Chapter 8

Like o’ Whissonset churchIn vain you’ll search,The Lord be thanked for’t:The parson is old,His wife’s a scold,And the clerk sells beer by the quart.The people who goAre but so so,And but so so are the singers;They roar in our earsLike northern bears,And the devil take the ringers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has been not less varied, or less subject to animadversion, than the dress of the members of the universities. The fashion of wearing long hair, so peculiar in the reign of Charles II., was called theApollo. His Royal Highness the Duke of Gloucester, the present Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, “was an Apollo” during the whole of his residence at Trinity College, says theGradus ad Cant. Indeed his royal highness, who was noted for his personal beauty at that time, was “the last in Cambridge who wore his hair after that fashion.” “I can remember,” says the pious Archbishop Tillotson, as cited by the above writer, discoursing on thishead, viz.of hair! “since the wearing the hairbelowthe ears was looked upon asa sin of the first magnitude; and when ministers generally, whatever their text was, did either find, or make, occasion to reprove the greatsinof long hair: and if they saw any one in the congregation guilty in that kind, they would point him out particularly, andlet flyat him with great zeal.” And we can remember, since wearing the haircropt, i. e.abovethe ears, was looked upon, though not as “a sin,” yet, as a very vulgar andRAFFISHsort of a thing; and when thedoersof newspapers exhausted all their wit in endeavouring to rally the new-raised corps ofCROPS, regardless of the late noble Duke (of Bedford) who headed them; and, when the rude rank-scented rabble, if they saw any one in the streets, whether time or the tonsorhad thinned his flowing hair, they would point him out particularly and “let fly at him,” as the archbishop says, till not a shaft of ridicule remained! The tax upon hair-powder has now, however, produced all over the country very plentifulCROPS. Charles II., who, as hisworthy friendthe Earl of Rochester, remarked,

—— never said a foolish thing;Nor everdida wise one,

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

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

II.

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

III.

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

IV.

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

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

VI.

The porter-mug fill high,Baked curls and locks prepare;Reft of our heads, they yet by wigs may live,Close by the greasy chairFell thirst and famine lie,No more to art will beauteous nature give.Heard ye the gang of Fielding say,Sir John,[8]at last we’ve found their haunt,To desperation driv’n by hungry want,Thro’ the crammed laughing Pit they steal their way.Ye tow’rs of Newgate! London’s lasting shame,By many a foul and midnight murder fed,Revere poor Mr. Coe, the blacksmith’s[9]fame,And spare the grinning barber’s chuckle head.

VII.

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

VIII.

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

IX.

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

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

[9]Coe’s father, the well-known blacksmith and alderman, now no more.

Whilst we are discussing the subject of hair, we ought not to forget that, according to Lyson’s Environs of London,

was Archbishop Tillotson. In the great dining-room of Lambeth Palace, he says, there are portraits of all the Archbishops, from Laud to the present time, in which may be observed the gradual change of the clerical habit, in the article of wigs. Archbishop Tillotson was the first prelate that wore a wig, which then was not unlike the natural hair, and worn without powder. In 1633, 21 James 1st,

“Care was taken,” says Wood, “that formalities in public assemblies should be used, which, through negligence, were now, and sometime before, left off. That the wearing of boots and spurs also be prohibited, ‘a fashion’ (as our Chancellor saith in his letters) rather befitting the liberties of the Inns of Court than the strictness of an academical life, which fashion is not only usurped by the younger sort, but by the Masters of Arts, who preposterously assume that part of the Doctor’s formalities which adviseth them to rydead prædicandum Evangelium, but in these days implying nothing else butanimum deserendi studium.” It was therefore ordered, “that no person that wears a gown wear boots; if a graduate, he was to forfeit 2s.6d.for the first time of wearing them, after order was given to the contrary; for the second time 5s., and so toties quoties. And if an

Or other punishment, according to the will of the Vice-Chancellor and Proctors, for every time he wore them.” And in 1608, when

Became Chancellor of Oxford, he decreed amongst other things, “that indecency of attire be left off, and academical habits be used in public assemblies, being now more remissly looked to than in former times. Also, that no occasion of offence be given, long hair was not to be worn; for whereas in the reign of Queen Elizabeth few or nonewore their hair longer than their ears (for they that did so were accounted by the graver and elder sort swaggerers and ruffians,) now it was common even among scholars, who were to be examples of modesty, gravity, and decency.”

Which his college friend, Dyer, has given in his Supplement, under the head “Seria Ludo,” with the happy, original motto—

With serious truths we mix a little fun,And now and then we treat you with a pun.

The subject of the epigram, he says (the original of which Mr. W. sent to a friend,) “was Mr. Foster, formerly of Cambridge, who, on account of his rapidity in conversation, in walking, and more particularly in the exercise of his profession, was called (by the Cantabs)the Flying Barber. He was a great oddity, and gave birth to many a piece of fun in the university:—

Tonsor ego: vultus radendo spumcus albet,Mappa subest, ardet culter, et unda tepet.Quam versat gladium cito dextra, novacula levis,Mox tua tam celeri strinxerit ora manu.Cedite, Romani Tonsores, cedite Graii;Tonsorem regio non habet ulla parem.Imberbes Grantam, barbati accedite Grantam;Illa polit mentes; et polit illa genas.

The men of St. John’s College, Cambridge, like every other society in both Oxford and Cambridge, have theirsoubriquet. From what cause they obtained that of “Johnian Hogs” is yet scarcely settled, though much has been written thereon, extant inThe Gradus ad Cant., Facetiæ Cant., andThe Cambridge Tart. It proved ofsome service, however, to a wag of the society (and to them the merit of punning was conceded in the Spectator’s time,) in giving him an idea for a name for the elegant one-arched covered bridge which joins the superb Gothic court they have lately added to the fine old college, after the designs of Messrs. Hutchinson and Rickman of Birmingham. The question was discussed at a wine party, and one proposed calling it the “Bridge of Sighs,” as it led to most of the tutors’ and deans’ rooms, from whom issued allimpositions(punishments,) &c. “I have it!” exclaimed a wag, his eyes beaming brighter than his sparkling glass—“I have it! Call it theIsthmus of Suez!” Id estThe Hog’s Isthmus, from the Latin wordsus, a sow, which makessuisin the genitive case, and proves our Johnian to be a punster worthy of his school.

Mr. Jones, of Welwyn, relates, on the authority of Old Mr. Bunburry, of Brazen-nose College, that Bishop Kennett, when a young man, being one of the Oxford Pro-Proctors, and a very active one, about James the Second’s reign, going his rounds one evening, found a company of gownsmen engaged on adrinking bout, to whom his then high church principles were notorious (though he afterwards changed them, sided with Bishop Hoadley, and obtained thesoubriquetofweather-cock Kennett.) When he entered the room, he reprimanded them for keeping such late hours, especially over the bottle, rather than over their studies in their respective colleges, and ordered them to disperse. One in the company, who knew his political turn, addressed him with, “Mr. Proctor, you will, I am sure, excuse us when I say, we were met todrink prosperity to the church, to whichyoucan have no objection.” “Sir,” was his answer, with a solemn air, “we are toprayfor the church, and tofightfor the church, not todrinkfor the church.” Upon which the company paid their reckoning and dispersed. There is a curious print in the Libraryof the Antiquarians, of an altar-piece, which the rector of Whitechapel, Dr. Walton, caused to be painted and put up in his church, representing Christ and his twelve apostles eating the passover, wherein Bishop Kennett (the “Traitor Dean,” as his siding with Hoadley caused him to be designated) is painted asJudas.

When a late master of Richmond School, Yorkshire, came, arawlad in his teens, to matriculate at Trinity College, Cambridge, he was invited to dinner by his tutor, and happened to be seated opposite some boiled fowls, which, having just emptied a plate of hisquantumof fish, he was requested tocarve. He accordingly took one on his plate, but not being acarver, he leisurely ate the whole of it,minusthe bones, not at all disconcerted by the smiles of the other guests: and when the cheese appeared, and his host cut a plateful for him to pass round the table, he coolly set to and eat the whole himself. He, notwithstanding, proved a good scholar, and distinguished himself both in classics and mathematics, is now a canon residentiary of St. Paul’s, and a very worthy divine, who has earned his reputation, preferments, and dignities by his merits only.

The following effusion of humour was the production of a very pleasant fellow, an Oxford scholar, now no more, who, says Angelo, in his Reminiscences, “was a great favourite among his brother collegians,” and a humourist:—“Lost £10 this morning, May 15, 1808, in Peckwater Quadrangle, near No. 6. Any nobleman, gentleman, common student, or commoner, who will, as soon as possible, bring the same back to the afflicted loser, shall, with pleasure, receiveten guineasreward; a suitor shall receivefiveguineas; and a scout or porter,oneguinea. Thenotes were all Bank of England notes, I only received this morning from my father. My name is ——, and I lodge at ——, facing Tom Gate, where I am anxiously waiting for some kind friend to bring them to me.—Vivant Rex et Regina.”

Is an epithet applied to those members who, after graduating at one proceeds to a like degree at the other. A party one day disputing as to whether Oxford or Cambridge was the more distinguished seat of learning,—“It can’t affect me,” exclaimed one of them, “for I was educated at both.” Upon which a wag observed, “He reminded him of a calf that was suckled by two cows.” “How so?” said the other. “Why, it turned out the greatestcalfI ever knew,” was the retort.

Amongst the musical professors of Cambridge, and not the least, who was organist of King’s College also, in the beginning of the eighteenth century, was Dr. Thomas Tudway. He was a notorious wag, and when several of the members of the University of Cambridge expressed their discontent at the paucity of the patronage, and the rigour of the government of the “proud Duke of Somerset,” whose statue graces their senate house, he facetiously observed—

“The Chancellor rides us all without a bit in our mouths.”

In him the passion for punning was strong in death, though less profane. When he laid dangerously ill of the quinsy (of which he soon after died,) his physician, seeing some hope, turned from his patient to Mrs. Tudway, who was weeping in despair at his danger, and observed, “Courage, madam! the Dr. will get up May-hill yet, he has swallowed some nourishment.” Upon which Dr. Tudway said,as well as his disease would permit him to articulate, “Don’t mind him, my dear: one swallow don’t make a summer.”

The Rev. Charles Godwyn, B. D., Fellow of Baliol College, grandson to Dr. Francis G., Bishop of Hereford, in a letter, dated March 14, 1768, printed in Nichols’s Anecdotes, says, “a very sad affair has happened” at Oxford. “The principal of Edmund Hall (Dr. George Dixon) has been indiscreet enough to admit into his hall, by the recommendation of Lady Huntingdon, seven London tradesmen, one a tapster, another a barber, &c. They have little or no learning, but all of them have a high opinion of themselves, as beingambassadors of King Jesus. One of them, upon that title conferred by himself, has been a preacher. Complaint was made to the Vice-Chancellor, Dr. David Durell (principal of Hertford College,) I believe, by the Bishop of Oxford; and he, in his own right, as Vice-Chancellor, had last week a visitation of the hall. Some of the preaching tradesmen were found so void of learning, that they were expelled from the hall.”

Robert Austin, a Fellow of King’s College, Cambridge, was amanuensis to the famous Arabic professor, Wheelock, who employed him in correcting the press of hisPersic Gospels, the first of the kind ever printed, with a Latin translation and notes. Of this surprising young man, he says, “in the space of two months, not knowing a letter in Arabic or Persic at the beginning, he sent a letter to me in Norfolk, of peculiar passages, so that of his age I never met with the like; and his indefatigable patience, and honesty, or ingenuity, exceed, if possible, his capacity.” But his immoderate application brought on a derangement of mind, and he died early in 1654.

When Queen Elizabeth was questioned on the subject of her faith in the Sacrament, she dexterously avoided giving offence by replying—

“Christ was the word that spake it,He took the bread and brake it,And what his word did make it,That I believe, and take it.”

Scarcely less ingenious was the reply of Bishop Hallifax, when Regius Professor of Civil Law at Cambridge, upon Dr. Parr and the Rev. Joseph Smith (both resident at Stanmore) applying to him for his judgment on a literary dispute between them. His response was in the following official language, by which he dexterously avoided the imputation of partiality:—

“Nolo interponere judicium meum.”

His name reminds me that he married aCooke, the daughter of Dr. William Cooke, Provost of King’s College, Cambridge, for whom George the Third had so great a regard, that he extended it to his children. The Bishop and his wife being at Cheltenham when the King was there, and some person asking why his Majesty paid Dr. Hallifax such marked respect, was answered, “Sir, he married aCooke.” This being in the presence of

“I, too,” he facetiously remarked, “have a claim to his Majesty’s attention, for I marrieda cook,” alluding to the fact, that his second wife originally held that rank in his domestic establishment.

A Pembrokian Cantab, named Penlycross, having written an Essay, a candidate for the Norrisian prize (which it was necessary he should subscribe with a Greek or Latinmotto, as well as a sealed letter, enclosing his name, after being for a time at a loss for one,) and having an ominouspresentimentof its rejection, he seized his pen and subscribed the following on both:

“Distichon ut poscas nolente, volente, Minerva,Mos sacer? Unde mihi distichon? En perago.”“Without a distich, vain the oration is;Oh! for a distich! Doctor, e’en take this.”

The author of the Pursuits of Literature ridicules the epithet “Skeleton Sermons,” as “ridiculous and absurd,” speaking of those of the Rev. Charles Simeon, M.A. now Senior Fellow of King’s College. When, in 1796, that divine published his edition ofClaude’s Essay on a Sermon, with an Appendix containing one hundred Skeleton Sermons, the celebrated Dr. William Cooke, father of the late Regius Professor of Greek, was Provost of King’s, and to him, as in duty bound, Mr. Simeon presented a copy. The Provost read it with his natural appearance of a proud and dignified humility, and, struck with the unfortunate and somewhat ludicrous title ofSkeleton Sermons, “Skeletons! skeletons!” he exclaimed, in his significant way, “Shall these dry bones live?” What would the Provost have thought and said, had he lived to see an edition of them in ten volumes 4to. price ten guineas?

The present Vice-Master of Trinity College, Cambridge, being told that one of his pupils, the author of “Alma Mater,” had therein published his bill, coolly replied, “I wish he had paid it first.” Another Cantab had—

Which unluckily stood in the church-yard, and it happeningto be a saint’s day, the congregation were at prayers, of which he was ignorant, when he got a friend to put him in. His friend sauntered away, whether wilfully or not I leave my readers to guess, and he was in vain struggling to release himself, when the congregation issued forth, who were not a littlemovedat his situation. Many laughed, but one, an old woman, compassionately released him. A similar story is told of the celebrated son of Granta,

Who had afterwards to try a cause in which the plaintiff had brought his action against a magistrate for falsely imprisoning him in the stocks. The counsel for the defence arguing that the action was a frivolous one, on the ground that the stocks were no punishment, his Lordship beckoned his learned brother to him, and told him, in his ear, that having himself been put in the stocks, he could assure him it was no such slight punishment as he represented, and the plaintiff obtained a verdict against the magistrate in consequence.

Parker says, in his Musical Memoirs, that the Oxford scholars once hissed Madame Mara, conceiving she assumed too much importance in her bearing. No wonder they so treated Signor Samperio, one evening at a concert, attracted, when he came forward to sing, by his “tall, lank figure, sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, and shrill voice;” in fact, they hissed him off before he had half got through his cavatina. The gentleman who acted as steward was deeply moved at his situation, and, going up to Samperio, endeavoured to soothe him. But the signor, not at all hurt, replied, “O, sare, never mind; dey may hissa me as much as dey please, if I getti di money.” Another anecdote is told of—

The late musical professor, who was some six feet high,and scarcely inferior in bulk to the famous Essex miller. He had at last so much difficulty in getting in and out of a stage coach, that whenever he went from Oxford to London to conduct the annual performances at St. Paul’s, for the benefit of the Sons of the Clergy, which he did for many yearsgratis, his custom was to engage a whole seat to himself, and when once in and seated to remain so till the end of the journey. The fact became known to two Oxford wags, who resolved toposethe Doctor, and to that end engaged the other two inside places, and taking care to be there before him, seated themselves in the opposite corners, one to the right the other to the left, and there the Doctor found them, on arriving to take his place. “How was he to dispose of hiscorpus?” was the query: they had a clear right to their seats, and no alternative seemed left him, as they declined moving, but to place his head in one corner and his feet in the other. At last our Oxonians, having fully enjoyed thedilemmain which they had placed the Doctor, consented to give way, confessed their purpose, and even the Doctor had the good sense to laugh at his own expense.

When the celebrated Cantab, and editor ofLucretius, Gilbert Wakefield, was convicted of alibelbefore the late JudgeGrose, who sentenced him to fine and imprisonment, turning from the bar, he said, with the spirit of a Frenchman, it was—“grossindeed.” To the same learned Cantab, Dyer attributes the following—

Being asked once his opinion of the poetry ofPye, the then Poet Laureat, his reply was, that he thought veryhandsomelyof some of Mr. P.’s poems, which he had read. This did not suffice, and he was pressed for his opinion of the Laureat-Ode that had just appeared in the public prints. Not having seen it, he desired his friend to read it to him, and the introductory lines containing somethingabout thesinging of birds, Wakefield abruptly silenced him with this happy allusion to the Laureat’s name, in the following nursery rhymes:—

“And when the pie was opened,The birds began to sing:And was not this a dainty dishTo set before a king.”

Begun with John Alcock, LL.D., Bishop of Ely, and founder of Jesus College.

“Garrulus hunc quando consumet cunq; loquaces,Si sapiat, vitet, simul atque adoluerit ætas.”

In 1483, says Wilson, in his Memorabilia Cantabrigiæ, he preached before the University “Bonum et blandum sermonem prædicavit, et duravit in horam tertiam et ultra,” which is supposed to be a sermon that was printed in his lifetime, in 1498, by the famous Pynson, entitled, “Galli Cantus ad Confratres suos Curatos in Synodo, apud Barnwell, 25th September, 1498,” at the head of which is a print of the Bishop preaching to the Clergy, with a cock at each side, and another in the first page. The next most celebrated preacher of this class was

The friend, partly tutor, and most learned contemporary of Newton, whom Charles the Second said was an unfair preacher, leaving nothing new to be said by those who followed him. He was once appointed, upon some public occasion, to preach before the Dean and Chapter in Westminster Abbey, and gave them a discourse of nearly four hours in length. During the latter part of it, the congregation became so tired of sitting, that they dropped out, one by one, till scarcely another creature besides the Dean and choristers were left. Courtesy kept the Dean in his place, but soon his patience got the better of his manners,

“Verba per attentam non ibunt Cæsaris aurem,”

and beckoning one of the singing boys, he desired him to go and tell the organist to play him down, which was done. When asked, on descending from the pulpit, if he did not feel exhausted, he replied, “No; only a little tired with standing so long.” A third “long-winded preacher” (and they were never admired at either Oxford or Cambridge, where “short and sweet” is preferred) was

He delivered his justly celebratedSpital Sermonin the accustomed place, Christ-Church, Newgate Street, Easter Tuesday, 1800, before his friend, Harvey Christian Combe, Esq., M.P., the celebrated brewer, then Lord Mayor. “Before the service begun,” says one of his friends, “I went into the vestry, and found Dr. Parr seated, with pipes and tobacco placed before him on the table. He evidently felt the importance of the occasion, but felt, at the same time, a confidence in his own powers. When he ascended the pulpit, a profound silence prevailed. The sermon occupied nearly an hour and a quarter in the delivery; and in allusion to its extreme length, it was remarked by a lady, who had been asked her opinion of it, “enough there is, and more than enough”—the first words of its first sentence,—abon mothe is said to have received with good humour. As he and the Lord Mayor were coming out of the church, the latter, albeit unused to the facetious mode, “Well,” said Dr. Parr to him, always anxious for well-merited praise, “how did you like the sermon? Let me have the suffrage of your strong and honest understanding.” “Why, Doctor,” returned his lordship, “there were four things in your sermon I didnotlike to hear.” “State them,” replied Parr, eagerly. “Why, to speak frankly, then,” said Combe, “they were the quarters of the church clock, which struck four times before you had finished it.” “I once saw, lying in the Chapter Coffee-house,” says Dyer, in a letter printed in Parriana, “the Doctor’sSpital Sermon, with a comical caricature of him, in the pulpit, preaching and smoking at the same time, withex fumo dare lucemissuing from his mouth.”

At Cambridge, and eke at Oxford, have taken an opposite course, and from their being to be had at all times, have at the former place, obtained thesoubriquet“Hack Preachers.” In theGradus ad Cantabrigiam, they are described as “the commonexhibitionersat St. Mary’s, employed in the service of defaulters and absentees. It must be confessed, however,” adds this writer, “that theseHACKSare good fasttrotters, as they commonly go over the course in twenty minutes, and sometimes less.” Gilbert Wakefield, whom nobody will suspect of forbearance, calls them, in his Memoirs, “a piteous, unedifying tribe.” This, however, can scarcely be applied to the ordinary preachers of the present day, and especial care is taken by the heads of the university that theselectpreachers (one of whom is named for each month during term-time) do not name substitutes themselves. The following poeticjeu d’esprit, entitled “Lines on three of the appointed Preachers of St. Mary’s, Cambridge, attacking Calvin” were no others than the three eminent living divines, Dr. Butler, Dr. Maltby, Bishop of Chichester, and Dr. Herbert Marsh, Bishop of Peterborough:—

“Three Preachers, in three distant counties born,The Church of England’s doctrines do adorn:Harsh Calvin’s mystic tenets were their mark,Founded in texts perverted, gloomy, dark.Butlerin clearness and in force surpassed,Maltbywith sweetness spoke of ages past;WhilstMarshhimself, who scarce could further go,WithCriticism’sfetters bound the foe.”

Thispunningmorsel, of somestandingin the university, is scarce surpassed by Hood himself:—

Old Doctor Delve, a scribbling quiz,Afraid of critics’ jibes,By turns assumes the various phizOf three old classic scribes.Though now with high erected head,And lordly strut he’ll go by us,He once made lawyers’ robes, ’tis said,And called himselfMac-robius.Last night I asked the man to sup,Who showed a second alias;He gobbledall my jellies up,O greedyAulus Gellius.On Sunday, arrogant and proud,He purrs like any tom-puss,And reads the Word ofGod so loud,He must beTheo-pompus.

The family of the Spintexts have, it appears, very lately put forth ascion, in the person of a learned divine, a Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, who, being appointed aSelect Preacherin 1835, delivered a discourse of the extraordinary duration of anhour and a half! The present Father of the University and Master of Peter-house, Dr. Francis Barnes, upwards of ninety years of age, was one of the heads present. He sat out the first three quarters of an hour, but then began to befidgetty. Another quarter of an hour expired,—the preacher was still in themidstof his discourse. The Doctor (now become right down impatient,) being seated the lowest (next to the Vice-Chancellor) inGolgotha, or the “Place of Skulls,” as it is called, he moved, first one seat higher (the preacher is still on his legs,) then to a third, then to a fourth, then to a fifth; and before the hour and a half had quite expired, he joined one of the junior esquire bedells at the top, to whom he observed, with that original expression of face for which he is so remarkable, “my beef is burnt to a cinder.”

According to the first volume of the Librarian, published by Mr. Savage, of the London Institution; who says, that the first work printed on the subject was by Dr. TimothyBright, of Cambridge, in 1598, who dedicated it to Queen Elizabeth, under the title of “An art of short, swift, and secret writing, by Character.”

Before the erection of the Senate-House in the University of Cambridge, the annual grand Commencement was held in St. Mary’s, the University church. “It seems,” says Dyer, in his History of Cambridge, “that on these occasions (the time when gentlemen take their degrees”) that is, the degree of M.A. more particularly, “ladies had been allowed to sit in that part of the church assigned to the doctors, calledTHE THRONE: it was, however, at length agreed amongst them (the doctors) that ladies should be no longer permitted to sit there; and the place assigned to them was under the throne, in the church.” This invasion of what the fair almost looked upon as the abstraction of a right, led to a partial war of words and inuendos, and the matter was at last taken up by the facetious Roger Long, D.D., Master of Pembroke College, who, he adds, in his Supplement to his History, was celebrated for his Treatise on Astronomy, and for his erection of a sphere in his College eighteen feet in diameter, still shown there. On this humorous occasion, he was a dissentient against the Heads, not a little bustle was excited amongst the Cambridge ladies, a subject for a few jokes was afforded the wags of the University, and he produced his famous music-speech, spoken at the public Commencement of 1714, on the 6th of July, which was afterwards published, but is now very scarce. It was delivered in an assumed character, as “being thePetition of the Ladies of Cambridge,” and is full of whim and humour, in Swift’s best manner, beginning—

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