Oxford Days

“Time and the change the old man brings.”

And what a poet Frank was in those days! How he idealized, and in his own fashion glorified, every little winding woodland path, every glimpse of wold seen through the fading autumn leaves, every stretch of quiet river, the old boats, the crumbling bridge, the dark weir, the church-tower—that useful part of a young poet’s stock-in-trade.

In fact, when he returned to Oxford one Friday evening in October, he quite agreed with the old woman’s and the sailor’s superstition that Friday was an unlucky day; he wrapped himself in his rug, and felt that if his heart was not breaking, he was at least deeply in love. Silence was his consolation. He rejected the invitation of a friend whom he met en route to transfer himself and his goods to the atmosphere of a smoking compartment. He stared gloomily at the persistent bookstall-boys; rejected even the offer of a Banbury cake at Didcot. In his condition, there was something positively comforting in that most cheerless and wretched of all stations. The wind that moaned in the telegraph-wires seemed to murmur “Rose.” The bell that rang violently in the platform-porter’s hand seemed like the little single bell in Porchester Church—of course much louder and harsher to Frank’s imagination, but it was a bell, and it recalled Rose, and that was enough.

Having passed safely through the turmoil of the Oxford platform, and the loneliness of Friday night, on Saturday morning he rushed precipitously to Davis’s picture-shop in “the Turl,”8 and having purchased a photograph of the Huguenot picture by Millais, hung it in a corner by his chimney looking-glass. In that corner his friends noticed he now was constantly to be found sitting. They, of course, did not know that in that picture Frank saw Rose and himself under the vicarage wall. He was at a loss, it is true, to account even to himself for the pocket-handkerchief which is being bound round the reluctant arm. But what mattered to him such a paltry detail, even though it made the whole gist of the picture?

Term began with the usual routine. Chapel at half-past eight on Saturday evening, at which all assembled except a few who were detained by those convenient “tidal trains,” which always seem to be late when one is coming back from a Long-Vacation scamper on the Continent, or from the injured Emerald Isle, but never when one is thither bound.

And then comes Sunday morning, with the many good-intentioned ones hurrying to their seats past the much-enduring Bible-clerk, whose labours would, however, very soon lessen with the growth of term;—Sunday, with the heavy luncheon;—Sunday, with the long constitutional in the bright October sunlight—was a first Sunday in Michaelmas Term ever other than a bright one? Dinner in Hall at six, with the endless greetings that the confusion of Chapel had prevented. Monday morning, with its formal calls on Master and Dean, Tutor and Lecturer; and Monday evening, with its posted list of lectures, club-meetings, and subscriptions; till Tuesday morning comes, with the greater or less obedience of the victims of those various calls, shows that term has begun in very earnest, no matter whether the earnestness be the earnestness of industry or of that which flourishes as abundantly—idleness.

CHAPTER VI

“THE FLYING TERMS.”

It was a Thursday night; and the rooms of the “Union” were crowded, for the debate was to be opened by a popular member. A few men were in the reading-rooms, indifferent to the subject and its mover; a few were in the writing-room, hurrying over their letters, in order to be in time for the “private business,” which is usually the most amusing part of the evening’s proceedings. There were several important telegrams posted in the Hall, and the stopping of members to read them considerably added to the general confusion. Ladies were hurrying upstairs to the little uncomfortable gallery,9 with amused looks of curiosity, or the calm equanimity of accustomed visitors. No one to-night waited to read, either for edification or for amusement, the endless notices of those private tutors, to whom advertisement seems a dire necessity—those manifestos of all shades, pleading, peremptory, apologetic, confidential, and confident, which suggest the question:—“Where are the pupils, to be instructed by these willing and anxious instructors?”

The steward’s room is in possession of two attendants only, for the steward and his indefatigable son are upstairs in the committee-room, in attendance upon the committee.

It is eight o’clock, and the debating-room is crammed. Every seat is filled; but those for whom there are not seats are quite content to stand. The gallery is fringed with women’s faces, looking down upon the mass of men below. There is a murmur of suppressed conversation, which suddenly ceases on the cry of “Order.” The president enters, followed by the treasurer, librarian, and most of the members of the committee. He is in evening dress—the exception and not the rule; in his case it is the sign of honour. He has been dining, for the first time, at the High table of the college which has just elected him Fellow. To-night is his first public appearance since his election, and, being a popular man and officer, he is loudly cheered. The officers seat themselves, and in a moment the president rises and proclaims “Order,” and the business of the evening commences. He first reads a list of those members of the University proposed for election, and those already elected, and then calls upon the librarian to bring forth his list of books. That officer, a big-headed, ungainly man, with a squint, hurries through a list, to which prices and particulars are appended, and then asks any, who wish, to challenge any book or books. If any are challenged, they are temporarily withdrawn from the list, and the rest are put to the vote and carried; after which the objections are made to the particular books before challenged, and are met by the librarian with considerable ability, and the books, with one exception, carried. He then rises to propose “That ‘The Gorgon Head’ (much laughter), by Mr. Tennyson Jones, presented by the author to the library, be accepted by the society, and that a vote of thanks be given to the honourable member for his present.”

No one wishing to challenge this proposition, it is formally put and carried, with faint cheering.

The president then rises: “Does any honourable member wish to put any question to the officers of this society relative to their official duties?”

At least a dozen members rise in different parts of the room—we beg pardon—the House.

A red-headed young gentleman, with spectacles, catches first the president’s eye, and is put in possession of the House. His voice is high and shrill.

“Sir—”

“Hear! hear!” from several facetious members encouragingly.

“Sir—I wish to ask the honourable treasurer—(loud cries of ‘Speak up, sir’)—I wish to ask the honourable treasurer—”

“Hear! hear!” from a stentorian voice in one corner.

“Order! order!”

“Sir,” again resumes the luckless red-headed inquirer, “I—I—have lost my umbrella. I—I—put it in the stand on Wednesday evening—(‘Hear! hear!’)—on my way to—to—the smoking-room, and—and—and—it was not there when I came back.” And the speaker drops into his seat.

The treasurer takes no notice, but the president rises and says:—“I must remind the honourable member that any statement he may have to make must be introduced or followed by a question.”

The owner of the lost umbrella rises, and before he has opened his mouth is told to “speak up.” This time he does speak up, in very shrillness: “I wish to ask the honourable treasurer whether he will take some steps for the recovery of my umbrella.”

The treasurer is a stout youth, short of speech and of stature. He clips his sentences: “I must remind the honourable member that this society is not a police institution. I regret the loss of his umbrella. I regret still more that there are members in this society so careless or so dishonest as to remove umbrellas not belonging to them.”

“Sir”—from another corner—“I consider the answer of the honourable treasurer most unsatisfactory. I now beg to ask him whether he will take steps to prevent the robbery—(‘Oh! oh!’)—yes—robbery of the property of members of this society.”

The treasurer is again on his legs: “In answer to the last honourable member, I beg to say that as far as I know anything of the funds of this society, it is not in a position to pay for policemen to guard the umbrellas of honourable members. If honourable members value their umbrellas, I should recommend them to leave them in the steward’s room, or carry them with them into whichever of the society’s rooms they may go.”

“Sir”—from another quarter—“will you move for a committee of inquiry into the loss of umbrellas and other property?” (Loud cheers.)

By this time the treasurer is white-hot:—“No, sir!” and he flumps into his chair—(loud cheers from the treasurer’s partisans and from the admirers of his doggedness). He is not, however, yet done with.

“I beg to ask the honourable treasurer,” says a grimy-looking youth, “why there are so few nail-brushes in the lavatory?” (Roars of laughter.)

“In answer to the honourable member,” says the treasurer, “I beg to state that I have already given orders for a fresh and—as they seem so much in request—a still larger supply.” (Cheers.)

Then there is a brief space of silence.

“Does any other honourable member wish to put any questions to the officers of this society relative to their official duties?”

No one rising, the president says—

“The House will now proceed to public business;” and after waiting a few seconds, to give those who wish the chance to leave, he reads from a notice-board,—

“The motion before the House is, ‘That the present Ministry is unworthy of the confidence of this House and of the nation,’ moved by Mr. Dubber, of Trinity.”

There is a perfect uproar as Mr. Dubber rises and moves towards the table—cheers from his supporters, groans from his opponents; but he is too accustomed to the temper of his audience to take any notice. He pours out a glass of water and leisurely drinks half the contents, and waits confidently. His confidence commands attention; and in a clear, ringing voice, he proceeds to rattle away a clever résumé of the stump speeches of his political party. There is no lack to-night of speakers. No less than six rise directly he sits down.

And so the debate goes on unflaggingly until half-past ten, when, there being no more speakers, the mover replies; and then the president reads the motion once more, and says,—

“Those who are in favour of this motion will say ‘Aye;’ those who are against it will say ‘No.’”

There are nearly 500 members present, and the noise may be imagined.

“The ‘Noes’ have it,” is the president’s ruling.

“Divide! divide!” from the “Ayes;” and the president accordingly gives the order,—

“Those who are in favour of this motion will go to the right of the chair; those who are against it to the left.”

Then follows a scene of indescribable confusion. In about ten minutes’ time the numerous tellers have agreed, and the president reads the numbers,—

“Those who are in favour of this motion, 179; those who are against it, 290. The motion is therefore lost.”

Loud cheers, and the House separates.

Within a few days of the commencement of term, Frank had found his name posted for rowing—that is, for rowing under the direction of the senior men who were coaching the likely freshmen for the Torpid races, which would come off in the ensuing Lent Term; and he took so kindly to the work that he was soon regularly among the recognized set from which the crew would eventually be picked. In fact, his performances had attracted the notice of the president of the University Boat Club, and he had been “down” with the men who were being coached with a view to rowing against Cambridge. This was indeed an honour; and he strained every energy to get chosen for one of the Trial Eights that were to race at the end of term, and from which the University Eight (commonly called “the ’Varsity”) would be selected.

His wishes were fulfilled, and he was put No. 6 in what was supposed to be the better of the two boats. This, of course, insured his rowing in his College Torpid next term, and in his College Eight in the summer term, and it might have led to a seat in “the ’Varsity.”

As a matter of fact, it did not; but Frank was well content with the honour of merely rowing in the “Trials,” and more especially as the Eight in which he was rowing won the race in November. Towards the close of term he was made a Freemason, and very proud he was to tell his father, himself a Mason of some distinction, the various gossip of his lodge, “The Apollo,” which claims among its members some of England’s best-known brethren.

One other little distinction Frank had to relate on going down for the Christmas vacation, and that was the flattering notice, in the Undergraduate’s Journal, of a poem of his which had appeared in the University magazine, College Rhymes;10 and it may safely be asserted that no one in Porchester was prouder of the poet than the vicar’s daughter, who saw herself reflected in the mirror of his verse.

The Christmas vacation passed. Lent Term came, and with it the Torpids. Paul’s made five bumps, and Frank duly posted copies of the Undergraduate’s Journal, which recorded the fact, to the vicarage and to his home. But with this proud event he abandoned for the present most of his amusements, confined himself to the practice for the Eights which were coming off in May, and to his work for Moderations, which was fixed for about the same date. The college lectures not being sufficient, he found himself obliged to “put on a coach”—i.e. employ a private tutor—during the summer term; but when he got his “testamur” in June, just a week before Commemoration, he and his father both felt that the ten guineas11 had been profitably expended.

CHAPTER VII

A READING PARTY

Moderations being thus thrown behind, the next step was the choice of subjects in which to take a degree. For the Second Public or Final Examination for the degree of B.A. there is yet further scope of subject allowed. Here, again, a student has the option of taking a Pass or an Honour Degree; and here also both Passmen and Classmen alike have to pass an examination in the Rudiments of Faith and Religion, the subjects of which are:—

(1) The Books of the Old and New Testament.

(2) The Holy Gospels and Acts of the Apostles in the original Greek.

(3) The Thirty-nine Articles.

But any candidate may for himself, or his parents or guardians for him, object on religious grounds to this examination, and in this case he is allowed to offer some books or subjects appointed for this purpose by the Board of Studies.

The subjects for the Pass Degree are arranged in three groups, as follows, the books specified being those which may now be offered till further notice:—

Group A

(1) Two books, either both Greek, or one Greek and one Latin; one being a Greek philosophical work, and the other a Greek or Latin historian.

e.g. Aristotle’s Ethics, Books i.-iv., together with chapters 6-10 of Book x.

Aristotle’s Politics, Books i., iii., vii.

Plato—Republic, Books i.-iv.

Herodotus—Books vii.-ix.

Livy, Books xxi.-xxiv.

Tacitus—Annals, Books i.-iv.

With questions on the subject-matter of the books offered.

(2) The outlines of Greek and Roman History, with a special period of one or the other, and English Composition.

e.g. Greek—from the Legislation of Solon to the death of Alexander the Great.

Roman—from the establishment of the Republic to the death of Domitian.

Special periods.

Greek—the Persian war; the Peloponnesian war.

Roman—the second Punic war; the reign of Tiberius.

Group B

(1) Either English History and a period or subject of English Literature, or a period of modern European History, with Political and Descriptive Geography, with English Composition in each case.

e.g. English History to 1815, with one of the following:—

(a) Piers Ploughman—the Prologue, Passus i.-vii.; Chaucer—the Prologue, the Knightes Tale, the Nonne Prestes Tale.

(b) Shakespeare—The Tempest, King Lear, Richard II., Hamlet.

(c) Dryden—Selections; Pope—Essay on Man, Epistles and Satires.

(2) French or German, including Composition and a period of Literature.

e.g. Molière, Le Tartuffe; Corneille, Les Horaces, or Racine, Athalie; Voltaire, Siècle de Louis XIV., Chapters i.-xxiv., with a general acquaintance with the History and Literature of the Age of Louis XIV.; unseen passages of French: or, Schiller, the Maid of Orleans; Goethe, Hermann and Dorothea, or Lessing, Nathan der Weise; Goethe, Wahrheit und Dichtung, Books i.-iv., with a general acquaintance with the History of the Classical period of German Literature (from Klopstock to Goethe); unseen passages of German.

(3) The Elements of Political Economy, to be read in Fawcett’s Manual, and Adam Smith’s “Wealth of Nations,” Books i. and ii.

(4) Either Stephen’s “Blackstone,” Book ii., or Justinian’s “Institutes,” omitting from Book ii., tit. 11, to Book iii., tit. 12.

Group C

(1) The Elements of Geometry, including Geometrical Trigonometry.

(2) The Elements of Mechanics, solid and fluid, treated mathematically.

(3) The Elements of Chemistry, with a practical examination.

(4) The Elements of Physics, not necessarily treated mathematically.

Of the above subjects in the three groups each candidate is examined in three, of which not more than two can be taken from any one of the three groups, and of which one must be either A (1) or B (2). The examinations in the three subjects may be passed in separate terms.

The commonest selections made are as follows:—

Group A (1)Group B (3) and (4)

Those men who prefer History will naturally offer the outlines of Ancient History, as it works well with the text-books in Group A (1). Those who are going to the Bar or to be admitted as solicitors will naturally offer one of the branches of Law, the Roman Law being especially the favourite with Bar-students, as the Roman Law Bar Examination may be studied for and passed almost simultaneously. The choice for the Classman lies among the following:—

1. Literæ Humaniores, including—

(1) The Greek and Latin Languages.

(a) Specified books and books not specially offered.

(b) Translations into Greek and Latin Prose.

(2) The Histories of Ancient Greece and Rome.

(a) Specified periods.

(b) General knowledge of Classical Geography and Antiquities.

(3) Philosophy.

(a) Logic.

(b) The outlines of Moral Philosophy.

(c) The outlines of Political Philosophy.

3. Mathematics.

(a) Elementary Pure Mathematics.

(b) Elementary Mechanics of Solid and Fluid Bodies.

(c) Pure Mathematics.

(d) Mechanics of Solid and Fluid Bodies.

(e) Optics, Geometrical and Physical.

(f) Newton’s Principia and Astronomy.

4. Natural Science.

And the following special subjects:—

(a) Crystallography and Mineralogy.

(b) Geology and Palæontology.

(c) Zoology.

(d) Botany.

–taken respectively as supplementary to the general subjects.

5. Jurisprudence.

(1) General Jurisprudence.

The principles of Jurisprudence, the theory of Legislation, and the early history of Legal Institutions. Special reference to Austin’s Lectures, Bentham’s Principles of Morals and Legislation, and the works of Sir Henry Maine.

(2) History of English Law.

(a) Constitutional Law.

The leading principles and the following topics:—Legislative power of Parliament, the modes in which it is exercised, and its extent as to territory and persons.

The prerogatives of the Crown, the privileges of the Houses of Parliament.

The constitutional position of the Privy Council, the Ministers of the Crown, the Established Church, the Courts of Law, and the Armed Forces.

Reference to Blackstone or Stephens’ “Commentaries,” Stubbs’ “Documents Illustrative of English History,” Hallam’s “Constitutional History,” and Sir T. E. May’s “Constitutional History.”

The following statutes must be carefully read: Constitutions of Clarendon. Magna Charta, Stat. Westminster II. 13 Ed. 1, Stat. 1, c. 24. Petition of Right. Habeas Corpus Act, 31 Car. II. c. 2. Bill of Rights, 1 W. and M. Sess. 2, 2. Act of Settlement, 12 and 13 Will. III. c. 2.

(b) History of the Law of Real Property.

Reference to Blackstone or Stephens’ “Commentaries,” Digby’s “Introduction to the History of Real Property.” Principal statutes referred to in the latter must be mastered, and reference may with advantage be made to Williams’ “Treatise on the Law of Real Property.”

(3) Roman Law.

The Institutes of Gaius.

The Institutes of Justinian.

(4) English Law.

The principles of the Law of Contracts.

(5) International Law.

(a) The outlines of International Law as a system.

(b) The history of the law relating to seas, ships, and navigable rivers in time of peace.

Reference to Woolsey’s “Introduction,” and Heffter’s “Europäisches Völkerrecht,” Wheaton’s “Elements,” or “Law of Nations,” by Sir Travers Twiss. On subject (b) Ortolan’s “Diplomatie de la Mer,” livre deuxième.

6. Modern History.

(1) The continuous History of England.

(2) General History during some selected period.

(3) A special portion of History or a special Historical subject, carefully studied with reference to original authorities.

(4) Political Economy, Constitutional Law, and Political and Descriptive Geography.

(5) A subject or period of Literature (optional).

7. Theology.

(1) The Holy Scriptures (the New Testament in the Greek).

(2) Dogmatic and Symbolic Theology.

(3) Ecclesiastical History and the Fathers.

(4) The Evidences of Religion.

(5) Liturgies.

(6) Sacred Criticism and the Archæology of the Old and New Testaments.

Knowledge of Hebrew has great weight in the distribution of Honours.

Frank had always intended to go in for one of the Honour Schools, but agreed with his father that there was no necessity to avail himself of the longest allowance of time granted. He need not present himself for three years, but his father decided that two years was quite long enough, in addition to the year he had already spent. He must do what he could in the two years.

There was no dispute between father and son. Their views corresponded. Frank was to be called to the Bar, and the Honour School of Law was chosen for the degree. The subjects for this would, in a great measure, answer the further purpose of the Bar Call Examination. Mr. Ross proposed to enter Frank’s name at the Inner Temple in the ensuing Michaelmas Term. He should then “eat dinners” during the two years in which he was reading for his Oxford degree; that taken, he should have one year’s reading in a barrister’s chambers. This, he considered, ought to qualify him not only in book-work, but practically for a call. Moreover, it would give him just the necessary time to complete the statutable number of terms.

Frank was anxious to enter at once, before the Trinity Term was over, but on this point his father was firm. There was no need for such immediate hurry. As it was, he would be qualified for a call, at an age considerably below the average. Mr. Ross had noticed that the first Long Vacation had been, comparatively speaking, wasted. He had said nothing, but had resolved that the second and third should not be a repetition of the first. He therefore directed Frank to write to his college tutor, Mr. Woods, for particulars of the subjects for the Honour Law School, and for advice as to a “coach” for part of the Long Vacation; and he himself wrote to his old friend, Mr. Wodehouse, on the latter point.

Frank’s letter from Mr. Woods was as follows:—