What strikes a Catholic as the most singular feature in Protestant education is the want of special training for the clergyman. A dozen young men go to the University for a dozen different purposes, and there is the same rule, the same studies, the same moral discipline for all. Such, at least, was the rule in the days of Mr. Spencer's college life. It seems extraordinary to the Catholic student, who has to learn Latin and Greek only as subsidiary instruments to his higher studies; who has to read two years philosophy and four years theology, and pass severe examinations nine or ten different times in each, besides a general one in all, before he can be qualified to receive the priesthood. The clerical training with us is as different from that through which young Spencer had to pass as one thing can be from another.
His life for the first year may be very briefly told. He hears from Mr. Blomfield that he is to attend divinity lectures, and he forthwith begins. He is advised by a Professor Monk, afterwards Protestant Bishop of Gloucester, to stand for a scholarship, and he does so after getting Blomfield's consent. This makes him study very hard for some time, and though he did not succeed, the taste he had acquired by the preparation did not leave him till the end of the year, when he came out in the first class, having left his competitors, with one exception, far behind. He also spends some hours every day in athletic exercises, is very fond of riding, goes now and again to London and Althorp to amuse himself with attending the theatres, dining out, shooting partridge, and playing at Pope Joan. He relaxes in his determination to avoid whist, and indulges so far that he puts a note of exclamation in his journal at having returned to his chambers one night without having had a game. This seems to be the regular course of his life at Cambridge, a course edifying indeed, if compared with the lives of his companions. He says:—
"I have observed before that the example and conversation of Mr. Blomfield, while I remained with him, gave an impulse to my mind towards the love of literary pursuits. I did not think, however, of exerting myself particularly in that way till the end of the first term, when I was persuaded by Mr. Monk, the Greek professor, now Protestant Bishop of Gloucester, to be a candidate for a university scholarship. Dr. Monk was four years senior to Mr. Blomfield, and I understood from him that he had been of great service to him in the same way, when at college, encouraging his exertions and studies. I was told that I passed this examination creditably, but I did not stand so high among the competitors as to make it desirable that I should repeat the attempt afterwards, and the only honours that I tried for were confined to Trinity College. I was thus stimulated during this time to more than common exertions; it gave me a disposition to study which continued through my time at Cambridge, and was the only good disposition which was encouraged in me. I have reason then to remember with gratitude those who helped me in this way; though it is a lamentable thing that, being there professedly as a student for the church, in what is the proper seminary for ecclesiastics of the Church of England, I cannot call to mind one word of advice given me by anyone among my superiors or companions to guard me against the terrible dangers with which I was surrounded of being entirely corrupted, or to dispose me towards some little care of my spiritual concerns.
"My studies I followed with great zeal all the time I was at Cambridge; but, as is generally the case there with those that aim at places in the public examinations, I managed them without proper distribution of time. By running through the journal I kept at the time I find that, when first I began to read hard, I have often sat without moving from my table and read the clock round, that is, from three or four in the afternoon to the same hour the next morning, for the sake of doing what was counted an extraordinary feat. There is no doubt that reading with regularity a smaller number of hours every day would be more available for the attainment of learning than these immoderate surfeits of study, as one may call them; I only interposed a few days of amusement, when hardly any work was done. In the long run, such a course as mine could not answer, for it was sure to hurt the health and prevent the attainment of the real end of all a young man's studies, which is, acquiring knowledge to be turned to account in after life. Few young men at Oxford or Cambridge, I suppose, have wisdom enough to calculate this in advance. The object which they aim at is present distinction, and outstripping their fellows in the race for college prizes; and, as far as my experience goes, a glut of reading, if the health does but stand it without breaking down, is the way to make the most of one's chance at a public examination.
"The time of my being at Cambridge is one so interesting to me in the recollection, that I cannot satisfy myself, when giving an account of my progress through life, without dwelling at some length upon it. My college course was not very long. At the time when I was at Cambridge, honorary degrees were conferred on the sons of noblemen at the end of two years' residence, by which they came to the enjoyment of the rank and all the privileges of a Master of Arts, which title was not to be attained, in the ordinary course, in less than six or seven years. And what shortens the college life much more is the extravagant length of the vacations; so that what is reckoned one year at Cambridge is not more than five months' actual residence in the University. Yet this is a most important and critical period, and the short two years during which I was an undergraduate at Cambridge were of immense importance in my destiny. How vast is the good, of which I have learned the loss, but which I might have gained, had I then known how to direct my views! On the other hand, how may I bless God for the quantity of evil from which I have been preserved, and how wonderful has been my preservation! When I remember how destitute I was of religion at this time, I must say that I have to wonder rather at my being preserved from so much evil, than at my having fallen into so much. And how can I bless God for his exceeding goodness of which I am now reminded, when I think how, against my own perverse will, against my foolish, I must say mad wishes, I was prevented by his Providence from being at this time irrevocably ruined and lost? What can I return to Him for this blessing? One principal intention in my present work is to record the sentiments of gratitude, however weak and most unworthy, with which I at least desire my soul to be inflamed, and which I hope will engage all the powers of my soul throughout eternity. Most gladly, if it were for His honour and for the edification of one soul which by the narrative might reap instruction, I would enter before all the world into a more detailed explanation of this my wonderful deliverance; but this I must not do, for I must not be the means that others, hitherto in the simplicity of holy ignorance, should be made acquainted with the dark iniquity of which the knowledge has once infected my own unhappy understanding. Be this enough to say on this point, which I was obliged to touch, lest it should seem unreasonable that I should speak of my case as one of most marvellous and almost unparalleled mercy, when the circumstances which I may now detail, and what are generally known among my most intimate companions, do not justify such feelings in the review of it.
"By the great mercy of God, I had provided for me a refuge and, as it were, a breathing time, between Eton and Cambridge. At Mr. Blomfield's, my progress in evil was checked, and I had time to prepare myself for the University with good resolutions, though I knew not what sort of trials I should meet with there, nor had I learnt how unavailing were my best resolutions to support me, while yet I had not wholly put my confidence in God's grace. The vacation which came between my leaving Dunton and going to Cambridge I spent chiefly in the Isle of Wight, and my soul was almost wholly occupied that summer about cricket. I never became a great cricketer myself; I had lost the best time for gaining the art while at Eton; but, this summer, what perseverance and diligence could do to make up for lost time, I think I did. Oh! that I might have the same degree of zeal now in serving the Church of God, and collecting and instructing a faithful flock, as I then had in seeking out, and encouraging and giving and procuring instruction for my troop of cricketers. The occupation of my mind on this subject was enough to drive away any ardent attention to religion as well as to study. I may say, in favour of this passion for cricket, that it was one of the pursuits which I took to at the recommendation of my mother. I remember generally that when anything in the way of amusement or serious occupation was suggested to me by her, or anything else but my own fancy, nothing more was required to make me have a distaste for it. Otherwise, how many useful accomplishments might I have gained which would now have been available to the great objects I have before me. My dear mother wished me to learn fencing when I was at Eton, and a good deal of time I spent, and a good deal of money must have been paid by my father to Mr. Angelo, the fencing-master who came to Eton. It might have been better for me to have gained perfection in this exercise, by which it is related that St. Francis of Sales acquired in part that elegance of manner and nobleness of carriage through which he gained so many souls to Christ. While other boys made fencing their amusement, I always would have it as a task, and of course gained nothing by it. At a later period, when we were at Naples, and I had a weakness in my eyes which made such an employment suitable, my mother would have had me learn music. She gave me a guitar, and would have paid for my lessons; but I could not take to it, and have thus lost the advantage which, since I have become a Catholic, I should have so much valued of understanding the science of music, seeing that the trifling knowledge I do possess is of so much use. There is the apology, then, for my cricket mania; that she proposed my taking to it in the summer I speak of. I was surprised to find myself willing to acquiesce in the suggestion. What I did take to I generally followed excessively, and she did not calculate on the violence with which I followed up this. I got into very little bad company by means of this pursuit, and perhaps, on the whole, I rather gained than lost by it. It was manly and healthful, and though, when in the heat of it, I thought it almost impossible I should ever give it up, yet when I took Orders I did give it up; and if it was in itself of no use, I hope that one sacrifice, among the many I was obliged to make and, thank God, did willingly make to more important objects, it was not without value. Thus much for my cricketing; I mention it here as being the only distinct cause to which I can attribute my losing before I went to Cambridge the habits of serious thought and of regular prayer, which I have observed I regained in a good degree towards the latter part of my Dunton time.
"I nevertheless was full of good purposes. I desired and was resolved to keep myself from giving countenance to immorality as well as practising it, though after having once given way at Eton, I hardly ever dared to say a word or even to give a look in disapproval of whatever might be said or done before me by bold profligates. I could not bear to appear out of the fashion; so that when other boys at Eton used to talk of the balls and gay parties which they had been to in their holidays, I was quite ashamed, when asked what I had done, to say that I had been to no balls; for to my mother I am greatly indebted for her wise conduct in this respect, that she did not, as was done by others, make us men before our time. So, although I detested and from my heart condemned the fashionable immoralities of the young men with whom I came to be associated about the time of my going to Cambridge, I hardly dared declare my mind, except sometimes, almost in confidence, to one who seemed to be like myself. Oh! what good might I have done had I then known the value of God's grace, and, despising the world, boldly stood up for the cause of virtue, at the same time continuing to be gay and cheerful with my companions, and taking a leading part in all innocent and manly diversions, and in the objects of honourable emulation which were set before me and my fellows. I know how much I might have done by supporting others, weak like myself, by acting at this time as I ought to have done, by what I felt myself on one or two occasions when such support was given me. I thank God that the memory of my brother Robert, who died in 1830, commanding the Madagascar, near Alexandria, now rises before me to claim my grateful acknowledgment as having twice given me such help at a critical time. Never was a man more calculated than he to get on, as it is said, in the world. He was brave and enterprising, and skilled in all that might make him distinguished in his profession; at the same time he was most eager in the pursuit of field sports and manly amusements; and in society was one of the most agreeable and popular men of his day. Once I remember complaining to him that I was ashamed of having nothing to say before some ladies about balls, when I was about sixteen. 'What a wretched false shame is that!' said he to me. From that time I became more ashamed of my shame than I had been before of my want of fashion. More important yet was the service he did me when he was about to go on one of his cruises as commander of the Ganymede. I was talking with him, the last evening before he left London, about the Easter before I went to Cambridge. He knew well what I should be exposed to better than I did and charged me to take care never to laugh or look pleased when I was forced to hear immoral conversation. What rare advice was this from the mouth of a gay, gallant young officer; and if there were more of his character who were not ashamed to give it to their young brothers and friends, how many might be saved, who are now lost, because they do not see one example to show how a manly, fashionable character can be maintained with strict morality and modesty. These few words from him were of infinite service to me. They made deep impression on me at the time I heard them, and the resolution which I then made continued with me till after I had been some time at Cambridge, when the battle I had to bear against the universal fashion of iniquity once more, as formerly, at Eton, proved too strong for me, and I again gave way. My fall now was gradual. I began with the resolution to avoid all expenses which would embarrass me with debts, and to keep from several fashionable amusements which would engage too much time. For awhile, on this account, I would not play at cards; but in less than half-a-year this determination failed, and I wasted many an evening at whist of my short college life. I soon grew careless, too, about my expenses, and should have been involved in great embarrassments, had it not been for my brother's (Lord Althorp's) generosity, who, hearing from me at the end of my first year that I was in debt, gave me more than enough to clear it all away; and, thus having enabled me to set my affairs again in order, was the means of saving me from ever afterwards going beyond my means extravagantly. I might, however, have given way in some such resolutions as not playing at cards; I might have entered into some expenses which I shunned at first, without losing my peace of mind, and again defiling my conscience, of which the good condition was partly restored; but these were not the crying evils of the place. In the set with which I was now associated in the University, gambling was not at that time much practised, and not at all insisted on. There were occasional drunken parties, and it was with difficulty that I kept out of them; but the system of violently forcing people to drink, as well at the Universities as throughout genteel society in England, had fallen off before my time. There were some sets where drinking was practised at Cambridge much more excessively than in what called itself the best set of all. I could not help, without offending the laws of society, being present at a considerable number of dinners and suppers where men drank immoderately, but I was permitted to keep myself sober without much difficulty; one or two gave me countenance thus far, though any intimation of disapproving of what others did, on religious or moral grounds, I felt would not have been anyways tolerated; and so I ventured not. Swearing was among them rather unfashionable than not. Some undergraduates were notorious for profane and impious language; and this was excused, and tolerated, and made fun of, but it was not common, and many among us made no difficulty of condemning it. I therefore never fell into this habit. The crying, universal, and most frightful evil of the place was open immorality. There was at Cambridge, in my time, a religious set, who were sometimes called Simeonites, from Mr. Simeon, one of the great leaders and promoters of the Evangelical party in these latter days, who was minister of one of the small churches in Cambridge, and for many years attracted into his influence a certain number of young men. Among these open vice was not countenanced; but not so the set to which I principally belonged, and these were as distinct as if they had not belonged to the same University. I was introduced to some few of these, and rather valued myself on having an acquaintance with them, as well as with many of the purely reading men; and my fashionable friends did not altogether object to it, though I was generally a little ashamed at being seen with any of them, and avoided any frequent intercourse with them. I have wondered since that, if it were only from mere curiosity, I should never once have gone to hear Simeon preach, but so it was. I understood nothing whatever of what is in England called Evangelical religion. Indeed, I thought nothing of religion; had I paid any attention to it at this time, I could hardly have escaped seeing how desperate was the course which I was following, and I might perhaps have taken a strong resolution, and have joined the serious party at once; but, very likely, I should have found the power of fashion at that time too great, and, by knowing more of religion, should only have made my conscience more guilty; and so I believe it may be better that none ever spoke to me on the subject all the time. I repeat it, that in our set, whatever other deviation from the most established fashion was tolerated, any maintenance of chastity or modesty was altogether proscribed. It was not long, then, before I found myself beat out of the position I endeavoured to maintain. During the first term I stood my ground rather better. One reason for this was, that among what were called the freshmen—that is, those who entered with me on my college life, there were several who were not initiated in vicious practices. These, remaining for a time more or less in their simplicity, gave me some countenance in not going at once in the way of the veteran professors of evil. But as I saw some of them grow by degrees shameless and bold, and soon beginning to join their older brethren in upbraiding my weakness and folly for not being like the rest, I found all my resolution failing, and, alas! many a deliberation did I take whether I should not at length enter the same way with them. I was still withheld, though it was not the fear of God which restrained me. I knew that my entering a course of open profligacy would not be tolerated by my parents. I had a character for steadiness among the tutors and fellows of the college, which I was ashamed to lose; though even before them I found it sometimes to answer best not to appear different from other young men. Besides, as I had resisted the first period of attacks, and established among my companions a kind of character of my own, I felt that even they would be astonished if I at last declared myself as one of their sort. I could not bear the thought of their triumph, and the horrid congratulations with which I should be greeted, if once I was found going along with them in open feats of iniquity. Oh! how grievous is the reflection that by such motives as these I was restrained. I was longing often to be like them. I could not bear the taunts which were sometimes made at me. Here again some of the old Etonians perhaps would bring up the remembrance of my ancient propensity to blush, and would take pleasure in putting me again to confusion. Occasionally, by strange interpositions of Divine Providence, I was hindered from accomplishing purposes of evil which I had, in a sort of desperation, resolved by myself to perpetrate, by way of being decided one way or other, like a man on the brink of a precipice determining to throw himself down in order to escape the uneasy apprehension of his danger. One way or another I was restrained, so that it has afterwards appeared to me as if I had but barely stopped short of taking the last decisive steps by which I might be irrevocably ranked among the reprobate. I never thought at the time of this danger, otherwise I could hardly have borne my existence; but, as it was, my mind at times was gloomy and miserable in the extreme. To make me yet more so, at the end of my first year I began to be afflicted with bilious attacks, arising, perhaps, from my imprudent management in regard to study, to diet, and to hours; and these occasioned exceeding depression of spirits, under which I used to fancy myself the most unhappy of creatures. I had no knowledge of the power of religion to set me free, and make me superior to all external sensible causes of depression, and I knew no better than to give myself up to my low feelings when they came upon me, till some distraction removed them, or till the fit passed away of itself. Many times at Cambridge, in order to hold up my head in a noisy company after dinner, I drank wine to raise my spirits, though not to great excess, yet enough to teach me by experience how mistaken is the calculation of those who, when in sorrow, seek to cheer themselves in that way, or in any way but by having recourse to God by prayer and acts of resignation. I remember well once being told by a good aunt of mine, that it was quite wrong to give way to my depression, about which I one day complained to her, and that religion would surely cure it; but the time was not come for me to understand this truth, and I took no notice of her words.
"In the meantime I continued zealous about my studies. I did not stop to ask cui bono was I working in them. Had I seen how utterly vain was a first-class place or a Trinity prize-book, which I had set before me as the object of my labours, I should have found but little consolation and refreshment to my melancholy reflections in these pursuits. On the contrary, I should only have pined away with a more complete sense of the truth of the Wise man's sentence which Almighty God was teaching me in His own way, and in His own good time: 'Vanity of vanities, and all is vanity' but to serve Thee only. I do not mean that if rightly followed, such academical honours are worth nothing. I wish I had followed them more prudently and effectually. They were the objects set before me by my superiors at the time, and I should say to another in my place that he should do his best to gain the highest place in a spirit of obedience, and for the honour of God, to whom we owe all the credit and influence in the world which, by just and honourable exertions, we can gain. In recollecting, therefore, how I exerted myself, and succeeded in these attempts, I am dwelling on one of the most happy points of view which that part of my life suggests to me; for though I did not do this as I ought, yet I was doing what I ought, and by doing so was preserved from much evil, and God knows how far the creditable footing I gained at Cambridge in the studies of the place may yet be available for a good end."
It is hard to believe young Spencer was so utterly devoid of religion as he here describes himself to be; we draw a more favourable inference from a journal he kept at the time. Noticing the death of the Princess Charlotte, he says: "It appears to be the greatest calamity that could have befallen us in public, and it is a deplorable event in a private point of view. It must be ascribed to the interposition of Providence, which must have some end in view beyond our comprehension." He speaks of the death of Mrs. Blomfield thus—"It is for her a happy event, after a life so well spent as hers has been." A few pages further on he has these words about the death of another friend of his. "I was extremely shocked to-day at hearing that James Hornby died last Friday of apoplexy. It was but a short time past that I was corresponding with him about the death of Mrs. Blomfield; and little he or I thought that he would be the next to go. The last year and a half I stayed at Eton I lived in the greatest intimacy with him, which had afterwards fallen away a little; but he was very clever and promising, and I always was fond of him. It must be a wise dispensation of Providence, and may be intended as a warning to us, in addition to those we have lately had in the deaths of Maitland and Dundas. God grant it may be an effectual one!"
These are not the spontaneous expressions of one altogether a stranger to piety, though they may very well be put down as the transient vibration of chords that had long lain still in his heart, and which these rude shocks must have touched and made audibly heard once more. This conclusion is more in accordance with other remarks found scattered here and there in the same journal. He criticises sermons and seems to like none; he is regular at chapel and puts on his surplice on the days appointed; but he refuses to take the sacrament for no conceivable reason but that he does not care about it, and hears it is administered unbecomingly. He is shrewd and considerate in his remarks upon persons and things; yet there is scarcely a line of scandal or uncharitableness in the whole closely written volume. When he records a drunken fit or a row, he suppresses the names of the rioters; and if he says a sharp word about a person in one page, he makes ample amends for it in many pages afterwards; by showing how mistaken he was at first, and how agreeable it was to him to change his opinion upon a longer acquaintance. This might not appear very high praise; but let us take notice of his age and circumstances, and then perhaps it may have its value. He was a young man, just turned eighteen; he had been brought up in splendour at home, and in a poisonous atmosphere at school. That he was not the vilest of the vile is to be wondered at more than that he preserved as much goodness as he did. Where is the young man, of even excellent training, who will be able to contend, unaided and taunted, against a whole college of the finest youth of any country? His motives may be beneath a Christian's standard, but the fact that with this weak armour, the bare shadow of what it might be, he made such noble resistance and passed almost unscathed through the furnace into which he was cast, only shows what he would have done had he been imbued with the teachings of a higher order. The very human respect and worldly considerations that succeeded in keeping him from vice, acquire a respectability and a status in the catalogue of preservatives from the fact of their being successful in his case. His was a fine mind, and one is moved to tears at seeing this noble material for sanctity thus tossed about and buffeted by a herd of capricious companions who could not see its beauty. Let us take up any young man's journal of his age and read some pages of it, what shall we find? Jokes played upon green freshmen, tricks for outdoing proctors, records of follies, or perchance pompous unreality put on to conceal all these or worse. His diary is the generous utterance of a noble mind; it is candid, true, conscientious, and puts a failing and a perfection of the writer side by side. It is no wonder that he was loved and courted, and that his companions had acquired an esteem for him in college, which years and toils have not succeeded in lessening. His keen grief at the deficiencies of his college life only shows to what height of sanctity he had reached, when what another might boast of wrung from him these lamentations.
The events recorded in his journal at this time could very conveniently be swelled into chapters, if one had a mind to be diffuse. To trace the fortunes of the gentlemen he comes in contact with—Denison, Wodehouse, Carlisle, Hildyard, Brougham, and a host of others, who afterwards shone in different circles, High Church controversies, pleadings at the bar, parliamentary debates, and Irish Lord-lieutenancies,—would form some very interesting episodes. We should add many titles to the off-handed surnames of the collegian's journal, and say a few words about how those dignities were procured, earned, and worn by the possessors. It might be, perhaps, interesting to some readers to know how many gay young noblemen were enticed into becoming sons-in-law to some very reverend doctors. All this and more Mr. Spencer notes down in the journal, but it is not our theme.
"I have before observed that about my first Christmas I was encouraged by Mr. Monk and by Mr. Blomfield, who had removed from Dunton and lived then about ten miles from Cambridge, to undertake a contest for a University prize; but from this I afterwards drew back. I followed up then principally the object of getting into the first class at the Trinity College examinations, which took place at the end of each year, and which is an honour much esteemed, on account of that College standing so high in the University, though of course it is not on a level with the honours gained in examinations where competitors are admitted from the whole body of students in the University. It was one object of silly ambition at Cambridge to do well in the examinations without having appeared to take much trouble about it. During my second term I fell into the idea of aiming a little at this, and I went to many more parties, and took more time for various amusements, particularly cards, than I allowed myself in the first term. Had I not been checked for this, I should probably have lost much ground in my race. But a check did come to me at Easter, when I went to town, and one evening expressed to my father and mother something of self-congratulation for having united so much amusement with my studies. My mother saw the danger I was now falling into, and, as it seemed to me, with too great severity, for an hour together represented to me the absurdity of my notions, and upbraided me with going the way to disappoint all their prospects. I had no thought of bringing such a reproof upon myself, and went to bed actually crying with mortification. However, it had its effect, and I was thankful for it afterwards. The next term, which was the last and critical one before the examination, I spent in very severe and regular study, and cared not how some idle ones might derogate from my success, and comfort themselves for their inferiority by the thought, that I had read so hard as to take away from my merit. At length, on the 18th May, 1818, the very day, as I observed, on which, ten years before, I had gone to Eton, I went into the examinations in which was to be gained the little share of credit in this way which was to fall to my lot. They lasted for a week; and, a day or two after, I received a note from Mr. Amos, now a distinguished ...... in London, who was one of the examiners, and a great friend of mine, which filled me with exultation: 'I have the greatest pleasure in informing you that you are in the first class. Ollivant is only eight marks above you, and you and he have left all the rest of the class at a long, very long, distance.' I afterwards learnt that the highest number of the marks was between 1,600 and 1,700, and that while Ollivant and I were near together at the head, the next to me was at the distance of 291. Lord Graham, now Duke of Montrose, was one of the first class, and if he had read as much as I did, there is no doubt he would have been before me. I was told at the same time that I learnt the above-named particulars, as I find it in my journal, that 'I was best in mathematics, and Grahame next, although Grahame was first in algebra;' after which I thus expressed my ambition at the time: 'I hope that Grahame will not read for next year's examination, and if my eyes last out (for at that time I was under some apprehension on that point) I may have a chance of being first then, which would be delightful.' Such is all earthly ambition, and, as in my case, so always its effects—disappointment and mortification. Had I offered all my studies to God, and worked for Him, depending on His help, I should have done much more. I should have enjoyed my successes more purely, and should have been guarded from all disappointment. The second year's examination is much more confined to mathematics than to classics, and had I been wise and regular and well-disciplined in my mind, I might have gained that first place which I was aiming at, for Grahame did not read for it. As it was, Ollivant, who was some way behind me in the first year, got up his ground, and beat me in the second year's examination, in which, though I was second again, I had no remarkable superiority over the one who came next to me."
Spencer formed the acquaintance of Sir Thomas Fremantle while they were both at Dunton under the charge of Mr. Blomfield. Fremantle went to Oxford and he to Cambridge, but they continued the intimacy, begun here, to which Spencer pays cordial tributes of unfeigned gratitude. Sir Thomas was a welcome guest at Althorp; he and George used to spur each other on to renewed exertions in the pursuit of literary honours. Spencer formed a plan for the long vacation, and went, on March 25, to Oxford, to lay the subject before Fremantle; it was, that they should go somewhere and read together. Spencer got into the coach in London, and arrived in Oxford at twelve at night. He lionised the place next day, was introduced to different celebrities, and dined and "wined" in the most select companies his friends, Fremantle and Lord Wilton, could muster for his reception. He lived during the time in the rooms of a fellow commoner of Oriel. He did not leave a single department unvisited. He played at tennis with a Mr. Denison; compared the agreements and disagreements of their ways there with those of Cambridge; the only thing noteworthy he chose to put down in his diary, as the result of his comparison, is, that (when he plays cards in W ***'s rooms, where there are four tables) "they play high, and I do not like the kind of party so well as those at Cambridge."
Spencer continued in Cambridge, and read, or idled, as the tone of his mind directed, until the 31st of July, 1818. This morning he set off, at half-past five, in the Rising Sun, for Birmingham; he falls in with a brilliant Etonian, who recounts the progress of things at his old school; and has to sleep in what he calls "the most uncomfortable and uncivil inn I have ever seen." He sets off on another coach next morning for Shrewsbury, and finds, to his agreeable surprise, that Fremantle travelled by the inside of the same vehicle. They both travel together into Wales, having first procured a supply of candles, tea, and other commodities for housekeeping, which they did not hope to find at hand where they were going to. After many long stages, up-hill and down-hill, among Welsh mountains, and strange fellow-travellers, they arrive at Towyn, at ten o'clock at night on the 2nd of August, having been nearly three days performing a journey which can now be accomplished in a few hours.
Towyn is a little town in Merionethshire, situated on the sea coast, on a neck of land formed by a graceful little creek, into which the River Doluny empties itself, and a kind of sloping arm of the channel. Here Spencer and Fremantle took up their residence for the long vacation, in a nice little house for which they paid ten guineas a month. They had the whole premises to themselves, with a waiting-man named Davis, and a maid Kitty. Their mode of life was very regular. They rose early, bathed in the sea, which rolled its waves against their premises, breakfasted, and studied till two o'clock. It was customary with them then to go out exploring with dog and gun until dinner, dine at five, take another stroll, and read again until they thought it time to take tea, and chat until bed-time. Each in turn was steward for a week; they purchased their own provisions in the little town, thus making a regular home there for the term of their stay. They read pretty well for the first week or two; afterwards they got so fond of brisk air and the adventures they came across in their daily walks, that the reading became less agreeable, and soon irksome. The first adventure recorded in the journal is the following. They were both returning home after a two hours' vain pursuit of game, and came across a gouty old gentleman, who asked them a number of impertinent questions. He then asked them to dine, but finding out on inquiry that he was "a notorious blackguard," although great in lands and money, they politely declined his invitation. Another time they rode a great way up the country and stopped at a pretty place, which they found, to their chagrin, not to be a fairy castle exactly, but "a grand shop for gossip, kept by two old ladies, assisted by a third," at whose qualifications in point of age the reader is left to make guesses. Another day they went out to shoot, and met another serious adventure, which is thus noted: "I got an immense ducking in a black mud ditch, which came up to my middle or higher, and Fremantle got a wetting too, but not so serious as mine." Things go on smoothly now for about a week; they receive several visits from neighbouring gentry, and the way in which the return to some of them is described gives us a fair specimen of the flow of spirits Spencer enjoyed at the time.
"Saturday, Aug. 15.— We made ourselves greater bucks than usual to-day, and set off at two to call on Mr. Scott, near Aberdovey. He takes pupils there. We came home to dinner at half-past five; and after dinner (still greater bucks) we went to drink tea at Bodalog, with Mr. and Mrs. Jeffreys, and came home at half-past ten (14 miles walking)."
The next adventure was one in which they tried their hands at shooting on the river with Mr. Jeffreys' long gun; whether the weight of the instrument, or an effort to reach the game that it killed, drew them nearer the water than they intended, he tells us that they "got quite soused in the water," and figured at the gentleman's dinner-table in two complete sets of the apparel of the old man, to the no small amusement of the company. Nothing remarkable occurred after this to the two friends, except a trip to Aberystwyth, where they lodged a few days, met a few old acquaintances, and enjoyed a ball that was given to the ladies and gentlemen who were there for the season; until the 14th of September. This day they had a great battle of words with their landlord, who did not like their leaving him so soon: in this, however, they came off victorious. They both travel through Wales, visit Snowdon, Carnarvon, and meet a body of Cambridge men reading with a tutor at Conway.
September 29th, he took the mail to London, and thus ended his long vacation. He stays at Wimbledon with his own family until the time for returning to Cambridge again. He relates in the journal that a man comes to teach Lady Spencer, his mother, how to bind books. This may be thought a strange kind of recreation for a lady of high rank; but it will not when we read that "this was the same person who set off the fashion of shoemaking!"
He concludes his first year in Cambridge thus:—
"This day's journal completes a year from the time I began to keep my history. It has indeed been an important year in my life the first in which I have been my own master, and have, I fear, settled my character with all its faults. Several things which I have both done and undone I shall never cease regretting. I have only to thank God that there is no more reason for regret. With my reading, on the whole, I am as well satisfied as I ever expected."
Two words are underlined in this extract; they were often on his lips till the day of his death, and frequently formed the subject of his sermons. If his character had its faults settled with it in his own estimation, it is pleasing to see the habit of resignation existing as a virtue in him even at this age. It was one that was confirmed in him afterwards, to an eminent degree.
During the first term of his second year in Cambridge, his average hours of reading decreased; yet he had still a taste for study, and had not yet thrown aside what remained of his former ambition to distinguish himself. He and the Duke of Montrose declaim on the respective merits of Charles V. and Francis I.; they tossed up for sides, and Charles V. fell to Spencer. This keeps him at hard study for some time; meanwhile he hears Ollivant declaim, and thinks he will get both prizes. After the declamation, in which he comes off more creditably than he expected, he has half a hope of a prize, which he says he should be surprised though delighted to receive. He did get one, but not so high as he expected. Here and there in his journal at this time a few expressions of discontent escape from him about Cambridge; the cause being partially what has been related in the chapter before last. This had also, conjointly with another circumstance, the effect of cutting short his University career. He writes in the autobiography:—
"I made some good progress during this year, but I should have done much more had I been constantly regular. I must have suffered great loss by my interruptions, as I find by my journal that for about four weeks at the end of the long vacation, when I had come home and was taken up with shooting, I did not make one hour's study; and two more long intervals of cessation from reading took place in the Christmas and Easter vacations, when a little steady application, if it were but for three hours a-day, would have kept my mind attentive, and given me a great advantage. After my first examination, I entertained some thoughts of waiving my privilege of taking an honorary degree, and going through the Senate House examinations with a view to University honours; but I lost all wish to remain at Cambridge towards the end of the second autumn. I was at times quite disgusted with the place, for such reasons as I have stated; besides which, my father and mother had made a plan, which pleased me greatly, of going for a year on the Continent, in which I was to accompany them. My brother Frederick, who was come home about this time, was to be of the party likewise, and happy was I in the prospect of being again some time in his company; but as an opportunity occurred for him to go to South America, with Sir Thomas Hardy, with the hope of being made Commander, this professional advantage was justly preferred."
Some of the heads at Cambridge as well as Lady Spencer urged him at this time to stand for a fellowship, but he gave up the idea, and it ended in his joining a new club they had formed—the Eton club. These clubs at the Universities are looked upon with no great favour by proctors and others who have charge of the morals of the students. Their dinners entail great expenses on the members, and they end as the first meeting did in his case: "They all made an enormous row, and I too, by the bye." He came to spend the Christmas of 1818 at Althorp, and closes the year with a succession of parties, Pope Joan, and bookbinding. There is one little incident recorded in his journal at this time which gives us a perfect insight into his character. One might expect that at this age, nineteen, he would be very romantic and dreamy, and that we should find many allusions to those topics which engross so much of the time of novel-reading youths and maidens nowadays. Nothing of the sort. There is an affair of the heart, but his conduct in it, with his remarks on it, are worthy of a sexagenarian. At a party, which took place at his father's, he dances with various young ladies, among the rest a certain Miss A., who, he says, "was a great flame of mine two years ago; she is not so pretty as I thought her then, but she is a delightful partner. I was again in love, but not violently to-night." Two or three days after this, he is at another party, and dances with a new set of partners to the extent of three quadrilles. Of one of these he thus speaks—"I was delighted with Miss B., who is a pleasant unaffected girl, and I am doomed to think of her I suppose for two or three days instead of Miss A. I was provoked that she would not give me her fan at parting." Was it not cool and thoughtful of him to mark out the time such a change of sentiment was likely to last? The next page of the journal brings the subject before us still more clearly. His mother took him for a walk around Althorp, and told him that she was planning a house for the parsonage at Brington:
"Which they say is to be mine when I am old enough; it might be made a most comfortable and even a pretty place, and if I live to come to it I can figure to myself some happy years there with a fond partner of my joys, if I can meet with a good one. 'Here then, and with thee, my N.' [Footnote 2] would have been my language some time ago; but how my opinions even of such important things change with my increasing years. This thought often occurs to me, and will I hope prevent me from ever making any engagements which cannot be broken, in case my fancy should be altered during the time which must elapse before the completion of them."
[Footnote 2: A quotation, as the reader may remember, from Guy Mannering.]
It will be seen, further on in the biography, how this affair ended. There is a very good lesson in what he has left for young men of his age. If reason were allowed to direct the affections, many would be preserved from rash steps that embitter their whole lives. It seems amusing to a Catholic to find the prospects of a clergyman's happiness so very commonplace; but it will be a relief to learn by-and-by how very different were his ideas when he became a clergyman, and built and dwelt in that identical parsonage that now existed only in his own and his mother's mind. He gets a commission in the Northamptonshire Yeomanry before returning to Cambridge for Hilary term this year.
Studies seem to him a necessary evil now, and he writes with a kind of a sigh of relief when he notes, a few pages on, that he has taken his last compulsory lesson in Latin. Balls and parties of all kinds are his rage. George and a friend of his had notice of a ball coming off in Northampton in a few days, and he heard that his "ladye love" would be one of the company, so they determined to be there. He writes letters, gets an invitation for his friend, and makes all the preparation possible for a week previous. The day comes, it is rainy; but, no matter, they pack their best suits into trunks, bring the necessary apparatus for making a good appearance, they search the town for a conveyance, and at length procure a team for a tandem at Jordan's. Off they go, eighteen miles the first stage, then eight more; they bait their horses and dine; off again for full sixteen miles. He has also to run the risk of a cross-examination from whatever members of his family he may happen to meet at the ball, and to answer the difficult question, "What brought you here?" It is raining in torrents, it is a cold February day; but all difficulties appear trifles to the two young adventurers as they urge their team over the hills and plains of Northamptonshire. Even Spencer boasts in his journal that he is now a first-rate whip. They arrive in high glee, forgetting their hardships in the glow of anticipation, and are greeted with the bad news, as they jump from their conveyance, that the ball has been put off until next month. To make matters worse, the bearer of these unfavourable tidings assured them that he wrote to them to give this information, and they had an additional motive to chagrin in the fact of their having forgotten to ask for their letters in the hurry and anxiety to come off. He notes in the journal—"Feb. 10. We set off again in our tandem for Cambridge, truly dimissis auribus, but with a resolution to try again on the 5th March." On the 5th of March they faithfully carried out this resolution. The ball took place, but the ladies they were anxious to meet did not come, so they only half enjoyed the thing. Spencer took a hack and rode off to Althorp to make his appearance at his father's. He was very nervous about the prospect of a meeting with his parents, and having to give an account of himself. Fortunately the Earl was deep in some measure for furthering George's happiness, and looked upon his son's arrival as an auspicious visit. Everything thus passed off smoothly, and the youngsters arrived in Cambridge with their tandem "without accidents, but with two or three narrow escapes." His journal here has few incidents out of the ordinary line of his daily life; he learns to wrestle with success; so as to bring his antagonist to the ground with a dilapidation of the res vestiaria. He practises a good deal at jumping, and one day, in clearing a hedge, a bramble caught his foot, which brought him with violence to the ground; by this mishap his eye was ornamented with a scar which gave him some trouble afterwards. He also gets a shying horse to ride: this noble charger had a particular dislike to carts: he shied at one in the market-place in Cambridge, and soon left his rider on the flags. Spencer mounted again, but found on his return, after a good ride, that his toe was sprained, and it kept him indoors for five or six days. This chapter of accidents was amply counterbalanced by the agreeable fact that he had just attended his twenty-fifth divinity lecture, and had obtained the certificate which was to insure him the imposition of his bishop's hands, whenever he might think it convenient to put himself to the trouble of going through the ceremony. His course is now coming to an end; he becomes a freemason, and rises four degrees in the craft before the end of June. A bishop visits Trinity College, and standing in solemn grandeur, with a staff of college officers dressed out in their insignia encircling him, his lordship delivers a grave expression of his displeasure at the stupidity some twenty students gave evidence of during their examination. Spencer comes out in the first class once more; his brother Frederick is in Cambridge at the time, and as soon as the result is known they take coach for London. Here they spend their time agreeably between dining at home and abroad, going to Covent Garden, and taking sundry lessons from an Italian dancing-master, until July 5th, when George returns to Cambridge to take out his degree. We will hear himself now giving an account of this great event.
"My college labours terminated with the end of the second year's college examination for the classes, which took place on the 1st of June, 1819. On the 5th of June the result was declared, when, as I have before said, I was in the first class again, and second to Ollivant. This was rather a disappointment, and gave me some reasonable discontent. For the cause of my not being, as I might have expected, as far above the others as I had been the year before, I saw clearly was a degree of carelessness in my reading, especially of one subject that is, the three first sections of Newton's Principia, which were appointed for the second year's reading, and for which I had not had a taste as for other parts of mathematics. However, the time was now past to recover my place, and soon the importance of this little matter vanished into nothing. I then went to London till the beginning of July, when I returned to Cambridge to receive my degree as Master of Arts from the Duke of Gloucester, who came in person at the commencement of this year to confer the degrees as Chancellor of the University, and to be entertained with the best that the colleges could raise to offer him in the way of feasts and gaieties. My Cambridge cares and troubles were now well-nigh past, and I enjoyed greatly the position I held at this commencement as steward of the ball, and a sort of leader of the gaieties in the presence of the Royal personages, because I was the first in rank of those who received their honorary degrees.
"From this time there has been a complete cessation with me of all mathematical studies, and almost of all my classical, to which I have hardly ever again referred. For when I again returned to regular study, I had nothing in my mind but matters of theology. It was at this time, after leaving Cambridge, when I remained principally fixed as an inmate in my father's house, till I was settled in the country as a clergyman, that I was in the character of what is called a young man about town. It was with my dear brother Frederick, who was at home at the time, as I before observed, that I began in earnest to take a share in the enjoyment of London life. I have seen the dangers, the pleasures, and the miseries of that career, though all in a mitigated degree, from the happy circumstance of my not being left alone to find my way through it, as so many are at the age of which I speak. With many, no doubt, the life in London is the time for going to the full depth of all the evil of which Oxford or Cambridge have given the first relish. My father and mother were not like many aged veterans in dissipation—whom in the days when the fashionable world was most accounted of by me, I have looked on with pity—who to the last of their strength keep up what they can of youth, in pursuing still the round of the gay parties of one rising generation after another. They (my parents) hardly ever went into society away from home. They kept a grand establishment, when in London, at Spencer House, as well as at Althorp in the winter, when the first society, whether of the political, or the literary and scientific, were constantly received. It would, therefore, have been unreasonable in me to be fond of going out for the sake of society, when, perhaps, none was to be met with so interesting as that at home; besides this, my father and mother were fond of being surrounded by their family circle; and if I or my brothers, when staying with them in London, went out from home several times in succession, or many times a week, they would generally express some disappointment or displeasure; and though I used at the time to be sometimes vexed at this kind of restraint, as I was at other restraints on what I might have reckoned the liberty of a young man, I used generally, even then, to see how preferable my condition was. I now most clearly see that the feelings of my parents in this matter were most reasonable, and that it was a great blessing to me that I was situated in such circumstances. They were desirous that we should see the world, and when any amusement was going on, or party was to take place, which she thought really worthy of attention, as not being so frivolous as the general run of such things, my mother zealously assisted in procuring us invitations, and providing us with needful dresses; as, for instance, at this time she gave to my brother Frederick and me very handsome full-dress uniforms (his being, of course, that of a naval officer, mine of the Northamptonshire Yeomanry, in which I then held a commission), that we might appear at balls and parties where full-dress was required, such as foreign ambassadors sometimes gave. These were, she thought, really worth going to on account of extraordinary or remarkable characters who came to them, whether English or foreigners. Thanks to their regular domestic habits, and to the strict authority which my mother still kept over us all, while being at Spencer House, I should have found it almost as difficult as in a well-regulated college to go into any extravagant irregularities, and so I was hardly tempted to do so. My feeling habitually was to try and avoid invitations and engagements from home, far from seeking them eagerly."
The incidents we are able to add from his journal during the interval between leaving Cambridge and going abroad are very meagre, yet, since they are characteristic of the man's feelings, a few will be inserted. From the journal: "Tuesday, July 20. We got up and went to a dreadful formal breakfast at 10½. At one we were dressed, and the company began to arrive for a public breakfast, to be given to-day to the people of the county in honour of the marriage of Lord Temple. The collation was in the greenhouse, and lasted off and on till about 6!" He goes through the particulars of the entertainment, the quadrilles and country dances, the partners' perfections, &c., &c.; but when Lady Buckingham asked himself and his brother to stay a little while longer, much as they liked it, they would not do so, because their mother desired them to be home at a certain time. One must admire his obedience even at the expense of his enjoyment, when he might calculate upon the implicit consent of his mother to their acceding to such a request, and from such a quarter. Another thing we gather from this is, that F. Ignatius, even when a youth, could never bear what was formal or ultra-refined; he always liked natural ease and unaffected simplicity. "We find him turn away from a blue-stocking, and steal three days' thoughts from his "flame" to bestow them on one more unaffected and simple. The next incident he chooses to record is, that the clergyman of the church he used to attend had gone to spend his honeymoon, and that a preacher whom he did not admire took his pulpit in his absence. There are some partings of friends, and a great variety of amusements, to fill up the pages for a month or so. Father Ignatius used to tell a very remarkable anecdote about this period of his life; he used it to illustrate the sacrifices that people can willingly make for the law of fashion, and how reluctant they are to make even the smallest for the love of God. There was a great ball to be given somewhere in London; it was to be a most splendid affair, full in all particulars of dress and etiquette, and one of those that the Countess Spencer thought really worth going to. A celebrated coiffeur was imported direct from Paris, and he had a peculiar style of hair-dressing that none of that craft in London could hope to imitate with success. All the belles, marchionesses of high degree, who intended figuring at the ball, hired the French coiffeur. He accepted all the engagements, but found they were so many that it would take twenty-four hours' hard work, without a moment's repose, to satisfy all. He had to begin at three o'clock in the afternoon of the day preceding the ball, and Father Ignatius knew one lady who was high upon his list. She had her hair dressed about four, and, lest it might be disarranged, slept in her arm-chair, with her neck in stocks, for the night. This lady, be it remembered, was no foolish young belle, but a matron who might have conveniently introduced her granddaughter to the circle she attended. "These people," he used to say, "laugh at the folly of St. Peter of Alcantara and other mortified saints; and we, who aspire to be saints, will undergo with difficulty what worldlings cheerfully endure for vanity and folly." He often laughed at this, and often laughed others into seriousness at his comments on it.