OXFORD.--Everything at Oxford is quaint and charming, but its inns
are unique and it is impossible to find one that sells bad beer,--the
undergrads would never stand it,--and where a better judge of bitter
beer than a Christ-Church, or a Magdalen, or a "Johns" man is to be
found, it is hard to say. The names even of these inns are soothing.
It is such a relief to get away from the American hotel abomination,
with its gilded radiator, and from its cold, stiff restaurants and
pretentious name; to the sanded coffee room of the quaint, cosy
"Mitre," or to the bar-parlour of the "Bell" or the "Plough." And
although these small, low-built inns are old--older than New York
City several of them--they are radiant with a fresh lavender-smelling
cleanliness that is never found in the big American hostelries, where
the befringed and be-ribboned Irish importation reigns in her pride.
Rosy-cheeked country lasses serve the public here, and are shining
examples of civil service, while behind the bar stands a lively, neat
and pretty barmaid, who is an adept in chaffing the college men,
but with too much self-respect to allow any vulgar jesting in her
domain. We undergrads were not allowed to frequent every inn, but the
"Clarendon" was a great favourite, and I have heard many jolly stories
in its quaint old "Smoke Room," lined with prints after Hogarth. When
I was "in residence" at the University, three years ago, there used to
be a very pretty barmaid who officiated at the "Plough," opposite my
rooms, and I noticed that she was usually at the window when Connigsby
Disraeli, nephew to the great Earl of Beaconsfield, who was then a
student at "New," passed by. A queer fellow, Disraeli, and sure to make
his mark if he lives. I met him at the theatre constantly, where he
always led the applause. He is very popular still in Oxford, for he is
hail fellow well met with everyone, be it "town" or "gown"; and he is
"up" on dogs and horses as well as in the classics. His kennels were
famous when he was "in residence" or "up," as it is sometimes called.
If his uncle had not been the first Earl, and had the title not
therefore been confined to his direct line (he had no sons), Disraeli
would have been "Milord"; but he is sure to make his own way. At the
last general election he was elected to Parliament from the Altrincham
Division of Sussex by a large majority over his Liberal opponent. The
Queen is said to take a personal interest in his success, and Her
Majesty's partiality for his uncle is well known. He has already begun
to attract attention by active work in the Conservative cause and by
clever addresses at Primrose League meetings all over England.
My rooms in the college days were in Cornmarket Street, near the
"High," and my landlord (who was duly licensed by the all-powerful
Proctors) rejoiced in the name of Huckings. He was formerly valet to
the Marquis of Queensberry, and never allowed one to forget the fact;
few were the days when allusions to "His Lordship the Markis" failed to
greet my ears. Huckings is very proud of his "acquaintance" with the
Nobility, and often boasted that Prince Christian-Victor, a grandson
of Her Majesty and a student of Magdalen, once knocked him down in the
cricket field. But Huckings is eminently respectable and very civil.
His furniture was usually covered with a green material stiffly
starched, that crackled and rustled like an Irish-American servant out
for a Sunday walk,--no English housemaid would dream of taking the
liberty of allowing herself to rustle. Huckings was a capital cook and
an experienced butler, and his welsh-rarebits were as light as air.
There is but one theatre in Oxford, and that is directly under the
supervision of the Vice-Chancellor, and no play can be performed
without his sanction. The programmes are headed "By permission of the
Reverend the Vice-Chancellor, and the Right-Worshipful the Mayor." For
Oxford, as a 'Varsity town, is under the control of the head of the
University as well as of the Mayor.
The unsophisticated crowd in the gallery always hisses the villain,
who is usually the best actor, and applauds the hero, who is often
a poor one; but this is usual all through England, and is taken by
the heavy villain of the play as a tribute to his genius. Very good
entertainments are given as a rule: "The Pirates," Toole in "The Don,"
and the inimitable Corney Grain have appeared among others. The bar
is forbidden to sell whiskey to the undergrads, so the call is for
"lime-juice," which answers the same purpose!
I met my old tutor, or coach for "cramming," in the street to-day, and
I have just had him to dine. He is typical--a short, squat man with a
heavy, unkempt beard, and with countless lines seaming his face. He
has not been out of Oxford for twenty years and spends all his time in
coaching backward students. He reminds one in some ways of a ripe and
somewhat mouldy Stilton cheese.
His rooms are musty and cobwebby, for he tells me no one has dusted
them for two years, as he cannot stand having his papers disturbed. And
how he smokes! His pipe rack must hold twenty pipes at least, and most
of them are beautifully coloured.
The walks about Oxford are charming and on returning from a long tramp
it is delightful to stand on Folly Bridge at dusk and watch the punts
and canoes come dropping down the "Char," or to see a college eight
dash swiftly down the Isis to Iffley. The old inn at Godstow, just
opposite the ruins of the famous Nunnery, is very quaint; and the fame
of Mumby's cherry brandy is known to all the colleges in Oxford.
The author of "Alice in Wonderland" is a Fellow of Christ Church
College, and lives in two rooms looking out over the green old "Quad."
He is fond of children and has them always with him. They tell a droll
story of him in Oxford. The Queen enjoyed "Alice" so much that she
requested the author, by letter, to send her another of his "charming
books." Much flattered, he forwarded Her Majesty his "Treatise on the
Differential Calculus."
When I was an undergrad it was almost impossible to pay for what one
bought in Oxford, for the tradespeople insist on one's taking long
credits--a neat little plan by which they make a good deal in the long
run, as they charge heavy interest. Oxford changes little as the years
go by. It was lovely spring weather to-day and everyone wandered to
the river, through the green Christ Church meadows, just as they have
done for hundreds of years and will do in future centuries; and they
are wise, for nothing is so delightful on a warm afternoon in June as
to take a punt and slowly glide along the Cherwell, or to drop down the
Isis in a canoe and take a plunge at "Parson's Pleasure."
Descriptions of College life at Oxford have been done to death and it
is hardly worth while to go over the well-worn ground. "The Adventures
of Mr. Verdant Green" still give a fair idea of 'Varsity life, and
"Tom Brown" is as good to-day as when it was written.
The contrast between American and English college life is sharply
marked. A short experience of Yale made me enjoy Oxford all the more.
There is no class spirit, but the tone in the twenty-odd colleges--each
a small Yale--is more athletic and more _Commencement-de-siècle_ in
every way.
A curious thing is the way in which cap and gown are worn here. The
gown with its two short tails reaches only to the small of the back,
and is only worn when absolutely necessary. There has been a good deal
of amused talk "in Hall" over the report that some upper classmen
at Yale actually wear a long gown reaching to the feet. It would be
considered bad form for Oxford undergrads to wear such a thing, as long
gowns are worn only by dons and tutors.
Americans are coming in increased numbers every year; and for some
unknown reason they usually go to New College, or to "Ch. Ch.," as
Christ Church is familiarly called. But I found St. John's College--or
"Johns,"--with its lovely gardens and long, low, time-worn buildings,
a delightful place to study in or at. "Ch. Ch." is pre-eminently the
"swell college." Balliol is for hard students, and Magdalen is very
aristocratic; Jesus is for Welshmen, Wadham for men who want an easy
time, and Brazenose and Oriel for athletes. "Johns" combines the
happiest features of each. The others have no marked characteristics.
The good old dons are a feature of Oxford, and it is easy to see from
their rosy cheeks and well-fed look that they do not despise the famous
Oxford ale, which is pure and wholesome, while the wine is bad and
dear. Consequently everyone drinks beer, except a few old Deans and
Masters of Colleges, whose gout confines them to toast and water.
The thought of dons brings up memories of the payment of gate fines, if
one happened to be out of college after the great bell of Christ Church
had boomed out the hour of nine; and it was harder than may be supposed
to dodge the Proctor and his "bull dogs" if one was out "in mufti,"
_i. e._, without cap or gown. But take it all in all, college life at
Oxford is an enviable thing, and Oxford itself is a delightful place.
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