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—