parting--Arrival of the Provost of King's College,
Cambridge, and the Pozers--The Captain's Oration--Busy
Monday--The Oppidan's Farewell--Examination and Election of
the Collegers who stand for King's--The aquatic Gala and
Fireworks--Oxonian Visitors--Night--Rambles in Eton--
Transformations of Signs and Names--The Feast at the
Christopher, with a View of THE OPPIDAN'S MUSEUM, AND ETON
COURT OF CLAIMS.
Now from the schools pour forth a num'rous train,
Light-hearted, buoyant as the summer breeze,
To deck thy bosom, Eton: now each face
Anticipation brightens with delight,
While many a fancied bliss floats gaily
O'er the ardent mind, chaste as the Nautilus,
Spreading her pearly spangles to the sun:
The joyous welcome of parental love,
The heart-inspiring kiss a sister yields,
A brother's greeting, and the cheering smiles
Of relatives and friends, and aged domestics,
Time-honor'd for their probity and zeal,
Whose silvery locks recall to mem'ry's view
Some playful scene of earliest childhood,
When frolic, mirth, and gambol led the way,
Ere reason gave sobriety of thought.-
Now bear the busy _Cads_ the new-lopt bough
Of beech-tree to the dormitories,
While active Collegers the foliage raise
Against the chamber walls. A classic grove
Springs as by magic art, cool and refreshing,
A luxury by nature's self supply'd,
Delicious shelter from the dog-star's ray.
In thought profound the studious _Sextile_ mark
In learned converse with some ancient sage,
Whose aid he seeks to meet the dread Provost.
The captain fearless seeks the ancient stand,
Where old Etona's sons, beneath time's altar-piece,*
Have immemorial welcomed _Granta's_ chief.
In College-hall the merry cook prepares
The choicest viands for the master's banquet:
A graceful, healthy throng surround the board,
And temp'rance, love, and harmony, prevail.
Now busy dames are in high bustle caught,
Preparing for each oppidan's departure;
And servants, like wing'd Mercury, must fly
O'er Windsor bridge to hail the London coach.
Adieus on ev'ry side, farewell, farewell,
Rings in each passing ear; yet, nor regret
Nor sorrow marks the face, but all elate
With cheerful tongue and brighten'd eye, unite
To hail with joy Etona's holiday.
Now comes the trial of who stands for King's,
Examinations difficult and deep
The Provost and his pozers to o'ercome.
To this succeeds the grand aquatic gala,
A spectacle of most imposing import,
Where, robed in every costume of the world,
The gay youth direct the glittering prow;
A fleet of well-trimm'd barks upon the bosom
Of old father Thames, glide on to pleasure's note:
~51~~
The expert victors are received with cheers,
And the dark canopy of night's illumin'd
With a grand display of brilliant fires.
* Shortly after the arrival of the Provost, he proceeds
through the cloisters, where he is met by the captain, or
head boy of the school, who speaks a long Latin oration
before him, standing under the clock.
To an old Etonian the last week in July brings with it recollections of
delight that time and circumstances can never wholly efface. If, beneath
the broad umbrage of the refreshing grove, he seeks relief from care
and sultry heat, memory recalls to his imagination the scenes of his
boyhood, the ever pleasing recollections of infancy, when he reclined
upon the flowery bosom of old father Thames, or sought amusement in
the healthful exercise of bathing, or calmly listened to the murmuring
ripple of the waters, or joined the merry group in gently plying of the
splashing oar. With what eager delight are these reminiscences of youth
dwelt on! With what mingled sensations of hope, fear, and regret, do we
revert to the happy period of life when, like the favorite flower of the
month, our minds and actions rivalled the lily in her purity! Who, that
has ever tasted of the inspiring delight which springs from associations
of scholastic friendships and amusements, but would eagerly quit the
bustle of the great world to indulge in the enjoyment of the pure
and unalloyed felicity which is yet to be found among the alumni
of Eton?--Election Saturday--the very sound reverberates the echo of
pleasure, and in a moment places me (in imagination) in the centre of
the long chambers of Eton, walking beneath the grateful foliage of the
beech-tree, with which those dormitories are always decorated previous
to election Saturday. I can almost fancy that I hear the rattle of
the carriage wheels, and see the four horses smoking beneath the
lodge-window of Eton college, that conveys the provost of King's to
attend examination and election. Then too I can figure the classic band
who wait to
~52~~
receive him; the dignified little doctor leading the way, followed
by the steady, calm-visaged lower master, Carter; then comes benedict
Yonge, and after him a space intervenes, where one should have been of
rare qualities, but he is absent; then follows good-humoured Heath, and
Knapp, who loves the rattle of a coach, and pleasant, clever Hawtry, and
careful Okes, and that shrewd sapper, Green, followed by medium Dupuis,
and the intelligent Chapman: these form his classic escort to the
cloisters. But who shall paint the captain's envied feelings, the proud
triumph of his assiduity and skill? To him the honourable office of
public orator is assigned; with modest reverence he speaks the Latin
oration, standing, as is the custom from time immemorial, under the
clock. There too he receives the bright reward, the approbation of
the Provost of King's college, and the procession moves forward to the
College-hall to partake of the generous banquet. On Sunday the Provost
of King's remains a guest with his compeer of Eton. But busy Monday
arrives, and hundreds of Oxonians and Cantabs pour in to witness the
speeches of the boys, and pay a tribute of respect to their former
masters. The exhibition this day takes place in the upper school, and
consists of sixth form oppidans and collegers. How well can I remember
the animated picture Eton presents on such occasions: shoals of
juvenile oppidans, who are not yet of an age to have been elected of any
particular school-party, marching forth from their dames' houses, linked
arm in arm, parading down the street with an air and gaiety that implies
some newly acquired consequence, or liberty of conduct. Every where a
holiday face presents itself, and good humour lisps upon every tongue.
Here may be seen a youthful group, all anxiety and bustle, trudging
after some well-known _Cad_, who creeps along towards the Windsor
coach-office, loaded with portmanteaus, carpet bags, and
~53~~
boxes, like a Norfolk caravan at Christmas time; while the youthful
proprietors of the bulky stock, all anxiety and desire to reach their
relatives and friends, are hurrying him on, and do not fail to spur the
_elephant_ with many a cutting gibe, at his slow progression. Within
doors the dames are all bustle, collecting, arranging, and packing up
the wardrobes of their respective boarders; servants flying from the
hall to the attic, and endangering their necks in their passage down
again, from anxiety to meet the breathless impetuosity of their parting
guests. Books of all classes, huddled into a heap, may be seen in the
corner of each bedroom, making _sock_ for the mice till the return
of their purveyors with lots of plum-cake and savoury tarts. The more
mature are now busily engaged in settling the fashion of their costume
for the approaching gala; in receiving a visit from an elder brother, or
a young Oxonian, formerly of Eton, who has arrived post to take _sock_
with him, and enjoy the approaching festivities. Here a venerable
domestic, whose silver locks are the truest emblem of his trusty
services, arrives with the favorite pony to convey home the infant heir
and hope of some noble house.
Now is Garraway as lively as my lord mayor's steward at a Guildhall
feast-day; and the active note of preparation for the good things of
this world rings through the oaken chambers of the Christopher. Not even
the _sanctum sanctorum_ is forgotten, where, in times long past, I have
quaffed my jug of Bulstrode, "in cool grot," removed from the scorching
heat of a July day, and enjoyed many a good joke, secure from the prying
observations of the _domine_. One, and one only, class of persons wear
a sorrowful face upon these joyous occasions, and these are the
confectioners and fruitresses of Eton; with them, election Saturday
and busy Monday are like the herald to a Jewish black fast, or a stock
exchange holiday: they may as well _sport their oaks_ (to use an Oxford
phrase) till the
~54~~
return of the oppidans to school, for they seldom see the colour of a
customer's cash till the, to them, happy period arrives.
On the succeeding days the examinations of the collegers proceed
regularly; then follows the election of new candidates, and the severe
trial of those who stand for King's. These scholastic arrangements
generally conclude on the Wednesday night, or Thursday morning, and
then Pleasure mounts her variegated car, and drives wherever Fancy may
direct. Formerly I find seven or eight scholars went to King's;{*} but
in consequence of the fellows of Eton holding pluralities, the means are
impoverished, and the number consequently reduced to two or three:
this is the more to be regretted, on account of the very severe and
irrecoverable disappointment the scholars experience in losing
their election, merely on account of age; as at nineteen they are
superannuated, and cannot afterwards receive any essential benefit from
the college.
Not the blue waves of the Engia, covered with the gay feluccas of the
Greeks, and spreading their glittering streamers in the sun; nor the
more lovely
* This noble seminary of learning was founded by Hen. VI. in
1440. Its establishment was then on a limited scale; it has
long since been enlarged, and now consists of a provost,
vice-provost, six fellows, two schoolmasters, with their
assistants, seventy scholars, seven clerks, and ten
choristers, besides various inferior officers and servants.
The annual election of scholars to King's College,
Cambridge, takes place about the end of July, or the
beginning of August, when the twelve senior scholars are put
on the roll to succeed, but they are not removed till
vacancies occur; the average number of which is about nine
in two years. At nineteen years of age the scholars are
superannuated. Eton sends, also, two scholars to Merton
College, Oxford, where they are denominated post-masters,
and has likewise a few exhibitions of twenty-one guineas
each for its superannuated scholars. The scholars elected to
King's succeed to fellowships at three years' standing.
~55~~
Adriatic, swelling her translucent bosom to the gentle motion of the
gondolier, and bearing on her surface the splendid cars and magnificent
pageant of the Doge of Venice, marrying her waters to the sea, can to
an English bosom yield half the delight the grand aquatic Eton gala
affords; where, decked in every costume fancy can devise, may be seen
the noble youth of Britain, her rising statesmen, warriors, and judges,
the future guardians of her liberties, wealth, and commerce, all vying
with each other in loyal devotion to celebrate the sovereign's natal
day.{*} Then doth thy silvery bosom, father Thames, present a spectacle
truly delightful; a transparent mirror, studded with gems and stars and
splendid pageantry, reflecting a thousand brilliant variegated hues;
while, upon thy flowery margin, the loveliest daughters of the land
press the green velvet of luxuriant nature, outrivalling in charms of
colour, form, and beauty, the rose, the lily, and the graceful pine.
There too may be seen the accomplished and the gay youth labouring for
pleasure at the healthful oar, while with experienced skill the expert
helmsman directs through all thy fragrant windings the trim bark to
victory. The race determined, the bright star of eve, outrivalled by the
pyrotechnic _artiste_, hides his diminished head. Now sallies forth the
gay Oxonian from the Christopher, ripe with the rare Falernian of mine
host, to have his frolic gambol with old friends. Pale Luna, through her
misty veil, smiles at these harmless pleasantries, and lends the merry
group her aid to smuggle signs, alter names, and play off a thousand
fantastic vagaries; while the Eton Townsman, robed in
* The grand aquatic gala, which terminates the week's festi-
vities at Eton, and concludes the water excursions for the
season, was originally fixed in honour of his late majesty's
birthday, and would have been altered to the period of his
successor's, but the time would not accord, the twelfth day
of August being vacation.
~50~~
peaceful slumber, dreams not of the change his house has undergone,
and wakes to find a double transformation; his _Angel_ vanished, or
exchanged for the rude semblance of an Oxford _Bear_, with a cognomen
thereto appended, as foreign to his family nomenclature "as he to
Hercules." In the morning the dames are wailing the loss of their
polished knockers; and the barber-surgeon mourns the absence of his
obtrusive pole. The optician's glasses have been removed to the door of
some prying _domine_; and the large tin cocked hat has been seized by
some midnight giant, who has also claimed old Crispin's three-leagued
boot. The golden fish has leaped into the Thames. The landlord of the
Lamb bleats loudly for his fleece. The grocer cares not a fig for the
loss of his sugar-loaves, but laughs, and takes it as a currant joke.
Old Duplicate is resolved to have his balls restored with interest; and
the lady mother of the black doll is quite pale in the face with sorrow
for the loss of her child. Mine host of the vine looks as sour as his
own grapes, before they were fresh gilded; and spruce master Pigtail,
the tobacconist, complains that his large roll of real Virginia has been
chopped into short cut. But these are by far the least tormenting jokes.
That good-humoured Cad, Jem Miller, finds the honorary distinction of
private tutor added to his name. Dame ----s, an irreproachable spinster
of forty, discovers that of Mr. Probe, man-midwife, appended to her
own. Mr. Primefit, the Eton Stultz, is changed into Botch, the cobbler.
Diodorus Drowsy, D.D., of Windsor, is re-christened Diggory Drenchall,
common brewer; and the amiable Mrs. Margaret Sweet, the Eton pastry-cook
and confectioner, finds her name united in bands of brass with Mr.
Benjamin Bittertart, the baker. The celebrated Christopher Caustic,
Esq., surgeon, has the mortification to find his Esculapian dormitory
decorated with the sign-board of Mr. Slaughtercalf, a German butcher;
while his handsome brass pestle
~57~~
and mortar, with the gilt Galen's head annexed, have been waggishly
transferred to the house of some Eton Dickey Gossip, barber and dentist.
Mr. Index, the bookseller, changes names with old Frank Finis, the
sexton. The elegant door plate of Miss Caroline Cypher, spinster, is
placed on the right side of Nicodemus
Number, B.A., and fellow of Eton, with this note annexed: "New rule of
Addition, according to Cocker." Old Amen, the parish clerk, is united to
Miss Bridget Silence, the pew opener; and Theophilus White, M.D. changes
place with Mr. Sable, the undertaker. But we shall become too grave if
we proceed deeper with this subject. There is no end to the whimsical
alterations and ludicrous changes that take place upon these occasions,
when scarce a sign or door plate in Eton escapes some pantomimic
transformation.*
* Representations to the masters or authorities are scarcely
ever necessary to redress these whimsical grievances, as the
injured parties are always remunerated. The next day the
spoils and trophies are arranged in due form in a certain
snug sanctum sanctorum, the cellar of a favorite inn, well
known by the name of the _Oppidan's_ Museum; for a view of
which see the sketch made on the spot by my friend Bob
Transit. Here the merry wags are to be found in council,
holding a court of claims, to which all the tradesmen who
have suffered any loss are successively summoned; and after
pointing out from among the motley collection the article
they claim, and the price it originally cost, they are
handsomely remunerated, or the sign replaced. The good
people of Eton generally choose the former, as it not only
enable them to sport a new sign, but to put a little profit
upon the cost price of the old one. The trophies thus
acquired are then packed up in hampers, and despatched to
Oxford, where they are on similar occasions not unfrequently
displayed, or hung up, in lieu of some well-known sign, such
as the Mitre, &c. which has been removed during the night.
~58~~
[Illustration: page058]
The following jeu-d'esprits issued upon the interference of the
authorities at the conclusion of the last Election. The "dance of thirty
sovereigns" is an allusion to the fine imposed, which was given to the
poor.
A Ladder Dance.
A moving golden Fish.
The Fall of Grapes, during a heavy storm.
The Cock'd Hat Combat.
A March to the Workhouse.
Bird-cage Duett, by Messrs. C***** and B****.
A public Breakfast, with a dance by thirty sovereigns.
Glee--"When shall we three meet again."
The Barber's Hornpipe, by the learned D****.
The Turk's Head Revel.
Saint Christopher's March.
The Committee in Danger.
The Cloisters, Eton
[Illustration: page059]
~59~~
HERBERT STOCKHORE, THE MONTEM POET LAUREATE.
A SKETCH FROM THE LIFE,
As he appeared in the Montent Procession of May, 1823.
BY BERNARD BLACKMANTLE, AND ROBERT TRANSIT
Bending beneath a weight of time,
And crippled as his Montem ode,
We found the humble son of rhyme
Busy beside the public road.
Nor laurel'd wreath or harp had he,
To deck his brow or touch the note
That wakes the soul to sympathy.
His face was piteous as his coat,
'Twas motley strange; e'en nature's self,
In wild, eccentric, playful mood,
Had, for her pastime, form'd the elf,
A being scarcely understood--
Half idiot, harmless; yet a gleam
Of sense, and whim, and shrewdness, broke
The current of his wildest stream;
And pity sigh'd as madness spoke.
~60~~
Lavater, Lawrence, Camper, here
Philosophy new light had caught:
Judged by your doctrines 'twould appear
The facial line denoted thought.{1}
But say, what system e'er shall trace
By scalp or visage mental worth?
The ideot's form, the maniac's face,
Are shared alike by all on earth.
"Comparative Anatomy--"
If, Stockhore, 'twas to thee apply'd,
'Twould set the doubting Gallist free,
And Spurzheim's idle tales deride.
But hence with visionary scheme,
Though Bell, or Abernethy, write;
Be Herbert Stockhore all my theme,
The laureate's praises I indite;
He erst who sung in Montem's praise,
And, Thespis like, from out his cart
Recited his extempore lays,
On Eton's sons, in costume smart,
Who told of captains bold and grand,
Lieutenants, marshals, seeking _salt_;
Of colonels, majors, cap in hand,
Who bade e'en majesty to halt;
1 It is hardly possible to conceive a more intelligent,
venerable looking head, than poor Herbert Stockhore
presents; a fine capacious forehead, rising like a
promontory of knowledge, from a bold outline of countenance,
every feature decisive, breathing serenity and
thoughtfulness, with here and there a few straggling locks
of silvery gray, which, like the time-discoloured moss upon
some ancient battlements, are the true emblems of antiquity:
the eye alone is generally dull and sunken in the visage,
but during his temporary gleams of sanity, or fancied
flights of poetical inspiration, it is unusually bright and
animated. According to professor Camper, I should think the
facial line would make an angle of eighty or ninety degrees;
and, judging upon the principles laid down by Lavater, poor
Herbert might pass for a Solon. Of his bumps, or
phrenological protuberances, I did not take particular
notice, but I have no doubt they would be found, upon
examination, equally illustrative of such visionary systems.
~61~~
Told how the ensign nobly waved
The colours on the famous hill;
And names from dull oblivion saved,
Who ne'er the niche of fame can fill:
Who, like to Campbell, lends his name.{2}
To many a whim he ne'er did write;
When witty scholars, to their shame,
'Gainst masters hurl a satire trite.{3}
But fare thee well, Ad Montem's bard,{4}
Farewell, my mem'ry's early friend
2 The author of "the Pleasures of Hope," and the editor of
the New Monthly; but-"_Tarde, quo credita lodunt,
credimus_."
3 It has long been the custom at Eton, particularly during
Montem, to give Herbert Stockhore the credit of many a
satirical whim, which he, poor fellow, could as easily have
penned as to have written a Greek ode. These squibs are
sometimes very humorous, and are purposely written in
doggrel verse to escape detection by the masters, who are
not unfrequently the principal porsons alluded to.
4 The following laughable production was sold by poor
Herbert Stockhore during the last Montem: we hardly think we
need apologise for introducing this specimen of his muse:
any account of Eton characteristics must have been held
deficient without it.
THE MONTEM ODE. May 20, 1823.
Muses attend! the British channel flock o'er,
Call'd by your most obedient servant, Stockhore.
Aid me, O, aid me, while I touch the string;
Montem and Captain Barnard's praise I sing;
Captain Barnard, the youth so noble and bright,
That none dare dispute his worthy right
To that gay laurel which his brother wore,
In times that 1 remember long before.
What are Olympic honours compared to thine,
0 Captain, when Majesty does combine
With heroes, their wives, sons and daughters great,
To visit this extremely splendid fete.
Enough! I feel a sudden inspiration fill
My bowels; just as if the tolling bell
Had sent forth sounds a floating all along the air
Just such Parnassian sounds, though deaf, I'm sure I hear.
~62~~
May misery never press thee hard,
Ne'er may disease thy steps attend:
Listen, ye gents; rude Boreas hold your tongue!
The pomp advances, and my lyre is strung.
First comes Marshal Thackeray,
Dress'd out in crack array;
Ar'nt he a whacker, eh?
His way he picks,
Follow'd by six,
Like a hen by her chicks:
Enough! he's gone.
As this martial Marshall
Is to music partial,
The bandsmen march all
His heels upon.
He who hits the balls such thumps,
King of cricket-bats and stumps,--
Barnard comes;
Sound the drums--
Silence! he's past.
Eight fair pages,
Of different ages,
Follow fast.
Next comes the Serjeant-Major,
Who, like an old stager,
Without need of bridle
Walks steadily; the same
Dolphin Major by name,
Major Dolphin by title.
Next struts Serjeant Brown,
Very gay you must own;
With gallant Mr. Hughes,
In well-polish'd shoes;
Then Sampson, who tramps on,
Strong as his namesake.
Then comes Webb, who don't dread
To die for his fame's sake.
Next shall I sing
Of Serjeant King,
And Horace Walpole,
Holding a tall pole,
Who follows King and Antrobus,
Though he's "pulchrior ambobus."
~63~~
Be all thy wants by those supply'd,
Whom charity ne'er fail'd to move{5}:
5 This eccentric creature has for many years subsisted
entirely upon the bounty of the Etonians, and the
inhabitants of Windsor and Eton, who never fail to
administer to his wants, and liberally supply him with many
little comforts in return for his harmless pleasantries.
Then to Salthill speed on,
While the troops they lead on;
Both Mr. Beadon,
And Serjeant Mitford,
Who's ready to fi't for't.
Then Mr. Carter follows a'ter;
And Denman,
Worth ten men,
Like a Knight of the Garter;
And Cumberbatch,
Without a match,
Tell me, who can be smarter?
Then Colonel Hand,
Monstrous grand,
Closes the band.
Pass on, you nameless crowd,
Pass on. The Ensign proud
Comes near. Let all that can see
Behold the Ensign Dansey;
See with what elegance he
Waves the flag--to please the fancy.
Pass on, gay crowd; Le Mann, the big,
Bright with gold as a guinea-pig,
The big, the stout, the fierce Le Mann,
Walks like a valiant gentleman.
But take care of your pockets,
Here's Salt-bearer Platt,
With a bag in his hand,
And a plume in his hat;
A handsomer youth, sure small-clothes ne'er put on,
Though very near rival'd by elegant Sutton.
Thus then has pass'd this grand procession,
In most magnificent progression.
Farewell you gay and happy throng!