“Dear Obby,—I thank you for your letter, because there are manifest signs in it of your endeavouring to excel yourself, and in consequence to please me. You have succeeded in both respects, and will always succeed, if you think it worth your while to consider what you write and to whom, and let nothing, tho’ of a trifling nature, pass through your pen negligently. Get but the way of writing correctly and justly, time and use will teach you to write readily afterwards. Not but that too much care may give a stiffness to your style, which ought in all letters by all means to be avoided. The turn of them should always be natural and easy, for they are an image of private and familiar conversation. I mention this with respect to the four or five first lines of yours, which have an air of poetry, and do therefore naturally resolve themselves into blank verses. I send you your letter again, that you may make the same observation. But you took the hint of that thought from a poem, and it is no wonder therefore, that you heightened the phrase a little when you were expressing it. The rest is as it should be; and particularly there is an air of duty and sincerity, that if it comes from your heart, is the most acceptable present you can make me. With these qualities an incorrect letter would please me, and without them the finest thoughts and language would make no lasting impression upon me. The great Being says, you know—my son, give me thy heart—implying that without it all other gifts signify nothing. Let me conjure you therefore never to say anything, either in a letter or common conversation, that you do not think, but always to let your mind and your words go together on the most slight and trivial occasions. Shelter not the least degree of insincerity under the notion of a compliment, which, as far as it deserves to be practis’d by a man of probity, is only the most civil and obliging way of saying what you really mean; and whoever employs it otherwise, throws away truth for breeding; I need not tell you how little his character gets by suchan exchange. I say not this as if I suspected that in any part of your letter you intended only to write what was proper, without any regard to what was true; for I am resolved to believe that you were in earnest from the beginning to the end of it, as much as I am when I tell you that I am,—Your loving father, etc.”
“Dear Obby,—I thank you for your letter, because there are manifest signs in it of your endeavouring to excel yourself, and in consequence to please me. You have succeeded in both respects, and will always succeed, if you think it worth your while to consider what you write and to whom, and let nothing, tho’ of a trifling nature, pass through your pen negligently. Get but the way of writing correctly and justly, time and use will teach you to write readily afterwards. Not but that too much care may give a stiffness to your style, which ought in all letters by all means to be avoided. The turn of them should always be natural and easy, for they are an image of private and familiar conversation. I mention this with respect to the four or five first lines of yours, which have an air of poetry, and do therefore naturally resolve themselves into blank verses. I send you your letter again, that you may make the same observation. But you took the hint of that thought from a poem, and it is no wonder therefore, that you heightened the phrase a little when you were expressing it. The rest is as it should be; and particularly there is an air of duty and sincerity, that if it comes from your heart, is the most acceptable present you can make me. With these qualities an incorrect letter would please me, and without them the finest thoughts and language would make no lasting impression upon me. The great Being says, you know—my son, give me thy heart—implying that without it all other gifts signify nothing. Let me conjure you therefore never to say anything, either in a letter or common conversation, that you do not think, but always to let your mind and your words go together on the most slight and trivial occasions. Shelter not the least degree of insincerity under the notion of a compliment, which, as far as it deserves to be practis’d by a man of probity, is only the most civil and obliging way of saying what you really mean; and whoever employs it otherwise, throws away truth for breeding; I need not tell you how little his character gets by suchan exchange. I say not this as if I suspected that in any part of your letter you intended only to write what was proper, without any regard to what was true; for I am resolved to believe that you were in earnest from the beginning to the end of it, as much as I am when I tell you that I am,—Your loving father, etc.”
The editor ofThe Studentpronounced himself the champion of many and various causes. For instance, he organised in his columns a fund for the maintenance of the widows and children of deceased clergy in straightened circumstances, which did an immense amount of good. His appeal for money was nobly responded to in Oxford, and widely taken up by the public. Another matter against which he took up the cudgels was the fondness shown so largely by the fair sex for indulging in masculine sports in masculine attire—more particularly hunting. From his account it is clear that a very great percentage of ladies was horsey to the exclusion of all else, even, in his eyes, of femininity.
“I cannot,” he wrote in an article occasioned by an amusing letter from a short-sighted contributor who at dinner addressed his neighbour as Sir, when all the time it was a lady, who, returning late from a day with the hounds had had no time to change, “I cannot, indeed, but highly disapprove not only the habit, but also the cause of it. It makes them appear rough and manlike: it robs them of all the endearing softness, all the alluring tenderness, that so captivates and charms the heart. As pity and a certain degree of timorousness are essentially woven into their constitution, do they not pervert the very end of their creation, who daringly tempt the perils of the chace, or exult in the prosecution and death of a poor harmless animal? If the laws ofdecencyare not broke thro’ by such an unbecoming practice,I am sure, those ofdelicacyare, which above all things ’tis the business of the fair to keep up.”
As an example of the unnatural and indelicate results of a woman being sporting the editor related with pathos the story of one Peggy Atall, who was brought up, her mother being dead, by her father, a country squire, to all the “labourious sports of the field.” Hunting was, however, her obsession, and she was noted as the boldest rider in the country. “As she is an heiress, many a young fox hunter, whose love has been greater than his prudence, has hazarded his neck and cheaply come off with a dislocated limb or so, in following her thro’ the various perils and hairbreadth ’scapes of the chace.” The editor, who had the good fortune to know this fair Diana, was, fortunately for himself, not in love with her, judging by the avowedly casual manner in which he visited at her house. But he was none the less deeply pained that “her whole conversation turns on that topic. I have often heard her charm a large circle of gaping fellow-sportsmen with a recapitulation of the feats of the day. She would descant a whole hour on the virtues of Dreadnought, her own horse, who had brought her in at the death of a stag, with Tom the huntsman, when every gentleman on the field was thrown out; concluding with the most exulting expressions of barbarous joy at seeing the poor beast torn to pieces.” He brought his reflections to an end by strongly urging all his fair-hunting readers to “lay aside the spirit of the chace together with the cap, the whip, andall the masculine attire.” It is more than probable that as the editor of a modern daily or weekly paper his remarksà proposof suffragette raids, and all the little delicate ventures in which women vote-seekers indulge their fancy, would make very bright and spirited reading. He was evidently born before his time. Be that as it may, he undoubtedly conducted his paperon popular lines, for he was enabled to keep it alive during the two years which he had mapped out for himself in the beginning. Its fame was not local to Oxford and Cambridge. He received letters of congratulation from Edinburgh, Dublin, and other university towns—the senders of course enclosing contributions with their letters of praise!
’VARSITY LITERATURE (continued)
TheOxford Magazine—Introduction of illustrations—Odd advertisements—Attention paid to the Drama—Prologue to theCozenerswritten by Mr Garrick—Visions, fables and moral tales—The Loiterer—Diary of an Oxford man, 1789.
TheOxford Magazine—Introduction of illustrations—Odd advertisements—Attention paid to the Drama—Prologue to theCozenerswritten by Mr Garrick—Visions, fables and moral tales—The Loiterer—Diary of an Oxford man, 1789.
The Studentwas followed after a lapse of some eighteen years by theOxford Magazine, a monthly miscellany. Devoted to no one particular object, the editors declared its columns open to every kind of literary matter—scientific, historical, antiquarian. Light and merely amusing subjects were also given a place in its pages. They boasted in addition a feature which no other periodical had ever included—illustrations.The Student, it is true, had an allegorical engraving as a frontispiece to each volume, but theOxford Magazinewent one better and had copper-plates of many of the noteworthy persons and happenings of the day, which were “made from the most striking subjects.” “Satirical and political cards will be given in each number, executed by the most ingenious artists; which, it is hoped, will vie, in humour and satire, with the late celebrated Mr Hogarth’s performances.” Other features which the editors dealt with far more enterprisingly than any other papers of the century were the Drama and the Law Courts. In each number there appeared a criticism of a Drury Lane production with the cast in full, a description of the play, the plot given inprécisform, and a general summing up of the merits or demerits of the writing and acting. Each of these ran to several columns, and in some numbers there were criticisms of two or three productions. Besides dealing with the Law Courts in the Domestic Intelligencecolumns, which acted as a sort of monthly review of events, there were full reports of some of the important trials of the time. The editors’ foreword was not without interest, giving, as it did, an exact idea of their plan of campaign. On the title page it was stated that the magazine was “calculated for general instruction and amusement.” To this end they put forward following the programme:—
“Among other subjects of general entertainment, the authors propose to give, in the course of this magazine, complete systems of every branch of useful learning, enriched with all the improvements of modern writers. They do not, however, propose to confine their labours entirely to the elucidation of the sciences; they propose to give a large account of the political and other transactions in different parts of the world, especially in our own country; every remarkable event, every uncommon debate, and every interesting turn of affairs will be recorded. A copious and authentic history of foreign and domestick occurrences will also be given, digested in a chronological series, containing all the material news of the month. To render this performance agreeable to every class of readers, care will be taken to furnish it with pieces calculated for general entertainment. The elegant amusements of literature, the flights of poetical fancy, and the brilliant sallies of inoffensive wit, shall find a place in ourMagazine. In a word, researches into antiquity; elucidations of ancient writers; criticisms on every branch of literature; essays in prose and verse; visions, fables, moral tales, etc., will make a part of this performance. The correspondence of the ingenious is therefore requested....”
On the lighter side of the periodical, one of the features was a monthly collection from contemporary London papers of curious and remarkable advertisements. They evidently appealed strongly to the supporters of the paper, as, after the first volume, the editors gave themin greater number. Some of them, indeed, were not without humour—of the broader kind then in vogue—as will be seen from the few examples appended:—
“A maiden lady, who lately died in Ireland, left two guineas each to four maidens, aged twenty-five, to be her pall-bearers, each of whom was to swear she was a maid, before receiving the money; but such is the detestation in which perjury is held in Ireland, that the old lady was buried without a pall-bearer.—Public Advertiser, July 8.”“To the Single Women.—A Single Man wants to Lodge, or Lodge and Board, with a Single Woman whether in business or not; keeps regular hours, will not give much trouble, but spends many evenings at home; therefore wishes to meet with a very conversable person and is willing to pay ahandsomeprice.—Gazetteer, Nov. 22.”“On Thursday last a publican in Shoreditch sold his wife to a butcher for a ticket in the present lottery, on condition that if the ticket be drawn a blank he is to have his wife again as soon as the drawing of the lottery is over.—Public Advertiser, Sep. 19.”“If any real gentleman will oblige aladyof character withone hundred pounds, for six months, on her own bond, the gentleman may have an advantage, which cannot be mentioned in a public newspaper; it is desired that none may apply who cannot command the sum immediately.—Please to direct a line to J. X. at Mr Tomb’s No. 72 Fetter Lane.”“If Mr ——, lately a Latin master at an academy in town, who has got a dozen and a half of shirts belonging to Mr Wh—e, doesnot call on his guardian in Coleman Street immediately, and give satisfaction for the said shirts, his name will be advertised with many other circumstances not to his advantage.—Daily Advertiser, Dec. 16.”“Mrs K—— (who was in one of the front boxes at the representation of the ‘Trip to Scotland’) was observed to blush four times behind her fan, occasioned, it is imagined, at the repetition of the words single anddouble beds; as it is said to be well known that in her elopement to Scotland only asingle bedwas used going and returning.”
“A maiden lady, who lately died in Ireland, left two guineas each to four maidens, aged twenty-five, to be her pall-bearers, each of whom was to swear she was a maid, before receiving the money; but such is the detestation in which perjury is held in Ireland, that the old lady was buried without a pall-bearer.—Public Advertiser, July 8.”
“To the Single Women.—A Single Man wants to Lodge, or Lodge and Board, with a Single Woman whether in business or not; keeps regular hours, will not give much trouble, but spends many evenings at home; therefore wishes to meet with a very conversable person and is willing to pay ahandsomeprice.—Gazetteer, Nov. 22.”
“On Thursday last a publican in Shoreditch sold his wife to a butcher for a ticket in the present lottery, on condition that if the ticket be drawn a blank he is to have his wife again as soon as the drawing of the lottery is over.—Public Advertiser, Sep. 19.”
“If any real gentleman will oblige aladyof character withone hundred pounds, for six months, on her own bond, the gentleman may have an advantage, which cannot be mentioned in a public newspaper; it is desired that none may apply who cannot command the sum immediately.—Please to direct a line to J. X. at Mr Tomb’s No. 72 Fetter Lane.”
“If Mr ——, lately a Latin master at an academy in town, who has got a dozen and a half of shirts belonging to Mr Wh—e, doesnot call on his guardian in Coleman Street immediately, and give satisfaction for the said shirts, his name will be advertised with many other circumstances not to his advantage.—Daily Advertiser, Dec. 16.”
“Mrs K—— (who was in one of the front boxes at the representation of the ‘Trip to Scotland’) was observed to blush four times behind her fan, occasioned, it is imagined, at the repetition of the words single anddouble beds; as it is said to be well known that in her elopement to Scotland only asingle bedwas used going and returning.”
The above are a few specimens of the flowers of wit, printed extensively at the time in many of the papers, culled from many volumes of theOxford Magazine. At the end of Volume IX., however, there was found to be no further desire for them, and they were quietly dropped into the limbo of forgotten things. The columns thus relieved were filled with anecdotes and articles of a much less lively but more literary nature.
The opening article in the first volume was a very serious essay, fully equipped with examples and quotations from the ancients, on the Power of the Passions. This was followed by a consideration as to whether genius is a natural gift or an effect of education. From the great similarity of style in the two articles, it is extremely probable that they were written by the same pen. The next ten columns were occupied by averbatimreport of various speeches made in the Court of King’s Bench, and in certain London clubs. The Surgeon Dentist to His Majesty then contributed a flowing article on the disorders and deformities of the teeth and gums, in which mothers might find copious hints as to the teething of their infants. For the patrons of the Drama, unable to get up to London, therewas “Some Account of the Statesman Foil’d, a Musical Comedy in Two Acts, composed by Mr Rush; and performed at the Theatre Royal in the Haymarket.” Even in those days it would seem that dramatic critics were of the settled opinion that their task was never to praise, but only to carp and pick holes, for, after giving a description of the play which read very amusingly and well, the critic concluded by saying that although “several of the songs are very prettily set, they are undoubtedly inferior to Mr Rush’s former compositions; and the dialogue not remarkable for sentiment or wit, is often extremely tiresome.”
In whatever spirit the criticisms were written, however, it cannot be said that the university, only allowed to perform plays after a deal of discussion and recrimination on the part of the powers that were, did not take a great interest in the Drama. As theOxford Magazineproceeded, more and more space was devoted to the London productions, and whole scenes which were deemed of literary and dramatic merit were quoted from them. Many of the songs, too, were published at length. The July number in 1774 contains, for example, “an account of the new comedy called theCozenersas it was performed at the Theatre Royal in the Haymarket.” The cast is quoted in full and, besides telling the story of the play in some three columns, the prologue was printed.
The critic of theMagazinewrote about it as follows:—
“The piece was introduced with an excellent prologue, replete with the true Attic salt (said to be written by Mr Garrick), and spoken by Mr Foote, in which he compared himself to a watchman, whose business it is to watch over the rising vices and follies of the age, and when they come to a certain height,knock them down, by exposing them on the stage. As nothing ever deserved applause more,so nothing was ever more warmly received by the audience.” Of all the criticisms of the various productions in whose casts are to be found the names of Mrs Siddons, Mrs Love, Mr Foote, Mrs Yates, and many other famous actors and actresses of the time, that of theCozenersis the most warm and praisegiving of any printed in theMagazine.
Among the visions, fables, and moral tales promised by the editors, there was a vivid and detailed description of a nun’s taking the veil. The writer spent himself in explanation of every word and deed that occurred during the ceremony, but whether the article, which ran through several issues and was written by a person of the male sex, was considered a vision, a fable, or a moral tale, it is impossible to say. Whichever it was, however, it was well observed and highly coloured. Then there followed a curious little contribution which was labelled a tale, but which ought surely to have been included in the category of visions or fables. It was entitled the “Kiss,” and came from the German. “When I was a youth, my father sent me to Paphos to study love, which I there learnt of a Dryad.... Fair one, you may now learn of me what a Kiss is. The Nymphs and Dryads never met to dance, without making me one of the party; for I was dedicated to the God of Love, and everything within me expressed the sentiment.
“At this tender age I tasted the most pure pleasure. All Paphos, to me, seemed to dance; for the little loves danced over my head, and the flowers danced under my feet. Among the Dryads was one who affected always to chuse me for her partner; she never failed to smile at me sweetly, to squeeze my hand, and blush afterwards with all the graces of modesty. And I squeezed also the hand of the Dryad, and blushed when I danced with her. Even before Aurorahad quitted the ocean I was already in the grove sporting with my amiable Dryad.
“Sometimes I surprised her in the groves, where she had retired, amidst the thickest foliage, and where she wished to be discovered; sometimes she watched me when I hid myself, and, when she discovered me, fled, and I pursued in hopes of overtaking her. But, all of a sudden, she would inclose herself in the bark of an oak, and elude my pursuit. And when I had sought her long in vain, she used to burst into loud fits of laughter; then I entreated her to come out of her place of concealment, and immediately I saw her issue, smiling, from the body of the tree.
“One day that I was playing with my Dryad in the wood, she tenderly patted my cheeks and said, ‘Press your lips against mine.’ I pressed my lips against hers; but, heavens! what pleasure did I then experience! No, the honey that flows from Mount Hymettus is not so sweet, nor the fruit of the vines of Surentum; even nectar, the nectar which Ganymede presents to the immortal gods, is a thousand times less delicious.
“Then she again glued her lips to mine. In the intoxication of my transport, I cried: ‘Oh incomparable beauty! tell me the name of this exquisite pleasure, which glides into my very soul from thy lips, whenever our lips meet each other?’ She answered, with a gracious smile—‘a Kiss!’”
This odd little piece of imaginative writing was printed on the same page with a sketch of the trial of Samuel Gillam, Esq., for murder!
It is not easy to conceive that theOxford Magazinewas very popular among Bucks of the first head, for there were, indeed, none of the references to toasts, accompanied by frequent sonnets, whichoccupied so large a place in the journals earlier in the century. The tone of the paper was more sedate throughout. There was less of the bottle and drinking bout. The contributions covered a far wider field of interest.
The magazine is in some sort a combination of, or rather, perhaps, an advance upon,Jackson’s JournalandThe Student. The editors united the ideas of both these periodicals. From the one they obtained the notion of the monthly summary of events collected from all parts; and from the other, the idea of illustrations and fiction. The result of this perfectly-justifiable plagiarism was certainly popular. The magazine ran for about eight years without financial aid in the form of advertisements, and at the end of each issue the acknowledgment of contributions, both articles and illustrations, made a considerable list. Obviously, therefore, the wide diversity of subjects and the not over-serious form in which they were served up appealed to a public which hitherto had had to be satisfied with the half-measures of those previous men who had been bold enough to undertake the editing of ’varsity papers.
The beginning of the last decade of the century saw thedébutofThe Loiterer, which admittedly took its idea from Terrae Filius. Naturally, it did not resemble it in style—the time for a Terrae Filius was over—but in so much as Amhurst went no farther than the university gates for his matter,The Loiterermay be said to have imitated him. Consequently, the first volume (there were only two) was practically confined to subjects of academical life. The second volume, however, was not reserved wholly to university matters—articles of outside interest being admitted from time to time. The whole work was offered to the world by the editors as “a rough, but not entirely inaccurate Sketch of the Character, the Manners, and theAmusements of Oxford, at the close of the eighteenth century.” The paper was hawked at threepence a copy every Saturday morning—for which price the editors promised, on their word of honour as gentlemen and authors, to cram it as full of learning, sense, and wit as they could possibly afford for the money. As a foretaste of the threepenny wit to come, they stated in their foreword that they hoped to receive some credit for one thing at least, “that particular orders have been given to Mr Rann (the publisher) thatThe Loiterershould regularly make his appearance at Nine o’clock, in order to be served up with the bread and butter, crusts and muffins, and enter the room in good company. We have been the more particular in this circumstance,” they continued, “as it is the only hour, out of the twenty-four, in which there is a probable chance of finding some of our Brother Loiterers at home, and the only one in which any of them read: so genteel and so useful indeed is this love of morning study, that were it not for the necessity of eating breakfast, and of dressing hair, it is to be doubted whether some of our numerous fraternity would not, in a short time, forget their letters.”
This serving up with breakfast was a very wise move on the editors’ part, for they knew from experience that it was the only hour when they stood the least chance of being read—the rest of the day being passed by most men in the strenuous occupation of killing time. The writer of article number four inThe Loitererwas on his way to a lecture one morning when he saw a man whom he knew leaning against the college gate with a vacant expression on his serene countenance. Thinking that the poor fellow did not know what to do with himself, the writer offered to take him to the lecture which, he said, was to be remarkably entertaining. The lounger was most polite in his thanks, and said he should have liked it above all things,but that at the moment he was extremely busy and really had not time. The writer, a little surprised, left him and attended the lecture, returning two hours later to find the man leaning against the same gate-post in nearly the same attitude.
In the face of such stagnation who shall deny the wisdom of sending the paper in with the hot roll, thereby catching the time-killers before they have begun their day’s task? The writer concluded his narrative of ancient lounging and reflections on the passing of the law whereby Undergraduates were forbidden under severe penalties to loiter away their time in sitting on Pennyless Bench, by giving the diary of a week in the life of an Undergraduate in 1789. It is an extremely excellent and amusing piece of work, which shows that there were past-masters in the gentle art of slacking who seriously challenge some of the present-day exponents.
“Diary of a Modern Oxford Man(1789).“Sunday.—Waked at eight o’clock by the scout, to tell me the bell was going for prayers—wonder those scoundrels are allowed to make such a noise—tried to get to sleep again, but could not—sat up and read Hoyle in bed—ten, got up and breakfasted—Charles called to ask me to ride—agreed to stay until the President was gone to Church—half after eleven, rode out, going down the High Street saw Will Sagely going to St Mary’s—can’t think what people go to church for. Twelve to two, rode round Bullington Green, met Careless and a new Freshman of Trinity—engaged them to dine with me—two to three, lounged at the stable, made the Freshman ride over the Bail, talked to him about horses: see he knows nothing about the matter—went home and dressed—three to eight, dinner and wine—remarkable pleasant evening—sold Rackett’s stone horse for him to Careless’sfriend for fifty guineas—certainly break his neck—eight to ten, coffee-house, and lounged in the High Street—Stranger went home to study; am afraid he’s a bad one—engaged to hunt to-morrow and dine with Rackett—twelve, supped and went to bed early, in order to get up to-morrow.“Monday.—Racketrowedme up at seven o’clock—sleepy and queer, but forced to get up and make breakfast for him—eight to five in the afternoon, hunting—famous run, and killed near Bicester—number of tumbles—Freshman out on Rackett’s stone horse—got the devil of a fall into a ditch—horse upon him—but don’t know whether he was killed or not. Five, dressed and went to dine with Rackett—Dean had cross’d his name, and no dinner to be got—went to the Angel and dined—famous evening till eleven, when the Proctors came and told us to go home to our colleges—went directly the contrary way—eleven to one, went down into St Thomas’s and fought a raff—one, dragged home by somebody, the Lord knows whom, and put to bed.“Tuesday.—Very bruised and sore, did not get up till twelve—found an imposition on my table—mem. to give it to the hairdresser—drank six dishes of tea—did not know what to do with myself, so wrote to my father for money. Half after one, put on my boots to ride for an hour—met Careless at the stable—rode together—asked me to dine with him and meet Jack Sedley, who is just returned from France—two to three, returned home and dressed—four to seven, dinner and wine—Jack very pleasant—told some good stories—says the French women have thick legs—no hunting to be got, and very little wine—won’t go there in a hurry—seven, went to the stable, and then looked in at the coffee-house—very few drunken men, and nothing going forwards—agreed to play Sedley at billiards—Walker’stable engaged, and forced to go to the Blue Posts—lost two guineas—thought I could have beat him, but the dog has been practising in France—ten, supper at Careless’s—bought Sedley’s mare for thirty guineas—think he knows nothing of a horse, and believe I have done him. Drank a little punch and went to bed at twelve.
“Diary of a Modern Oxford Man(1789).
“Sunday.—Waked at eight o’clock by the scout, to tell me the bell was going for prayers—wonder those scoundrels are allowed to make such a noise—tried to get to sleep again, but could not—sat up and read Hoyle in bed—ten, got up and breakfasted—Charles called to ask me to ride—agreed to stay until the President was gone to Church—half after eleven, rode out, going down the High Street saw Will Sagely going to St Mary’s—can’t think what people go to church for. Twelve to two, rode round Bullington Green, met Careless and a new Freshman of Trinity—engaged them to dine with me—two to three, lounged at the stable, made the Freshman ride over the Bail, talked to him about horses: see he knows nothing about the matter—went home and dressed—three to eight, dinner and wine—remarkable pleasant evening—sold Rackett’s stone horse for him to Careless’sfriend for fifty guineas—certainly break his neck—eight to ten, coffee-house, and lounged in the High Street—Stranger went home to study; am afraid he’s a bad one—engaged to hunt to-morrow and dine with Rackett—twelve, supped and went to bed early, in order to get up to-morrow.
“Monday.—Racketrowedme up at seven o’clock—sleepy and queer, but forced to get up and make breakfast for him—eight to five in the afternoon, hunting—famous run, and killed near Bicester—number of tumbles—Freshman out on Rackett’s stone horse—got the devil of a fall into a ditch—horse upon him—but don’t know whether he was killed or not. Five, dressed and went to dine with Rackett—Dean had cross’d his name, and no dinner to be got—went to the Angel and dined—famous evening till eleven, when the Proctors came and told us to go home to our colleges—went directly the contrary way—eleven to one, went down into St Thomas’s and fought a raff—one, dragged home by somebody, the Lord knows whom, and put to bed.
“Tuesday.—Very bruised and sore, did not get up till twelve—found an imposition on my table—mem. to give it to the hairdresser—drank six dishes of tea—did not know what to do with myself, so wrote to my father for money. Half after one, put on my boots to ride for an hour—met Careless at the stable—rode together—asked me to dine with him and meet Jack Sedley, who is just returned from France—two to three, returned home and dressed—four to seven, dinner and wine—Jack very pleasant—told some good stories—says the French women have thick legs—no hunting to be got, and very little wine—won’t go there in a hurry—seven, went to the stable, and then looked in at the coffee-house—very few drunken men, and nothing going forwards—agreed to play Sedley at billiards—Walker’stable engaged, and forced to go to the Blue Posts—lost two guineas—thought I could have beat him, but the dog has been practising in France—ten, supper at Careless’s—bought Sedley’s mare for thirty guineas—think he knows nothing of a horse, and believe I have done him. Drank a little punch and went to bed at twelve.
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Off to a Badger-Baiting.
“Wednesday.—Hunted with the Duke of B.—very long run, rode the new mare, found her sinking, so pulled up in time and swore I had a shoe lost—to sell her directly—buy no more horses of Sedley—knows more than I thought he did.—Four, returned home, and as I was dressing to dine with Sedley, received a note from some country neighbours of my father’s to desire me to dine at the Cross—obliged to send an excuse to Sedley—wanted to put on my cap and gown—cap broke and gown not to be found, forced to borrow—half after four to ten, at the Cross with myLions—verylovingevening indeed—ten, found it too bad, so got up and told them it was against the rules of the university to be out later.“Thursday.—Breakfasted at the Cross, and walked all the morning about Oxford with my Lions—terrible flat work—Lions very troublesome—asked an hundred and fifty silly questions about every thing they saw. Wanted me to explain the Latin inscriptions on the monuments in Christ Church Chapel!—Wanted to know how we spent our time!—forced to give answers as well as I could. Four, forced to give them a dinner and, what was worse, to sit with them till six, when I told them I was engaged for the rest of the evening, and sent them about their business—seven, dropped in at Careless’s rooms, found him with a large party, all pretty muchcut—thought it was a good time to sell him Sedley’s mare, but he was not quite drunk enough—made a bet with him that I trotted my poney from Benson to Oxford within the hour—sure of winning, for I did it the other day in fifty minutes.“Friday.—Got up early and rode the poney a foot pace over to Benson to breakfast—Old Shrub breaks fast—told him of the bet and showed him the poney—shook his head and looked cunning when he heard of it—good sign—after breakfast rode the race, and won easy, but could not get any money; forced to take Careless’s draught; daresay its not worth two pence; great fool to bet with him. Twelve till three, lounged at the stable, and cut my horse’s tail—eat soup at Sadler’s—walked down the High Street—met Rackett, who wanted me to dine with him, but could not because I was engaged to Sagely—three, dinner at Sagely’s—very bad—dined, in a cold hall, and could get nothing to eat—wine new—a bad fire—tea-kettle put on at five o’clock—played at Whist for sixpences, and no bets—thought I should have gone to sleep—terrible work dining with a studious man—eleven, went to bed out of spirits.“Saturday.—Ten, breakfast—attempted to readThe Loiterer; but it was too stupid; flung it down and took up ‘Bartlett’s Farriery’—had not read two pages before a dun came, told him I should have some money soon—would not be gone—offered him brandy—was sulky, and would not have any—saw he was going to besavage, so kicked him downstairs to prevent his being impertinent. Thought perhaps I might have more of them, so went to lounge at the stables—poney got a bad cough—and the black horse thrown out two splints—went back to my room in an ill-humour—found a letter from my father, no money and a great deal of advice—wants to know how my last quarter’s allowance went—how the devil should I know?—he knows I keep no accounts—do think fathers are the greatestBoresin nature. Very low-spirited and flat all the morning—some thought of reforming, but luckily Careless came in to beg me to meet our party at his rooms, so altered my mind, dined with him, and by nine in the evening was very happy.”
“Wednesday.—Hunted with the Duke of B.—very long run, rode the new mare, found her sinking, so pulled up in time and swore I had a shoe lost—to sell her directly—buy no more horses of Sedley—knows more than I thought he did.—Four, returned home, and as I was dressing to dine with Sedley, received a note from some country neighbours of my father’s to desire me to dine at the Cross—obliged to send an excuse to Sedley—wanted to put on my cap and gown—cap broke and gown not to be found, forced to borrow—half after four to ten, at the Cross with myLions—verylovingevening indeed—ten, found it too bad, so got up and told them it was against the rules of the university to be out later.
“Thursday.—Breakfasted at the Cross, and walked all the morning about Oxford with my Lions—terrible flat work—Lions very troublesome—asked an hundred and fifty silly questions about every thing they saw. Wanted me to explain the Latin inscriptions on the monuments in Christ Church Chapel!—Wanted to know how we spent our time!—forced to give answers as well as I could. Four, forced to give them a dinner and, what was worse, to sit with them till six, when I told them I was engaged for the rest of the evening, and sent them about their business—seven, dropped in at Careless’s rooms, found him with a large party, all pretty muchcut—thought it was a good time to sell him Sedley’s mare, but he was not quite drunk enough—made a bet with him that I trotted my poney from Benson to Oxford within the hour—sure of winning, for I did it the other day in fifty minutes.
“Friday.—Got up early and rode the poney a foot pace over to Benson to breakfast—Old Shrub breaks fast—told him of the bet and showed him the poney—shook his head and looked cunning when he heard of it—good sign—after breakfast rode the race, and won easy, but could not get any money; forced to take Careless’s draught; daresay its not worth two pence; great fool to bet with him. Twelve till three, lounged at the stable, and cut my horse’s tail—eat soup at Sadler’s—walked down the High Street—met Rackett, who wanted me to dine with him, but could not because I was engaged to Sagely—three, dinner at Sagely’s—very bad—dined, in a cold hall, and could get nothing to eat—wine new—a bad fire—tea-kettle put on at five o’clock—played at Whist for sixpences, and no bets—thought I should have gone to sleep—terrible work dining with a studious man—eleven, went to bed out of spirits.
“Saturday.—Ten, breakfast—attempted to readThe Loiterer; but it was too stupid; flung it down and took up ‘Bartlett’s Farriery’—had not read two pages before a dun came, told him I should have some money soon—would not be gone—offered him brandy—was sulky, and would not have any—saw he was going to besavage, so kicked him downstairs to prevent his being impertinent. Thought perhaps I might have more of them, so went to lounge at the stables—poney got a bad cough—and the black horse thrown out two splints—went back to my room in an ill-humour—found a letter from my father, no money and a great deal of advice—wants to know how my last quarter’s allowance went—how the devil should I know?—he knows I keep no accounts—do think fathers are the greatestBoresin nature. Very low-spirited and flat all the morning—some thought of reforming, but luckily Careless came in to beg me to meet our party at his rooms, so altered my mind, dined with him, and by nine in the evening was very happy.”
It is amazing to think how many men there are in this year of grace nineteen hundred and eleven who, if they should take it into their heads to keep a diary, would have to write down page after page of exactly the same stuff, would express exactly the same sentiments about their father, and whose projects of a lasting reform would be for ever scattered by just such a careless tap upon their oak. And yet it is written:Tempora mutantur!
The Loitererwas not sold only to the local public at Oxford. It had a quite large outside circulation, with agents in London, Birmingham, Bath, and Reading, and ran for a year and three months. At the end of this period the authors, the principal ones, revealed their identity and retired from the editorial pinnacle into the comparative oblivion of their Fellowships, having cause to congratulate themselves upon no small success.
’VARSITY LITERATURE—(continued)
The Oxford Packet.—Academia: or the Humours of Oxford.—The Oxford Act.—The Oxford Sausage.—Present and latter day literature summed up.
The Oxford Packet.—Academia: or the Humours of Oxford.—The Oxford Act.—The Oxford Sausage.—Present and latter day literature summed up.
There were many other minor literary outputs which made their appearance from time to time through the century, but it would be tedious to analyse all of them. The outstanding ones wereThe Oxford Packet,Academia: or the Humours of Oxford,The Oxford Act, Tom Warton’s fighting poem entitledThe Triumph of Isis, andThe Oxford Sausage.
The Oxford Packetwas a purely topical piece of writing containing heated articles on the burning questions of the moment in Oxford. It was published in London, “printed for J. Roberts in 1714,” with a list of contents including “(1) News from Magdalene College (Sacheverell’s Inscription on a piece of plate); (2) Antigamus: or a Satire against Marriage, written by Mr Thomas Sawyer; (3) A Vindication of theOxfordLadies, wherein are displayed the amours of some Gentlemen ofAll SoulsandSt John’s Colleges.”
Academia, perpetrated by a woman, Alicia d’Anvers, ridiculed the manners and customs of the university in a pointed and quite scurrilous manner. It lived up to its sub-title, however, for it was an extremely humorous piece of work.
In 1733 there appeared theThe Oxford Act, a ballad opera. A crude and unamusing play, it is nevertheless interesting as containing the germ of modern musical comedy. The idea of the piece was to satirise university politics, but the lack of construction and thelaboured manner in which the dramatist introduced his songs and manœuvred his characters makes it tedious and rather difficult to appreciate.
The Triumph of Isiswas occasioned by a denunciation of Oxford by a Cambridge man, William Mason, who was guilty of a poem entitledIsis. In it he taunted Oxford upon the degeneracy of her sons who
“... madly boldTo Freedom’s foes infernal orgies hold.”
This was more than any devoted son ofAlma matercould stand. Accordingly, Tom Warton, stung to a retort, girded up his loins and flung offThe Triumph of Isis, in which he hurled ten thousand thunderbolts atThe Venal Sons of Slavish Cam. Dr Anderson, who wrote a preface to the collection of Warton’s poems, says, “It is remarkable that though neither Mason nor Warton ever excelled these performances, each of them as by consent, when he first collected his poems into a volume, omitted his own party production.”[23]
It was not until 1764 thatThe Oxford Sausagewas concocted. Its title is singularly apt. It was a volume of choice scraps—selected pieces in prose and verse which had already made their appearance in other and earlier publications. It included several poems by Tom Warton, who editedThe Sausage, and contained others fromThe Studentand theOxford Journal.
These then are the literary productions which distinguished the eighteenth century in Oxford. From the numerous excerpts and passages quoted in preceding chapters it will have been seen that there is not only an enormous difference between the writing of the eighteenth century and to-day in style and treatment, but in the method ofconducting a paper. To-day it is quite impossible to call a spade a spade. In those days it was exactly the opposite. The whole point of writing was to call things by their proper names. In fact, any other method would have been completely misunderstood. The morals of the time were not more lax than now—that would be impossible—but the language employed was, to put it mildly, very much more unguarded.
Matters were openly discussed in the drawing-rooms of the eighteenth century which nowadays are supposed to be whispered in smoking-rooms. Drunkenness and other kindred vices were held in high esteem. It was “the thing” for him who had any aspirations to be a man of the world to have a half dozen bottles of wine to his own cheek at one sitting, and unless he succeeded in arriving at that state of helplessness which necessitated bodily assistance from persons unknown, he was a dismal social failure. Women, whose husbands were carried home night after night, smiled leniently and did not dream of interfering. Many ladies indeed did not deny themselves the solace of the bottle, and in the records of the time I have found more than one reference to women who were well-known, almost licensed, topers. The question of toasts, too, and the light in which the university held them, was Gilbertian. The statutes sternly forbade them under penalty of dire pains and punishments, but for all practical purposes the statutes were a waste of time. Oxford was famed for her toasts, and their dealings were not confined solely to the gownsmen but also to Dons and Heads of colleges, who, far from carrying out the statutes which they had made, pooh-poohed them and indulged themselves to their heart’s content.
With such a condition of things it is not very remarkable that the literature of the time should be characterised by coarseness of language and ideas. Its humour was of the riper kind which permittedof no possible misunderstanding. Many of the jokes printed in such periodicals as theOxford Journaland theOxford Magazine—both papers in high repute which circulated among Dons, Undergraduates and residents—would be quite unprintable to-day even in the most yellow of the sporting papers. The pen of Amhurst was hampered by no considerations of delicacy or modesty. Whatever he felt on any subject that he wrote, boldly and without mincing, and the fact that his articles were read with interest and delight by male and female alike is proof that there is no blame attaching to him for scurrility. He was merely in the period. There are also instances of women who wrote with almost the same degree of frankness as did Alicia d’Anvers, who had, as I have shown, an immodesty of style unique in the entire century. She satirised all the manners, customs, hobbies and vices of the university with flagrant lack of good taste which, judging by the characteristics of the time, made her poem a great success.
In the eighteenth century there were neither advertisements—except in theOxford Journal, and they were few in number—nor athletic fixtures. The editors, therefore, had to rely entirely upon the merits of the articles printed in their paper. Their sole hope of life lay in circulation, and as they had not then discovered such “adventitious aids” as idols and open letters, they were forced to do their utmost to make their paper bright and readable. That they did so is obvious from the great number of contributors who sent in articles regularly, and that, too, without any hope of payment.
From the point of view of journalism there is no paper in Oxford to-day which can survive a comparison with Terrae Filius. He did not go outside the university for his subjects, and yet in each paper he was topical, forcible, and to the point. Beyond this he was amusing,and there was a sting in each single word which made the unhappy subject of his attack squirm in his place. He did not indulge in long-winded and abortive discussions about matters of no interest whatever to the university, such as are invariably to be seen in twentieth-century papers. He instinctively hit upon the only subject each week that was before the eye of Oxford, and in straightforward, pithy language wrote it down, laughed at it, or cried over it. In whatever spirit he treated it he left nothing more to be said. He used it up, exhausted it, and turned to the next point. Not having any advertisers to consider—and he would certainly not have considered them had they existed—he said what he wanted to say without fear or favour, and if he did not attain to such financial success as does the milk and water stuff of to-day, he did establish, beyond all argument, a reputation which has already survived two centuries. Which of the existing Oxford journals can hope to compete against such a record?
However much eighteenth-century writers merit the charge of coarseness—and it is not laid at their door in the spirit of blame but merely as an illustration of things as they existed—they undoubtedly attained a higher literary standard than the Undergraduate writers of to-day. As, however, I have said that the modern standard does not rise above mediocrity, I am not paying a very great compliment to the writers of the Rowlandson period. Such is, however, my intention, for I cannot see that there is such great brilliance in the eighteenth-century papers as to justify my launching out into paeans of adulation. In all the publications of the time there were, as I have shown, some excellent pieces of writing. The sonnets and epigrams, dashed off at the coffee-houses to the beauties of the reigning toast, were filled with classical allusions and subtle parallels. This is somewhat remarkable because the Bloods admittedly never did any reading. They had notime for it. However likeable and readable these were, there was no genius, no striking merit in any of them. They certainly showed more promise than the greater part of the work of twentieth-century Oxford men—a point which is emphasised by the fact that our predecessors were generally three or four years younger on going up to the university. To-day we go up at about nineteen years of age. In those days it was the fashion for men to arrive in Oxford in their fifteenth or sixteenth year.
With the exception of Nicholas Amhurst, from whom I have drawn with so much pleasure, there can be found no Undergraduate of Georgian times whose genius, in however crude a form, awoke in the pages of university literature.
THE OXFORD TRADESMAN
The Student’sopinion of one—A Tradesman’s poem and its result—Dodging the dun—Debt and its penalties—Tradesmen’s taste in literature—Advertising andThe Loiterer—Tick—Dr Newton, innkeeper—Amhurst’s confession—Fathers and trainers of toasts.
The Student’sopinion of one—A Tradesman’s poem and its result—Dodging the dun—Debt and its penalties—Tradesmen’s taste in literature—Advertising andThe Loiterer—Tick—Dr Newton, innkeeper—Amhurst’s confession—Fathers and trainers of toasts.
Like Nemesis, the Oxford tradesman has sooner or later to be reckoned with. His methods are, and for that matter always were, rather spider-like. He sets out a beautiful and enticing web in his shop window, and sits placidly in the darkness of his back parlour to await results. One after another the Undergraduates, foolish flies, dash in; and then, when they have been given sufficient time—a year or so—the spider pounces and demands his just, but frequently exorbitant, dues. Sometimes he does not get them. Spiders, however, rarely come in for any sympathy.
The old-time Oxford tradesman was undoubtedly a man of parts. In all the periodicals of the time are to be found odes, couplets, and prose-writings all singing his praise. He constituted a factor of importance in the daily routine of eighteenth-century life. It must, indeed, have been a sick Smart who did not visit daily his barber andperruquier, his horse-dealer, his tobacco merchant, his mercer and tailor, his coffee-house. These worthy townsmen seem to have been, in fact, the soleraison d’êtreof the Smart’s university career, and their pseudo erudition and quite exceptional powers were the cause of an enthusiastic article from the pen ofThe Student.
“A tradesman of Oxford,” he wrote, “is no more like another common tradesman than some collegians are like other men ... thevery sign-posts express their taste for learning and superiour education. Our mercers, milliners, taylors, etc., etc., have shewn their nice judgments in the art of designing, by the many curious emblematical devices that so eminently adorn the entrances to their shops. How sublime are the signs of our innkeepers! the Angel, the Cross, the Mitre, the Maidenhead, with many others, are too well known to need mentioning. A tooth drawer amongst us denotes his occupation by an excellent poetical distich; a second with great propriety stiles himself operator for the teeth: and my printer who sells James’s fever powder, Greenough’s tinctures, Hoopers’ female pills, and the like, exhibits to our view in large golden letters over his door the pompous denomination of Medicinal Warehouse. Nor are we at all surprised to see written in this learned university, tho’ over a female bookseller’s door, ‘BIBLIOPOLIUM MARIAE,’ etc.
“Not to dwell too minutely on externals, every tradesman with us is a mathematician, or philosopher, or divine, or critick, and what not? But they are all to a man particularly famous for their skill in arithmetick. For my own part I never dealt with one yet who was not thoroughly practised in addition and multiplication.
“I know an ale-houseman (he sells an excellent pot of ale) who has made several experiments in electricity, but without a machine: I know a grocer, a profound reasoner and speculative moralist, a bookbinder deeply read in Geography, Chorography, etc., and a glazier, a great mathematician, who has squar’d the circle several timeall but a little bit. A barber has published a cutting poem lately, which is universally admired, and all his own making. It is not to be doubted that our Oxford booksellers are excellent criticks. They can tell you the character of a book by only looking at the title page. My own, in particular, is so fine a judge of composition, that he begs me notto send anything to the press till it has been submitted to his correction. Besides, I know he has a strong desire to begin author himself, but his singular modesty will not permit him to own it. He has, therefore, prevailed with me to erect a small box, with a slit, in his door to receive the contributions of those writers who chuse to be concealed. As I know the man’s vanity will oblige him sometimes to put in his mite, I desire the reader, when he meets with anything particularly dull, to suppose it written, not by me, but my bookseller.
“I have often heard two learned tradesmen chop logick together on the most sublime topicks. Once, in particular, I was present at a very important dispute, when a shoemaker (a very honest fellow) affirmed, to the general satisfaction of his audience, that the world was eternal from the beginning, and would be so to the end of it. At another time, the discourse running upon politics, a mercer (no small man, I can assure you) wonder’d what a duce we would have. ‘I’m sure,’ says he, ‘there’s not a happier Island in England than Great Britain; and a man may chuse his own Religion, that he may, whether it be Mahometism or Infidelity.’ A little while ago I lent my Smith’s harmonicks to my Musick-master, who has since return’d it, assuring me that it is not worth a farthing; for ’twould teach me the Thievery mayhap, but as for the Practicks, he’ll put me into a betterer method. I could produce many more such instances which I have gleaned from their conversations; but these will be sufficient to convince the world that no subject is too high, no point too intricate for their exalted capacities.... I cannot conclude better than by giving a specimen of an Oxford tradesman’s poetical genius, in an extract of a letter from my taylor, who (in the college phrase) put the dun upon me. In my answer I advised him to peruse Philips’s description of a dun in his splendid shilling: to which he made methis reply.... ‘But now to that which, you say, breaks all friendship, a dun, horrible monster! I havebruis’dPhilips, though, in some places too hard. As to the appellation, I cannot think it rightly apply’d.’
“For INe’er yet did thunder with my vocal heel,Nor call’d yet thrice with hideous accent dire;But only with my pen declar’d my dread,What most I fear’d, the horrid catch-pole’s claw.“But you,Whom fortune’s blest with splendid shilling worth,Ne’er fears the monster’s horrid faded brow,Fed with the produce of blest Alb’on’s isle,With juice of Gallic and HispernianFruits, that doe chearful make the heart of man,Thus sink my muse into the deep abyss,As low as Styx or Stygia’s bottom is.”
“N.B.”—wroteThe Studentin italics at the foot of this wonderful poem, “I have paid him.”
There is a certain amount of pathos underlying that delightful piece of mock praise. The thought of the mercers, grocers, shoemakers, and the rest honestly believing themselves to have attained to a most unusual degree of learning, by reason of their propinquity to a university, and parading their monumental ignorance under that belief, is a very painful one. It is even more painful, looking to the fact that most tradesmen, connected in any way with Academic Oxford, readThe Studentregularly, to know that the above stream of ridicule did not enlighten them as to the truth.
Another man who had evidently had the dun put upon him, not once but many times, by sulky tradesmen, received (so at least it is to be supposed) an unexpected windfall with which he settled all outstanding debts. The wonderful and unaccustomed feeling of showinga clean slate was so strong that he was moved to an ecstasy of versification to relieve himself.
“The man, who not a farthing owes,Looks down with scornful eye on thoseWho rise by fraud and cunning,Tho’ in the Pig-market he standWith aspect grave and clear-starched band,He fear’s no tradesmen’s dunning.“He passes by each shop in town,Nor hides his face beneath his gown,No dread his heart invading;He quaffs the nectar of the TunsOr on a spur-gall’d hackney runsTo London, masquerading.“Place me on Scotland’s bleakest hill,Provided I can pay my bill,Hang every thought of sorrow,There falling sleet, or frost, or rainAttack a soul resolv’d in vain;It may be fair to-morrow.”
From the fact that the man in debt had to hide his head beneath his gown in order to get past the shops safely or else to pursue the longer but less risky method of slinking down back streets so as to avoid meeting creditors, it is certain that the shopkeeper who had lost his patience, and was intent on nothing but getting his money back, was looked upon as a fearsome and dreaded creature. His war tactics, aided by free access to his customer’s rooms, consisted of serving writs freely—putting the dun upon his victims. One way to evade the serving was to sport the oak and remain in voluntary confinement. Such a method was not, however, popular as there was no alternative but work to relieve the tedium of such imprisonment. Another way was described in the diary of a modern Oxfordman inThe Loiterer. This “modern” gentleman was slacking away the boring hour after breakfast in the perusal of “Bartlett’s Farriery” when there came a tap at his door, and in strode a dun with an insolent smirk. The Undergraduate politely explained that he was shortly expecting a very healthy windfall from home, upon receipt of which he would immediately pay what was owing. The dun received this news with cold disbelief and refused to be put off. Upon being offered brandy he became “sulky,” and refused with a touch of irritation. Then the Undergraduate, enraged at such insolence, rose in his wrath and kicked the fellow down stairs to stop him from becoming more impertinent.
The dun must have possessed a curious character. Knowing well the propensities of Undergraduates, he did not, like a wise man, imbibe the liquid refreshment so generously offered to him, and depart with the knowledge that payment, for that day at least, was impossible. Instead, he refused brandy and waited to be kicked out—without, apparently, having served his writ.
The question of advertising was in those days only in its infancy. The tradesman patronised Jackson’sOxford Journalto a certain extent. In it are to be found curiously worded announcements of medicines, books, cock-fights, curacies to be drunk or eaten for, dancing masters who were exclusive to the peerage, election paragraphs, and public notices; while advertisements for wives and husbands, or loans of money, were not infrequent. One of the most up-to-date and cunning methods then practised was for two rival tradesmen to get up a mock ink-slinging match in the columns of some periodical, and week after week furiously to denounce each other as cheats, tricksters, and knaves, the one saying that the other sold inferior goods, andvice versâ.
The Loiterer, prowling round incognito in search of copy for his next issue, witnessed a “circumstance” as he calls it, connected with advertisements, which is not unamusing. He was seated in his favourite elbow chair in his usual corner at King’s coffee-room, and had almost despaired of picking up an idea, when he noticed a very reverend and respectable gentleman who was apparently quite unknown to every one in the room, and who seemed more engrossed in his own thoughts than amused by the newspaper he was reading or the laughter and talk from the others in the coffee-room. Suddenly, calling for his bill, he finished reading a paragraph in the paper with upraised eyebrows and a note of horrified surprise in his voice. “Upwards of forty thousand persons of both sexes! Good God,” he said, “what a state must the cities of London and Westminster be in!” The elderly gentleman rose, and on his way out placed the paper intoThe Loiterer’shand. Every one in the room had heard his remark and observed the manner of his exit. Immediately, therefore, there was great excitement, every one wondering what amazing thing had happened that could have escaped his notice while reading that very paper.The Loitererbegan calmly to read solidly through column after column to find this wonderfully exciting paragraph. While he was doing so a thin, emaciated man “with a sallow and diseased countenance who, I have now reason to believe was one of the forty thousand, stepped forward and elucidated the mystery in a moment.”
He rapped out an oath and swore that the old gentleman had been meditating on the advertisement of Leake’s Justly Famous Pill.
From this perturbing episode in the coffee-houseThe Loiterergot the idea of using his paper for the discussion of the peculiarities of advertisement indulged in by tradesmen, local and otherwise. “I shall pass over,” he says, “the various wants of mankind, together with thepompous Descriptions, the florid and luxuriant Language of Auctioneers which is capable of converting a paltry Cottage into an elegant Villa. Nor shall I dwell on a curious Phenomenon, a political Advertisement for the Sale of Perfumery and the Dressing of Hair. But it is impossible with the same indifference to pass over the ingenious Mr —— who sells his Wines ‘for the πόδας ὠκύς of ready Money only, Wines in which neither the eyes of Argus, nor the Taste of Epicurus, can discover the least sophistication.’
“One advertisement informs us, that Chimney pieces, another that Candlesticks, are ‘fashioned according to architectonic Models, and agreeable to the affecting chastity of the Antique.’ A third lets us know how much we are obliged to the Legislature, ‘that he is now enabled to offer Pomatum to the public agreeable to the commercial Treaty’.... What Lady, ‘who excites admiration on account of the superior charms that animate her Complexion,’ can withstand an Advertisement of the Palmyrene Soap? Every systematical old Fellow that wishes to know the exact number of yards which he walks in a day, will certainly furnish himself with ‘the Pedometer, or Way-wiser.’ And I make no manner of doubt that all the Gentlemen Sportsmen of this University will find it impossible to resist the persuasive nonsense and absurdity of ‘Guns matchless for shooting; or twisted barrels, bored on an improved plan, that will always maintain their true velocity, and not let the Birds fly away after being shot, as they generally do with Guns not properly bored, this method of boring Guns will enable every Shooter to Kill his Bird, as they are sure of their mark at ninety yards; he bores any sound Barrel for Two Guineas, and he makes them much stronger than before.’ If we take this Fellow’s own word we must allow him, without a pun, to be the greatest Borer in the kingdom.”
The system of “tick” seems to have been very simple. It was only necessary to enter a shop and order things in large quantities for the tradesman to allow credit. In the case of dirty Dick, who was lured into becoming a fop by the report of the appreciative remarks which the lady Flavia was supposed to have made about him, the only thing which had to be done to gull the ever-obliging tradesman was to spread a rumour that the sloven had come in for a legacy. The result was instantaneous, and Dick became a Smart; but whether anybody was ever paid is not on record. The various inns, ale-houses, coffee-houses and wig-makers had little need to advertise. The Undergraduates did that for them. In nearly every poem and sonnet that ever was written the praises are sung of Tom’s or James’s or Clapham’s or Lyne’s or Hamilton’s, while the great Tom Warton immortalises three “Peruke-Makers” in hisOde to a Grizzle-Wig.
“Can thus large wigs our Reverence engage?Have Barbers thus the Pow’r to blind our Eyes?Is Science thus conferr’d on every Sage,By Bayliss, Blenkinsop, and lofty Wise?”
While on the subject of innkeepers there is an example of the consummate impudence of Terrae Filius which is most worthy of note. He compared the Rev. Dr Newton, Principal of Hart Hall, to an innkeeper, in a letter upon Dr Newton’s book entitled “University Education.”
“Some persons it seems,” wrote Amhurst, “have entertained a notion, that your hall is no more than an inn, of which you are the host, and your scholars the guests. I am sorry, sir, to say that there seems to be some reason in this notion, however merrily you may please to treat it. For do you not, like other innkeepers, get your living, and maintain your family by letting lodgings, and keeping an ordinary for all comers?Are you not licens’d for so doing, like other innkeepers and retalers of beer, though by a different hand? Indeed, you sell logick and other sorts of learning, as well as provisions for eating and drinking; but that cannot destroy the character of an innkeeper, which you certainly are in all other respects, but only proves that you deal in some particulars which your brethren of the trade do not.... You have, no doubt, the same right, with other innkeepers, to bring in a bill, and demand your reckoning, when you please; which I do not hear that Mr Seaman, or any other of your guests ever refused to pay; but I believe you are the only landlord in town who would offer to detain his guests by force, after they had paid their reckoning, and oblige them to spend more of their money in his house, whether they will or not.”
All these subtle parallels were, of course, not intended as compliments. To call a Head of a Hall an innkeeper is not exactly to take off one’s hat to him. But Amhurst forgot that in a previous chapter he made a proud confession of his own humble origin. His discourse was of great men sprung from small beginnings.
“What,” he asked, “was of old the famous Cardinal Wolsey but a butcher’s son?... Nay, to go no farther, even I myself, overgrown as I am in fame and wealth, stiled by all unprejudiced and sensible persons the instructor of mankind, and the reformer of the two universities, am by birth but an humble plebeian, the younger son of an ale-house keeper in Wapping, who was for several years in doubt which to make of me, a philosopher, or a sailor: but at length birthright prevailing, I was sent to Oxford, scholar of a college, and my elder brother a cabin boy to the West Indies.”
But why drag in Wolsey?
In King Charles’s letter against the women of the university ofCambridge he banned the houses of all taverners, inn-holders or victuallers. It was this class of tradesmen in Oxford who brought up their daughters as toasts. This was the reason why a statute was passed “Prohibiting all scholars, as well Graduates as Undergraduates, of whatever faculty, to frequent the houses and shops of any tradesmen by day, and especially by night....”
THE DON