OXFORD DAYS;
OR,
HOW ROSS GOT HIS DEGREE.
BY A RESIDENT M.A.
London:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON,
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
1879.
[_All rights reserved._]
LONDON:
GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,
ST. JOHN’S SQUARE.
PREFACE.
“Oxford Days” is not shaped on the lines of either _Verdant Green_ or
_Tom Brown at Oxford_. Its purpose, rather, is to furnish a practical
guide to all the features of University life; but it has been thought
that, by adopting the narrative form, the dry bones of a handbook may
be made to live.
_Oxford_, 1879.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
GONE TO OXFORD 1
CHAPTER II.
AN OXFORD SUNDAY 23
CHAPTER III.
THE FRESHMAN’S TERM 39
CHAPTER IV.
THE EIGHTS 51
CHAPTER V.
THE LONG VACATION 68
CHAPTER VI.
“THE FLYING TERMS” 77
CHAPTER VII.
A READING PARTY 88
CHAPTER VIII.
IN THE THICK OF IT 120
CHAPTER IX.
THE CLOSE 139
CHAPTER X.
GOWN AT LAST 149
OXFORD DAYS; OR, HOW ROSS GOT HIS DEGREE.
CHAPTER I.
GONE TO OXFORD.
There was a long discussion between the Vicar of Porchester and
Mr. Ross, the lawyer, as they walked together after evening service
to the vicarage. Frank Ross was just eighteen, the eldest of six
brothers. He was still at school, but it was time for him to go to the
University. Oxford had been chosen--not from any notion of superiority
to Cambridge, but simply because of school and home associations.
The difficulty was the choice of a college. The vicar--a well-to-do
bachelor--an old Eton and Christ-Church man, advised his own college.
But Mr. Ross was frightened. “Christ-Church” to him had ever been a
terror, and meant waste of time and money, in the shape of cards,
drink, and horse-flesh; and all the vicar’s eloquence could not shake
his unfounded prejudice. The result of the discussion was that Mr. Ross
decided to write to a friend at Oxford, settled there as a “coach;” and
also to Mr. Rickards, a country doctor, with a family larger even than
his own. The doctor’s answer was as follows:--
“DEAR ROSS,--My boy is going to Brasenose: at least, he goes
up in May to try for a close scholarship. I can give you no
advice, as I know nothing about the place. I sent him to the
Hereford Cathedral School by a fluke some years ago; and as
there are scholarships and exhibitions from the school to
Brasenose, I am saved the difficulty of choosing a college.
“Yours truly,
“W. RICKARDS.”
The vicar explained that a “close” scholarship was, like other
scholarships, a sum of money paid annually for four or five years as a
prize, but differed from them in being confined to competition among
boys from certain schools; and that the value of them varied from
45_l._ to 80_l._ per annum, part being paid in money, and part made
up in allowances in the way of diminished fees. The letter from the
“coach” was more valuable:--
“DEAR MR. ROSS,--So much depends on your son’s abilities, your
own means and wishes, that I cannot answer your question as to
the best college, off-hand. I think I may assume that you do
not want him to spend more money than is absolutely necessary;
and possibly that you would wish him to ‘go in for honours’
instead of taking a Pass Degree, that is, offering the smallest
possible number of subjects for examination. I need hardly say
that a high degree in honours opens the way to a Fellowship,
or at any rate to good masterships in schools; and is, in
fact, a distinct help, directly and indirectly, not only in
educational, but in all professions.
“It is far better for a lad to go to a good college, even
though he is unable to obtain a scholarship or any other
college endowment, than to go to an inferior college, where he
may succeed in getting pecuniary assistance. To illustrate what
I mean: I believe, in the long run, it would be wiser to send
your son as a commoner to Balliol than as a scholar to Wadham.
If, from a pecuniary point of view, you do not care for him
to get a scholarship, nor want him to read for honours, and
are not particular as to whether he spends 300_l._ or 500_l._
a year (or even more), I should send him to Christ-Church,
Brasenose, Exeter, or University. The first two especially were
in my day emphatically popular colleges, and I believe are so
still. But I would not send him to either unless you are fully
prepared for the amount of expenditure which I have named.
Possibly you might like our only denominational college--Keble.
He would be most carefully looked after in every way, and
his expenses kept within a fixed limit. The Warden and
Tutors devote their whole energies to their men, and the men
themselves speak in the most affectionate terms of them--a most
exceptional fact, I assure you. But I must warn you that the
religious tone of the college is distinctly pronounced, and
inclines to ritualistic rather than to evangelical doctrines.
“If your son’s college life will be a pinch to you (you
will allow me to speak thus plainly on such a question),
send him as an Unattached Student. But here, again, you and
he should clearly understand that the life of an unattached
student is isolated, and quite unlike the life of the college
undergraduate. The only exception to this statement is when an
undergraduate migrates, as for various reasons sometimes he
is obliged, from his college to the body of the Unattached.
His society, being already formed, remains unbroken. I should
fancy your choice will lie between New College, Corpus, Paul’s,
and Balliol. A scholarship at either means that the scholar
is capable, with industry, of gaining the highest honours in
his future University examinations. On the whole, I think, I
incline to Paul’s. Unfortunately, you have just missed the
examination for scholarships. There is, however, an ordinary
matriculation examination for commoners in about three weeks’
time. If your son holds a good position in his school, he ought
to have no difficulty in passing even at this short notice, for
the subjects are those which are read in forms lower than the
highest at all schools. I shall be happy to do anything further
in the matter for you that I can. He should come prepared for
residence, in the event of his passing. The examination begins
on the Wednesday after Easter, and will be over in time for
successful candidates to ‘come into residence’ with the other
men on the following Saturday. You should send an application
to the Master of Paul’s at once. I enclose a list of subjects
and fees, and am
“Yours truly,
“PHILIP WODEHOUSE.”
“SUBJECTS FOR MATRICULATION AT PAUL’S.[1]
“1. Translation from English into Latin prose.
“2. Translation into English of an unprepared passage
of Attic Greek.
“3. Translation of some portion of a Greek and Latin
author (to be selected by the candidate), with parsing
and general grammar questions.
“4. Arithmetic, including Vulgar and Decimal Fractions
and Interest.
“5. Euclid, Books I. and II.; _or_ Algebra, to Simple
Equations.
“FEES.
“(_a_) To the University at Matriculation 2_l._ 10_s._
“(_b_) To the College, as caution-money 30_l._[2]
“Room-rent varies from 10_l._ to 16_l._ per annum.
This does not include furniture, which must be taken
at a valuation from the previous tenant; 25_l._ is an
average valuation-price. China, glass, linen, plate,
and household necessaries must all be procured. It
is wiser to bring plate and linen. The rest may be
purchased from the ‘scout’ (servant) apportioned to the
rooms. For this, say 10_l._ The immediate payments,
therefore, amount to 2_l._ 10_s._ + 30_l._ + 10_l._ =
42_l._ 10_s._ The payment for the furniture must be
made early in term; and the establishment charges,
tuition fees, expenses of board and rent, are paid
terminally.”[3]
So Paul’s was chosen, and a letter of application forwarded to the
Master;[4] and Frank, who was then at home for the Easter vacation,
commenced polishing up his work in view of the approaching examination.
On Easter Tuesday he left home by an early train, with a note to Mr.
Wodehouse in his pocket. That gentleman entertained him at dinner with
a long list of examination stories, and about nine o’clock marched him
off to the Clarendon Hotel, where, with a word to the landlady, he left
him, nervous at the thought of the morrow, but conscious of his own
dignity and the near approach of the manhood which is supposed to date
from matriculation.
It was with some difficulty that Frank preserved his self-composure
in the presence of the waiters, as he sat at breakfast in the
“Clarendon” coffee-room. He did not particularly enjoy his meal, and,
in obedience to Mr. Wodehouse’s injunctions, left at half-past nine
to make his way to Paul’s. After one or two mistakes, he succeeded in
finding the college gates. His anxiety as to his next step was set at
rest by the sight that met him. About a dozen boys (to be called men
after matriculation) were hanging about the Lodge, in various typical
conditions of mind and body--some completely at their ease, chatting
unconcernedly; others standing nervously alone. Most wore black coats
and chimney-pot hats--the costume that only a few years ago was
rigorously insisted on. A few through ignorance, or in obedience to the
spirit of the day, wore defiantly light suits and bowler hats. Frank,
to his great delight, found a school-fellow whose coming up had, like
his own, been hurriedly decided in the vacation. The two friends had
not much time for conversation, for in a few minutes a respectable
middle-aged man, whom they knew afterwards to be the Porter, said, “You
are to walk this way, gentlemen, please,” and conducted them to the
College-Hall. It is a fine old place, with dark oak panels, coloured
windows, portraits, and coats-of-arms; and to the boy up in Oxford
for his first visit, and that visit so solemn a one as matriculation,
there is an unspeakable charm, and a novelty sobered into grandeur,
about everything. How the grave faces of the college founders and
celebrities looked down upon the wondering eyes! Bishop and knight,
king and duchess--there they stared! How the light streamed through
the coloured windows! Who could tell? Perhaps one day, Frank thought,
when he was a rich man, he might have that one vacant window filled, or
some of his descendants might present to the college a portrait of Sir
Francis Ross, attired in wig and gown, one of Her Majesty’s--or rather,
perhaps, His Majesty’s--judges, if not Lord Chancellor.
He started abruptly from his dreams, and came back to the first rung
on the ladder that was leading to such prospective fame. There before
him stretched three lines of tables and benches down the length of the
hall. Across the end, on a slightly-raised daïs, ran another table,
where the handsome chairs indicated beings superior to undergraduates.
It was, in fact, the High table, where the Master and Fellows dined,
and any resident Masters of Arts who cared to do so.
This morning it was devoted to the more serious purposes of
examination. Ten ink-bottles, fifteen blotting-pads, fifteen sheets of
white paper printed, with a few sheets of blue paper and two or three
quill pens lying by each: that was the fare this morning--“the feast
of reason” that was in such strong contrast to the “flow of soul” that
would grace the table at six o’clock that evening.
One of the junior Fellows was in charge of the examination. He was
reading the _Times_ as Frank and his companions entered, sitting on
the table, with his legs dangling in a graceful attitude of studied
negligence. He took no notice of the victims, till the Porter had
conducted them to the table and motioned them to take seats. Then he
looked up from his newspaper and said,--
“You will have till half-past twelve. Write your names clearly; and
please bear in mind that we expect answers from both books of Euclid.”
Then he resumed his newspaper and adopted a more dignified attitude.
Frank looked at his questions. Eleven in all; some definitions, six
propositions from the first book, and four from the second. He wrote
his name at the head of his paper, and made a great blot in doing so.
His hand grew hot. He dashed at the first definition,--
“_A circle is a plane figure contained in one straight line._”
His pen spluttered warningly at the word _straight_. A blot fell, and
fell luckily on the fatal word. He tore up the paper and commenced
again.
Making a good start, his hands grew cool, his head calm; and with the
old portraits beaming upon him, away he wrote. He completed the six
propositions of the first book; then, pausing for breath, saw that
almost everybody else had his watch on the table. Frank pulled out his.
_A quarter to twelve!_ He had blundered, he knew. He ought to have
timed himself, and left more time for the second book. However, his
success had put him at his ease, for he knew all the propositions well
so far; and he buckled-to vigorously. By hard writing he managed to do
three propositions. The last was the thirteenth. He knew he could not
do it in five minutes, and he must allow himself time to read over his
work. He had barely done even this when the papers were collected, and
they were dismissed, with instructions to appear again at two.
Frank went out with his friend, discussing the Euclid paper.
They lunched together at the “Clarendon,” wisely confining themselves
to a little cold meat and sherry, and at two o’clock were again
hard at work at Latin prose. It was a piece from “Pilgrim’s
Progress”--something about Giant Despair, his wife, and her bed. And
judging from the various unhappy faces, an observer might have thought
that the choice of the giant was somewhat prophetical. Frank, however,
had done, not the identical piece, but several pieces in the same style
before, and accordingly did not find so much difficulty.
Out at four o’clock, they strolled down Oriel Street, past Corpus, by
Merton Church, and into Christ-Church Broad Walk; and meeting three
friends, also up for matriculation at some other college, took a boat
from Salter’s and rowed to Iffley, Frank steering.
Luckily the river was not crowded, as in full term, or the erratic
course which Frank steered would have brought down upon him the shrill
abuse of some eight-oar’s coxswain, even if not a quiet spill into the
water.
Thursday passed much in the same way: Frank, on the whole, satisfied
with his work; Monkton, his friend, somewhat desponding. The hours
after work would have been dull had there not been so much to see.
The friends mooned about till half-past six, and then had meat-tea at
Monkton’s lodgings in Ship Street; and with “Verdant Green” and the
“Mysteries of the Isis” beguiled the evening till they turned into bed.
What a relief it was when Friday morning came, and with it the last
paper! At two that afternoon they were met in the Lodge by the Porter,
who had an important-looking paper in his hands.
“Please to wait a moment, gentlemen,” he said, as all the candidates
were hurrying off across the quadrangle to the hall; “these are the
gentlemen that are to go for _vivâ voce_.” And he proceeded to read out
six names, among which Frank and Monkton, to their great delight, heard
their own. They hardly thought of the disconsolate nine who, hearing
the last name on the list, hopelessly oozed one by one out at the
Lodge-gates.
Reaching the hall, the chosen six found the Master and six of the
Fellows, all attired in cap, gown, and dignity, seated at the High
table. They were told to sit down at one side of the hall, and then,
one by one, were summoned to that awful table and examined. Monkton’s
ordeal came first, and it was a trying one. He was first questioned
(very sharply, as it seemed to Frank) on some of his papers, and
then given some written questions and sent to a side table. Frank
was not aware, then, that this process--familiarly known as “second
paper”--meant that Monkton’s success hung by a thread on the result
of his work this afternoon. His own turn came next. The Fellow who
examined him saw he was nervous, and, as usual with almost every
examiner, spoke pleasantly and reassuringly to him.
“Take your Greek Testament, Mr. Ross,” he said, “and turn to the fifth
chapter of St. Matthew, and translate the first six verses.”
Frank turned to the passage indicated. He knew it at a glance, and
that reassured him; and when he was next told to open a “Cicero” that
was lying on the table he felt comparatively at his ease. He got
through about six lines of the Second Philippic, and was then asked a
few disconnected questions.
“Do you know what circumstances led to the delivery of this speech?”
He did know, but words failed him, and he bungled.
“Never mind,” answered the examiner. “Who was Hannibal? and what
battles did he fight?”
Frank answered, naming them.
“What is the construction after verbs of commanding in Latin?”
“Can you mention any of our Lord’s parables which teach the duty of
watchfulness?” and so forth.
Then came the pleasant dismissal,--
“That will do, thank you. You need not wait.”
Frank departed, and, making friends with the Porter, told him all that
had passed.
“Ah! you’re all right, sir,” said George; and George’s statement
proved true.
In about three-quarters of an hour the Master and Fellows came out of
the hall and dispersed to their respective rooms, and presently George
appeared with a piece of blue paper, which he nailed on the gate. Five
names--Frank’s second, and Monkton’s absent.
“Those gentlemen that mean to reside this term,” said George, “are to
call on the Dean between five and six this evening, and bring their
fees. Those that don’t are to leave Oxford at once, and notice will be
sent to them in the Long Vacation before next term begins.”
Frank meant to reside, and was one of the first to call on the Dean.
That gentleman received him courteously; told him he had done very
fairly in the examination; hoped he would read hard and be steady;
asked him his name, age, father’s name, residence, and profession,
and various other particulars, all of which he entered in a book;
received his caution-money (30_l._), and told him to ask the Porter the
staircase and number of the rooms allotted to him.
“Be here,” he added, as Frank was leaving, “at a quarter to ten
to-morrow morning, that I may take you before the Vice-Chancellor.”
At the Porter’s advice, Frank took a cab and drove to the “Clarendon,”
paid his bill, got his luggage together, and drove back to college. By
this time the Porter had the list of the newly-allotted rooms.
“Yours are No. 5, sir, three-pair right.”
Frank stared.
“No. 5 over the doorway, sir,” he then explained, pointing across the
quadrangle to a doorway, over which Frank discerned the wished-for
number; “three flights o’ stairs; the rooms on the right hand. No. 5,
three-pair right--that’s how we call it. You’ll find your scout there.
You’re too late for dinner. The hall-bell went twenty minutes ago.”
Frank crossed the quadrangle, climbed the stairs, and found his rooms.
They were neither large, nor particularly clean, as regarded paper and
paint; and the carpets and coverings were decidedly dingy. But they
were _his_ rooms, and he was an Oxford man! and that was _his_ scout
bustling in from the rooms opposite to welcome him. After a little
conversation, the fact of his ownership became still more apparent, for
the scout proceeded to show him a collection of glass and china and
household implements, on the merits and absolute necessity of which
he enlarged. The mere transfer of glass and china supplies a nice
little addition to the scout’s perquisites. The articles are, in the
first instance, purchased by some undergraduate who prefers his own
choice to what his scout has ready to offer him. He, on leaving his
rooms, bequeaths them to his scout. Custom is so tyrannical in Oxford.
The scout sells the articles to the next tenant, who, in his turn,
bequeaths them to the same willing legatee, when again they are sold to
the new-comer. How long this goes on it is hard to say. Sometimes the
smooth course is interrupted by some strong-minded undergraduate, who,
ignoring custom, takes his effects with him when he leaves. The little
bill was as follows:--
FRANK ROSS, ESQ., _to_ WILLIAM GREEN.
£ _s._ _d._
3 Cut-glass Decanters 2 0 0
Claret Jug 1 0 0
3 dozen Wine-glasses (mixed) 1 10 0
8 Tumblers 0 9 6
A Dessert Set 0 18 0
15 Dinner Plates 0 13 6
7 Cheese Plates 0 5 6
Tea Set, consisting of Milk Jug, Sugar Basin, Bowl, 8
Breakfast Cups, 6 Tea Cups, 9 Plates (all mixed) 2 2 0
Metal Tea-pot 0 7 6
Broom 0 8 0
Dustpan and Brush 0 3 6
6 Dusters 0 6 0
6 Tea-cloths 0 6 0
-----------
£9 19 6
===========
Shortly afterwards, as Frank was unpacking, a youth of most obsequious
manners arrived, carrying a cap and gown for the Freshman, who received
them with a murmur of gratified pleasure, making no inquiries about the
cost or who had given the order; considering that, of course, what was
thus sent must be _en règle_. The bill arrived within a week, with a
polite intimation that payment was not requested, and an invitation to
inspect the stock of the obliging tailors.
FRANK ROSS, ESQ., _to_ Cutter and Co.
_s._ _d._
A College Cap 7 6
A Commoner’s Gown 15 0
----------
£1 2 6
==========
Three years later, when pressed by duns and threatened with proceedings
in the Vice-Chancellor’s Court, Frank remembered these gentle
disclaimers of any wish for payment.
What with talking to his scout and unpacking, nine o’clock soon
arrived: the hour when the kitchen and buttery were opened for supper.
William suggested that his master would like some supper, and in a
short time supper was brought.
“I shan’t eat all that,” expostulated Frank, when he saw the plateful
of meat and lumps of bread and butter.
“Only one ‘commons,’ sir,” replied William.
Frank said nothing, but saw distinctly that the standard called “one
commons,” for which his father would have to pay daily through his
three or four years, was based on the principle that “what is ordered
for one should be enough for two.” However, he enjoyed his supper; and
so did the scout, who carried home his share, with similar portions
from the other six rooms on the staircase to which it was his duty to
attend.
The following morning, duly attired in cap and gown, with white
tie and black coat at William’s suggestion, Frank betook himself
to the Dean’s rooms. There he met the four other Freshmen who had
“passed” with him, was asked if he had his fee ready, and then
conducted in a sheepish, silent procession, headed by the Dean, to the
Vice-Chancellor. There were several groups of Freshmen standing with
their respective Deans, Vice-Principals, or other college officials.
Then they were all told to write their names in a book in Latin--a
novel though not difficult feat, which Frank, with the assistance of
his Dean, accomplished.
“Ross, Franciscus, filius Armigeri, è collegio S. Pauli.”
He then handed in his fee, 2_l._ 10_s._, and received in return a
little piece of blue paper, the certificate of matriculation, together
with a copy of the University statutes. The Vice-Chancellor addressed
them all in a short Latin formula; and when this was over, Frank had
time to read the document, which ran thus:--
“Term. Pasch.
“Oxoniæ, die Ap. 27mo, Anno Domini 187--.
“Quo die comparuit coram me Franciscus Ross, è Coll. S. Pauli,
Arm. Fil. et admonitus est de observandis statutis hujus
Universitatis et in matriculam Universitatis relatus est.
“----, Vice-Can.”
He was now fully matriculated, and amenable to all the details of
University discipline. At six o’clock he dined in Hall--his first
dinner--not without the usual blunder of seating himself at a table
appropriated to undergraduates at least two years his seniors; and at
eight went to chapel--the hour being changed on first nights in term
from half-past five to eight, to enable men from distant homes to put
in an appearance. The chapel was very much crowded, Paul’s having
considerably outgrown its accommodation; but it was only on first
nights that the inconvenience was felt, for as it was not necessary to
attend service more than four times in the week, all the men were never
there together.
Coming out, he met several old school-fellows, and the senior of them
carried them all off to his lodgings in Holywell Street, where over
wine and pipes they sat chatting till past ten o’clock; Frank, for the
most part, listening without saying much, for he was but a Freshman,
and this his first pipe.
When he got back to Paul’s he found the gates locked; but as he had
read “Verdant Green” very carefully, he did not think it necessary to
apologize to George for giving him the trouble of opening. He knew that
“knocking in” before eleven o’clock only meant twopence in his weekly
“battels.”[5]
That night, when he got into bed, though he did not feel quite a
“man,” he felt conscious of having undergone some considerable change
since he left home on Tuesday morning.