without possessing one ray of the brilliant qualifications for which he
is distinguished. Proud without property, and sarcastic without being
witty, ill temper he mistakes for superior carriage, and haughtiness
for dignity: his study is his toilet, and his mind, like his face, is
a vacuity neither sensible, intelligent, nor agreeable. He has few
associates, for few will accept him for a companion. With his superiors
in rank, his precedent honorary distinction yields him no consideration;
with his equals, it places him upon too familiar a footing; while with
his inferiors, it renders him tyrannical and unbearable. His mornings,
between school hours, are spent in frequent change of dress, and his
afternoons in a lounge a la Bond-street, annoying the modest females and
tradesmen's daughters of Eton; his evenings (after absence{1} is called)
at home, in solitary dissipation over his box of liqueurs, or in making
others uncomfortable by his rudeness and overbearing dictation. He
is disliked by the dame, detested by the servants, and shunned by his
schoolfellows, and yet he is our captain, a _Sextile, a Roue_, and above
all, an honourable.
Tom Echo. A little to the left of the Exquisite, you may perceive Tom's
merry countenance shedding good-humour around him. He is the only one who
can
1 _Absence_ is called several times in the course of the
day, to prevent the boys straying away to any great distance
from the college, and at night to secure them in quarters at
the dames' houses: if a boy neglects to answer to his name,
or is too late for the call, inquiry is immediately made at
his dame's, and a very satisfactory apology must be offered
to prevent punishment.
manage the _Sextile_ with effect: Tom is always ready with a tart reply
to his sarcasm, or a _cut_ at his consequence. Tom is the eldest son
of one of the most respectable whig families in the kingdom, whose
ancestors have frequently refused a peerage, from an inherent
democratical but constitutional jealousy of the crown. Independence
and Tom were nursery friends, and his generous, noble-hearted conduct
renders him an universal favorite with the school. Then, after holidays,
Tom always returns with such a rich collection of fox-hunting stories
and sporting anecdotes, and gives sock{2} so graciously, that he is the
very life of dame ------'s party. There is to be sure one drawback to
Tom's good qualities, but it is the natural attendant upon a high flow
of animal spirits: if any mischief is on foot, Tom is certain to be
concerned, and ten to one but he is the chief contriver: to be seen in
his company, either a short time previous to, or quickly afterwards,
although perfectly innocent, is sure to create a suspicion of guilt with
the masters, which not unusually involves his companions in trouble,
and sometimes in unmerited punishment. Tom's philosophy is to live well,
study little, drink hard, and laugh immoderately. He is not deficient in
sense, but he wants application and excitement: he has been taught from
infancy to feel himself perfectly independent of the world, and at
home every where: nature has implanted in his bosom the characteristic
benevolence of his ancestry, and he stands among us a being whom
every one loves and admires, without any very distinguishing trait of
learning, wit, or superior qualification, to command the respect he
excites. If any one tells a good story or makes a laughable pun, Tom
retails it for a week, and all the school have the advantage of hearing
and enjoying it. Any proposition for a boat party, cricketing, or a
toodle into Windsor, or along the banks of the Thames
2 Good cheer; any nicety, as pastry, &c.
~35~~
on a sporting excursion, is sure to meet a willing response from him. He
is second to none in a charitable subscription for a poor _Cad_, or the
widow of a drowned _Bargee_; his heart ever reverberates the echo of
pleasure, and his tongue only falters to the echo of deceit.
Horace Eglantine is placed just opposite to Lily man Lionise, a
calm-looking head, with blue eyes and brown hair, which flows in
ringlets of curls over his shoulders. Horace is the son of a city
banker, by the second daughter of an English earl, a young gentleman of
considerable expectations, and very amusing qualifications. Horace is
a strange composition of all the good-natured whimsicalities of
human nature, happily blended together without any very conspicuous
counteracting foible. Facetious, lively, and poetical, the cream of
every thing that is agreeable, society cannot be dull if Horace lends
his presence. His imitations of Anacreon, and the soft bard of Erin,
have on many occasions puzzled the cognoscenti of Eton. Like Moore
too, he both composes and performs his own songs. The following little
specimen of his powers will record one of those pleasant impositions
with which he sometimes enlivens a winter's evening:
TO ELIZA.
Oh think not the smile and the glow of delight,
With youth's rosy hue, shall for ever be seen:
Frosty age will o'ercloud, with his mantle of night,
The brightest and fairest of nature's gay scene.
Or think while you trip, like some aerial sprite,
To pleasure's soft notes on the dew-spangled mead,
That the rose of thy cheek, or thine eyes' starry light,
Shall sink into earth, and thy spirit be freed.
Then round the gay circle we'll frolic awhile,
And the light of young love shall the fleet hour bless
While the pure rays of friendship our eve-tide beguile,
Above fortune's frowns and the chills of distress
~36~~
The most provoking punster and poet that ever turned the serious and
sentimental into broad humour. Every quaint remark affords a pun or an
epigram, and every serious sentence gives birth to some merry couplet.
Such is the facility with which he strings together puns and rhyme,
that in the course of half an hour he has been known to wager, and win
it--that he made a couplet and a pun on every one present, to the
number of fifty. Nothing annoys the exquisite _Sextile_ so much as
this tormenting talent of Horace; he is always shirking him, and yet
continually falling in his way. For some time, while Horace was in the
fourth form, these little _jeu-d'esprits_ were circulated privately, and
smuggled up in half suppressed laughs; but being now high on the fifth,
Horace is no longer in fear of _fagging_, and therefore gives free
license to his tongue in many a witty jest, which "sets the table in a
roar."
Dick Gradus. In a snug corner, at a side table, observe that
shrewd-looking little fellow poring over his book; his features seem
represented by acute angles, and his head, which appears too heavy for
his body, represents all the thoughtfulness of age, like an ancient
fragment of Phidias or Praxiteles placed upon new shoulders by some
modern bust carver. Dick is the son of an eminent solicitor in a borough
town, who has raised himself into wealth and consequence by a strict
attention to the principles of interest: sharp practice, heavy
mortgages, loans on annuity, and post obits, have strengthened his list
of possessions till his influence is extended over half the county. The
proprietor of the borough, a good humoured sporting extravagant, has
been compelled to yield his influence in St. Stephen's to old Gradus,
that he may preserve his character at Newmarket, and continue his pack
and fox-hunting festivities at home. The representation of the place is
now disposed of to the best bidder, but the ambition of the father has
long since determined upon sending his son (when of age)
~37~~
into parliament--a promising candidate for the "loaves and fishes."
Richard Gradus, M.P.--you may almost perceive the senatorial honor
stamped upon the brow of the young aspirant; he has been early initiated
into the value of time and money; his lessons of thrift have been
practically illustrated by watching the operations of the law in his
father's office; his application to learning is not the result of an
innate love of literature, or the ambition of excelling his compeers,
but a cold, stiff, and formal desire to collect together materials
for the storehouse of his memory, that will enable him to pursue his
interested views and future operations on society with every prospect
of success. Genius has no participation in his studies: his knowledge
of Greek and Latin is grammatical and pedantic; he reads Livy, Tacitus,
Sallust, Caesar, Xenophon, Thucydides, in their original language;
boasts of his learning with a haughty mien and scornful look of
self-importance, and thinks this school-boy exercise of memory, this
mechanism of the mind, is to determine the line between genius and
stupidity; and has never taken into consideration that the mere
linguist, destitute of native powers, with his absurd parade of
scholastic knowledge, is a solitary barren plant, when opposed to the
higher occupations of the mind, to the flights of fancy, the daring
combinations of genius, and the sublime pictures of imagination. Dick
is an isolated being, a book-worm, who never embarks in any party
of pleasure, from the fear of expense; he has no talents for general
conversation, while his ridiculous affectation of learning subjects
him to a constant and annoying fire from the batteries of Etonian wit.
Still, however, Dick perseveres in his course, till his blanched cheeks
and cadaverous aspect, from close study and want of proper exercise,
proclaim the loss of health, and the probable establishment of some
pulmonary affection that may, before he scarcely reaches maturity,
blight the ambitious hopes of his father, and consign
~38~~
the son "to that bourne from whence no traveller returns."
Horatio Heartly. At the lower end of the room, observe a serene-looking
head displaying all the quiet character of a youthful portrait by the
divine Raphael, joined to the inspiring sensibility which flashes from
the almost breathing countenance and penetrating brilliancy of eye, that
distinguishes a Guido. That is my bosom friend, my more than brother, my
mentor and my guide. Horatio is an orphan, the son of a general officer,
whose crimsoned stream of life was dried up by an eastern sun, while
he was yet a lisping infant. His mother, lovely, young, and rich in
conjugal attachment, fell a blighted corse in early widowhood, and left
Horatio, an unprotected bud of virtuous love, to the fostering care of
Lady Mary Oldstyle, a widowed sister of the general's, not less rich in
worldly wealth than in true benevolence of heart, and the celestial
glow of pure affection. Heartly is a happy combination of all the
good-humoured particles of human nature blended together, with sense,
feeling, and judgment. Learned without affectation, and liberal without
being profuse, he has found out the secret of attaching all the school
to himself, without exciting any sensation of envy, or supplanting
prior friendships. Horatio is among the alumni of Eton the king of good
fellows: there is not a boy in the school, colleger, or oppidan, but
what would fight a long hour to defend him from insult; no--nor a
sparkling eye among the enchanting daughters of old _Etona_ that does
not twinkle with pleasure at the elegant congee, and amiable attentions,
which he always pays at the shrine of female accomplishment. Generous to
a fault, his purse--which the bounty of his aunt keeps well supplied--is
a public bank, _pro bono publico_. His parties to _sock_ are always
distinguished by an excellent selection, good taste, and superior
style. In all the varied school sports and pastimes, his manly form and
vigorous constitution gain him a superior
~39~~
station among his compeers, which his cheerful disposition enables him
to turn to general advantage. Nor is he in less estimation with the
masters, who are loud in their praises of his assiduity and proficiency
in school pursuits. Horatio is not exactly a genius: there is nothing
of that wild eccentricity of thought and action which betokens the vivid
flights of imagination, or the meteoric brightness of inspiration; his
actions are distinguished by coolness, intrepidity, and good sense. He
does not pretend to second sight, or a knowledge of futurity; but on the
present and the past there are few who can reason with more cogency
of remark, or with more classic elegance of diction: with such a
concentration of qualities, it is not wonderful that his influence
extends through every gradation of the juvenile band. His particular
attachments are not numerous; but those who have experienced the
sincerity of his private friendship must always remain his debtor--from
deficiency of expression; among the most obliged of whom is--the author.
Bob Transit. Bob has no fixed situation; therefore it would be in vain
to attempt to say where he may be found: sometimes he is placed next to
Bernard, and between him and Heartly, with whom he generally associates;
at other times he takes his situation at the side table, or fills up a
spare corner opposite to Dick Gradus, or the exquisite, either of whom
he annoys, during dinner, by sketching their portraits in caricature
upon the cover of his Latin Grammar, with their mouths crammed full of
victuals, or in the act of swallowing hot pudding: nor does the dame
sometimes escape him; the whole table have frequently been convulsed
with laughter at Bob's comic representation of Miss --------'s devout
phiz, as exhibited during the preparatory ceremony of a dinner grace:
the soul of whim, and source of fun and frolic, Bob is no mean auxiliary
to a merry party, or the exhilarating pleasure of a broad grin.
~40~~
Bob's _admiral_ is an R.A. of very high repute; who, having surmounted
all the difficulties of obscure origin and limited education, by the
brilliancy of his talents, has determined to give his son the advantage
of early instruction and liberal information, as a prelude to his
advancement in the arts. Talent is not often hereditary (or at least in
succession); but the facility of Transit's pencil is astonishing: with
the rapidity of a Fuseli he sketches the human figure in all its various
attitudes, and produces in his hasty drawings so much force of effect
and truth of character, that the subject can never be mistaken. His
humour is irresistible, and is strongly characterized by all the
eccentricity and wit of a Gilhay, turning the most trifling incidents
into laughable burlesque. Between him and Horace Eglantine there exists
a sort of copartnership in the sister arts of poetry and painting:
Horace rhymes, and Bob illustrates; and very few in the school of any
note have at one time or other escaped this combination of epigram
and caricature. Bob has an eye to real life, and is formed for all the
bustle of the varied scene. Facetious, witty, and quaint, with all
the singularity of genius in his composition, these juvenile _jeux
d'esprits_ of his pencil may be regarded as the rays of promise, which
streak with golden tints the blushing horizon of the morn of youth.
As Bob is not over studious, or attached to the Latin and Greek
languages, he generally manages to get any difficult lesson construed by
an agreement with some more learned and assiduous associate; the _quid
pro quo_ on these occasions being always punctually paid on his part by
a humorous sketch of the head master calling first absence, taken from
a snug, oblique view in the school-yard, or a burlesque on some of the
fellows or inhabitants of Eton. In this way Bob contrives to pass
school muster, although these specimens of talent have, on more than one
occasion, brought him to the block. It must however
~41~~
be admitted, that in all these flights of fancy his pencil is never
disgraced by any malignancy of motive, or the slightest exhibition of
personal spleen. Good humour is his motto; pleasure his pursuit: and if
he should not prove a Porson or an Elmsley, he gives every promise of
being equally eminent with a Bunbury, Gillray, or a Rowlandson.
Varied groups are disposed around the room, and make up the back ground
of my picture. Many of these are yet too young to particularize, and
others have nothing sufficiently characteristic to deserve it; some who
have not yet committed their first fault, and many who are continually
in error; others who pursue the straight beaten track to scholastic
knowledge, and trudge on like learned dromedaries. Two or three there
are who follow in no sphere-eccentric stars, shooting from space to
space; some few mischievous wags, who delight in a good joke, and will
run the risk of punishment at any time to enjoy it; with here and there
a little twinkling gem, like twilight planets, just emerging from the
misty veil of nature.
These form my dame's dinner party. Reader, do not judge them harshly
from this hasty sketch: take into your consideration their youth and
inexperience; and if they do not improve upon acquaintance, and increase
in estimation with their years, the fault must in justice rather be
attributed to the author than to any deficiency in their respective
merits.
[Illustration: page 041]
~42~~
THE FIVE PRINCIPAL ORDERS OF ETON, DOCTOR, DAME, COLLEGER, OPPIDAN, AND
CAD. A SKETCH TAKEN OPPOSITE THE LONG WALK.
[Illustration: page042]
[Illustration: page043]
ETON DAMES*; AN ODE, NEITHER AMATORY,
ILL-NATURED, NOR PATHETIC.
Let Oxford beaux, to am'rous belles,
Love's warm epistles write;
Or Cambridge youths, in classic dells,
Invoke the shadowy night.
* The above _jeu-d'esprit_ made its appearance on one of
those joyous occasions, when the sons of old Etona return
from Oxford and Cambridge, filled with filial regard for
early scenes and school-boy friendships, to commemorate a
college election. It was, at the time, purposely attributed
to some of these waggish visitors, a sort of privileged
race, who never fail of indulging in numerous good-humoured
freaks with the inhabitants of Eton, to show off to the
rising generation the pleasantries, whims, and improvements
of a college life. The subject is one of great delicacy, but
it will, I hope, be admitted by the merry dames themselves,
that my friend Bernard has in this, as in every other
instance, endeavoured to preserve the strongest traits of
truth and character, without indulging in offensive satire,
or departing from propriety and decorum.--Horatio Heartly.
~44~~
Let Cockney poets boast their flames,
Of ' Vicked Cupit' patter:
Be mine a verse on Eton Dames--
A more substantial matter.
I care not if the Graces three
Have here withheld perfection:
Brown, black, or fair, the same to me,--
E'en age is no objection.
A pleasing squint, or but one eye,
Will do as well as any;
A mouth between a laugh and cry,
Or wrinkled, as my granny.
A hobbling gait, or a wooden leg,
Or locks of silvery gray;
Or name her Madge, or Poll, or Peg,
She still shall have my lay.
Perfection centres in the mind,
The gen'rous must acknowledge:
Then, Muse, be candid, just, and kind,
To Dames of Eton College.*
* The independent students, commonly called _Oppidans_, are
very numerous: they are boarded at private houses in the
environs of the college; the presiding masters and
mistresses of which have from time immemorial enjoyed the
title of _Domine_ and _Dame_: the average number of
_Oppidans_ is from three hundred to three hundred and fifty.
FIVE PRINCIPAL ORDERS OF ETON
~45~~
PROEM.
Said Truth to the Muse, as they wander'd along,
"Prithee, Muse, spur your Pegasus into a song;
Let the subject be lively,--how like you the Belles?"
Said the Muse, "he's no sportsman that kisses and tells.
But in females delighting, suppose we stop here,
And do you bid the Dames of old Eton appear;
In your mirror their merits, with candour, survey,
And I'll sing their worth in my very best Lay."
No sooner 'twas said, than agreed:--it was done,
Wing'd Mercury summon'd them every one.
MISS A***LO.
First, deck'd in the height of the fashion, a belle,
An angel, ere Chronos had tipt her with snow,
Advanced to the goddess, and said, "you may tell,
That in Eton, there's no better table, you know;"
And by Truth 'twas admitted, "her generous board
Is rich, in whatever the seasons afford."
THE MISS t*****S.
Of ancients, a pair next presented themselves,
When in popp'd some waggish Oxonian elves,
Who spoke of times past, of short commons, and cheese,
And told tales, which did much the old ladies displease.
"Good morning," said Truth, as the dames pass'd him by:
Young stomachs, if stinted, are sure to outcry.
MRS. R******U.
On her _Domine_ leaning came dame B******u,
The oldest in college, deck'd in rich furbelow.
~46~~
She curtsied around to the _Oppidan_ band,
But not one said a word, and but few gave a hand.
Truth whisper'd the Muse,, who, as sly, shook her head,
Saying, "where little's told, 'tis soon mended, it's
said."
MRS. G******E.
When S******e appear'd, what a shout rent the air!
The spruce widow affords the most excellent cheer;
For comfort in quarters there's nothing can beat her,
So up rose the lads with a welcome to greet her:
The muse with true gallantry led her to place,
And Truth said good humour was writ in her face.
MRS. D****N.
With a face (once divine), and a figure still smart,
And a grace that defies even Time's fatal dart,
Dame D****n advanced, made her curtsy, and smiled:
Truth welcomed the fair, the grave, witty, and wild;
All, all gave their votes, and some said they knew
That her numbers by no measure equall'd her due.
MISS S******S.
"By my hopes," said the Muse, "here's a rare jolly pair,
A right merry frontispiece, comely and fair,
To good living and quarters." "You're right," nodded Truth.
A welcome approval was mark'd in each youth.
And 'twas no little praise among numbers like theirs,
To meet a unanimous welcome up stairs.
Miss L******d.
Lavater, though sometimes in error, you'll find
May be here quoted safely; the face tells the mind.
Good humour and happiness live in her eye.
Her motto's contentment you'll easily spy.
five principal orders of eton
~47~~
A chair for Miss L******d Truth placed near the Muse;
For beauty to rhyme can fresh spirit infuse.
MRS. V******Y.
V******y, in weeds led and angel along,
Accomplish'd and pretty, who blush'd at the throng.
The old dame seem'd to say, and i'faith she might well,
"Sons of Eton, when saw you a handsomer belle?"
If any intended the widow to sneer,
Miss A------won their favor, and banish'd the jeer.
Three sisters, famed for various parts,
One clerks, and one makes savoury tarts;
While t'other, bless her dinner face,
Cuts up the viands with a grace,
Advanced, and met a cheerful greeting
From all who glorify good eating.
MRS. W. H****R.
With a smile, _a la confident_, came Mrs. H,
Whose Domine writing to Eton's sons teach:
In college, the handiest man you can find
For improvements of all sorts, both building and mind:
He seem'd on good terms with himself, but the Muse
Said, "the Dame claim'd a welcome which none could refuse."
DAME A****S.
Dame A****s, respected by all, made her way
Through the throng that assembled at Eton that day.
Old Chronos had wrinkled her forehead, 'tis true;
Yet her countenance beam'd in a rich, mellow hue
Of good humour and worth; 'twas a pleasure to mark
How the dame was applauded by each Eton spark.
~48~~
MISS b*******K.
Long and loud were the plaudits the lady to cheer,
Whom the doctor had treated somewhat cavalier:
"Too young," said the ancient, "the proverb is trite;
Age and wisdom, good doctor, not always unite."
"For prudence and worth," said Truth, "I'll be bound
She may challenge the Dames of old Eton around."
A crowd pressing forward, the day growing late,
Truth whisper'd the Muse, "we had better retreat;
For though 'mong the dames we are free from disasters,
I know not how well we may fare with the masters.
There's Carter, and Yonge, Knapp, Green, and Dupuis,*
All coming this way with their ladies, I see.
Our visit, you know, was alone to the belles;
The masters may sing, if they please, of themselves.
Truth mounted a cloud, and the Poet his nag,
And these whims sent next day by the post-office bag.
* Lower, and assistant masters, who keep boarding-houses.
Until lately this practice was not permitted; but it must be
confessed that it is a salutary arrangement, as it not only
tends to keep the youth in a better state of subjection, but
in many instances is calculated to increase their progress
in study, by enabling them to receive private instruction.
[Illustration: page048
[Illustration: page049]
~50~~
ELECTION SATURDAY.