NUTS TO CRACK; (continued 2)

THE COLLEGE BELL.

When Dr. Barrett, Prebend of St. Paul’s, was a student at Peter-house, Cambridge, he happened to make one of a party of collegians, where it was proposed that each gentleman should toast his favourite belle; when it came to his turn, he facetiously gave “the college-bell!”

COLLEGE FUN.

“Previous to my attending Cambridge,” says Henry Angelo, in his Reminiscences, “one of my scholars (whom I had taught at Westminster School,) at Trinity College, engaged an Irish fencing-master, named Fitzpatrick,” more remarkable for his native humour than science, and when he had taken too much of the cratur, “was amusing to the collegians, who had engaged him merely to keep up their exercise.” One day, during a bout, some wag placed a bottle of his favourite “mountain dew” (whisky) on the chimney-piece, which proved so attractive, “that as his sips increased, so did the numerous hits he received, till the first so far prevailed, aided by exertion and the heat of the weather, that he lay, tandem, to all appearance dead.” To keep the fun up, he was stripped and laid out like a corpse, with a shroud on, a coffin close to him, and four candles placed on each side, ready to light on his recovery. This jeu de plaisanterie might have been serious; “however, Master Push-carte took care not to push himself again into the same place.”

THE KING OF DENMARK AT CAMBRIDGE.

When the late King of Denmark was in England, in 1763, when he visited Eton, &c., he is said to have made a brief sojourn at Cambridge, where he was received with “all the honours,” and took up his abode (as is usual for persons of his rank) in the lodge of the Master of Trinity. In his majesty’s establishments for learned purposes, as well as throughout all Germany, &c., no provision is made for lodging and otherwise providing for the comforts of students, as in the two English universities; and when he surveyed the principal court of Trinity, he is said to have had so little notion of an English university, that he asked “whether that court did not comprise the whole of the university of Cambridge?” This royal anecdote reminds me that his present gracious Majesty,

WILLIAM THE FOURTH, ANNOUNCED HIS INTENTION TO VISIT CAMBRIDGE.

As in duty bound, upon his accession to the throne of his ancestors, a loyal congratulatory address was voted by the members of the University of Cambridge in full senate. This was shortly afterwards presented to his Majesty at St. James’s Palace by the then Vice-Chancellor, Dr. George Thackery, D.D., Provost of King’s College, at the head of a large body of the heads of colleges, and others, en robe. His majesty not only received it most graciously, but with that truly English expression that goes home to the bosom of every Briton, told Dr. Thackery he “should shortly take pot-luck with him in Cambridge.” The term, too, is worthy of particular notice, since it expresses his Majesty’s kind consideration for the contents of the university chest, and the pockets of its members. Oxford, it is well known, is still smarting under the heavy charges incident upon the memorable visit of his late Majesty, George the Fourth, in 1814, with the Emperor Alexander and the King of Prussia and their suites. It would be no drawback upon the popularity of princes if they did take “pot-luck” with their subjects oftener than they do. Let there be no drawback upon hospitality, but let the “feast of reason and the flow of soul” suffice for the costly banquet. In olden times, our monarchs took pot-luck both at Oxford, Cambridge, and elsewhere, without their subjects being the less loyal. Queen Elizabeth and James the First and Second were frequent visitors at both those seats of learning. Elizabeth, indeed, that flower of British monarchs, suffered no designing minister to shake her confidence in her people’s loyalty. She did not confine her movements to the dull routine of two or three royal palaces,—her palace was her empire. She went about “doing good” by the light of her countenance. She, and not her minister, was the people’s idol. I therefore come to the conclusion, that the expressed determination of his majesty, William the Fourth, to take pot-luck with his good people of the University of Cambridge, is the dawn of a return of those wholesome practices of which we read in the works of our ANNALISTS, when

Wood relates, amongst other humorous incidents, that

DURING QUEEN ELIZABETH’S SECOND VISIT TO OXFORD,

In September, 1592, besides plays, &c., there was a disputation in law and physic, and, amongst many questions, was one,—“Whether the air, or meat, or drink, did most change a man?” and a merry Doctor of that faculty, named Richard Ratcliffe, lately Fellow of Merton College, but now Principal of St. Alban’s Hall, going about to produce the negative, showed forth a big, large body, a great fat belly, a side waist, all, as he said, so changed by meat and drink, desiring to see any other so metamorphosed by the air. But it was concluded (by the Moderator) in the affirmative, that air had the greater power of change. One of the questions (the next day) was,—“Whether it be lawful to dissemble in the cause of religion?” written thus, says Gutch, “Non est dissimulandum in causa religionis;” “which being looked upon as a nice question,” continues Wood, “caused much attention from the courtly auditory. One argument, more witty than solid, that was urged by one of the opponents, was, ‘It is lawful to dispute of religion therefore ’tis lawful to dissemble;’ and so going on, said, ‘I myself now do that which is lawful, but I do now dissemble; ergo, it is lawful to dissemble.’ (Id quod nunc ego, de rebus divinis disputans, ego dissimulare; sed quod nunc ego, de rebus divinis disputam, ego dissimulare est licitum; at which her majesty and all the auditory were very merry.)”

WHEN QUEEN ELIZABETH FIRST VISITED CAMBRIDGE,

In the year 1564, she took up her residence at the lodge of the Provost of King’s College, which stood near the east end of King’s Chapel. We well remember the old pile and the solitary trees that branched beside; and much as we admire the splendid improvements to which they have given place, we could almost find it in our hearts to express regret at the removal of those landmarks of the topographist. The hall was her guard-chamber, the dining-room her presence-chamber, and the gallery and adjoining rooms her private apartments. Her visit lasted five days, during which she was entertained with comedies, tragedies, orations, disputations, and other academical exercises. She personally visited every college, and is said to have been so pleased with the venerable, solemn, and scholastic appearance of Pembroke Hall, that she saluted it with the words—

THE FIRST DISSENTER IN ENGLAND,

According to the author of Historical Anecdotes, &c., was Thomas Cartwright, B. D., Lady Margaret’s Professor and Fellow of Trinity College. He and Thomas Preston (afterwards Master of Trinity Hall,) says Fuller, during Queen Elizabeth’s visit at Cambridge, in 1564, were appointed two of the four disputants in the philosophy-act before her Majesty. “Cartwright had dealt most with the muses; Preston with the graces, adorning his learning with comely carriage, graceful gesture, and pleasing pronunciation. Cartwright disputed like a great, Preston like a gentile scholar, being a handsome man; and the Queen, upon a parity of deserts, always preferred properness of person in conferring her favours. Hereupon, with her looks, words, and deeds she favoured Preston, calling him her scholler, as appears by his epitaph in Trinity Hall chappell.

Insomuch,” continues Fuller, “that for his good disputing, and excellent acting, in the tragedy of Dido, she bestowed on him a pension of 20 lib. a year; whilst Cartwright received neither reward nor commendation, whereof he not only complained to his inward friends in Trinity College, but also, after her Majesty’s neglect of him, began to wade into divers opinions against her ecclesiastical government.” And thus, according to the authority first cited, he became the first Dissenter in England, and was deprived, subsequently, as a matter of course, of both his fellowship and professorship.

It was most probably for the entertainment of the Royal Elizabeth, that one Thomas Still, M.A., of Christ’s College, Cambridge, afterwards Bishop of Bath and Wells, composed and produced

THE FIRST ENGLISH PLAY EXTANT:

A fact no Cantab need blush at, proh pudor, though the plot is none of the sublimest. It was printed as early as 1575, with the following

TITLE:

“A ryght pythy, pleasant, and merie Comedie, entytuled Gammer Gurton’s Needle; played on the stage not long ago in Christe’s College, in Cambridge, made by Mr. S. Master of Arts. Imprynted at London, in Fleete Streeate, beneth the Conduit, at the signe of Sainte John Evangelist, by Thomas Colwell.” Though altogether of a comic cast, it was not deficient in genuine humour, and is a curious sample of the simplicity which prevailed in this country, in the early days of dramatic art. It is in metre, is spun out into five regular acts, and an awful piece it is, as may be seen by the following

BRIEF SKETCH OF THE PLOT.

Gammer Gurton having lost her needle, a great hunt is made in search of it, and her boy is directed to blow the embers of an expiring fire, in order to light a candle to help the search. The witch of a cat has, in the meantime, got into the chimney, with her two fiery eyes. The boy cries, “it is the devil of a fire!” for when he puffs, it is out,—and when he does not, it is in. “Stir it!” bawls Gammer Gurton. The boy does her bidding, and the cat (the fire as he imagines) flies forthwith amongst a pile of wood. “The house will be burnt, all hands to work!” roars the boy, and the cat is discovered by a priest (more cunning than the rest.) This ends the episode, with which the main plot and catastrophe vie. Gammer Gurton, it seems, had, the day before, been mending her man Hodge’s breeches. Now Hodge, in some game of merriment, was to be punished, for some default, with three slaps on the breech, to be administered by the brawny hand of one of his fellow-bumpkins. To that end, his head is laid in Gammer Gurton’s lap; the first slap is given, Hodge bellows out with pain, and, oh! joyful announcement, on searching for the cause of his affliction, the needle is discovered, buried up to the eye in poor Hodge’s posterior portion. The needle is then extracted with becoming demonstrations, and the curtain falls.

Amongst other interesting matters associated with the memory of Queen Elizabeth (beside that of her having given Cambridge that admirable body of statutes upon which all laws for their governance still continue to be framed,) are the following memoranda, extracted by Dyer from Baker’s MSS. in the public library of the University:—

“The 26th daye of Julie, 1578, the Queene’s Majestie came in her progresse intended to Norfolk, to Audley End, at the town of Waldren, accompanied by the Lorde Treasurer, High Chancellor of the University of Cambridge. The Vice Chancellor and Masters of Colleges thoughte meete and convenient for the dischardge of dutie, that the said Vice-Chancellor and Hedds of Coll. should shewe themselves of the Courte, and welcome her Grace into these quarters.” About the end of his oration, the orator (Mr. Bridgewater of King’s College) makes mention, that “Mr. Doctor Howland, then vice-chancellor, maketh his three ordinarie curtesies, and then kneeling at her Majesty’s feete, presenting unto her—

A NEWE TESTAMENT IN GREEK,

Of Robert Stephens’s first printing, folio, bound in redd velvett, and lymmed with gold; the arms of England sett upon eche syde of the booke very faire; and on the thirde leafe of the booke, being faire and cleane paper, was also sett and painted in colours the arms of the Universitie, with these writings following: Regiæ Majestati deditissimæ Academiæ Cantabrigiensis Insignia (viz. quatuor Leones cum Bibl. &c.) Also, with the booke, the Vice-Chancellor presented a pair of gloves, perfumed and garnished, with embroiderie and goldsmithe’s wourke, pr. 60s. and these verses:—

“SEMPER UNA.

Since Cambridge has the merit of producing the first English play, it is but justice here to add, that

THE SCHOLARS OF CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD, INVENTED MOVEABLE SCENES.

This merit is claimed for them by the Oxford historians, and allowed by the historians of the stage, though they have not agreed of the exact period. We are informed, in Leland’s Collectanea, that “the stage did vary three times in the acting of one tragedy.” In other words, there were three scenes employed; but these, it is said by Chalmers, in his History of Oxford University, were the invention of Inigo Jones; and the exhibition, it appears, took place in the Hall of Christ Church, in 1636, (the year Wood places the invention in,) for the entertainment of the unfortunate Charles the First and his Queen, when, says our annalist, a comedy was performed for their amusement, entitled, “The Passions Calmed, or the Settling of the Floating,” written by Strode, the Public Orator, and moveable scenery introduced with suitable variations; and though there is pretty conclusive evidence that this was not the first time moveable scenes, &c. had been introduced, it is evident they had not come into general use, from the fact that, after the departure of the King and his suite, the dresses and scenery were sent to Hampton Court, at the express desire of the Queen, but with a wish, suggested by the Chancellor of Oxford, the ill-fated Archbishop Laud, that they might not come into the hands of the common players, which was accordingly promised. Leland thinks, however, that moveable scenes were better managed, before this, at Cambridge; and I know not, he says, whether the invention may not be carried back to the year 1583, when the celebrated Polish prince, Alesco, was at Oxford, and for whose entertainment, says Wood (who gives an interesting account of all the particulars of that famous Oxford gaudy,) the tragedy of Dido was acted in the Hall of Christ Church, decorated with scenes illustrative of the play, and the exhibition of “the tempest, wherein it rained small comfits, rose-water, and new artificial snow, was very strange to the beholders.” But other authorities place the invention in 1605, when

JAMES THE FIRST AND HIS COURT CAME TO OXFORD,

And was entertained in the Hall of Christ Church, “with the Latin comedy of Vertumnus, written by Dr. Matthew Gwinne, of St. John’s College, Oxford, and performed by the students of that house, without borrowing a single actor; and it was upon this occasion that the humming of his Majesty took place, referred to in my Preface. In 1621, when James and his court happened to be at Woodstock, the scholars of Christ Church enacted Barton Holyday’s comedy of Τεχνογαμια, or the Marriage of the Arts: but his Majesty relished it so little, as to offer several times to withdraw, and was only prevented by some of his courtiers representing that his doing so would be a cruel disappointment. This incident gave rise to the well-known epigram—

OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE SEEMED RIVALS

At this period. Wood states, in his Annals, that when King James was entertained at Oxford, in 1605, divers Cambridge scholars went thither out of novelty, to see and hear; and some that pretended to be wits made copies of verses on that solemnity, of which, he says, I have met with one that runs—

which some attribute to one Lake. This example, he adds, was followed by the Oxonians, when James visited Cambridge in 1614, and “many idle songs” were made by them upon the proceedings at Cambridge, the most celebrated of which is the one entitled, “A Grave Poem, as it was presented in Latin by Divines and others, before his Majesty at Cambridge, by way of Enterlude, stiled ‘Liber novus de adventu Regis ad Cantabrigiam,’ faithfully done into English, with some liberal advantage, made rather to be sung than red, to the tune of ‘Bonny Nell,’” which poem, says Wood, may be seen in the works of the witty Bishop Corbet (by whom it was written,) “printed in 1647.” But in so saying our annalist not only lies under a mistake, but Mr. Gutch, his editor, has not detected it. The poem is not in the edition of 1647, but in that of 1672, which is the third, corrected and enlarged, and “printed by J. C. for William Crooke, at the Green Dragoon, without Temple Bar;” as all may see who will consult the said editions, both extant in the library of the British Museum. The poem is comprised in twenty-six stanzas, as follows:—

His Majesty was, as usual, entertained with speeches, disputations, and dramatic exhibitions. Fuller relates, that the following

EXTRAORDINARY DIVINITY ACT,

Or Disputation, was kept at Cambridge before this prince, during this visit, where Dr. John Davenant (afterwards Bishop of Sarum) was respondent, and Dr. Richardson, amongst others, opponent. The question was maintained, in the negative, concerning the excommunicating of kings. Dr. Richardson vigorously pressed the practice of St. Ambrose, who excommunicated the emperor Theodosius,—insomuch, says Fuller, that the king, in a great passion, returned,—“Profecto fuit hoc ab Ambrosio insolentissime factum.” To which Dr. R. rejoined,—“Responsum vere Regium, et Alexandro dignum, hoc non est argumentu dissolvere, sed desecare,”—and so, sitting down, discontinued from any further argument. It was for the entertainment of James during this visit, that

THE FAMOUS CAMBRIDGE LATIN COMEDY,

Entitled Ignoramus, was first enacted. It originated in a dispute on the question of precedency, in 1611, when the Mayor, whose name was Thomas Smart, had seated himself in a superior place in the Guildhall of the town, in the presence of the Vice-Chancellor of the University, who asserted his right to the same; but the Mayor refused to resign the seat, till the Vice-Chancellor’s attendants forcibly ejected him. The dispute was laid before the Privy Council, who decided in favour of the Vice-Chancellor. But during the progress of the affair, the Recorder of Cambridge, named Brankyn, stoutly defended the Mayor and Corporation against the rights of the University. This it was that induced the author of the play, Geo. Ruggle, Fellow of Clare-Hall, to show him up, in the pedantic, crafty, pragmatical character of Ignoramus; and if lawyer Brankyn, it is said, had not actually set the dispute agoing, he greatly contributed to keep it alive. At this time King James had long been expected to visit Cambridge, who had a strong prejudice against lawyers, and a ruling passion to be thought the patron of literature. The circumstances suggested to Ruggle the propriety of exposing lawyer Brankyn before his Majesty, in the above character, and to render it the more forcible, he resolved to adopt the common-law forms, and the cant and barbarous phraseology of lawyers in the ordinary discourse. It was, therefore, necessary that he should make himself master of that dialect, in which almost the best amongst them were accustomed to write and even to discourse; a jargon, says Wilson, in his Memorabilia Cantabrigiæ, could not but be offensive to a classical car. He, therefore, took more than ordinary pains to acquaint himself with the technical terms of the profession, and to mark the abuse of them, of which he has admirably availed himself in the formation of the character of Ignoramus, who not only transacts business, but “woos in language of the Pleas and Bench.” The comedy was enacted before his Majesty by the members of the University, and he was so much delighted with, on dit, either the wit or absurdity, that he caused it to be played a second time, and once at Newmarket. During one of these representations, says Dr. Peckard, formerly Master of Magdalen College, in his Life of Mr. Farrer, “the King called out aloud, ‘Treason! Treason!’ The gentlemen about him being anxious to know what disturbed his Majesty, he said, ‘That the writer and performers had acted their parts so well, that he should die of laughter.’” It was during the performance of this play, according to Rapin and others, that James was first struck with the personal beauty of George Villiers, who afterwards became Duke of Buckingham, and supplanted Somerset in his favour. Thomas Gibbons, Esq. says, in his Collection, forming part of the Harleian MSS. in the British Museum, (No. 980, art. 173.) that “the comedy of Ignoramus, supposed to be by Mr. Ruggle, is but a translation of the Italian comedy of Baptista Porta, entitled Trapulario, as may be seen by the comedy itself, in Clare-hall Library, with Mr. Ruggle’s notes and alterations thereof.” A literary relique that is said to have now disappeared; but it is to be hoped, for the credit of a learned Society, that it is a mistake. Dyer in his Privileges of Cambridge (citing vol. ii. fol. 149 of Hare’s MSS.) gives the judgment of the Earl Marshal of England, which settled this famous controversy. The original document is extant in the Crown Office, in these words:—“I do set down, &c. that the Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge is to be taken in commission before the Mayor. King James, also, in the third of his raigne, by letters under the privy signett, commandeth the Lord Ellesmere, Chancellor of England,

TO PLACE THE VICE-CHANCELLOR BEFORE THE MAYOR,

in all commissions of the peace or otherwise, where public shew of degrees is to be made.”

AN OXONIAN AND A BISHOP,

Who had half a score of the softer sex to lisp “Papa,” not one of whom his lady was conjuror enough “to get off,” was one day accosted in Piccadilly by an old Oxford chum, with, “I hope I see your Lordship well.” “Pretty well, for a man who is daily smothered in petticoats, and has ten daughters and a wife to carve for,” was the reply.

BRIEF NOTICE OF THE BOAR’S HEAD CAROL, AS SUNG IN QUEEN’S COLLEGE, OXFORD, ON CHRISTMAS DAY.

“The earliest collection of Christmas carols supposed to have been published,” says Hone, in his Every-Day Book, “is only known from the last leaf of a volume, printed by Wynkyn Worde, in the year 1521. This precious scrap was picked up by Tom Hearne; Dr. Rawlinson purchased it at his decease in a volume of tracts, and bequeathed it to the Bodleian Library. There are two carols upon it: one, ‘a caroll of huntynge,’ is reprinted in the last edition of Juliana Berner’s ‘Boke of St. Alban’s;’ the other, ‘a caroll bringing in the boar’s head,’ is in Mr. Dibdin’s edition of “Ames,” with a copy of it as it is now sung in Queen’s College, Oxford, every Christmas Day. Dr. Bliss of Oxford also printed on a sheet, for private distribution, a few copies of this, and Anthony Wood’s version of it, with notices concerning the custom, from the handwriting of Wood and Dr. Rawlinson, in the Bodleian Library. Ritson, in his ill-tempered ‘Observations on Warton’s History of English Poetry,’ (1782, 4to., p. 37,) has a Christmas carol upon bringing up the boar’s head, from an ancient MS. in his possession, wholly different from Dr. Bliss’s. The ‘Bibliographical Miscellanies’ (Oxford, 1814, 4to.) contains seven carols from a collection in one volume, in the possession of Dr. Cotton, of Christ-Church College, Oxford, ‘imprynted at London, in the Poultry, by Richard Kele, dwelling at the longe shop vnder Saynt Myldrede’s Chyrche,’” probably between 1546 and 1552. “I had an opportunity of perusing this exceedingly curious volume (Mr. Hone,) which is supposed to be unique, and has since passed into the hands of Mr. Freeling.” “According to Aubrey’s MS., in the Coll. Ashmol. Mus., Oxford,” says a writer in the Morning Herald of the 25th of Dec., 1833, “before the last Civil Wars, in gentlemen’s houses, at Christmas, the first dish that was brought to the table was a boar’s head, with a lemon in his mouth. At Qeeun’s College, Oxford,” adds this writer, “they still retain this custom; the bearer of it brings it into the hall, singing, to an old tune, an old Latin rhyme, “Caput apri defero,” &c. “The carol, according to Hearne, Ames, Warton, and Ritson,” says Dr. Dibdin, in his edition of the second, is as follows:—

A CAROL BRINGING IN THE BORES HEED.

“This carol (says Warton,) with many alterations, is yet retained at Queen’s College, Oxford,” though “other ancient carols occur with Latin burthens or Latin intermixtures.” But, “Being anxious to obtain a correct copy of this ballad,” says Dr. Dibdin, in his Ames, “as I had myself heard it sung in the Hall of Queen’s College, I wrote to the Rev. Mr. Dickinson, Tutor of the College, to favour me with an account of it: his answer, which may gratify the curious, is here subjoined.

“‘Queen’s College, June 7th, 1811.

“‘Dear Sir,—I have much pleasure in transmitting you a copy of the old Boar’s Head Song, as it has been sung in our College-hall, every Christmas Day, within my remembrance. There are some barbarisms in it, which seem to betoken its antiquity. It is sung to the common chaunt of the prose version of the Psalms in cathedrals; at least, whenever I have attended the service at Magdalen or New College Chapels, I have heard the Boar’s Head strain continually occurring in the Psalms.

“The following,” adds the Doctor, “is Hearne’s minute account of it: (Hist. Guil. Neubrig. vol. iii. p. 743:) ‘I will beg leave here,’ says the pugnacious Oxford antiquary, ‘to give an exact copy of the Christmas Carol upon the Boar’s Head, (which is an ancient dish, and was brought up by King Henry I. with trumpets, before his son, when his said son was crowned) as I have it in an old fragment, (for I usually preserve even fragments of old books) of the Christmas Carols printed by Wynkyn de Worde, (who as well as Richard Pynson, was servant to William Caxton, who was the first that printed English books, though not the first printer in England, as is commonly said,) printing being exercised at Oxford in 1468, if not sooner, which was several years before he printed anything at Westminster, by which it will be perceived how much the said carol is altered, as it is sung in some places even now, from what it was at first. It is the last thing, it seems, of the book (which I never yet saw entire,) and at the same time I think it proper also to add to the printer’s conclusion, for this reason, at least, that such as write about our first printers, may have some notice of the date of this book, and the exact place where printed, provided they cannot be able to meet with it, as I believe they will find it pretty difficult to do, it being much laid aside, about the time that some of David’s Psalms came to be used in its stead.’”

THIS CUSTOM

Is briefly noticed in Pointer’s “Oxoniensis Academia,” as “that of having a boar’s head, or the figure of one in wood, brought up in the hall every year on Christmas Day, ushered in very solemnly with an old song, in memory of a noble exploit (as tradition goes,) by a scholar (a Tabardar) of this college, in killing a wild boar in Shotover Wood.” That is, having wandered into the said wood, which was not far from Oxford, with a copy of Aristotle in his hand (for the Oxonians were of old logicians of the orthodox school in which an Alexander the Great was bred,) and if the latter, as a pupil who sat at the foot of Aristotle, conquered a world, no wonder our Tabardar, as a disciple being attacked by a wild boar, who came at him with extended jaws, intending to make but a mouthful of him, was enabled to conquer so rude a beast, which he did by thrusting the Aristotle down the boar’s throat, crying, in the concluding words of the 5th stanza of the following song—‘Græcum est.’ The animal of course fell prostrate at his feet, was carried in triumph to the college, and no doubt served up with an ‘old song,’ as Mr. Pointer says, in memory of this “noble exploit.” The witty Dr. Buckler, however, is not satisfied with this brief notice of Mr. Pointer’s: but says, in his never-to-be-forgotten exposé, or “Complete Vindication,” of The All-Souls’ Mallard (of which anon,) “I am apt to fear, that it is a fixed principle in Mr. Pointer to ridicule every ceremony and solemn institution that comes in his way, however venerable it may be for its antiquity and significance;” and after quoting Mr. Pointer’s words, he adds, with his unrivalled irony, “now, notwithstanding this bold hint to the contrary, it seemeth to me to be altogether unaccountable and incredible, that a polite and learned society should be so far depraved, in its taste, and so much in love with a block-head, as to eat it. But as I have never had the honour of dining at a boar’s head, and there are many gentlemen more nearly concerned and better informed, as well as better qualified, in every respect, to refute this calumny than I am, I shall avoid entering into a thorough discussion of this subject. I know it is given out by Mr. Pointer’s enemies, that he hath been employed by some of the young seceders from that college, to throw out a Story of the Wooden-head, in order to countenance the complaints of those gentlemen about short commons, and the great deficiency of mutton, beef, &c.; and, indeed, I must say, that nothing could have better answered their purpose, in this respect, than in proving, according to the insinuation, that the chief dish at one of their highest festivals, was nothing but a log of Wood bedeck’d with bays and rosemary; but surely this cannot be credited, after the university has been informed by the best authority, and in the most public Manner, that a young Nobleman, who lately completed his academical education at that house, was, during his whole residence, not only very well satisfied but extremely delighted with the college commons.”

In the Oxford Sausage is the following

RYGHTE EXCELLENTE SONG IN HONOUR OF THE CELEBRATION OF THE BOAR’S HEAD, AT QUEEN’S COLLEGE, OXFORD.

Tam Marti quam Mercurio.

CLEAVING THE BLOCK,

Is another custom that either was, or is, annually celebrated at Queen’s College, Oxford, not pro bono publico, it seems, but pro bono cook-o! and has a reference, probably, to the exploit in which Milo “proved but an ass,” as observed in the second line of the third verse of the foregoing song. On dit, every Christmas, New Year’s, or some other day, at that season of the year, a block of wood is placed at the hall-door, where the cook stands with his cleaver, which he delivers to each member of the College, as he passes out of the Hall, who endeavours, at one stroke, to sever the block of wood; failing to do which, he throws down half-a-crown, in which sum he is mulct. This is done by every one in succession, should they, as is invariably the case, prove themselves asses in “cleaving of blocks.” But should any one out-Milo Milo, he would be entitled to all the half-crowns previously forfeited: otherwise the whole goes to the cook.

THE MISFORTUNE OF BEING LITTLE.

Lord Byron has said, that a man is unfortunate whose name will admit of being punned upon. The lament might apply to all peculiarities of person and habit. Dr. Joseph Jowett, the late regius professor of civil law at Cambridge, though a learned man, an able lecturer, one that generously fostered talent in rising young men, and a dilettante musician of a refined and accurate taste, was remarkable for some singularities, as smallness of stature, and for gardening upon a small scale. This gave the late Bishop Mansel or Porson (for it has been attributed to both, and both were capable of perpetrating it) an occasion to throw off

THE FOLLOWING LATIN EPIGRAM:

IN ENGLISH, AS MUCH AS TO SAY:

BISHOPS BLOMFIELD AND MONK,

Who had the honour to edit his Adversaria, can both, it is said, bear witness to the fact, that Porson was unlike many pedants who make a display of their brilliant parts to surprise rather than enlighten; he was liberal in the extreme, and truly amiable in communicating his knowledge to young men of talent and industry, and would tell them all they wanted to know in a plain and direct manner, without any attempt to display his superiority. All, however, agree that the time for profiting by Porson’s learning was inter bibendum, for then, as Chaucer says of the Sompnour—

More than one distinguished judge of his merits

PRONOUNCED HIM THE GREATEST SCHOLAR IN EUROPE,

And he never appeared so sore, says one who knew him well, as when a Wakefield or a Hermann offered to set him right, or hold their tapers to light him on his way. Their doing so gave him occasion to compare them to four-footed animals, guided only by instinct; and in future, he said, he “would take care they should not reach what he wrote with their paws, though they stood on their hind legs.” I may here very appropriately repeat the fact, that

PORSON WAS A GREAT MASTER OF IAMBIC MEASURE,

As he has shown in his preface to the second edition of his Hecuba. The German critic, Hermann, however, whom he makes to say, in his notes on the Medea, “We Germans understand quantity better than the English,” accuses him of being more dictatorial than explanatory in his metrical decisions. Upon this the professor fired the following epigram at the German:—

PORSON AND WAKEFIELD

Had but little regard for each other, and when the latter published his Hecuba, Porson said—

At another time, being teased for his opinion of a modern Latin poem, his reply was,—“There is a great deal in it from Horace, and a great deal from Virgil: but nothing Horatian and nothing Virgilian.”

Dr. Parr once asked the professor, “what he thought of the origin of evil?” “I see no good in it,” was his answer.

The same pugnacious divine told him one day, that “with all his learning, he did not think him well versed in metaphysics.” “Sir,” said Porson, “I suppose you mean your metaphysics.”

It is not generally known that during the time he was employed in deciphering the famed Rosetta stone, in the collection of the British Museum, which is black,

HE OBTAINED THE SOUBRIQUET OF JUDGE BLACKSTONE.

And it is here worthy of remark, that it was to another celebrated Cantab, Porson’s contemporary, Dr. Edward Daniel Clarke, the traveller, that we are indebted for that relique of antiquity. He happened to be in Egypt at the time the negociation for the evacuation of that country by the remnant of Bonaparte’s army was progressing between Lord Hutchinson and the French General, Menou. Knowing the French were in possession of the famed Rosetta stone, amongst other reliques, Clarke’s sagacity induced him to point out to Lord Hutchinson the importance of possessing it. The consequence was, he was named as one of the parties to negociate with Menou for the surrender of that and their other Egyptian monuments and valuable reliques which the sçavans attached to the French army had sedulously collected; and notwithstanding every impediment and even insult were heaped upon, and thrown in Clarke’s way, his perseverance was proof against it all. Indeed,

DR. EDWARD DANIEL CLARKE,

Whose name and writings are now justly celebrated throughout the civilized world, was from his very childhood (says his biographer, contemporary, and friend, the learned Principal of King’s College, London,) an enthusiast in whatever he undertook, and always possessed, in a very high degree, the power of interesting the minds of others towards any objects that occupied his own. This was remarkably illustrated by his manufacture of

A BALLOON, WITH WHICH HE AMUSED THE UNIVERSITY,

In the third year of his residence, when not more than eighteen, probably the only instance of a member of either university constructing one. It “was magnificent in size, and splendid in its decorations, and was constructed and manœuvred, from first to last, entirely by himself. It was the contrivance of many anxious thoughts, and the labour of many weeks, to bring it to what he wished; and when, at last, it was completed to his satisfaction, and had been suspended for some days in the college hall, of which it occupied the whole height, he announced a time for its ascension. There was nothing at that period very new in balloons, or very curious in the species he had adopted; but by some means he had contrived to disseminate, not only within his own college, but throughout the whole university, a prodigious curiosity respecting the fate of this experiment; and a vast concourse of persons assembled, both within and without the college walls; and the balloon having been brought to its station, the grass-plot within the cloisters of Jesus’ College, was happily launched by himself, amidst the applause of all ranks and degrees of gownsmen, the whole scene succeeding to his wish; nor is it very easy to forget the delight which flashed from his eye, and the triumphant wave of his cap, when the machine, with its little freight (a kitten,) having cleared the college battlements, was seen floating in full security over the towers of the great gate, followed in its course by several persons on horseback, who had undertaken to recover it; and all went home delighted with an exhibition upon which nobody would have ventured, in such a place, but himself. But to gratify and amuse others was ever the source of the greatest satisfaction to him.” This was one of those early displays of that spirit of enterprise which was so gloriously developed in his subsequent wanderings through the dreary regions of the north, over the classic shores of mouldering Greece, of Egypt, and of Palestine, the scenes of which, and their effects upon his vivid imagination and sanguine spirit, he has so admirably depicted in his writings. This eminent traveller used to say, that the old proverb,

“WITH TOO MANY IRONS IN THE FIRE SOME MUST BURN,”

“Was a lie.” Use poker, tongs, shovel, and all,—only keep them all stirring, was his creed. Few had the capacity of keeping them so effectually stirring as he had. Nature seemed to have moulded him, head and heart, to be in a degree a contradiction to the wise saws of experience.

THREE BLUE BEANS IN A BLADDER.

Dr. Bentley said of our celebrated Cambridge Professor, Joshua Barnes, that “he knew about as much Greek as an Athenian blacksmith,” but he was certainly no ordinary scholar, and few have excelled him in his tact at throwing of “trifles light as air” in that language, of which his following version of three blue beans in a bladder is a sample:

Equal to this is the following spondaic on

THE THREE UNIVERSITY BEDELS,

By Kit Smart, who well deserved, though Dr. Johnson denied him, a place in his British Poets. He possessed great wit and sprightliness of conversation, which would readily flow off in extemporaneous verse, says Dyer, and the three university bedels all happening to be fat men, he thus immortalized them:

(Three bedels sound, with paunches fat and round.)

NO SCHOLAR IN EUROPE UNDERSTOOD THEM BETTER.

It is recorded of another Cambridge Clarke, the Rev. John, who was successively head-master of the grammar schools of Skipton, Beverley, and Wakefield in Yorkshire, and obtained the honourable epithet of “The good school-master”—that when he presented himself to our great critic, Dr. Richard Bentley, at Trinity College, Cambridge, for admission, the Doctor proceeded to examine him, as is usual, and placed before him a page of the Greek text, with the Scholia, for the purpose. “He explained the whole,” says his memorialist, Dr. Zouch, “with the utmost perspicuity, elegance, and ease. Dr. Bentley immediately presented him with a valuable edition of the Comedies of Aristophanes, telling him, in language peculiar to himself, that no scholar in Europe understood them better, one person only excepted.” Dyer has the following

BENTLEIAN ANECDOTE

In his Supplement, but supposes it cannot be charged upon the Doctor, “the greatest Greek scholar of his age.” He is said to have set a scholar a copy of Greek verses, by way of imposition, for some offence against college discipline. Having completed his verses, he brought them to the Doctor, who had not proceeded far in examining them before he was struck with a passage, which he pronounced bad Greek. “Yet, sir,” said the scholar, with submission, “I thought I had followed good authority,” and taking a Pindar out of his pocket, he pointed to a similar expression. The Doctor was satisfied, but, continuing to read on, he soon found another passage, which he said was certainly bad Greek. The young man took his Pindar out of his pocket again, and showed another passage, which he had followed as his authority. The Doctor was a little nettled, but he proceeded to the end of the verses, when he observed another passage at the close, which he affirmed was not classical. “Yet Pindar,” rejoined the young man, “was my authority even here,” and he pointed out the place which he had closely imitated. “Get along, sir,” exclaimed the Doctor, rising from his chair in a passion, “Pindar was very bold, and you are very impudent.”

THE GREAT GAUDY OF THE ALL-SOULS’ MALLARD.

This feast is annually celebrated the 14th of January, by the Society of All-Souls, in piam memoriam of their founder, the famous Henry Chichele, Archbishop of Canterbury. It is a custom at All-Souls’ College (says Pointer, in his Oxoniensis Academia,) kept up on “their mallard-night every year, in remembrance of a huge mallard or drake, found (as tradition goes) imprisoned in a gutter or drain under ground, and grown to a vast bigness, at the digging for the foundation of the college.” This mallard had grown to a huge size, and was, it appears, of a great age; and to account for the longevity, he cites the Ornithology of Willughby, who observes, “that he was assured by a friend of his, a person of very good credit, that his father kept a goose known to be sixty years of age, and as yet sound and lusty, and like enough to have lived many years longer, had he not been forced to kill her, for her mischievousness, worrying and destroying the young geese and goslings.” “And my Lord Bacon,” he adds, “in his Natural History, says, the goose may pass among the long-livers, though his food be commonly grass and such kind of nourishment, especially the wild goose; wherefore this proverb grew among the Germans, Magis senex quam Anser nivalis—Older than a wild-goose.” He might also have instanced the English proverb, “As tough as a Michaelmas goose.” “If a goose be such a long-lived bird,” observes Mr. P., “why not a duck or a drake, since I reckon they may be both ranked in the same class, though of a different species, as to their size, as a rat and a mouse? And if so, this may help to give credit to our All-Souls’ mallard. However, this is certain, this mallard is the accidental occasion of a great gaudy once a-year, and great mirth, though the commemoration of their founder is the chief occasion; for on this occasion is always sung,” as extant in the Oxford Sausage, the following “merry old song:”—

THE ALL-SOULS’ MALLARD.

But whoever would possess themselves of the true history of the swapping mallard of All-Souls, must read the “Complete Vindication of the Mallard of All-Souls,” published in 1751, by Dr. Buckler, sub-warden, “a most incontrovertible proof of his wit,” who for that and other, his effusions, was usually styled, by way of eminence, says Chalmers, in his History of Oxford, “The Buckler of the Mallardians.” His Vindication, it is justly observed, is “one of the finest pieces of irony in our language.” Of course, he is highly indignant at the “injurious suggestions of Mr. Pointer (contained in the foregoing quotations,) who insinuates, that the huge mallard was no better than a goose-a-gander, “magis senex,” &c.; and after citing the very words of Mr. P., he breaks out, “Thus the mallard of All-Souls, whose REMEMBRANCE has, for these three centuries, been held in the highest veneration, is, by this forged hypothesis, degraded into a GOOSE, or, at least, ranked in the same class with that ridiculous animal, and the whole story on which the rites and ceremonies of the mallard depends, is represented as merely traditional; more than a hint is given of the mischievousness of the bird, whatever he be; and all is founded on a pretended longevity, in support of which fiction the great names of Lord Bacon and Mr. Willughby are called in, to make the vilifying insinuation pass the more plausibly upon the world.” “We live in an age (he adds,) when the most serious subjects are treated with an air of ridicule; I shall therefore set this important affair in its true light, and produce authorities “sufficient to convince the most obstinate incredulity; and first, I shall beg leave to transcribe a passage from Thomas Walsingham, (see Nicholson’s Historical Library,) a monk of St. Alban’s, and Regius Professor of History in that monastery, about the year 1440. This writer is well known among the historians for his Historia Brevis, written in Latin, and published both by Camden and Archbishop Parker. But the tract I am quoting is in English, and entitled, Of Wonderful and Surprising Eventys, and, as far as I can find, has never yet been printed. The eighth chapter of his fifth book begins thus:—

“‘Ryghte well worthie of Note is thilke famous Tale of the All-Soulen Mallarde, the whiche, because it bin acted in our Daies, and of a suretye vouched into me, I will in fewe Wordys relate.

“‘Whereas Henrye Chicele, the late renowned Arch-Bishope of Cantorburye, had minded to founden a Collidge in Oxenforde for the hele of his Soule and the Soules of all those who peryshed in the Warres in Fraunce, fighteing valiantlye under our most gracious Henrye the fifthe, moche was he distraughten concerning the Place he myghte choose for thilke Purpose. Him thynketh some whylest how he myghte place it withouten the eastern Parte of the Citie, both for the Pleasauntnesse of the Meadowes and the clere Streamys therebye runninge. Agen him thynketh odir whylest howe he mote builden it on the Northe Side for the heleful Ayre there coming from the fieldis. Now while he doubteth thereon he dreamt, and behold there appearyth unto him one of righte godelye Personage, saying and adviseing him as howe he myghte placen his Collidge in the Highe Strete of the Citie, nere unto the Chirche of our blessed Ladie the Virgine, and in Witnesse that it was sowthe and no vain and deceitful Phantasie, wolled him to laye the first Stone of the foundation at the corner which turnyth towards the Cattys-strete, where in delvinge he myghte of a Suretye finde a schwoppinge Mallarde imprison’d in the Sinke or Sewere, wele yfattened and almost ybosten. Sure Token of the Thrivaunce of his future Collidge.

“‘Moche doubteth he when he awoke on the nature of this Vision, whether he mote give hede thereto or not. Then advisyth he thereon with monie Docters and learned Clerkys, all sayd howe he oughte to maken Trial upon it. Then comyth he to Oxenforde, and on a Daye fix’d, after Masse seyde, proceedeth he in solemn wyse, with Spades and Pickaxes for the nonce provided, to the Place afore spoken of. But long they had not digged ere they herde, as it myghte seme, within the wam of the Erthe, horrid Strugglinges and Flutteringes, and anon violent Quaakinges of the distressyd Mallarde. Then Chicele lyfteth up his hondes and seyth Benedicite, &c. &c. Nowe when they broughte him forthe behold the Size of his Bodie was as that of a Bustarde or an Ostriche, and moche wonder was thereat, for the lyke had not been been scene in this Londe, ne in anie odir.’

“Here,” says the Doctor, “we have the matter of fact proved from an authentic record, wherein there is not one word said of the longevity of the mallard, upon a supposition of which Mr. Pointer has founded his whole libel. The mallard, ’tis true, has grown to a great size. But what then? Will not the richness and plenty of the diet he wallowed in very well account for this, without supposing any great number of years of imprisonment? The words of the historian, I am sure, rather discourage any such supposition. Sure token, says he, of the thrivance of his future college! which seems to me to intimate the great progress the mallard had made in fattening, in a short space of time. But be this as it will, there is not the least hint of a goose in the case. No: the impartial Walsingham had far higher notions of the mallard, and could form no comparison of him, without borrowing his idea from some of the most noble birds, the bustard and the ostridge.” Turning to our author’s comment on the last passage of Mr. Pointer, he adds, “However, this is certain, this mallard is the accidental occasion of a great gaudy once a year, and great mirth; for on this occasion is always sung a merry old song.”—“Rem tam seriam—tam negligenter,” exclaims the Doctor; “Would any one but this author have represented so august a ceremony as the Celebration of the Mallard by those vulgar circumstances of eating and drinking, and singing a merry old song? Doth he not know that the greatest states, even those of Rome and Carthage, had their infant foundations distinguished by incidents very much resembling those of the mallard, and that the commemoration of them was celebrated with hymns and processions, and made a part of their religious observances? Let me refresh his memory with a circumstance or two relating to the head of Tolus (will serve to elucidate the fourth line of the second verse of the merry old song) which was discovered at the foundation of the Capitol. The Romans held the remembrance of it in the greatest veneration, as will appear from the following quotation from Arnobius, in a fragment preserved by Lipsius:—‘Quo die (says he, speaking of the annual celebrity) congregati sacerdotes, et eorum ministri, totum Capitolinum collem circumibant, cantilenam quandam sacram de Toli cujusdam capite, dum molirentur fundamenta invento, recitantes deinde ad cœnam verè pontificiam se recipientes,’ &c. Part of this merry old song (as Mr. P. would call it) is preserved by Vossius, in his book De Sacris Cantilenis Veterum Romanorum. The chorus of it shows so much the simplicity of the ancient Roman poetry that I cannot forbear transcribing it for the benefit of my reader, as the book is too scarce to be in every one’s hand. It runs thus:

I make no doubt but that every true critic will be highly pleased with it. For my own part, it gives me a particular pleasure to reflect on the resemblance there is between this precious relique of antiquity, and the chorus of the Mallard.

The greatness of the subject, you see, is the Thing celebrated in both, and the manner of doing it is as nearly equal as the different geniuses of the two languages will permit. Let me hope, therefore, that Mr. P. when he exercises his thoughts again on this subject, will learn to think more highly of the mallard, than of a common gaudy, or merry making. For it will not be just to suppose that the gentlemen of All-Souls can have less regard for the memory of so noble a bird, found all alive, than the Romans had for the dead skull of the Lord knows whom.”

ANOTHER OXFORD DREAM PRECEDED THE FOUNDATION OF ST. JOHN’S COLLEGE.

Dr. Plott relates, in his History of Oxfordshire, that the founder of St. John’s College, Oxford, Sir Thomas White, alderman and merchant tailor of London, originally designed the establishment of his college at his birth-place, Reading, in Berkshire. But being warned in a dream, that he should build a college for the education of youth, in religion and learning, near a place where he should find two elms growing out of the same root, he first proceeded to Cambridge, and finding no such tree, he repaired to Oxford, where he discovered one, which answered the description in his dream, near St. Bernard’s College. Elated with joy, he dismounted from his horse, and, on his knees, returned thanks for the fortunate issue of his pious search. Dr. Joseph Warton seems to throw a doubt upon Dr. Plott’s narration, observing, that he was fond of the marvellous. The college was founded in the middle of the sixteenth century, and Doctor Plott says, that the tree was in a flourishing state in his day, 1677, when Dr. Leving was president of St. John’s College. Mr. Pointer observes, in his Oxoniensis Academia, “The triple trees that occasioned the foundation of the college, &c. did stand between the library and the garden. One of them died in 1626.”

The following letter, addressed to the Society by Sir Thomas, the founder, a fortnight before his death, the 11th of February, 1566, is a relic worth printing, though it does “savour of death’s heads.”

“Mr. President, with the Fellows and Schollers.

“I have mee recommended unto you even from the bottome of my hearte, desyringe the Holye Ghoste may be amonge you untill the end of the worlde, and desyringe Almightie God, that everie one of you may love one another as brethren; and I shall desyre you all to applye to your learninge, and so doinge, God shall give you his blessinge bothe in this worlde and the worlde to come. And, furthermore, if anye variance or strife doe arise amonge you, I shall desyre you, for God’s love, to pacifye it as much as you may; and that doinge, I put no doubt but God shall blesse everye one of you. And this shall be the last letter that ever I shall sende unto you; and therefore I shall desyre everye one of you, to take a copy of yt for my sake. No more to you at this tyme; but the Lord have you in his keeping until the end of the worlde. Written the 27th day of January, 1566. I desyre you all to pray to God for mee, that I may ende my life with patience, and that he may take mee to his mercye.

“By mee, “Sir Thomas White, “Knighte, Alderman of London, and “Founder of St. John’s College, in Oxford.”

A POINT OF PRECEDENCE SETTLED.

A dispute once arose between the Doctors of Law and Medicine, in Cambridge, as to which had the right of precedence. “Does the thief or hangman take precedence at executions?” asked the Chancellor, on reference to his judgment. “The former,” answered a wag. “Then let the Doctors of Law have precedence,” said the Chancellor.

COMPLIMENTS TO THE LEARNED OF BOTH UNIVERSITIES.

“The names which learned men bear for any length of time,” says Dr. Parr, “are generally well founded.” Dr. Chillingworth, for his able and convincing writings in support of the Protestant Church, was styled

“MALLEUS PAPISTARUM.”

Dr. Sutherland, the friend and literary associate of Dr. Mead, and others, obtained the soubriquet of

“THE WALKING DICTIONARY.”

John Duns, better known as the celebrated Duns Scotus, who was bred at Merton College, Oxford, and is said to have been buried alive, was called

DOCTOR SUBTILIS;

Another Mertonian, named Occam, his successor and opponent, was named

DOCTOR INVINCIBILIS;

A third was the famous Sir Henry Savile, who had the title of

PROFOUND

Bestowed upon him: and a fourth of the Society of Merton College, was the celebrated Reformer, John Wickliffe, who was called

DOCTOR EVANGELICUS.

Wood, says, that Dr. John Reynolds, President of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, died in 1607, “one of so prodigious a memory, that he might have been called

THE WALKING LIBRARY;”

To “see whom,” he adds, “was to command virtue itself.” If Duns Scotus was justly called “the most subtle doctor,” says Parr, Roger Bacon,

“THE WONDERFUL,”

Bonaventure “the Seraphim,” Aquinas the “Universal and Evangelical,” surely Hooker has with equal, if not superior justice, obtained the name of

“THE JUDICIOUS.”

Bishop Louth, in his preface to his English Grammar, has bestowed the highest praise upon the purity of Hooker’s style. Bishop Warburton, in his book on the Alliance between Church and State, often quotes him, and calls him, “the excellent, the admirable, the best good man of our order.”

JOHN LELAND,

Senior, says Wood, who in the reigns of Henry V. and VI. taught and read in Peckwaters Ynne, while it flourished with grammarians, “was one so well seen in verse and prose, and all sorts of humanity, that he went beyond the learnedest of his age, and was so noted a grammarian, that this verse was made upon him:—

‘Ut rosa flos florum sic Leland grammaticorum;’

Which,” he adds, “with some alteration, was fastened upon John Leland, junior, by Richard Croke, of Cambridge, at what time the said Leland became a Protestant, and thereupon,” observes Wood (as if it were a necessary consequence,) “fell mad:”

‘Ut rosa flos florum sic Leland flos fatuorum.’

Which being replied to by Leland (In Encom. Eruditorum in Anglia, &c. per Jo. Leland’s edit. Lond. 1589,) was answered by a friend of Croke’s in verse also. And here by the way I must let the reader know that it was the fashion of that age (temp. Hen. VIII.) to buffoon, or wit it after that fashion, not only by the younger sort of students, but by bishops and grave doctors. The learned Walter Haddon, Master of Trinity Hall, Cambridge, and afterwards President of Magdalen College, Oxford, in an epistle that he wrote to Dr. Cox, Almoner to Edward IV. (afterwards Bishop of Ely) “doth give him great commendations of his actions and employments, and further addeth (in his Lucubrations) that when he was at leisure to recreate his mind, he would, rather than be idle, ‘Scevolæ et Lælii more—aut velitationem illam Croci cum Lelando perridiculam, vel reliquas Oxonienses nugas (ita enim profecto sunt,’ saith he,) ‘evolvere voluerit, &c.’ Dr. Tresham, also, who was many years Commissary or Vice-Chancellor of the University, is said by (Humfredus in Vita Juelli) ‘ludere in re seria, &c.’” When Queen Elizabeth was asked her opinion of the scholarship of the two great cotemporaries, the learned Buchanan and Dr. Walter Haddon, the latter accounted the best writer of Latin of his age, she dexterously avoided the imputation of partiality by replying: “Buchannum omnibus antepono, Haddonum nemini postpono.”

LORD MOUNTJOY

Was the friend and cotemporary of Erasmus, at Queen’s College, Cambridge, and was so highly esteemed by that great man, that he called him, “Inter doctos nobilissimus, inter nobiles doctissimus, inter utrosque optimus.” His noble friend once entreated him to

ATTACK THE ERRORS OF LUTHER.

“My Lord,” replied the sage, “nothing is more easy than to say Luther is mistaken: nothing more difficult than to prove him so.”

VIR EGREGIE DOCTUS,

Was the soubriquet conferred upon the celebrated Etonian, Cantab, Reformer, Provost of King’s College, and Bishop of Hereford, Dr. Edward Fox, by the learned Bishop Godwin. Another Etonian and Cantab, Dr. Aldrich, Bishop of Carlisle, received from Erasmus, when young, the equally just and elegant compliment of

“BLANDÆ ELOQUENTIÆ JUVENEM.”

A POINT OF ETIQUETTE.

Many humorous stories are told of the absurd height to which the observance of etiquette has been carried at both Oxford and Cambridge. In my time, you might meet a good fellow at a wine party, crack your joke with him, hob-nob, &c., but, unless introduced, you would have been stared at with the most vacant wonderment if you attempted to recognise him next day. It is told of men of both universities, that a scholar walking on the banks of the Isis, or Cam, fell into the river, and was in the act of drowning, when another son of Alma-Mater came up, and observing his perilous situation, exclaimed, “What a pity it is I have not the honour of knowing the gentleman, that I might save him!” One version of the story runs, that the said scholars met by accident on the banks of the Nile or Ganges, I forget which, when the catastrophe took place; we may, therefore, very easily imagine the presence of either a crocodile or an alligator to complete the group.

Wood, in his Annals of Oxford, has the following anecdote of

THE VALUE OF A SYLLABLE.

“The masters of olden time at Athens, and afterwards at Oxford, were called Sophi, and the scholars Sophistæ; but the masters taking it in scorn that the scholars should have a larger name than they, called themselves Philosophi,—that is, lovers of science, and so got the advantage of the scholars by one syllable.” Every body has heard of Foote’s celebrated motto for a tailor friend of his, about to sport his coat of arms,—“List, list, O list!” But every body has not heard, probably, though it is noticed in his memoir, extant in Nichols’s Literary Anecdotes, that the learned Cambridge divine and antiquary, Dr. Cocks Macro, having applied to a Cambridge acquaintance for an appropriate motto to his coat of arms, was pithily answered with

“COCKS MAY CROW.”

Every Cantab remembers and regrets the early death of the accomplished scholar, Charles Skinner Matthews, M. A., late Fellow of Downing College, who was “the familiar” of the present Sir J. C. Hobhouse, and of the late Lord Byron. He was not more accomplished than facetious, nor, according to one of Lord Byron’s letters, more facetious than “beloved.” Speaking of his university freaks, his lordship says, “when Sir Henry Smith was expelled from Cambridge, for a row with a tradesman named “Hiron,” Matthews solaced himself with shouting under Hiron’s window every evening—

He was also of that

BAND OF PROFANE SCOFFERS

who, under the auspices of ——, used to rouse Lord Mansel (late Bishop of Bristol) from his slumbers in the Lodge of Trinity (College;) and when he appeared at the window, foaming with wrath, and crying out, “I know you, gentlemen; I know you!” were wont to reply, “We beseech thee to hear us, good Lort!—Good Lort deliver us!” (Lort was his Christian name.) And his lordship might have added, the pun was the more poignant, as the Bishop was either a Welshman himself, or had a Welsh sponsor, in the person of the late Greek Professor, Dr. Lort. Punning upon sacred subjects, however, is decidedly in bad taste; yet, in the reign of the Stuarts, neither king nor nobles were above it. Our illustrious Cantab, Bacon, writing to Prince, afterwards Charles the First, in the midst of his disastrous poverty, says, he hopes, “as the father was his Creator, the son will be his Redeemer.” Yet this great man

DID NOT THE LESS REVERENCE RELIGION,

But said, towards the close of his chequered life, that “a little smattering in philosophy would lead a man to Atheism, but a thorough insight into it will lead a man back to a First Cause; and that the first principle of religion is right reason; and seriously professed, all his studies and inquisitions, he durst not die with any other thoughts than those religion taught, as it is professed among the Christians.” These incidents remind me that

THE MEMORY OF JEMMY GORDON,

Is now fast falling into forgetfulness, though there was a time when he was hailed by Granta’s choicest spirits, as one who never failed to “set the table in a roar.” Poor Jemmy! I shall never forget the manner in which he, by one of those straightforward, not-to-be-mistaken flashes of wit, silenced a brow-beating Radical Huntingdon attorney, at a Reform-meeting in Cambridge market-pace. Jemmy was a native of Cambridge, and was the son of a former chapel-clerk of Trinity College, who gave him an excellent classical education, and had him articled to an eminent solicitor, with fine talents and good prospects. But though Jemmy was “a cunning man with a hard head,” such as his profession required, he had a soft heart,—fell in love with a pretty girl. That pretty girl, it is said, returned his passion, then proved faithless, and finally coquetted and ran off with a “gay deceiver,” a fellow-commoner of Trinity College,—optically dazzled, no doubt, with the purple robe and silver lace, for Jemmy was a fine, sensible-looking man. Poor Jemmy! he was too good for the faithless hussy; he took it to heart, as they say, and, unfortunately, took to drinking at the same time. He soon became too unsettled, both in mind and habits, to follow up his profession with advantage, and he became a bon-vivant, a professed wit, with a natural turn for facete, and the cram-man of the more idle sons of Granta, who delighted in his society in those days when his wits were unclouded, nor did the more distinguished members of the university then disdain to hail him to their boards. For many years Jemmy lived to know and prove that “learning is most excellent;” and having a good classical turn, he lived by writing Themes and Declarations for non-reading Cantabs, for each of which Jemmy expected the physician’s mite, and, like them, might be said to thrive by the Guinea Trade. It is, no doubt, true, that some of his productions had college prizes awarded to them, and that, on one occasion, being recommended to apply for the medal, he indignantly answered, “It is no credit to be first in an ass-race!” Notwithstanding, Jemmy’s in-goings never equalled his out-goings, and many a parley had Jemmy with his empty purse. It was no uncommon thing for him to pass his vacations in quod—videlicet jail—for debts his creditors were well aware he could not pay; but they well knew also that his friends, the students, would be sure to pay him out on their return to college. These circumstances give occasion for the publication of the now scarce caricatures of him, entitled, “Term-time,” and “Non-term.” In the first he is represented spouting to one of his togaed customers, in the latter he appears cogitating in “durance vile.” Besides these, numerous portraits of Jemmy have been put forth, for the correctness of most of which we, who have “held our sides at his fair words,” can vouch. A full-length is extant in Hone’s Every-Day Book, in the Gradus ad Catabrigiam is a second; and we doubt not but our friend Mason, of Church-Passage, Cambridge, could furnish a collector with several. Poor Jemmy! he has now been dead several years. His latter days were melancholy indeed. To the last, however, Jemmy continued to sport those distinctive marks of a man of ton, a spying-glass and an opera-hat, which so well became him. Latterly he became troublesome to his best friends, not only levying contributions at will, but by saying hard things to them, sparing neither heads of college, tutors, fellows, students, or others whose names were familiar to him. On one occasion, oblivious with too much devotion to Sir John, as was latterly his wont, his abuse caused him to be committed to the tread-mill—sic transit—and after his term of exercise had expired, meeting a Cantab in the street whose beauty was even less remarkable than his wit, he addressed our recreant with, “Well, Jemmy, how do you like the tread-mill?” “I don’t like your —— ugly face,” was the response. Jemmy’s recorded witticisms were at one time as numberless as the stars, and in the mouth of every son of Granta, bachelor or big-wig; now some only are remembered. He one day met Sir John Mortlock in the streets of Granta, soon after he had been knighted; making a dead pause, and looking Sir John full in the face, Jemmy improvised—

At another time, petitioning a certain college dignitary for a few shillings to recover his clothes, pledged to appease his thirst, he said, on receiving the amount, “Now, I know that my redeemer liveth.”

Jemmy, in his glorious days, had been a good deal patronised by the late Master of Trinity College, Bishop Mansel, like himself a wit of the first water. Jemmy one day called upon the bishop, during the time he filled the office of Vice-Chancellor, to beg half-a-crown. “I will give you as much,” said the Bishop, “if you can bring me a greater rogue than yourself.” Jemmy made his bow and departed, content with the condition, and had scarcely half crossed the great court of Trinity, when he espied the late Mr. B., then one of the Esquire Bedels of the University, scarcely less eccentric than himself. Jemmy coolly told him that the Vice-Chancellor wanted to see him. Into the Lodge went our Bedel, followed close by Jemmy. “Here he is,” said Jemmy, as they entered the Bishop’s presence, arcades ambo, at the same instant. “Who?” inquired the Bishop. “You told me, my Lord,” said Jemmy, “to bring you a greater rogue than myself, and you would give me half-a-crown, and here he is.” The Bishop enjoyed the joke, and gave him the money. A somewhat

SIMILAR STORY IS TOLD OF AN OXFORD WAG,

In Addison’s Anecdotes, stating, that about the beginning of the eighteenth century, when it was more the fashion to drink ale at Oxford than at present, a humorous fellow of merry memory established an ale-house near the pound, and wrote over his door, “Ale sold by the pound!” As his ale was as good as his jokes, the Oxonians resorted to his house in great numbers, and sometimes stayed there beyond the college hours. This was made a matter of complaint to the Vice-Chancellor, who was desired to take away his license by one of the Proctors. Boniface was summoned to attend accordingly, and when he came into the Vice-Chancellor’s presence, he began hawking and spitting about the room. This the Vice-Chancellor observed, and asked what he meant by it? “Please your worship,” said he, “I came here on purpose to clear myself.” The Vice-Chancellor imagining that he actually weighed his ale, said, “They tell me you sell ale by the pound; is that true?” “No, an’ please your worship.” “How do you, then?” “Very well, I thank you, sir,” said the wag, “how do you do?” The Vice-Chancellor laughed and said, “Get away for a rogue; I’ll say no more to you.” The fellow went out, but in crossing the quod met the proctor who had laid the information against him. “Sir,” said he, addressing the Proctor, “the Vice-Chancellor wants to speak with you,” and they went to the Vice-Chancellor’s together. “Here he is, sir,” said Boniface, as they entered the presence. “Who?” inquired the Vice. “Why, sir,” he rejoined, “you sent me for a rogue, and I have brought you the greatest that I know of.” The result was, says the author of Terræ-Filius (who gives a somewhat different version of the anecdote,) that Boniface paid dear for his jokes: being not only deprived of his license, but committed to prison.

CAMBRIDGE FROLICS.

I recollect once being invited, with another Cantab, to bitch (as they say) with a scholar of Bene’t Coll. and arrived there at the hour named to find the door sported and our host out. We resolved, however, not to be floored by a quiz, and having gained admission to his rooms per the window, we put a bold face upon matters, went straight to the buttery, and ordered “coffee and muffins for two,” in his name. They came of course; and having feasted to our heart’s content, we finished our revenge by hunting up all the tallow we could lay hands on, which we cut up to increase the number, and therewith illuminated his rooms and beat a retreat as quick as possible. The College was soon in an uproar to learn the cause for such a display, and we had the pleasure of witnessing our wag’s chagrin thereat from a nook in the court. This anecdote reminds me of one told of himself and the late learned physician, Dr. Battie, by Dr. Morell. They were contemporary at Eton, and afterwards went to King’s College, Cambridge, together. Dr. Battie’s mother was his jackall wherever he went, and, says Dr. Morell, she kindly recommended me and other scholars to a chandler at 4s. 6d. per dozen. But the candles proved dear even at that rate, and we resolved to vent our disappointment upon her son. We, accordingly, got access to Battie’s room, locked him out, and all the candles we could find in his box we lighted and stuck up round the room! and, whilst I thrummed on the spinnet, the rest danced round me in their shirts. Upon Battie’s coming, and finding what we were at, he “fell to storming and swearing,” says the Doctor, “till the old Vice-Provost, Dr. Willymott, called out from above, ‘Who is

SWEARING LIKE A COMMON SOLDIER?’

‘It is I,’ quoth Battle. ‘Visit me,’ quoth the Vice-Provost. Which, indeed, we were all obliged to do the next morning, with a distich, according to custom. Mine naturally turned upon, ‘So fiddled Orpheus, and so danced the brutes;’ which having explained to the Vice-Provost, he punished me and Sleech with a few lines from the Epsilon of Homer, and Battie with the whole third book of Milton, to get, as we say, by heart.” Another College scene, in which Battie played a part, when a scholar at King’s, is the following:—

CASE OF BLACK RASH,

Given on the authority of his old college chum, Ralph Thicknesse, who, like himself, became a Fellow. There was then at King’s College, says Ralph, a very good-tempered six-feet-high Parson, of the name of Harry Lofft, who was one of the College chanters, and the constant butt of all both at commons and in the parlour. Harry, says Ralph, dreaded so much the sight of a gun or a pair of pistols, that such of his friends as did not desire too much of his company kept fire-arms to keep him at arm’s length. Ralph was encouraged, by some of the Fellows, he says (juniors of course,) to make a serious joke out of Harry’s foible, and one day discharged a gun, loaded with powder, at our six-feet-high Parson, as he was striding his way to prayers. The powder was coarse and damp and did not all burn, so that a portion of it lodged in Harry’s face. The fright and a little inflammation put the poor chanter to bed, says Ralph. But he was not the only frightened party, for we were all much alarmed lest the report should reach the Vice-Chancellor’s ears, and the good-tempered Hal was prevailed with to be only ill. Battie and another, who were not of the shooting party (the only two fellow-students in physic,) were called to Hal’s assistance. They were not told the real state of the case, and finding his pulse high, his spirits low, and his face inflamed and sprinkled with red spots, after a serious consultation they prescribed. On retiring from the sick man’s room, they were forthwith examined on the state of the case by the impatient plotters of the wicked deed, to whose amusement both the disciples of Galen pronounced Hal’s case to be the black rash! This, adds Ralph, was a never-to-be-forgotten roast for Battie and Banks in Cambridge; and if we may add to this, that Battie, in after life, sent his wife to Bath for a dropsy, where she was shortly tapped of a fine boy, it may give us a little insight into the practice of physic, and induce us to say with the poet—

The same Ralph relates a humorous anecdote of

THE FATE OF THE DOCTOR’S OLD GRIZZLE WIG.

The Doctor, says Ralph, was as good a punch as he was a physician, and after he settled at Uxbridge, in the latter character, where he first opened his medical budget, with the proceeds of his Fellowship at King’s College alone to depend on, Ralph took advantage of a stay in London to ride over to see his old college chum and fellow-punster, and reached his domus in the Doctor’s absence. Ralph’s wig was the worse for a shower of rain he had rode through, and, taking it off, desired the Doctor’s man, William, to bring him his master’s old grizzle to put on, whilst he dried and put a dust of powder into his. But ere this could be accomplished, the Doctor returned, as fine as may be, in his best tye, kept especially for visiting his patients in. As soon as mutual greetings had passed, “Why, zounds, Ralph,” exclaimed the Doctor, “what a cursed wig you have got on!” “True,” said Ralph, taking it off as he spoke, “it is a bad one, and if you will, as I have another with me, I will toss it into the fire.” “By all means,” said the Doctor, “for, in truth, it is a very caxon,” and into the fire went the fry. The Doctor now began to skin his legs, and calling his man, William, “Here,” said he, taking off his tye, “bring me my old wig.” “Mr. Thicknesse has got it, said William. “And where is it, Ralph,” said the Doctor, turning upon his visiter. “Burnt, as you desired; and this illustrates the spirit of all mankind,” said Ralph; “we can see the shabby wig, and feel the pitiful tricks of our friends, overlooking the disorder of our own wardrobes. As Horace says, ‘Nil habeo quod agam;’—‘mind every body’s business but your own.’” Talking of gunpowder reminds me of

TWO OTHER SHOOTING ANECDOTES.

All who know anything of either Oxford or Cambridge scholars, know well enough, that their manners are not only well preserved at all seasons, but that when they are in a humour for sporting, it is of very little consequence whether other folk preserve their manners or not. When the late eccentric Joshua Waterhouse, B. D. (who was so barbarously murdered a few years since by Joshua Slade, in Huntingdonshire,) was a student of Catherine Hall, Cambridge, of which he became a Fellow, he was a remarkably strong young man, some six feet high, and not easily frightened. He one day went out to shoot with another man of his college, and his favourite dog, Sancho, had just made his first point, when a keeper came up and told Joshua to take himself off, in no very classic English. Joshua therefore declined compliance. Upon this our keeper began to threaten. Joshua thereupon laid his gun aside, and coolly began taking off his coat (or, as the fancy would say, to peel,) observing, “I came out for a day’s sport, and a day’s sport I’ll have.” Upon which our keeper shot off, leaving Joshua in possession of the field, from which he used to boast he carried off a full bag. At another time

A PARTY OF OXONIANS,

Gamesomely inclined, were driving, tandem, for the neighbourhood of Woodstock, when passing a stingy old cur, yclept a country gentleman, who had treated some one of the party a shabby trick, a thought struck them that now was the hour for revenge. They drove in bang up style to the front of the old man’s mansion, and coolly told the servant, that they had just seen his master, who had desired them to say, that he was to serve them up a good dinner and wine, and in the meantime show them where the most game was to be found. This was done, and after a roaring day’s sport, and a full gorge of roast, baked and boiled, washed down with the best ale, port and sherry, the old boy’s cellar could furnish, they made Brazen-nose College, Oxon, 8, p.m., much delighted with the result, and luckily the affair went no further, at the time at least.

BISHOP WATSON’S OWN ACCOUNT OF HIS PROGRESS AT CAMBRIDGE.

“Soon after the death of my father,” says this learned prelate, in his Autobiography, published in 1816, “I was sent to the university, and admitted a sizer of Trinity College, Cambridge, on the 3d of November, 1754. I did not know a single person in the university, except my tutor, Mr. Backhouse, who had been my father’s scholar, and Mr. Preston, who had been my own school-fellow. I commenced my academic studies with great eagerness, from knowing that my future fortune was to be wholly of my own fabricating, being certain that the slender portion which my father had left to me (300l.) would be barely sufficient to carry me through my education. I had no expectations from relations; indeed I had not a relative so near as a first cousin in the world, except my mother, and a brother and sister, who were many years older than me. My mother’s maiden name was Newton; she was a very charitable and good woman, and I am indebted to her (I mention it with filial piety) for imbuing my young mind with principles of religion, which have never forsaken me. Erasmus, in his little treatise, entitled Antibarbarorum, says, that the safety of states depend upon three things, a proper or improper education of the prince, upon public preachers, and upon school-masters; and he might with equal reason have added, upon mothers; for the code of the mother precedes that of the school-master, and may stamp upon the rasa tabula of the infant mind, characters of virtue and religion which no time can efface. Perceiving that the sizers were not so respectfully looked upon by the pensioners and scholars of the house as they ought to have been, inasmuch as the most learned and leading men of the university have even arisen from that order (Magister Artis ingenique largitor venter,) I offered myself for a scholarship a year before the usual time of the sizers sitting, and succeeded on the 2nd of May, 1757. This step increased my expenses in college, but it was attended with a great advantage. It was the occasion of my being particularly noticed by Dr. Smith, the master of the college. He was, from the examination he gave me, so well satisfied with the progress I had made in my studies, that out of the sixteen who were elected scholars, he appointed me to a particular one (Lady Jermyn’s) then vacant, and in his own disposal; not, he said to me, as being better than other scholarships, but as a mark of his approbation; he recommended Saunderson’s Fluxions, then just published, and some other mathematical books, to my perusal, and gave, in a word, a spur to my industry, and wings to my ambition. I had, at the time of my being elected a scholar, been resident in college two years and seven months, without having gone out of it for a single day. During that period I had acquired some knowledge of Hebrew, greatly improved myself in Greek and Latin, made considerable progress in mathematics and natural philosophy, and studied with much attention Locke’s works, King’s book on the Origin of Evil, Puffendorf’s Treatise De Officio Hominis et Civis, and some other books on similar subjects; I thought myself, therefore, entitled to some little relaxation. Under this persuasion I set forward, May 30, 1757, to pay my elder and only brother a visit at Kendal. He was the first curate of the New Chapel there, to the structure of which he had subscribed liberally. He was a man of lively parts, but being thrown into a situation where there was no great room for the display of his talents, and much temptation to convivial festivity, he spent his fortune, injured his constitution, and died when I was about the age of thirty-three, leaving a considerable debt, all of which I paid immediately, though it took almost my all to do it. My mind did not much relish the country, at least it did not relish the life I led in that country town; the constant reflection that I was idling away my time mixed itself with every amusement, and poisoned all the pleasures I had promised myself from the visit; I therefore took a hasty resolution of shortening it, and returned to college in the beginning of September, with a determined purpose to make my Alma Mater the mother of my fortunes. That, I well remember, was the expression I used to myself, as soon as I saw the turrets of King’s College Chapel, as I was jogging on a jaded nag between Huntingdon and Cambridge. I was then only a Junior Soph; yet two of my acquaintances, the year below me, thought that I knew so much more of mathematics than they did, that they importuned me to become their private tutor. I undoubtedly wished to have had my time to myself, especially till I had taken my degree; but the narrowness of my circumstances, accompanied with a disposition to improve, or, more properly speaking, with a desire to appear respectable, induced me to comply with their request. From that period, for above thirty years of my life, and as long as my health lasted, a considerable portion of my time was spent in instructing others without much instructing myself, or in presiding at disputations in philosophy or theology, from which, after a certain time, I derived little intellectual improvement. Whilst I was an under-graduate, I kept a great deal of what is called the best company—that is, of idle fellow-commoners, and other persons of fortune—but their manners never subdued my prudence; I had strong ambition to be distinguished, and was sensible that wealth might plead some excuse for idleness, extravagance and folly in others; the want of wealth could plead more for me. When I used to be returning to my room at one or two in the morning, after spending a jolly evening, I often observed a light in the chamber of one of the same standing with myself; this never failed to excite my jealousy, and the next day was always a day of hard study. I have gone without my dinner a hundred times on such occasions. I thought I never entirely understood a proposition in any part of mathematics or natural philosophy, till I was able, in a solitary walk, obstipo capite atque ex porrecto labello, to draw the scheme in my head, and go through every step of the demonstration without book, or pen and paper. I found this was a very difficult task, especially in some of the perplexed schemes and long demonstrations of the twelfth Book of Euclid, and in L’Hôpital’s Conic Sections, and in Newton’s Principia. My walks for this purpose were so frequent, that my tutor, not knowing what I was about, once reproved me for being a lounger. I never gave up a difficult point in a demonstration till I had made it out proprio marte; I have been stopped at a single step for three days. This perseverance in accomplishing whatever I undertook, was, during the whole of my active life, a striking feature in my character. But though I stuck close to abstract studies, I did not neglect other things; I every week imposed upon myself a task of composing a theme or declamation in Latin or English. I generally studied mathematics in the morning, and classics in the afternoon; and used to get by heart such parts of orations, either in Latin or Greek, as particularly pleased me. Demosthenes was the orator, Tacitus the historian, and Persius the satirist whom I most admired. I have mentioned this mode of study, not as thinking there was any thing extraordinary in it, since there were many under-graduates then, and have always been many in the University of Cambridge, and, for aught I know, in Oxford, too, who have taken greater pains. But I mention it because I feel a complacence in the recollections of days long since happily spent, hoc est vivere bis vita posse priori frui, and indulge in a hope, that the perusal of what I have written may chance to drive away the spirit of indolence and dissipation from young men; especially from those who enter the world with slender means, as I did. In January, 1759, I took my Bachelor of Arts’ degree. The taking of this first degree is a great era in academic life; it is that to which all the under-graduates of talent and diligence direct their attention. There is no seminary of learning in Europe in which youth are more zealous to excel during the first years of their education than in the University of Cambridge. I was the second wrangler of my year. In September, 1759, I sat for a Fellowship. At that time there never had been an instance of a Fellow being elected from among the junior Bachelors. The Master told me this as an apology for my not being elected, and bade me be contented till the next year. On the 1st of October, 1760, I was elected a Fellow of Trinity College, and put over the head of two of my seniors of the same year, who were, however, elected the next year. The old Master, whose memory I have ever revered, when he had done examining me, paid me this compliment, which was from him a great one:—‘You have done your duty to the College; it remains for the College to do theirs to you.’ I was elected the next day, and became assistant tutor to Mr. Backhouse in the following November.” Every body knows his subsequent career embraced his appointment to the several dignified University offices of Tutor, Moderator, Professor of Chemistry, and Regius Professor of Divinity, and that he died Bishop of Llandaff. I may here, as an apposite tail piece, add from Meadley’s Life of that celebrated scholar and divine,