[104]CHAPTER VI.SOME COLLEGE TREASURES.

[104]CHAPTER VI.SOME COLLEGE TREASURES.Thosewho live among beautiful surroundings and in constant touch with works of art are often apt to take their privileges for granted. Members of Trinity are proud of the buildings of the College and the grounds in which they are placed, and most of us know something of their history and characteristic features. But with our art treasures there is less general acquaintance, and so perhaps it may not be out of place to jot down a few notes on some of them—chiefly pictures and plate—in which I take pleasure.Of the contents of the library I say nothing, for a volume would be needed to describe them even briefly. The illuminated manuscripts and the early printed books attract most attention, but there are numerous other subjects in which the library must be ranked among the most important in Great Britain. I have often been told by undergraduates that they have never been in the building except once when they signed the Admission Book. That is true enough of some men, but those who are interested in rare and famous books and yet never visit the Library neglect exceptional opportunities.[105]Of oil portraits—in all nearly two hundred—of former members of the College, we own a valuable collection, and they illustrate in a remarkable way how many distinguished men have been educated here. Identification is easy as labels are placed on most of the pictures. Unfortunately we have no gallery in which they can be shown. Some are put in the hall, some in the master’s lodge, some in the combination room, and some in the library, lecture-rooms, etc. Those in the lodge are set off well, but the others are not hung to advantage.About twenty-five years ago a proposal was made to raise subscriptions for an art gallery to be built along the edge of the river starting from the present north end of the library and extending over the land now occupied by the master’s stables and the end of his garden. At that time the proposal did not receive much favour, but now I sometimes wonder if we were wise in putting the plan on one side. Certainly we have more canvasses than we can exhibit satisfactorily. The hall, too, would look a more dignified apartment if the pictures, except for one or two on the dais, were taken away: recently their temporary removal was necessitated by repairs to the woodwork, and the improvement in the appearance of the room was noticeable. The general effect of such a clearance may be judged by a visit to the hall of the Middle[106]Temple in London. The dimensions of the body of that hall are the same as ours, but instead of pictures on the side walls, each small oak panel bears an armorial shield: these harmonise well with the architectural lines of the building. Where, as is the case with our neighbours at St John’s, the panelling is low and there is above it a big stretch of stone or painted wall, pictures add to the effect, but this is not the case where the panelling is high.Of all our pictures I suppose the one which attracts most attention is that of Henry VIII which hangs over the dais at the north end of the hall: it was given us by Robert Beaumont, who held the mastership from 1561 to 1567. The artist was Hans Eworth, a Dutchman who lived in London circ. 1543–75, and worked with or under the influence of Antonio Moro: the portrait was taken from or founded on that of the king in the fresco painted by Holbein in 1537 on a wall of the privy chamber in Whitehall palace. This fresco, which was destroyed in the fire of 1698 and till then deservedly treated as one of the art treasures of London, contained portraits of Henry VII and Henry VIII with their queens, Elizabeth of York and Jane Seymour. Holbein’s studies for the heads of the two kings have been preserved, and are at Chatsworth and Munich. Most of the extant portraits of Henry VIII are copied from or founded on this fresco. Signs[107]of deterioration in the fresco were noticeable in the reign of Charles II, and by his orders it was copied by Remée, a French painter then resident in London. The original fresco was on each side of and above a fireplace or window. Instead of depicting this, the artist represented this space as occupied by a pedestal containing an inscription: his delineation of the faces of the sovereigns is poor, but he has preserved Holbein’s general design. Two copies of the reproduction are extant, one of which is in the royal collection and the other at Petworth.Hardly less notable than the presentation of our founder, and far more valuable, is the charming portrait by Joshua Reynolds of the duke of Gloucester (1776–1834) as a boy: the duke was a cousin of George III and afterwards chancellor of the University. Reynolds wrote in his diary that the boy sat for his portrait in March 1780 when he was four years old, and that the finished picture was delivered in January 1788—the charge for it being a hundred guineas. Horace Walpole praised it, but thought it “washy,” an opinion not shared by modern critics who esteem it one of Reynolds’s masterpieces. The picture was left to the College in 1843 by the will of the duke’s sister, the Princess Sophia, with a request that it should be hung in the hall. The legacy was due to the good offices of a freshman of the time—the Hon. Douglas Gordon,[108]son of George, fourth earl of Aberdeen. He described the circumstances attending the gift as follows:When I went up to Trinity in 1842, I used to see a great deal of theprincess....[I was then] a freshman full of admiration for my College of which I used to boast. One day the old princess shewed me the picture, ... and asked if I thought it would look well in the Hall. On my saying what a boon it would be, she very graciously said “You can tell Mr Whewell that I will leave it to the College through you, and I hope you will see this picture placed in a good position.” At her death I took it down to Trinity where I was still an undergraduate.The portrait of queen Mary on the other side of the dais is a Spanish copy of Antonio Moro’s famous picture which hangs in Madrid. The original is said to have been given to Philip after his engagement to her; it presents her as a woman of strong character but far from beautiful. When the marriage took place, it was unkindly said by a Spanish courtier that whatever were the faults of his master, it must at least be admitted that he recognized the obligation of a gentleman to keep his word.Of other pictures in the hall those of Tennyson (1809–92) painted in 1890 by G. F. Watts, of the earl of Essex (1566–1601) painted in 1590, of Isaac Newton (1642–1727) painted in 1725 by John Vanderbank, and of Francis Bacon (1561–1626) copied from Van Somer’s portrait in Gray’s Inn are[109]specially noticeable. Newton and Barrow (together with Pearson who is mentioned below) played a leading part in the intellectual life in the University towards the close of the seventeenth century, but I need not talk here about this. Barrow, who was a mathematician and divine, had a ready wit. When, previous to his admission to holy orders, he was examined on his faith, the dialogue is said to have been as follows:—Chaplain:Quid est fides?Barrow:Quod non vides.Chaplain:Quid est spes?Barrow:Magna res.Chaplain:Quid est caritas?Barrow:Magna raritas.On which his questioner retired in dudgeon, and reported that there was a candidate for ordination who would only give him “rhyming answers to moral questions”: but the bishop had the sense to recognize that truths can be expressed in rhyme as well as in prose, and Barrow was ordained.A very pleasing picture is that reputed to be of Byron: this looks like a Raeburn, though it is ascribed to Thomas Lawrence: its history is doubtful, but the absence of any peculiarity in the ear isprima facieevidence that it is not of Byron. Another striking portrait is that of W. H. Thompson (1810–1886) painted in 1881 by Hubert von Herkomer. When Thompson saw the completed portrait of himself, he is said to have remarked, “Do I really look as if I held the world so cheap” and in a print of it in the house of one of my friends, this is inscribed[110]on the frame. I ought also to call attention to the window portrait of Richard, duke of York (1411–60), the father of Edward IV and Richard III, which probably comes to us from King’s Hall.Among other paintings, which at present hang on the hall panelling, are portraits of the following famous members of our College:—Edward White Benson (1829–96) archbishop of Canterbury, Isaac Hawkins Browne (1706–60), Arthur Cayley (1821–95), the earl of Derby (1826–93), Michael Foster (1836–1907), Francis Galton (1822–1911), the earl of Halifax (1661–1715), Fenton John Anthony Hort (1828–92), Richard Claverhouse Jebb (1841–1905), Joseph Joachim (1831–1907) the musician, Thomas Jones (1756–1807), Joseph Barber Lightfoot (1828–89) bishop of Durham, Frederick Denison Maurice (1805–72), James Clerk Maxwell (1831–79), viscount Melbourne (1779–1849), Matthew Raine (1760–1811), Adam Sedgwick (1785–1873), Henry Sidgwick (1838–1900), Charles John Vaughan (1816–97), Brooke Foss Westcott (1825–1901) bishop of Durham, John Westlake (1828–1908), and William Whewell (1794–1866).Of these, Raine, Jones, Halifax and Hawkins Browne lived in the eighteenth century. The last-named is known to fame through having caused a change in the family reigning in the two Sicilies. In fact, coming to Naples in his travels he danced[111]at a court ceremony “with such inconceivable alacrity and vigour” as to provoke universal amusement and amazement: in particular the queen’s laughter was so immoderate that a miscarriage ensued. On such events may the histories of dynasties and empires turn! He is described on this occasion as pirouetting in a “dress of volcano silk with lava buttons”: perhaps it is in this costume that he is depicted on our walls. Having related this anecdote I must in fairness add that he was a poet of considerable ability, a good talker in an age when the standard of conversation was high, and an excellent judge of wine. Most of the portraits are, however, of celebrities of the Victorian age. Of these, Melbourne and Derby were politicians; Benson, Hort, Lightfoot, Vaughan, and Westcott represent the church; Westlake was a lawyer; Jebb a scholar; Maurice and Sidgwick represent ethical philosophy; while Cayley, Foster, Galton, Maxwell, Sedgwick, and Whewell, were men of science.Among the canvasses above the panelling are portraits of Richard Bentley (1662–1742) the scholar, Edward Coke (1549–1634) the lord chief justice, Cowley (1618–67) the poet, John Dryden (1631–1701) the poet, the earl of Macclesfield (1666–1732), John Pearson (1613–86) bishop of Chester, Robert Smith (1689–1768) the mathematician, and John Wilkins (1614–72) bishop of Chester. Wilkins is[112]now almost unknown but he wrote some interesting books, notably one on the ciphers employed in the civil war of the seventeenth century. Another work of his on the possibility of a journey to the moon, provoked the duchess of Newcastle to ask him where she could find a place to bait if she tried the journey: “Madam,” said he, “of all the people in the world I least expected that question from you, who have built so many castles in the air that you may lie every night in one of your own.”The pictures in the large combination room of Isaac Newton by Thomas Murray, and of Matthew Prior (1664–1721) by Godfrey Kneller are good: the former came to us from a descendant (Mrs Ring) of Newton’s favourite niece, and its history is given in a letter from Charles Simeon to Mansel, master of the College at the time of the gift. The other canvasses are too big for a private apartment, but the portraits of the “proud” duke of Somerset (1662–1748) by Nathaniel Dance, the marquess of Granby (1721–70) by Joshua Reynolds, the duke of Gloucester by John Opie, the marquess of Camden (1759–1840) by Thomas Lawrence, the duke of Grafton (1760–1844) also by Lawrence, and the duke of Sussex (1773–1843) by James Lonsdale, are of some repute: to these there was added in 1915 a portrait of Arthur J. Balfour by P. A. Laszlö de Lombros.[113]Of the peers mentioned above the names of Granby and Somerset are still well known. Granby fought in the Culloden campaign, was colonel of the blues (horse guards) at Minden, 1759; commander of the British contingent in the campaigns of 1760, 1761, and 1762; and in 1766 became commander-in-chief of the army. Delighting in danger, which even when in supreme command he deliberately sought, brave to a fault, an excellent cavalry leader, rich and lavishly generous, he was the idol of the public, and witnesses to his popularity remain in the numerous public-houses scattered far and wide over England which bear his name and arms. Somerset was of a very different type, being a stupid man whose power was chiefly derived from his enormous landed possessions. To the Somerset properties he added, by his marriage with the sole heiress of the earls of Northumberland, the great estates of the Percies. He held the chancellorship of the University for the extraordinary term of sixty years. His title of the “proud duke” commemorates only his arrogance, and was derived from the fact that even to speak to anyone in a menial position was regarded by him as a condescension. His servants were trained to understand his wishes by signs, and numerous footmen surrounded him when in the streets so as to avoid the risk that any people of the lower classes should approach or address him.[114]Perhaps the best known of the stories of his pretensions refers to his remark to his second wife who once called his attention to something by touching him with her fan (or according to another version kissed him without asking his leave), “Madam,” said he, drawing himself apart, “my first wife never dared to take such a liberty, and she was a Percy.” As another illustration of his character I may add that he deprived one of his daughters of£20,000 because she had sat down in his presence without asking his leave.In the lodge there are numerous portraits of former masters of the College, and obviously this is the proper place for such a collection. It is not complete, twelve past masters being unrepresented, but portraits of two of these (namely Wilkins and Pearson) hang in the hall. The most notable picture in this series is that of Nevile, which is properly given the place of honour over the mantelpiece in the dining room which he built. He holds a paper in his right hand, and I like to think that this is intended to suggest the letter which Elizabeth on her death-bed entrusted to him to take to Scotland, informing James VI of that kingdom that she designated him as her successor. In this room too are portraits of Porson and Thompson with whose memories so many excellent academic stories are associated, but I must not linger over these. In[115]the drawing room the most striking portraits are those of queen Elizabeth by Mark Gerrard, the duke of Gloucester (1776–1834) in his undergraduate robes by George Romney, and queen Mary probably by Hans Eworth. The painted panels in the entrance hall often escape attention, but are worth looking at, especially in the case of the portraits of Edward III, Henry VII, Elizabeth of York, Mary of Scotland, Edward VI, and queen Mary. The collection of portraits, formed by Dr Butler, of Trinity men who have held judicial appointments is also interesting, but is not generally accessible to visitors.The pictures in the lecture-rooms and on the walls of the staircase leading to them form a sort of overflow collection, and though of unequal merit, a few are worth attention. There are also some pictures of merit in the library among which I note in particular portraits of Tennyson and Lightfoot.The engravings of former members of the College placed in the small combination room will repay study. There are at present between one hundred and fifty and two hundred here, but there are many more in portfolios in the library. Several of these have been acquired in recent years through the generosity and knowledge of John Charrington.The painted glass in the hall shows numerous coats of arms, and anyone acquainted with heraldry[116]will find here a rich field of study. The windows could have been filled over and over again with the arms of former famous members of the College, but the matter has been managed in a haphazard way, and many distinguished sons of the House are unrepresented. In spite of some bad glass the collection is interesting. Perhaps however any further account of it here would be more technical than would be justified in a paper like this. Of other glass in the College, the windows in the chapel are typical of the art of 1870, and are only moderately satisfactory. The window at the south end of the library, executed in 1775, was made by Peckitt of York, after a design by Cipriani: it illustrates some curious points in the history of the art of stained glass, but the design is impossible, and the scheme of colour atrocious.Sculpture, unless it is absolutely first rate, does not represent a man as well as portraiture. The number of pieces of statuary of the first class in Great Britain is small, and in the possession of such pieces the College is extraordinarily fortunate. The statue of Newton, with its proud inscription “Newton qui genus humanum ingenio superavit,” in the antechapel by Roubiliac—“the marble index of a mind for ever voyaging through strange seas of thought alone”—is of the highest merit. It was described by Chantrey as “the noblest of[117]English statues,” and I have never seen any modern piece of statuary anywhere which can be ranked superior to it: the man lives and almost moves. Thorwaldsen’s statue of Byron, rejected by the authorities of Westminster Abbey on account of his alleged atheistical opinions, which stands in the library, and that of Bacon in the antechapel may also be reckoned among examples of first-class statuary. Of these three pieces two are by foreigners. There are also in the antechapel statues of Barrow, Macaulay, Whewell, and Tennyson, and in the library a large number of busts. The statues of Edward III on the clock tower, of Henry VIII, James I, Anne of Denmark, and Prince Charles on the great gate, and of queen Elizabeth on the queen’s gate are interesting, though not to be reckoned as works of art.Old Silver Plate has a peculiar beauty. We have some fine specimens though they are fewer and later than from our history we should expect. Most of the pieces are kept in the butteries, and can be seen by visitors. Twice a year anyone entering the hall will see the junior bursar there with all the plate spread before him checking it by his lists, a pretty spectacle which always suggests to me the picture of the king “in his counting house counting out his money,” and formerly in “May-week” typical pieces were set out on show in the hall.[118]We have a catalogue of the plate—a large and valuable collection—owned by King’s Hall in the fifteenth century, and we may reasonably suppose that this, as well as the plate belonging to Michael-House, came in due course to us; all this has gone with the possible, but doubtful, exception of a censer boat now in the library. We know also that some plate was given us in Tudor and early Stuart times: of this, only five pieces remained to us at the restoration. I take it however that until well into the eighteenth century people were accustomed to regard plate, other than pieces of historic interest, as a convenient way of keeping portable wealth in a form which could be easily turned into coin, and its dispersion in times of emergency when money was wanted is not surprising.It was customary for noblemen and fellow-commoners to present plate to the House when they completed their academic career: their caution-money being commonly employed for or towards the purpose. After the restoration, thanks to this graceful practice, our possessions of this kind grew rapidly. Unfortunately a good many of our pieces were lost through two burglaries, one in 1795 and the other in 1798; for instance, no less than fifty-five drinking cups some of great beauty were then taken. During the eighteenth century, in colleges and throughout the country, large numbers of[119]“standing pieces” of plate were melted down, and the metal used to make spoons and forks; this accounts for the disappearance of some of our treasures of an earlier date. Until 1870 new pieces continued to be added in large numbers: in that year the College abolished the general admission of noblemen and fellow-commoners, holding that distinctions of rank were undesirable in academic life; and since then our collection has increased only by special gifts or by purchase.Of our pre-commonwealth plate the oldest pieces are two silver-gilt flagons, dated 1607–08, given us in 1636 by John and Bernard Stuart, sons of the duke of Lennox, then about sixteen and fourteen years old. There is in the small combination room a charming print of Vandyke’s portrait of the brothers: both boys were killed during the Civil War, John at Edgehill and Bernard at Rowton Heath. Whistles are placed in the handles of these flagons, so they must have been originally intended for secular use, but they have been included, as far back as our records go, among the communion plate: perhaps the spouts were added when the vessels were placed in the chapel. Our next earliest piece is the handsome cup, dated 1615–16, given us by Nevile probably in 1615: it was originally silver-gilt. The fourth of these pieces is a bursarial rose-water basin and ewer dated 1635–36. We owe it to Ambrose[120]Aykerod who was bursar in that year: his arms are engraved on the cup, and the inscriptions on it refer to vows and pledges by him which are now inexplicable. The only other early piece which survived the Civil War was a cup given by John Clarkson between 1610 and 1620 and known from its inscription “Pauper Johannes Dictus Cognomine Clarkson Hunc Cyathum Dono Gratuito Dedit” as the “Pauper Joan Pot”: this was stolen in 1798. Clarkson had matriculated as a sizar in 1553, obtained a scholarship in due course, and graduated B.A. in 1560.Apart from the four pieces mentioned above, the most striking objects in our collection are the rose-water basins and ewers, the Duport standing salt, the standing or loving cups, the tankards, and the punch-bowls.We have several notable rose-water basins and ewers. The earliest of these is the set given by the earl of Kent in 1662 to commemorate the passing of the Act of Uniformity. The date is given by a quaint double chronogram: and the central inscriptionΝιψον ανομηματα μη μοναν οψινreads alike forwards and backwards. Another beautiful set is that given by the duke of Buckingham in 1671, the circumference of the basin being over seven feet. The visitor should also notice a set of 1740 bequeathed by David Humphrey, and a set of 1748[121]given by William John Bankes. Another set consists of a basin of 1716 given by John Bennet, with a graceful ewer probably made about 1675. This ewer must have been originally a “standing cup” since a whistle is placed in the handle, but a spout was added between 1789 and 1810 with the intention of turning it into a flagon: on it are engraved the Trinity and Westminster arms, and in an early catalogue it is called the Busby cup: its donor is unknown.There is a curious custom at the high table connected with these dishes. At the end of dinner on ordinary nights, before grace is said, a rose-water dish with an empty ewer is placed before the fellow sitting at the head of each table. I conjecture that this dates from a time when napkins and forks were unknown, and diners were accustomed to rinse their hands in water before rising from the table. Now the appearance of the empty ewer is only a sign that dinner is over. At feasts the ewer contains rose-water which is poured into the dish and passed round the table.We have a fine specimen of a standing salt in a piece associated with the name of James Duport. Its breadth is nearly ten inches, and its height, without the handles, seven inches. It was these massive salts, and not “trencher salts,” that were originally used to divide the company into those[122]that sat above and below the salt; and in the middle ages the standing salt was generally the most valued single piece in the house and the chief ornament on the table. The medieval specimens usually have a cover to protect the salt, and the handles in specimens like ours are said to have been introduced for a similar reason, as a napkin can be twisted round them so as to cover the salt, and thus save it from dust. Our specimen bears the inscriptionεχετε εν εαυτοις ἁλας και ειρηνευετε εν αλληλοις, together with a statement that it was given by Duport. Probably his gift was made in 1665, when he left the College on his appointment as master of Magdalene. The piece, however, bears the hall-mark 1733–34; here, and in some other cases, it would seem that the original piece was exchanged for a new one, perhaps when repairs were required, and it was the custom in such circumstances to engrave the old inscription on the new piece of plate.In spite of our losses at the end of the eighteenth century some fine drinking cups and covers still remain in our possession. Notable among these is one of 1691–92 given by Charles and George Firebrace, one of 1697–98 given by Henry Boyle, and one of 1711–12 given by John Verney. We have also a cup and cover of 1726 given by the earl of Sandwich, another of 1729 given by Samuel Husbands,[123]another of 1763 given by John Damer, another of 1771 given by George Augustus Henry Cavendish, another of 1776 given by William Greaves, and another of 1780 given by the earl of Mexborough. To these I may add the Lyndhurst silver-gilt cup and cover of 1876–77 given by Sir Theodore Martin. All these are fine specimens of silversmith’s work, and can be used at feasts as loving cups, with the ceremonial customary to such drinking.The tankards with lids form another striking group of plate, but the larger ones which contain three quarts or more must be regarded as being decorative rather than useful. Conspicuous among these pieces is one, probably made about 1670, given by Thomas Taylor, one of 1698–99 given by Peter Pheasaunt, one of 1699–1700 given by Thomas Alston, one of 1700–01 given by Thomas Bellot, one of 1739–40 given by Thomas Foley, one of 1746–47 given by Francis Vernon, one of 1751–52 given by Charles Paulet, one of 1757–58 given by Edward Fitzgerald, and one of 1762–63 given by Hans Sloane. There is also a fine collection of ale plate. Of the smaller tankards, stoups, and drinking cups there are innumerable specimens. I will not dwell longer over our other pieces. Suffice it is to say that of punch-bowls there are three or four fine specimens of the eighteenth century, as also various snuff-boxes, silver trays, etc. Of candlesticks[124]there are between two and three hundred, many of them beautiful pieces of work. Of ordinary domestic plate the stock is large.There is also a good deal of plate which has been given or assigned for use in the lodge: this includes the Perry silver-gilt dessert service. In the chapel plate besides the flagons already mentioned there are two silver-gilt patens of 1661–62, associated in the early catalogues with the names of John and Bernard Stuart; also an alms-dish of 1673, and an altar cross given in 1894 and said to be of Spanish renaissance work.I add some particulars of thirteen challenge pieces of plate owned by the Boat and Athletic Clubs: of these, five belong to the First Trinity Boat Club, and eight to the Athletic Club. These pieces are of recent make and their chief interest comes from the inscribed names of the successive holders.Trinity men will recollect that there are various races arranged each year by the First Trinity Boat Club, the winners of which receive pots or other prizes, and that in five of these events, the winners, in addition to receiving the special prizes, hold challenge pieces on which are engraved the names of past winners. These challenge pieces are: A two-handled silver chased cup and stand (hall-mark 1836), held by the winner of a sculling race (the[125]Macnaughten Sculls) rowed in the Michaelmas Term, open to all members of the Club who have not previously won it or the University Colquhoun Sculls. A two-handled silver cup and stand (hall-mark probably 1857 or 1858), which came to the club from the now defunct Second Trinity Boat Club, held by the winner of a sculling race (the Baines Sculls) rowed in the Lent Term, open to all members who have not previously won it or the Macnaughten Sculls or the University Colquhoun Sculls. Silver oars (hall-mark 1860) held by the winners of a pair-oared race (the Wyatt Pairs) rowed in the Michaelmas Term, open to all members who have not previously won it or the University Magdalene Pairs. Silver oars (hall-mark 1861) which came to the Club from Second Trinity, held by the winners of a pair-oared race (the Dodington Pairs) rowed in the Lent Term, open to all members who have not previously won it or the Wyatt Pairs or the University Magdalene Pairs. Silver Sculls (hall-mark 1897) held by the winners of a double sculling race (the Taxis Sculls) rowed in the Easter Term, open to all members who have not previously won it or the University Magdalene pairs.Similarly among the sports arranged each year by the Trinity Athletic Club are seven events, the winners of which in addition to receiving special prizes, hold challenge pieces of plate on which are[126]engraved the names of past winners. These challenge pieces are: A half-fluted silver bowl and plinth (hall-mark 1887) held by the winner of the mile race. A half-fluted silver bowl and plinth (hall-mark 1899) held by the winner of the half-mile race. A silver chased claret jug with handle (hall-mark 1886) held by the winner of the quarter-mile race. Four silver candlesticks (hall-mark 1899) held by the winner of the hundred yards race. A two-handled half-fluted silver cup (hall-mark 1888) held by the winner of the hurdles race. A two-handled silver bowl (hall-mark 1896) held by the winner of the long jump. A silver salver (hall-mark 1896) held by the winner of the high jump. Finally there is a two-handled silver chased cup and plinth (hall-mark 1892) held by the man who scores most marks in the various events.It may be thought that I have occupied too much space in giving bare lists of pieces of plate, but the shapes of some of the pieces are so good and the surface of old silver, when carefully tended, has such a beautiful texture that I believe it may be worth calling the attention of any interested in such things to some of our possessions of this kind. Only societies and families with continuous records dating from a distant past can show such collections.

Thosewho live among beautiful surroundings and in constant touch with works of art are often apt to take their privileges for granted. Members of Trinity are proud of the buildings of the College and the grounds in which they are placed, and most of us know something of their history and characteristic features. But with our art treasures there is less general acquaintance, and so perhaps it may not be out of place to jot down a few notes on some of them—chiefly pictures and plate—in which I take pleasure.

Of the contents of the library I say nothing, for a volume would be needed to describe them even briefly. The illuminated manuscripts and the early printed books attract most attention, but there are numerous other subjects in which the library must be ranked among the most important in Great Britain. I have often been told by undergraduates that they have never been in the building except once when they signed the Admission Book. That is true enough of some men, but those who are interested in rare and famous books and yet never visit the Library neglect exceptional opportunities.

[105]Of oil portraits—in all nearly two hundred—of former members of the College, we own a valuable collection, and they illustrate in a remarkable way how many distinguished men have been educated here. Identification is easy as labels are placed on most of the pictures. Unfortunately we have no gallery in which they can be shown. Some are put in the hall, some in the master’s lodge, some in the combination room, and some in the library, lecture-rooms, etc. Those in the lodge are set off well, but the others are not hung to advantage.

About twenty-five years ago a proposal was made to raise subscriptions for an art gallery to be built along the edge of the river starting from the present north end of the library and extending over the land now occupied by the master’s stables and the end of his garden. At that time the proposal did not receive much favour, but now I sometimes wonder if we were wise in putting the plan on one side. Certainly we have more canvasses than we can exhibit satisfactorily. The hall, too, would look a more dignified apartment if the pictures, except for one or two on the dais, were taken away: recently their temporary removal was necessitated by repairs to the woodwork, and the improvement in the appearance of the room was noticeable. The general effect of such a clearance may be judged by a visit to the hall of the Middle[106]Temple in London. The dimensions of the body of that hall are the same as ours, but instead of pictures on the side walls, each small oak panel bears an armorial shield: these harmonise well with the architectural lines of the building. Where, as is the case with our neighbours at St John’s, the panelling is low and there is above it a big stretch of stone or painted wall, pictures add to the effect, but this is not the case where the panelling is high.

Of all our pictures I suppose the one which attracts most attention is that of Henry VIII which hangs over the dais at the north end of the hall: it was given us by Robert Beaumont, who held the mastership from 1561 to 1567. The artist was Hans Eworth, a Dutchman who lived in London circ. 1543–75, and worked with or under the influence of Antonio Moro: the portrait was taken from or founded on that of the king in the fresco painted by Holbein in 1537 on a wall of the privy chamber in Whitehall palace. This fresco, which was destroyed in the fire of 1698 and till then deservedly treated as one of the art treasures of London, contained portraits of Henry VII and Henry VIII with their queens, Elizabeth of York and Jane Seymour. Holbein’s studies for the heads of the two kings have been preserved, and are at Chatsworth and Munich. Most of the extant portraits of Henry VIII are copied from or founded on this fresco. Signs[107]of deterioration in the fresco were noticeable in the reign of Charles II, and by his orders it was copied by Remée, a French painter then resident in London. The original fresco was on each side of and above a fireplace or window. Instead of depicting this, the artist represented this space as occupied by a pedestal containing an inscription: his delineation of the faces of the sovereigns is poor, but he has preserved Holbein’s general design. Two copies of the reproduction are extant, one of which is in the royal collection and the other at Petworth.

Hardly less notable than the presentation of our founder, and far more valuable, is the charming portrait by Joshua Reynolds of the duke of Gloucester (1776–1834) as a boy: the duke was a cousin of George III and afterwards chancellor of the University. Reynolds wrote in his diary that the boy sat for his portrait in March 1780 when he was four years old, and that the finished picture was delivered in January 1788—the charge for it being a hundred guineas. Horace Walpole praised it, but thought it “washy,” an opinion not shared by modern critics who esteem it one of Reynolds’s masterpieces. The picture was left to the College in 1843 by the will of the duke’s sister, the Princess Sophia, with a request that it should be hung in the hall. The legacy was due to the good offices of a freshman of the time—the Hon. Douglas Gordon,[108]son of George, fourth earl of Aberdeen. He described the circumstances attending the gift as follows:

When I went up to Trinity in 1842, I used to see a great deal of theprincess....[I was then] a freshman full of admiration for my College of which I used to boast. One day the old princess shewed me the picture, ... and asked if I thought it would look well in the Hall. On my saying what a boon it would be, she very graciously said “You can tell Mr Whewell that I will leave it to the College through you, and I hope you will see this picture placed in a good position.” At her death I took it down to Trinity where I was still an undergraduate.

When I went up to Trinity in 1842, I used to see a great deal of theprincess....[I was then] a freshman full of admiration for my College of which I used to boast. One day the old princess shewed me the picture, ... and asked if I thought it would look well in the Hall. On my saying what a boon it would be, she very graciously said “You can tell Mr Whewell that I will leave it to the College through you, and I hope you will see this picture placed in a good position.” At her death I took it down to Trinity where I was still an undergraduate.

The portrait of queen Mary on the other side of the dais is a Spanish copy of Antonio Moro’s famous picture which hangs in Madrid. The original is said to have been given to Philip after his engagement to her; it presents her as a woman of strong character but far from beautiful. When the marriage took place, it was unkindly said by a Spanish courtier that whatever were the faults of his master, it must at least be admitted that he recognized the obligation of a gentleman to keep his word.

Of other pictures in the hall those of Tennyson (1809–92) painted in 1890 by G. F. Watts, of the earl of Essex (1566–1601) painted in 1590, of Isaac Newton (1642–1727) painted in 1725 by John Vanderbank, and of Francis Bacon (1561–1626) copied from Van Somer’s portrait in Gray’s Inn are[109]specially noticeable. Newton and Barrow (together with Pearson who is mentioned below) played a leading part in the intellectual life in the University towards the close of the seventeenth century, but I need not talk here about this. Barrow, who was a mathematician and divine, had a ready wit. When, previous to his admission to holy orders, he was examined on his faith, the dialogue is said to have been as follows:—Chaplain:Quid est fides?Barrow:Quod non vides.Chaplain:Quid est spes?Barrow:Magna res.Chaplain:Quid est caritas?Barrow:Magna raritas.On which his questioner retired in dudgeon, and reported that there was a candidate for ordination who would only give him “rhyming answers to moral questions”: but the bishop had the sense to recognize that truths can be expressed in rhyme as well as in prose, and Barrow was ordained.

A very pleasing picture is that reputed to be of Byron: this looks like a Raeburn, though it is ascribed to Thomas Lawrence: its history is doubtful, but the absence of any peculiarity in the ear isprima facieevidence that it is not of Byron. Another striking portrait is that of W. H. Thompson (1810–1886) painted in 1881 by Hubert von Herkomer. When Thompson saw the completed portrait of himself, he is said to have remarked, “Do I really look as if I held the world so cheap” and in a print of it in the house of one of my friends, this is inscribed[110]on the frame. I ought also to call attention to the window portrait of Richard, duke of York (1411–60), the father of Edward IV and Richard III, which probably comes to us from King’s Hall.

Among other paintings, which at present hang on the hall panelling, are portraits of the following famous members of our College:—Edward White Benson (1829–96) archbishop of Canterbury, Isaac Hawkins Browne (1706–60), Arthur Cayley (1821–95), the earl of Derby (1826–93), Michael Foster (1836–1907), Francis Galton (1822–1911), the earl of Halifax (1661–1715), Fenton John Anthony Hort (1828–92), Richard Claverhouse Jebb (1841–1905), Joseph Joachim (1831–1907) the musician, Thomas Jones (1756–1807), Joseph Barber Lightfoot (1828–89) bishop of Durham, Frederick Denison Maurice (1805–72), James Clerk Maxwell (1831–79), viscount Melbourne (1779–1849), Matthew Raine (1760–1811), Adam Sedgwick (1785–1873), Henry Sidgwick (1838–1900), Charles John Vaughan (1816–97), Brooke Foss Westcott (1825–1901) bishop of Durham, John Westlake (1828–1908), and William Whewell (1794–1866).

Of these, Raine, Jones, Halifax and Hawkins Browne lived in the eighteenth century. The last-named is known to fame through having caused a change in the family reigning in the two Sicilies. In fact, coming to Naples in his travels he danced[111]at a court ceremony “with such inconceivable alacrity and vigour” as to provoke universal amusement and amazement: in particular the queen’s laughter was so immoderate that a miscarriage ensued. On such events may the histories of dynasties and empires turn! He is described on this occasion as pirouetting in a “dress of volcano silk with lava buttons”: perhaps it is in this costume that he is depicted on our walls. Having related this anecdote I must in fairness add that he was a poet of considerable ability, a good talker in an age when the standard of conversation was high, and an excellent judge of wine. Most of the portraits are, however, of celebrities of the Victorian age. Of these, Melbourne and Derby were politicians; Benson, Hort, Lightfoot, Vaughan, and Westcott represent the church; Westlake was a lawyer; Jebb a scholar; Maurice and Sidgwick represent ethical philosophy; while Cayley, Foster, Galton, Maxwell, Sedgwick, and Whewell, were men of science.

Among the canvasses above the panelling are portraits of Richard Bentley (1662–1742) the scholar, Edward Coke (1549–1634) the lord chief justice, Cowley (1618–67) the poet, John Dryden (1631–1701) the poet, the earl of Macclesfield (1666–1732), John Pearson (1613–86) bishop of Chester, Robert Smith (1689–1768) the mathematician, and John Wilkins (1614–72) bishop of Chester. Wilkins is[112]now almost unknown but he wrote some interesting books, notably one on the ciphers employed in the civil war of the seventeenth century. Another work of his on the possibility of a journey to the moon, provoked the duchess of Newcastle to ask him where she could find a place to bait if she tried the journey: “Madam,” said he, “of all the people in the world I least expected that question from you, who have built so many castles in the air that you may lie every night in one of your own.”

The pictures in the large combination room of Isaac Newton by Thomas Murray, and of Matthew Prior (1664–1721) by Godfrey Kneller are good: the former came to us from a descendant (Mrs Ring) of Newton’s favourite niece, and its history is given in a letter from Charles Simeon to Mansel, master of the College at the time of the gift. The other canvasses are too big for a private apartment, but the portraits of the “proud” duke of Somerset (1662–1748) by Nathaniel Dance, the marquess of Granby (1721–70) by Joshua Reynolds, the duke of Gloucester by John Opie, the marquess of Camden (1759–1840) by Thomas Lawrence, the duke of Grafton (1760–1844) also by Lawrence, and the duke of Sussex (1773–1843) by James Lonsdale, are of some repute: to these there was added in 1915 a portrait of Arthur J. Balfour by P. A. Laszlö de Lombros.

[113]Of the peers mentioned above the names of Granby and Somerset are still well known. Granby fought in the Culloden campaign, was colonel of the blues (horse guards) at Minden, 1759; commander of the British contingent in the campaigns of 1760, 1761, and 1762; and in 1766 became commander-in-chief of the army. Delighting in danger, which even when in supreme command he deliberately sought, brave to a fault, an excellent cavalry leader, rich and lavishly generous, he was the idol of the public, and witnesses to his popularity remain in the numerous public-houses scattered far and wide over England which bear his name and arms. Somerset was of a very different type, being a stupid man whose power was chiefly derived from his enormous landed possessions. To the Somerset properties he added, by his marriage with the sole heiress of the earls of Northumberland, the great estates of the Percies. He held the chancellorship of the University for the extraordinary term of sixty years. His title of the “proud duke” commemorates only his arrogance, and was derived from the fact that even to speak to anyone in a menial position was regarded by him as a condescension. His servants were trained to understand his wishes by signs, and numerous footmen surrounded him when in the streets so as to avoid the risk that any people of the lower classes should approach or address him.[114]Perhaps the best known of the stories of his pretensions refers to his remark to his second wife who once called his attention to something by touching him with her fan (or according to another version kissed him without asking his leave), “Madam,” said he, drawing himself apart, “my first wife never dared to take such a liberty, and she was a Percy.” As another illustration of his character I may add that he deprived one of his daughters of£20,000 because she had sat down in his presence without asking his leave.

In the lodge there are numerous portraits of former masters of the College, and obviously this is the proper place for such a collection. It is not complete, twelve past masters being unrepresented, but portraits of two of these (namely Wilkins and Pearson) hang in the hall. The most notable picture in this series is that of Nevile, which is properly given the place of honour over the mantelpiece in the dining room which he built. He holds a paper in his right hand, and I like to think that this is intended to suggest the letter which Elizabeth on her death-bed entrusted to him to take to Scotland, informing James VI of that kingdom that she designated him as her successor. In this room too are portraits of Porson and Thompson with whose memories so many excellent academic stories are associated, but I must not linger over these. In[115]the drawing room the most striking portraits are those of queen Elizabeth by Mark Gerrard, the duke of Gloucester (1776–1834) in his undergraduate robes by George Romney, and queen Mary probably by Hans Eworth. The painted panels in the entrance hall often escape attention, but are worth looking at, especially in the case of the portraits of Edward III, Henry VII, Elizabeth of York, Mary of Scotland, Edward VI, and queen Mary. The collection of portraits, formed by Dr Butler, of Trinity men who have held judicial appointments is also interesting, but is not generally accessible to visitors.

The pictures in the lecture-rooms and on the walls of the staircase leading to them form a sort of overflow collection, and though of unequal merit, a few are worth attention. There are also some pictures of merit in the library among which I note in particular portraits of Tennyson and Lightfoot.

The engravings of former members of the College placed in the small combination room will repay study. There are at present between one hundred and fifty and two hundred here, but there are many more in portfolios in the library. Several of these have been acquired in recent years through the generosity and knowledge of John Charrington.

The painted glass in the hall shows numerous coats of arms, and anyone acquainted with heraldry[116]will find here a rich field of study. The windows could have been filled over and over again with the arms of former famous members of the College, but the matter has been managed in a haphazard way, and many distinguished sons of the House are unrepresented. In spite of some bad glass the collection is interesting. Perhaps however any further account of it here would be more technical than would be justified in a paper like this. Of other glass in the College, the windows in the chapel are typical of the art of 1870, and are only moderately satisfactory. The window at the south end of the library, executed in 1775, was made by Peckitt of York, after a design by Cipriani: it illustrates some curious points in the history of the art of stained glass, but the design is impossible, and the scheme of colour atrocious.

Sculpture, unless it is absolutely first rate, does not represent a man as well as portraiture. The number of pieces of statuary of the first class in Great Britain is small, and in the possession of such pieces the College is extraordinarily fortunate. The statue of Newton, with its proud inscription “Newton qui genus humanum ingenio superavit,” in the antechapel by Roubiliac—“the marble index of a mind for ever voyaging through strange seas of thought alone”—is of the highest merit. It was described by Chantrey as “the noblest of[117]English statues,” and I have never seen any modern piece of statuary anywhere which can be ranked superior to it: the man lives and almost moves. Thorwaldsen’s statue of Byron, rejected by the authorities of Westminster Abbey on account of his alleged atheistical opinions, which stands in the library, and that of Bacon in the antechapel may also be reckoned among examples of first-class statuary. Of these three pieces two are by foreigners. There are also in the antechapel statues of Barrow, Macaulay, Whewell, and Tennyson, and in the library a large number of busts. The statues of Edward III on the clock tower, of Henry VIII, James I, Anne of Denmark, and Prince Charles on the great gate, and of queen Elizabeth on the queen’s gate are interesting, though not to be reckoned as works of art.

Old Silver Plate has a peculiar beauty. We have some fine specimens though they are fewer and later than from our history we should expect. Most of the pieces are kept in the butteries, and can be seen by visitors. Twice a year anyone entering the hall will see the junior bursar there with all the plate spread before him checking it by his lists, a pretty spectacle which always suggests to me the picture of the king “in his counting house counting out his money,” and formerly in “May-week” typical pieces were set out on show in the hall.

[118]We have a catalogue of the plate—a large and valuable collection—owned by King’s Hall in the fifteenth century, and we may reasonably suppose that this, as well as the plate belonging to Michael-House, came in due course to us; all this has gone with the possible, but doubtful, exception of a censer boat now in the library. We know also that some plate was given us in Tudor and early Stuart times: of this, only five pieces remained to us at the restoration. I take it however that until well into the eighteenth century people were accustomed to regard plate, other than pieces of historic interest, as a convenient way of keeping portable wealth in a form which could be easily turned into coin, and its dispersion in times of emergency when money was wanted is not surprising.

It was customary for noblemen and fellow-commoners to present plate to the House when they completed their academic career: their caution-money being commonly employed for or towards the purpose. After the restoration, thanks to this graceful practice, our possessions of this kind grew rapidly. Unfortunately a good many of our pieces were lost through two burglaries, one in 1795 and the other in 1798; for instance, no less than fifty-five drinking cups some of great beauty were then taken. During the eighteenth century, in colleges and throughout the country, large numbers of[119]“standing pieces” of plate were melted down, and the metal used to make spoons and forks; this accounts for the disappearance of some of our treasures of an earlier date. Until 1870 new pieces continued to be added in large numbers: in that year the College abolished the general admission of noblemen and fellow-commoners, holding that distinctions of rank were undesirable in academic life; and since then our collection has increased only by special gifts or by purchase.

Of our pre-commonwealth plate the oldest pieces are two silver-gilt flagons, dated 1607–08, given us in 1636 by John and Bernard Stuart, sons of the duke of Lennox, then about sixteen and fourteen years old. There is in the small combination room a charming print of Vandyke’s portrait of the brothers: both boys were killed during the Civil War, John at Edgehill and Bernard at Rowton Heath. Whistles are placed in the handles of these flagons, so they must have been originally intended for secular use, but they have been included, as far back as our records go, among the communion plate: perhaps the spouts were added when the vessels were placed in the chapel. Our next earliest piece is the handsome cup, dated 1615–16, given us by Nevile probably in 1615: it was originally silver-gilt. The fourth of these pieces is a bursarial rose-water basin and ewer dated 1635–36. We owe it to Ambrose[120]Aykerod who was bursar in that year: his arms are engraved on the cup, and the inscriptions on it refer to vows and pledges by him which are now inexplicable. The only other early piece which survived the Civil War was a cup given by John Clarkson between 1610 and 1620 and known from its inscription “Pauper Johannes Dictus Cognomine Clarkson Hunc Cyathum Dono Gratuito Dedit” as the “Pauper Joan Pot”: this was stolen in 1798. Clarkson had matriculated as a sizar in 1553, obtained a scholarship in due course, and graduated B.A. in 1560.

Apart from the four pieces mentioned above, the most striking objects in our collection are the rose-water basins and ewers, the Duport standing salt, the standing or loving cups, the tankards, and the punch-bowls.

We have several notable rose-water basins and ewers. The earliest of these is the set given by the earl of Kent in 1662 to commemorate the passing of the Act of Uniformity. The date is given by a quaint double chronogram: and the central inscriptionΝιψον ανομηματα μη μοναν οψινreads alike forwards and backwards. Another beautiful set is that given by the duke of Buckingham in 1671, the circumference of the basin being over seven feet. The visitor should also notice a set of 1740 bequeathed by David Humphrey, and a set of 1748[121]given by William John Bankes. Another set consists of a basin of 1716 given by John Bennet, with a graceful ewer probably made about 1675. This ewer must have been originally a “standing cup” since a whistle is placed in the handle, but a spout was added between 1789 and 1810 with the intention of turning it into a flagon: on it are engraved the Trinity and Westminster arms, and in an early catalogue it is called the Busby cup: its donor is unknown.

There is a curious custom at the high table connected with these dishes. At the end of dinner on ordinary nights, before grace is said, a rose-water dish with an empty ewer is placed before the fellow sitting at the head of each table. I conjecture that this dates from a time when napkins and forks were unknown, and diners were accustomed to rinse their hands in water before rising from the table. Now the appearance of the empty ewer is only a sign that dinner is over. At feasts the ewer contains rose-water which is poured into the dish and passed round the table.

We have a fine specimen of a standing salt in a piece associated with the name of James Duport. Its breadth is nearly ten inches, and its height, without the handles, seven inches. It was these massive salts, and not “trencher salts,” that were originally used to divide the company into those[122]that sat above and below the salt; and in the middle ages the standing salt was generally the most valued single piece in the house and the chief ornament on the table. The medieval specimens usually have a cover to protect the salt, and the handles in specimens like ours are said to have been introduced for a similar reason, as a napkin can be twisted round them so as to cover the salt, and thus save it from dust. Our specimen bears the inscriptionεχετε εν εαυτοις ἁλας και ειρηνευετε εν αλληλοις, together with a statement that it was given by Duport. Probably his gift was made in 1665, when he left the College on his appointment as master of Magdalene. The piece, however, bears the hall-mark 1733–34; here, and in some other cases, it would seem that the original piece was exchanged for a new one, perhaps when repairs were required, and it was the custom in such circumstances to engrave the old inscription on the new piece of plate.

In spite of our losses at the end of the eighteenth century some fine drinking cups and covers still remain in our possession. Notable among these is one of 1691–92 given by Charles and George Firebrace, one of 1697–98 given by Henry Boyle, and one of 1711–12 given by John Verney. We have also a cup and cover of 1726 given by the earl of Sandwich, another of 1729 given by Samuel Husbands,[123]another of 1763 given by John Damer, another of 1771 given by George Augustus Henry Cavendish, another of 1776 given by William Greaves, and another of 1780 given by the earl of Mexborough. To these I may add the Lyndhurst silver-gilt cup and cover of 1876–77 given by Sir Theodore Martin. All these are fine specimens of silversmith’s work, and can be used at feasts as loving cups, with the ceremonial customary to such drinking.

The tankards with lids form another striking group of plate, but the larger ones which contain three quarts or more must be regarded as being decorative rather than useful. Conspicuous among these pieces is one, probably made about 1670, given by Thomas Taylor, one of 1698–99 given by Peter Pheasaunt, one of 1699–1700 given by Thomas Alston, one of 1700–01 given by Thomas Bellot, one of 1739–40 given by Thomas Foley, one of 1746–47 given by Francis Vernon, one of 1751–52 given by Charles Paulet, one of 1757–58 given by Edward Fitzgerald, and one of 1762–63 given by Hans Sloane. There is also a fine collection of ale plate. Of the smaller tankards, stoups, and drinking cups there are innumerable specimens. I will not dwell longer over our other pieces. Suffice it is to say that of punch-bowls there are three or four fine specimens of the eighteenth century, as also various snuff-boxes, silver trays, etc. Of candlesticks[124]there are between two and three hundred, many of them beautiful pieces of work. Of ordinary domestic plate the stock is large.

There is also a good deal of plate which has been given or assigned for use in the lodge: this includes the Perry silver-gilt dessert service. In the chapel plate besides the flagons already mentioned there are two silver-gilt patens of 1661–62, associated in the early catalogues with the names of John and Bernard Stuart; also an alms-dish of 1673, and an altar cross given in 1894 and said to be of Spanish renaissance work.

I add some particulars of thirteen challenge pieces of plate owned by the Boat and Athletic Clubs: of these, five belong to the First Trinity Boat Club, and eight to the Athletic Club. These pieces are of recent make and their chief interest comes from the inscribed names of the successive holders.

Trinity men will recollect that there are various races arranged each year by the First Trinity Boat Club, the winners of which receive pots or other prizes, and that in five of these events, the winners, in addition to receiving the special prizes, hold challenge pieces on which are engraved the names of past winners. These challenge pieces are: A two-handled silver chased cup and stand (hall-mark 1836), held by the winner of a sculling race (the[125]Macnaughten Sculls) rowed in the Michaelmas Term, open to all members of the Club who have not previously won it or the University Colquhoun Sculls. A two-handled silver cup and stand (hall-mark probably 1857 or 1858), which came to the club from the now defunct Second Trinity Boat Club, held by the winner of a sculling race (the Baines Sculls) rowed in the Lent Term, open to all members who have not previously won it or the Macnaughten Sculls or the University Colquhoun Sculls. Silver oars (hall-mark 1860) held by the winners of a pair-oared race (the Wyatt Pairs) rowed in the Michaelmas Term, open to all members who have not previously won it or the University Magdalene Pairs. Silver oars (hall-mark 1861) which came to the Club from Second Trinity, held by the winners of a pair-oared race (the Dodington Pairs) rowed in the Lent Term, open to all members who have not previously won it or the Wyatt Pairs or the University Magdalene Pairs. Silver Sculls (hall-mark 1897) held by the winners of a double sculling race (the Taxis Sculls) rowed in the Easter Term, open to all members who have not previously won it or the University Magdalene pairs.

Similarly among the sports arranged each year by the Trinity Athletic Club are seven events, the winners of which in addition to receiving special prizes, hold challenge pieces of plate on which are[126]engraved the names of past winners. These challenge pieces are: A half-fluted silver bowl and plinth (hall-mark 1887) held by the winner of the mile race. A half-fluted silver bowl and plinth (hall-mark 1899) held by the winner of the half-mile race. A silver chased claret jug with handle (hall-mark 1886) held by the winner of the quarter-mile race. Four silver candlesticks (hall-mark 1899) held by the winner of the hundred yards race. A two-handled half-fluted silver cup (hall-mark 1888) held by the winner of the hurdles race. A two-handled silver bowl (hall-mark 1896) held by the winner of the long jump. A silver salver (hall-mark 1896) held by the winner of the high jump. Finally there is a two-handled silver chased cup and plinth (hall-mark 1892) held by the man who scores most marks in the various events.

It may be thought that I have occupied too much space in giving bare lists of pieces of plate, but the shapes of some of the pieces are so good and the surface of old silver, when carefully tended, has such a beautiful texture that I believe it may be worth calling the attention of any interested in such things to some of our possessions of this kind. Only societies and families with continuous records dating from a distant past can show such collections.

[127]CHAPTER VII.THE COLLEGE AUDITORS.Thereis no reference in our earliest college statutes—those of 1552—to an Auditor, but the extant accounts show that the office existed from the foundation of the College in 1546. Definite regulations for the appointment were proposed in the draft statutes of 1554, and were embodied in the statutes of 1560. By these the auditor was made one of the statutable officers of the Society: the post was held for long periods, and it was not permissible to perform the duties by proxy. The statute in question was re-enacted in 1844. By the statutes of 1861 the office was made annual, and tenable only during pleasure. It remains annual under the present statutes, but a definite proviso was inserted in 1882 that it is not tenable by a fellow or officer of the House, and a clause was introduced providing for the appointment from among the fellows of an Assessor or Assessors who should be present during the audit.From the foundation of the College, its financial year ran from Michaelmas to Michaelmas, and the audit of each year was concluded in the following December. At first the annual honorarium of the[128]auditor seems to have been£10 with an allowance of£2 for travelling expenses, stationery, etc., but before the end of the sixteenth century it had been reduced to£5, with an augmentation of£3. 6s.8d.and some allowances.The form of thedeclaratio computiwas much as at present, and generally, with but small variations, it takes the form now stereotyped “and so the said A. B. Senior (or Junior) Bursar upon the foot of this his account for one whole year ending Michaelmas ... oweth unto the College the sumof....”In some cases, and notably in the seventeenth century, the sums include fractions of a penny, even as small as one thirty-second part thereof. Presumably the audit was always followed by a “feast,” as still remains the custom.Of the occupants of the office from 1546 to 1618 the information in the college books is incomplete. The only auditors previous to 1618 whose names I have noticed, with the years in which they held office, are Edward Burnell, 1553, 1561, 1563 and 1564; Adam Winthrop, 1606; and Richard Brooke, 1614. I have not, however, read the account-books through from cover to cover, and it may be that there are references which have escaped me. Luckily Winthrop’s diary and some memoranda from 1595 to 1621 are extant, and contain references to a few earlier dates. From these we can take our[129]continuous record back to the year ending Michaelmas 1593, when he was auditor. He resigned in 1610, and was succeeded by Brooke. Brooke was acting in 1615, and had commons in 1616, and I have no doubt acted in 1617. From 1618 onwards we can, from one source or another, make out the names of those who held the office. The handwritings of the earlier auditors have marked characteristics. They suggest that there was one auditor from 1547 to 1552, another from 1553 to 1578, who must have been Edward Burnell, another from 1579 to 1591, and another from 1592 to 1609, who must have been Adam Winthrop. But I present these as mere surmises, and I do not attempt to go back beyond 1593.Our roll then is as follows. From 1547 to 1592 we cannot definitely say more than that Edward Burnell was auditor for a period which included the years 1553 to 1564, for no doubt his tenure was unbroken. From 1593 the sequence runs thus:Adam Winthrop, 1593 (or earlier) to 1609; Richard Brooke, 1610 to 1617; Robert Spicer, 1618 to 1628; Francis Hughes, 1629 to 1668; Samuel Newton, 1669 to 1717, Newton resigned in 1674, and thereon he and William Ellis were appointed to the office, with remainder to the survivor of them, but apparently William Ellis never acted; Denys L’Isle, 1718 to 1726; William Greaves, 1727 to 1778; Robert[130]Graham, 1779 to 1791; Samuel Knight, 1792 to 1811; Nicholas Conyngham Tindal, 1812 to 1825; James Parke, 1826 to 1828; Andrew Amos, 1829 to 1836; John George Shaw-Lefevre, 1837 to 1851; George Denman, 1852 to 1862; George Valentine Yool, 1863 to 1869; Augustus Arthur VanSittart, 1870 to 1881; John Willis Clark, 1882 to 1908. Since 1908 the office has been held by a professional accountant. The dates given indicate the ends of the audit year: thus the audit of 1669 was for the year 1668–69. It will be noticed that during the three hundred and sixteen years from 1593 to 1908, there were, if we omit William Ellis, only seventeen auditors, giving an average tenure of more than eighteen years. Of these seventeen auditors at least eleven have been lawyers and four ultimately rose to the Bench. I add a few biographical notes on these auditors.Of Edward Burnell, the earliest holder of the office whose name I have given, I know nothing. His successor Adam Winthrop, 1548–1623, the son of a prominent London merchant and reformer, had been admitted as a fellow-commoner at Magdalene in 1567, and had left the University without a degree. He had been called to the bar, but did not practise, and was content to fill the rôle of a well-to-do country squire. He was an intimate friend of Still, master of Trinity from 1577 to 1593, whose sister he married in 1574, and whose wife[131]was his connection by marriage. I conjecture that he owed the office to Still’s influence. Winthrop was a fair scholar, an indifferent poet, and somewhat of a pedant. His tomb is at Groton, Suffolk. More than one of his descendants were distinguished. In particular his son, John, 1588–1649, who was admitted to Trinity College in 1602, was the founder of the well-known American family of this name; and his great-great-grandson, Sir George Downing was the founder of Downing College.Winthrop seems to have done the whole of the audit work at the end of the Michaelmas term of each year. Thus in 1601 he wrote:The ivth of Decemb. I ridde to Cambride & beganne the Auditt the 7th beinge Monday. The xiiijth of Decembre I returned from the Auditt & did see the Sonne in the Eclips about 12 of the Clock at noone.Perhaps his resignation was made at the suggestion of the College, for early in 1610 he wrote:Dr Meriton came to speake with me about the resignation of my office in Trinity College to MrBrookes....I surrendered my Auditorship in Trinitye College to the Mr fellows & schollers before a pub.notary....I dyned at Dr Meriton’s in Hadley & received of him xxlb for myAuditorshippe....Mr Rich. Brooke the nue Auditor of Trinity College was at my house in Groton to whom I dd. divers paper books & Roles touchinge his Office.Of the next three auditors I can discover very little. Richard Brooke was appointed in 1610.[132]The following conclusion of 8 June 1615, seems to refer to him, “concluded that Mr Brookes in regard of his paines taken divers times for the Colledge that he shoulde ... have given him Twentye pounds,” and during his visits in the following year be allowed commons. We may assume that he held office till the end of 1617. A Richard Brookes had entered at Queens’ as a fellow-commoner in 1587, but whether he was the subsequent auditor there is nothing to show. In 1618 we have the copy of the appointment of Robert Spicer. He held office till the end of 1628, since a conclusion of 3 June 1629, appointed in his place Francis Hughes. Hughes, who held the office till his death in October 1669, was admitted a scholar in 1616, graduated M.A. in 1623, was one of the esquire-bedells, and occupied rooms in College at the time of his death.The next occupant of the office was Samuel Newton, 1629–1718, a prominent attorney in the town and mayor in 1671. He was not a member of the University. His diary from 1662 to 1717 preserved in the library of Downing College, contains an account of his election to the post in the chapel by the master and seniors, he being present in the antechapel. He attended next day in his gown, was sworn to the faithful discharge of his duties, and signed the roll of college officers. He[133]proved thoroughly efficient. For his services at the audit in 1669 he received the fee of£5 with the customary augmentation of£3. 6s.8d., a sum of£6. 13s.4d.for engrossing the audit rolls, which henceforth were kept excellently, a sum of£1 for preparing a book of arrears, and a sum of£1. 2s.8d.for stationery. He also received from the junior bursar, billets of wood of the value of 6s.8d.; from the steward, a “warp of lyng” of the value of 6s.8d.; from the manciple, a “coller of brawne, also a dish of wild fowle or 6s.8d.”; and from the brewhouse, “2 barrels of strong beere.”In 1674 Newton surrendered his patent of appointment as auditor, but he was immediately reappointed jointly with his cousin, William Ellis, with remainder to the survivor of them. They were at the same time appointed on the same conditions to the office of college registrar, then vacant by the death of a Mr T. Griffith. According to Newton’s diary, William Ellis proceeded M.A. in 1670, but his name does not appear in the list of graduati, unless indeed he is the Wm Ellis who received the degreeper lit. reg.in 1671. The college account-books continued to be signed by Newton, and I have not noticed in them evidence that Ellis ever took any part in the audit. The Society’s solicitors and attorneys have frequently acted as registrars, and it may be that Ellis was in partnership[134]with Newton, and was for that reason made with him joint auditor and registrar.Samuel Newton died in 1718 in his ninetieth year. For the three years, 1715, 1716, and 1717, the books were audited by John Newton, presumably his son or grandson, as his deputy. No doubt the arrangement was made in consequence of the failing health of the old gentleman whose signature in 1714 was very shaky. The appointment of a deputy was invalid under the statute, but it must have been made with the approval of Bentley, and perhaps of the seniority. At any rate John Newton conducted the audit, and signed the books as deputy auditor.Newton was succeeded in 1718 as auditor and registrar by Denys L’Isle. L’Isle had been a fellow-commoner of Trinity Hall, admitted in 1712, graduated LL.B. in 1715, who had gone down and in 1716 taken his name off the books. He was a vigorous and not too scrupulous barrister. He owed his appointment to Bentley, and he showed “extraordinary activity and zeal in promoting all” his benefactor’s “wishes and interests” and represented him in some of his disputes. Whatever view may be taken of Bentley’s character, no one can justify his conduct in regard to the college finances. A notable scandal occurred in the audit of 1722. In the accounts of that year large sums were charged[135]to the College for works at the lodge and other sums spent by the master which had not been sanctioned by the Society. Undoubtedly the charges were illegal, but Bentley and L’Isle refused to allow the accounts to be examined by the seniority. In fact in this, as in other matters, L’Isle had no scruple in screening Bentley from the consequences of acts which were neither legal nor honourable.L’Isle died in 1727, and was succeeded as auditor, steward of the courts, and registrar by William Greaves. Greaves had in 1719 migrated to Clare, Cambridge, from Brasenose, Oxford; he graduated B.A. in 1720, and in 1722 was elected at Clare to a fellowship which he held till 1742. He was a barrister and an able man: he too owed his office to Bentley, and acted as his counsel in many of his tortuous proceedings. Through Bentley’s influence Greaves had in 1726 been made commissary of the University, an office which he held till 1778. The letters patent to the office of college auditor were made out for the term of his life, but a question having been raised as to whether this was statutable, he surrendered them, and the College granted new patents for the term of fifty years if he should live so long. I suppose he was duly admitted to the office, for probably an acute lawyer would have seen to this, but there is no record of the fact in our books.Greaves seems to have performed his duties as[136]auditor in an honourable manner. After the audit of 1778, he surrendered his office at the close of fifty years’ tenure of it: he then received a present of plate from the College, with their thanks for his long and faithful services. Six years later he made a donation to the Society of£100 to found an annual prize for an essay on the character of King William the Third. After nearly a century it was said that the essayists had exhausted the subject, and in 1882 the College got leave to substitute for it one connected with the history of the British Empire.Robert Graham, 1744–1836, a lawyer of note, succeeded Greaves. Graham had graduated as third wrangler in 1766, and in the following year had been elected to a fellowship. He held the office till after the audit of 1791. He was made a baron of the exchequer in 1799, and proved a singularly inefficient judge. He retired from the bench in 1827.Graham’s chief distinction is said to have been his urbanity, and at the Bar it was currently believed that no one but his sempstress had power to ruffle his equanimity. He was somewhat pompous, and an adventure of his at the assizes at Newcastle afforded much amusement to his contemporaries. There, on one occasion just before charging the grand jury, he tumbled, unnoticed, into the river from the garden of the house where he lodged, but[137]luckily was hauled out by some passing watermen. The rough remedies of the quay-side failed to restore consciousness, and the bystanders, supposing he was drowned, carted him to a dead-house, where he was stripped and laid out. The coroner’s jury, summoned with unusual celerity, had viewed the body, and were considering their verdict when, to their surprise he showed signs of life and came to himself. His position was not altogether dignified, but realizing at once that it is always incumbent on a judge to move in state, he was by his directions fetched from the mortuary in the sheriff’s carriage, with the trumpeters, and usual ceremonial.Of Graham’s successor, Samuel Knight, 1755–1829, I know little. He had been admitted as a pensioner in 1772, became a fellow-commoner in 1774, and graduated in the poll in 1776. Apparently he had no special qualifications for the post beyond being a pleasant member of society. He resigned in 1812, and died in 1829.After Knight’s resignation, the post was offered to Nicholas Conyngham Tindal, 1776–1846, a lawyer of distinction. He had graduated in 1799 as eighth wrangler, was a Chancellor’s medalist, and had been elected to a fellowship in 1801, which, as he did not take orders, he had vacated in due course in accordance with the provisions of the Elizabethan statutes. The plan of offering the post to a distinguished[138]past fellow now became the custom, and all the auditors hereafter mentioned were past fellows of the college.Tindal was one of the counsel for queen Caroline; he is celebrated in the history of the courts for having secured to a criminal client the right of wager of battle, which had long fallen into disuse but had not been abolished by statute. He was member for the University from 1827 to 1829 in which year he was made chief justice of the Common Pleas; he held that office till his death in 1846. Though not specially successful as an advocate, he had a profound knowledge of law and was an excellent judge. His enormous dimensions are commemorated in a print in my possession with the inscription “Judges of A Size,” representing him standing by Joshua Williams one of his colleagues on assize, who was very diminutive; probably this is an ancient joke.The next auditor was James Parke, 1782–1868, a lawyer of even greater distinction. He had graduated in 1803 as fifth wrangler, and had been Craven scholar, Browne’s medalist and Chancellor’s medalist. In 1804 he had been elected to a fellowship. He was one of the counsel briefed against queen Caroline. He was made a judge in 1828, and of course then resigned the office of auditor, which he thus held for only three years.[139]Parke had a profound knowledge of the common law, and admired, and was a rigid adherent of, ancient forms and customs. The fact was well known, and led to a curious scene, when on one occasion, while giving a judgment, he fainted. Cold water and smelling salts were applied without success, whereon a somewhat malicious colleague brought from an adjacent room an ancient volume of reports, black with the dust of ages, and banged it under the nostrils of the judge. It may have been a coincidence, but Parke at once revived, and in a few minutes was able to proceed with the business in hand.At one time when Parke was trying a criminal case the prisoner confessed his crime to his advocate, who thereupon (most improperly) acquainted the judge with the fact and asked his advice. Parke rebuked the barrister for informing him of the prisoner’s guilt, but added that counsel was not the less bound to defend his client to the best of his ability. The case has been often cited, and states the practice of the bar; it being of course assumed that nothing is said or done for the defence which an honourable man might not say or do.Parke’s subsequent career served to settle a constitutional question of great importance. In 1856 he was created Baron Wensleydale with a life peerage. It was decided that the power of the[140]crown to create life peerages had been lost by disuse. He was then made a baron with the usual remainder in tail male.Parke was followed as auditor by Andrew Amos, 1791–1860, also a lawyer of distinction. He had graduated as fifth wrangler in 1813, and in 1815 had been elected to a fellowship. He was appointed auditor in 1829. He had a large arbitration practice, acted on the Criminal Law Commission, and was professor of English Law in London. In 1837 he was appointed legal member of the Indian Council, and on his departure for the East had to resign his office in the college. On the first vacancy after his return to England, he was, in 1848, elected Downing Professor of Laws in Cambridge, and occupied the chair until his death.Amos was succeeded by John George Shaw-Lefevre, 1797–1879. Shaw-Lefevre had been senior wrangler and first Smith’s prize man in 1818, and had been elected to a fellowship in the following year. Like his predecessors he was a barrister, but most of his time was taken up with duties connected with public departments. He settled the county divisions under the Reform Act of 1832, and was a member of numerous Commissions, notably those connected with compensation for the abolition of slavery, with the Poor Law Act, with the creation of South Australia, with ecclesiastical affairs, and with[141]the Indian Civil Service: till 1875 he was busily engaged in public affairs. He stood unsuccessfully for parliament in the university contest of 1847. He resigned the auditorship after the audit of 1851. His tenure of the post is commemorated by his gift of the chandelier which hangs in the large combination room.The next auditor was the Hon. George Denman, 1819–1896, also a lawyer. Denman had been senior classic in 1842, and had been elected to a fellowship in the following year. He had always kept up his connection with the College, where he had numerous friends. He became auditor in 1852. Like his predecessor he stood unsuccessfully for parliament as a representative of the University: this was in 1856. Subsequently he was appointed counsel to the University. He entered parliament in 1859, and owing to press of work gave up his college office at the close of the audit of 1862. After a distinguished legal career he was raised in 1872 to the bench. He was a good scholar, had a fine presence, and to the end of his life was popular with all classes of Cambridge society.If I may trust my memory Denman told me that among his annual perquisites as auditor was a case of audit ale, and that on one occasion he gave it to Livingstone who he knew would appreciate it. The case travelled with the explorer through Africa,[142]and as long as the ale lasted glasses of it were circulated, to the great satisfaction of the natives, whenever solemn treaties were ratified.The next holder of the office was George Valentine Yool, 1829–1897, a chancery barrister, who had been third wrangler and second Smith’s prizeman in 1851, and had been elected to a fellowship in 1853. Yool took but little part in public affairs. He was appointed auditor in 1863, and gave up the office at the end of 1869.After Yool’s resignation the College reverted to its former practice, and appointed as auditor a resident, Augustus Arthur VanSittart. VanSittart had been bracketed senior classic in 1847, and had been elected to a fellowship in the following year. After once standing unsuccessfully for parliament, he devoted himself to literary work, and among other things collected and collated the various readings of the New Testament. His annual speech at the audit feast, wherein he gave a witty sketch of the more interesting developments of academic life during the preceding year, was one of the features of the time, and served somewhat the same purpose as the Tripos verses of earlier ages. He held the office till his death in the spring of 1882. He was wealthy, and a most generous benefactor of the Fitzwilliam Museum and other Cambridge institutions.[143]On VanSittart’s death the post was given to John Willis Clark, 1833–1910. Clark had come up to Trinity in 1852, obtained a first class in the classical tripos, 1856, and was elected to a fellowship in 1858. He made his home in Cambridge, and his unceasing activities in zoological, library, and theatrical matters are chronicled in the local records. He completed theArchitectural History of the University—a permanent and invaluable record of Cambridge history—which had been commenced by his uncle, and wrote on various library and antiquarian subjects. He held the registraryship of the University from 1891 to his death in 1910.Clark vacated the office of auditor in 1908, and since then the College has appointed to the post a professional accountant.

Thereis no reference in our earliest college statutes—those of 1552—to an Auditor, but the extant accounts show that the office existed from the foundation of the College in 1546. Definite regulations for the appointment were proposed in the draft statutes of 1554, and were embodied in the statutes of 1560. By these the auditor was made one of the statutable officers of the Society: the post was held for long periods, and it was not permissible to perform the duties by proxy. The statute in question was re-enacted in 1844. By the statutes of 1861 the office was made annual, and tenable only during pleasure. It remains annual under the present statutes, but a definite proviso was inserted in 1882 that it is not tenable by a fellow or officer of the House, and a clause was introduced providing for the appointment from among the fellows of an Assessor or Assessors who should be present during the audit.

From the foundation of the College, its financial year ran from Michaelmas to Michaelmas, and the audit of each year was concluded in the following December. At first the annual honorarium of the[128]auditor seems to have been£10 with an allowance of£2 for travelling expenses, stationery, etc., but before the end of the sixteenth century it had been reduced to£5, with an augmentation of£3. 6s.8d.and some allowances.

The form of thedeclaratio computiwas much as at present, and generally, with but small variations, it takes the form now stereotyped “and so the said A. B. Senior (or Junior) Bursar upon the foot of this his account for one whole year ending Michaelmas ... oweth unto the College the sumof....”In some cases, and notably in the seventeenth century, the sums include fractions of a penny, even as small as one thirty-second part thereof. Presumably the audit was always followed by a “feast,” as still remains the custom.

Of the occupants of the office from 1546 to 1618 the information in the college books is incomplete. The only auditors previous to 1618 whose names I have noticed, with the years in which they held office, are Edward Burnell, 1553, 1561, 1563 and 1564; Adam Winthrop, 1606; and Richard Brooke, 1614. I have not, however, read the account-books through from cover to cover, and it may be that there are references which have escaped me. Luckily Winthrop’s diary and some memoranda from 1595 to 1621 are extant, and contain references to a few earlier dates. From these we can take our[129]continuous record back to the year ending Michaelmas 1593, when he was auditor. He resigned in 1610, and was succeeded by Brooke. Brooke was acting in 1615, and had commons in 1616, and I have no doubt acted in 1617. From 1618 onwards we can, from one source or another, make out the names of those who held the office. The handwritings of the earlier auditors have marked characteristics. They suggest that there was one auditor from 1547 to 1552, another from 1553 to 1578, who must have been Edward Burnell, another from 1579 to 1591, and another from 1592 to 1609, who must have been Adam Winthrop. But I present these as mere surmises, and I do not attempt to go back beyond 1593.

Our roll then is as follows. From 1547 to 1592 we cannot definitely say more than that Edward Burnell was auditor for a period which included the years 1553 to 1564, for no doubt his tenure was unbroken. From 1593 the sequence runs thus:

Adam Winthrop, 1593 (or earlier) to 1609; Richard Brooke, 1610 to 1617; Robert Spicer, 1618 to 1628; Francis Hughes, 1629 to 1668; Samuel Newton, 1669 to 1717, Newton resigned in 1674, and thereon he and William Ellis were appointed to the office, with remainder to the survivor of them, but apparently William Ellis never acted; Denys L’Isle, 1718 to 1726; William Greaves, 1727 to 1778; Robert[130]Graham, 1779 to 1791; Samuel Knight, 1792 to 1811; Nicholas Conyngham Tindal, 1812 to 1825; James Parke, 1826 to 1828; Andrew Amos, 1829 to 1836; John George Shaw-Lefevre, 1837 to 1851; George Denman, 1852 to 1862; George Valentine Yool, 1863 to 1869; Augustus Arthur VanSittart, 1870 to 1881; John Willis Clark, 1882 to 1908. Since 1908 the office has been held by a professional accountant. The dates given indicate the ends of the audit year: thus the audit of 1669 was for the year 1668–69. It will be noticed that during the three hundred and sixteen years from 1593 to 1908, there were, if we omit William Ellis, only seventeen auditors, giving an average tenure of more than eighteen years. Of these seventeen auditors at least eleven have been lawyers and four ultimately rose to the Bench. I add a few biographical notes on these auditors.

Of Edward Burnell, the earliest holder of the office whose name I have given, I know nothing. His successor Adam Winthrop, 1548–1623, the son of a prominent London merchant and reformer, had been admitted as a fellow-commoner at Magdalene in 1567, and had left the University without a degree. He had been called to the bar, but did not practise, and was content to fill the rôle of a well-to-do country squire. He was an intimate friend of Still, master of Trinity from 1577 to 1593, whose sister he married in 1574, and whose wife[131]was his connection by marriage. I conjecture that he owed the office to Still’s influence. Winthrop was a fair scholar, an indifferent poet, and somewhat of a pedant. His tomb is at Groton, Suffolk. More than one of his descendants were distinguished. In particular his son, John, 1588–1649, who was admitted to Trinity College in 1602, was the founder of the well-known American family of this name; and his great-great-grandson, Sir George Downing was the founder of Downing College.

Winthrop seems to have done the whole of the audit work at the end of the Michaelmas term of each year. Thus in 1601 he wrote:

The ivth of Decemb. I ridde to Cambride & beganne the Auditt the 7th beinge Monday. The xiiijth of Decembre I returned from the Auditt & did see the Sonne in the Eclips about 12 of the Clock at noone.

The ivth of Decemb. I ridde to Cambride & beganne the Auditt the 7th beinge Monday. The xiiijth of Decembre I returned from the Auditt & did see the Sonne in the Eclips about 12 of the Clock at noone.

Perhaps his resignation was made at the suggestion of the College, for early in 1610 he wrote:

Dr Meriton came to speake with me about the resignation of my office in Trinity College to MrBrookes....I surrendered my Auditorship in Trinitye College to the Mr fellows & schollers before a pub.notary....I dyned at Dr Meriton’s in Hadley & received of him xxlb for myAuditorshippe....Mr Rich. Brooke the nue Auditor of Trinity College was at my house in Groton to whom I dd. divers paper books & Roles touchinge his Office.

Dr Meriton came to speake with me about the resignation of my office in Trinity College to MrBrookes....I surrendered my Auditorship in Trinitye College to the Mr fellows & schollers before a pub.notary....I dyned at Dr Meriton’s in Hadley & received of him xxlb for myAuditorshippe....Mr Rich. Brooke the nue Auditor of Trinity College was at my house in Groton to whom I dd. divers paper books & Roles touchinge his Office.

Of the next three auditors I can discover very little. Richard Brooke was appointed in 1610.[132]The following conclusion of 8 June 1615, seems to refer to him, “concluded that Mr Brookes in regard of his paines taken divers times for the Colledge that he shoulde ... have given him Twentye pounds,” and during his visits in the following year be allowed commons. We may assume that he held office till the end of 1617. A Richard Brookes had entered at Queens’ as a fellow-commoner in 1587, but whether he was the subsequent auditor there is nothing to show. In 1618 we have the copy of the appointment of Robert Spicer. He held office till the end of 1628, since a conclusion of 3 June 1629, appointed in his place Francis Hughes. Hughes, who held the office till his death in October 1669, was admitted a scholar in 1616, graduated M.A. in 1623, was one of the esquire-bedells, and occupied rooms in College at the time of his death.

The next occupant of the office was Samuel Newton, 1629–1718, a prominent attorney in the town and mayor in 1671. He was not a member of the University. His diary from 1662 to 1717 preserved in the library of Downing College, contains an account of his election to the post in the chapel by the master and seniors, he being present in the antechapel. He attended next day in his gown, was sworn to the faithful discharge of his duties, and signed the roll of college officers. He[133]proved thoroughly efficient. For his services at the audit in 1669 he received the fee of£5 with the customary augmentation of£3. 6s.8d., a sum of£6. 13s.4d.for engrossing the audit rolls, which henceforth were kept excellently, a sum of£1 for preparing a book of arrears, and a sum of£1. 2s.8d.for stationery. He also received from the junior bursar, billets of wood of the value of 6s.8d.; from the steward, a “warp of lyng” of the value of 6s.8d.; from the manciple, a “coller of brawne, also a dish of wild fowle or 6s.8d.”; and from the brewhouse, “2 barrels of strong beere.”

In 1674 Newton surrendered his patent of appointment as auditor, but he was immediately reappointed jointly with his cousin, William Ellis, with remainder to the survivor of them. They were at the same time appointed on the same conditions to the office of college registrar, then vacant by the death of a Mr T. Griffith. According to Newton’s diary, William Ellis proceeded M.A. in 1670, but his name does not appear in the list of graduati, unless indeed he is the Wm Ellis who received the degreeper lit. reg.in 1671. The college account-books continued to be signed by Newton, and I have not noticed in them evidence that Ellis ever took any part in the audit. The Society’s solicitors and attorneys have frequently acted as registrars, and it may be that Ellis was in partnership[134]with Newton, and was for that reason made with him joint auditor and registrar.

Samuel Newton died in 1718 in his ninetieth year. For the three years, 1715, 1716, and 1717, the books were audited by John Newton, presumably his son or grandson, as his deputy. No doubt the arrangement was made in consequence of the failing health of the old gentleman whose signature in 1714 was very shaky. The appointment of a deputy was invalid under the statute, but it must have been made with the approval of Bentley, and perhaps of the seniority. At any rate John Newton conducted the audit, and signed the books as deputy auditor.

Newton was succeeded in 1718 as auditor and registrar by Denys L’Isle. L’Isle had been a fellow-commoner of Trinity Hall, admitted in 1712, graduated LL.B. in 1715, who had gone down and in 1716 taken his name off the books. He was a vigorous and not too scrupulous barrister. He owed his appointment to Bentley, and he showed “extraordinary activity and zeal in promoting all” his benefactor’s “wishes and interests” and represented him in some of his disputes. Whatever view may be taken of Bentley’s character, no one can justify his conduct in regard to the college finances. A notable scandal occurred in the audit of 1722. In the accounts of that year large sums were charged[135]to the College for works at the lodge and other sums spent by the master which had not been sanctioned by the Society. Undoubtedly the charges were illegal, but Bentley and L’Isle refused to allow the accounts to be examined by the seniority. In fact in this, as in other matters, L’Isle had no scruple in screening Bentley from the consequences of acts which were neither legal nor honourable.

L’Isle died in 1727, and was succeeded as auditor, steward of the courts, and registrar by William Greaves. Greaves had in 1719 migrated to Clare, Cambridge, from Brasenose, Oxford; he graduated B.A. in 1720, and in 1722 was elected at Clare to a fellowship which he held till 1742. He was a barrister and an able man: he too owed his office to Bentley, and acted as his counsel in many of his tortuous proceedings. Through Bentley’s influence Greaves had in 1726 been made commissary of the University, an office which he held till 1778. The letters patent to the office of college auditor were made out for the term of his life, but a question having been raised as to whether this was statutable, he surrendered them, and the College granted new patents for the term of fifty years if he should live so long. I suppose he was duly admitted to the office, for probably an acute lawyer would have seen to this, but there is no record of the fact in our books.

Greaves seems to have performed his duties as[136]auditor in an honourable manner. After the audit of 1778, he surrendered his office at the close of fifty years’ tenure of it: he then received a present of plate from the College, with their thanks for his long and faithful services. Six years later he made a donation to the Society of£100 to found an annual prize for an essay on the character of King William the Third. After nearly a century it was said that the essayists had exhausted the subject, and in 1882 the College got leave to substitute for it one connected with the history of the British Empire.

Robert Graham, 1744–1836, a lawyer of note, succeeded Greaves. Graham had graduated as third wrangler in 1766, and in the following year had been elected to a fellowship. He held the office till after the audit of 1791. He was made a baron of the exchequer in 1799, and proved a singularly inefficient judge. He retired from the bench in 1827.

Graham’s chief distinction is said to have been his urbanity, and at the Bar it was currently believed that no one but his sempstress had power to ruffle his equanimity. He was somewhat pompous, and an adventure of his at the assizes at Newcastle afforded much amusement to his contemporaries. There, on one occasion just before charging the grand jury, he tumbled, unnoticed, into the river from the garden of the house where he lodged, but[137]luckily was hauled out by some passing watermen. The rough remedies of the quay-side failed to restore consciousness, and the bystanders, supposing he was drowned, carted him to a dead-house, where he was stripped and laid out. The coroner’s jury, summoned with unusual celerity, had viewed the body, and were considering their verdict when, to their surprise he showed signs of life and came to himself. His position was not altogether dignified, but realizing at once that it is always incumbent on a judge to move in state, he was by his directions fetched from the mortuary in the sheriff’s carriage, with the trumpeters, and usual ceremonial.

Of Graham’s successor, Samuel Knight, 1755–1829, I know little. He had been admitted as a pensioner in 1772, became a fellow-commoner in 1774, and graduated in the poll in 1776. Apparently he had no special qualifications for the post beyond being a pleasant member of society. He resigned in 1812, and died in 1829.

After Knight’s resignation, the post was offered to Nicholas Conyngham Tindal, 1776–1846, a lawyer of distinction. He had graduated in 1799 as eighth wrangler, was a Chancellor’s medalist, and had been elected to a fellowship in 1801, which, as he did not take orders, he had vacated in due course in accordance with the provisions of the Elizabethan statutes. The plan of offering the post to a distinguished[138]past fellow now became the custom, and all the auditors hereafter mentioned were past fellows of the college.

Tindal was one of the counsel for queen Caroline; he is celebrated in the history of the courts for having secured to a criminal client the right of wager of battle, which had long fallen into disuse but had not been abolished by statute. He was member for the University from 1827 to 1829 in which year he was made chief justice of the Common Pleas; he held that office till his death in 1846. Though not specially successful as an advocate, he had a profound knowledge of law and was an excellent judge. His enormous dimensions are commemorated in a print in my possession with the inscription “Judges of A Size,” representing him standing by Joshua Williams one of his colleagues on assize, who was very diminutive; probably this is an ancient joke.

The next auditor was James Parke, 1782–1868, a lawyer of even greater distinction. He had graduated in 1803 as fifth wrangler, and had been Craven scholar, Browne’s medalist and Chancellor’s medalist. In 1804 he had been elected to a fellowship. He was one of the counsel briefed against queen Caroline. He was made a judge in 1828, and of course then resigned the office of auditor, which he thus held for only three years.

[139]Parke had a profound knowledge of the common law, and admired, and was a rigid adherent of, ancient forms and customs. The fact was well known, and led to a curious scene, when on one occasion, while giving a judgment, he fainted. Cold water and smelling salts were applied without success, whereon a somewhat malicious colleague brought from an adjacent room an ancient volume of reports, black with the dust of ages, and banged it under the nostrils of the judge. It may have been a coincidence, but Parke at once revived, and in a few minutes was able to proceed with the business in hand.

At one time when Parke was trying a criminal case the prisoner confessed his crime to his advocate, who thereupon (most improperly) acquainted the judge with the fact and asked his advice. Parke rebuked the barrister for informing him of the prisoner’s guilt, but added that counsel was not the less bound to defend his client to the best of his ability. The case has been often cited, and states the practice of the bar; it being of course assumed that nothing is said or done for the defence which an honourable man might not say or do.

Parke’s subsequent career served to settle a constitutional question of great importance. In 1856 he was created Baron Wensleydale with a life peerage. It was decided that the power of the[140]crown to create life peerages had been lost by disuse. He was then made a baron with the usual remainder in tail male.

Parke was followed as auditor by Andrew Amos, 1791–1860, also a lawyer of distinction. He had graduated as fifth wrangler in 1813, and in 1815 had been elected to a fellowship. He was appointed auditor in 1829. He had a large arbitration practice, acted on the Criminal Law Commission, and was professor of English Law in London. In 1837 he was appointed legal member of the Indian Council, and on his departure for the East had to resign his office in the college. On the first vacancy after his return to England, he was, in 1848, elected Downing Professor of Laws in Cambridge, and occupied the chair until his death.

Amos was succeeded by John George Shaw-Lefevre, 1797–1879. Shaw-Lefevre had been senior wrangler and first Smith’s prize man in 1818, and had been elected to a fellowship in the following year. Like his predecessors he was a barrister, but most of his time was taken up with duties connected with public departments. He settled the county divisions under the Reform Act of 1832, and was a member of numerous Commissions, notably those connected with compensation for the abolition of slavery, with the Poor Law Act, with the creation of South Australia, with ecclesiastical affairs, and with[141]the Indian Civil Service: till 1875 he was busily engaged in public affairs. He stood unsuccessfully for parliament in the university contest of 1847. He resigned the auditorship after the audit of 1851. His tenure of the post is commemorated by his gift of the chandelier which hangs in the large combination room.

The next auditor was the Hon. George Denman, 1819–1896, also a lawyer. Denman had been senior classic in 1842, and had been elected to a fellowship in the following year. He had always kept up his connection with the College, where he had numerous friends. He became auditor in 1852. Like his predecessor he stood unsuccessfully for parliament as a representative of the University: this was in 1856. Subsequently he was appointed counsel to the University. He entered parliament in 1859, and owing to press of work gave up his college office at the close of the audit of 1862. After a distinguished legal career he was raised in 1872 to the bench. He was a good scholar, had a fine presence, and to the end of his life was popular with all classes of Cambridge society.

If I may trust my memory Denman told me that among his annual perquisites as auditor was a case of audit ale, and that on one occasion he gave it to Livingstone who he knew would appreciate it. The case travelled with the explorer through Africa,[142]and as long as the ale lasted glasses of it were circulated, to the great satisfaction of the natives, whenever solemn treaties were ratified.

The next holder of the office was George Valentine Yool, 1829–1897, a chancery barrister, who had been third wrangler and second Smith’s prizeman in 1851, and had been elected to a fellowship in 1853. Yool took but little part in public affairs. He was appointed auditor in 1863, and gave up the office at the end of 1869.

After Yool’s resignation the College reverted to its former practice, and appointed as auditor a resident, Augustus Arthur VanSittart. VanSittart had been bracketed senior classic in 1847, and had been elected to a fellowship in the following year. After once standing unsuccessfully for parliament, he devoted himself to literary work, and among other things collected and collated the various readings of the New Testament. His annual speech at the audit feast, wherein he gave a witty sketch of the more interesting developments of academic life during the preceding year, was one of the features of the time, and served somewhat the same purpose as the Tripos verses of earlier ages. He held the office till his death in the spring of 1882. He was wealthy, and a most generous benefactor of the Fitzwilliam Museum and other Cambridge institutions.

[143]On VanSittart’s death the post was given to John Willis Clark, 1833–1910. Clark had come up to Trinity in 1852, obtained a first class in the classical tripos, 1856, and was elected to a fellowship in 1858. He made his home in Cambridge, and his unceasing activities in zoological, library, and theatrical matters are chronicled in the local records. He completed theArchitectural History of the University—a permanent and invaluable record of Cambridge history—which had been commenced by his uncle, and wrote on various library and antiquarian subjects. He held the registraryship of the University from 1891 to his death in 1910.

Clark vacated the office of auditor in 1908, and since then the College has appointed to the post a professional accountant.

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