_DEGREE._
The Schools were now very near ahead of him, and, though not much
behindhand with his work, considering the intensity of his exertions in
other directions, he was anxious to make the most of the months that were
left. He read very hard in vacation, but, when term began again, had to
encounter unusual difficulties. His father’s half-hinted warnings against
a large acquaintance proved prophetic. In fact, I used to wonder how he
ever got his reading done at all, and was often not a little annoyed with
many of my own contemporaries, and other younger men still, even to the
last batch of freshmen, whose fondness for his society was untempered
by any thought of examinations, or honours. Not one of them could give
a wine, or a breakfast party, without him, and his good-nature kept him
from refusing when he found that his presence gave real pleasure. Then
he never had the heart to turn them out of his rooms, or keep his oak
habitually sported; and when that most necessary ceremony for a reading
man had been performed, it was not respected as it should have been.
My rooms were on the same staircase, half a flight below his (which
looked into the quadrangle, while mine looked out over the back of the
College), so that I could hear all that happened. Our College lectures
were all over at one. It was well for him if he had secured quiet up
to that hour; but, in any case, regularly within a few minutes after
the clock had struck, I used to hear steps on the stairs, and a pause
before his oak. If it was sported, kicking or knocking would follow,
with imploring appeals, “Now, old ’un” (the term of endearment by which
he went in College), “do open—I know you’re in—only for two minutes.” A
short persistence seldom failed; and soon other men followed on the same
errand, “for a few minutes only,” till it was time for lunch, to which he
would then be dragged off in one of their rooms, and his oak never get
sported again till late at night. Up to his last term in College this
went on, though not to quite the same extent; and even then there was
one incorrigible young idler, who never failed in his “open sesame,” and
wasted more of my brother’s time than all the rest of the College. But
who could be angry with him? He was one of the smallest and most delicate
men I ever saw, weighing about 8st. l0lb., a capital rider, and as brave
as a lion, though we always called him “the Mouse.” Full of mother
wit, but utterly uncultivated, it was a perfect marvel how he ever
matriculated, and his answers, and attempts at construing, in lecture
were fabulous—full of good impulse, but fickle as the wind; reckless,
spendthrift, fast, in constant trouble with tradesmen, proctors, and the
College authorities. But no tradesman, when it came to the point, had
the heart to “court,” or proctor to rusticate him; and the Dean, though
constantly in wrath at his misdeeds, never got beyond warnings, and
“gating.” So he held on, until his utter, repeated, and hopeless failure
to pass his “smalls,” brought his college career to its inevitable end.
Unfortunately for my brother’s reading, that career coincided with his
third year, and his society had an extraordinary fascination for the
Mouse. The perfect contrast between them, in mind and body, may probably
account for this; but I think the little man had also a sort of longing
to be decent and respectable, and, in the midst of his wildest scrapes,
felt that his intimacy with the best oar and cricketer in the College,
who was also on good terms with the Dons, and paid his bills, and could
write Greek verses, kept him in touch with the better life of the place,
and was a constant witness to himself of his intention to amend, some
day. They had one taste in common, however, which largely accounted
for my brother’s undoubted affection for the little “ne’er do weel,” a
passion for animals. The Mouse kept two terriers, who were to him as
children, lying in his bosom by night, and eating from his plate by day.
Dogs were strictly forbidden in College, and the vigilance of the porter
was proof against all the other pets. But the Mouse’s terriers defied it.
From living on such intimate terms with their master, they had become as
sharp as undergraduates. They were never seen about the quadrangles in
the day-time, and knew the sound and sight of dean, tutor, and porter,
better than any freshman. When the Mouse went out of College, they would
stay behind on the staircase till they were sure he must be fairly out
in the street, and then scamper across the two quadrangles, and out of
the gate, as if their lives depended on the pace. In the same way, on
returning, they would repeat the process, after first looking cautiously
in at the gate to see that the porter was safe in his den. But after
dusk they were at their ease at once, and would fearlessly trot over the
forbidden grass of the inner quad, or sit at the Provost’s door, or on
the Hall steps, and romp with anybody not in a master’s gown. So, even
when his master’s knock remained unanswered, Crib’s or Jet’s beseeching
whine and scratch would always bring my brother to the door. He could not
resist dogs, or children.
I have always laid my brother’s loss of his first class at the door
of his young friends, but chiefly on the Mouse, for that little man’s
delinquencies culminated in the most critical moment of the Schools.
The Saturday before paper work began he had seduced George out for an
evening stroll with him, and of course took him through a part of the
town which was famous for town-and-gown rows. Here, a baker carrying a
tray shouldered the Mouse into the gutter. The Mouse thereupon knocked
the baker’s tray off his head. The baker knocked the little man over,
and my brother floored the baker, who sat in the mud, and howled “Gown,
gown.” In two minutes a mob was on them, and they had to retreat
fighting, which, owing to the reckless pugnacity of his small comrade,
was an operation that tried all my brother’s coolness and strength to
the utmost. By the help, however, of Crib, who created timely diversions
by attacking the heels of the town at critical moments, he succeeded in
bringing the Mouse home, capless, with his gown in shreds, and his nose
and mouth bleeding, but otherwise unhurt, at the cost to himself of a bad
black-eye. The undergraduate remedies of leeches, raw beef-steak, and
paint were diligently applied during the next thirty-six hours, but with
very partial success; and he had to appear in white tie and bands before
the Examiners, on the Monday morning, with decided marks of battle on his
face. In the evening, he wrote home:—
“MY DEAR FATHER,
“The first day of paper work is over; I am sorry to say that
I have not satisfied myself at all. Although logic was my
strongest point as I thought, yet through nervousness, or some
other cause, I acquitted myself in a very slovenly manner;
and I feel nervous and down-hearted about the remainder of the
work, because I know that I am not so strong on those points as
I was in logic. I feel inclined myself to put off my degree,
but I should like to know what you think about it; I could
certainly get through, but I do not think I should do myself
any credit, and I am sure I should not satisfy myself. I shall
continue at the paper work till I hear from you. I should be
very willing to give up any plans which I have formed for the
vacation, and read quietly at home; and I am sure I could put
the affair beyond a doubt with a little more reading. But if
you think I had better get rid of it at once, I will continue.
I am in very good health, only, as I tell you, nervous and out
of spirits.
“Yours affectionately,
“G. E. HUGHES.”
His nervousness was out of place, as I ascertained afterwards from his
tutor, that the Examiners were very much pleased with his paper work.
Indeed, I think that he himself soon got over his nervousness, and was
well satisfied with his prospects when his turn came for _vivâ voce_
examination. I was foolish enough to choose the same day for sitting in
the Schools, a ceremony one had to perform in the year preceding one’s
own examination. It involved attendance during the whole day, listening
to the attack of the four experts in row at the long table, on the
intellectual works of the single unfortunate, who sat facing them on the
other side. This, when the victim happens to be your brother, is a severe
and needless trial of nerves and patience.
For some time, however, I was quite happy, as George construed his Greek
plays capitally, and had his Aristotle at his finger ends. He was then
handed on to the third Examiner, who opened Livy and put him on somewhere
in the bewildering Samnite wars, and, when he had construed, closed the
book as if satisfied, just putting him a casual question as to the end
of the campaign, and its effect on home politics at Rome. No answer,
for George was far too downright to attempt a shot; and, as he told me
afterwards, had not looked at this part of his Livy for more than a year.
Of course other questions followed, and then a searching examination in
this part of the history, which showed that my brother knew his Arnold’s
Rome well enough, but had probably taken up his Livy on trust, which
was very nearly the truth. I never passed a more unpleasant hour, for I
happened to be up in this part of Livy, and, if the theories of Mesmerism
were sound, should certainly have been able to inspire him with the
answers. As it was, I was on the rack all the time, and left the Schools
in a doleful state of mind. I felt sure that he must lose his first
class, and told the group of our men so, who gathered in the Schools
quadrangle to see the Honours list posted. The Mouse, on the other hand,
swore roundly that he was certain of his first, offering to back his
opinion to any amount. I did not bet, but proved to be right. His name
came out in the second class, there being only five in the first; and we
walked back to Oriel a disconsolate band; the Mouse, I really believe,
being more cast down than any of the party. I never told him that in my
opinion he was himself not a little responsible.
He was obliged to take his own name off the books shortly afterwards, and
started for the Cape, leaving Crib and Jet, the only valuable possession
I imagine that he had in the world, to my brother. They were lovingly
tended to a good old age. Their old master joined the Mounted Rifles, in
which corps (we heard at second hand, for he never wrote a letter) he
fully maintained his character for fine riding and general recklessness,
till he broke down altogether, and died some two years later. It is a sad
little history, which carries its own moral.