In the first week in December he had an _The Further Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green, an Oxford Under-Graduate Being a Continuation of "The Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green, an Oxford Freshman"

fresh piece of water. One of those inundations occurred to which Oxford

is so liable, and the meadow-land to the south and west of the city was

covered by the flood. Boats plied to and from the railway station in

place of omnibuses; the Great Western was not to be seen for water; and,

at the Abingdon-road bridge, at Cold-harbour, the rails were washed

away, and the trains brought to a stand-still. The Isis was amplified to

the width of the Christchurch meadows; the Broad Walk had a peep of

itself upside down in the glassy mirror; the windings of the Cherwell

could only be traced by the trees on its banks. There was

"Water, water everywhere;"

and a disagreeable quantity of it too, as those Christchurch men whose

ground-floor rooms were towards the meadows soon discovered. Mr. Bouncer

is supposed to have brought out one of his "fine, old, crusted jokes,"

when he asserted in reference to the inundation, that "Nature had

assumed a lake complexion." Posts and rails, and hay, and a

miscellaneous collection of articles, were swept along by the current,

together with the bodies of hapless sheep and pigs. But, in spite of

these incumbrances, boats of all descriptions were to be seen sailing,

pulling, skiffing, and punting, over the flooded meadows. Numerous were

the disasters, and many were the boats that were upset.

[Illustration]

Indeed, the adventures of Mr. Verdant Green would probably have here

terminated in a misadventure, had he not (thanks to Charles Larkyns)

mastered the art of swimming; for he was in Mr. Bouncer's sailing-boat,

which was sailing very merrily over the flood, when its merriness was

suddenly checked by its grounding on the stump of a lopped pollard

willow, and forthwith capsizing. Our hero, who had been sitting in the

bows, was at once swept over by the sail, and, for a moment, was in

great peril; but, disengaging himself from the cordage, he struck out,

and swam to a willow whose friendly boughs and top had just formed an

asylum for Mr. Bouncer, who in great anxiety was coaxing Huz and Buz to

swim to the same ark of safety.

Mr. Verdant Green and Mr. Bouncer were speedily rescued from their

position, and were not a little thankful for their escape.

FOOTNOTES:

[10] Now used for the Museum of the Oxford Architectural Society.

[11]

----"Si collibuisset, ab ovo

Usque ad mala citaret, Io Bacche!"--Hor. Sat. Lib. I. 3.

CHAPTER VII.

MR. VERDANT GREEN PARTAKES OF A DOVE-TART AND A SPREAD-EAGLE.

"Hullo, Giglamps, you lazy beggar!" said the cheery voice of little Mr.

Bouncer, as he walked into our hero's bedroom one morning towards the

end of term, and found Mr. Verdant Green in bed, though sufficiently

awakened by the sounding of Mr. Bouncer's octaves for the purposes of

conversation; "this'll never do, you know, Giglamps! Cutting chapel to

do the downy! Why, what do you mean, sir? Didn't you ever learn in the

nursery what happened to old Daddy Long-legs when he wouldn't say his

prayers?"

"Robert _did_ call me," said our hero, rubbing his eyes; "but I felt

tired, so I told him to put in an _æger_."

"Upon my word, young 'un," observed Mr. Bouncer, "you're a coming it,

you are! and only in your second term, too. What makes you wear a

nightcap, Giglamps? Is it to make your hair curl, or to keep your

venerable head warm? Nightcaps ain't healthy; they are only fit for

long-tailed babbies, and old birds that are as bald as coots; or else

for gents that grease their wool with 'thine incomparable oil,

Macassar,' as the noble poet justly remarks."

[Illustration]

"It ain't always pleasant," continued the little gentleman, who was

perched up on the side of the bed, and seemed in a communicative

disposition, "it ain't always pleasant to turn out for morning chapel,

is it, Giglamps? But it's just like the eels with their skinning: it

goes against the grain at first, but you soon get used to it. When I

first came up, I was a frightful lazy beggar, and I got such a heap of

impositions for not keeping my morning chapels, that I was obliged to

have three fellers constantly at work writing 'em out for me. This was

rather expensive, you see; and then the dons threatened to take away my

term altogether, and bring me to grief, if I didn't be more regular. So

I was obliged to make a virtuous resolution, and I told Robert that he

was to insist on my getting up in a morning, and I should tip him at the

end of term if he succeeded. So at first he used to come and hammer at

the door; but that was no go. So then he used to come in and shake me,

and try to pull the clothes off; but, you see, I always used to prepare

for him, by taking a good supply of boots and things to bed with me; so

I was able to take shies at the beggar till he vanished, and left me to

snooze peaceably. You see, it ain't every feller as likes to have a

Wellington boot at his head; but that rascal of a Robert is used to

those trifles, and I was obliged to try another dodge. This you know was

only of a morning when I was in bed. When I had had my breakfast, and

got my imposition, and become virtuous again, I used to slang him awful

for having let me cut chapel; and then I told him that he must always

stand at the door until he heard me out of bed. But, when the morning

came, it seemed running such a risk, you see to one's lungs and all

those sort of things to turn out of the warm bed into the cold chapel,

that I would answer Robert when he hammered at the door; but, instead of

getting up, I would knock my boots against the floor, as though I was

out of bed, don't you see, and was padding about. But that wretch of a

Robert was too old a bird to be caught with this dodge; so he used to

sing out, 'You must show a leg, sir!' and, as he kept on hammering at

the door till I _did_--for, you see, Giglamps, he was looking out for

the tip at the end of term, so it made him persevere--and as his beastly

hammering used, of course, to put a stopper on my going to sleep again,

I used to rush out in a frightful state of wax, and show a leg. And

then, being well up, you see, it was no use doing the downy again, so it

was just as well to make one's _twilight_ and go to chapel. Don't gape,

Giglamps; it's beastly rude, and I havn't done yet. I'm going to tell

you another dodge--one of old Small's. He invested money in an alarum,

with a string from it tied on to the bed-clothes, so as to pull them off

at whatever time you chose to set it. But I never saw the fun of being

left high and dry on your bed: it would be a shock to the system which I

couldn't stand. But even this dreadful expedient would be better than

posting an _æger_; which, you know, you didn't ought to was, Giglamps.

Well, turn out, old feller! I've told Robert to take your commons[12]

into my room. Smalls and Charley are coming, and I've got a dove-tart

and a spread-eagle."

"Whatever are they?" asked Mr. Verdant Green.

"Not know what they are!" cried Mr. Bouncer; "why a dove-tart is what

mortals call a pigeon-pie. I ain't much in Tennyson's line, but it

strikes me that dove-tarts are more poetical than the other thing;

spread-eagle is a barn-door fowl smashed out flat, and made jolly with

mushroom sauce, and no end of good things. I don't know how they squash

it, but I should say that they sit upon it; I daresay, if we were to

inquire, we should find that they kept a fat feller on purpose. But you

just come, and try how it eats." And, as Mr. Verdant Green's bedroom

barely afforded standing room, even for one, Mr. Bouncer walked into the

sitting-room, while his friend arose from his couch like a youthful

Adonis, and proceeded to bathe his ambrosial person, by taking certain

sanatory measures in splashing about in a species of tub--a performance

which Mr. Bouncer was wont to term "doing tumbies."

[Illustration]

"What'll you take for your letters, Giglamps?" called out the little

gentleman from the other room; "the Post's in, and here are three for

you. Two are from women,--young uns I should say, from the regular ups

and downs, and right angles: they look like billyduxes. Give you a bob

for them, at a venture! they may be funny. The other is suspiciously

like a tick, and ought to be looked shy on. I should advise you not to

open it, but to pitch it in the fire: it may save a fit of the blues. If

you want any help over shaving, just say so, Giglamps, will you, before

I go; and then I'll hold your nose for you, or do anything else that's

civil and accommodating. And, when you've done your tumbies, come in to

the dove-tart and the spread-eagle." And off went Mr. Bouncer, making

terrible noises with his post-horn, in his strenuous but futile

endeavours to discover the octaves.

Our hero soon concluded his "tumbies" and his dressing (_not_ including

the shaving), and made his way to Mr. Bouncer's rooms, where he did

full justice to the dove-tart, and admired the spread-eagle so much,

that he thought of bribing the confectioner for the recipe to take home

as a Christmas-box for his mother.

"Well, Giglamps," said Mr. Bouncer, when breakfast was over, "to spare

the blushes on your venerable cheeks, I won't even so much as refer to

the billy duxes; but, I'll only ask, what was the damage of the tick?"

"Oh! it was not a bill," replied Mr. Verdant Green; "it was a letter

about a dog from the man of whom I bought Mop last term."

"What! Filthy Lucre?" cried Mr. Bouncer; "well, I thought, somehow, I

knew the fist! he writes just as if he'd learnt from imitating his dogs'

hind-legs. Let's have a sight of it if it ain't private and

confidential!"

"Oh dear no! on the contrary, I was going to show it to you, and ask

your advice on the contents." And Verdant handed to Mr. Bouncer a

letter, which had been elaborately sealed with the aid of a key, and was

directed high up in the left-hand corner to

"Virdon grene esqre braisenface

collidge Oxford."

[Illustration]

"You look beastly lazy, Charley!" said Mr. Bouncer to Mr. Charles

Larkyns; "so, while I fill my pipe, just spit out the letter, _pro

bono_." And Charles Larkyns, lying in Mr. Bouncer's easiest lounging

chair, read as follows:--

"Onnerd sir i tak the libbaty of a Dressin of you in respex of A

dog which i wor sorry For to ear of your Loss in mop which i had

The pleshur of Sellin of 2 you onnerd sir A going astray And not a

turnin hup Bein of A unsurtin Tempor and guv to A folarin of

strandgers which wor maybe as ow You wor a lusein on him onnerd

Sir bein Overdogd at this ere present i can let you have A rale

good teryer at A barrging which wold giv sattefacshun onnered Sir

it wor 12 munth ago i Sold to Bounser esqre a red smooth air

terier Dog anserin 2 nam of Tug as wor rite down goodun and No

mistake onnerd Sir the purpurt Of this ere is too say as ow i have

a Hone brother to Tug black tann and ful ears and If you wold like

him i shold bee prowd too wate on you onnerd Sir he wor by

robbingsons Twister out of mister jones of abingdons Fan of witch

brede Bounser esqre nose on the merritts onnerd Sir he is very

Smal and smooth air and most xlent aither for wood Or warter a

liter before Tug onnerd Sir is nam is Vermin and he hant got his

nam by no mistake as No Vermin not even poll katts can live long

before him onnerd Sir I considders as vermin is very sootble

compannion for a Gent indors or hout and bein lively wold give

amoosement i shall fele it A plesure a waitin on you onnerd Sir

opin you will pardin the libbaty of a Dressin of you but my head

wor ful of vermin and i wishd to tel you

"onnerd Sir yures

2 komand j. Looker."

"The nasty beggar!" said Mr. Bouncer, in reference to the last

paragraph. "Well, Giglamps! Filthy Lucre does'nt tell fibs when he says

that Tug came of a good breed: but he was so doosed pugnacious, that he

was always having set-to's with Huz and Buz, in the coal-shop just

outside the door here; and so, as I'd nowhere else to stow them, I was

obliged to give Tug away. Dr. What's-his-name says, 'Let dogs delight to

bark and bite, for 'tis their nature to.' But then, you see, it's only a

delight when they bite _somebody else's_ dog; and if Dr. What's-his-name

had had a kennel of his own, he would'nt have took it so coolly; and,

whether it was their nature so to do or not, he would'nt have let the

little beggars, that he fork'd out thirteen bob a-year for to the

government, amuse themselves by biting each other, or tearing out each

other's eyes; he'd have turn'd them over, don't you see, to his

neighbours' dogs, and have let them do the biting department on _them_.

And, altogether, Giglamps, I'd advise you to let Filthy Lucre's Vermin

alone, and have nothing to do with the breed."

So Mr. Verdant Green took his friend's advice, and then took himself off

to learn boxing at the hands, and gloves, of the Putney Pet; for our

hero, at the suggestion of Mr. Charles Larkyns, had thought it advisable

to receive a few lessons in the fistic art, in order that he might be

the better able to defend himself, should he be engaged in a second Town

and Gown. He found the Pet in attendance upon Mr. Foote; and, by their

mutual aid, speedily mastered the elements of the Art of Self-defence.

Mr. Foote's rooms at St. John's were in the further corner to the

right-hand side of the Quad, and had windows looking into the gardens.

When Charles had held his Court at St. John's, and when the loyal

College had melted down its plate to coin into money for the King's

necessities, the Royal visitor had occupied these very rooms. But it was

not on this account alone that they were the show rooms of the College,

and that tutors sent their compliments to Mr. Foote, with the request

that he would allow a party of friends to see his rooms. It was chiefly

on account of the lavish manner in which Mr. Foote had furnished his

rooms, with what he theatrically called "properties," that made them so

sought out: and country lionisers of Oxford, who took their impressions

of an Oxford student's room from those of Mr. Foote, must have

entertained very highly coloured ideas of the internal aspect of the

sober-looking old Colleges.

The sitting-room was large and lofty, and was panelled with oak

throughout. At the further end was an elaborately carved book-case of

walnut wood, filled with books gorgeously bound in every tint of morocco

and vellum, with their backs richly tooled in gold. It was currently

reported in the College that "Footelights" had given an order for a

certain number of _feet_ of books,--not being at all proud as to their

contents,--and had laid down the sum of a thousand pounds (or

thereabouts) for their binding. This might have been scandal; but the

fact of his father being a Colossus of (the iron) Roads, and indulging

his son and heir in every expense, gave some colour to the rumour.

The panels were covered with the choicest engravings (all

proofs-before-letters), and with water-colour drawings by Cattermole,

Cox, Fripp, Hunt, and Frederick Tayler--their wide, white margins being

sunk in light gilt frames. Above these gleamed groups of armour,

standing out effectively (and theatrically), against the dark oak

panels, and full of "reflected lights," that would have gladdened the

heart of Maclise. There were couches of velvet, and lounging chairs of

every variety and shape. There was a Broadwood's grand piano-forte, on

which Mr. Foote, although uninstructed, could play skilfully. There

were round tables and square tables, and writing tables; and there were

side tables with statuettes, and Swiss carvings, and old china, and gold

apostle-spoons, and lava ware, and Etruscan vases, and a swarm of

Spiers's elegant knick-knackeries. There were reading-stands of all

sorts; Briarean-armed brazen ones that fastened on to the chair you sat

in,--sloping ones to rest on the table before you, elaborately carved in

open work, and an upright one of severe Gothic, like a lectern, where

you were to stand and read without contracting your chest. Then there

were all kinds of stands to hold books: sliding ones, expanding ones,

portable ones, heavy fixture ones, plain mahogany ones, and oak ones

made glorious by Margetts with the arms of Oxford and St. John's, carved

and emblazoned on the ends.

[Illustration]

Mr. Foote's rooms were altogether a very gorgeous instance of a

Collegian's apartment; and Mr. Foote himself was a very striking example

of the theatrical undergraduate. Possessing great powers of mimicry and

facial expression, he was able to imitate any peculiarities which were

to be observed either in Dons or Undergraduates, in Presidents or

Scouts. He could sit down at his piano, and give you--after the manner

of Theodore Hook, or John Parry--a burlesque opera; singing high up in

his head for the prima donna, and going down to his boots for the _basso

profondo_ of the great Lablache. He could also draw corks, saw wood, do

a bee in a handkerchief, and make monkeys, cats, dogs, a farm-yard, or a

full band, with equal facility. He would also give you Mr. Keeley, in

"Betsy Baker;" Mr. Paul Bedford, as "I believe you my bo-o-oy!" Mr.

Buckstone, as Cousin Joe, and "Box and Cox;" or Mr. Wright, as Paul Pry,

or Mr. Felix Fluffy. Besides the comedians, Mr. Footelights would also

give you the leading tragedians, and would favour you (through his nose)

with the popular burlesque imitation of Mr. Charles Kean, as _Hablet_.

He would fling himself down on the carpet, and grovel there, as Hamlet

does in the play-scene, and would exclaim, with frantic vehemence, "He

poisods hib i' the garded, for his estate. His dabe's Godzago: the story

is extadt, ad writted id very choice Italiad. You shall see adod, how

the burderer gets the love of Godzago's wife." Moreover, as his room

possessed the singularity of a trap-door leading down into a

wine-cellar, Mr. "Footelights" was thus enabled to leap down into the

aperture, and carry on the personation of Hamlet in Ophelia's grave. As

the theatrical trait in his character was productive of much amusement,

and as he was also considered to be one of those hilarious fragments of

masonry, popularly known as "jolly bricks," Mr. Foote's society was

greatly cultivated; and Mr. Verdant Green struck up a warm friendship

with him.

But the Michaelmas term was drawing to its close. Buttery and kitchen

books were adding up their sums total; bursars were preparing for

battels;[13] witless men were cramming for Collections;[14] scouts and

bedmakers were looking for tips; and tradesmen were hopelessly expecting

their little accounts. And, in a few days, Mr. Verdant Green might have

been seen at the railway station, in company with Mr. Charles Larkyns

and Mr. Bouncer, setting out for the Manor Green, _viâ_ London--this

being, as is well known, the most direct route from Oxford to

Warwickshire.

Mr. Bouncer, who when travelling was never easy in his mind unless Huz

and Buz were with him in the same carriage, had placed these two

interesting specimens of the canine species in a small light box,

partially ventilated by means of holes drilled through the top. But Huz

and Buz, not much admiring this contracted mode of conveyance, and

probably suffering from incipient asphyxia, in spite of the admonitory

kicks against their box, gave way to dismal howls, at the very moment

when the guard came to look at the tickets.

"Can't allow dogs in here, sir! they must go in the locker," said the

guard.

"Dogs?" cried Mr. Bouncer, in apparent astonishment: "they're rabbits!"

"Rabbits!" ejaculated the guard, in his turn. "Oh, come, sir! what makes

rabbits bark?"

"What makes 'em bark? Why, because they've got the pip, poor beggars!"

replied Mr. Bouncer, promptly. At which the guard graciously laughed,

and retired; probably thinking that he should, in the end, be a gainer

if he allowed Huz and Buz to journey in the same first-class carriage

with their master.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] The rations of bread, butter, and milk, supplied from the buttery.

The breakfast-giver tells his scout the names of those in-college men

who are coming to breakfast with him. The scout then collects their

commons, which thus forms the substratum of the entertainment. The other

things are of course supplied by the giver of the breakfast, and are

sent in by the confectioner. As to the knives and forks and crockery,

the scout produces them from his common stock.

[13] Battels are the accounts of the expenses of each student. It is

stated in Todd's _Johnson_ that this singular word is derived from the

Saxon verb, meaning "to count or reckon." But it is stated in the

_Gentleman's Magazine_ for 1792, that the word may probably be derived

from the Low-German word _bettahlen_, "to pay," whence may come our

English word, _tale_ or _score_.

[14] College Terminal Examinations.

CHAPTER VIII.

MR. VERDANT GREEN SPENDS A MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR.

Christmas had come; the season of kindness, and hospitality; the season

when the streams of benevolence flow full in their channels; the season

when the Honourable Miss Hyems indulges herself with ice, while the

vulgar Jack Frost regales himself with cold-without. Christmas had come,

and had brought with it an old fashioned winter; and, as Mr. Verdant

Green stands with his hands in his pockets, and gazes from the

drawing-room of his paternal mansion, he looks forth upon a white world.

The snow is everywhere. The shrubs are weighed down by masses of it; the

terrace is knee-deep in it; the plaster Apollo, in the long-walk, is

more than knee-deep in it, and is furnished with a surplice and wig,

like a half-blown Bishop. The distant country looks the very ghost of a

landscape: the white-walled cottages seem part and parcel of the

snow-drifts around them,--drifts that take every variety of form, and

are swept by the wind into faëry wreaths, and fantastic caves. The old

mill-wheel is locked fast, and gemmed with giant icicles; its slippery

stairs are more slippery than ever. Golden gorse and purple heather are

now all of a colour; orchards puts forth blossoms of real snow; the

gently swelling hills look bright and dazzling in the wintry sun; the

grey church tower has grown from grey to white; nothing looks black,

except the swarms of rooks that dot the snowy fields, or make their caws

(long as any Chancery-suit) to be heard from among the dark branches of

the stately elms that form the avenue to the Manor-Green.

[Illustration]

It is a rare busy time for the intelligent Mr. Mole the gardener! he is

always sweeping at that avenue, and, do what he will, he cannot keep it

clear from snow. As Mr. Verdant Green looks forth upon the white world,

his gaze is more particularly directed to this avenue, as though the

form of the intelligent Mr. Mole was an object of interest. From time to

time Mr. Verdant Green consults his watch in a nervous manner, and is

utterly indifferent to the appeals of the robin-redbreast who is hopping

about outside, in expectation of the dinner which has been daily given

to him.

[Illustration]

Just when the robin, emboldened by hunger, has begun to tap fiercely

with his bill against the window-pane, as a gentle hint that the

smallest donations of crumbs of comfort will be thankfully

received,--Mr. Verdant Green, utterly oblivious of robins in general,

and of the sharp pecks of this one in particular, takes no notice of the

little redbreast waiter with the bill, but, slightly colouring up, fixes

his gaze upon the lodge-gate through which a group of ladies and

gentlemen are passing. Stepping back for a moment, and stealing a glance

at himself in the mirror, Mr. Verdant Green hurriedly arranges and

disarranges his hair--pulls about his collar--ties and unties his

neck-handkerchief--buttons and then unbuttons his coat--takes another

look from the window--sees the intelligent Mr. Mole (besom in hand)

salaaming the party, and then makes a rush for the vestibule, to be at

the door to receive them.

Let us take a look at them as they come up the avenue. _Place aux

dames_, is the proper sort of thing; but as there is no rule without its

exception, and no adage without its counter-proverb, we will give the

gentlemen the priority of description.

Hale and hearty, the picture of amiability and gentlemanly feeling,

comes the Rector, Mr. Larkyns, sturdily crunching the frozen snow, which

has defied all the besom powers of the intelligent Mr. Mole. Here, too,

is Mr. Charles Larkyns, and, moreover, his friend Henry Bouncer, Esq.,

who has come to Christmas at the Rectory. Following in their wake is a

fourth gentleman attired in the costume peculiar to clergymen,

dissenting ministers, linen-drapers' assistants, and tavern waiters. He

happens to belong to the first-named section, and is no less a person

than the Rev. Josiah Meek, B.A., (St. Christopher's Coll., Oxon.)--who,

for the last three months, has officiated as Mr. Larkyns's curate. He

appears to be of a peace-loving, lamb-like disposition; and, though

sportive as a lamb when occasion requires, is yet of timid ways and

manners. He is timid, too, in voice,--speaking in a feeble treble; he is

timid, too, in his address,--more particularly as regards females; and

he has mild-looking whiskers, that are far too timid to assume any

decided or obtrusive colour, and have fallen back on a generalised

whitey-brown tint. But, though timid enough in society, he was bold and

energetic in the discharge of his pastoral duties, and had already won

the esteem of every one in the parish. So, Verdant had been told, when,

on his return from college, he had asked his sisters how they liked the

new curate. They had not only heard of his good deeds, but they had

witnessed many of them in their visits to the schools and among the

poor. Mary and Fanny were loud in his praise; and if Helen said but

little, it was perhaps because she thought the more; for Helen was now

of the susceptible age of "sweet seventeen," an age that not only feels

warmly but thinks deeply; and, who shall say what feelings and thoughts

may be beneath the pure waters of that sea of maidenhood whose surface

is so still and calm? Love alone can tell:--Love, the bold diver, who

can cleave that still surface, and bring up into the light of heaven the

rich treasures that are of Heaven's own creation.

With the four gentlemen come two ladies--young ladies, moreover, who, as

penny-a-liners say, are "possessed of considerable personal

attractions." These are the Misses Honeywood, the blooming daughters of

the rector's only sister; and they have come from the far land of the

North, and are looking as fresh and sweet as their own heathery hills.

The roses of health that bloom upon their cheeks have been brought into

full blow by the keen, sharp breeze; the shepherd's-plaid shawls drawn

tightly around them give the outline of figures that gently swell into

the luxuriant line of beauty and grace. Altogether, they are damsels who

are pleasant to the eye, and very fair to look upon.

Since they had last visited their uncle four years had passed, and, in

that time, they had shot up to womanhood, although they were not yet out

of their teens. Their father was a landed proprietor living in north

Northumberland; and, like other landed proprietors who live under the

shade of the Cheviots, was rich in his flocks, and his herds, and his

men-servants and his maid-servants, and his he-asses and his she-asses,

and was quite a modern patriarch. During the past summer, the rector had

taken a trip to Northumberland, in order to see his sister, and refresh

himself with a clergyman's fortnight at Honeywood Hall, and he would not

leave his sister and her husband until he had extracted from them a

promise that they would bring down their two eldest daughters and

Christmas in Warwickshire. This was accordingly agreed to, and, more

than that, acted upon; and little Mr. Bouncer and his sister Fanny were

asked to meet them; but, to relieve the rector of a superfluity of lady

guests, Miss Bouncer's quarters had been removed to the Manor Green.

It was quite an event in the history of our hero and his sisters. Four

years ago, they, and Kitty and Patty Honeywood, were mere chits, for

whom dolls had not altogether lost their interest, and who considered it

as promotion when they sat in the drawing-room on company evenings,

instead of being shown up at dessert. Four years at this period of life

makes a vast change in young ladies, and the Green and Honeywood girls

had so altered since last they met, that they had almost needed a fresh

introduction to each other. But a day's intimacy made them bosom

friends; and the Manor Green soon saw such revels as it had not seen for

many a long year.

Every night there were (in the language of the play-bills of provincial

theatres) "singing and dancing, with a variety of other entertainments;"

the "other entertainments" occasionally consisting (as is scandalously

affirmed) of a very favourite class of entertainment--popular at all

times, but running mad riot at the Christmas season--wherein two

performers of either sex take their places beneath a white-berried

bough, and go through a species of dance, or _pas de fascination_,

accompanied by mysterious rites and solemnities that have been

scrupulously observed, and handed down to us, from the earliest age.

[Illustration]

Mr. Verdant Green, during the short--alas! _too_ short--Christmas week,

had performed more polkas than he had ever danced in his life; and,

under the charming tuition of Miss Patty Honeywood, was fast becoming a

proficient in the _valse à deux temps_. As yet, the whirl of the dance

brought on a corresponding rotatory motion of the brain, that made

everything swim before his spectacles in a way which will be easily

understood by all bad travellers who have crossed from Dover to Calais

with a chopping sea and a gale of wind. But Miss Patty Honeywood was

both good-natured and persevering: and she allowed our hero to dance on

her feet without a murmur, and watchfully guided him when his giddy

vision would have led them into contact with foreign bodies.

It is an old saying, that Gratitude begets Love. Mr. Verdant Green had

already reached the first part of this dangerous creation, for he felt

grateful to the pretty Patty for the good-humoured trouble she bestowed

on the awkwardness, which he now, for the first time, began painfully to

perceive. But, what his gratitude might end in, he had perhaps never

taken the trouble to inquire. It was enough to Mr. Verdant Green that he

enjoyed the present; and, as to the future, he fully followed out the

Horatian precept--

Quid sit futurum cras, fuge quærere;

... nec dulces amores

Sperne, puer, neque tu choreas.

[Illustration]

It was perhaps ungrateful in our hero to prefer Miss Patty Honeywood to

Miss Fanny Bouncer, especially when the latter was staying in the house,

and had been so warmly recommended to his notice by her vivacious

brother. Especially, too, as there was nothing to be objected to in Miss

Bouncer, saving the fact that some might have affirmed she was a trifle

too much inclined to _embonpoint_, and was indeed a bouncer in person as

well as in name. Especially, too, as Miss Fanny Bouncer was both

good-humoured and clever, and, besides being mistress of the usual

young-lady accomplishments, was a clever proficient in the fascinating

art of photography, and had brought her camera and chemicals, and had

not only calotyped Mr. Verdant Green, but had made no end of duplicates

of him, in a manner that was suggestive of the deepest admiration and

affection. But these sort of likings are not made to rule, and Mr.

Verdant Green could see Miss Fanny Bouncer approach without betraying

any of those symptoms of excitement, under the influence of which we had

the privilege to see him, as he gazed from the window of his paternal

mansion, and then, on beholding the approaching form of Miss Patty

Honeywood, rush wildly to the vestibule.

The party had no occasion to ring, for the hall door was already opened

for them, and Mr. Verdant Green was soon exchanging a delightful

pressure of the hand with the blooming Patty.

"We were such a formidable party," said that young lady, as she laughed

merrily, and thereby disclosed to the enraptured gazer a remarkably even

set of white teeth ("All her own, too!" as little Mr. Bouncer afterwards

remarked to the enraptured gazer); "we were such a formidable party,"

said Miss Patty, "that papa and mamma declared they would stay behind at

the Rectory, and would not join in such a visitation."

Mr. Verdant Green replies, "Oh dear! I am very sorry," and looks

remarkably delighted--though it certainly may not be at the absence of

the respected couple; and he then proclaims that everything is ready,

and that Miss Bouncer and his sisters had found out some capital words.

"What a mysterious communication, Verdant!" remarks the rector, as they

pass into the house. But the rector is only to be let so far into the

secret as to be informed that, at the evening party which is to be held

at the Manor Green that night, a charade or two will be acted, in order

to diversify the amusements. The Misses Honeywood are great adepts in

this sort of pastime; so, also, are Miss Bouncer and her brother. For

although the latter does not shine as a mimic, yet, as he is never

deserted by his accustomed coolness, he has plenty of the _nonchalance_

and readiness which is a requisite for charade acting. The Miss

Honeywoods and Mr. Bouncer have therefore suggested to Mr. Verdant Green

and his sisters, that to get up a little amateur performance would be

"great fun;" and the suggestion has met with a warm approval.

The drawing-room at the Manor Green opened by large folding-doors to the

library; so (as Mr. Bouncer observed to our hero), "there you've got

your stage and your drop-scene as right as a trivet; and, if you stick a

lot of candles and lights on each side of the doors in the library,

there you'll have a regular flare-up that'll show off your venerable

giglamps no end."

So charades were determined on; and, when words had been hunted up, a

council of war was called. But, as the ladies and gentlemen hold their

council with closed doors, we cannot intrude upon them. We must

therefore wait till the evening, when the result of their deliberations

will be publicly manifested.

CHAPTER IX.

MR. VERDANT GREEN MAKES HIS FIRST APPEARANCE ON ANY BOARDS.

It is the last night of December. The old year, worn out and spent with

age, lies a dying, wrapped in sheets of snow.

[Illustration]

A stern stillness reigns around. The steps of men are muffled; no

echoing footfalls disturb the solemn nature of the time. The little

runnels weep icy tears. The dark pines hang out their funereal plumes,

and nod with their weight of snow. The elms have thrown off their green

robes of joy, and, standing up in gaunt nakedness, wildly toss to heaven

their imploring arms. The old year lies a dying.

Silently through the snow steal certain carriages to the portals of the

Manor Green: and, with a ringing of bells and a banging of steps, the

occupants disappear in a stream of light that issues from the hall door.

Mr. Green's small sanctum to the right of the hall has been converted

into a cloak-room, and is fitted up with a ladies'-maid and a

looking-glass, in a manner not to be remembered by the oldest

inhabitant.

There the finishing stroke of ravishment is given to the toilette

disarranged by a long drive through the impeding snow. There Miss

Parkington (whose papa has lately revived his old school friendship with

Mr. Green) discovers, to her unspeakable disgust, that the ten mile

drive through the cold has invested her cheek with purple tints, and

given to her _retroussé_ (ill-natured people call it "pug") nose a hue

that mocks

The turkey's crested fringe.

[Illustration]

There, too, Miss Waters (whose paternities had hitherto only been on

morning-call terms with the Manor Green people, but had brushed up their

acquaintance now that there was a son of marriageable years and heir to

an independent fortune) discovers to her dismay that the joltings

received during a six-mile drive through snowed-up lanes, have somewhat

deteriorated the very full-dress aspect of her attire, and considerably

flattened its former balloon-like dimensions. And there, too, Miss

Brindle (whose family have been hunted up for the occasion) makes the

alarming discovery that, in the lurch which their hack-fly had made at

the cross roads, her brother Alfred's patent boots had not only dragged

off some yards (more or less) of her flounces, but had also--to use her

own mystical language--"torn her skirt at the gathers!"

All, however, is put right as far as possible. A warm at the sanctum's

fire diminishes the purple in Miss Parkington's cheeks; and the maid, by

some hocus-pocus peculiar to her craft, again inflates Miss Waters into

a balloon, and stitches up Miss Brindle's flounces and "gathers." The

ladies join their respective gentlemen, who have been cooling their toes

and uttering warm anathemas in the hall; and the party sail, arm-in-arm,

into the drawing-room, and forthwith fall to lively remarks on that

neutral ground of conversation, the weather.

[Illustration]

Mr. Verdant Green is there, dressed with elaborate magnificence; but he

continues in a state of listless apathy, and is indifferent to the

"lively" rattle of the balloon-like Miss Waters, until John the footman

(who is suffering from influenza) rouses him into animation by the magic

talisman "Bister, Bissis, an' the Biss 'Oneywoods;" when he beams

through his spectacles in the most benign and satisfied manner. The

Misses Honeywood are as blooming as usual: the cold air, instead of

spoiling their good looks, has but improved their healthy style of

beauty; and they smile, laugh, and talk in a perfectly easy, unaffected,

and natural manner. Mr. Verdant Green at once makes his way to Miss

Patty Honeywood's side, and, gracefully standing beside her, coffee-cup

in hand, plunges headlong into the depths of a tangled conversation.

Meanwhile, the drawing-room of the Manor Green becomes filled in a way

that has not been seen for many a long year; and the intelligent Mr.

Mole, the gardener (who has been impressed as an odd man for the

occasion, and is served up in a pseudo-livery to make him more

presentible), sees more "genteel" people than have, for a long time,

been visible to his naked eye. The intelligent Mr. Mole, when he has

afterwards been restored to the bosom of Mrs. Mole and his family,

confides to his equally intelligent helpmate that, in his opinion,

"Master has guv the party to get husbands for the young ladies"--an

opinion which, though perhaps not founded on fact so far as it related

to the party which was the subject of Mr. Mole's remark, would doubtless

be applicable to many similar parties given under somewhat similar

circumstances.

It is not improbable that the intelligent Mr. Mole may have based his

opinion on a circumstance--which, to a gentleman of his sagacity, must

have carried great weight--namely, that whenever in the course of the

evening the hall was made the promenade for the loungers and dancers, he

perceived, firstly, that Miss Green was invariably accompanied by Mr.

Charles Larkyns; secondly, that the Rev. Josiah Meek kept Miss Helen

dallying about the wine and lemonade tray much longer than was necessary

for the mere consumption of the cooling liquids; and thirdly, that Miss

Fanny, who was a pert, talkative Miss of sixteen, was continually to be

found there with either Mr. Henry Bouncer or Mr. Alfred Brindle dancing

attendance upon her. But, be this as it may, the intelligent Mr. Mole

was impressed with the conviction that Mr. Green had called his young

friends together as to a matrimonial auction, and that his daughters

were to be put up without reserve, and knocked down to the highest

bidder.

All the party have arrived. The weather has been talked over for the

last time (for the present); a harp, violin, and a cornet-à-piston from

the county town, influenced by the spirit of gin-and-water, are heard

discoursing most eloquent music in the dining-room, which has been

cleared out for the dance. Miss Patty Honeywood, accepting the offer of

Mr. Verdant Green's arm, swims joyously out of the room; other ladies

and gentlemen pair, and follow: the ball is opened.

A polka follows the quadrille; and, while the dancers rest awhile from

their exertions, or crowd around the piano in the drawing-room to hear

the balloon-like Miss Waters play a firework piece of music, in which

execution takes the place of melody, and chromatic scales are discharged

from her fingers like showers of rockets, Mr. Verdant Green mysteriously

weeds out certain members of the party, and vanishes with them upstairs.

[Illustration]

When Miss Waters has discharged all her fireworks, and has descended

from the throne of her music-stool, a set of Lancers is formed; and,

while the usual mistakes are being made in the figures, the dancers

find a fruitful subject of conversation in surmises that a charade

is going to be acted. The surmise proves to be correct; for when

the set has been brought to an end with that peculiar in-and-out

tum-tum-tiddle-iddle-tum-tum-tum movement which characterises the last

figure of _Les Lanciers_, the trippers on the light fantastic toe are

requested to assemble in the drawing-room, where the chairs and couches

have been pulled up to face the folding doors that lead into the

library. Mr. Verdant Green appears; and, after announcing that the word

to be acted will be one of three syllables, and that each syllable will

be represented by itself, and that then the complete word will be given,

throws open the folding doors for

SCENE I. _Syllable_ 1.--Enter the Miss Honeywoods, dressed in

fashionable bonnets and shawls. They are shown in by a footman (Mr.

Bouncer) attired in a peculiarly ingenious and effective livery, made by

pulling up the trousers to the knee, and wearing the dress-coat inside

out, so as to display the crimson silk linings of the sleeves: the

effect of Mr. Bouncer's appearance is considerably heightened by a

judicious outlay of flour sprinkled over his hair. Mr. Bouncer (as

footman) gives the ladies chairs, and inquires, "What name shall I be

pleased to say, mem?" Miss Patty answers in a languid and fashionable

voice, "The Ladies Louisa and Arabella Mountfidget." Mr. Bouncer

evaporates with a low bow, leaving the ladies to play with their

parasols, and converse. Lady Arabella (Miss Patty) then expresses a

devout wish that Lady Trotter (wife of Sir Lambkin Trotter, Bart.), in

whose house they are supposed to be, will not keep them waiting as long

as she detained her aunt, Lady Bellwether, when the poor old lady fell

asleep from sheer fatigue, and was found snoring on the sofa. Lady

Louisa then falls to an inspection of the card-tray, and reads the

paste-boards of some high-sounding titles not to be found in Debrett,

and expresses wonder as to where Lady Trotter can have picked up the

Duchess of Ditchwater's card, as she (Lady Louisa) is morally convinced

that her Grace can never have condescended to have even sent in her card

by a footman. Becoming impatient at the non-appearance of Lady Trotter,

Miss Patty Honeywood then rings the bell, and, with much asperity of

manner, inquires of Mr. Bouncer (as footman) if Lady Trotter is informed

that the Ladies Louisa and Arabella Mountfidget are waiting to see her?

Mr. Bouncer replies, with a footman's bow, and a footman's

_h_exasperation of his h's, "Me lady is hawcer hof your ladyships'

visit; but me lady is at present hunable to happear: me lady, 'owever,

has give me a message, which she hasks me to deliver to your ladyships."

"Then why don't you deliver it at once," says Miss Patty, "and not

waste the valuable time of the Ladies Louisa and Arabella Mountfidget?

What _is_ the message?" "Me lady," replies Mr. Bouncer, "requests me to

present her compliments to your ladyships, and begs me to hinform you

that me lady is a cleaning of herself!" Amid great laughter from the

audience, the Ladies Mountfidget toss their heads and flutter grandly

out of the room, followed by the floured footman; while Mr. Verdant

Green, unseen by those in front, pushes-to the folding doors, to show

that the first syllable is performed.

Praises of the acting, and guesses at the word, agreeably fill up the

time till the next scene. The Revd Josiah Meek, who is not much used to

charades, confides to Miss Helen Green that he surmises the word to be,

either "visitor" or "impudence" but, as the only ground to this surmise

rests on these two words being words of three syllables, Miss Helen

gently repels the idea, and sagely observes "we shall see more in the

next scene."

SCENE II. _Syllable_ 2.--The folding-doors open, and discover Mr.

Verdant Green, as a sick gentleman, lying on a sofa, in a dressing-gown,

with pillows under his head, and Miss Patty Honeywood in attendance upon

him. A table, covered with glasses and medicine bottles, is drawn up to

the sufferer's couch in an inviting manner. Miss Patty informs the

sufferer that the time is come for him to take his draught. The sufferer

groans in a dismal manner, and says, "Oh! is it, my dear?" She replies,

"Yes! you must take it now;" and sternly pours some sherry wine out of

the medicine bottle into a cup. The sufferer makes piteous faces, and

exclaims, "It is so nasty, I can't take it, my love!" (It is to be

observed that Mr. Verdant Green, skilfully taking advantage of the

circumstance that Miss Patty Honeywood is supposed to represent the wife

of the sufferer, plentifully besprinkles his conversation with endearing

epithets.) When, after much persuasion and groaning, the sufferer has

been induced to take his medicine, his spouse announces the arrival of

the doctor; when, enter Mr. Bouncer, still floured as to his head, but

wearing spectacles, a long black coat, and a shirt-frill, and having his

dress otherwise altered so as to represent a medical man of the old

school. The doctor asks what sort of a night his patient has had,

inspects his tongue with professional gravity, feels his pulse, looks at

his watch, and mysteriously shakes his head. He then commences thrusting

and poking Mr. Verdant Green in various parts of his body,--after the

manner of doctors with their victims, and farmers with their

beasts,--enquiring between each poke, "Does that hurt you?" and being

answered by a convulsive "Oh!" and a groan of agony. The doctor then

prescribes a draught to be taken every half-hour, with the pills and

blister at bed-time; and, after covering his two fellow-actors with

confusion, by observing that he leaves his patient in admirable hands,

and, that in an affection of the heart, the application of lip-salve and

warm treatment will give a decided tone to the system, and produce

soothing and grateful emotions--takes his leave; and the folding-doors

are closed on the blushes of Miss Patty Honeywood, and Mr. Verdant

Green.

[Illustration]

More applause: more agreeable conversation: more ingenious speculations.

The Revd. Josiah Meek is now of opinion that the word is either

"medicine" or "suffering." Miss Helen still sagely observes, "we shall

see more in the next scene."

SCENE III. _Syllable_ 3.--Mr. Verdant Green discovered sitting at a

table furnished with pens and ink, books, and rolls of paper. Mr.

Verdant Green wears on his head a Chelsea pensioner's cocked-hat (the

"property" of the Family,--as Mr. Footelights would have said), folded

into a shovel shape; and is supposed to accurately represent the outside

of a London publisher. To him enter Mr. Bouncer--the flour off his

head--coat buttoned tightly to the throat, no visible linen, and wearing

in his face and appearance generally, "the garb of humility." Says the

publisher "Now, sir, please to state your business, and be quick about

it: I am much engaged in looking over for the press a work of a

distinguished author, which I am just about to publish." Meekly replies

the other, as he holds under his arm an immense paper packet: "It is

about a work of my own, sir, that I have now ventured to intrude upon

you. I have here, sir, a small manuscript," (producing his roll of a

book), "which I am ambitious to see given to the world through the

medium of your printing establishment." To him, the Publisher--"Already

am I inundated with manuscripts on all possible subjects, and cannot

undertake to look at any more for some time to come. What is the nature

of your manuscript?" Meekly replies the other--"The theme of my work,

sir, is a History of England before the Flood. The subject is both new

and interesting. It is to be presumed that our beloved country existed

before the Flood: if so, it must have had a history. I have therefore

endeavoured to fill up what is lacking in the annals of our land, by a

record of its antediluvian state, adapted to the meanest comprehension,

and founded on the most baseless facts. I am desirous, sir, to see

myself in print. I should like my work, sir, to appear in large letters;

in very large letters, sir. Indeed, sir, it would give me joy, if you

would condescend to print it altogether in capital letters: my _magnum

opus_ might then be called with truth, a capital work." To him, the

Publisher--"Much certainly depends on the character of the printing."

Meekly the author--"Indeed, sir, it does. A great book, sir, should be

printed in great letters. If you will permit me, I will show you the

size of the letters in which I should wish my book to be printed." Mr.

Bouncer then points out in some books on the table, the printing he most

admires; and, beseeching the Publisher to read over his manuscript, and

think favourably of his History of England before the Flood, makes his

bow to Mr. Verdant Green and the Chelsea pensioner's cocked hat.

More applause, and speculations. The Revd. Josiah Meek confident that he

has discovered the word. It must be either "publisher" or "authorship."

Miss Helen still sage.

SCENE IV. _The Word._--Miss Bouncer discovered with her camera,

arranging her photographic chemicals. She soliloquises. "There! now, all

is ready for my sitter." She calls the footman (Mr. Verdant Green), and

says, "John, you may show the Lady Fitz-Canute upstairs." The footman

shows in Miss Honeywood, dressed in an antiquated bonnet and mantle,

waving a huge fan. John gives her a chair, into which she drops,

exclaiming, "What an insufferable toil it is to ascend to these elevated

Photographic rooms;" and makes good use of her fan. Miss Bouncer then

fixes the focus of her camera, and begs the Lady Fitz-Canute to sit

perfectly still, and to call up an agreeable smile to her face. Miss

Honeywood thereupon disposes her face in ludicrous "wreathed smiles;"

and Miss Bouncer's head disappears under the velvet hood of the camera.

"I am afraid," at length says Miss Bouncer, "I am afraid that I shall

not be able to succeed in taking a likeness of your ladyship this

morning." "And why, pray?" asks her ladyship with haughty surprise.

"Because it is a gloomy day," replies the Photographer, "and much

depends upon the rays of light." "Then procure the rays of light!" "That

is more than I can do." "Indeed! I suppose if the Lady Fitz-Canute

wishes for the rays of light, and condescends to pay for the rays of

light, she can obtain the rays of light." Miss Bouncer considers this

too _exigeant_, and puts her sitter off by promising to complete a most

fascinating portrait of her on some more favourable day. Lady

Fitz-Canute appears to be somewhat mollified at this, and is graciously

pleased to observe, "Then I will undergo the fatigue of ascending to

these elevated Photographic-rooms at some future period. But, mind, when

I next come, that you procure the rays of light!" So she is shown out by

Mr. Verdant Green, and the folding-doors are closed amid applause, and

the audience distract themselves with guesses as to the word.

"Photograph" is a general favourite, but is found not to agree with the

three first scenes, although much ingenuity is expended in endeavouring

to make them fit the word. The Curate makes a headlong rush at the word

"Daguerreotype," and is confident that he has solved the problem, until

he is informed that it is a word of more than three syllables. Charles

Larkyns has already whispered the word to Mary Green; but they keep

their discovery to themselves. At length, the Revd. Josiah Meek, in a

moment of inspiration, hits upon the word, and proclaims it to be

CALOTYPE ("Call--oh!--type;") upon which Mr. Alfred Brindle declares to

Miss Fanny Green that he had fancied it must be that, all along, and, in

fact, was just on the point of saying it: and the actors, coming in in a

body, receive the violet-crowns and laurel-wreaths of praise as the meed

of their exertions. Perhaps, the Miss Honeywoods and Mr. Bouncer

receive larger crowns than the others, but Mr. Verdant Green gets his

due share, and is fully satisfied with his first appearance on "the

boards."

[Illustration]

Dancing then succeeds, varied by songs from the young ladies, and

discharges of chromatic fireworks from the fingers of Miss Waters, for

whom Charles Larkyns does the polite, in turning over the leaves of her

music. Then some carol-singers come to the Hall-door, and the bells of

the church proclaim, in joyful peals, the birth of the New Year;--a new

year of hopes, and joys, and cares, and griefs, and unions, and

partings;--a new year of which, who then present shall see the end? who

shall be there to welcome in its successor? who shall be absent, laid in

the secret places of the earth? Ah, _who_? For, even in the midst of

revelry and youth, the joy-peals of those old church bells can strike

the key-note of a wail of grief.

Another charade follows, in which new actors join. Then comes a merry

supper, in which Mr. Alfred Brindle, in order to give himself courage to

appear in the next charade, takes more champagne than is good for him;

in which, too (probably, from similar champagney reasons), Miss

Parkington's unfortunately self-willed nose again assumes a more roseate

hue than is becoming to a maiden; in which, too, Mr. Verdant Green being

called upon to return thanks for "the ladies"--(toast, proposed in

eloquent terms by H. Bouncer, Esq., and drunk "with the usual

honours,")--is so alarmed at finding himself upon his legs, that his

ideas altogether vanish, and in great confusion of utterance, he

observes,--"I--I--ladies and gentlemen--feel--I--I--a--feel--assure

you--grattered and flattified--I mean, flattered and gratified--being

called on--return thanks--I--I--a--the ladies--give a larm to chife--I

mean, charm to life--(_applause_)--and--a--a--grace by their

table this presence,--I mean--a--a--(_applause_),--and joytened our

eye--I mean, heighted our joy, to-night--(_applause_),--in their

name--thanks--honour." Mr. Verdant Green takes advantage of the applause

which follows these incoherent remarks, and sits down, covered with

confusion, but thankful that the struggle is over.

More dancing follows. Our hero performs prodigies in the _valse à deux

temps_, and twirls about until he has not a leg left to stand upon. The

harp, the violin, and the cornet-à-piston, from the county-town, play

mechanically in their sleep, and can only be roused by repeated

applications of gin-and-water. Carriages are ordered round: wraps are in

requisition: the mysterious rites under the white-berried bush are

stealthily repeated for the last time: the guests depart, as it were, in

a heap; the Rectory party being the last to leave. The intelligent Mr.

Mole, who has fuddled himself by an injudicious mixture of the

half-glasses of wine left on the supper-table, is exasperated with the

butler for not allowing him to assist in putting away the silver; and

declares that he (the butler) is "a hold himage," for which, he (the

intelligent Mr. M.), "don't care a button!" and, as the epithet "image"

appears to wondrously offend the butler, Mr. Mole is removed from

further consequences by his intelligent wife, who is waiting to conduct

her lord and master home.

At length, the last light is out in the Manor-Green. Mr. Verdant Green

is lying uncomfortably upon his back, and is waltzing through Dreamland

with the blooming Patty Honeywood.

CHAPTER X.

MR. VERDANT GREEN ENJOYS A REAL CIGAR.

The Christmas vacation passed rapidly away; the Honeywood family

returned to the far north; and, once more, Mr. Verdant Green found

himself within the walls of Brazenface. He and Mr. Bouncer had together

gone up to Oxford, leaving Charles Larkyns behind to keep a grace-term.

Charles Larkyns had determined to take a good degree. For some time

past, he had been reading steadily; and, though only a few hours in each

day may be given to books--yet, when that is done, with regularity and

painstaking, a real and sensible progress is made. He knew that he had

good abilities, and he had determined not to let them remain idle any

longer, but to make that use of them for which they were given to him.

His examination would come on during the next term; and he hoped to turn

the interval to good account, and be able in the end to take a

respectable degree. He was destined for the Bar; and, as he had no wish

to be a briefless Barrister, he knew that college honours would be of

great advantage to him in his after career. He, at once, therefore, set

bodily to work to read up his subjects; while his father assisted him in

his labours, and Mary Green smiled a kind approval.

Meanwhile, his friends, Mr. Verdant Green and Mr. Henry Bouncer, were

enjoying Oxford life, and disporting themselves among the crowd of

skaters in the Christ Church meadows. And a very different scene did the

meadows present to the time when they had last skimmed over its surface.

Then, the green fields were covered with sailing-boats, out-riggers, and

punts, and Mr. Verdant Green had nearly come to an untimely end in the

waters. But now the scene was changed! Jack Frost had stepped in, and

had seized the flood in his frozen fingers, and had bound it up in an

icy breast-plate.

And a capital place did the meadows make for any Undergraduate who was

either a professed skater, or whose skating education (as in the case of

our hero) had been altogether neglected. For the water was only of a

moderate depth; so that, in the event of the ice giving way, there was

nothing to fear beyond a slight and partial ducking. This was

especially fortunate for Mr. Verdant Green, who, after having

experienced total submersion and a narrow escape from drowning on that

very spot, would never have been induced to again commit himself to the

surface of the deep, had he not been fully convinced that the deep had

now subsided into a shallow. With his breast fortified by this

resolution, he therefore fell a victim to the syren tongue of Mr.

Bouncer, when that gentleman observed to him with sincere feeling,

"Giglamps, old fellow! it would be a beastly shame, when there's such

jolly ice, if you did not learn to skate; especially, as I can show you

the trick."

For, Mr. Bouncer was not only skilful with his hands and arms, but could

also perform feats with his feet. He could not only dance quadrilles in

dress boots in a ball-room, but he could also go through the figures on

the ice in a pair of skates. He could do the outside edge at a more

acute angle than the generality of people; he could cut figures of eight

that were worthy of Cocker himself, he could display spread-eagles that

would have astonished the Fellows of the Zoological Society. He could

skim over the thinnest ice in the most don't-care way; and, when

at full speed, would stoop to pick up a stone. He would take a

hop-skip-and-a-jump; and would vault over walking-sticks, as easily as

if he were on dry land,--an accomplishment which he had learnt of the

Count Doembrownski, a Russian gentleman, who, in his own country, lived

chiefly on skates, and, in this country, on pigeons, and whose short

residence in Oxford was suddenly brought to a full stop by the arbitrary

power of the Vice-Chancellor. So, Mr. Verdant Green was persuaded to

purchase, and put on a pair of skates, and to make his first appearance

as a skater in the Christ Church meadows, under the auspices of Mr.

Bouncer.

The sensation of first finding yourself in a pair of skates is peculiar.

It is not unlike the sensation which must have been felt by the young

bear, when he was dropped from his mamma's mouth, and, for the first

time, told to walk. The poor little bear felt, that it was all very well

to say "walk,"--but how was he to do it? Was he to walk with his right

fore-leg only? or, with his left fore-leg? or, with both his fore-legs?

or, was he to walk with his right hind-leg? or, with his left hind-leg?

or, with both his hind-legs? or, was he to make a combination of hind

and fore-legs, and walk with all four at once? or, what was he to do? So

he tried each of these ways; and they all failed. Poor little bear!

[Illustration]

Mr. Verdant Green felt very much in the little bear's condition. He was

undecided whether to skate with his right leg, or with his left leg, or

with both his legs. He tried his right leg, and immediately it glided

off at right angles with his body, while his left leg performed a

similar and spontaneous movement in the contrary direction. Having

captured his left leg, he put it cautiously forwards, and immediately it

twisted under him, while his right leg amused itself by describing an

altogether unnecessary circle. Obtaining a brief mastery over both legs,

he put them forwards at the same moment, and they fled from beneath him,

and he was flung--bump!--on his back. Poor little bear!

But, if it is hard to make a start in a pair of skates when you are in a

perpendicular position, how much is the difficulty increased when your

position has become a horizontal one! You raise yourself on your

knees,--you assist yourself with your hands,--and, no sooner have you

got one leg right, than away slides the other, and down you go. It is

like the movement in that scene with the pair of short stilts, in which

the French clowns are so amusing, and it is almost as difficult to

perform. Mr. Verdant Green soon found that though he might be ambitious

to excel in the polite accomplishment of skating, yet that his ambition

was destined to meet with many a fall. But he persevered, and

perseverance will achieve wonders, especially when aided by the tuition

of such an indefatigable gentleman as Mr. Bouncer.

[Illustration]

"You get on stunningly, Giglamps," said the little gentleman, "and

hav'nt been on your beam ends more than once a minute. But I should

advise you, old fellow, to get your sit-upons seated with

wash-leather,--just like the eleventh hussars do with their

cherry-coloured pants. It'll come cheaper in the end, and may be

productive of comfort. And now, after all these exciting ups and downs,

let us go and have a quiet hand at billiards." So the two friends

strolled up the High, where they saw two Queensmen "confessing their

shame," as Mr. Bouncer phrased it, by standing under the gateway of

their college; and went on to Bickerton's, where they found all the

tables occupied, and Jonathan playing a match with Mr. Fluke of

Christchurch. So, after watching the celebrated marker long enough to

inspire them with a desire to accomplish similar feats of dexterity,

they continued their walk to Broad Street, and, turning up a yard

opposite to the Clarendon, found that Betteris had an upstair room at

liberty. Here they accomplished several pleasing mathematical problems

with the balls, and contributed their modicum towards the smoking of the

ceiling of the room.

Since Mr. Verdant Green had acquired the art of getting through a cigar

without making himself ill, he had looked upon himself as a genuine

smoker; and had, from time to time, bragged of his powers as regarded

the fumigation of "the herb Nicotiana, commonly called tobacco," (as the

Oxford statute tersely says). This was an amiable weakness on his part

that had not escaped the observant eye of Mr. Bouncer, who had

frequently taken occasion, in the presence of his friends, to defer to

Mr. Verdant Green's judgment in the matter of cigars. The train of

adulation being thus laid, an opportunity was only needed to fire it. It

soon came.

[Illustration]

"Once upon a time," as the story-books say, it chanced that Mr. Bouncer

was consuming his minutes and cigars at his tobacconist's, when his eye

lighted for the thousandth time on the roll of cabbage-leaves, brown

paper, and refuse tobacco, which being done up into the form of a

monster cigar (a foot long, and of proportionate thickness), was hung in

the shop-window, and did duty as a truthful token of the commodity

vended within. Mr. Bouncer had looked at this implement nine hundred

and ninety nine times, without its suggesting anything else to his

mind, than its being of the same class of art as the monster

mis-representations outside wild-beast shows; but he now gazed upon it

with new sensations. In short, Mr. Bouncer took such a fancy to the

thing, that he purchased it, and took it off to his rooms,--though he

did not mention this fact to his friend, Mr. Verdant Green, when he saw

him soon afterwards, and spoke to him of his excellent judgment in

tobacco.

"A taste for smoke comes natural, Giglamps!" said Mr. Bouncer. "It's

what you call a _nascitur non fit_; and, if you haven't the gift, why

you can't purchase it. Now, you're a judge of smoke; it's a gift with

you, don't you see; and you could no more help knowing a good weed from

a bad one, than you could help waggling your tail if you were a

baa-lamb."

Mr. Verdant Green bowed, and blushed, in acknowledgment of this

delightful flattery.

"Now, there's old Footelights, you know; he's got an uncle, who's a

governor, or some great swell, out in Barbadoes. Well, every now and

then the old trump sends Footelights no end of a box of weeds; not

common ones, you understand, but regular tip-toppers; but they're quite

thrown away on poor Footelights, who'd think as much of cabbage-leaves

as he would of real Havannahs, so he's always obliged to ask somebody

else's opinion about them. Well, he's got a sample of a weed of a most

terrific kind:--_Magnifico Pomposo_ is the name;--no end uncommon, and

at least a foot long. We don't meet with 'em in England because they're

too expensive to import. Well, it would'nt do to throw away such a weed

as this on any one; so, Footelights wants to have the opinion of a man

who's really a judge of what a good weed is. I refused, because my taste

has been rather out of order lately; and Billy Blades is in training for

Henley, so he's obliged to decline; so I told him of you, Giglamps, and

said, that if there was a man in Brazenface that could tell him what his

Magnifico Pomposo was worth, that man was Verdant Green. Don't blush,

old feller! you can't help having a fine judgment, you know; so don't be

ashamed of it. Now, you must wine with me this evening; Footelights and

some more men are coming; and we're all anxious to hear your opinion

about these new weeds, because, if it's favourable we can club together,

and import a box." Mr. Bouncer's victim, being perfectly unconscious of

the trap laid for him, promised to come to the wine, and give his

opinion on this weed of fabled size and merit.

[Illustration]

When the evening and company had come, he was rather staggered at

beholding the dimensions of the pseudo-cigar; but, rashly judging that

to express surprise would be to betray ignorance, Mr. Verdant Green

inspected the formidable monster with the air of a connoisseur, and

smelt, pinched, and rolled his tongue round it, after the manner of the

best critics. If this was a diverting spectacle to the assembled guests

of Mr. Bouncer, how must the humour of the scene have been increased,

when our hero, with great difficulty, lighted the cigar, and, with still

greater difficulty, held it in his mouth, and endeavoured to smoke it!

As Mr. Foote afterwards observed, "it was a situation for a screaming

farce."

"It doesn't draw well!" faltered the victim, as the bundle of rubbish

went out for the fourth time.

"Why, that's always the case with the Barbadoes baccy!" said Mr. Bouncer;

"it takes a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull all together to get

it to make a start; but when once it does go, it goes beautiful--like a

house a-fire. But you can't expect it to be like a common threepenny

weed. Here! let me light him for you, Giglamps; I'll give the beggar a

dig in his ribs, as a gentle persuader." Mr. Bouncer thereupon poked

his pen-knife through the rubbish, and after a time induced it to

"draw;" and Mr. Verdant Green pulled at it furiously, and made his eyes

water with the unusual cloud of smoke that he raised.

"And now, what d'ye think of it, my beauty?" inquired Mr. Bouncer. "It's

something out of the common, ain't it?"

"It has a beautiful ash!" observed Mr. Smalls.

"And diffuses an aroma that makes me long to defy the trainer, and smoke

one like it!" said Mr. Blades.

"So pray give me your reading--at least, your opinion,--on my Magnifico

Pomposo!" asked Mr. Foote.

"Well," answered Mr. Verdant Green, slowly--turning very pale as he

spoke,--"at first, I thought it was be-yew-tiful; but, altogether, I

think--that--the Barbadoes tobacco--doesn't quite--agree with--my

stom--" the speaker abruptly concluded by dropping the cigar, putting

his handkerchief to his mouth, and rushing into Mr. Bouncer's bedroom.

The Magnifico Pomposo had been too much for him, and had produced

sensations accurately interpreted by Mr. Bouncer, who forthwith

represented in expressive pantomine, the actions of a distressed

voyager, when he feebly murmurs "Steward!"

[Illustration]

To atone for the "chaffing" which he had been the means of inflicting on

his friend, the little gentleman, a few days afterwards, proposed to

take our hero to the Chipping Norton Steeple-chase,--Mr. Smalls and Mr.

Fosbrooke making up the quartet for a tandem. It was on their return

from the races, that, after having stopped at _The Bear_ at Woodstock,

"to wash out the horses' mouths," and having done this so effectually

that the horses had appeared to have no mouths left, and had refused to

answer the reins, and had smashed the cart against a house, which had

seemed to have danced into the middle of the road for their

diversion,--and, after having put back to _The Bear_, and prevailed upon

that animal to lend them a non-descript vehicle of the "pre-adamite

buggy" species, described by Sidney Smith,--that, much time having been

consumed by the progress of this chapter of accidents, they did not

reach Peyman's Gate until a late hour; and Mr. Verdant Green found that

he was once more in difficulties. For they had no sooner got through the

gate, than the wild octaves from Mr. Bouncer's post-horn were suddenly

brought to a full stop, and Mr. Fosbrooke, who was the "waggoner," was

brought to Woh! and was compelled to pull up in obedience to the command

of the proctor, who, as on a previous occasion, suddenly appeared from

behind the toll-house, in company with his marshall and bull-dogs.

The Sentence pronounced on our hero the next day, was, "Sir!--You will

translate all your lectures; have your name crossed on the buttery and

kitchen books; and be confined to chapel, hall, and college."

This sentence was chiefly annoying, inasmuch as it somewhat interfered

with the duties and pleasures attendant upon his boating practice. For,

wonderful to relate, Mr. Verdant Green had so much improved in the

science, that he was now "Number 3" of his college "Torpid," and was in

hard training. The Torpid races commenced on March 10th, and were

continued on the following days. Our hero sent his father a copy of

"_Tintinnabulum's Life_," which--after informing the Manor Green family

that "the boats took up positions in the following order: Brazenose,

Exeter 1, Wadham, Balliol, St. John's, Pembroke, University, Oriel,

Brazenface, Christ Church 1, Worcester, Jesus, Queen's, Christ Church 2,

Exeter 2"--proceeded to enter into particulars of each day's sport, of

which it is only necessary to record such as gave interest to our hero's

family.

"First day. * * * Brazenface refused to acknowledge the bump by Christ

Church (1) before they came to the Cherwell. There is very little doubt

but that they were bumped at the Gut and the Willows. * * *

"Second day. * * * Brazenface rowed pluckily away from Worcester. * * *

"Third day. * * * A splendid race between Brazenface and Worcester; and,

at the flag, the latter were within a foot; they did not, however,

succeed in bumping. The cheering from the Brazenface barge was

vociferous. * * *

"Fourth day. * * * Worcester was more fortunate, and succeeded in making

the bump at the Cherwell, in consequence of No. 3 of the Brazenface boat

fainting from fatigue."

Under "No. 3" Mr. Verdant Green had drawn a pencil line, and had written

"V. G." He shortly after related to his family the gloomy particulars of

the bump, when he returned home for the Easter vacation.

CHAPTER XI.

MR. VERDANT GREEN GETS THROUGH HIS SMALLS.

Despite the hindrance which the _grande passion_ is supposed to bring to

the student, Charles Larkyns had made very good use of the opportunities

afforded him by the leisure of his grace-term. Indeed, as he himself

observed,

"Who hath not owned, with rapture-smitten frame,

The power of _grace_?"

And as he felt that the hours of his grace-term had not been wasted in

idleness, but had been turned to profitable account, it is not at all

unlikely that his pleasures of hope regarding his Degree-examination,

and the position his name would occupy in the Class-list, were of a

roseate hue. He therefore, when the Easter vacation had come to an end,

returned to Oxford in high spirits, with our hero and his friend Mr.

Bouncer, who, after a brief visit to "the Mum," had passed the remainder

of the vacation at the Manor Green. During these few holiday weeks,

Charles Larkyns had acted as private tutor to his two friends, and had,

in the language of Mr. Bouncer, "put them through their paces uncommon;"

for the little gentleman was going in for his Degree, _alias_ Great-go,

_alias_ Greats; and our hero for his first examination _in literis

humanioribus_, _alias_ Responsions, _alias_ Little-go, _alias_ Smalls.

Thus the friends returned to Oxford mutually benefited; but, as the time

for examination drew nearer and still nearer, the fears of Mr. Bouncer

rose in a gradation of terrors, that threatened to culminate in an

actual panic.

"You see," said the little gentleman, "the Mum's set her heart on my

getting through, and I must read like the doose. And I havn't got the

head, you see, for Latin and Greek; and that beastly Euclid altogether

stumps me; and I feel as though I should come to grief. I'm blowed," the

little gentleman would cry, earnestly and sadly, "I'm blow'd if I don't

think they must have given me too much pap when I was a babby, and

softened my brains! or else, why can't I walk into these classical

parties just as easy as you, Charley, or old Giglamps there? But I

can't, you see: my brains are addled. They say it ain't a bad thing for

reading to get your head shaved. It cools your brains, and gives full

play to what you call your intellectual faculties. I think I shall try

the dodge, and get a gent's real head of hair, till after the exam.; and

then, when I've stumped the examiners, I can wear my own luxuriant locks

again."

[Illustration]

And, as Mr. Bouncer professed, so did he; and, not many days after,

astonished his friends and the University generally by appearing in a

wig of curly black hair. It was a pleasing sight to see the little

gentleman with a scalp like a billiard ball, a pipe in his mouth, and

the wig mounted on a block, with books spread before him, endeavouring

to persuade himself that he was working up his subjects. It was still

more pleasing to view him, in moments of hilarity, divest himself of his

wig, and hurl it at the scout, or any other offensive object that

appeared before him. And it was a sight not to be forgotten by the

beholders, when, after too recklessly partaking of an indiscriminate

mixture of egg-flip, sangarce, and cider-cup, he feebly threw his wig at

the spectacles of Mr. Verdant Green, and, overbalanced by the exertion,

fell back into the coal-scuttle, where he lay, bald-headed and

helpless, laughing and weeping by turns, and caressed by Huz and Buz.

But the shaving of his head was not the only feature (or, rather, loss

of feature) that distinguished Mr. Bouncer's reading for his degree. The

gentleman with the limited knowledge of the cornet-à-piston, who had the

rooms immediately beneath those of our hero and his friend, had made

such slow progress in his musical education, that he had even now

scarcely got into his "Cottage near a Wood." This gentleman was Mr.

Bouncer's Frankenstein. He was always rising up when he was not wanted.

When Mr. Bouncer felt as if he could read, and sat down to his books,

wigless and determined, the doleful legend of the cottage near a wood

was forced upon him in an unpleasingly obtrusive and distracting manner.

It was in vain that Mr. Bouncer sounded his octaves in all their

discordant variations; the gentleman had no ear, and was not to be put

out of his cottage on any terms; Mr. Bouncer's notices of ejectment were

always disregarded. He had hoped that the ears of Mr. Slowcoach (whose

rooms were in the angle of the Quad) would have been pierced by the

noise, and that he would have put a stop to the nuisance; but, either

from its being too customary a custom, or that the ears of Mr. Slowcoach

had grown callous, the nuisance was suffered to continue unreproved.

Mr. Bouncer resolved, therefore, on some desperate method of calling

attention to one nuisance, by creating another of a louder description;

and, as his octaves appeared to fail in this,--notwithstanding the

energy and annoying ability that he threw into them,--he conceived the

idea of setting up a drum! The plan was no sooner thought of than

carried out. He met with an instrument sufficiently large and formidable

for his purpose,--hired it, and had it stealthily conveyed into college

(like another Falstaff) in a linen "buck-basket." He waited his

opportunity; and, the next time that the gentleman in the rooms beneath

took his cornet to his cottage near a wood, Mr. Bouncer, stationed on

the landing above, played a thundering accompaniment on his big drum.

[Illustration]

The echoes from the tightened parchment rolled round the Quad, and

brought to the spot a rush of curious and excited undergraduates. Mr.

Bouncer,--after taking off his wig in honour of the air,--then treated

them to the National Anthem, arranged as a drum solo for two sticks, the

chorus being sustained by the voices of those present; when in the midst

of the entertainment, the reproachful features of Mr. Slowcoach

appeared upon the scene. Sternly the tutor demanded the reason of the

strange hubbub; and was answered by Mr. Bouncer, that, as one gentleman

was allowed to play _his_ favourite instrument whenever he chose, for

_his_ own but no one else's gratification, he could not see why he (Mr.

Bouncer) might not also, whenever he pleased, play for his own

gratification his favourite instrument--the big drum. This specious

excuse, although logical, was not altogether satisfactory to Mr.

Slowcoach; and, with some asperity, he ordered Mr. Bouncer never again

to indulge in, what he termed (in reference probably to the little

gentleman's bald head), "such an indecent exhibition." But, as he

further ordered that the cornet-à-piston gentleman was to instrumentally

enter into his cottage near a wood, only at stated hours in the

afternoon, Mr. Bouncer had gained his point in putting a stop to the

nuisance so far as it interfered with his reading; and, thenceforth, he

might be seen on brief occasions persuading himself that he was

furiously reading and getting up his subjects by the aid of those royal

roads to knowledge, variously known as cribs, crams, plugs, abstracts,

analyses, or epitomes.

But, besides the assistance thus afforded to him _out_ of the schools,

Mr. Bouncer, like many others, idle as well as ignorant, intended to

assist himself when _in_ the schools by any contrivance that his

ingenuity could suggest, or his audacity carry out.

"It's quite fair," was the little gentleman's argument, "to do the

examiners in any way that you can, as long as you only go in for a pass.

Of course, if you were going in for a class, or a scholarship, or

anything of that sort, it would be no end mean and dirty to crib; and

the gent that did it ought to be kicked out of the society of gentlemen.

But when you only go in for a pass, and ain't doing any one any harm by

a little bit of cribbing, but choose to run the risk to save yourself

the bother of being ploughed, why then, I think, a feller's bound to do

what he can for himself. And, you see, in my case, Giglamps, there's the

Alum to be considered; she'd cut up doosid, if I didn't get through; so

I must crib a bit, if it's only for _her_ sake."

But although the little gentleman thus made filial tenderness the excuse

for his deceit, and the salve for his conscience, yet he could neither

persuade Mr. Verdant Green to follow his example, nor to be a convert to

his opinions; nor would he be persuaded by our hero to relinquish his

designs.

[Illustration]

"Why, look here, Giglamps!" Mr. Bouncer would say; "how _can_ I

relinquish them, after having had all this trouble? I'll put you up to a

few of my dodges--free, gratis, for nothing. In the first place,

Giglamps, you see here's a small circular bit of paper, covered with

Peloponnesian and Punic wars, and no end of dates,--written small and

short, you see, but quite legible,--with the chief things done in red

ink. Well, this gentleman goes in the front of my watch, under the

glass; and, when I get stumped for a date, out comes the watch;--I look

at the time of day--you understand, and down goes the date. Here's

another dodge!" added the little gentleman--who might well have been

called "the Artful Dodger"--as he produced a shirt from a drawer. "Look

here, at the wristbands! Here are all the Kings of Israel and Judah,

with their dates and prophets, written down in India-ink, so as to wash

out again. You twitch up the cuff of your coat, quite accidentally, and

then you book your king. You see, Giglamps, I don't like to trust, as

some fellows do, to having what you want, written down small and shoved

into a quill, and passed to you by some man sitting in the schools;

that's dangerous, don't you see. And I don't like to hold cards in my

hand; I've improved on that, and invented a first-rate dodge of my own,

that I intend to take out a patent for. Like all truly great inventions,

it's no end simple. In the first place, look straight afore you, my

little dear, and you will see this pack of cards,--all made of a size,

nice to hold in the palm of your hand; they're about all sorts of rum

things,--everything that I want. And you see that each beggar's got a

hole drilled in him. And you see, here's a longish string with a little

bit of hooked wire at the end, made so that I can easily hang the card

on it. Well, I pass the string up my coat sleeve, and down under my

waistcoat; and here, you see, I've got the wire end in the palm of my

hand. Then, I slip out the card I want, and hook it on to the wire, so

that I can have it just before me as I write. Then, if any of the

examiners look suspicious, or if one of them comes round to spy, I just

pull the bit of string that hangs under the bottom of my waistcoat, and

away flies the card up my coat sleeve; and when the examiner comes

round, he sees that my hand's never moved, and that there's nothing in

it! So he walks off satisfied; and then I shake the little beggar out of

my sleeve again, and the same game goes on as before. And when the

string's tight, even straightening your body is quite sufficient to

hoist the card into your sleeve, without moving either of your hands.

I've got an Examination-coat made on purpose, with a heap of pockets, in

which I can stow my cards in regular order. These three pockets," said

Mr. Bouncer, as he produced the coat, "are entirely for Euclid. Here's

each problem written right out on a card; they're laid regularly in

order, and I turn them over in my pocket, till I get hold of the one I

want, and then I take it out, and work it. So you see, Giglamps, I'm

safe to get through!--it's impossible for them to plough me, with all

these contrivances. That's a consolation for a cove in distress, ain't

it, old feller?"

Both our hero and Charles Larkyns endeavoured to persuade Mr. Bouncer

that his conduct would, at the very least, be foolhardy, and that he had

much better throw his pack of cards into the fire, wash the Kings of

Israel and Judah off his shirt, destroy his strings and hooked wires,

and keep his Examination-coat for a shooting one. But all their

arguments were in vain; and the infatuated little gentleman, like a

deaf adder, shut his ears at the voice of the charmer.

What between the Cowley cricketings, and the Isis boatings, Mr. Verdant

Green only read by spasmodic fits; but, as he was very fairly up in his

subjects--thanks to Charles Larkyns and the Rector--and as the Little-go

was not such a very formidable affair, or demanded a scholar of

first-rate calibre, the only terrors that the examination could bring

him were those which were begotten of nervousness. At length the lists

were out; and our hero read among the names of candidates, that of

"GREEN, _Verdant, è Coll. Æn. Fac._"

There is a peculiar sensation on first seeing your name in print.

Instances are on record where people have taken a world of trouble

merely that they may have the pleasure of perusing their names "among

the fashionables present" at the Countess of So-and-so's

evening-reception; and cases are not wanting where young ladies and

gentlemen have expended no small amount of pocket-money in purchasing

copies of _The Times_ (no reduction, too, being made on taking a

quantity!) in order that their sympathising friends might have the pride

of seeing their names as coming out at drawing-rooms and _levées_. When

a young M.P. has stammered out his _coup-d'essai_ in the House, he

views, with mingled emotions, his name given to the world, for the first

time, in capital letters. When young authors and artists first see their

names in print, is it not a pleasure to them? When Ensign Dash sees

himself gazetted, does he not look on his name with a peculiar

sensation, and forthwith send an impression of the paper to Master

Jones, who was flogged with him last week for stealing apples? When Mr.

Smith is called to the Bar, and Mr. Robinson can dub himself M.R.C.S.,

do they not behold their names in print with feelings of rapture? And

when Miss Brown has been to her first ball, does she not anxiously await

the coming of the next county newspaper, in order to have the happiness

of reading her name there?

[Illustration]

But, different to these are the sensations that attend the seeing your

name first in print in a College examination-list. They are, probably,

somewhat similar to the sensations you would feel on seeing your name in

a death-warrant. Your blood runs hot, then cold, then hot again; your

pulse goes at fever pace; the throbbing arteries of your brow almost

jerk your cap off. You know that the worst is come,--that the law of the

Dons, which altereth not, has fixed your name there, and that there is

no escape. The courage of despair then takes possession of your soul,

and nerves you for the worst. You join the crowd of nervous

fellow-sufferers who are thronging round the buttery-door to examine the

list, and you begin with them calmly to parcel out the names by sixes

and eights, and then to arrive at an opinion when your day of execution

will be. If your name comes at the head of the list, you wish that you

were "YOUNG, _Carolus, è Coll. Vigorn._" that you might have a reprieve

of your sentence. If your name is at the end of the list, you wish that

you were "ADAMS, _Edvardus Jacobus, è Coll. Univ._" that you might go in

at once, and be put out of your misery. If your name is in the middle of

the list, you wish that it were elsewhere: and then you wish that it

were out of the list altogether.

Through these varying shades of emotion did Mr. Verdant Green pass,

until at length they were all lost in the deeper gloom of actual

entrance into the schools. When once there, his fright soon passed away.

Re-assured by the kindly voice of the examiner, telling him to read over

his Greek before construing it, our hero recovered his equanimity, and

got through his _vivâ voce_ with flying colours; and, on glancing over

his paper-work, soon saw that the questions were within his scope, and

that he could answer most of them. Without hazarding his success by

making "bad shots," he contented himself by answering those questions

only on which he felt sure; and, when his examination was over, he left

the schools with a pretty safe conviction that he was safe, "and was

well through his smalls."

He could not but help, however, feeling some anxiety on the subject,

until he was relieved from all further fears, by the arrival of Messrs.

Fosbrooke, Smalls, and Blades, with a slip of paper (not unlike those

which Mr. Levi, the sheriff's officer, makes use of), on which was

written and printed as follows:--

"GREEN, VERDANT, È COLL. ÆN. FAC.

"Quæstionibua Magistrorum Scholarum in Parviso pro forma respondit.

"Ita testamur, { GULIELMUS SMITH,

{ ROBERTUS JONES.

"_Junii_ 7, 18--."

Alas for Mr. Bouncer! Though he had put in practice all the ingenious

plans which were without a doubt to ensure his success; and though he

had worked his cribs with consummate coolness, and had not been

discovered; yet, nevertheless, his friends came to him empty-handed. The

infatuated little gentleman had either trusted too much to his own

astuteness, or else he had over-reached himself, and had used his

card-knowledge in wrong places; or, perhaps, the examiners may have

suspected his deeds from the nature of his papers, and may have refused

to pass him. But whatever might be the cause, the little gentleman had

to defer taking his degree for some months at least. In a word--and a

dreadful word it is to all undergraduates--Mr. Bouncer was PLUCKED! He

bore his unexpected reverse of fortune very philosophically, and

professed to regret it only for "the Mum's" sake; but he seemed to feel

that the Dons of his college would look shy upon him, and he expressed

his opinion that it would be better for him to migrate to the

Tavern.[15]

But, while Mr. Bouncer was thus deservedly punished for his idleness and

duplicity, Charles Larkyns was rewarded for all his toil. He did even

better than he had expected: for, not only did his name appear in the

second class, but the following extra news concerning him was published

in the daily papers, under the very appropriate heading of "University

_Intelligence_."

"OXFORD, June 9.--The Chancellor's prizes have been awarded as

follows:--

"Latin Essay, Charles Larkyns, Commoner of Brazenface. The New

digate Prize for English Verse was also awarded to the same

gentleman."

His writing for the prize poem had been a secret. He had conceived the

idea of doing so when the subject had been given out in the previous

"long:" he had worked at the subject privately, and, when the day (April

1) on which the poems had to be sent in, had come, he had watched his

opportunity, and secretly dropped through the wired slit in the door of

the registrar's office at the Clarendon, a manuscript poem,

distinguished by the motto:--

"Oh for the touch of a vanish'd hand

And the sound of a voice that is still."

We may be quite sure that there was great rejoicing at the Manor Green

and the Rectory, when the news arrived of the success of Charles Larkyns

and Mr. Verdant Green.

FOOTNOTES:

[15] A name given to New Inn Hall, not only from its title, "New Inn,"

but also because the buttery is open all day, and the members of the

Hall can call for what they please at any hour, the same as in a tavern.

CHAPTER XII.

MR. VERDANT GREEN AND HIS FRIENDS ENJOY THE COMMEMORATION.

The Commemoration had come; and, among the people who were drawn to the

sight from all parts of the country, the Warwickshire coach landed in

Oxford our friends Mr. Green, his two eldest daughters, and the

Rector--for all of whom Charles Larkyns had secured very comfortable

lodgings in Oriel Street.

[Illustration]

The weather was of the finest; and the beautiful city of colleges looked

at its best. While the Rector met with old friends, and heard his son's

praises, and renewed his acquaintance with his old haunts of study, Mr.

Green again lionised Oxford in a much more comfortable and satisfactory

manner than he had previously done at the heels of a professional guide.

As for the young ladies, they were charmed with everything; for they had

never before been in an University town, and all things had the

fascination of novelty. Great were the luncheons held in Mr. Verdant

Green's and Charles Larkyns' rooms; musical was the laughter that

floated merrily through the grave old quads of Brazenface; happy were

the two hearts that held converse with each other in those cool

cloisters and shady gardens. How a few flounces and bright girlish

smiles can change the aspect of the sternest homes of knowledge! How

sunlight can be brought into the gloomiest nooks of learning by the

beams that irradiate happy girlish faces, where the light of love and

truth shines out clear and joyous! How the appearance of the

Commemoration week is influenced in a way thus described by one of

Oxonia's poets:--

"Peace! for in the gay procession brighter forms are borne along--

Fairer scholars, pleasure-beaming, float amid the classic throng.

Blither laughter's ringing music fills the haunts of men awhile,

And the sternest priests of knowledge blush beneath a maiden's smile.

Maidens teach a softer science--laughing Love his pinions dips,

Hush'd to hear fantastic whispers murmur'd from a pedant's lips.

Oh, believe it, throbbing pulses flutter under folds of starch,

And the Dons are human-hearted if the ladies' smiles be arch."

Thanks to the influence of Charles Larkyns and his father, the party

were enabled to see all that was to be seen during the Commemoration

week. On the Saturday night they went to the amateur concert at the Town

Hall, in aid of which, strange to say, Mr. Bouncer's proffer of his big

drum had been declined. On the Sunday they went, in the morning, to St.

Mary's to hear the Bampton lecture; and, in the afternoon, to the

magnificent choral service at New College. In the evening they attended

the customary "Show Sunday" promenade in Christ Church Broad Walk,

where, under the delicious cool of the luxuriant foliage, they met all

the rank, beauty, and fashion that were assembled in Oxford; and where,

until Tom "tolled the hour for retiring," they threaded their way amid

a miscellaneous crowd of Dons and Doctors, and Tufts and Heads of

Houses,--

With prudes for Proctors, dowagers for Deans,

And bright girl-graduates with their golden hair.

On the Monday they had a party to Woodstock and Blenheim; and in the

evening went, on the Brazenface barge, to see the procession of boats,

where the Misses Green had the satisfaction to see their brother pulling

in one of the fifteen torpids that followed immediately in the wake of

the other boats. They concluded the evening's entertainments in a most

satisfactory manner, by going to the ball at the Town Hall.

[Illustration]

Indeed, the way the two young ladies worked was worthy of all credit,

and proved them to be possessed of the most vigorous constitutions; for,

although they danced till an early hour in the morning, they not only,

on the next day, went to the anniversary sermon for the Radcliffe, and

after that to the horticultural show in the Botanical Gardens, and after

that to the concert in the Sheldonian Theatre, but--as though they had

not had enough to fatigue them already--they must, forsooth--Brazenface

being one of the ball-giving colleges--wind up the night by accepting

the polite invitation of Mr. Verdant Green and Mr. Charles Larkyns to a

ball given in their college hall. And how many polkas these young ladies

danced, and how many waltzes they waltzed, and how many ices they

consumed, and how many too susceptible partners they drove to the verge

of desperation, it would be improper, if not impossible, to say.

[Illustration]

But, however much they might have been fagged by their exertions of feet

and features, it is certain that, by ten of the clock the next morning,

they appeared, quite fresh and charming to the view, in the ladies'

gallery in the theatre. There--after the proceedings had been opened by

the undergraduates in _their_ peculiar way, and by the vice-chancellor

in _his_ peculiar way--and, after the degrees had been conferred, and

the public orator had delivered an oration in a tongue not understanded

of the people, our friends from Warwickshire had the delight of

beholding Mr. Charles Larkyns ascend the rostrums to deliver, in their

proper order, the Latin Essay and the English Verse. He had chosen his

friend Verdant to be his prompter; so that the well-known "giglamps" of

our hero formed, as it were, a very focus of attraction: but it was well

for Mr. Charles Larkyns that he was possessed of self-control and a good

memory, for Mr. Verdant Green was far too nervous to have prompted him

in any efficient manner. We may be sure, that in all that bevy of fair

women, at least one pair of bright eyes kindled with rapture, and one

heart beat with exulting joy, when the deafening cheers that followed

the poet's description of the moon, the sea, and woman's love (the three

ingredients which are apparently necessary for the sweetening of all

prize poems), rang through the theatre and made its walls re-echo to the

shouting. And we may be sure that, when it was all over, and when the

Commemoration had come to an end, Charles Larkyns felt rewarded for all

his hours of labour by the deep love garnered up in his heart by the

trustful affection of one who had become as dear to him as life itself!

* * * * *

It was one morning after they had all returned to the Manor Green that

our hero said to his friend, "How I _do_ wish that this day week were

come!"

"I dare say you do," replied the friend; "and I dare say that the pretty

Patty is wishing the same wish." Upon which Mr. Verdant Green not only

laughed but blushed!

For it seemed that he, together with his sisters, Mr. Charles Larkyns,

and Mr. Bouncer, were about to pay a long-vacation visit to Honeywood

Hall, in the county of Northumberland; and the young man was naturally

looking forward to it with all the ardour of a first and consuming

passion.

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The Further Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green, an Oxford Under-Graduate Being a Continuation of "The Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green, an Oxford Freshman" · 第 13 / 13 章

In the first week in December he had an opportunity of pulling over a