Goddard enter'd the room, with three cards for Apollo,
And some papers which, hardly five minutes before,
Three respectable gownsmen had left at the door.
With a smile of good humour the god look'd at each,
For he found that they came from Blunt, Chapman, and Neech.{7}
Blunt sent him a treatise of science profound,
Showing how rotten eggs were distinguish'd from sound;
Some "Remarks on Debates," and some long-winded stories,
Of society Whigs, and society Tories;
And six sheets and a half of a sage dissertation,
On the present most wicked and dull generation.
From Chapman came lectures on Monk, and on piety;
On Simeon, and learning, and plays, and sobriety;
With most clear illustrations, and critical notes,
On his own right exclusive of canvassing votes.
From Neech came a medley of prose and of rhyme,
Satires, epigrams, sonnets, and sermons sublime;
But he'd chosen all customs and rules to reverse,
For his satires were prose, and las sermons were verse.
Phoebus look'd at the papers, commended all three,
And sent word he'd be happy to see them to tea.
The affairs of the morning thus happily o'er,
Phoebus pull'd from his pocket twelve tickets or more,
Which the waiters were ordered forthwith to disperse
'Mongst the most approved scribblers in prose and in verse:
'Mongst the gentlemen honor'd with cards, let me see,
There was Howard, and Coleridge, and Wood, and Lavie,
The society's props; Curzon, major and minor,
7 Principal contributors to the Etonian.
~94~~
Bowen, Hennicker, Webbe, were invited to dinner:
The theologist Buxton, and Petit, were seen,
And philosopher Jenyns, and Donald Maclean;
Bulteel too, and Dykes; but it happen'd (oh shame!)
That, though many were ask'd, very few of them came.
As for Coleridge, he "knew not what right Phobus had,
d--n me, To set up for a judge in a christian academy;
And he'd not condescend to submit his Latinity,
Nor his verses, nor Greek, to a heathen divinity.
For his part, he should think his advice an affront,
Full as bad as the libels of Chapman and Blunt.
He'd no doubt but his dinner might be very good,
But he'd not go and taste it--be d--d if he would."
Dean fear'd that his pupils their minds should defile,
And Maclean was engaged to the duke of Argyll;
In a deep fit of lethargy Petit had sunk,
And theologist Buxton with _Bishop_ was drunk;
Bulteel too, and Dykes, much against their own will,
Had been both pre-engaged to a party to mill;
And philosopher Jenyns was bent on his knees,
To electrify spiders, and galvanize fleas.
But the rest all accepted the god's invitation,
And made haste to prepare for this jollification.
Now the dinner was handsome as dinner could be,
But to tell every dish is too tedious for me;
Such a task, at the best, would be irksome and long,
And, besides, I must haste to the end of my song.
'Tis enough to relate that, the better to dine,
Jove sent them some nectar, and Bacchus some wine.
From Minerva came olives to crown the dessert,
And from Helicon water was sent most alert,
Of which Howard, 'tis said, drank so long and so deep,
That he almost fell into poetical sleep.{8}
When the cloth was removed, and the bottle went round,
"Nec fonte labra prolui C'aballino,
Nec in bicipiti sommasse Parnasso."
Persius.
~95~~
Wit, glee, and good humour, began to abound,
Though Lord Chesterfield would not have call'd them polite,
For they all often burst into laughter outright.
*****
But swift flew the moments of rapture and glee,
And too early, alas! they were summon'd to tea.
With looks most demure, each prepared with a speech,
At the table were seated Blunt, Chapman, and Neech.
Phobus stopt their orations, with dignity free,
And with easy politeness shook hands with all three;
And the party proceeded, increased to a host,
To discuss bread and butter, tea, coffee, and toast.
As their numbers grew larger, more loud grew their mirth,
And Apollo from heav'n drew its raptures to earth:
With divine inspiration he kindled each mind,
Till their wit, like their sugar, grew double refined;
And an evening, enliven'd by conviviality,
Proved how much they were pleased by the god's hospitality.
Thalia.{9}
9 This poem is attributed to J. Moultrie, Esq. of Trinity
college, Cambridge.
[Illustration: page095]
[Illustration: page093]
ETON MONTEM.
Stand by, old Cant, while I admire
The young and gay, with souls of fire,
Unloose the cheerful heart.
Hence with thy puritanic zeal;
True virtue is to grant and feel--
A bliss thou'lt ne'er impart.
I love thee, Montem,--love thee, by all the brightest recollections
of my youth, for the inspiring pleasures which thy triennial pageant
revives in my heart: joined with thy merry throng, I can forget the
cares and disappointments of the world; and, tripping gaily with the
light-hearted, youthful band, cast off the gloom of envy and of worldly
pursuit, reassociating myself with the joyous scenes of my boyhood. Nay,
more, I hold thee in higher veneration than ever did antiquarian worship
the relics of _virtu_.
[Illustration: page094]
~97~~
Destruction light upon the impious hand that would abridge thy ancient
charter;--be all thy children, father Etona, doubly-armed to defend
thy ancient honors;--let no modern Goth presume to violate thy sacred
rights; but to the end of time may future generations retain the spirit
of thy present race; and often as the happy period comes, new pleasures
wait upon the Eton Montem.{1}
1 The ancient custom, celebrated at Eton every third year,
on Whit-Tuesday, and which bears the title of The Montem,
appears to have defied antiquarian research, as far as
relates to its original institution. It consiste of a
procession to a small tumulus on the southern side of the
Bath road, which has given the name of Salt-Hill to the
spot, now better known by the splendid inns that are
established there. The chief object of this celebration,
however, is to collect money for salt, according to the
language of the day, from all persons who assemble to see
the show, nor does it fail to be exacted from travellers on
the road, and even at the private residences within a
certain, but no inconsiderable, range of the spot. The
scholars appointed to collect the money are called _salt-
bearers_; they are arrayed in fancy dresses, and are
attended by others called scouts, of a similar, but less
showy appearance. Tickets are given to such persons as have
paid their contributions, to secure them from any further
demand. This ceremony is always very numerously attended by
Etonians, and has frequently been honored with the presence
of his late Majesty, and the different branches of the Royal
Family. The sum collected on the occasion has sometimes
exceeded 800L., and is given to the senior scholar, who is
called Captain of the School. This procession appears to be
coeval with the foundation; and it is the opinion of Mr.
Lysons, that it was a ceremonial of the Bairn, or Boy-
Bishop. He states, that it originally took place on the 6th
of December, the festival of St. Nicholas, the patron of
children; being the day on which it was customary at
Salisbury, and in other places where the ceremony was
observed, to elect the Boy-Bishop from among the children
belonging to the cathedral. This mock dignity lasted till
Innocents' day; and, during the intermediate time, the boy
performed various episcopal functions. If it happened that
he died before the allotted period of this extraordinary
mummery had expired, he was buried with all the ceremonials
which were used at the funerals of prelates. In the
voluminous collections relating to antiquities, bequeathed
by Mr. Cole, who was himself of Eton and King's colleges, to
the British Museum, is a note which
~98~~
mentions that the ceremony of the Bairn or Boy-Bishop was to
be observed by charter, and that Geoffry Blythe, Bishop of
Lichfield, who died in 1530, bequeathed several ornaments
to those colleges, for the dress of the bairn-bishop. But on
what authority this industrious antiquary gives the
information, which, if correct, would put an end to all
doubt on the subject, does not appear. But, after all, why
may not this custom be supposed to have originated in a
procession to perform an annual mass at the altar of some
saint, to whom a small chapel might have been dedicated on
the mount called Salt-Hill; a ceremony very common in
Catholic countries, as such an altar is a frequent appendage
to their towns and populous villages? As for the selling of
salt, it may be considered as a natural accompaniment, when
its emblematical character, as to its use in the ceremonies
of the Roman Church, is contemplated. Till the time of
Doctor Barnard, the procession of the Montem was every two
years, and on the first or second Tuesday in February. It
consisted of something of a military array. The boys in the
remove, fourth, and inferior forms, marched in a long file
of two and two, with white poles in their hands, while the
sixth and fifth form boys walked on their flanks as
officers, and habited in all the variety of dress, each of
them having a boy of the inferior forms, smartly equipped,
attending on him as a footman. The second boy in the school
led the procession in a military dress, with a truncheon in
his hand, and bore for the day the title of Marshal: then
followed the Captain, supported by his Chaplain, the head
scholar of the fifth form, dressed in a suit of black, with
a large bushy wig, and a broad beaver decorated with a
twisted silk hatband and rose, the fashionable distinction
of the dignified clergy of that day. It was his office to
read certain Latin prayers on the mount at Salt-Hill The
third boy of the school brought up the rear as Lieutenant.
One of the higher classes, whose qualification was his
activity, was chosen Ensign, and carried the colours, which
were emblazoned with the college arms, and the motto, _Pro
mort el monte_. This flag, before the procession left the
college, he flourished in the school-yard with all the
dexterity displayed at Astley's and places of similar
exhibition. The same ceremony was repeated after prayers, on
the mount. The regiment dined in the inns at Salt-Hill, and
then returned to the college; and its dismission in the
school-yard was announced by the universal drawing of all
the swords. Those who bore the title of commissioned
officers were exclusively on the foundation, and carried
spontoons; the rest were considered as Serjeants and
corporals, and a most curious assemblage of figures they
exhibited. The two principal salt-bearers consisted of an
oppidan and a colleger: the former was generally some
nobleman, whose figure and personal connexions might advance
the interests of the collections. They were dressed like
running footmen, and carried, each of them, a silk bag to
receive the contributions, in which was a small quantity of
salt. During Doctor Barnard's mastership, the ceremony was
made triennial, the time changed from February to Whit-
Tuesday, and several of its absurdities retrenched. An
ancient and savage custom of hunting a ram by the foundation
scholars, on Saturday in the election week, was abolished in
the earlier part of the last century. The curious twisted
clubs with which these collegiate hunters were armed on the
occasion are still to be seen in antiquarian collections.
~99~~
What coronation, tournament, or courtly pageant, can outshine thy
splendid innocence and delightful gaiety? what regal banquet yields half
the pure enjoyment the sons of old Etona experience, when, after
months of busy preparation, the happy morn arrives ushered in with the
inspiring notes of "_Auld lang syne_" from the well-chosen band in the
college breakfast-room? Then, too, the crowds of admiring spectators,
the angel host of captivating beauties with their starry orbs of light,
and luxuriant tresses, curling in playful elegance around a face
beaming with divinity, or falling in admired negligence over bosoms of
alabastrine whiteness and unspotted purity within! Grey-bearded wisdom
and the peerless great, the stars of honor in the field and state,
the pulpit and the bar, send forth their brightest ornaments to grace
Etona's holiday. Oxford and Cambridge, too, lend their classic aid,
and many a grateful son of _Alma Mater_ returns to acknowledge his
obligations to his early tutors and swell the number of the mirthful
host. Here may be seen, concentrated in the quadrangle, the costume of
every nation, in all the gay variety that fancy can devise: the Persian
spangled robe, and the embroidered Greek vest; the graceful Spanish, and
the picturesque Italian, the Roman toga and the tunic, and the rich old
English suit. Pages in red frocks, and marshals in their satin 100~~
doublets; white wands and splendid turbans, plumes, and velvet hats,
all hastening with a ready zeal to obey the call of the muster-roll. The
captain with his retinue retires to pay his court to the provost; while,
in the doctor's study, may be seen, gathered around the dignitary, a few
of those great names who honor Eton and owe their honor to her classic
tutors. Twelve o'clock strikes, and the procession is now marshalled in
the quadrangle in sight of the privileged circle, princes, dukes, peers,
and doctors with their ladies. Here does the ensign first display his
skill in public, and the Montem banner is flourished in horizontal
revolutions about the head and waist with every grace of elegance and
ease which the result of three months' practice and no little strength
can accomplish.
Twelve o'clock strikes, and the procession moves forward to the playing
fields on its route to Salt-Hill. Now look the venerable spires and
antique towers of Eton like to some chieftain's baronial castle in the
feudal times, and the proud captain represents the hero marching forth
at the head of his parti-coloured vassals!
The gallant display of rank and fashion and beauty follow in their
splendid equipages by slow progressive movement, like the delightful
lingering, inch by inch approach to St. James's palace on a full
court-day. The place itself is calculated to impress the mind with
sentiments of veneration and of heart-moving reminiscences; seated in
the bosom of one of the richest landscapes in the kingdom, where on
the height majestic Windsor lifts its royal brow; calmly magnificent,
over-looking, from his round tower, the surrounding country, and waving
his kingly banner in the air: 'tis the high court of English chivalry,
the birth-place, the residence, and the mausoleum of her kings, and
"i' the olden time," the prison of her captured monarchs. "At once, the
sovereign's and ~101~~ the muses' seat," rich beyond almost any
other district in palaces, and fanes, and villas, in all the "pomp of
patriarchal forests," and gently-swelling hills, and noble streams, and
waving harvests; there Denham wrote, and Pope breathed the soft note of
pastoral inspiration; and there too the immortal bard of Avon chose
the scene in which to wind the snares of love around his fat-encumbered
knight. Who can visit the spot without thinking of Datchet mead and the
buck-basket of sweet Anne Page and Master Slender, and mine host of the
Garter, and all the rest of that merry, intriguing crew? And now having
reached the foot of the mount and old druidical barrow, the flag is
again waved amid the cheers of the surrounding thousands who line its
sides, and in their carriages environ its ancient base.{2} Now the
salt-bearers and the pages bank their collections in one common stock,
and the juvenile band partake of the captain's banquet, and drink
success to his future prospects in Botham's port. Then, too, old
Herbertus Stockhore--he must not be forgotten; I have already introduced
him to your notice in p. 59, and my friend Bob Transit has illustrated
the sketch with his portrait; yet here he demands notice in his official
character, and perhaps I cannot do better than quote the humorous
account given of him by the elegant pen of an old Etonian {3}
"Who is that buffoon that travesties the travesty? Who is that old
cripple alighted from his donkey-cart, who dispenses doggrel and
grimaces in all the glory of plush and printed calico?"
"That, my most noble cynic, is a prodigious personage. Shall birth-days
and coronations be recorded in immortal odes, and Montem not have its
minstrel 1 He, sir, is Herbertus Stockhore; who first called upon his
muse in the good old days of Paul Whitehead,--
2 See plate of the Montem, sketched on the spot.
3 See Knight's Quarterly Magazine, No. II.
~102~~ run a race with Pye through all the sublimities of lyres and
fires,--and is now hobbling to his grave, after having sung fourteen
Montems, the only existing example of a legitimate laureate.
"He ascended his heaven of invention, before the vulgar arts of reading
and writing, which are banishing all poetry from the world, could clip
his wings. He was an adventurous soldier in his boyhood; but, having
addicted himself to matrimony and the muses, settled as a bricklayer's
labourer at Windsor. His meditations on the house-tops soon grew into
form and substance; and, about the year 1780, he aspired, with all the
impudence of Shad well, and a little of the pride of Petrarch, to the
laurel-crown of Eton. From that day he has worn his honors on his
'Cibberian forehead' without a rival."
"And what is his style of composition?"
"Vastly naive and original;--though the character of the age is
sometimes impressed upon his productions. For the first three odes, ere
the school of Pope was extinct, he was a compiler of regular couplets
such as--
'Ye dames of honor and lords of high renown,
Who come to visit us at Eton town.'"
During the next nine years, when the remembrance of Collins and Gray was
working a glorious change in the popular mind, he ascended to Pindarics,
and closed his lyrics with some such pious invocation as this:--
'And now we'll sing
God save the king,
And send him long to reign,
That he may come
To have some fun
At Montem once again. '
During the first twelve years of the present century, the influence of
the Lake school was visible in his ~103~~ productions. In my great
work I shall give an elaborate dissertation on his imitations of the
high-priests of that worship; but I must now content myself with a single
illustration:--
'There's ensign Ronnell, tall and proud,
Doth stand upon the hill,
And waves the flag to all the crowd,
Who much admire his skill.
And here I sit upon my ass,
Who lops his shaggy ears;
Mild thing! he lets the gentry pass,
Nor heeds the carriages and peel's.'
He was once infected (but it was a venial sin) by the heresies of the
cockney school; and was betrayed, by the contagion of evil example, into
the following conceits:
'Behold admiral Keato of the terrestrial crew, Who teaches Greek, Latin,
and likewise Hebrew; He has taught Captain Dampier, the first in the
race, Swirling his hat with a feathery grace, Cookson the marshal,
and Willoughby, of size, Making minor serjeant-majors in looking-glass
eyes.'
But he at length returned to his own pure and original style; and, like
the dying swan, he sings the sweeter as he is approaching the land where
the voice of his minstrelsy shall no more be heard. There is a calm
melancholy in the close of his present ode which is very pathetic, and
almost Shakspearian:--
'Farewell you gay and happy throng!
Farewell my muse! farewell my song!
Farewell Salt-hill! farewell brave captain.'
Yet, may it be long before he goes hence and is no more seen! May he
limp, like his rhymes, for at least a dozen years; for National schools
have utterly annihilated our hopes of a successor!"
"I will not attempt to reason with you," said the inquirer, "about
the pleasures of Montem;--but to an ~104~~ Etonian it is enough that it
brings pure and ennobling recollections--calls up associations of hope
and happiness--and makes even the wise feel that there is something
better than wisdom, and the great that there is something nobler than
greatness. And then the faces that come about us at such a time, with
their tales of old friendships or generous rivalries. I have seen to-day
fifty fellows of whom I remember only the nick-names;--they are now
degenerated into scheming M.P.'s, or clever lawyers, or portly doctors;
-but at Montera they leave the plodding world of reality for one day,
and regain the dignities of sixth-form Etonians." {4}
4 To enumerate all the distinguished persons educated at
Eton would be no easy task; many of the greatest ornaments
of our country have laid the foundation of all their
literary and scientific wealth within the towers of this
venerable edifice. Bishops Fleetwood and Pearson, the
learned John Hales, Dr. Stanhope, Sir Robert Walpole, the
great Earl Camden, Outred the mathematician, Boyle the
philosopher, Waller the poet, the illustrious Earl of
Chatham, Lord Lyttelton, Gray the poet, and an endless list
of shining characters have owned Eton for their scholastic
nursery: not to mention the various existing literati who
have received their education at this celebrated college.
The local situation of Eton is romantic and pleasing; there
is a monastic gloom about the building, finely contrasting
with the beauty of the surrounding scenery, which
irresistibly enchains the eye and heart.
[Illustration: page105]
~105~~
FAREWELL TO ETON.
Horatio had just concluded the last sentence of the description of the
Eton Montem, when my aunt, who had now exceeded her usual retiring time
by at least half an hour, made a sudden start, upon hearing the chimes
of the old castle clock proclaim a notice of the midnight hour.
"Heavens! boy," said Lady Mary Oldstyle, "what rakes we are! I believe
we must abandon all intention of inviting your friend Bernard here;
for should his conversation prove half as entertaining as these
miscellaneous whims and scraps of his early years, we should, I fear,
often encroach upon the midnight lamp." "You forget, aunt," replied
Horatio, "that the swallow has already commenced his spring habitation
beneath the housings of our bed-room window, that the long summer
evenings will soon be here, and then how delightful would be the society
of an intelligent friend to accompany us in our evening perambulations
through the park, to chat away half an hour with in the hermitage, or to
hold converse on your favourite subject botany, and run through all the
varieties of the _camelia japonica_, or the _magnolia fuscata_; then
too, I will confess, my own selfishness in the proposition, the pleasure
of my friend's company in my fishing excursions, would divest my
favourite amusement of its solitary character." ~106~~ My aunt nodded
assent, drew the cowl of her ancient silk cloak over the back part
of her head, and, with a half-closed eye, muttered out, in tones of
sympathy, her fullest accordance in the proposed arrangement. "I have
only one more trifle to read," said Horatio, "before I conclude the
history of our school-boy days." "We had better have the bed-candles,"
said my aunt. "You had better hear the conclusion, aunt," said
Horatio, "and then we can commence the English Spy with the evening
of to-morrow." My aunt wanted but little excitement to accede to the
request, and that little was much exceeded in the promise of Horatio's
reading Bernard's new work on the succeeding evening, when she had
calculated on being left in solitary singleness by her nephew's visit to
the county ball. "You must know, aunt," said Horatio, "that it has been
a custom, from time immemorial at Eton, for every scholar to write a
farewell ode on his leaving, which is presented to the head master, and
is called a Vale; in addition, some of the most distinguished characters
employ first-rate artists to paint their portraits, which, as a tribute
of respect, they present to the principal. Dr. Barnard had nearly a
hundred of these grateful faces hanging in his sanctum sanctorum,
and the present master bids fair to rival his learned and respected
predecessor. ~107~~ My friend's Vale, like every other production of
his pen, is marked by the distinguishing characteristic eccentricity of
his mind. The idea, I suspect, was suggested by the Earl of Carlisle's
elegant verses, to which he has previously alluded; you will perceive
he has again touched upon the peculiarities of his associates, the
_dramatis persono_ of 'the English Spy,' and endeavoured, in prophetic
verse, to unfold the secrets of futurity, as it relates to their
dispositions, prospects, and pursuits in life."
[Illustration: page107]
MY VALE.
In infancy oft' by observance we trace
What life's future page may unfold;
Who the senate, the bar, or the pulpit may grace,
Who'll obtain wreathe of fame or of gold.
My Vale, should my muse prove but willing and free,
Parting sorrows to chase from my brain,
Shall in metre prophetic, on some two or three,