A what?" stammered Mr. Pucker.
"A 'oax--a sell;" replied the Scout, confidentially. "You see, sir, I
think some of the gents have been makin' a little game of you, sir; they
often does with fresh parties like you, sir, that seem fresh and
hinnocent like; and I dessay they've been makin' believe to examine you,
sir, and a pretendin' that you wasn't clever enough. But they don't mean
no harm, sir; it's only their play, bless you!"
"Then," said Mr. Pucker, whose countenance had been gradually clearing
with every word the Scout spoke; "then I'm not really rejected, but have
still a chance of passing my examination?"
"Percisely so, sir," replied Mr. Filcher; "and--hexcuse me, sir, for a
hintin' of it to you,--but, if you would let me adwise you, sir, you
wouldn't go for to mention anythin' about the 'oax to Mr. Slowcoach;
_he_ wouldn't be pleased, sir, and _you'd_ only get laughed at. If you
like to go to him now, sir, I know he's in his rooms, and I'll show you
the way there with the greatest of pleasure."
Mr. Pucker, immensely relieved in mind, gladly put himself under the
Scout's guidance, and was admitted into the presence of Mr. Slowcoach.
In twenty minutes after this he issued from the examining tutor's rooms
with a joyful countenance, and again encountered Mr. Robert Filcher.
"Hope you've done the job this time, sir," said the Scout.
"Yes," replied the radiant Mr. Pucker; "and at two o'clock I am to see
the Vice-chancellor; and I shall be able to come to college this time
next year."
"Werry glad of it, indeed, sir!" observed Mr. Filcher, with genuine
emotion, and an eye to future perquisites; "and I suppose, sir, you
didn't say a word about the 'oax?"
"Not a word!" replied Mr. Pucker.
"Then, sir," said Mr. Filcher, with enthusiasm, "hexcuse me, but you're
a trump, sir! And Mr. Fosbrooke's compliments to you, sir, and he'll be
'appy if you'll come up into his rooms, and take a glass of wine after
the fatigues of the examination. And,--hexcuse me again, sir, for a
hintin' of it to you, but of course you can't be aweer of the customs of
the place, unless somebody tells you on 'em,--I shall be werry glad to
drink your werry good health, sir."
Need it be stated that the blushing Mr. Pucker, delirious with joy at
the sudden change in the state of affairs, and the delightful prospect
of being a member of the University, not only tipped Mr. Filcher a
five-shilling piece, but also paid a second visit to Mr. Fosbrooke's
rooms, where he found that gentleman in his usual costume, and by him
was introduced to the Mr. Pluckem, who now bore the name of Mr. Verdant
Green? Need it be stated that the nervous Mr. Pucker blushed and
laughed, and laughed and blushed, while his two pseudo-examiners took
wine with him in the most friendly manner; Mr. Bouncer pronouncing him
to be "an out-and-outer, and no mistake!" And need it be stated that,
after this undergraduate display of hoaxing, Mr. Verdant Green would
feel exceedingly offended were he still to be called "an Oxford
Freshman"?
CHAPTER III.
MR. VERDANT GREEN ENDEAVOURS TO KEEP HIS SPIRITS UP BY POURING SPIRITS
DOWN.
It was the evening of the fifth of November; the day which the
Protestant youth of England dedicate to the memory of that martyr of
gunpowder, the firework Faux, and which the youth of Oxford, by a three
months' anticipation of the calendar, devote to the celebration of those
scholastic sports for which the day of St. Scholastica the Virgin was
once so famous.[2]
Rumour with its hundred tongues had spread far and wide the news, that a
more than ordinary demonstration would be made of the might of Town, and
that this demonstration would be met by a corresponding increase of
prowess on the side of Gown. It was darkly whispered that the purlieus
of Jericho would send forth champions to the fight. It was mentioned
that the Parish of St. Thomas would be powerfully represented by its
Bargee lodgers. It was confidently reported that St. Aldate's[3] would
come forth in all its olden strength. It was told as a fact that St.
Clement's had departed from the spirit of clemency, and was up in arms.
From an early hour of the evening, the Townsmen had gathered in
threatening groups; and their determined aspect, and words of chaff, had
told of the coming storm. It was to be a tremendous Town and Gown!
The Poet has forcibly observed--
"Strange that there should such diff'rence be,
'Twixt Tweedledum and Tweedledee!"
But the difference between Town and Gown, is not to be classed with the
Tweedledum and Tweedledee difference. It is something more than a mere
difference of two letters. The lettered Gown lorded it over the
unlettered Town: the plebeian Town was perpetually snubbed by the
aristocratic Gown. If Gown even wished to associate with Town, he could
only do so under certain restrictions imposed by the statutes; and Town
was thus made to feel exceedingly honoured by the gracious condescension
of Gown. But Town, moreover, maintained its existence, that it might
contribute to the pleasure and amusements, the needs and necessities, of
Gown. And very expensively was Town occasionally made to pay for its
existence; so expensively indeed, that if it had not been for the great
interest which Town assumed on Gown's account, the former's
business-life would have soon failed. But, on many accounts, or rather,
_in_ many accounts, Gown was deeply indebted to Town; and, although Gown
was often loth to own the obligation, yet Town never forgot it, but
always placed it to Gown's credit. Occasionally, in his early freshness,
Gown would seek to compensate Town for his obliging favours; but Town
would gently run counter to this wish, and preferred that the evidences
of Gown's friendly intercourse with him should accumulate, until he
could, with renewed interest (as we understand from the authority of an
aged pun), obtain his payments by Degrees.
When Gown was absent, Town was miserable: it was dull; it did nothing;
it lost its customer-y application to business. When Gown returned,
there was no small change,--the benefit was a sovereign one to Town.
Notes, too, passed between them; of which, those received by Town were
occasionally of intrinsic value. Town thanked Gown for these,--even
thanked him when his civility had only been met by checks,--and
smirked, and fawned, and flattered; and Gown patronised Town, and was
offensively condescending. What a relief then must it have been to the
pent-up feelings of Town, when the Saturnalia of a Guy-Faux day brought
its usual license, and Town could stand up against Gown and try a game
of fisticuffs! And if, when there was a cry "To arms!" we could always
settle the dispute in an English fashion with those arms with which we
have been supplied by nature, there would then, perhaps, be fewer
weeping widows and desolate orphans in the world than there are just at
present.
On the evening of the fifth of November, then, Mr. Bouncer's rooms were
occupied by a wine-party; and, among the gentlemen assembled, we noticed
(as newspaper reporters say), Mr. Verdant Green, Mr. Charles Larkyns,
Mr. Fosbrooke, Mr. Smalls, and Mr. Blades. The table was liberally
supplied with wine; and a "desert at eighteen-pence per head,"--as Mr.
Bouncer would afterwards be informed through the medium of his
confectioner's bill;--and, while an animated conversation was being held
on the expected Town and Gown, the party were fortifying themselves for
the _émeute_ by a rapid consumption of the liquids before them. Our
hero, and some of the younger ones of the party, who had not yet left
off their juvenile likings, were hard at work at the dessert in that
delightful, disregardless-of-dyspepsia manner, in which boys so love to
indulge, even when they have passed into University _men_. As usual,
the _bouquet_ of the wine was somewhat interfered with by those narcotic
odours, which, to a smoker, are as the gales of Araby the Blest.
Mr. Blades was conspicuous among the party, not only from his
dimensions,--or, as he phrased it, from "his breadth of beam,"--but also
from his free-and-easy costume. "To get himself into wind," as he
alleged, Mr. Blades had just been knocking the wind out of the
Honourable Flexible Shanks (youngest son of the Earl of Buttonhole), a
Tuft from Christ Church, who had left his luxurious rooms in the
Canterbury Quad chiefly for the purpose of preparing himself for the
forthcoming Town and Gown, by putting on the gloves with his boating
friend. The bout having terminated by Mr. Flexible Shanks having been
sent backwards into a tray of wine-glasses with which Mr. Filcher was
just entering the room, the gloves were put aside, and the combatants
had an amicable set-to at a bottle of Carbonell's "Forty-four," which
Mr. Bouncer brought out of a wine-closet in his bedroom for their
especial delectation. Mr. Blades, who was of opinion that, in dress,
ease should always be consulted before elegance, had not resumed that
part of his attire of which he had divested himself for fistianic
purposes; and, with a greater display of linen than is usually to be
seen in society, was seated comfortably in a lounging chair, smoking the
pipe of peace. Since he had achieved the proud feat of placing the
Brazenface boat at the head of the river, Mr. Blades had gained
increased renown, more especially in his own college, where he was
regarded in the light of a tutelary river deity; and, as training was
not going on, he was now enabled to indulge in a second glass of wine,
and also in the luxury of a cigar. Mr. Blades's shirt-sleeves were
turned up so as to display the anatomical proportion of his arms; and
little Mr. Bouncer, with the grave aspect of a doctor feeling a pulse,
was engaged in fingering his deltoid and biceps muscles, and in uttering
panegyrics on his friend's torso-of-Hercules condition.
"My gum, Billy!" (it must be observed, _en passant_, that, although the
name given to Mr. Blades at an early age was Frank, yet that when he was
not called "old Blades," he was always addressed as "Billy,"--it being a
custom which has obtained in universities, that wrong names should be
familiarly given to certain gentlemen, more as a mark of friendly
intimacy than of derision or caprice.) "My gum, Billy!" observed Mr.
Bouncer, "you're as hard as nails! What an extensive assortment of
muscles you've got on hand,--to say nothing about the arms. I wish I'd
got such a good stock in trade for our customers to-night; I'd soon
sarve 'em out, and make 'em sing peccavi."
"The fact is," said Mr. Flexible Shanks, who was leaning smoking against
the mantelpiece behind him, "Billy is like a respectable family of
bivalves--he is nothing but mussels."
"Or like an old Turk," joined in Mr. Bouncer, "for he's a regular
Mussulman."
"Oh! Shanks! Bouncer!" cried Charles Larkyns, "what stale jokes! Do open
the window, somebody,--it's really offensive."
"Ah!" said Mr. Blades, modestly, "you only just wait till Footelights
brings the Pet, and then you'll see real muscles."
"It was rather a good move," said Mr. Cheke, a gentleman commoner of
Corpus, who was lounging in an easy chair smoking a meerschaum through
an elastic tube a yard long,--"it was rather a good move of yours,
Fossy," he said, addressing himself to Mr. Four-in-hand Fosbrooke, "to
secure the Pet's services. The feller will do us some service, and will
astonish the _oi polloi_ no end."
"Oh! how prime it _will_ be," cried little Mr. Bouncer, in ecstacies
with the prospect before him, "to see the Pet pitching into the cads,
and walking into their small affections with his one, two, three! And
don't I just pity them when he gets them into Chancery! Were you ever in
Chancery, Giglamps?"
"No, indeed!" replied the innocent Mr. Verdant Green; "and I hope that I
shall always keep out of it; lawsuits are so very disagreeable and
expensive."
[Illustration]
Mr. Bouncer had only time to remark _sotto voce_ to Mr. Flexible Shanks,
"it is so jolly refreshing to take a rise out of old Giglamps!" when a
knock at the oak was heard; and, as Mr. Bouncer roared out, "Come in!"
the knocker entered. He was rather dressy in his style of costume, and
wore his long dark hair parted in the middle. Opening the door, and
striking into an attitude, he exclaimed in a theatrical tone and manner:
"Scene, Mr. Bouncer's rooms in Brazenface: in the centre a table, at
which Mr. B. and party are discovered drinking log-juice, and smoking
cabbage-leaves. Door, left, third entrance; enter the Putney Pet. Slow
music; lights half-down." And standing on one side, the speaker motioned
to a second gentleman to enter the room.
There was no mistaking the profession of this gentleman; even the
inexperience of Mr. Verdant Green did not require to be informed that
the Putney Pet was a prizefighter. "Bruiser" was plainly written in his
personal appearance, from his hard-featured, low-browed, battered,
hang-dog face, to his thickset frame, and the powerful muscular
development of the upper part of his person. His close-cropped thatch of
hair was brushed down tightly to his head, but was permitted to burst
into the luxuriance of two small ringlets, which dangled in front of
each huge ear, and were as carefully curled and oiled as though they had
graced the face of beauty. The Pet was attired in a dark olive-green
cutaway coat, buttoned over a waistcoat of a violent-coloured plaid,--a
pair of white cord trousers that fitted tightly to the leg,--and a
white-spotted blue handkerchief, which was twisted round a neck that
might have served as a model for the Minotaur's. In his mouth, the Pet
cherished, according to his wont, a sprig of parsley; small fragments of
which herb he was accustomed to chew and spit out, as a pleasing relief
to the monotony of conversation.
The Pet, after having been proclaimed victor in more than one of those
playfully frolicsome "Frolics of the Fancy," in which nobly born but
ignobly-minded "Corinthians" formerly invested so much interest and
money, had at length matched his powers against the gentleman who bore
the title of "the champion of the ring;" but, after a protracted contest
of two hours and a half, in which one hundred and nineteen rounds had
been fought, the Pet's eyes had been completely closed up by an amusing
series of blows from the heavy fists of the more skilful champion; and
as the Pet, moreover, was so battered and bruised, and was altogether so
"groggy" that he was barely able to stand up to be knocked down, his
humane second had thrown up the sponge in acknowledgment of his defeat.
But though unable to deprive the champion of his belt, yet--as
_Tintinnabulum's Life_ informed its readers on the following Sunday, in
its report of this "matchless encounter,"--the Putney Pet had
"established a reputation;" and a reputation is a reputation, even
though it be one which may be offensive to the nostrils. Retiring,
therefore, from the more active public-duties of his profession, he took
unto himself a wife and a beershop,--for it seems to be a freak of "the
Fancy," when they retire from one public line to go into another,--and
placing the former in charge of the latter, the Pet came forth to the
world as a "Professor of the noble art of Self-defence."
It was in this phase of his existence, that Mr. Fosbrooke had the
pleasure of forming his acquaintance. Mr. Fosbrooke had received a card,
which intimated that the Pet would have great pleasure in giving him
"_lessons in the noble and manly art of Self-defence, either at the
gentleman's own residence, or at the Pet's spacious Sparring Academy, 5,
Cribb Court, Drury Lane, which is fitted up with every regard to the
comfort and convenience of his pupils. Gloves are provided.
N.B.--Ratting sports at the above crib every evening. Plenty of rats
always on hand. Use of the Pit gratis._" Mr. Fosbrooke, having come to
the wise conclusion that every Englishman ought to know how to be able
to use his fists in case of need, and being quite of the opinion of the
gentleman who said:--"my son should even learn to box, for do we not
meet with imposing toll-keepers, and insolent cabmen? and, as he can't
call them out, he should be able to knock them down,"[4] at once put
himself under the Pet's tuition; and, as we have before seen, still kept
up his practice with the gloves, when he had got to his own rooms at
Brazenface.
But the Pet had other Oxford pupils than Mr. Fosbrooke; and he took such
an affectionate interest in their welfare, that he came down from Town
two or three times in each term, to see if his pupils' practice had made
them perfect in the art. One of the Pet's pupils, was the gentleman who
had now introduced him to Mr. Bouncer's rooms. His name was Foote, but
he was commonly called "Footelights;" the addition having been made to
his name by way of _sobriquet_ to express his unusual fondness for the
stage, which amounted to so great a passion, that his very conversation
was redolent of "the footlights." He had only been at St. John's a
couple of terms, and Mr. Fosbrooke had picked up his acquaintance
through the medium of the Pet, and had afterwards made him known to most
of the men who were now assembled at Mr. Bouncer's wine.
"Your servant, gents!" said the Pet, touching his forehead, and making a
scrape with his leg, by way of salutation.
"Hullo, Pet!" returned Mr. Bouncer; "bring yourself to an anchor, my
man." The Pet accordingly anchored himself by dropping on to the edge
of a chair, and placing his hat underneath it; while Huz and Buz smelt
suspiciously round his legs, and looked at him with an expression of
countenance which bore a wonderful resemblance to that which they gazed
upon.
"Never mind the dogs; they're amiable little beggars," observed Mr.
Bouncer, "and they never bite any one except in play. Now then, Pet,
what sort of liquors are you given to? Here are Claret liquors, Port
liquors, Sherry liquors, egg-flip liquors, Cup liquors. You pays your
money, and you takes your choice!"
"Well, sir, thankee!" replied the Pet, "I ain't no ways pertikler, but if
you _have_ sich a thing as a glass o' sperrits, I'd prefer that--if not
objectionable."
"In course not, Pet! always call for what you like. We keep all sorts of
liquors, and are allowed to get drunk on the premises. Ain't we,
Giglamps?" Firing this raking shot as he passed our hero, little Mr.
Bouncer dived into the cupboard which served as his wine-bin, and
brought therefrom two bottles of brandy and whiskey which he set before
the Pet. "If you like gin or rum, or cherry-brandy, or old-tom, better
than these liquors," said Mr. Bouncer, astonishing the Pet with the
resources of a College wine-cellar, "just say the word, and you shall
have them. 'I can call spirits from the vasty deep;' as Shikspur says.
How will you take it, Pet? Neat, or adulterated? Are you for _callidum
cum_, or _frigidum sine_--for hot-with, or cold-without?"
"I generally takes my sperrits 'ot, sir--if not objectionable;" replied
the Pet deferentially. Whereupon Mr. Bouncer seizing his
speaking-trumpet, roared through it from the top of the stairs,
"Rob-ert! Rob-ert!" But, as Mr. Filcher did not answer the summons, Mr.
Bouncer threw up the window of his room, and bellowed out "Rob-ert" in
tones which must have been perfectly audible in the High Street. "Doose
take the feller, he's always over at the Buttery;" said the incensed
gentleman.
"I'll go up to old Sloe's room, and get his kettle," said Mr. Smalls;
"he teas all day long to keep himself awake for reading. If he don't
mind, he'll blow himself up with his gunpowder tea before he can take
his double-first."
By the time Mr. Smalls had re-appeared with the kettle, Mr. Filcher had
thought it prudent to answer his master's summons.
"Did you call, sir?" asked the Scout, as though he was doubtful on that
point.
"Call!" said Mr. Bouncer, with great irony; "oh, no! of course not! I
should rather think not! Do you suppose that you are kept here that
parties may have the chance of hollering out their lungs for you? Don't
answer me, sir! but get some hot water, and some more glasses; and be
quick about it." Mr. Filcher was gone immediately; and, in three
minutes, everything was settled to Mr. Bouncer's satisfaction, and he
gave Mr. Filcher farther orders to bring up coffee and anchovy toast, at
half-past eight o'clock. "Now, Pet, my beauty!" said the little
gentleman, "you just walk into the liquors; because you've got some
toughish work before you, you know."
[Illustration]
The Pet did not require any pressing, but did as he was told; and,
bestowing a collective nod on the company, drank their healths with the
prefatory remark, "I looks to-_wards_ you gents!"
"Will you poke a smipe, Pet?" asked Mr. Bouncer, rather enigmatically;
but, as he at the same time placed before the Pet a "yard of clay" and a
box of cigars, the professor of the art of self-defence perceived that
he was asked to smoke a pipe.
"That's right, Pet!" said the Honourable Flexible Shanks,
condescendingly, as the prizefighter scientifically filled the bowl of
his pipe; "I'm glad to see you join us in a bit of smoke. We're all
_Baccy_-nalians now!"
"Shanks, you're incorrigible!" said Charles Larkyns; "and don't you
remember what _the Oxford Parodies_ say?" and, in his clear, rich voice,
Mr. Larkyns sang the two following verses to the air of "Love not:"--
Smoke not, smoke not, your weeds nor pipes of clay!
Cigars they are made from leaves of cauliflowers;--
Things that are doomed no duty e'er to pay;--
Grown, made, and smoked in a few short hours.
Smoke not--smoke not!
Smoke not, smoke not, the weed you smoke may change
The healthfulness of your stomachic tone;
Things to the eye grow queer and passing strange;
All thoughts seem undefined--save one--to be alone!
Smoke not--smoke not!
"I know what you're thinking about, Giglamps," said Mr. Bouncer, as
Charles Larkyns ceased his parody amid an approving clatter of glasses;
"you were thinking of your first weed on the night of Small's quiet
party: wer'nt you now, old feller? Ah, you've learnt to poke a smipe,
beautiful, since then. Pet, here's your health. I'll give you a toast
and sentiment, gentlemen. May the Gown give the Town a jolly good
hiding!" The sentiment was received with great applause, and the toast
was drunk with all the honours, and followed by the customary but
inappropriate chorus, "For he's a jolly good fellow!" without the
singing of which Mr. Bouncer could not allow any toast to pass.
"How many cads could you lick at once, one off and the other on?" asked
Mr. Fosbrooke of the Pet, with the air of Boswell when he wanted to draw
out the Doctor.
"Well, sir," said the Pet, with the modesty of true genius, "I wouldn't
be pertickler to a score or so, as long as I'd got my back well up agin
some'ut, and could hit out."
"What an effective tableau it would be!" observed Mr. Foote, who had
always an eye to dramatic situations. "Enter the Pet, followed by twenty
townspeople. First T.P.--Yield, traitor! Pet--Never! the man who would
yield when ordered to do so, is unworthy the name of a Pet and an
Englishman! Floors the twenty T.P.'s one after the other. Tableau, blue
fire. Why, it would surpass the British sailor's broadsword combat for
six, and bring down the house."
"Talking of bringing down," said Mr. Blades, "did you remember to bring
down a cap and gown for the Pet, as I told you?"
"Well, I believe those _were_ the stage directions," answered Mr. Foote;
"but, really, the wardrobe was so ill provided that it would only supply
a cap. But perhaps that will do for a super."
"If by a super you mean a supernumerary, Footelights," said Mr. Cheke,
the gentleman Commoner of Corpus, "then the Pet isn't one. He's the
leading character of what you would call the _dramatis personæ_."
"True," replied Mr. Foote, "he's cast for the hero; though he will
create a new _rôle_ as the walking-into-them gentleman."
"You see, Footelights," said Mr. Blades, "that the Pet is to lead our
forces; and we depend upon him to help us on to victory: and we must put
him into academicals, not only because the town cads must think he is
one of us, but also because the proctors might otherwise deprive us of
his services--and old Towzer, the Senior Proctor, in particular, is sure
to be all alive. Who's got an old gown?"
"I will lend mine with pleasure," said Mr. Verdant Green.
"But you'll want it yourself," said Mr. Blades.
"Why, thank you," faltered our hero, "I'd rather, I think, keep within
college. I can see the--the fun--yes, the fun--from the window."
"Oh, blow it, Giglamps!" ejaculated Mr. Bouncer, "you'll never go to do
the mean, and show the white feather, will you?"
"Music expressive of trepidation," murmured Mr. Foote, by way of
parenthesis.
"But," pursued our hero, apologetically, "there will be, I dare say, a
large crowd."
"A very powerful _caste_, no doubt," observed Mr. Foote.
"And I may get my--yes, my spectacles broken; and then"----
"And then, Giglamps," said Mr. Bouncer, "why, and then you shall be
presented with another pair as a testimonial of affection from yours
truly. Come, Giglamps, don't do the mean! a man of your standing, and
with a chest like that!" and the little gentleman sounded on our hero's
shirt-front, as doctors do when they stethoscope a patient. "Come,
Giglamps, old feller, you mustn't refuse. You didn't ought to was, as
Shakspeare says."
"Pardon me! Not Shakspeare, but Wright, in the 'Green Bushes,'"
interrupted Mr. Foote, who was as painfully anxious as Mr. Payne Collier
himself that the text of the great poet should be free from corruptions.
So Mr. Verdant Green, reluctantly, it must be confessed, suffered
himself to be persuaded to join that section of the Gown which was to be
placed under the leadership of the redoubted Pet; while little Mr.
Bouncer, who had gone up into Mr. Sloe's rooms, and had vainly
endeavoured to persuade that gentleman to join in the forthcoming
_mêlée_, returned with an undergraduate's gown, and forthwith invested
the Pet with it.
"I don't mind this 'ere mortar-board, sir," remarked the professor of
the noble art of self-defence, as he pointed to the academical cap which
surmounted his head, "I don't mind the mortar-board, sir; but I shall
never be able to do nothink with this 'ere toggery on my shudders. I
couldn't use my mawleys no how!" And the Pet illustrated his remark in a
professional manner, by sparring at an imaginary opponent in a feeble
and unscientific fashion.
"But you can tie the tail-curtain round your shoulders--like this!" said
Mr. Fosbrooke, as he twisted his own gown tightly round him.
But the Pet had taken a decided objection to the drapery: "The costume
would interfere with the action," as Mr. Foote remarked, "and the
management of a train requires great practice."
"You see, sir," said the Pet, "I ain't used to the feel of it, and I
couldn't go to business properly, or give a straight nosender no how.
But the mortar-board ain't of so much consekvence." So a compromise was
made; and it was agreed that the Pet was to wear the academicals until
he had arrived at the scene of action, where he could then pocket the
gown, and resume it on any alarm of the Proctor's approach.
"Here, Giglamps, old feller! get a priming of fighting-powder!" said
little Mr. Bouncer to our hero, as the party were on the point of
sallying forth; "it'll make you hit out from your shoulder like a
steam-engine with the chill off." And, as Mr. Bouncer whispered to
Charles Larkyns,
"So he kept his spirits up
By pouring spirits down,"
Verdant--who felt extremely nervous, either from excitement or from
fear, or from a pleasing mixture of both sensations--drank off a deep
draught of something which was evidently not drawn from Nature's spring
or the college pump; for it first took away his breath, and made his
eyes water; and it next made him cough, and endeavour to choke himself;
and it then made his face flush, and caused him to declare that "the
first snob who 'sulted him should have a sound whopping."
"Brayvo, Giglamps!" cried little Mr. Bouncer, as he patted him on the
shoulder; "come along! You're the right sort of fellow for a Town and
Gown, after all!"
CHAPTER IV.
MR. VERDANT GREEN DISCOVERS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN TOWN AND GOWN.
It was ten minutes past nine, and Tom,[5] with sonorous voice, was
ordering all College gates to be shut, when the wine party, which had
just left Mr. Bouncer's room, passed round the corner of St. Mary's, and
dashed across the High. The Town and Grown had already begun.
As usual, the Town had taken the initiative; and, in a dense body, had
made their customary sweep of the High Street, driving all before them.
After this gallant exploit had been accomplished to the entire
satisfaction of the oppidans, the Town had separated into two or three
portions, which had betaken themselves to the most probable fighting
points, and had gone where glory waited them, thirsting for the blood,
or, at any rate, for the bloody noses of the gowned aristocrats. Woe
betide the luckless gownsman, who, on such an occasion, ventures abroad
without an escort, or trusts to his own unassisted powers to defend
himself! He is forthwith pounced upon by some score of valiant Townsmen,
who are on the watch for these favourable opportunities for a display of
their personal prowess, and he may consider himself very fortunate if he
is able to get back to his College with nothing worse than black eyes
and bruises. It is so seldom that the members of the Oxford snobocracy
have the privilege afforded them of using their fists on the faces and
persons of the members of the Oxford aristocracy, that when they _do_
get the chance, they are unwilling to let it slip through their fingers.
Dark tales have, indeed, been told, of solitary and unoffending
undergraduates having, on such occasions, not only received a severe
handling from those same fingers, but also having been afterwards,
through their agency, bound by their own leading strings to the rails of
the Radcliffe, and there left ignominiously to struggle, and shout for
assistance. And darker tales still have been told of luckless Gownsmen
having been borne "leg and wing" fashion to the very banks of the Isis,
and there ducked, amidst the jeers and taunts of their persecutors. But
such tales as these are of too dreadful a nature for the conversation of
Gownsmen, and are very properly believed to be myths scandalously
propagated by the Town.
The crescent moon shone down on Mr. Bouncer's party, and gave ample
light
To light _them_ on _their_ prey.
A noise and shouting,--which quickly made our hero's Bob-Acreish
resolutions ooze out at his fingers' ends,--was heard coming from the
direction of Oriel Street; and a small knot of Gownsmen, who had been
cut off from a larger body, appeared, manfully retreating with their
faces to the foe, fighting as they fell back, but driven by superior
numbers up the narrow street, by St. Mary's Hall, and past the side of
Spiers's shop into the High Street.
[Illustration]
"Gown to the rescue!" shouted Mr. Blades, as he dashed across the
street; "come on, Pet! here we are in the thick of it, just in the nick
of time!" and, closely followed by Charles Larkyns, Mr. Fosbrooke, Mr.
Smalls, Mr. Bouncer, Mr. Flexible Shanks, Mr. Cheke, Mr. Foote, and our
hero, and the rest of the party, they soon plunged _in medias res_.
The movement was particularly well-timed, for the small body of Gownsmen
were beginning to get roughly handled; but the succour afforded by the
Pet and his party soon changed the aspect of affairs; and, after a brief
skirmish, there was a temporary cessation of hostilities. As
reinforcements poured in on either side, the mob which represented the
Town, wavered, and spread themselves across on each side of the High;
while a huge, lumbering bargeman, who appeared to be the generalissimo
of their forces, delivered himself of a brief but energetic speech, in
which he delivered his opinion of Gownsmen in general, and his immediate
foes in particular, in a way which would have to be expressed in proper
print chiefly by blanks, and which would have assuredly entailed upon
him a succession of five-shilling fines, had he been in a court of
justice, and before a magistrate.
"Here's a pretty blank, I don't think!" he observed in conclusion, as he
pointed to Mr. Verdant Green, who was nervously settling his spectacles,
and wishing himself safe back in his own rooms; "I would'nt give a blank
for such a blank blank. I'm blank, if he don't look as though he'd
swaller'd a blank codfish, and had bust out into blank barnacles!" As
the Bargee was apparently regarded by his party as a gentleman of
infinite humour, his highly-flavoured blank remarks were received by
them with shouts of laughter; while our hero obtained far more of the
_digito monstrari_ share of public notice than he wished for.
[Illustration]
For some brief space, the warfare between the rival parties of Town and
Gown continued to be one merely of words--a mutual discharge of _epea
pteroenta_ (_vulgariter_ "chaff"), in which a small amount of sarcasm
was mingled with a large share of vituperation. At length, a slang rhyme
of peculiar offensiveness was used to a Wadham gentleman, which so
exasperated him that he immediately, by way of a forcible reply, sent
his fist full into the speaker's face. On this, a collision took place
between those who formed the outside of the crowd; and the Gowns flocked
together to charge _en masse_. Mr. Verdant Green was not quite aware of
this sudden movement, and, for a moment, was cut off from the rest. This
did not escape the eyes of the valiant Bargee, who had already singled
out our hero as the one whom he could most easily punish, with the least
chance of getting quick returns for his small profits. Forthwith,
therefore, he rushed to his victim, and aimed a heavy blow at him, which
Verdant only half avoided by stooping. Instinctively doubling his fists,
our hero found that Necessity was, indeed, the mother of Invention; and,
with a passing thought of what would be his mother's and Aunt Virginia's
feelings could they see him fighting in the public streets with a common
bargeman, he contrived to guard off the second blow. But at the next
furious lunge of the Bargee he was not quite so fortunate, and,
receiving that gentleman's heavy fist full in his forehead, he
staggered backwards, and was only prevented from measuring his length on
the pavement by falling against the iron gates of St. Mary's. The
delighted Bargee was just on the point of putting the _coup de grâce_ to
his attack, when, to Verdant's inexpressible delight and relief, his
lumbering antagonist was sent sprawling by a well-directed blow on his
right ear. Charles Larkyns, who had kept a friendly eye on our hero, had
spied his condition, and had sprung to his assistance. He was closely
followed by the Pet, who had divested himself of the gown which had
encumbered his shoulders, and was now freely striking out in all
directions. The fight had become general, and fresh combatants had
sprung up on either side.
"Keep close to me, Verdant," said Charles Larkyns,--quite unnecessarily,
by the way, as our hero had no intention of doing otherwise until he saw
a way to escape; "keep close to me, and I'll take care you are not
hurt."
[Illustration]
"Here ye are!" cried the Pet, as he set his back against the stone-work
flanking the iron gates of the church, immediately in front of one of
the curiously twisted pillars of the Porch;[6] "come on, half a dozen of
ye, and let me have a rap at your smellers!" and he looked at the mob in
the "Come one, come all defiant" fashion of Fitz-James; while Charles
Larkyns and Verdant set their backs against the church gates, and
prepared for a rush.
The Bargee came up furious, and hit out wildly at Charles Larkyns; but
science was more than a match for brute force; and, after receiving two
or three blows which caused him to shake his head in a don't-like-it
sort of way, he endeavoured to turn his attention to Mr. Verdant Green,
who, with head in air, was taking the greatest care of his spectacles,
and endeavouring to ward off the indiscriminate lunges of half a dozen
townsmen. The Bargee's charitable designs on our hero were, however,
frustrated by the opportune appearance of Mr. Blades and Mr. Cheke, the
gentleman-commoner of Corpus, who, in their turn, were closely followed
by Mr. Smalls and Mr. Flexible Shanks; and Mr. Blades exclaiming,
"There's a smasher for your ivories, my fine fellow!" followed up his
remark with a practical application of his fist to the part referred to;
whereupon the Bargee fell back with a howl, and gave vent to several
curse-ory observations, and blank remarks.
[Illustration]
All this time the Pet was laying about him in the most determined
manner; and, to judge from his professional observations, his scientific
acquirements were in full play. He had agreeable remarks for each of his
opponents; and, doubtless, the punishment which they received from his
stalwart arms came with more stinging force when the parts affected were
pointed out by his illustrative language. To one gentleman he would
pleasantly observe, as he tapped him on the chest, "Bellows to mend for
you, my buck!" or else, "There's a regular rib-roaster for you!" or
else, in the still more elegant imagery of the Bing, "There's a
squelcher in the bread-basket, that'll stop _your_ dancing, my kivey!"
While to another he would cheerfully remark, "Your head-rails were
loosened there, wasn't they?" or, "How about the kissing-trap?" or,
"That draws the bung from the beer-barrel I'm a thinkin'." While to
another he would say, as a fact not to be disputed, "You napp'd it
heavily on your whisker-bed, didn't you?" or, "That'll raise a tidy
mouse on your ogle, my lad!" or, "That'll take the bark from your
nozzle, and distil the Dutch pink for you, won't it?" While to another
he would mention as an interesting item of news, "Now we'll tap your
best October!" or, "There's a crack on your snuff-box!" or, "That'll
damage your potato-trap!" Or else he would kindly inquire of one
gentleman, "What d'ye ask a pint for your cochineal dye?" or would
amiably recommend another that, as his peepers were a goin' fast, he'd
best put up the shutters, because the early-closing movement ought to be
follered out. All this was done in the cheeriest manner; while, at the
same time, the Pet proved himself to be not only a perfect master of his
profession, but also a skilful adept in those figures of speech, or
"nice derangements of epitaphs," as Mrs. Malaprop calls them, in which
the admirers of the fistic art so much delight. At every blow, a fresh
opponent either fell or staggered off; the supremacy of the Pet was
complete, and his claim to be considered a Professor of the noble and
manly art of Self-defence was triumphantly established. "The Putney Pet"
was a decidedly valuable acquisition to the side of Gown.
Soon the crowd became thinner, as those of the Town who liked to give,
but not to receive hard blows, stole off to other quarters; and the Pet
and his party would have been left peaceably to themselves. But this was
not what they wanted, as long as fighting was going on elsewhere; even
Mr. Verdant Green began to feel desperately courageous as the Town took
to their heels, and fled; and, having performed prodigies of valour in
almost knocking down a small cad who had had the temerity to attack him,
our hero felt himself to be a hero indeed, and announced his intention
of pursuing the mob, and sticking close to Charles Larkyns,--taking
especial care to do the latter.
"All the savage soul of _fight_ was up;"
and the Gown following the scattered remnant of the flying Town, ran
them round by All Saints' Church, and up the Turl.
Here another Town and Gown party had fought their way from the
Corn-market; and the Gown, getting considerably the worst of the
conflict, had taken refuge within Exeter College by the express order of
the Senior Proctor, the Rev. Thomas Tozer, more familiarly known as "old
Towzer." He had endeavoured to assert his proctorial authority over the
mob of the townspeople; but the _profanum vulgus_ had not only scoffed
and jeered him, but had even torn his gown, and treated his velvet
sleeves with the indignity of mud; while the only fireworks which had
been exhibited on that evening had been let off in his very face. Pushed
on, and hustled by the mob, and only partially protected by his Marshal
and Bull-dogs,[7] he was saved from further indignity by the arrival of
a small knot of Gownsmen, who rushed to his rescue. Their number was too
small, however, to make head against the mob, and the best that they
could do was to cover the Proctor's retreat. Now, the Rev. Thomas Tozer
was short, and inclined to corpulence, and, although not wanting for
courage, yet the exertion of defending himself from a superior force,
was not only a fruitless one, but was, moreover, productive of much
unpleasantness and perspiration. Deeming, therefore, that discretion was
the better part of valour, he fled, (like those who tended, or _ought_
to have attended to, the flocks of Mr. Norval, Sen.)
"for safety and for succour;"
and, being rather short of the necessary article of wind, by the time
that he had reached Exeter College, he had barely breath enough left to
tell the porter to keep the gate shut until he had assembled a body of
Gownsmen to assist him in capturing those daring ringleaders of the mob
who had set his authority at defiance. This was soon done; the call to
arms was made, and every Exeter man who was not already out, ran to "old
Towzer's" assistance.
"Now, Porter," said Mr. Tozer, "unbar the gate without noise, and I will
look forth to observe the position of the mob. Gentlemen, hold
yourselves in readiness to secure the ringleaders."
The porter undid the wicket, and the Rev. Thomas Tozer cautiously put
forth his head. It was a rash act; for, no sooner had his nose appeared
round the edge of the wicket, than it received a flattening blow from
the fist of an active gentleman who, like a clever cricketer, had been
on the lookout for an opportunity to get in to his adversary's wicket.
"Oh, this is painful! this is very painful!" ejaculated Mr. Tozer, as he
rapidly drew in his head. "Close the wicket directly, porter, and keep
it fast." It was like closing the gates of Hougomont. The active
gentleman who had damaged Mr. Tozer's nose threw himself against the
wicket, his comrades assisted him, and the porter had some difficulty in
obeying the Proctor's orders.
"Oh, this is painful!" murmured the Rev. Thomas Tozer, as he applied a
handkerchief to his bleeding nose; "this is painful, this is very
painful! this is exceedingly painful, gentlemen!"
He was immediately surrounded by sympathising undergraduates, who begged
him to allow them at once to charge the Town; but "old Towzer's" spirit
seemed to have been aroused by the indignity to which he had been forced
so publicly to submit, and he replied that, as soon as the bleeding had
ceased, he would lead them forth in person. An encouraging cheer
followed this courageous resolve, and was echoed from without by the
derisive applause of the Town.
[Illustration]
When Mr. Tozer's nose had ceased to bleed, the signal was given for the
gates to be thrown open; and out rushed Proctor, Marshall, Bull-dogs,
and undergraduates. The Town was in great force, and the fight became
desperate. To the credit of the Town, be it said, they discarded
bludgeons and stones, and fought, in John Bull fashion, with their
fists. Scarcely a Stick was to be seen. Singling out his man, Mr. Tozer
made at him valiantly, supported by his Bull-dogs, and a small band of
Gownsmen. But the heavy gown and velvet sleeves were a grievous
hindrance to the Proctor's prowess; and, although supported on either
side by his two attendant Bull-dogs, yet the weight of his robes made
poor Mr. Tozer almost as harmless as the blind King of Bohemia between
his two faithful knights at the battle of Crecy; and, as each of the
party had to look to, and fight for himself, the Senior Proctor soon
found himself in an awkward predicament.
The cry of "Gown to the rescue!" therefore, fell pleasantly on his ears;
and the reinforcement headed by Mr. Charles Larkyns and his party,
materially improved the aspect of affairs on the side of Gown. Knocking
down a cowardly fellow, who was using his heavy-heeled boots on the body
of a prostrate undergraduate, Mr. Blades, closely followed by the Pet,
dashed in to the Proctor's assistance; and never in a Town and Gown was
assistance more timely rendered; for the Rev. Thomas Tozer had just
received his first knock-down blow! By the help of Mr. Blades the fallen
chieftain was quickly replaced upon his legs; while the Pet stepped
before him, and struck out skilfully right and left. Ten more minutes of
scientific pugilism, and the fate of the battle was decided. The Town
fled every way; some round the corner by Lincoln College; some up the
Turl towards Trinity; some down Ship Street; and some down by Jesus
College, and Market Street. A few of the more resolute made a stand in
Broad Street; but it was of no avail; and they received a sound
punishment at the hands of the Gown, on the spot, where, some three
centuries before, certain mitred Gownsmen had bravely suffered
martyrdom.[8]
Now, the Rev. Thomas Tozer was a strict disciplinarian, and, although he
had so materially benefited by the Pet's assistance, yet, when he
perceived that that pugilistic gentleman was not possessed of the full
complement of academical attire, the duties of the Proctor rose superior
to the gratitude of the Man; and, with all the sternness of an ancient
Roman Father, he said to the Pet, "Why have you not on your gown, sir?"
[Illustration]
"I ax your pardon, guv'nor!" replied the Pet, deferentially; "I didn't
so much care about the mortar-board, but I couldn't do nothin' nohow
with the t'other thing, so I pocketted him; but some cove must have gone
and prigged him, for he ain't here."
"I am unable to comprehend the nature of your language, sir," observed
the Rev. Thomas Tozer, angrily; for, what with his own excitement, and
the shades of evening which had stolen over and obscured the Pet's
features, he was unable to read that gentleman's character and
profession in his face, and therefore came to the conclusion that he was
being chaffed by some impudent undergraduate. "I dou't in the least
understand you, sir; but I desire at once to know your name, and
College, sir!"
The Putney Pet stared. If the Rev. Thomas Tozer had asked him for the
name of his Academy, he would have been able to have referred him to his
spacious and convenient Sparring Academy, 5, Cribb Court, Drury Lane;
but the enquiry for his "College," was, in the language of his
profession, a "regular floorer." Mr. Blades, however, stepped forward,
and explained matters to the Proctor, in a satisfactory manner.
"Well, well!" said the pacified Mr. Tozer to the Pet; "you have used
your skill very much to our advantage, and displayed pugilistic powers
not unworthy of the athletes, and xystics of the noblest days of Rome.
As a palæstrite you would have gained palms in the gymnastic exercises
of the Circus Maximus. You might even have proved a formidable rival to
Dares, who, as you, Mr. Blades, will remember, caused the death of
Butes at Hector's tomb. You will remember, Mr. Blades, that Virgil
makes mention of his 'humeros latos' and says:--
"'Nec quisquam ex agmine tanto
Audet adire virum, manibusque inducere cæstus;'[9]
"which, in our English idiom, would signify, that every one was afraid to
put on the gloves with him. And, as your skill," resumed Mr. Tozer,
turning to the Pet, "has been exercised in defence of my person, and in
upholding the authority of the University, I will overlook your offence
in assuming that portion of the academical attire, to which you gave the
offensive epithet of "mortar-board;" more especially, as you acted at
the suggestion and bidding of those who ought to have known better. And
now, go home, sir, and resume your customary head-dress; and--stay!
here's five shillings for you."
"I'm much obleeged to you, guv'nor," said the Pet, who had been
listening with considerable surprise to the Proctor's quotations and
comparisons, and wondering whether the gentleman named Dares, who caused
the death of beauties, was a member of the P.R., and whether they made
it out a case of manslaughter against him? and if the gaining palms in a
circus was the customary "flapper-shaking" before "toeing the scratch
for business?"--"I'm much obleeged to you, guv'nor," said the Pet, as he
made a scrape with his leg; "and, whenever you _does_ come up to London,
I 'ope you'll drop in at Cribb Court, and have a turn with the gloves!"
And the Pet, very politely, handed one of his professional cards to the
Rev. Thomas Tozer.
A little later than this, a very jovial supper party might have been
seen assembled in a principal room at "the Roebuck." To enable them to
be back within their college walls, and save their gates, before the
hour of midnight should arrive, the work of consuming the grilled bones
and welch-rabbits was going on with all reasonable speed, the heavier
articles being washed down by draughts of "heavy." After the cloth was
withdrawn, several songs of a miscellaneous character were sung by "the
professional gentlemen present," including, "by particular request," the
celebrated "Marble Halls" song of our hero, which was given with more
coherency than on a previous occasion, but was no less energetically led
in its "you-loved-me-still-the-same" chorus by Mr. Bouncer. The Pet was
proudly placed on the right hand of the chairman, Mr. Blades; and, when
his health was proposed, "with many thanks to him for the gallant and
plucky manner in which he had led on the Gown to a glorious victory,"
the "three times three," and the "one cheer more," and the "again," and
"again," and the "one other little un!" were uproariously given (as Mr.
Foote expressed it) "by the whole strength of the company, assisted by
Messrs. Larkyns, Smalls, Fosbrooke, Flexible Shanks, Cheke, and Verdant
Green."
The forehead of the last-named gentleman was decorated with a patch of
brown paper, from which arose an aroma, as though of vinegar. The battle
of "Town and Gown" was over; and Mr. Verdant Green was among the number
of the wounded.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Town and Gown disturbances are of considerable antiquity. Fuller and
Matthew Paris give accounts of some which occurred as early as the year
1238. These disputes not unfrequently terminated fatally to some of the
combatants. One of the most serious Town and Gown rows on record took
place on the day of St. Scholastica the Virgin, February 10th, 1345,
when several lives were lost on either side. The University was at that
time in the Lincoln diocese; and Grostête, the Bishop, placed the
townspeople under an interdict, from which they were not released till
1357, and then only on condition that the mayor and sixty of the chief
burgesses should, on every anniversary of the day of St. Scholastica,
attend St. Mary's Church and offer up mass for the souls of the slain
scholars; and should also individually present an offering of one penny
at the high altar. They, moreover, paid a yearly fine of 100 marks to
the University, with the penalty of an additional fine of the same sum
for every omission in attending at St. Mary's. This continued up to the
time of the Reformation, when it gradually fell into abeyance. In the
fifteenth year of Elizabeth, however, the University asserted their
claim to all arrears. The matter being brought to trial, it was decided
that the town should continue the annual fine and penance, though the
arrears were forgiven. The fine was yearly paid on the 10th of February
up to our own time: the mayor and chief burgesses attended at St.
Mary's, and made the offering at the conclusion of the litany, which, on
that occasion, was read from the altar. Thia was at length put an end to
by Convocation in the year 1825.
[3] Corrupted by Oxford pronunciation (which makes Magdalen _Maudlin_
into St _Old's_.)
[4] "A Bachelor of Arts," Act I.
[5] The great bell of Christ Church. It tolls 101 times each evening at
ten minutes past nine o'clock (there being 101 students on the
foundation) and marks the time for the closing of the college gates.
"Tom" is one of the lions of Oxford. It formerly belonged to Oseney
Abbey, and weighs about 17,000 pounds, being more than double the weight
of the great bell of St. Paul's.
[6] The porch was erected in 1637 by order of Archbishop Laud. In the
centre of the porch is a statue of the Virgin with the Child in her
arms, holding a small crucifix; which at the time of its erection gave
such offence to the Puritans that it was included in the articles of
impeachment against the Archbishop. The statue remains to this day.
[7] The Marshal is the Proctor's chief officer. The name of 'Bull-dogs'
is given to the two inferior officers who attend the Proctor in his
nightly rounds.
[8] The _exact_ spot where Archbishop Cranmer and Bishops Ridley and
Latimer suffered martyrdom is not known. "The most likely supposition
is, that it was in the town ditch, the site of which is now occupied by
the houses in Broad Street, which are immediately opposite the gateway
of Balliol College, or the footpath in front of them, where an extensive
layer of wood-ashes is known to remain."--(Parker.)
[9] Æn., Book v., 378.
CHAPTER V.
MR. VERDANT GREEN IS FAVOURED WITH MR. BOUNCER'S OPINIONS REGARDING AN
UNDERGRADUATE'S EPISTOLARY COMMUNICATIONS TO HIS MATERNAL RELATIVE.
[Illustration]
"Come in, whoever you are! don't mind the dogs!" shouted little Mr.
Bouncer, as he lay, in an extremely inelegant attitude, in a red morocco
chair, which was considerably the worse for wear, chiefly on account of
the ill-usage it had to put up with, in being made to represent its
owner's antagonist, whenever Mr. Bouncer thought fit to practise his
fencing. "Oh! it's you and Giglamps, is it, Charley? I'm just refreshing
myself with a weed, for I've been desperately hard at work."
"What! Harry Bouncer devoting himself to study! But this is the age of
wonders," said Charles Larkyns, who entered the room in company with Mr.
Verdant Green, whose forehead still betrayed the effects of the blow he
had received a few nights before.
[Illustration]
"It ain't reading that I meant," replied Mr. Bouncer, "though that
always _does_ floor me, and no mistake! and what's the use of their
making us peg away so at Latin and Greek, I can't make out. When I go
out into society, I don't want to talk about those old Greek and Latin
birds that they make us get up. I don't want to ask any old dowager I
happen to fall in with at a tea-fight, whether she believes all the
crammers that Herodotus tells us, or whether she's well up in the
naughty tales and rummy nuisances that we have to pass no end of our
years in getting by heart. And when I go to a ball, and do the light
fantastic, I don't want to ask my partner what she thinks about
Euripides, or whether she prefers Ovid's Metamorphoses to Ovid's Art of
Love, and all that sort of thing; and as for requesting her to do me a
problem of Euclid, instead of working me any glorified slippers or
woolleries, I'd scorn the _h_action. I ain't like you, Charley, and I'm
not _guv_ in the classics: I saw too much of the beggars while I was at
Eton to take kindly to 'em; and just let me once get through my Greats,
and see if I don't precious soon drop the acquaintance of those old
classical parties!"
"No you won't, old fellow!" said Charles Larkyns; "you'll find that
they'll stick to you through life, just like poor relations, and you
won't be able to shake them off. And you ought not to wish to do so,
more especially as, in the end, you will find them to have been very
rich relations."
"A sort of 'O my prophetic soul, my uncle!' I suppose, Master Charley,"
observed Mr. Bouncer; "but what I meant when I said that I had been hard
at work, was, that I had been writing a letter; and, though I say it
that ought not to say it, I flatter myself it's no end of a good
letter."
"Is it a love-letter?" asked Charles Larkyns, who was leaning against
the mantelpiece, amusing himself with a cigar which he had taken from
Mr. Bouncer's box.
"A love-letter?" replied the little gentleman, contemptuously--"my gum!
no; I should rayther think not! I may have done many foolish things in
my life, but I can't have the tender passion laid to my charge. No! I've
been writing my letter to the Mum: I always write to her once a term."
Mr. Bouncer, it must be observed, always referred to his maternal
relative (his father had been long dead) by the epithet of "the Mum."
"Once a term!" said our hero, in a tone of surprise; "why I always write
home once or twice every week."
"You don't mean to say so, Giglamps!" replied Mr. Bouncer, with
admiration. "Well, some fellers have what you call a genius for that sort
of thing, you see, though what you can find to tell 'em I can't imagine.
But if I'd gone at that pace I should have got right through the Guide
Book by this time, and then it would have been all U P, and I should
have been obleeged to have invented another dodge. You don't seem to
take, Giglamps?"
"Well, I really don't know what you mean," answered our hero.
"Why," continued Mr. Bouncer, "you see, there's only the Mum and Fanny at
home: Fanny's my sister, Giglamps--a regular stunner--just suit
you!--and they, you understand, don't care to hear about wines, and Town
and Gowns, and all that sort of thing; and, you see, I ain't inventive
and that, and can't spin a yarn about nothing; so, as soon as ever I
came up to Oxford, I invested money in a Guide Book; and I began at the
beginning, and I gave the Mum three pages of Guide Book in each letter.
Of course, you see, the Mum imagines it's all my own observation; and
she thinks no end of my letters, and says that they make her know Oxford
almost as well as if she lived here; and she, of course, makes a good
deal of me; and as Oxford's the place where I hang out, you see, she
takes an interest in reading something about the jolly old place."
"Of course," observed Mr. Verdant Green; "my mamma--mother, at
least--and sisters, always take pleasure in hearing about Oxford; but
your plan never occurred to me."
"It's a first-rater, and no mistake," said Mr. Bouncer, confidently,
"and saves a deal of trouble. I think of taking out a patent for
it--'Bouncer's Complete Letter-Writer'--or get some literary swell to
put it into a book, 'with a portrait of the inventor;' it would be sure
to sell. You see, it's what you call amusement blended with information;
and that's more than you can say of most men's letters to the Home
department."
"Cocky Palmer's, for instance," said Charles Larkyns, "which always
contained a full, true, and particular account of his Wheatley doings.
He used to go over there, Verdant, to indulge in the noble sport of
cock-fighting, for which he had a most unamiable and unenviable
weakness; that was the reason why he was called 'Cocky' Palmer. His
elder brother--who was a Pembroke man--was distinguished by the pronomen
'Snuffy,' to express his excessive partiality for that titillating
compound."
"And Snuffy Palmer," remarked Mr. Bouncer, "was a long sight better
feller than Cocky, who was in the very worst set in Brazenface. But
Cocky did the Wheatley dodge once too often, and it was a good job for
the King of Oude when his friend Cocky came to grief, and had to take
his name off the books."
"You look as though you wanted a translation of this," said Charles
Larkyns to our hero, who had been listening to the conversation with
some wonderment,--understanding about as much of it as many persons who
attend the St. James's Theatre understand the dialogue of the French
Plays. "There are College _cabalia_, as well as Jewish; and College
surnames are among these. 'The King of Oude' was a man of the name of
Towlinson, who always used to carry into Hall with him a bottle of '_the
King of Oxide's Sauce_,' for which he had some mysterious liking, and
without which he professed himself unable to get through his dinner. At
one time he was a great friend of Cocky Palmer's, and used to go with
him to the cock-fights at Wheatley--that village just on the other side
Shotover Hill--where we did a 'constitutional' the other day. Cocky, as
our respected friend says, 'came to grief,' but was allowed to save
himself from expulsion by voluntarily, or rather in-voluntarily, taking
his name off the books. When his connection with Cocky had thus been
ruthlessly broken, 'the King' got into a better set, and retrieved his
character."
"The moral of which, my beloved Giglamps," observed Mr. Bouncer, "is,
that there are as many sets of men in a College as there are of
quadrilles in a ball-room, and that it's just as easy to take your place
in one as it is in another; but, that when you've once taken up your
position, you'll find it ain't an easy thing, you see, to make a change
for yourself, till the set is broken up. Whereby, Giglamps, you may
comprehend what a grateful bird you ought to be, for Charley's having
put you into the best set in Brazenface."
Mr. Verdant Green was heard to murmur, "sensible of honour,--grateful
for kindness,--endeavours to deserve,"--and the other broken sentiments
which are commonly made use of by gentlemen who get upon their legs to
return thanks for having been "tea-potted."
"If you like to hear it," said Mr. Bouncer, "I'll read you my letter to
the Mum. It ain't very private; and I flatter myself, Giglamps, that
it'll serve you as a model."
"Let's have it by all means, Harry," said Charles Larkyns. "It must be
an interesting document; and I am curious to hear what it is that you
consider a model for epistolary communication from an undergraduate to
his maternal relative."
[Illustration]
"Off she goes then;" observed Mr. Bouncer; "lend me your ears--list,
list, O list! as the recruiting-sergeant or some other feller says in
the Play. 'Now, my little dears! look straight for'ard--blow your noses,
and don't brathe on the glasses!'" and Mr. Bouncer read the letter,
interspersing it with explanatory observations:--
"'_My dearest mother,--I have been quite well since I left you, and I
hope you and Fanny have been equally salubrious._'--That's doing the
civil, you see: now we pass on to statistics.--'_We had rain the day
before yesterday, but we shall have a new moon to-night._'--You see, the
Mum always likes to hear about the weather, so I get that out of the
Almanack. Now we get on to the interesting part of the letter.--'_I will
now tell you a little about Merton College._'--That's where I had just
got to. We go right through the Guide Book, you understand.--'_The
history of this establishment is of peculiar importance, as exhibiting
the primary model of all the collegiate bodies in Oxford and Cambridge.
The statutes of Walter de Merton had been more or less copied by all
other founders in succession; and the whole constitution of both
Universities, as we now behold them, may be, not without reason,
ascribed to the liberality and munificence of this truly great
man._'--Truly great man! that's no end good, ain't it? observed Mr.
Bouncer, in the manner of the 'mobled queen is good' of Polonius.--'_His
sagacity and wisdom led him to profit by the spirit of the times; his
opulence enabled him to lay the foundation of a nobler system; and the
splendour of his example induced others, in subsequent ages, to raise a
superstructure at once attractive and solid._'--That's piling it up
mountaynious, ain't it?--'_The students were no longer dispersed through
the streets and lanes of the city, dwelling in insulated houses, halls,
inns, or hostels, subject to dubious control and precarious
discipline._'--That's stunnin', is'nt it? just like those Times fellers
write.--'_But placed under the immediate superintendence of tutors and
governors, and lodged in comfortable chambers. This was little less than
an academical revolution; and a new order of things may be dated from
this memorable era. Love to Fanny; and, believe me your affectionate
Son, Henry Bouncer._'--If the Mum don't say that's first-rate, I'm a
Dutchman! You see, I don't write very close, so that this respectably
fills up three sides of a sheet of note-paper. Oh, here's something over
the leaf. '_P.S. I hope Stump and Rowdy have got something for me,
because I want some tin very bad._' That's all! Well, Giglamps! don't
you call that quite a model letter for a University man to send to his
tender parient?"
"It certainly contains some interesting information," said our hero,
with a Quaker-like indirectness of reply.
"It seems to me, Harry," said Charles Larkyns, "that the pith of it,
like a lady's letter, lies in the postscript--the demand for money."
"You see," observed the little gentleman in explanation, "Stump and
Rowdy are the beggars that have got all my property till I come of age
next year; and they only let me have money at certain times, because
it's what they facetiously call _tied-up_: though _why_ they've tied it
up, or _where_ they've tied it up, I hav'nt the smallest idea. So,
though I tick for nearly everything,--for men at College, Giglamps, go
upon tick as naturally as the crows do on the sheep's backs,--I
sometimes am rather hard up for ready dibs; and then I give the Mum a
gentlemanly hint of this, and she tips me. By-the-way," continued Mr.
Bouncer, as he re-read his postscript, "I must alter the word 'tin' into
'money'; or else she'll be taking it literally, just as she did with
the ponies. Know what a pony is, Giglamps?"
"Why, of course I do," replied Mr. Verdant Green; "besides which, I have
kept one: he was an Exmoor pony,--a bay one, with a long tail."
[Illustration]
"Oh, Giglamps!' You'll be the death of me some fine day," faintly
exclaimed little Mr. Bouncer, as he slowly recovered from an exhausting
fit of laughter. "You're as bad as the Mum was. A pony means twenty-five
pound, old feller. But the Mum didn't know that; and when I wrote to her
and said, 'I'm very short; please to send me two ponies;' meaning, of
course, that I wanted fifty pound; what must she do, but write back and
say, that, with some difficulty, she had procured for me two Shetland
ponies, and that, as I was short, she hoped they would suit my size.
And, before I had time to send her another letter, the two little
beggars came. Well, I couldn't ride them both at once, like the fellers
do at Astley's; so I left one at Tollitt's, and I rode the other down
the High, as cool as a cucumber. You see, though I ain't a giant, and
that, yet I was big for the pony; and as Shelties are rum-looking little
beggars, I dare say we look'd rather queer and original. But the Proctor
happened to see me; and he cut up so doosed rough about it, that I
couldn't show on the Shelties any more; and Tollit was obliged to get
rid of them for me."
"Well, Harry," said Charles Larkyns; "it is to Tollitt's that you must
now go, as you keep your horse there. We want you to join us in a ride."
"What!" cried out Mr. Bouncer, "old Giglamps going outside an Oxford
hack once more! Why, I thought you'd made a vow never to do so again?"
"Why, I certainly did so," replied Mr. Verdant Green; "but Charles
Larkyns, during the holidays--the vacation, at least--was kind enough to
take me out several rides; so I have had a great deal of practice since
last term."
"And you don't require to be strapped on, or to get inside and pull down
the blinds?" inquired Mr. Bouncer.
"Oh dear, no!"
[Illustration]
The fact was, that during the long vacation Charles Larkyns had paid
considerable attention to our hero's equestrian exercises; not so much,
it must be confessed, out of friendship for his friend, as that he might
have an opportunity of riding by the side of that friend's fair sister
Mary, for whom he entertained something more than a partiality. And
herein, probably, Mr. Charles Larkyns showed both taste and judgment.
For there may be many things less pleasant in this world than cantering
down a green Warwickshire lane--on some soft summer's day when the green
is greenest and the blossoms brightest--side by side with a charming
girl whose nature is as light and sunny as the summer air and the summer
sky. Pleasant it is to watch the flushing cheek glow rosier, than the
rosiest of all the briar-roses that stoop to kiss it. Pleasant it is to
look into the lustrous light of tender eyes; and to see the loosened
ringlets reeling with the motion of the ride. Pleasant it is to canter
on from lane to lane over soft moss, and springy turf, between the high
honeysuckle hedges, and the broad-branched beeches that meet overhead in
a tangled embrace. But pleasanter by far than all is it, to hug to one's
heart the darling fancy that she who is cantering on by your side in all
the witchery of her maiden beauty, holds you in her dearest thoughts,
and dowers you with all her wealth of love. Pleasant rides indeed,
pleasant fancies, and pleasant day-dreams, had the long vacation brought
to Charles Larkyns!
"Well, come along, Verdant," said Mr. Larkyns, "we'll go to Charley
Symonds' and get our hacks. You can meet us, Harry, just over the
Maudlin Bridge; and we'll have a canter along the Henley road."
So Mr. Verdant Green and his friend walked into Holywell Street, and
passed under the archway up to Symonds' stables. But the nervous
trepidation which our hero had felt in the same place on a previous
occasion returned with full force when his horse was led out in an
exuberantly playful and "fresh" condition. The beast he had bestridden
during his long vacation rides, with his sister and his (and sister's)
friend, was a cob-like steed, whose placidity of temper was fully
equalled by its gravity of demeanour; and who would as soon have thought
of flying over a five-bar gate as he would of kicking up his respectable
heels both behind and before in the low-lived manner recorded of the
Ethiopian "Old Joe." But, if "Charley Symonds'" hacks had been of this
pacific and easy-going kind, it is highly probable that Mr. C. S. and
his stud would not have acquired that popularity which they had
deservedly achieved. For it seems to be a _sine-quâ-non_ with an Oxford
hack, that to general showiness of exterior, it must add the power of
enduring any amount of hard riding and rough treatment in the course of
the day which its _pro-tem._ proprietor may think fit to inflict upon
it; it being an axiom which has obtained, as well in Universities as in
other places, that it is of no advantage to hire a hack unless you get
out of him as much as you can for your money, you won't want to use him
to-morrow, so you don't care about over-riding him to-day.
[Illustration]
But, all this time, Mr. Verdant Green is drawing on his gloves, in the
nervous manner that tongue-tied gentlemen go through the same
performance during the conversational spasms of the first-set of
Quadrilles; the groom is leading out the exuberantly playful quadruped
on whose back Mr. Verdant Green is to disport himself; Charles Larkyns
is mounted; the November sun is shining brightly on the perspective of
the yard and stables, and the tower of New College; the dark archway
gives one a peep of Holywell Street; while the cold blue sky is flecked
with gleaming pigeons.
At last, Mr. Verdant Green has scrambled into his saddle, and is riding
cautiously down the yard, while his heart beats in an alarming
alarum-like way. As they ride under the archway, there, in the little
room underneath it, is Mr. Four-in-hand Fosbrooke, selecting his
particular tandem-whip from a group of some two score of similar whips
kept there in readiness for their respective owners.
"Charley, you're a beast!" says Mr. Fosbrooke, politely addressing
himself to Mr. Larkyns; "I wanted Bouncer to come with me in the cart to
Abingdon, and I find that the little man is engaged to you." Upon which,
Mr. Fosbrooke playfully raising his tandem-whip, Mr. Verdant Green's
horse plunges, and brings his rider's head into concussion with the lamp
which hangs within the gateway; whereupon, the hat falls off, and our
hero is within an ace of following his hat's example.
[Illustration]
By a powerful exertion, however, he recovers his proper position in the
saddle, and proceeds in an agitated and jolted condition, by Charles
Larkyns's side, down Holywell Street, past the Music Room,[10] and round
by the Long Wall, and over Magdalen Bridge. Here they are soon joined by
Mr. Bouncer, mounted, according to the custom of small men, on one of
Tollitt's tallest horses, of ever-so-many hands high. As by this time
our hero has got more accustomed to his steed, his courage gradually
returns, and he rides on with his companions very pleasantly, enjoying
the magnificent distant view of his University. When they have passed
Cowley, some very tempting fences are met with; and Mr. Bouncer and Mr.
Larkyns, being unable to resist their fascinations, put their horses at
them, and leap in and out of the road in an insane Vandycking kind of
way; while an excited agriculturist, whose smock-frock heaves with
indignation, pours down denunciations on their heads.
"Blow that bucolical party!" says Mr. Bouncer; "he's no right to
interfere with the enjoyments of the animals. If they break the fences,
it ain't their faults; it's the fault of the farmers for not making the
fences strong enough to bear them. Come along, Giglamps! put your beast
at that hedge! he'll take you over as easy as if you were sitting in an
arm-chair."
[Illustration]
But Mr. Verdant Green has doubts about the performance of this piece of
equestrian upholstery; and, thinking that the arm-chair would soon
become a reclining one, he is firm in his refusal to put the leaping
powers of his steed to the test. But having, afterwards, obtained some
"jumping powder" at a certain small road-side hostelry to which Mr.
Bouncer has piloted the party, our hero, on his way back to Oxford,
screws up his courage sufficiently to gallop his steed desperately at a
ditch which yawns, a foot wide, before him. But to his immense
astonishment--not to say, disgust--the obtuse-minded quadruped gives a
leap which would have taken him clear over a canal; and our hero, not
being prepared for this very needless display of agility, flies off the
saddle at a tangent, and finds that his "vaulting ambition," had
o'erleap'd itself, and fallen on the other side--of the ditch.
"It ain't your fault, Giglamps!" says Mr. Bouncer, when he has galloped
after Verdant's steed, and has led it up to him, and when he has
ascertained that his friend is not in the least hurt; but has only
broken--his glasses; "it ain't your fault, Giglamps, old feller! it's
the clumsiness of the hack. He tossed you up, and could'nt catch you
again!"
And so our hero rides back to Oxford. But, before the Term has ended, he
has become more accustomed to Oxford hacks, and has made himself
acquainted with the respective merits of the stables of Messrs. Symonds,
Tollitt, and Pigg; and has, moreover, ridden with the drag, and, in this
way, hunted the fabled foxes of Bagley Wood, and Whichwood Forest.
CHAPTER VI.
MR. VERDANT GREEN FEATHERS HIS OARS WITH SKILL AND DEXTERITY.
November is not always the month of fog and mist and dulness. Oftentimes
there are brilliant exceptions to that generally-received rule of
depressing weather, which, in this month (according to our lively
neighbours), induces the natives of our English metropolis to leap in
crowds from the Bridge of Waterloo. There are in November, days of calm
beauty, which are peculiar to that month--that kind of calm beauty which
is so often seen as the herald of decay.
[Illustration]
But, whatever weather the month may bring to Oxford, it never brings
gloom or despondency to Oxford men. They are a happily constituted set
of beings, and can always create their own amusements; they crown
Minerva with flowers without heeding her influenza, and never seem to
think that the rosy-bosomed Hours may be laid up with bronchitis. Winter
and summer appear to be pretty much the same to them: reading and
recreation go hand-in-hand all the year round; and, among other
pleasures, that of boating finds as many votaries in cold November, as
it did in sunny June--indeed, the chilness of the air, in the former
month, gives zest to an amusement which degenerates to hard labour in
the dog-days. The classic Isis in the month of November, therefore,
whenever the weather is anything like favourable, presents an animated
scene. Eight-oars pass along, the measured pull of the oars in the
rowlocks marking the time in musical cadence with their plashing dip in
the water; perilous skiffs flit like fire-flies over the glassy surface
of the river; men lounge about in the house-boats and barges, or gather
together at King's, or Hall's, and industriously promulgate small talk
and tobacco-smoke. All is gay and bustling. Although the feet of the
strollers in the Christ-Church meadows rustle through the sere and
yellow leaf, yet rich masses of brown and russet foliage still hang upon
the trees, and light up into gold in the sun. The sky is of a cold but
bright blue; the distant hills and woods are mellowed into sober
purplish-gray tints, but over them the sun looks down with that peculiar
red glow which is only seen in November.
[Illustration]
It was one of these bright days of "the month of gloom," that Mr.
Verdant Green and Mr. Charles Larkyns being in the room of their friend,
Mr. Bouncer, the little gentleman inquired, "Now then! what are you two
fellers up to? I'm game for anything, I am! from pitch-and-toss to
manslaughter."
"I'm afraid," said Charles Larkyns, "that we can't accommodate you in
either amusement, although we are going down to the river, with which
Verdant wishes to renew his acquaintance. Last term, you remember, you
picked him up in the Gut, when he had been played with at pitch-and-toss
in a way that very nearly resembled manslaughter."
"I remember, I remember, how old Giglamps floated by!" said Mr. Bouncer;
"you looked like a half-bred mermaid Giglamps."
"But the gallant youth," continued Mr. Larkyns, "undismayed by the
perils from which he was then happily preserved, has boldly come forward
and declared himself a worshipper of Isis, in a way worthy of the
ancient Egyptians, or of Tom Moore's Epicurean."
"Well! stop a minute you fellers," said Mr. Bouncer; "I must have my beer
first: I can't do without my Bass relief. I'm like the party in the old
song, and I likes a drop of good beer." And as he uncorked a bottle of
Bass, little Mr. Bouncer sang, in notes as musical as those produced
from his own tin horn--
"'Twixt wet and dry I always try
Between the extremes to steer;
Though I always shrunk from getting----intoxicated,
I was always fond of my beer!
For I likes a drop of good beer!
I'm particularly partial to beer!
Porter and swipes
Always give me the----stomach-ache!
But that's never the case with beer!"
"Bravo, Harry!" cried Charles Larkyns; "you roar us an' twere any
nightingale. It would do old Bishop Still's heart good to hear you; and
'sure _I_ think, that _you_ can drink with any that wears a hood,' or
that _will_ wear a hood when you take your Bachelor's, and put on your
gown." And Charles Larkyns sang, rather more musically than Mr. Bouncer
had done, from that song which, three centuries ago, the Bishop had
written in praise of good ale,--
Let back and side go bare, go bare,
Both hand and foot go cold:
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
[Illustration]
They were soon down at the river side, where Verdant was carefully put
into a tub (alas! the dear, awkward, safe, old things are fast passing
away; they are giving place to suicidal skiffs, and will soon be
numbered among the boats of other days!)--and was started off with
almost as much difficulty as on his first essay. The tub--which was,
indeed, his old friend the _Sylph_,--betrayed an awkward propensity for
veering round towards Folly Bridge, which our hero at first failed to
overcome; and it was not until he had performed a considerable amount of
crab-catching, that he was enabled to steer himself in the proper
direction. Charles Larkyns had taken his seat in an outrigger skiff (so
frail and shaky that it made Verdant nervous to look at it), and, with
one or two powerful strokes, had shot ahead, backed water, turned, and
pulled back round the tub long before Verdant had succeeded in passing
that eccentric mansion, to which allusion has before been made, as
possessing in the place of cellars, an ingenious system of small rivers
to thoroughly irrigate its foundation--a hydropathic treatment which may
(or may not) be agreeable in Venice, but strikes one as being decidedly
cold and comfortless when applied to Oxford,--at any rate, in the month
of November. Walking on the lawn which stretched from this house
towards the river, our hero espied two extremely pretty young ladies,
whose hearts he endeavoured at once to take captive by displaying all
his powers in that elegant exercise in which they saw him engaged. It
may reasonably be presumed that Mr. Verdant Green's hopes were doomed to
be blighted.
Let us leave him, and take a look at Mr. Bouncer.
Mr. Bouncer had been content to represent the prowess of his college in
the cricket-field, and had never aspired to any fame as an oar. The
exertions, as well as the fame, of aquatic honours, he had left to Mr.
Blades, and those others like him, who considered it a trifle to pull
down to Iffley and back again, two or three times a day, at racing pace
with a fresh spurt put on every five minutes. Mr. Bouncer, too, had an
antipathy to eat beefsteaks otherwise than in the state in which they
are usually brought to table; and, as it seemed a _sine quâ non_ with
the gentleman who superintended the training for the boat-races, that
his pupils should daily devour beefsteaks which had merely looked at the
fire, Mr. Bouncer, not having been brought up to cannibal habits, was
unable to conform himself to this, and those other vital principles
which seemed to regulate the science of aquatic training. The little
gentleman moreover, did not join with the "Torpids" (as the second boats
of a college are called), either, because he had a soul above them,--he
would be _aut Cæsar, aut nullus_; either in the eight, or nowhere,--or
else, because even the Torpids would cause him more trouble and
pleasurable pain than would be agreeable to him. When Mr. Bouncer sat
down on any hard substance, he liked to be able to do so without
betraying any emotion that the action caused him personal discomfort;
and he had noticed that many of the Torpids--not to mention one or two
of the eight--were more particular than young men usually are about
having a very easy, soft, and yielding chair to sit on.
Mr. Bouncer, too, was of opinion that continued blisters were both
unsightly and unpleasant; and that rawness was bad enough when taken in
conjunction with beefsteaks, without being extended to one's own hands.
He had also a summer passion for ices and creams, which were forbidden
luxuries to one in training,--although (paradoxical as it may seem to
say so) they trained, on Isis! He had also acquired a bad habit of
getting up in one day, and going to bed in the next,--keeping late
hours, and only rising early when absolutely compelled to do so in order
to keep morning chapel--a habit which the trainer would have interfered
with, considerably to the little gentleman's advantage. He had also an
amiable weakness for pastry, port, claret, "et _hock_ genus omne;" and
would have felt it a cruelty to have been deprived of his daily modicum
of "smoke;" and in all these points, boat-training would have materially
interfered with his comfort.
Mr. Bouncer, therefore, amused himself equally as much to his own
satisfaction as if he had been one of the envied eight, by occasionally
paddling about with Charles Larkyns in an old pair-oar, built by Davis
and King, and bought by Mr. Bouncer of its late Brazenfacian proprietor,
when that gentleman, after a humorous series of plucks, rustications,
and heavy debts, had finally been compelled to migrate to the King's
Bench, for that purification of purse and person commonly designated
"whitewashing." When Charles Larkyns and his partner did not use their
pair-oar, the former occupied his outrigger skiff; and the latter,
taking Huz and Buz on board a sailing boat, tacked up and down the river
with great skill, the smoke gracefully curling from his meerschaum or
short black pipe,--for Mr. Bouncer disapproved of smoking cigars at
those times when the wind would have assisted him to get through them.
[Illustration]
"Hullo, Giglamps! here we are! as the clown says in the pantermime,"
sung out the little gentleman as he came up with our hero, who was
performing some extraordinary feats in full sight of the University
crew, who were just starting from their barge; "you get no end of
exercise out of your tub, I should think, by the style you work those
paddles: They go in and out beautiful! Splish, splash; splish, splash!
You must be one of the _wherry_ identical Row-brothers-row, whose
voices kept tune and whose oars kept time, you know. You ought to go and
splish-splash in the Freshman's River, Giglamps;--but I forgot--you
ain't a freshman now, are you, old feller? Those swells in the
University boats look as though they were bursting with envy--not to
say, with laughter," added Mr. Bouncer, _sotto voce_. "Who taught you to
do the dodge in such a stunning way, Giglamps?"
"Why, last term, Charles Larkyns did," responded Mr. Verdant Green, with
the freshness of a Freshman still lingering lovingly upon him. "I've not
forgotten what he told me,--to put in my oar deep, and to bring it out
with a jerk. But though I make them go as deep as I can, and jerk them
out as much as possible, yet the boat _will_ keep turning round, and I
can't keep it straight at all; and the oars are very heavy and
unmanageable, and keep slipping out of the rowlocks--"
"Commonly called _rullochs_," put in Mr. Bouncer, as a parenthetical
correction, or marginal note on Mr. Verdant Green's words.
"And when the Trinity boat went by, I could scarcely get out of their
way; and they said very unpleasant things to me; and, altogether, I can
assure you that it has made me very hot."
"And a capital thing, too, Giglamps, this cold November day," said Mr.
Bouncer; "I'm obliged to keep my coppers warm with this pea-coat, and my
pipe. Charley came alongside me just now, on purpose to fire off one of
his poetical quotations. He said that I reminded him of Beattie's
_Minstrel_:--
"'Dainties he heeded not, nor gaud, nor toy,
Save one short pipe.'
"I think that was something like it. But you see, Giglamps, I haven't
got a figure-head for these sort of things like Charley has, so I
couldn't return his shot; but since then, to me deeply pondering, as
those old Greek parties say, a fine sample of our superior old crusted
jokes has come to hand; and when Charley next pulls alongside, I shall
tell him that I am like that beggar we read about in old Slowcoach's
lecture the other day, and that, if I had been in the humour, I could
have sung out, Io Bacche![11] _I owe baccy_--d'ye see, Giglamps? Well,
old feller! you look rather puffed, so clap on your coat; and, if
there's a rope's end, or a chain, in your tub, and you'll just pay it
out here, I'll make you fast astern, and pull you down the river; and
then you'll be in prime condition to work yourself up again. The wind's
in our back, and we shall get on jolly."
[Illustration]
So our hero made fast the tub to his friend's sailing-boat, and was
towed as far as the Haystack. During the voyage Mr. Bouncer ascertained
that Mr. Charles Larkyns had improved some of the shining hours of the
long vacation considerably to Mr. Verdant Green's benefit, by teaching
him the art of swimming--a polite accomplishment of which our hero had
been hitherto ignorant. Little Mr. Bouncer, therefore, felt easier in
his mind, if any repetition of his involuntary bath in the Gut should
befal our hero; and, after giving him (wonderful to say) some correct
advice regarding the management of the oars, he cast off the _Sylph_,
and left her and our hero to their own devices. But, profiting by the
friendly hints which he had received, Mr. Verdant Green made
considerable progress in the skill and dexterity with which he feathered
his oars; and he sat in his tub looking as wise as Diogenes may
(perhaps) have done in _his_. He moreover pulled the boat back to Hall's
without meeting with any accident worth mentioning; and when he had got
on shore he was highly complimented by Mr. Blades and a group of boating
gentlemen "for the admirable display of science which he had afforded
them."
Mr. Verdant Green was afterwards taken alternately by Charles Larkyns
and Mr. Bouncer in their pair-oar; so that, by the end of the term, he
at any rate knew more of boating than to accept as one of its
fundamental rules, "put your oar in deep, and bring it out with a jerk."
In the first week in December he had an opportunity of pulling over a
fresh piece of water. One of those inundations occurred to which Oxford
is so liable, and the meadow-land to the south and west of the city was
covered by the flood. Boats plied to and from the railway station in
place of omnibuses; the Great Western was not to be seen for water; and,
at the Abingdon-road bridge, at Cold-harbour, the rails were washed
away, and the trains brought to a stand-still. The Isis was amplified to
the width of the Christchurch meadows; the Broad Walk had a peep of
itself upside down in the glassy mirror; the windings of the Cherwell
could only be traced by the trees on its banks. There was
"Water, water everywhere;"
and a disagreeable quantity of it too, as those Christchurch men whose
ground-floor rooms were towards the meadows soon discovered. Mr. Bouncer
is supposed to have brought out one of his "fine, old, crusted jokes,"
when he asserted in reference to the inundation, that "Nature had
assumed a lake complexion." Posts and rails, and hay, and a
miscellaneous collection of articles, were swept along by the current,
together with the bodies of hapless sheep and pigs. But, in spite of
these incumbrances, boats of all descriptions were to be seen sailing,
pulling, skiffing, and punting, over the flooded meadows. Numerous were
the disasters, and many were the boats that were upset.
[Illustration]
Indeed, the adventures of Mr. Verdant Green would probably have here
terminated in a misadventure, had he not (thanks to Charles Larkyns)
mastered the art of swimming; for he was in Mr. Bouncer's sailing-boat,
which was sailing very merrily over the flood, when its merriness was
suddenly checked by its grounding on the stump of a lopped pollard
willow, and forthwith capsizing. Our hero, who had been sitting in the
bows, was at once swept over by the sail, and, for a moment, was in
great peril; but, disengaging himself from the cordage, he struck out,
and swam to a willow whose friendly boughs and top had just formed an
asylum for Mr. Bouncer, who in great anxiety was coaxing Huz and Buz to
swim to the same ark of safety.
Mr. Verdant Green and Mr. Bouncer were speedily rescued from their
position, and were not a little thankful for their escape.
FOOTNOTES:
[10] Now used for the Museum of the Oxford Architectural Society.
[11]
----"Si collibuisset, ab ovo
Usque ad mala citaret, Io Bacche!"--Hor. Sat. Lib. I. 3.
CHAPTER VII.
MR. VERDANT GREEN PARTAKES OF A DOVE-TART AND A SPREAD-EAGLE.
"Hullo, Giglamps, you lazy beggar!" said the cheery voice of little Mr.
Bouncer, as he walked into our hero's bedroom one morning towards the
end of term, and found Mr. Verdant Green in bed, though sufficiently
awakened by the sounding of Mr. Bouncer's octaves for the purposes of
conversation; "this'll never do, you know, Giglamps! Cutting chapel to
do the downy! Why, what do you mean, sir? Didn't you ever learn in the
nursery what happened to old Daddy Long-legs when he wouldn't say his
prayers?"
"Robert _did_ call me," said our hero, rubbing his eyes; "but I felt
tired, so I told him to put in an _æger_."
"Upon my word, young 'un," observed Mr. Bouncer, "you're a coming it,
you are! and only in your second term, too. What makes you wear a
nightcap, Giglamps? Is it to make your hair curl, or to keep your
venerable head warm? Nightcaps ain't healthy; they are only fit for
long-tailed babbies, and old birds that are as bald as coots; or else
for gents that grease their wool with 'thine incomparable oil,
Macassar,' as the noble poet justly remarks."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
"It ain't always pleasant," continued the little gentleman, who was
perched up on the side of the bed, and seemed in a communicative
disposition, "it ain't always pleasant to turn out for morning chapel,
is it, Giglamps? But it's just like the eels with their skinning: it
goes against the grain at first, but you soon get used to it. When I
first came up, I was a frightful lazy beggar, and I got such a heap of
impositions for not keeping my morning chapels, that I was obliged to
have three fellers constantly at work writing 'em out for me. This was
rather expensive, you see; and then the dons threatened to take away my
term altogether, and bring me to grief, if I didn't be more regular. So
I was obliged to make a virtuous resolution, and I told Robert that he
was to insist on my getting up in a morning, and I should tip him at the
end of term if he succeeded. So at first he used to come and hammer at
the door; but that was no go. So then he used to come in and shake me,
and try to pull the clothes off; but, you see, I always used to prepare
for him, by taking a good supply of boots and things to bed with me; so
I was able to take shies at the beggar till he vanished, and left me to
snooze peaceably. You see, it ain't every feller as likes to have a
Wellington boot at his head; but that rascal of a Robert is used to
those trifles, and I was obliged to try another dodge. This you know was
only of a morning when I was in bed. When I had had my breakfast, and
got my imposition, and become virtuous again, I used to slang him awful
for having let me cut chapel; and then I told him that he must always
stand at the door until he heard me out of bed. But, when the morning
came, it seemed running such a risk, you see to one's lungs and all
those sort of things to turn out of the warm bed into the cold chapel,
that I would answer Robert when he hammered at the door; but, instead of
getting up, I would knock my boots against the floor, as though I was
out of bed, don't you see, and was padding about. But that wretch of a
Robert was too old a bird to be caught with this dodge; so he used to
sing out, 'You must show a leg, sir!' and, as he kept on hammering at
the door till I _did_--for, you see, Giglamps, he was looking out for
the tip at the end of term, so it made him persevere--and as his beastly
hammering used, of course, to put a stopper on my going to sleep again,
I used to rush out in a frightful state of wax, and show a leg. And
then, being well up, you see, it was no use doing the downy again, so it
was just as well to make one's _twilight_ and go to chapel. Don't gape,
Giglamps; it's beastly rude, and I havn't done yet. I'm going to tell
you another dodge--one of old Small's. He invested money in an alarum,
with a string from it tied on to the bed-clothes, so as to pull them off
at whatever time you chose to set it. But I never saw the fun of being
left high and dry on your bed: it would be a shock to the system which I
couldn't stand. But even this dreadful expedient would be better than
posting an _æger_; which, you know, you didn't ought to was, Giglamps.
Well, turn out, old feller! I've told Robert to take your commons[12]
into my room. Smalls and Charley are coming, and I've got a dove-tart
and a spread-eagle."
"Whatever are they?" asked Mr. Verdant Green.
"Not know what they are!" cried Mr. Bouncer; "why a dove-tart is what
mortals call a pigeon-pie. I ain't much in Tennyson's line, but it
strikes me that dove-tarts are more poetical than the other thing;
spread-eagle is a barn-door fowl smashed out flat, and made jolly with
mushroom sauce, and no end of good things. I don't know how they squash
it, but I should say that they sit upon it; I daresay, if we were to
inquire, we should find that they kept a fat feller on purpose. But you
just come, and try how it eats." And, as Mr. Verdant Green's bedroom
barely afforded standing room, even for one, Mr. Bouncer walked into the
sitting-room, while his friend arose from his couch like a youthful
Adonis, and proceeded to bathe his ambrosial person, by taking certain
sanatory measures in splashing about in a species of tub--a performance
which Mr. Bouncer was wont to term "doing tumbies."
[Illustration]
"What'll you take for your letters, Giglamps?" called out the little
gentleman from the other room; "the Post's in, and here are three for
you. Two are from women,--young uns I should say, from the regular ups
and downs, and right angles: they look like billyduxes. Give you a bob
for them, at a venture! they may be funny. The other is suspiciously
like a tick, and ought to be looked shy on. I should advise you not to
open it, but to pitch it in the fire: it may save a fit of the blues. If
you want any help over shaving, just say so, Giglamps, will you, before
I go; and then I'll hold your nose for you, or do anything else that's
civil and accommodating. And, when you've done your tumbies, come in to
the dove-tart and the spread-eagle." And off went Mr. Bouncer, making
terrible noises with his post-horn, in his strenuous but futile
endeavours to discover the octaves.
Our hero soon concluded his "tumbies" and his dressing (_not_ including
the shaving), and made his way to Mr. Bouncer's rooms, where he did
full justice to the dove-tart, and admired the spread-eagle so much,
that he thought of bribing the confectioner for the recipe to take home
as a Christmas-box for his mother.
"Well, Giglamps," said Mr. Bouncer, when breakfast was over, "to spare
the blushes on your venerable cheeks, I won't even so much as refer to
the billy duxes; but, I'll only ask, what was the damage of the tick?"
"Oh! it was not a bill," replied Mr. Verdant Green; "it was a letter
about a dog from the man of whom I bought Mop last term."
"What! Filthy Lucre?" cried Mr. Bouncer; "well, I thought, somehow, I
knew the fist! he writes just as if he'd learnt from imitating his dogs'
hind-legs. Let's have a sight of it if it ain't private and
confidential!"
"Oh dear no! on the contrary, I was going to show it to you, and ask
your advice on the contents." And Verdant handed to Mr. Bouncer a
letter, which had been elaborately sealed with the aid of a key, and was
directed high up in the left-hand corner to
"Virdon grene esqre braisenface
collidge Oxford."
[Illustration]
"You look beastly lazy, Charley!" said Mr. Bouncer to Mr. Charles
Larkyns; "so, while I fill my pipe, just spit out the letter, _pro
bono_." And Charles Larkyns, lying in Mr. Bouncer's easiest lounging
chair, read as follows:--
"Onnerd sir i tak the libbaty of a Dressin of you in respex of A
dog which i wor sorry For to ear of your Loss in mop which i had
The pleshur of Sellin of 2 you onnerd sir A going astray And not a
turnin hup Bein of A unsurtin Tempor and guv to A folarin of
strandgers which wor maybe as ow You wor a lusein on him onnerd
Sir bein Overdogd at this ere present i can let you have A rale
good teryer at A barrging which wold giv sattefacshun onnered Sir
it wor 12 munth ago i Sold to Bounser esqre a red smooth air
terier Dog anserin 2 nam of Tug as wor rite down goodun and No
mistake onnerd Sir the purpurt Of this ere is too say as ow i have
a Hone brother to Tug black tann and ful ears and If you wold like
him i shold bee prowd too wate on you onnerd Sir he wor by
robbingsons Twister out of mister jones of abingdons Fan of witch
brede Bounser esqre nose on the merritts onnerd Sir he is very
Smal and smooth air and most xlent aither for wood Or warter a
liter before Tug onnerd Sir is nam is Vermin and he hant got his
nam by no mistake as No Vermin not even poll katts can live long
before him onnerd Sir I considders as vermin is very sootble
compannion for a Gent indors or hout and bein lively wold give
amoosement i shall fele it A plesure a waitin on you onnerd Sir
opin you will pardin the libbaty of a Dressin of you but my head
wor ful of vermin and i wishd to tel you
"onnerd Sir yures
2 komand j. Looker."
"The nasty beggar!" said Mr. Bouncer, in reference to the last
paragraph. "Well, Giglamps! Filthy Lucre does'nt tell fibs when he says
that Tug came of a good breed: but he was so doosed pugnacious, that he
was always having set-to's with Huz and Buz, in the coal-shop just
outside the door here; and so, as I'd nowhere else to stow them, I was
obliged to give Tug away. Dr. What's-his-name says, 'Let dogs delight to
bark and bite, for 'tis their nature to.' But then, you see, it's only a
delight when they bite _somebody else's_ dog; and if Dr. What's-his-name
had had a kennel of his own, he would'nt have took it so coolly; and,
whether it was their nature so to do or not, he would'nt have let the
little beggars, that he fork'd out thirteen bob a-year for to the
government, amuse themselves by biting each other, or tearing out each
other's eyes; he'd have turn'd them over, don't you see, to his
neighbours' dogs, and have let them do the biting department on _them_.
And, altogether, Giglamps, I'd advise you to let Filthy Lucre's Vermin
alone, and have nothing to do with the breed."
So Mr. Verdant Green took his friend's advice, and then took himself off
to learn boxing at the hands, and gloves, of the Putney Pet; for our
hero, at the suggestion of Mr. Charles Larkyns, had thought it advisable
to receive a few lessons in the fistic art, in order that he might be
the better able to defend himself, should he be engaged in a second Town
and Gown. He found the Pet in attendance upon Mr. Foote; and, by their
mutual aid, speedily mastered the elements of the Art of Self-defence.
Mr. Foote's rooms at St. John's were in the further corner to the
right-hand side of the Quad, and had windows looking into the gardens.
When Charles had held his Court at St. John's, and when the loyal
College had melted down its plate to coin into money for the King's
necessities, the Royal visitor had occupied these very rooms. But it was
not on this account alone that they were the show rooms of the College,
and that tutors sent their compliments to Mr. Foote, with the request
that he would allow a party of friends to see his rooms. It was chiefly
on account of the lavish manner in which Mr. Foote had furnished his
rooms, with what he theatrically called "properties," that made them so
sought out: and country lionisers of Oxford, who took their impressions
of an Oxford student's room from those of Mr. Foote, must have
entertained very highly coloured ideas of the internal aspect of the
sober-looking old Colleges.
The sitting-room was large and lofty, and was panelled with oak
throughout. At the further end was an elaborately carved book-case of
walnut wood, filled with books gorgeously bound in every tint of morocco
and vellum, with their backs richly tooled in gold. It was currently
reported in the College that "Footelights" had given an order for a
certain number of _feet_ of books,--not being at all proud as to their
contents,--and had laid down the sum of a thousand pounds (or
thereabouts) for their binding. This might have been scandal; but the
fact of his father being a Colossus of (the iron) Roads, and indulging
his son and heir in every expense, gave some colour to the rumour.
The panels were covered with the choicest engravings (all
proofs-before-letters), and with water-colour drawings by Cattermole,
Cox, Fripp, Hunt, and Frederick Tayler--their wide, white margins being
sunk in light gilt frames. Above these gleamed groups of armour,
standing out effectively (and theatrically), against the dark oak
panels, and full of "reflected lights," that would have gladdened the
heart of Maclise. There were couches of velvet, and lounging chairs of
every variety and shape. There was a Broadwood's grand piano-forte, on
which Mr. Foote, although uninstructed, could play skilfully. There
were round tables and square tables, and writing tables; and there were
side tables with statuettes, and Swiss carvings, and old china, and gold
apostle-spoons, and lava ware, and Etruscan vases, and a swarm of
Spiers's elegant knick-knackeries. There were reading-stands of all
sorts; Briarean-armed brazen ones that fastened on to the chair you sat
in,--sloping ones to rest on the table before you, elaborately carved in
open work, and an upright one of severe Gothic, like a lectern, where
you were to stand and read without contracting your chest. Then there
were all kinds of stands to hold books: sliding ones, expanding ones,
portable ones, heavy fixture ones, plain mahogany ones, and oak ones
made glorious by Margetts with the arms of Oxford and St. John's, carved
and emblazoned on the ends.
[Illustration]
Mr. Foote's rooms were altogether a very gorgeous instance of a
Collegian's apartment; and Mr. Foote himself was a very striking example
of the theatrical undergraduate. Possessing great powers of mimicry and
facial expression, he was able to imitate any peculiarities which were
to be observed either in Dons or Undergraduates, in Presidents or
Scouts. He could sit down at his piano, and give you--after the manner
of Theodore Hook, or John Parry--a burlesque opera; singing high up in
his head for the prima donna, and going down to his boots for the _basso
profondo_ of the great Lablache. He could also draw corks, saw wood, do
a bee in a handkerchief, and make monkeys, cats, dogs, a farm-yard, or a
full band, with equal facility. He would also give you Mr. Keeley, in
"Betsy Baker;" Mr. Paul Bedford, as "I believe you my bo-o-oy!" Mr.
Buckstone, as Cousin Joe, and "Box and Cox;" or Mr. Wright, as Paul Pry,
or Mr. Felix Fluffy. Besides the comedians, Mr. Footelights would also
give you the leading tragedians, and would favour you (through his nose)
with the popular burlesque imitation of Mr. Charles Kean, as _Hablet_.
He would fling himself down on the carpet, and grovel there, as Hamlet
does in the play-scene, and would exclaim, with frantic vehemence, "He
poisods hib i' the garded, for his estate. His dabe's Godzago: the story
is extadt, ad writted id very choice Italiad. You shall see adod, how
the burderer gets the love of Godzago's wife." Moreover, as his room
possessed the singularity of a trap-door leading down into a
wine-cellar, Mr. "Footelights" was thus enabled to leap down into the
aperture, and carry on the personation of Hamlet in Ophelia's grave. As
the theatrical trait in his character was productive of much amusement,
and as he was also considered to be one of those hilarious fragments of
masonry, popularly known as "jolly bricks," Mr. Foote's society was
greatly cultivated; and Mr. Verdant Green struck up a warm friendship
with him.
But the Michaelmas term was drawing to its close. Buttery and kitchen
books were adding up their sums total; bursars were preparing for
battels;[13] witless men were cramming for Collections;[14] scouts and
bedmakers were looking for tips; and tradesmen were hopelessly expecting
their little accounts. And, in a few days, Mr. Verdant Green might have
been seen at the railway station, in company with Mr. Charles Larkyns
and Mr. Bouncer, setting out for the Manor Green, _viâ_ London--this
being, as is well known, the most direct route from Oxford to
Warwickshire.
Mr. Bouncer, who when travelling was never easy in his mind unless Huz
and Buz were with him in the same carriage, had placed these two
interesting specimens of the canine species in a small light box,
partially ventilated by means of holes drilled through the top. But Huz
and Buz, not much admiring this contracted mode of conveyance, and
probably suffering from incipient asphyxia, in spite of the admonitory
kicks against their box, gave way to dismal howls, at the very moment
when the guard came to look at the tickets.
"Can't allow dogs in here, sir! they must go in the locker," said the
guard.
"Dogs?" cried Mr. Bouncer, in apparent astonishment: "they're rabbits!"
"Rabbits!" ejaculated the guard, in his turn. "Oh, come, sir! what makes
rabbits bark?"
"What makes 'em bark? Why, because they've got the pip, poor beggars!"
replied Mr. Bouncer, promptly. At which the guard graciously laughed,
and retired; probably thinking that he should, in the end, be a gainer
if he allowed Huz and Buz to journey in the same first-class carriage
with their master.
FOOTNOTES:
[12] The rations of bread, butter, and milk, supplied from the buttery.
The breakfast-giver tells his scout the names of those in-college men
who are coming to breakfast with him. The scout then collects their
commons, which thus forms the substratum of the entertainment. The other
things are of course supplied by the giver of the breakfast, and are
sent in by the confectioner. As to the knives and forks and crockery,
the scout produces them from his common stock.
[13] Battels are the accounts of the expenses of each student. It is
stated in Todd's _Johnson_ that this singular word is derived from the
Saxon verb, meaning "to count or reckon." But it is stated in the
_Gentleman's Magazine_ for 1792, that the word may probably be derived
from the Low-German word _bettahlen_, "to pay," whence may come our
English word, _tale_ or _score_.
[14] College Terminal Examinations.
CHAPTER VIII.
MR. VERDANT GREEN SPENDS A MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR.
Christmas had come; the season of kindness, and hospitality; the season
when the streams of benevolence flow full in their channels; the season
when the Honourable Miss Hyems indulges herself with ice, while the
vulgar Jack Frost regales himself with cold-without. Christmas had come,
and had brought with it an old fashioned winter; and, as Mr. Verdant
Green stands with his hands in his pockets, and gazes from the
drawing-room of his paternal mansion, he looks forth upon a white world.
The snow is everywhere. The shrubs are weighed down by masses of it; the
terrace is knee-deep in it; the plaster Apollo, in the long-walk, is
more than knee-deep in it, and is furnished with a surplice and wig,
like a half-blown Bishop. The distant country looks the very ghost of a
landscape: the white-walled cottages seem part and parcel of the
snow-drifts around them,--drifts that take every variety of form, and
are swept by the wind into faëry wreaths, and fantastic caves. The old
mill-wheel is locked fast, and gemmed with giant icicles; its slippery
stairs are more slippery than ever. Golden gorse and purple heather are
now all of a colour; orchards puts forth blossoms of real snow; the
gently swelling hills look bright and dazzling in the wintry sun; the
grey church tower has grown from grey to white; nothing looks black,
except the swarms of rooks that dot the snowy fields, or make their caws
(long as any Chancery-suit) to be heard from among the dark branches of
the stately elms that form the avenue to the Manor-Green.
[Illustration]
It is a rare busy time for the intelligent Mr. Mole the gardener! he is
always sweeping at that avenue, and, do what he will, he cannot keep it
clear from snow. As Mr. Verdant Green looks forth upon the white world,
his gaze is more particularly directed to this avenue, as though the
form of the intelligent Mr. Mole was an object of interest. From time to
time Mr. Verdant Green consults his watch in a nervous manner, and is
utterly indifferent to the appeals of the robin-redbreast who is hopping
about outside, in expectation of the dinner which has been daily given
to him.
[Illustration]
Just when the robin, emboldened by hunger, has begun to tap fiercely
with his bill against the window-pane, as a gentle hint that the
smallest donations of crumbs of comfort will be thankfully
received,--Mr. Verdant Green, utterly oblivious of robins in general,
and of the sharp pecks of this one in particular, takes no notice of the
little redbreast waiter with the bill, but, slightly colouring up, fixes
his gaze upon the lodge-gate through which a group of ladies and
gentlemen are passing. Stepping back for a moment, and stealing a glance
at himself in the mirror, Mr. Verdant Green hurriedly arranges and
disarranges his hair--pulls about his collar--ties and unties his
neck-handkerchief--buttons and then unbuttons his coat--takes another
look from the window--sees the intelligent Mr. Mole (besom in hand)
salaaming the party, and then makes a rush for the vestibule, to be at
the door to receive them.
Let us take a look at them as they come up the avenue. _Place aux
dames_, is the proper sort of thing; but as there is no rule without its
exception, and no adage without its counter-proverb, we will give the
gentlemen the priority of description.
Hale and hearty, the picture of amiability and gentlemanly feeling,
comes the Rector, Mr. Larkyns, sturdily crunching the frozen snow, which
has defied all the besom powers of the intelligent Mr. Mole. Here, too,
is Mr. Charles Larkyns, and, moreover, his friend Henry Bouncer, Esq.,
who has come to Christmas at the Rectory. Following in their wake is a
fourth gentleman attired in the costume peculiar to clergymen,
dissenting ministers, linen-drapers' assistants, and tavern waiters. He
happens to belong to the first-named section, and is no less a person
than the Rev. Josiah Meek, B.A., (St. Christopher's Coll., Oxon.)--who,
for the last three months, has officiated as Mr. Larkyns's curate. He
appears to be of a peace-loving, lamb-like disposition; and, though
sportive as a lamb when occasion requires, is yet of timid ways and
manners. He is timid, too, in voice,--speaking in a feeble treble; he is
timid, too, in his address,--more particularly as regards females; and
he has mild-looking whiskers, that are far too timid to assume any
decided or obtrusive colour, and have fallen back on a generalised
whitey-brown tint. But, though timid enough in society, he was bold and
energetic in the discharge of his pastoral duties, and had already won
the esteem of every one in the parish. So, Verdant had been told, when,
on his return from college, he had asked his sisters how they liked the
new curate. They had not only heard of his good deeds, but they had
witnessed many of them in their visits to the schools and among the
poor. Mary and Fanny were loud in his praise; and if Helen said but
little, it was perhaps because she thought the more; for Helen was now
of the susceptible age of "sweet seventeen," an age that not only feels
warmly but thinks deeply; and, who shall say what feelings and thoughts
may be beneath the pure waters of that sea of maidenhood whose surface
is so still and calm? Love alone can tell:--Love, the bold diver, who
can cleave that still surface, and bring up into the light of heaven the
rich treasures that are of Heaven's own creation.
With the four gentlemen come two ladies--young ladies, moreover, who, as
penny-a-liners say, are "possessed of considerable personal
attractions." These are the Misses Honeywood, the blooming daughters of
the rector's only sister; and they have come from the far land of the
North, and are looking as fresh and sweet as their own heathery hills.
The roses of health that bloom upon their cheeks have been brought into
full blow by the keen, sharp breeze; the shepherd's-plaid shawls drawn
tightly around them give the outline of figures that gently swell into
the luxuriant line of beauty and grace. Altogether, they are damsels who
are pleasant to the eye, and very fair to look upon.
Since they had last visited their uncle four years had passed, and, in
that time, they had shot up to womanhood, although they were not yet out
of their teens. Their father was a landed proprietor living in north
Northumberland; and, like other landed proprietors who live under the
shade of the Cheviots, was rich in his flocks, and his herds, and his
men-servants and his maid-servants, and his he-asses and his she-asses,
and was quite a modern patriarch. During the past summer, the rector had
taken a trip to Northumberland, in order to see his sister, and refresh
himself with a clergyman's fortnight at Honeywood Hall, and he would not
leave his sister and her husband until he had extracted from them a
promise that they would bring down their two eldest daughters and
Christmas in Warwickshire. This was accordingly agreed to, and, more
than that, acted upon; and little Mr. Bouncer and his sister Fanny were
asked to meet them; but, to relieve the rector of a superfluity of lady
guests, Miss Bouncer's quarters had been removed to the Manor Green.
It was quite an event in the history of our hero and his sisters. Four
years ago, they, and Kitty and Patty Honeywood, were mere chits, for
whom dolls had not altogether lost their interest, and who considered it
as promotion when they sat in the drawing-room on company evenings,
instead of being shown up at dessert. Four years at this period of life
makes a vast change in young ladies, and the Green and Honeywood girls
had so altered since last they met, that they had almost needed a fresh
introduction to each other. But a day's intimacy made them bosom
friends; and the Manor Green soon saw such revels as it had not seen for
many a long year.
Every night there were (in the language of the play-bills of provincial
theatres) "singing and dancing, with a variety of other entertainments;"
the "other entertainments" occasionally consisting (as is scandalously
affirmed) of a very favourite class of entertainment--popular at all
times, but running mad riot at the Christmas season--wherein two
performers of either sex take their places beneath a white-berried
bough, and go through a species of dance, or _pas de fascination_,
accompanied by mysterious rites and solemnities that have been
scrupulously observed, and handed down to us, from the earliest age.
[Illustration]
Mr. Verdant Green, during the short--alas! _too_ short--Christmas week,
had performed more polkas than he had ever danced in his life; and,
under the charming tuition of Miss Patty Honeywood, was fast becoming a
proficient in the _valse à deux temps_. As yet, the whirl of the dance
brought on a corresponding rotatory motion of the brain, that made
everything swim before his spectacles in a way which will be easily
understood by all bad travellers who have crossed from Dover to Calais
with a chopping sea and a gale of wind. But Miss Patty Honeywood was
both good-natured and persevering: and she allowed our hero to dance on
her feet without a murmur, and watchfully guided him when his giddy
vision would have led them into contact with foreign bodies.
It is an old saying, that Gratitude begets Love. Mr. Verdant Green had
already reached the first part of this dangerous creation, for he felt
grateful to the pretty Patty for the good-humoured trouble she bestowed
on the awkwardness, which he now, for the first time, began painfully to
perceive. But, what his gratitude might end in, he had perhaps never
taken the trouble to inquire. It was enough to Mr. Verdant Green that he
enjoyed the present; and, as to the future, he fully followed out the
Horatian precept--
Quid sit futurum cras, fuge quærere;
... nec dulces amores
Sperne, puer, neque tu choreas.
[Illustration]
It was perhaps ungrateful in our hero to prefer Miss Patty Honeywood to
Miss Fanny Bouncer, especially when the latter was staying in the house,
and had been so warmly recommended to his notice by her vivacious
brother. Especially, too, as there was nothing to be objected to in Miss
Bouncer, saving the fact that some might have affirmed she was a trifle
too much inclined to _embonpoint_, and was indeed a bouncer in person as
well as in name. Especially, too, as Miss Fanny Bouncer was both
good-humoured and clever, and, besides being mistress of the usual
young-lady accomplishments, was a clever proficient in the fascinating
art of photography, and had brought her camera and chemicals, and had
not only calotyped Mr. Verdant Green, but had made no end of duplicates
of him, in a manner that was suggestive of the deepest admiration and
affection. But these sort of likings are not made to rule, and Mr.
Verdant Green could see Miss Fanny Bouncer approach without betraying
any of those symptoms of excitement, under the influence of which we had
the privilege to see him, as he gazed from the window of his paternal
mansion, and then, on beholding the approaching form of Miss Patty
Honeywood, rush wildly to the vestibule.
The party had no occasion to ring, for the hall door was already opened
for them, and Mr. Verdant Green was soon exchanging a delightful
pressure of the hand with the blooming Patty.
"We were such a formidable party," said that young lady, as she laughed
merrily, and thereby disclosed to the enraptured gazer a remarkably even
set of white teeth ("All her own, too!" as little Mr. Bouncer afterwards
remarked to the enraptured gazer); "we were such a formidable party,"
said Miss Patty, "that papa and mamma declared they would stay behind at
the Rectory, and would not join in such a visitation."
Mr. Verdant Green replies, "Oh dear! I am very sorry," and looks
remarkably delighted--though it certainly may not be at the absence of
the respected couple; and he then proclaims that everything is ready,
and that Miss Bouncer and his sisters had found out some capital words.
"What a mysterious communication, Verdant!" remarks the rector, as they
pass into the house. But the rector is only to be let so far into the
secret as to be informed that, at the evening party which is to be held
at the Manor Green that night, a charade or two will be acted, in order
to diversify the amusements. The Misses Honeywood are great adepts in
this sort of pastime; so, also, are Miss Bouncer and her brother. For
although the latter does not shine as a mimic, yet, as he is never
deserted by his accustomed coolness, he has plenty of the _nonchalance_
and readiness which is a requisite for charade acting. The Miss
Honeywoods and Mr. Bouncer have therefore suggested to Mr. Verdant Green
and his sisters, that to get up a little amateur performance would be
"great fun;" and the suggestion has met with a warm approval.
The drawing-room at the Manor Green opened by large folding-doors to the
library; so (as Mr. Bouncer observed to our hero), "there you've got
your stage and your drop-scene as right as a trivet; and, if you stick a
lot of candles and lights on each side of the doors in the library,
there you'll have a regular flare-up that'll show off your venerable
giglamps no end."
So charades were determined on; and, when words had been hunted up, a
council of war was called. But, as the ladies and gentlemen hold their
council with closed doors, we cannot intrude upon them. We must
therefore wait till the evening, when the result of their deliberations
will be publicly manifested.
CHAPTER IX.
MR. VERDANT GREEN MAKES HIS FIRST APPEARANCE ON ANY BOARDS.
It is the last night of December. The old year, worn out and spent with
age, lies a dying, wrapped in sheets of snow.
[Illustration]
A stern stillness reigns around. The steps of men are muffled; no
echoing footfalls disturb the solemn nature of the time. The little
runnels weep icy tears. The dark pines hang out their funereal plumes,
and nod with their weight of snow. The elms have thrown off their green
robes of joy, and, standing up in gaunt nakedness, wildly toss to heaven
their imploring arms. The old year lies a dying.
Silently through the snow steal certain carriages to the portals of the
Manor Green: and, with a ringing of bells and a banging of steps, the
occupants disappear in a stream of light that issues from the hall door.
Mr. Green's small sanctum to the right of the hall has been converted
into a cloak-room, and is fitted up with a ladies'-maid and a
looking-glass, in a manner not to be remembered by the oldest
inhabitant.
There the finishing stroke of ravishment is given to the toilette
disarranged by a long drive through the impeding snow. There Miss
Parkington (whose papa has lately revived his old school friendship with
Mr. Green) discovers, to her unspeakable disgust, that the ten mile
drive through the cold has invested her cheek with purple tints, and
given to her _retroussé_ (ill-natured people call it "pug") nose a hue
that mocks
The turkey's crested fringe.
[Illustration]
There, too, Miss Waters (whose paternities had hitherto only been on
morning-call terms with the Manor Green people, but had brushed up their
acquaintance now that there was a son of marriageable years and heir to
an independent fortune) discovers to her dismay that the joltings
received during a six-mile drive through snowed-up lanes, have somewhat
deteriorated the very full-dress aspect of her attire, and considerably
flattened its former balloon-like dimensions. And there, too, Miss
Brindle (whose family have been hunted up for the occasion) makes the
alarming discovery that, in the lurch which their hack-fly had made at
the cross roads, her brother Alfred's patent boots had not only dragged
off some yards (more or less) of her flounces, but had also--to use her
own mystical language--"torn her skirt at the gathers!"
All, however, is put right as far as possible. A warm at the sanctum's
fire diminishes the purple in Miss Parkington's cheeks; and the maid, by
some hocus-pocus peculiar to her craft, again inflates Miss Waters into
a balloon, and stitches up Miss Brindle's flounces and "gathers." The
ladies join their respective gentlemen, who have been cooling their toes
and uttering warm anathemas in the hall; and the party sail, arm-in-arm,
into the drawing-room, and forthwith fall to lively remarks on that
neutral ground of conversation, the weather.
[Illustration]
Mr. Verdant Green is there, dressed with elaborate magnificence; but he
continues in a state of listless apathy, and is indifferent to the
"lively" rattle of the balloon-like Miss Waters, until John the footman
(who is suffering from influenza) rouses him into animation by the magic
talisman "Bister, Bissis, an' the Biss 'Oneywoods;" when he beams
through his spectacles in the most benign and satisfied manner. The
Misses Honeywood are as blooming as usual: the cold air, instead of
spoiling their good looks, has but improved their healthy style of
beauty; and they smile, laugh, and talk in a perfectly easy, unaffected,
and natural manner. Mr. Verdant Green at once makes his way to Miss
Patty Honeywood's side, and, gracefully standing beside her, coffee-cup
in hand, plunges headlong into the depths of a tangled conversation.
Meanwhile, the drawing-room of the Manor Green becomes filled in a way
that has not been seen for many a long year; and the intelligent Mr.
Mole, the gardener (who has been impressed as an odd man for the
occasion, and is served up in a pseudo-livery to make him more
presentible), sees more "genteel" people than have, for a long time,
been visible to his naked eye. The intelligent Mr. Mole, when he has
afterwards been restored to the bosom of Mrs. Mole and his family,
confides to his equally intelligent helpmate that, in his opinion,
"Master has guv the party to get husbands for the young ladies"--an
opinion which, though perhaps not founded on fact so far as it related
to the party which was the subject of Mr. Mole's remark, would doubtless
be applicable to many similar parties given under somewhat similar
circumstances.
It is not improbable that the intelligent Mr. Mole may have based his
opinion on a circumstance--which, to a gentleman of his sagacity, must
have carried great weight--namely, that whenever in the course of the
evening the hall was made the promenade for the loungers and dancers, he
perceived, firstly, that Miss Green was invariably accompanied by Mr.
Charles Larkyns; secondly, that the Rev. Josiah Meek kept Miss Helen
dallying about the wine and lemonade tray much longer than was necessary
for the mere consumption of the cooling liquids; and thirdly, that Miss
Fanny, who was a pert, talkative Miss of sixteen, was continually to be
found there with either Mr. Henry Bouncer or Mr. Alfred Brindle dancing
attendance upon her. But, be this as it may, the intelligent Mr. Mole
was impressed with the conviction that Mr. Green had called his young
friends together as to a matrimonial auction, and that his daughters
were to be put up without reserve, and knocked down to the highest
bidder.
All the party have arrived. The weather has been talked over for the
last time (for the present); a harp, violin, and a cornet-à-piston from
the county town, influenced by the spirit of gin-and-water, are heard
discoursing most eloquent music in the dining-room, which has been
cleared out for the dance. Miss Patty Honeywood, accepting the offer of
Mr. Verdant Green's arm, swims joyously out of the room; other ladies
and gentlemen pair, and follow: the ball is opened.
A polka follows the quadrille; and, while the dancers rest awhile from
their exertions, or crowd around the piano in the drawing-room to hear
the balloon-like Miss Waters play a firework piece of music, in which
execution takes the place of melody, and chromatic scales are discharged
from her fingers like showers of rockets, Mr. Verdant Green mysteriously
weeds out certain members of the party, and vanishes with them upstairs.
[Illustration]
When Miss Waters has discharged all her fireworks, and has descended
from the throne of her music-stool, a set of Lancers is formed; and,
while the usual mistakes are being made in the figures, the dancers
find a fruitful subject of conversation in surmises that a charade
is going to be acted. The surmise proves to be correct; for when
the set has been brought to an end with that peculiar in-and-out
tum-tum-tiddle-iddle-tum-tum-tum movement which characterises the last
figure of _Les Lanciers_, the trippers on the light fantastic toe are
requested to assemble in the drawing-room, where the chairs and couches
have been pulled up to face the folding doors that lead into the
library. Mr. Verdant Green appears; and, after announcing that the word
to be acted will be one of three syllables, and that each syllable will
be represented by itself, and that then the complete word will be given,
throws open the folding doors for
SCENE I. _Syllable_ 1.--Enter the Miss Honeywoods, dressed in
fashionable bonnets and shawls. They are shown in by a footman (Mr.
Bouncer) attired in a peculiarly ingenious and effective livery, made by
pulling up the trousers to the knee, and wearing the dress-coat inside
out, so as to display the crimson silk linings of the sleeves: the
effect of Mr. Bouncer's appearance is considerably heightened by a
judicious outlay of flour sprinkled over his hair. Mr. Bouncer (as
footman) gives the ladies chairs, and inquires, "What name shall I be
pleased to say, mem?" Miss Patty answers in a languid and fashionable
voice, "The Ladies Louisa and Arabella Mountfidget." Mr. Bouncer
evaporates with a low bow, leaving the ladies to play with their
parasols, and converse. Lady Arabella (Miss Patty) then expresses a
devout wish that Lady Trotter (wife of Sir Lambkin Trotter, Bart.), in
whose house they are supposed to be, will not keep them waiting as long
as she detained her aunt, Lady Bellwether, when the poor old lady fell
asleep from sheer fatigue, and was found snoring on the sofa. Lady
Louisa then falls to an inspection of the card-tray, and reads the
paste-boards of some high-sounding titles not to be found in Debrett,
and expresses wonder as to where Lady Trotter can have picked up the
Duchess of Ditchwater's card, as she (Lady Louisa) is morally convinced
that her Grace can never have condescended to have even sent in her card
by a footman. Becoming impatient at the non-appearance of Lady Trotter,
Miss Patty Honeywood then rings the bell, and, with much asperity of
manner, inquires of Mr. Bouncer (as footman) if Lady Trotter is informed
that the Ladies Louisa and Arabella Mountfidget are waiting to see her?
Mr. Bouncer replies, with a footman's bow, and a footman's
_h_exasperation of his h's, "Me lady is hawcer hof your ladyships'
visit; but me lady is at present hunable to happear: me lady, 'owever,
has give me a message, which she hasks me to deliver to your ladyships."
"Then why don't you deliver it at once," says Miss Patty, "and not
waste the valuable time of the Ladies Louisa and Arabella Mountfidget?
What _is_ the message?" "Me lady," replies Mr. Bouncer, "requests me to
present her compliments to your ladyships, and begs me to hinform you
that me lady is a cleaning of herself!" Amid great laughter from the
audience, the Ladies Mountfidget toss their heads and flutter grandly
out of the room, followed by the floured footman; while Mr. Verdant
Green, unseen by those in front, pushes-to the folding doors, to show
that the first syllable is performed.
Praises of the acting, and guesses at the word, agreeably fill up the
time till the next scene. The Revd Josiah Meek, who is not much used to
charades, confides to Miss Helen Green that he surmises the word to be,
either "visitor" or "impudence" but, as the only ground to this surmise
rests on these two words being words of three syllables, Miss Helen
gently repels the idea, and sagely observes "we shall see more in the
next scene."
SCENE II. _Syllable_ 2.--The folding-doors open, and discover Mr.
Verdant Green, as a sick gentleman, lying on a sofa, in a dressing-gown,
with pillows under his head, and Miss Patty Honeywood in attendance upon
him. A table, covered with glasses and medicine bottles, is drawn up to
the sufferer's couch in an inviting manner. Miss Patty informs the
sufferer that the time is come for him to take his draught. The sufferer
groans in a dismal manner, and says, "Oh! is it, my dear?" She replies,
"Yes! you must take it now;" and sternly pours some sherry wine out of
the medicine bottle into a cup. The sufferer makes piteous faces, and
exclaims, "It is so nasty, I can't take it, my love!" (It is to be
observed that Mr. Verdant Green, skilfully taking advantage of the
circumstance that Miss Patty Honeywood is supposed to represent the wife
of the sufferer, plentifully besprinkles his conversation with endearing
epithets.) When, after much persuasion and groaning, the sufferer has
been induced to take his medicine, his spouse announces the arrival of
the doctor; when, enter Mr. Bouncer, still floured as to his head, but
wearing spectacles, a long black coat, and a shirt-frill, and having his
dress otherwise altered so as to represent a medical man of the old
school. The doctor asks what sort of a night his patient has had,
inspects his tongue with professional gravity, feels his pulse, looks at
his watch, and mysteriously shakes his head. He then commences thrusting
and poking Mr. Verdant Green in various parts of his body,--after the
manner of doctors with their victims, and farmers with their
beasts,--enquiring between each poke, "Does that hurt you?" and being
answered by a convulsive "Oh!" and a groan of agony. The doctor then
prescribes a draught to be taken every half-hour, with the pills and
blister at bed-time; and, after covering his two fellow-actors with
confusion, by observing that he leaves his patient in admirable hands,
and, that in an affection of the heart, the application of lip-salve and
warm treatment will give a decided tone to the system, and produce
soothing and grateful emotions--takes his leave; and the folding-doors
are closed on the blushes of Miss Patty Honeywood, and Mr. Verdant
Green.
[Illustration]
More applause: more agreeable conversation: more ingenious speculations.
The Revd. Josiah Meek is now of opinion that the word is either
"medicine" or "suffering." Miss Helen still sagely observes, "we shall
see more in the next scene."
SCENE III. _Syllable_ 3.--Mr. Verdant Green discovered sitting at a
table furnished with pens and ink, books, and rolls of paper. Mr.
Verdant Green wears on his head a Chelsea pensioner's cocked-hat (the
"property" of the Family,--as Mr. Footelights would have said), folded
into a shovel shape; and is supposed to accurately represent the outside
of a London publisher. To him enter Mr. Bouncer--the flour off his
head--coat buttoned tightly to the throat, no visible linen, and wearing
in his face and appearance generally, "the garb of humility." Says the
publisher "Now, sir, please to state your business, and be quick about
it: I am much engaged in looking over for the press a work of a
distinguished author, which I am just about to publish." Meekly replies
the other, as he holds under his arm an immense paper packet: "It is
about a work of my own, sir, that I have now ventured to intrude upon
you. I have here, sir, a small manuscript," (producing his roll of a
book), "which I am ambitious to see given to the world through the
medium of your printing establishment." To him, the Publisher--"Already
am I inundated with manuscripts on all possible subjects, and cannot
undertake to look at any more for some time to come. What is the nature
of your manuscript?" Meekly replies the other--"The theme of my work,
sir, is a History of England before the Flood. The subject is both new
and interesting. It is to be presumed that our beloved country existed
before the Flood: if so, it must have had a history. I have therefore
endeavoured to fill up what is lacking in the annals of our land, by a
record of its antediluvian state, adapted to the meanest comprehension,
and founded on the most baseless facts. I am desirous, sir, to see
myself in print. I should like my work, sir, to appear in large letters;
in very large letters, sir. Indeed, sir, it would give me joy, if you
would condescend to print it altogether in capital letters: my _magnum
opus_ might then be called with truth, a capital work." To him, the
Publisher--"Much certainly depends on the character of the printing."
Meekly the author--"Indeed, sir, it does. A great book, sir, should be
printed in great letters. If you will permit me, I will show you the
size of the letters in which I should wish my book to be printed." Mr.
Bouncer then points out in some books on the table, the printing he most
admires; and, beseeching the Publisher to read over his manuscript, and
think favourably of his History of England before the Flood, makes his
bow to Mr. Verdant Green and the Chelsea pensioner's cocked hat.
More applause, and speculations. The Revd. Josiah Meek confident that he
has discovered the word. It must be either "publisher" or "authorship."
Miss Helen still sage.
SCENE IV. _The Word._--Miss Bouncer discovered with her camera,
arranging her photographic chemicals. She soliloquises. "There! now, all
is ready for my sitter." She calls the footman (Mr. Verdant Green), and
says, "John, you may show the Lady Fitz-Canute upstairs." The footman
shows in Miss Honeywood, dressed in an antiquated bonnet and mantle,
waving a huge fan. John gives her a chair, into which she drops,
exclaiming, "What an insufferable toil it is to ascend to these elevated
Photographic rooms;" and makes good use of her fan. Miss Bouncer then
fixes the focus of her camera, and begs the Lady Fitz-Canute to sit
perfectly still, and to call up an agreeable smile to her face. Miss
Honeywood thereupon disposes her face in ludicrous "wreathed smiles;"
and Miss Bouncer's head disappears under the velvet hood of the camera.
"I am afraid," at length says Miss Bouncer, "I am afraid that I shall
not be able to succeed in taking a likeness of your ladyship this
morning." "And why, pray?" asks her ladyship with haughty surprise.
"Because it is a gloomy day," replies the Photographer, "and much
depends upon the rays of light." "Then procure the rays of light!" "That
is more than I can do." "Indeed! I suppose if the Lady Fitz-Canute
wishes for the rays of light, and condescends to pay for the rays of
light, she can obtain the rays of light." Miss Bouncer considers this
too _exigeant_, and puts her sitter off by promising to complete a most
fascinating portrait of her on some more favourable day. Lady
Fitz-Canute appears to be somewhat mollified at this, and is graciously
pleased to observe, "Then I will undergo the fatigue of ascending to
these elevated Photographic-rooms at some future period. But, mind, when
I next come, that you procure the rays of light!" So she is shown out by
Mr. Verdant Green, and the folding-doors are closed amid applause, and
the audience distract themselves with guesses as to the word.
"Photograph" is a general favourite, but is found not to agree with the
three first scenes, although much ingenuity is expended in endeavouring
to make them fit the word. The Curate makes a headlong rush at the word
"Daguerreotype," and is confident that he has solved the problem, until
he is informed that it is a word of more than three syllables. Charles
Larkyns has already whispered the word to Mary Green; but they keep
their discovery to themselves. At length, the Revd. Josiah Meek, in a
moment of inspiration, hits upon the word, and proclaims it to be
CALOTYPE ("Call--oh!--type;") upon which Mr. Alfred Brindle declares to
Miss Fanny Green that he had fancied it must be that, all along, and, in
fact, was just on the point of saying it: and the actors, coming in in a
body, receive the violet-crowns and laurel-wreaths of praise as the meed
of their exertions. Perhaps, the Miss Honeywoods and Mr. Bouncer
receive larger crowns than the others, but Mr. Verdant Green gets his
due share, and is fully satisfied with his first appearance on "the
boards."
[Illustration]
Dancing then succeeds, varied by songs from the young ladies, and
discharges of chromatic fireworks from the fingers of Miss Waters, for
whom Charles Larkyns does the polite, in turning over the leaves of her
music. Then some carol-singers come to the Hall-door, and the bells of
the church proclaim, in joyful peals, the birth of the New Year;--a new
year of hopes, and joys, and cares, and griefs, and unions, and
partings;--a new year of which, who then present shall see the end? who
shall be there to welcome in its successor? who shall be absent, laid in
the secret places of the earth? Ah, _who_? For, even in the midst of
revelry and youth, the joy-peals of those old church bells can strike
the key-note of a wail of grief.
Another charade follows, in which new actors join. Then comes a merry
supper, in which Mr. Alfred Brindle, in order to give himself courage to
appear in the next charade, takes more champagne than is good for him;
in which, too (probably, from similar champagney reasons), Miss
Parkington's unfortunately self-willed nose again assumes a more roseate
hue than is becoming to a maiden; in which, too, Mr. Verdant Green being
called upon to return thanks for "the ladies"--(toast, proposed in
eloquent terms by H. Bouncer, Esq., and drunk "with the usual
honours,")--is so alarmed at finding himself upon his legs, that his
ideas altogether vanish, and in great confusion of utterance, he
observes,--"I--I--ladies and gentlemen--feel--I--I--a--feel--assure
you--grattered and flattified--I mean, flattered and gratified--being
called on--return thanks--I--I--a--the ladies--give a larm to chife--I
mean, charm to life--(_applause_)--and--a--a--grace by their
table this presence,--I mean--a--a--(_applause_),--and joytened our
eye--I mean, heighted our joy, to-night--(_applause_),--in their
name--thanks--honour." Mr. Verdant Green takes advantage of the applause
which follows these incoherent remarks, and sits down, covered with
confusion, but thankful that the struggle is over.
More dancing follows. Our hero performs prodigies in the _valse à deux
temps_, and twirls about until he has not a leg left to stand upon. The
harp, the violin, and the cornet-à-piston, from the county-town, play
mechanically in their sleep, and can only be roused by repeated
applications of gin-and-water. Carriages are ordered round: wraps are in
requisition: the mysterious rites under the white-berried bush are
stealthily repeated for the last time: the guests depart, as it were, in
a heap; the Rectory party being the last to leave. The intelligent Mr.
Mole, who has fuddled himself by an injudicious mixture of the
half-glasses of wine left on the supper-table, is exasperated with the
butler for not allowing him to assist in putting away the silver; and
declares that he (the butler) is "a hold himage," for which, he (the
intelligent Mr. M.), "don't care a button!" and, as the epithet "image"
appears to wondrously offend the butler, Mr. Mole is removed from
further consequences by his intelligent wife, who is waiting to conduct
her lord and master home.
At length, the last light is out in the Manor-Green. Mr. Verdant Green
is lying uncomfortably upon his back, and is waltzing through Dreamland
with the blooming Patty Honeywood.
CHAPTER X.
MR. VERDANT GREEN ENJOYS A REAL CIGAR.
The Christmas vacation passed rapidly away; the Honeywood family
returned to the far north; and, once more, Mr. Verdant Green found
himself within the walls of Brazenface. He and Mr. Bouncer had together
gone up to Oxford, leaving Charles Larkyns behind to keep a grace-term.
Charles Larkyns had determined to take a good degree. For some time
past, he had been reading steadily; and, though only a few hours in each
day may be given to books--yet, when that is done, with regularity and
painstaking, a real and sensible progress is made. He knew that he had
good abilities, and he had determined not to let them remain idle any
longer, but to make that use of them for which they were given to him.
His examination would come on during the next term; and he hoped to turn
the interval to good account, and be able in the end to take a
respectable degree. He was destined for the Bar; and, as he had no wish
to be a briefless Barrister, he knew that college honours would be of
great advantage to him in his after career. He, at once, therefore, set
bodily to work to read up his subjects; while his father assisted him in
his labours, and Mary Green smiled a kind approval.
Meanwhile, his friends, Mr. Verdant Green and Mr. Henry Bouncer, were
enjoying Oxford life, and disporting themselves among the crowd of
skaters in the Christ Church meadows. And a very different scene did the
meadows present to the time when they had last skimmed over its surface.
Then, the green fields were covered with sailing-boats, out-riggers, and
punts, and Mr. Verdant Green had nearly come to an untimely end in the
waters. But now the scene was changed! Jack Frost had stepped in, and
had seized the flood in his frozen fingers, and had bound it up in an
icy breast-plate.
And a capital place did the meadows make for any Undergraduate who was
either a professed skater, or whose skating education (as in the case of
our hero) had been altogether neglected. For the water was only of a
moderate depth; so that, in the event of the ice giving way, there was
nothing to fear beyond a slight and partial ducking. This was
especially fortunate for Mr. Verdant Green, who, after having
experienced total submersion and a narrow escape from drowning on that
very spot, would never have been induced to again commit himself to the
surface of the deep, had he not been fully convinced that the deep had
now subsided into a shallow. With his breast fortified by this
resolution, he therefore fell a victim to the syren tongue of Mr.
Bouncer, when that gentleman observed to him with sincere feeling,
"Giglamps, old fellow! it would be a beastly shame, when there's such
jolly ice, if you did not learn to skate; especially, as I can show you
the trick."
For, Mr. Bouncer was not only skilful with his hands and arms, but could
also perform feats with his feet. He could not only dance quadrilles in
dress boots in a ball-room, but he could also go through the figures on
the ice in a pair of skates. He could do the outside edge at a more
acute angle than the generality of people; he could cut figures of eight
that were worthy of Cocker himself, he could display spread-eagles that
would have astonished the Fellows of the Zoological Society. He could
skim over the thinnest ice in the most don't-care way; and, when
at full speed, would stoop to pick up a stone. He would take a
hop-skip-and-a-jump; and would vault over walking-sticks, as easily as
if he were on dry land,--an accomplishment which he had learnt of the
Count Doembrownski, a Russian gentleman, who, in his own country, lived
chiefly on skates, and, in this country, on pigeons, and whose short
residence in Oxford was suddenly brought to a full stop by the arbitrary
power of the Vice-Chancellor. So, Mr. Verdant Green was persuaded to
purchase, and put on a pair of skates, and to make his first appearance
as a skater in the Christ Church meadows, under the auspices of Mr.
Bouncer.
The sensation of first finding yourself in a pair of skates is peculiar.
It is not unlike the sensation which must have been felt by the young
bear, when he was dropped from his mamma's mouth, and, for the first
time, told to walk. The poor little bear felt, that it was all very well
to say "walk,"--but how was he to do it? Was he to walk with his right
fore-leg only? or, with his left fore-leg? or, with both his fore-legs?
or, was he to walk with his right hind-leg? or, with his left hind-leg?
or, with both his hind-legs? or, was he to make a combination of hind
and fore-legs, and walk with all four at once? or, what was he to do? So
he tried each of these ways; and they all failed. Poor little bear!
[Illustration]
Mr. Verdant Green felt very much in the little bear's condition. He was
undecided whether to skate with his right leg, or with his left leg, or
with both his legs. He tried his right leg, and immediately it glided
off at right angles with his body, while his left leg performed a
similar and spontaneous movement in the contrary direction. Having
captured his left leg, he put it cautiously forwards, and immediately it
twisted under him, while his right leg amused itself by describing an
altogether unnecessary circle. Obtaining a brief mastery over both legs,
he put them forwards at the same moment, and they fled from beneath him,
and he was flung--bump!--on his back. Poor little bear!
But, if it is hard to make a start in a pair of skates when you are in a
perpendicular position, how much is the difficulty increased when your
position has become a horizontal one! You raise yourself on your
knees,--you assist yourself with your hands,--and, no sooner have you
got one leg right, than away slides the other, and down you go. It is
like the movement in that scene with the pair of short stilts, in which
the French clowns are so amusing, and it is almost as difficult to
perform. Mr. Verdant Green soon found that though he might be ambitious
to excel in the polite accomplishment of skating, yet that his ambition
was destined to meet with many a fall. But he persevered, and
perseverance will achieve wonders, especially when aided by the tuition
of such an indefatigable gentleman as Mr. Bouncer.
[Illustration]
"You get on stunningly, Giglamps," said the little gentleman, "and
hav'nt been on your beam ends more than once a minute. But I should
advise you, old fellow, to get your sit-upons seated with
wash-leather,--just like the eleventh hussars do with their
cherry-coloured pants. It'll come cheaper in the end, and may be
productive of comfort. And now, after all these exciting ups and downs,
let us go and have a quiet hand at billiards." So the two friends
strolled up the High, where they saw two Queensmen "confessing their
shame," as Mr. Bouncer phrased it, by standing under the gateway of
their college; and went on to Bickerton's, where they found all the
tables occupied, and Jonathan playing a match with Mr. Fluke of
Christchurch. So, after watching the celebrated marker long enough to
inspire them with a desire to accomplish similar feats of dexterity,
they continued their walk to Broad Street, and, turning up a yard
opposite to the Clarendon, found that Betteris had an upstair room at
liberty. Here they accomplished several pleasing mathematical problems
with the balls, and contributed their modicum towards the smoking of the
ceiling of the room.
Since Mr. Verdant Green had acquired the art of getting through a cigar
without making himself ill, he had looked upon himself as a genuine
smoker; and had, from time to time, bragged of his powers as regarded
the fumigation of "the herb Nicotiana, commonly called tobacco," (as the
Oxford statute tersely says). This was an amiable weakness on his part
that had not escaped the observant eye of Mr. Bouncer, who had
frequently taken occasion, in the presence of his friends, to defer to
Mr. Verdant Green's judgment in the matter of cigars. The train of
adulation being thus laid, an opportunity was only needed to fire it. It
soon came.
[Illustration]
"Once upon a time," as the story-books say, it chanced that Mr. Bouncer
was consuming his minutes and cigars at his tobacconist's, when his eye
lighted for the thousandth time on the roll of cabbage-leaves, brown
paper, and refuse tobacco, which being done up into the form of a
monster cigar (a foot long, and of proportionate thickness), was hung in
the shop-window, and did duty as a truthful token of the commodity
vended within. Mr. Bouncer had looked at this implement nine hundred
and ninety nine times, without its suggesting anything else to his
mind, than its being of the same class of art as the monster
mis-representations outside wild-beast shows; but he now gazed upon it
with new sensations. In short, Mr. Bouncer took such a fancy to the
thing, that he purchased it, and took it off to his rooms,--though he
did not mention this fact to his friend, Mr. Verdant Green, when he saw
him soon afterwards, and spoke to him of his excellent judgment in
tobacco.
"A taste for smoke comes natural, Giglamps!" said Mr. Bouncer. "It's
what you call a _nascitur non fit_; and, if you haven't the gift, why
you can't purchase it. Now, you're a judge of smoke; it's a gift with
you, don't you see; and you could no more help knowing a good weed from
a bad one, than you could help waggling your tail if you were a
baa-lamb."
Mr. Verdant Green bowed, and blushed, in acknowledgment of this
delightful flattery.
"Now, there's old Footelights, you know; he's got an uncle, who's a
governor, or some great swell, out in Barbadoes. Well, every now and
then the old trump sends Footelights no end of a box of weeds; not
common ones, you understand, but regular tip-toppers; but they're quite
thrown away on poor Footelights, who'd think as much of cabbage-leaves
as he would of real Havannahs, so he's always obliged to ask somebody
else's opinion about them. Well, he's got a sample of a weed of a most
terrific kind:--_Magnifico Pomposo_ is the name;--no end uncommon, and
at least a foot long. We don't meet with 'em in England because they're
too expensive to import. Well, it would'nt do to throw away such a weed
as this on any one; so, Footelights wants to have the opinion of a man
who's really a judge of what a good weed is. I refused, because my taste
has been rather out of order lately; and Billy Blades is in training for
Henley, so he's obliged to decline; so I told him of you, Giglamps, and
said, that if there was a man in Brazenface that could tell him what his
Magnifico Pomposo was worth, that man was Verdant Green. Don't blush,
old feller! you can't help having a fine judgment, you know; so don't be
ashamed of it. Now, you must wine with me this evening; Footelights and
some more men are coming; and we're all anxious to hear your opinion
about these new weeds, because, if it's favourable we can club together,
and import a box." Mr. Bouncer's victim, being perfectly unconscious of
the trap laid for him, promised to come to the wine, and give his
opinion on this weed of fabled size and merit.
[Illustration]
When the evening and company had come, he was rather staggered at
beholding the dimensions of the pseudo-cigar; but, rashly judging that
to express surprise would be to betray ignorance, Mr. Verdant Green
inspected the formidable monster with the air of a connoisseur, and
smelt, pinched, and rolled his tongue round it, after the manner of the
best critics. If this was a diverting spectacle to the assembled guests
of Mr. Bouncer, how must the humour of the scene have been increased,
when our hero, with great difficulty, lighted the cigar, and, with still
greater difficulty, held it in his mouth, and endeavoured to smoke it!
As Mr. Foote afterwards observed, "it was a situation for a screaming
farce."
"It doesn't draw well!" faltered the victim, as the bundle of rubbish
went out for the fourth time.
"Why, that's always the case with the Barbadoes baccy!" said Mr. Bouncer;
"it takes a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull all together to get
it to make a start; but when once it does go, it goes beautiful--like a
house a-fire. But you can't expect it to be like a common threepenny
weed. Here! let me light him for you, Giglamps; I'll give the beggar a
dig in his ribs, as a gentle persuader." Mr. Bouncer thereupon poked
his pen-knife through the rubbish, and after a time induced it to
"draw;" and Mr. Verdant Green pulled at it furiously, and made his eyes
water with the unusual cloud of smoke that he raised.
"And now, what d'ye think of it, my beauty?" inquired Mr. Bouncer. "It's
something out of the common, ain't it?"
"It has a beautiful ash!" observed Mr. Smalls.
"And diffuses an aroma that makes me long to defy the trainer, and smoke
one like it!" said Mr. Blades.
"So pray give me your reading--at least, your opinion,--on my Magnifico
Pomposo!" asked Mr. Foote.
"Well," answered Mr. Verdant Green, slowly--turning very pale as he
spoke,--"at first, I thought it was be-yew-tiful; but, altogether, I
think--that--the Barbadoes tobacco--doesn't quite--agree with--my
stom--" the speaker abruptly concluded by dropping the cigar, putting
his handkerchief to his mouth, and rushing into Mr. Bouncer's bedroom.
The Magnifico Pomposo had been too much for him, and had produced
sensations accurately interpreted by Mr. Bouncer, who forthwith
represented in expressive pantomine, the actions of a distressed
voyager, when he feebly murmurs "Steward!"
[Illustration]
To atone for the "chaffing" which he had been the means of inflicting on
his friend, the little gentleman, a few days afterwards, proposed to
take our hero to the Chipping Norton Steeple-chase,--Mr. Smalls and Mr.
Fosbrooke making up the quartet for a tandem. It was on their return
from the races, that, after having stopped at _The Bear_ at Woodstock,
"to wash out the horses' mouths," and having done this so effectually
that the horses had appeared to have no mouths left, and had refused to
answer the reins, and had smashed the cart against a house, which had
seemed to have danced into the middle of the road for their
diversion,--and, after having put back to _The Bear_, and prevailed upon
that animal to lend them a non-descript vehicle of the "pre-adamite
buggy" species, described by Sidney Smith,--that, much time having been
consumed by the progress of this chapter of accidents, they did not
reach Peyman's Gate until a late hour; and Mr. Verdant Green found that
he was once more in difficulties. For they had no sooner got through the
gate, than the wild octaves from Mr. Bouncer's post-horn were suddenly
brought to a full stop, and Mr. Fosbrooke, who was the "waggoner," was
brought to Woh! and was compelled to pull up in obedience to the command
of the proctor, who, as on a previous occasion, suddenly appeared from
behind the toll-house, in company with his marshall and bull-dogs.
The Sentence pronounced on our hero the next day, was, "Sir!--You will
translate all your lectures; have your name crossed on the buttery and
kitchen books; and be confined to chapel, hall, and college."
This sentence was chiefly annoying, inasmuch as it somewhat interfered
with the duties and pleasures attendant upon his boating practice. For,
wonderful to relate, Mr. Verdant Green had so much improved in the
science, that he was now "Number 3" of his college "Torpid," and was in
hard training. The Torpid races commenced on March 10th, and were
continued on the following days. Our hero sent his father a copy of
"_Tintinnabulum's Life_," which--after informing the Manor Green family
that "the boats took up positions in the following order: Brazenose,
Exeter 1, Wadham, Balliol, St. John's, Pembroke, University, Oriel,
Brazenface, Christ Church 1, Worcester, Jesus, Queen's, Christ Church 2,
Exeter 2"--proceeded to enter into particulars of each day's sport, of
which it is only necessary to record such as gave interest to our hero's
family.
"First day. * * * Brazenface refused to acknowledge the bump by Christ
Church (1) before they came to the Cherwell. There is very little doubt
but that they were bumped at the Gut and the Willows. * * *
"Second day. * * * Brazenface rowed pluckily away from Worcester. * * *
"Third day. * * * A splendid race between Brazenface and Worcester; and,
at the flag, the latter were within a foot; they did not, however,
succeed in bumping. The cheering from the Brazenface barge was
vociferous. * * *
"Fourth day. * * * Worcester was more fortunate, and succeeded in making
the bump at the Cherwell, in consequence of No. 3 of the Brazenface boat
fainting from fatigue."
Under "No. 3" Mr. Verdant Green had drawn a pencil line, and had written
"V. G." He shortly after related to his family the gloomy particulars of
the bump, when he returned home for the Easter vacation.
CHAPTER XI.
MR. VERDANT GREEN GETS THROUGH HIS SMALLS.
Despite the hindrance which the _grande passion_ is supposed to bring to
the student, Charles Larkyns had made very good use of the opportunities
afforded him by the leisure of his grace-term. Indeed, as he himself
observed,
"Who hath not owned, with rapture-smitten frame,
The power of _grace_?"
And as he felt that the hours of his grace-term had not been wasted in
idleness, but had been turned to profitable account, it is not at all
unlikely that his pleasures of hope regarding his Degree-examination,
and the position his name would occupy in the Class-list, were of a
roseate hue. He therefore, when the Easter vacation had come to an end,
returned to Oxford in high spirits, with our hero and his friend Mr.
Bouncer, who, after a brief visit to "the Mum," had passed the remainder
of the vacation at the Manor Green. During these few holiday weeks,
Charles Larkyns had acted as private tutor to his two friends, and had,
in the language of Mr. Bouncer, "put them through their paces uncommon;"
for the little gentleman was going in for his Degree, _alias_ Great-go,
_alias_ Greats; and our hero for his first examination _in literis
humanioribus_, _alias_ Responsions, _alias_ Little-go, _alias_ Smalls.
Thus the friends returned to Oxford mutually benefited; but, as the time
for examination drew nearer and still nearer, the fears of Mr. Bouncer
rose in a gradation of terrors, that threatened to culminate in an
actual panic.
"You see," said the little gentleman, "the Mum's set her heart on my
getting through, and I must read like the doose. And I havn't got the
head, you see, for Latin and Greek; and that beastly Euclid altogether
stumps me; and I feel as though I should come to grief. I'm blowed," the
little gentleman would cry, earnestly and sadly, "I'm blow'd if I don't
think they must have given me too much pap when I was a babby, and
softened my brains! or else, why can't I walk into these classical
parties just as easy as you, Charley, or old Giglamps there? But I
can't, you see: my brains are addled. They say it ain't a bad thing for
reading to get your head shaved. It cools your brains, and gives full
play to what you call your intellectual faculties. I think I shall try
the dodge, and get a gent's real head of hair, till after the exam.; and
then, when I've stumped the examiners, I can wear my own luxuriant locks
again."
[Illustration]
And, as Mr. Bouncer professed, so did he; and, not many days after,
astonished his friends and the University generally by appearing in a
wig of curly black hair. It was a pleasing sight to see the little
gentleman with a scalp like a billiard ball, a pipe in his mouth, and
the wig mounted on a block, with books spread before him, endeavouring
to persuade himself that he was working up his subjects. It was still
more pleasing to view him, in moments of hilarity, divest himself of his
wig, and hurl it at the scout, or any other offensive object that
appeared before him. And it was a sight not to be forgotten by the
beholders, when, after too recklessly partaking of an indiscriminate
mixture of egg-flip, sangarce, and cider-cup, he feebly threw his wig at
the spectacles of Mr. Verdant Green, and, overbalanced by the exertion,
fell back into the coal-scuttle, where he lay, bald-headed and
helpless, laughing and weeping by turns, and caressed by Huz and Buz.
But the shaving of his head was not the only feature (or, rather, loss
of feature) that distinguished Mr. Bouncer's reading for his degree. The
gentleman with the limited knowledge of the cornet-à-piston, who had the
rooms immediately beneath those of our hero and his friend, had made
such slow progress in his musical education, that he had even now
scarcely got into his "Cottage near a Wood." This gentleman was Mr.
Bouncer's Frankenstein. He was always rising up when he was not wanted.
When Mr. Bouncer felt as if he could read, and sat down to his books,
wigless and determined, the doleful legend of the cottage near a wood
was forced upon him in an unpleasingly obtrusive and distracting manner.
It was in vain that Mr. Bouncer sounded his octaves in all their
discordant variations; the gentleman had no ear, and was not to be put
out of his cottage on any terms; Mr. Bouncer's notices of ejectment were
always disregarded. He had hoped that the ears of Mr. Slowcoach (whose
rooms were in the angle of the Quad) would have been pierced by the
noise, and that he would have put a stop to the nuisance; but, either
from its being too customary a custom, or that the ears of Mr. Slowcoach
had grown callous, the nuisance was suffered to continue unreproved.
Mr. Bouncer resolved, therefore, on some desperate method of calling
attention to one nuisance, by creating another of a louder description;
and, as his octaves appeared to fail in this,--notwithstanding the
energy and annoying ability that he threw into them,--he conceived the
idea of setting up a drum! The plan was no sooner thought of than
carried out. He met with an instrument sufficiently large and formidable
for his purpose,--hired it, and had it stealthily conveyed into college
(like another Falstaff) in a linen "buck-basket." He waited his
opportunity; and, the next time that the gentleman in the rooms beneath
took his cornet to his cottage near a wood, Mr. Bouncer, stationed on
the landing above, played a thundering accompaniment on his big drum.
[Illustration]
The echoes from the tightened parchment rolled round the Quad, and
brought to the spot a rush of curious and excited undergraduates. Mr.
Bouncer,--after taking off his wig in honour of the air,--then treated
them to the National Anthem, arranged as a drum solo for two sticks, the
chorus being sustained by the voices of those present; when in the midst
of the entertainment, the reproachful features of Mr. Slowcoach
appeared upon the scene. Sternly the tutor demanded the reason of the
strange hubbub; and was answered by Mr. Bouncer, that, as one gentleman
was allowed to play _his_ favourite instrument whenever he chose, for
_his_ own but no one else's gratification, he could not see why he (Mr.
Bouncer) might not also, whenever he pleased, play for his own
gratification his favourite instrument--the big drum. This specious
excuse, although logical, was not altogether satisfactory to Mr.
Slowcoach; and, with some asperity, he ordered Mr. Bouncer never again
to indulge in, what he termed (in reference probably to the little
gentleman's bald head), "such an indecent exhibition." But, as he
further ordered that the cornet-à-piston gentleman was to instrumentally
enter into his cottage near a wood, only at stated hours in the
afternoon, Mr. Bouncer had gained his point in putting a stop to the
nuisance so far as it interfered with his reading; and, thenceforth, he
might be seen on brief occasions persuading himself that he was
furiously reading and getting up his subjects by the aid of those royal
roads to knowledge, variously known as cribs, crams, plugs, abstracts,
analyses, or epitomes.
But, besides the assistance thus afforded to him _out_ of the schools,
Mr. Bouncer, like many others, idle as well as ignorant, intended to
assist himself when _in_ the schools by any contrivance that his
ingenuity could suggest, or his audacity carry out.
"It's quite fair," was the little gentleman's argument, "to do the
examiners in any way that you can, as long as you only go in for a pass.
Of course, if you were going in for a class, or a scholarship, or
anything of that sort, it would be no end mean and dirty to crib; and
the gent that did it ought to be kicked out of the society of gentlemen.
But when you only go in for a pass, and ain't doing any one any harm by
a little bit of cribbing, but choose to run the risk to save yourself
the bother of being ploughed, why then, I think, a feller's bound to do
what he can for himself. And, you see, in my case, Giglamps, there's the
Alum to be considered; she'd cut up doosid, if I didn't get through; so
I must crib a bit, if it's only for _her_ sake."
But although the little gentleman thus made filial tenderness the excuse
for his deceit, and the salve for his conscience, yet he could neither
persuade Mr. Verdant Green to follow his example, nor to be a convert to
his opinions; nor would he be persuaded by our hero to relinquish his
designs.
[Illustration]
"Why, look here, Giglamps!" Mr. Bouncer would say; "how _can_ I
relinquish them, after having had all this trouble? I'll put you up to a
few of my dodges--free, gratis, for nothing. In the first place,
Giglamps, you see here's a small circular bit of paper, covered with
Peloponnesian and Punic wars, and no end of dates,--written small and
short, you see, but quite legible,--with the chief things done in red
ink. Well, this gentleman goes in the front of my watch, under the
glass; and, when I get stumped for a date, out comes the watch;--I look
at the time of day--you understand, and down goes the date. Here's
another dodge!" added the little gentleman--who might well have been
called "the Artful Dodger"--as he produced a shirt from a drawer. "Look
here, at the wristbands! Here are all the Kings of Israel and Judah,
with their dates and prophets, written down in India-ink, so as to wash
out again. You twitch up the cuff of your coat, quite accidentally, and
then you book your king. You see, Giglamps, I don't like to trust, as
some fellows do, to having what you want, written down small and shoved
into a quill, and passed to you by some man sitting in the schools;
that's dangerous, don't you see. And I don't like to hold cards in my
hand; I've improved on that, and invented a first-rate dodge of my own,
that I intend to take out a patent for. Like all truly great inventions,
it's no end simple. In the first place, look straight afore you, my
little dear, and you will see this pack of cards,--all made of a size,
nice to hold in the palm of your hand; they're about all sorts of rum
things,--everything that I want. And you see that each beggar's got a
hole drilled in him. And you see, here's a longish string with a little
bit of hooked wire at the end, made so that I can easily hang the card
on it. Well, I pass the string up my coat sleeve, and down under my
waistcoat; and here, you see, I've got the wire end in the palm of my
hand. Then, I slip out the card I want, and hook it on to the wire, so
that I can have it just before me as I write. Then, if any of the
examiners look suspicious, or if one of them comes round to spy, I just
pull the bit of string that hangs under the bottom of my waistcoat, and
away flies the card up my coat sleeve; and when the examiner comes
round, he sees that my hand's never moved, and that there's nothing in
it! So he walks off satisfied; and then I shake the little beggar out of
my sleeve again, and the same game goes on as before. And when the
string's tight, even straightening your body is quite sufficient to
hoist the card into your sleeve, without moving either of your hands.
I've got an Examination-coat made on purpose, with a heap of pockets, in
which I can stow my cards in regular order. These three pockets," said
Mr. Bouncer, as he produced the coat, "are entirely for Euclid. Here's
each problem written right out on a card; they're laid regularly in
order, and I turn them over in my pocket, till I get hold of the one I
want, and then I take it out, and work it. So you see, Giglamps, I'm
safe to get through!--it's impossible for them to plough me, with all
these contrivances. That's a consolation for a cove in distress, ain't
it, old feller?"
Both our hero and Charles Larkyns endeavoured to persuade Mr. Bouncer
that his conduct would, at the very least, be foolhardy, and that he had
much better throw his pack of cards into the fire, wash the Kings of
Israel and Judah off his shirt, destroy his strings and hooked wires,
and keep his Examination-coat for a shooting one. But all their
arguments were in vain; and the infatuated little gentleman, like a
deaf adder, shut his ears at the voice of the charmer.
What between the Cowley cricketings, and the Isis boatings, Mr. Verdant
Green only read by spasmodic fits; but, as he was very fairly up in his
subjects--thanks to Charles Larkyns and the Rector--and as the Little-go
was not such a very formidable affair, or demanded a scholar of
first-rate calibre, the only terrors that the examination could bring
him were those which were begotten of nervousness. At length the lists
were out; and our hero read among the names of candidates, that of
"GREEN, _Verdant, è Coll. Æn. Fac._"
There is a peculiar sensation on first seeing your name in print.
Instances are on record where people have taken a world of trouble
merely that they may have the pleasure of perusing their names "among
the fashionables present" at the Countess of So-and-so's
evening-reception; and cases are not wanting where young ladies and
gentlemen have expended no small amount of pocket-money in purchasing
copies of _The Times_ (no reduction, too, being made on taking a
quantity!) in order that their sympathising friends might have the pride
of seeing their names as coming out at drawing-rooms and _levées_. When
a young M.P. has stammered out his _coup-d'essai_ in the House, he
views, with mingled emotions, his name given to the world, for the first
time, in capital letters. When young authors and artists first see their
names in print, is it not a pleasure to them? When Ensign Dash sees
himself gazetted, does he not look on his name with a peculiar
sensation, and forthwith send an impression of the paper to Master
Jones, who was flogged with him last week for stealing apples? When Mr.
Smith is called to the Bar, and Mr. Robinson can dub himself M.R.C.S.,
do they not behold their names in print with feelings of rapture? And
when Miss Brown has been to her first ball, does she not anxiously await
the coming of the next county newspaper, in order to have the happiness
of reading her name there?
[Illustration]
But, different to these are the sensations that attend the seeing your
name first in print in a College examination-list. They are, probably,
somewhat similar to the sensations you would feel on seeing your name in
a death-warrant. Your blood runs hot, then cold, then hot again; your
pulse goes at fever pace; the throbbing arteries of your brow almost
jerk your cap off. You know that the worst is come,--that the law of the
Dons, which altereth not, has fixed your name there, and that there is
no escape. The courage of despair then takes possession of your soul,
and nerves you for the worst. You join the crowd of nervous
fellow-sufferers who are thronging round the buttery-door to examine the
list, and you begin with them calmly to parcel out the names by sixes
and eights, and then to arrive at an opinion when your day of execution
will be. If your name comes at the head of the list, you wish that you
were "YOUNG, _Carolus, è Coll. Vigorn._" that you might have a reprieve
of your sentence. If your name is at the end of the list, you wish that
you were "ADAMS, _Edvardus Jacobus, è Coll. Univ._" that you might go in
at once, and be put out of your misery. If your name is in the middle of
the list, you wish that it were elsewhere: and then you wish that it
were out of the list altogether.
Through these varying shades of emotion did Mr. Verdant Green pass,
until at length they were all lost in the deeper gloom of actual
entrance into the schools. When once there, his fright soon passed away.
Re-assured by the kindly voice of the examiner, telling him to read over
his Greek before construing it, our hero recovered his equanimity, and
got through his _vivâ voce_ with flying colours; and, on glancing over
his paper-work, soon saw that the questions were within his scope, and
that he could answer most of them. Without hazarding his success by
making "bad shots," he contented himself by answering those questions
only on which he felt sure; and, when his examination was over, he left
the schools with a pretty safe conviction that he was safe, "and was
well through his smalls."
He could not but help, however, feeling some anxiety on the subject,
until he was relieved from all further fears, by the arrival of Messrs.
Fosbrooke, Smalls, and Blades, with a slip of paper (not unlike those
which Mr. Levi, the sheriff's officer, makes use of), on which was
written and printed as follows:--
"GREEN, VERDANT, È COLL. ÆN. FAC.
"Quæstionibua Magistrorum Scholarum in Parviso pro forma respondit.
"Ita testamur, { GULIELMUS SMITH,
{ ROBERTUS JONES.
"_Junii_ 7, 18--."
Alas for Mr. Bouncer! Though he had put in practice all the ingenious
plans which were without a doubt to ensure his success; and though he
had worked his cribs with consummate coolness, and had not been
discovered; yet, nevertheless, his friends came to him empty-handed. The
infatuated little gentleman had either trusted too much to his own
astuteness, or else he had over-reached himself, and had used his
card-knowledge in wrong places; or, perhaps, the examiners may have
suspected his deeds from the nature of his papers, and may have refused
to pass him. But whatever might be the cause, the little gentleman had
to defer taking his degree for some months at least. In a word--and a
dreadful word it is to all undergraduates--Mr. Bouncer was PLUCKED! He
bore his unexpected reverse of fortune very philosophically, and
professed to regret it only for "the Mum's" sake; but he seemed to feel
that the Dons of his college would look shy upon him, and he expressed
his opinion that it would be better for him to migrate to the
Tavern.[15]
But, while Mr. Bouncer was thus deservedly punished for his idleness and
duplicity, Charles Larkyns was rewarded for all his toil. He did even
better than he had expected: for, not only did his name appear in the
second class, but the following extra news concerning him was published
in the daily papers, under the very appropriate heading of "University
_Intelligence_."
"OXFORD, June 9.--The Chancellor's prizes have been awarded as
follows:--
"Latin Essay, Charles Larkyns, Commoner of Brazenface. The New
digate Prize for English Verse was also awarded to the same
gentleman."
His writing for the prize poem had been a secret. He had conceived the
idea of doing so when the subject had been given out in the previous
"long:" he had worked at the subject privately, and, when the day (April
1) on which the poems had to be sent in, had come, he had watched his
opportunity, and secretly dropped through the wired slit in the door of
the registrar's office at the Clarendon, a manuscript poem,
distinguished by the motto:--
"Oh for the touch of a vanish'd hand
And the sound of a voice that is still."
We may be quite sure that there was great rejoicing at the Manor Green
and the Rectory, when the news arrived of the success of Charles Larkyns
and Mr. Verdant Green.
FOOTNOTES:
[15] A name given to New Inn Hall, not only from its title, "New Inn,"
but also because the buttery is open all day, and the members of the
Hall can call for what they please at any hour, the same as in a tavern.
CHAPTER XII.
MR. VERDANT GREEN AND HIS FRIENDS ENJOY THE COMMEMORATION.
The Commemoration had come; and, among the people who were drawn to the
sight from all parts of the country, the Warwickshire coach landed in
Oxford our friends Mr. Green, his two eldest daughters, and the
Rector--for all of whom Charles Larkyns had secured very comfortable
lodgings in Oriel Street.
[Illustration]
The weather was of the finest; and the beautiful city of colleges looked
at its best. While the Rector met with old friends, and heard his son's
praises, and renewed his acquaintance with his old haunts of study, Mr.
Green again lionised Oxford in a much more comfortable and satisfactory
manner than he had previously done at the heels of a professional guide.
As for the young ladies, they were charmed with everything; for they had
never before been in an University town, and all things had the
fascination of novelty. Great were the luncheons held in Mr. Verdant
Green's and Charles Larkyns' rooms; musical was the laughter that
floated merrily through the grave old quads of Brazenface; happy were
the two hearts that held converse with each other in those cool
cloisters and shady gardens. How a few flounces and bright girlish
smiles can change the aspect of the sternest homes of knowledge! How
sunlight can be brought into the gloomiest nooks of learning by the
beams that irradiate happy girlish faces, where the light of love and
truth shines out clear and joyous! How the appearance of the
Commemoration week is influenced in a way thus described by one of
Oxonia's poets:--
"Peace! for in the gay procession brighter forms are borne along--
Fairer scholars, pleasure-beaming, float amid the classic throng.
Blither laughter's ringing music fills the haunts of men awhile,
And the sternest priests of knowledge blush beneath a maiden's smile.
Maidens teach a softer science--laughing Love his pinions dips,
Hush'd to hear fantastic whispers murmur'd from a pedant's lips.
Oh, believe it, throbbing pulses flutter under folds of starch,
And the Dons are human-hearted if the ladies' smiles be arch."
Thanks to the influence of Charles Larkyns and his father, the party
were enabled to see all that was to be seen during the Commemoration
week. On the Saturday night they went to the amateur concert at the Town
Hall, in aid of which, strange to say, Mr. Bouncer's proffer of his big
drum had been declined. On the Sunday they went, in the morning, to St.
Mary's to hear the Bampton lecture; and, in the afternoon, to the
magnificent choral service at New College. In the evening they attended
the customary "Show Sunday" promenade in Christ Church Broad Walk,
where, under the delicious cool of the luxuriant foliage, they met all
the rank, beauty, and fashion that were assembled in Oxford; and where,
until Tom "tolled the hour for retiring," they threaded their way amid
a miscellaneous crowd of Dons and Doctors, and Tufts and Heads of
Houses,--
With prudes for Proctors, dowagers for Deans,
And bright girl-graduates with their golden hair.
On the Monday they had a party to Woodstock and Blenheim; and in the
evening went, on the Brazenface barge, to see the procession of boats,
where the Misses Green had the satisfaction to see their brother pulling
in one of the fifteen torpids that followed immediately in the wake of
the other boats. They concluded the evening's entertainments in a most
satisfactory manner, by going to the ball at the Town Hall.
[Illustration]
Indeed, the way the two young ladies worked was worthy of all credit,
and proved them to be possessed of the most vigorous constitutions; for,
although they danced till an early hour in the morning, they not only,
on the next day, went to the anniversary sermon for the Radcliffe, and
after that to the horticultural show in the Botanical Gardens, and after
that to the concert in the Sheldonian Theatre, but--as though they had
not had enough to fatigue them already--they must, forsooth--Brazenface
being one of the ball-giving colleges--wind up the night by accepting
the polite invitation of Mr. Verdant Green and Mr. Charles Larkyns to a
ball given in their college hall. And how many polkas these young ladies
danced, and how many waltzes they waltzed, and how many ices they
consumed, and how many too susceptible partners they drove to the verge
of desperation, it would be improper, if not impossible, to say.
[Illustration]
But, however much they might have been fagged by their exertions of feet
and features, it is certain that, by ten of the clock the next morning,
they appeared, quite fresh and charming to the view, in the ladies'
gallery in the theatre. There--after the proceedings had been opened by
the undergraduates in _their_ peculiar way, and by the vice-chancellor
in _his_ peculiar way--and, after the degrees had been conferred, and
the public orator had delivered an oration in a tongue not understanded
of the people, our friends from Warwickshire had the delight of
beholding Mr. Charles Larkyns ascend the rostrums to deliver, in their
proper order, the Latin Essay and the English Verse. He had chosen his
friend Verdant to be his prompter; so that the well-known "giglamps" of
our hero formed, as it were, a very focus of attraction: but it was well
for Mr. Charles Larkyns that he was possessed of self-control and a good
memory, for Mr. Verdant Green was far too nervous to have prompted him
in any efficient manner. We may be sure, that in all that bevy of fair
women, at least one pair of bright eyes kindled with rapture, and one
heart beat with exulting joy, when the deafening cheers that followed
the poet's description of the moon, the sea, and woman's love (the three
ingredients which are apparently necessary for the sweetening of all
prize poems), rang through the theatre and made its walls re-echo to the
shouting. And we may be sure that, when it was all over, and when the
Commemoration had come to an end, Charles Larkyns felt rewarded for all
his hours of labour by the deep love garnered up in his heart by the
trustful affection of one who had become as dear to him as life itself!
* * * * *
It was one morning after they had all returned to the Manor Green that
our hero said to his friend, "How I _do_ wish that this day week were
come!"
"I dare say you do," replied the friend; "and I dare say that the pretty
Patty is wishing the same wish." Upon which Mr. Verdant Green not only
laughed but blushed!
For it seemed that he, together with his sisters, Mr. Charles Larkyns,
and Mr. Bouncer, were about to pay a long-vacation visit to Honeywood
Hall, in the county of Northumberland; and the young man was naturally
looking forward to it with all the ardour of a first and consuming
passion.
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