True emblem of immortal ale,So famed in British lingo;Stout, beady, and a littlestale—Long live the Burton stingo!
"A vulgar ditty, by my faith," said the exquisite, "in the true English style, allfol de rol, and a vile chorus to split the tympanum of one's auricular organs: do, for heaven's sake, Echo, let us have somedivertissementof a less boisterous character." "Agreed," said Eglantine, winking at Echo; "we'll have around of sculls. Every man shall sing a song, write a poetical epitaph on his right hand companion, or drink off a double dose of rum booze."{6} "Then I shall be confoundedlycut," said Dick Gradus, "for I never yet could chant a stave or make a couplet in my life." "And I protest against a practice," said Lionise, "that has a tendency to trifle with one'stransitory tortures." "No appeal from the chair," said Eglantine: "another bumper, boys; here's The FairNuns of St. Clement's." "To which I beg leave to add," said Echo, "by way of rider, their favourite pursuit,The Study of the Fathers." By the time these toasts had been duly honoured, some of the party displayed symptoms of beingmoderately cut, when Echo commenced by reciting his epitaph on his next friend, Bob Transit:—
Here rests a wag, whose pencil drewLife's characters of varied hue,Bob Transit—famed in humour's sphereFor many a transitory year.Though dead, still in the "English Spy"He'll live for ever to the eye.Here uncle White{7} reclines in peace,Secure from nephew and from niece.6 Rum booze—Flip made of white or port wine, the yolks ofeggs, sugar and nutmeg.7 Uncle White, a venerable bed-maker of All Souls' College,eighty-three years of age; has been in the service of thecollege nearly seventy years: is always dressed in black,and wears very largo silver knee and shoe-buckles; his hair,which is milk-white, is in general tastefully curled: he isknown "to, and called uncle by, every inhabitant of theuniversity, and obtained the cog-nomen from his having anincredible number of nephews and nieces in Oxford. Inappearance he somewhat resembles a clergyman of the oldschool.
Of All-Souls' he, alive or dead;Of milk-white name, the milk-white head.By Uncle White.Here lies Billy Chadwell,{8}Who perform'd the duties of a dad well.BY BILLY CHADWELL.Ye maggots, now's your time to crow:Old Boggy Hastings{9} rests below.BY BOGGY HASTINGS.A grosser man ne'er mix'd with stonesThan lies beneath—'Tis Figgy Jones.{10}BY FIGGY JONES.Here Marquis Wickens{11} lies incrust,In clay-cold consecrated dust:No more he'll brew, or pastry bake;His sun is set—himself a cake.8 Billy Chadwell, of psalm-singing notoriety, since dead;would imitate syncope so admirably, as to deceive a wholeroom full of company—in an instant he would become pale,motionless, and ghastly as death; the action of his hearthas even appeared to be diminished: his sham fits, ifpossible, exceeded his fainting. He was very quarrelsomewhen in his cups; and when he had aggravated any one to theutmost, to save himself from a severe beating wouldapparently fall into a most dreadful fit, which never failedto disarm his adversary of his rage, and to excite thecompassion of every by-stander.9 Old Boggy Hastings supplies members of the university andcollege servants who are anglers with worms and maggots.10 Tommy J***s, alias Figgy Jones, an opulent grocer in theHigh-street, and a common-councilman in high favour with thelower orders of the freemen; a sporting character.11 Marquis Wickens formerly a confectioner, and now acommon brewer. He accumulated considerable property as aconfectioner, from placing his daughters, who were prettygenteel girls, behind his counter, where they attracted agreat many gownsmen to the shop. No tradesman ever gained afortune more rapidly than this man: as soon as he foundhimself inde-pendent of the university, he gave up his shop,bought the Sun Inn, built a brewhouse, and is now gaining asmuch money by selling beer as he formerly did byconfectionery.
BY MARQUIS WICKENS.Yerouésall, be sad and mute;Who now shall cut the stylish suit?BuckSheffield's{12 }gone—Ye Oxford men,Where shall ye meet his like again?BY BUCK SHEFFIELD.MacLean{13} orTackle, which you will,In quiet sleeps beneath this hill.Ye anglers, bend with one accord;The stranger is no more abroad.BY MACLEAN.Here rests a punster, Jemmy Wheeler{14}In wit and whim a wholesale dealer;Unbound by care, he others bound,And now lies gathered underground.12 Sheffield, better known by the name of Buck Sheffield, amaster tailor and a member of the common council.13 MacLean, an old bacchanalian Scotchman, better known bythe name of Tackle: a tall thin man, who speaks the broadScotch dialect; makes and mends fishing-tackle for membersof the university; makes bows and arrows for those whobelong to the Archery Society; is an indifferent musician,occasionally amuses under-graduates in their apartments byplaying to them country dances and marches on the flute orviolin. He published his Life a short time since, in a thinoctavo pamphlet, entitled "The Stranger Abroad, or TheHistory of Myself," by MacLean.14 Jemmy Wheeler of Magpie-lane, a bookbinder, of punningcelebrity; has published two or three excellent versifiedpuns in the Oxford Herald. He is a young man of good naturalabilities,but unfortunately applies them occasionally to a loose purpose.
BY JEMMY WHEELER.A speedy-man, by nimble foe,Lies buried in the earth below:The Baron Perkins,{15} MercuryTo all the university.Men of New College, mourn his fate,Whoearlydied by drinkinglate.BY BARON PERKINS.Ye Oxfordduns, you're done at last;Here Smiler W——d{16} is laid fast.No more hisoakye need assail;He's book'd inside a wooden jail.BY SMILER W—— OF C—— COLLEGE.A thing called exquisite rests here:For human nature's sake I hope,Without uncharitable trope,'Twill ne'er among us more appear.15 William Perkins, alias Baron Perkins, alias the Baron, avery jovial watchman of Holywell, the New College speedy-man,{*} and factotum to New College.16 Mr. W——d, alias Smiler W——d, a commoner of——. This gentleman is always laughing or smiling; islong-winded, and consequently pestered withduns, who aresometimes much chagrined by repeated disappointments; butlet them be ever so crusty, he never fails in laughing theminto a good humour before they leave his room.It was over Smiler's oak in——, that some wag had printedand stuck up the following notice:Men traps and spring gunsSet here to catchduns.* Aspeedy-manat New College is a person employed to takea letter to the master of Winchester school from the wardenof New College, acquaint-ing him that a fellowship orscholarship is become vacant in the college, and requiringhim to send forthwith the next senior boy. The speedy-manalways performs his journey on foot, and within a giventime.
BY LILLYMAN LIONISE.Here rests a poet—heaven keep him quiet,For when above he lived a life of riot;Enjoy'd his joke, and drank his share of wine—A mad wag he, one Horace Eglantine.{17}
The good old orthodox beverage now began to display its potent effects upon the heads and understandings of the party. All restraint being completely banished by the effect of the liquor, every one indulged in their characteristic eccentricities. Dick Gradus pleaded his utter incapability to sing or produce an impromptu rhyme, but was allowed to substitute a prose epitaph on the renowned school-master of Magdalen parish, Fatty T—b,{18} who lay snoring under the table. "It shall be read over him in lieu of burial service," said Echo. "Agreed, agreed," vociferated all the party; and Jemmy
17 This whim of tagging rhymes and epitaphs, adopted byHorace Eglantine, is of no mean authority. During theconvivial administration of Lord North, when the ministerialdinners were composed of such men as the Lords Sandwich,Weymouth, Thurlow, Richard Rigby, &c, various pleasantriespassed current for which the present time would be deemedtoo refined. Among others, it was the whim of the day tocall upon each member, after the cloth was drawn, to tag arhyme to the name of his left hand neighbour. It was firstproposed by Lord Sandwich, to raise a laugh against thefacetious Lord North, who happened to sit next to a Mr.Mellagen, a name deemed incapable of a rhyme. Luckily,however, for Lord North, that gentleman had just informedhim of an accident that had befallen him near the pump inPall Mall; when, therefore, it came to his turn, he wrotethe following distich:—Oh! pity poor Mr. Mellagen,Who walking along Pall Mall,Hurt his foot when down he fell,And fears he won't get well again.18 Fatty T——, better known as the sixpenny schoolmaster:a little fat man, remarkable for his love of good living.
Jumps,{19} the parish clerk of Saint Peter's, was instantly mounted on a chair, at the head of the defunct schoolmaster, to recite the following whim:—
Epitaph on a Glutton.Beneath this table lie the remains of Fatty T***;Who more than performed the duties ofAn excellent eater, an unparalleled drinker, andA truly admirable sleeper.His stomach was as disinterestedAs his appetite was good; so thatHis impartial tooth alike chewedThe mutton of the poor,andThe turtle of the rich.
19 James James, alias Jemmy Jumps, alias the Oxford CalebQuotum, a stay-maker, and parish-clerk of Saint Peter leBailey—plays the violin to parties on water excursions,attends public-house balls—is bellows-blower and factotumat the music-room—attends as porter to the Philharmonic andOxford Choral Societies—is constable of the race-courseand race balls—a bill distributor and a deputy collector ofpoor rates—calls his wife hissolio. He often amuses hiscompanions at public-houses by reciting comic tales inverse. A woman who had lost a relative desired JemmyJumps to get a brick grave built. On digging up a pieceof ground which had not been opened for many years, hediscovered a very good brick grave, and, to his great joy,also discovered that its occupant had long since moulderedinto dust. He cleaned the grave out, procured some reddleand water, brushed the bricks over with it, and informedthe person that he had a most excellentsecond-hand graveto sell as good as new, and if she thought it would suither poor departed friend, would let her have it at half theprice of a new one: this was too good an offer to berejected; but Jemmy found, on measuring the coffin, that hissecond-hand grave was too short, and consequently wasobliged to dig the earth away from the end of the grave andbeat the bricks in with a beetle, before it would admit itsnew tenant.
He was a zealous opposer of the Aqua-arianheresy,A steady devourer of beef-steaks,A stanch and devout advocate forspiced bishop,A firm friend to Bill Holland'sdouble X, andAn active disseminator of the bottle,He was ever uneasy unless employed uponThe good things of this world; andThe interment of aswissor lion,Or the dissolution of a pasty,Was his great delight.He diedFull of drink and victuals,In the undiminished enjoyment of his digestive faculties,In the forty-fifth year of his appetite.The collegians inscribed this memento,In perpetual remembrance ofHispieousknife and fork.
"Very well for atrencherman," said Horace; "now we must have a recitation from Strasburg.{20} Come, you jolly old teacher of Hebrew, mount the rostrum, and "give us a taste of your quality." "Ay, or by heavens we'll baptize him with a bumper of bishop," said Echo. "For conscience sake, mishter Echo, conshider vat it is you're about; I can no more shpeek in English than I can turn Christian—I've drank so much of your red port to-day as voud make anoder Red Sea." "Ay, and you shall be drowned in it, you oldSheenie," said Tom, "if you don't give us a speech." "A speech, a speech!" resounded from all
{20} Strasburg, an eccentric Jew, who gave lessons in Hebrewto members of the university.
the yet living subjects of the party. "Veil, if I musht, I musht; but I musht do it by shubstitute then; my old friend, Mark Supple here, vill give you the history of Tom Tick." To this Echo assented, on account of the allusions it bore to the Albanians, some of whom were of the party. Old Mark, mounted on the chair at the upper end of the table, proceeded with the tale.
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Tom was a tailor's heir,A dashing blade,Whose sire in tradeEnough had made,By cribbage, short skirts, and little capes,Long bills, and items for buckram, tapes,Buttons, twist, and small ware;Which swell a bill out so delightfully,Or perhaps I should say frightfully,
That is, if it related to myself.Suffice it to be toldIn wealth he roll'd,And being a fellow of some spirit,Set up his coach;To 'scape reproach,He put the tailor on the shelf,And thought to make his boy a man of merit.On old Etona's classic ground,Tom's infant years in circling roundWere spent 'mid Greek and Latin;The boy had parts both gay and bright,A merry, mad, facetious sprite,With heart as soft as satin.For sport or spree Tom never lack'd;Acon{21} with all, his sock he crack'dWithoppidanor gownsman:Couldsmuga sign, or quiz thedame,Or row, or ride, or poach for game,Withcads, or Eton townsmen.Tom'sadmiraldesign'd,Most dads are blindTo youthful folly,That Tom should be a man of learning,To show his parent's great discerning,A parson rich and jolly.To Oxford Tom in due time went,Upon degree D.D. intent,But more intent on ruin:A Freshman, steering for thePort of Stuff's,{22}RoundIsle Matricula, andIsthmus of Grace,Intent on living well and little doing.Here Tom came out a dashing blood,Kept Doll at Woodstock, and a studFor hunting, race, or tandem;Couldbaga proctor,floor a raff,Or stifle e'en ahull-dog's gaff,Getbosky, drive at random.21 Eton phraseology—A friend.22 Oxford phraseology—All these terms have been explainedin an earlier part of the work.
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But long before the first term ended,Tom was inform'd, unless he mended,He'd better change his college.Which said, theDonwas hobbling to the shelfWhere college butler keeps his book ofBattell;Tom nimbly ran, erased his name himself,To save the scandal of the students' prattle.In Oxford, be it known, there is a placeWhere all the mad wags in disgraceRetire to improve their knowledge;The townraffcall itBotany Bay,Its inmatesexiles, convicts, and they saySaint Alban takes the student refugees:Here Tom, to 'scapePoint Non plus, took his seatAfter awaste of ready—found his feetSafe on the shores of indolence and ease;Here, 'mid choice spirits, in theIsle of Flip,Dad's will, andsapping, valued not youngsnip;Scapula, Homer, Lexicon, laid by,Join'd the peep-of-day boys in full cry.{23}A saving sire a sad son makesThis adage suits most modern rakes,23 It was in the actual participation of these bacchanalianorgies, during the latter days of Dr. W——y, the formerhead of the Hall, when infirmities prevented his exercisingthe necessary watchful-ness over the buoyant spiritscommitted to his charge, that my friend Bob Transit andmyself were initiated into the mysteries of the Albanians.The accompanying scene, so faithfully delineated by hishumorous pencil, will be fresh in the recollection of thechoice spiritswho mingled in the joyous revelry. Toparticularise character would be to "betray the secrets ofthe prison-house," and is besides wholly unnecessary, everyfigure round the board being a portrait; kindred souls,whose merrie laughter-loving countenances and jovialpropensities, will be readily recognised by every son ofAlma Materwho was at Oxford during the last days of thebeaux espritsof Alban Hall. (See Plate.) In justice tothe learned Grecian who now presides, it should be told,that these scenes are altogether suppressed.
And Tom above all others.I should have told before, he was an only child,And therefore privileged to be gay and wild,Having no brothers,Whom his example might misleadInto extravagance, or deedRidiculous and foolish.Three tedious years in Oxford spent,In midnight brawl and merriment,Tom bid adieu to college,To cassock-robe of orthodox,To construe and decline—the box,Supreme in stable knowledge;To dash on all within the ring,Bet high, play deep, or rioting,At Long's to sport his figureIn honour's cause, some small affairGive modern bucks a finish'd air,Tom pull'd the fatal trigger.He kill'd his friend—but then remark,His friend had kill'd another spark,So 'twas but trick and tie.The cause of quarrel no one knew,Not even Tom,—away he flew,Till time and forms of law,To fashionable vices blind,Excuses for the guilty find,Call murder afaux pas.The tinsell'd coat next struck his pride,How dashing in the Park to rideA cornet of dragoons;Upon a charger, thorough bred,To show off with a high plumed head,The gaze of Legs and Spoons;To rein him up in all his paces,Then splash the passing trav'lers' faces,And spur and caper by;
Get drunk at mess, then sally outTo Lisle-street fair, or beat a scout,Or black a waiter's eye.Of all the clubs,—the Clippers, Screws,The Fly-by-nights, Four Horse, and Blues,The Daffy, Snugs, and Peep-o-day,Tom's an elect; at all the Hells,At Bolton-Row, with tip-top swells,And Tat's men, deep he'd play.His debts oft paid by Snyder's{24} pelf,Who paid at last a debt himself,Which all that live must pay.Tom book'd{25} the old one snug inside,Wore sables, look'd demure and sigh'dSome few short hours away;Till from the funeral return'd,Then Tom with expectation burn'dTo hear his father's will:—"Twice twenty thousand pounds in cash,"—"That's prime," quoth Tom, "to cut a dash"At races or a mill,"—"All my leaseholds, house and plate,My pictures and freehold estate,I give my darling heir;Not doubting but, as I in tradeBy careful means this sum have made,He'll double it with care."—"Ay, that I will, I'll hit the nick,Seven's the main,—here Ned and DickBring down my blue and buff;Take off the hatband, banish grief,'Tis time to turn o'er a new leaf,Sorrow's but idle stuff."Fame, trumpet-tongued, Tom's wealth reports,His name is blazon'd at the courtsOf Carlton and the Fives.His equipage, his greys, his dress,His polish'd self, so likenoblesse,"Is ruin's sure perquise."24 Flash for tailor.25 Screwed up in his coffin.
Beau Brummell's bow had not the grace,Alvanly stood eclipsed in face,TheRouésall were mute,So exquisite, so chaste, unique,The mark for every Leg and Greek,Who play the concave suit.{26}At Almack's, paradise o' the West,Tom's hand by prince and peer is press'd,And fashion cries supreme.His Op'ra box, and little quean,To lounge, to see, and to be seen,Makes life a pleasant dream.Such dreams, alas! are transient light,A glow of brightness and delight,That wakes to years of pain.Tom's round of pleasure soon was o'er,And clam'rousdunsassail the doorWhen credit's on the wane.His riches pay his folly's price,And vanish soon a sacrifice,Then friendly comrades fly;His ev'ry foible dragg'd to light,And faults (unheeded) crowd in sight,Asham'd to show his face.Beset by tradesmen, lawyers,bums,{21}He sinks where fashion never comes,A wealthier takes his place.Beat at all points, floor'd, and clean'd out,Tom yet resolv'd to brave it out,36 Cards cut in a peculiar manner, to enable the Leg tofleece his Pigeon securely.27 "Persons employed by the sheriff to hunt and seize humanprey: they are always bound in sureties for the dueexecution of their office, and thence are calledBoundBailiff's, which the common people have corrupted into amuch more homely ex-pression—to wit, Bum-Bailiffs orBums."—lBlack Com. 346.
If die he must, die game.Some few months o'er, again he strays'Midst scenes of former halcyon days,On other projects bent;No more ambitious of a name,Or mere unprofitable fame,On gain he's now intent,To deal a flush, or cog a die,Or plan a deep confed'racyTo pluck a pigeon bare.Elected by the Legs a brother,His plan is to entrap some otherIn Greeting's fatal snare.Here for a time his arts succeed,But vice like his, it is decreed,Can never triumph long:A noble, who had been his prey,Convey'd the well cogg'd bones away,Exposed them to the throng.Now blown, "his occupation's" o'er,Indictments, actions, on him pour,His ill got wealth must fly;And faster than it came, the lawCan fraud's last ill got shilling draw,Tom's pocket soon drain'd dry.Again at sea, a wreck, struck down,By fickle fortune and the town,Without the means to bolt.His days in bed, for fear of Bums,At night among the Legs he comes,Who gibe him for a dolt.He's cut, and comrades, one by one,Avoid him as they would a dun.Here finishes our tale—Tom Tick, the life, the soul, the whimOf courts and fashion when in trim,Is left—WAITING FOR BAIL.
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By the time old Mark Supple had finished his somewhat lengthy tale, the major part of the motley group of eccentrics who surrounded us were terribly cut: the garrulous organ of Jack Milburn was unable to articulate a word;GooseB——l, the gourmand, was crammed full, and looked, as he lay in the arms of Morpheus, like a fat citizen on the night of a lord mayor's dinner—a lump of inanimate mortality. In one corner lay a poor little Grecian, papa Chrysanthus Demetriades, whom Tom Echo had plied with bishop till he fell off his chair; Count Dennet was safely deposited beside him; and old Will Stewart,{28} the poacher, was just humming himself to sleep with the fag end of an old ballad as he sat upon the ground
28 Portraits of the three last-mentioned eccentrics will befound in page 245, sketched from the life.
resting his back against the defunct Grecian. A diminutive little cripple, Johnny Holloway, was sleeping between his legs, upon whose head Tom had fixed a wig of immense size, crowned with an opera hat and a fox's tail for a feather. "Now to bury the dead," said Eglantine; "let in the lads, Mark." "Now we shall have a little sport, old fellows," said Echo: "come, Transit, where are your paints and brushes?" In a minute the whole party were most industriously engaged in disfiguring the objects around us by painting their faces, some to resemble tattooing, while others were decorated with black eyes, huge mustachios, and different embellishments, until it would have been impossible for friend or relation to have recognised any one of their visages. This ceremony being completed, old Mark introduced a new collection of worthies, who had been previously instructed for the sport; these were, I found, no other than the well-known Oxfordcads, Marston Will, Tom Webb, Harry Bell, and Dick Rymal,{29} all out and outers, as Echo reported, for a spree with the gown, who had been regaled at some neighbouring public house by Eglantine, to be in readiness for the wind-up of his eccentric entertainment; to the pious care of these worthies were consigned the strange-looking mortals who surrounded us. The plan was, I found, to carry them out quietly between two men, deposit them in a cart which they had in waiting, and having taken them to the water-side, place them in a barge and send them drifting down the water in the night to Iffley, where their consternation on recovering the next morning and strange appearance would be sure to create a source of merriment both for the city and university. The instructions were most punctually obeyed, and the amusement the freak afterwards afforded the good people of Oxford will not very
29 Well-known sporting cads, who are always ready to do agood turn for thetogati, either for sport or spree.
quickly be forgotten. Thus ended the spread—and now having taken more than my usual quantity of wine, and being withal fatigued by the varied amusements of the evening, I would fain have retired to rest: but this, I found, would be contrary to good fellowship, and not at all in accordance withcollege principles. "We must have a spree" said Echo, "by way of finish, the rum ones are all shipped off safely by this time—suppose we introduce Blackmantle to ourgrandmamma, and the prettyNunsof St. Clement's." "Soho, my good fellows," said Transit; "we had better defer our visit in that direction until the night is more advanced. The old don{30} of——, remember, celebrates the Paphian mysteries in that quarter occasionally, and we may not always be able toshirkhim as effectually as on the other evening, when Echo and myself were snugly enjoying atête-a-têtewith Maria B——and little Agnes S——{31}; we accidentally caught a glimpse ofold Moralitycautiously toddling after the pious Mrs. A—ms,vide-licetof arts,{32} a lady who has been regularly matriculated at this university, and taken up her degrees some years since. It was too rich a bit to lose, and although at the risk of discovery, I booked it immediatelyeo instunti. 'Exegi monumentum aere perennius'—and here it is."
30 We all must reverence dons; and I'm aboutTo talk of dons—irreverently I doubt.For many a priest, when sombre evening grayMantles the sky, o'er maudlin bridge will stray—Forget his oaths, his office, and his fame,And mix in company I will not name.Aphrodisiacal Licenses.31 Paphian divinities in high repute at Oxford.32 Pretty much in the same sense, probably, in which Moore'sgifted leman Fanny is by him designated Mistress of Arts.And oh!—if a fellow like meMay confer a diploma of hearts,With my lip thus I seal your degree,My divine little Mistress of Arts.For an account of Fan's proficiency in astronomy, ethics,(not the Nicomachean), and eloquence, see Moore's Epistles,vol. ii. p. 155.
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"An excellent likeness, i'faith, is it," said Eglantine; whose eyes twinkled like stars amid the wind-driven clouds, and whose half clipped words and unsteady motion sufficiently evinced that he had paid due attention to the old laws of potation. "There's nothing like theclothfor comfort, old fellows; remember what a man of Christ Church wrote to George Colman when he was studying for the law.
'Turn parson, Colman, that's the way to thrive;Your parsons are the happiest men alive.Judges, there are but twelve; and never more,But stalls untold, and Bishops twenty-four.Of pride and claret, sloth and venison full,Yon prelate mark, right reverend and dull!
He ne'er, good man, need pensive vigils keepTo preach his audience once a week to sleep;On rich preferment battens at his ease,Nor sweats for tithes, as lawyers toil for fees.'
If Colman had turned parson he would have had a bishoprick long since, and rivalled that jolly old ancient Walter de Mapes. Then what an honour he would have been to the church; no drowsy epistles spun out in lengthened phrase,
'Like to the quondam student, named of yore,Who with Aristotle calmly choked a boar;'
but true orthodox wit: the real light of grace would have fallen from his lips and charmed the crowded aisle; the rich epigrammatic style, the true creed of the churchman; no fear of canting innovations or evangelical sceptics; but all would have proceeded harmoniously, ay, and piously too—for true piety consists not in purgation of the body, but in purity of mind. Then if we could but have witnessed Colman filling the chair in one of our common rooms, enlivening with his genius, wit, and social conversation the learneddromedariesof the Sanctum, and dispelling the habitual gloom of a College Hospitium, what chance would the sectarians of Wesley, or the infatuated followers even of that arch rhapsodist, Irving, have with the attractive eloquence and sound reasoning of true wit?" "Bravo! bravo!"vociferated the party. "An excellent defence of the church," said Echo, "for which Eglantine deserves to be inducted to a valuable benefice; suppose we adjourn before the college gates are closed, and install him under the Mitre." A proposition that met with a ready acquiescence from all present.{33}
33 The genius of wit, mirth, and social enjoyment, can neverfind more sincere worshippers than an Oxford wine-partyseated round the festive board; here the sallies of youth,unchecked by care, the gaiety of hearts made glad with wineand revelry, the brilliant flashes of genius, and the eyebeaming with delight, are found in the highest perfection.The merits of the society to which the youthful aspirant forfame and glory happens to belong often afford the embryopoet the theme of his song. Impromptu parodies on old andpopular songs often add greatly to the enjoy-ment of theconvivial party. The discipline of the university prohibitslate hours; and the evenings devoted to enjoyment are notoften disgraced by excess.
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Battle of the Togati and the Town-Raff—A Night-Scene in theHigh-Street, Oxford—Description of the Combatants—Attackof the Gunsmen upon the Mitre—Evolutions of theAssailants—Manoeuvres of the Proctors and Bull Dogs—Perilous Condition of Blackmantle and his associates,Eglantine, Echo, and Transit—Snug Retreat of Lionise—TheHigh-Street after the Battle—Origin of the Argotiers, andInvention of Cant-phrases—History of the Intestine Wars andCivil Broils of Oxford, from the Time of Alfred—Origin ofthe late Strife—Ancient Ballad—Retreat of the Togati—Reflections of a Freshman—Black Matins, or the Effect oflate Drinking upon early Risers—Visit to Golgotha, or thePlace of Sculls—Lecture from the Big-Wigs—Tom Echoreceives Sentence of Rustication.
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The clocks of Oxford were echoing each other in proclaiming the hour of midnight, when Eglantine led the way by opening the door of hishospitiumto descend into the quadrangle of Brazen-nose. "Steady, steady, old fellows," said Horace; "remember the don on the first-floor—hush, all be silent as the grave till you pass his oak." "Let usrowhim—let us fumigate the old fellow," said Echo; "this is the night of purification, lads—bring some pipes, and a little frankincense, Mark." And in this laudableenterprise of blowing asafoetida smoke through the don's key-hole the whole party were about to be instantly engaged, when an accidental slip of Eglantine's spoiled the joke. While in the act of remonstrating with his jovial companions on the dangerous consequences attending detection, the scholar sustained a fall which left him suddenly deposited against the oak of the crabbed old Master of Arts, who inhabited rooms on the top of the lower staircase; fortunately, the dignitary had on that evening carried home moreliquorthanlearningfrom the common room, and was at the time of the accident almost as sound asleep as the original founder. "There lies the domini of the feast," said Echo, "knocked down in true orthodox style by the bishop—follow your leader, boys; and take care of your craniums, or you may chance to get a few phreno-lo-lo-logi-cal bu-lps—I begin to feel that hard study has somewhat impaired my artic-tic-u-u-la-tion, but then I can always raise a per-pendic-dic-u-u-lar, you see—always good at mathemat-tics. D—n Aristotle, and the rest of the saints! say I: you see what comes of being logical." All of which exultation over poor Eglantine's disaster, Echo had the caution to make while steadying himself by keeping fast hold of one of the balustrades on the landing; which that arch wag Transit perceiving, managed to cut nearly through with a knife, and then putting his foot against it sent Tom suddenly oft in a flying leap after his companion, to the uproarious mirth of the whole party. By the time our two friends had recovered their legs, we were all in marching order for the Mitre; working in sinuosities along, for not one of the party could have moved at right angles to any given point, or have counted six street lamps without at least multiplying them to a dozen. In a word, they were ripe for any spree, full of frolic, and bent on mischief; witness the piling a huge load of coalsagainst one man's door, screwing up the oak of another, andmilling the glazeof a third, before we quitted the precincts of Brazen-nose, which we did separately, to escape observation from the Cerberus who guarded the portal.
It is in a college wine-party that the true character of your early associates are easily discoverable: out of the excesses of the table very often spring the truest impressions, the first, but indelible affection which links kindred spirits together in after-time, and cements with increasing years into the most inviolable friendship. Here the sallies of youth, unchecked by care, or fettered by restraint, give loose to mirth and revelry; and the brilliancy of genius and the warm-hearted gaiety of pure delight are found in the highest perfection.
The blue light of heaven illumined the magnificent square of Radcliffe, when we passed from beneath the porch of Brazen-nose, and tipping with her silvery light the surrounding architecture, lent additional beauty to the solemn splendour of the scene. Sophisticated as my faculties certainly were by the copious libations and occurrences of the day, I could yet admire with reverential awe the imposing grandeur by which I was surrounded.
A wayward being from my infancy, not the least mark of my eccentricity is the peculiar humour in which I find myself when I have sacrificed too freely to the jolly god: unlike the major part of mankind, my temperament, instead of being invigorated and enlivened by the sparkling juice of the grape, loses its wonted nerve and elasticity; a sombre gloominess pervades the system, the pulse becomes nervous and languid, the spirits flagging and depressed, and the mind full of chimerical apprehensions andennui. It was in this mood that Eglantine found me ruminating on the noble works before me, while resting against a part of the pile of Radcliffe library, contemplatingthe elegant crocketed pinnacles of All Souls, the delicately taper spire of St. Mary's, and the clustered enrichments and imperial canopies of masonry, and splendid traceries which every where strike the eye: all of which objects were rendered trebly impressive from the stillness of the night, and the flittering light by which they were illumined. I had enough of wine and frolic, and had hoped to haveshirkedthe party and stolen quietly to my lodgings, there to indulge in my lucubrations on the scene I had witnessed, and note in my journal, according to my usual practice, the more prominent events of the day, when Horace commenced with—
"Where the devil, old fellow, have you been hiding yourself? I've been hunting you some time. A littlecut, I suppose: never mind, my boy, you'll be better presently. Here's glorious sport on foot; don't you hear the war-cry?" At this moment a buzz of distant voices broke upon the ear like the mingled shouts of an election tumult. "There they are, old fellow: come, buckle on your armour—we must try your mettle to-night. All the university are out—a glorious row—come along, no shirking—-thetogatiagainst the town raff—remember the sacred cause, my boy." And in this way, spite of all remonstrance, was I dragged through the lane and enlisted with the rest of my companions into a corps of university men who were just forming themselves in the High-street to repel the daring attack of the very scum of the city, who had ill-treated and beaten some gownsmen in the neighbourhood of St. Thomas's, and had the temerity to follow and assail them in their retreat to the High-street with every description of villanous epithet, and still more offensive and destructive missiles. "Stand fast there, old fellows," said Echo; who, althoughdevilishly cut, seemed to be the leader of the division. "Where's old Mark Supple?" "Here I am sir,take notice" said the old scout, who appeared as active asan American rifleman. "Will Peake send us the bludgeons?" "He won't open his doors, sir, for anybody,take notice." "Then down with the Mitre, my hearties;" and instantly a rope was thrown across thebishop's capby old Mark, and the tin sign, lamp, and all came tumbling into the street, smashed into a thousand pieces.
PEAKE (looking out of an upper window in his night-cap). Doey be quiet, and go along, for God's zake, gentlemen! I shall beruinated and discommonedif I open my door to any body.
TOM ECHO. You infernal old fox-hunter! if you don't doff your knowledge bag and come to the door, we'll mill all your glaze, burst open your gates, and hamstring all your horses.
MRS. PEAKE (in her night-gown). Stand out of the way, Peake; let me speak to the gentlemen. Gentlemen, doey, gentlemen, consider my reputation, and the reputation of ray house. O dear, gentlemen, doey go somewhere else—we've no sticks here, I azzure ye, and we're all in bed. Doey go, gentlemen, pray do.
TRANSIT. Dame Peake, if you don't open your doors directly, we'll break them open, and unkennel that old bagg'd fox, your husband, and drink all the black strap in your cellar, and—and play the devil with the maids.
MRS. PEAKE. Don'te say so, don'te say so, Mr. Transit; I know you to be a quiet, peaceable gentleman, and I am zure you will befriend me: doey persuade 'em to go away, pray do,
MARK SUPPLE. Dame Peake
MRS. PEAKE. Oh, Mr. Mark Supple, are you there I talk to the gentlemen, Mr. Mark, pray do.
MARK SUPPLE. It's no use, dame Peake; they won't be gammon'd, take notice. If you have any old broom-handles, throw 'em out directly, and if not, throw all the brooms you have in the house out of window—throw out all your sticks—throw Peake out. I'm for the gown,take notice. Down with the town! down with the town!
BILL MAGS. (The waiter, at a lower window.) Hist, hist, Mr. Echo; Mr. Eglantine, hist, hist; master's gone to the back of the house with all the sticks he can muster; and here's an old kitchen-chair you can break up and make bludgeons of (throwing the chair out of window), and here's the cook's rolling-pin, and I'll go and forage for more ammunition.
HORACE EGLANTINE. You're a right good fellow, Bill; and I'll pay you before I do your master; and the Brazen-nose men shall make your fortune.
TOM ECHO. But where's the academicals I sent old Captain Cook for 1 We shall be beating one another in the dark without caps and gowns.
CAPTAIN COOK. (A scout of Christ Church.) Here I be, zur. That old rogue, Dick Shirley, refuses to send any gowns; he says he has nothing but noblemen's gowns and gold tufts in his house.
THE HON. LILLYMAN LIONISE. By the honour of my ancestry, that fellow shall never draw another stitch for Christ Church as long as he lives. Come along, captain: by the honour of my ancestry, we'll uncase the oldsnyder; we'll have gowns, I warrant me, noble or not noble, gold tufts or no tufts. Come along, Cook.
In a few moments old Captain Cook and the exquisite returned loaded with gowns and caps, having got in at the window and completely cleared the tailor's shop of all his academicals, in spite of his threats or remonstrances. In the interim, old Mark Supple and Echo had succeeded in obtaining a supply of broom-handles and other weapons of defence; when the insignia of the university, the toga and cap, were soon distributed indiscriminately: the numbers of the university men increased every moment; and the yell of the town raff seemed to gain strength with every step as they approached the scene of action. Gown! gown! Town! town! were the only sounds heard in every direction; and the clamour and the tumult of voices were enough to shake the city with dismay. The authorities were by no means idle; but neither proctors or pro's, or marshal, or bull-dogs, or even deans, dons, and dignitaries, for such there were, who strained their every effort to quell the disturbance, were at all attended to, and many who came as peace-makers were compelled in their own defence to take an active part in the fray.
From the bottom of the High-street to the end of the corn-market, and across again through St. Aldate's to the old bridge, every where the more peaceable and respectable citizens might be seen popping their noddles out of window, and rubbing their half-closed eyes with affright, to learn the cause of the alarming strife.
Of the strong band of university men who rushed on eager for the coming fray, a number of them were fresh light-hearted Etonians and old Westminsters, who having just arrived to place themselves under the sacred banners of Academus, thought their honour and their courage both concerned in defending thetogati: most of these youthful zealots had as usual, at the beginning of a term, been lodged in the different inns and houses of the city, and from having drank somewhat freely of the welcome cup with old schoolfellows and new friends, were just ripe for mischief, unheedful of the consequences or the cause.
On the other hand, the original fomenters of the strife had recruited their forces with herds of the lowest rabble gathered from the purlieus of their patron saints, St. Clement and St. Thomas, and the shores of the Charwell,—the bargees, and butchers, and labourers, and scum of the suburbians: a huge conglomerated mass of thick sculls, and broad backs, and strengthy arms, and sturdy legs, and throats bawling for revenge, and hearts bursting with wrathful ire, rendered still more frantic and desperate by the magic influence of their accustomed war-whoop. These formed the base barbarian race of Oxford truands,{1} including every vile thing that passes under the generic name of raff. From college to college the mania spread with the rapidity of an epidemic wind; and scholars, students, and fellows were every where in motion: here a stout bachelor of arts might be seen knocking down the ancient Cerberus who opposed his passage; there the iron-bound college gates were forced open by the united power of the youthful inmates. In another quarter might be seen the heir of some noble family risking his neck in the headlong leap {2}; and near him, a party of thetogatiscaling the sacred battlements with as much energetic zeal as the ancient crusaders would have displayed against the ferocious Saracens.