Most Englishmen know as much about Timbuctoo or Patagonia as they
either know or care to know about Oxford or Cambridge. Those, however,
who have the curiosity to include such subjects in their knowledge of
'foreign parts,' will find a very pleasant guide to an acquaintance
with the geography, language, laws, manners, and customs of Cambridge,
in a work recently published by an American student,[5] who some years
ago transferred his studies from Yale College to that university.
In describing Cambridge, Mr Bristed asks his readers to imagine the
most irregular town that _can_ be imagined--streets of the very
crookedest kind, houses low and antique, with their upper storeys
sometimes projecting into the narrow pathway, which leads the
bewildered stranger every now and then over a muddy little river,
winding through the town in all sorts of ways, so that in whatever
direction he walks from any point, he is always sure before long to
come to a bridge. Such is the town of Cambridge--the _bridge_ over the
_Cam_. And among these narrow, ugly, dirty streets, are tumbled in, as
it were at random, some of the most beautiful academical buildings in
the world.
It was in the October of 1840, that our young New-Yorker first wended
his way through these narrow streets, and gazed upon these beautiful
buildings. The idea of an educational institution scattered over an
area of some miles, was new to the late inhabitant of the brick barn
yclept Yale College. The monkish appearance of the population was no
less novel, while his own appearance caused the gownsmen to retaliate
his curiosity. He was dressed, he tells us, in the 'last Gothamite
fashion, with the usual accessories of gold chain and diamond pin, the
whole surmounted by a blue cloth cloak'--a costume which drew down
upon him a formidable array of eye-glasses.
Mr Bristed entered Trinity College as a fellow-commoner. The
fellow-commoners are 'young men of fortune,' who, in consideration of
paying twice as much for everything as anybody else, are allowed the
privilege of sitting at the fellows' table in hall, and in their seats
at chapel; of wearing a gown with gold or silver lace, and a velvet
cap with a metallic tassel; and of getting off with a less number of
'chapels' per week. The main body of the students are called
pensioners. The sizars are an inferior class, who receive alms from
the college, and dine gratis after the fellows (_sic_), on the remains
of their table.
When one 'goes up,' as the phrase is, to the university, the first
academical authority he makes acquaintance with in the regular order
of things, is the college tutor. Besides lecturing, this functionary
is the medium of all the students' pecuniary relations with the
college. He sends in their accounts every term, and receives the money
through his banker; nay, more, he takes in their tradesmen's bills,
and settles them also. The tutor is supposed to stand _in loco
parentis_. Some colleges have one, others two, and even three tutors,
according to the size. The first thing, is to be examined; and this
over, the freshman is first inducted into his rooms by a _gyp_ (from
[Greek: gyps], a _vulture_!), who acts as flunkey to a dozen or twenty
students--calling them in the morning, brushing their clothes,
carrying parcels and the queerly-twisted notes they are constantly
writing to each other, waiting at their parties, and so on. 'Boots' is
a subordinate functionary. The furniture of the room is generally
taken from the former occupant at a valuation by the college
upholsterer. Crockery he has always to find for himself; but in this
matter, again, he has the college authorities to assist him in getting
a good article.
We shall now accompany the student through a day's history. Morning
chapel begins at seven; and the gyp calls him at half-past six. In
chapel, he commences picking up some knowledge of the powers that be,
or the _dons_, as they are styled in the slang of the university. In
general terms, they are the _master and fellows_.
The master, or 'head of the house,' is the supreme ruler within the
college walls, and moves about like an undergraduate's deity. The
fellows, who form the general body from which the other
college-officers are chosen, are the aggregate of those four or five
bachelor scholars per annum, who pass the best examination in
classics, mathematics, and metaphysics. The eight oldest fellows at
any time in residence, together with the master, have the government
of the college vested in them. The _dean_ is the presiding officer in
chapel: his business is to pull up the absentees--no sinecure, it is
said. Even the scholars, who are literally paid for going, every
chapel being directly worth two shillings sterling to them, give the
dean a good deal of trouble. Other officers are the _vice-master_,
the _bursar_ or treasurer, lecturers, assistant-lecturers,
assistant-tutors, four chaplains, and the librarian. Prayers last half
an hour; after which the student walks in the college grounds, and by
8, he is seated by his comfortable fire over his hot rolls and tea. At
9, lectures begin, and continue till 12, some ten or eleven going on
at once, and each occupying an hour. A little before 1, the student
resorts to his private tutor, or _coach_, as the cantabs call him. He
generally takes five or six pupils a day, giving an hour to each. The
coach is indispensable to a student; and 'a good coach' is always in
great requisition. His intercourse with his pupils is of the most
familiar character; nevertheless, he must drive his team well, or
he would lose his reputation. From 2 till 4 is the traditional
time of exercise, the most usual modes of which are walking
(constitutionalising is the cantab for it) and rowing. Cricketing, and
all games of ball, are much practised in their respective seasons.
Towards 4 P.M., they begin to flock in for dinner. A Latin grace is
read by two of the dons, and forthwith the demolition of eatables
proceeds. Though there is a common hall, there is no common table. On
the contrary, there is no end to the variety, both as respects rank,
provision, and privilege. Hall lasts about three-quarters of an hour.
Two scholars conclude the business by reading a long Latin grace--the
dons, it is said, being too full after dinner for such duty. After
hall is emphatically lounging-time. Some stroll in the grounds; many
betake themselves to the reading-room; and many assemble at
wine-parties, to exchange the gossip of the day. At 6 P.M., the
chapel-bell rings again, when the muster is better than in the
morning. After chapel, the evening reading begins in earnest. Most of
the cantabs are late readers, always endeavouring to secure several
hours' consecutive work, their only intermission being to take a cup
or two of tea by way of stimulus. One solid meal a day is the rule:
even when they go out to sup, as a reading-man does perhaps once a
term, and a rowing-man twice a week, they eat very moderately, though
the same cannot always be said of their potations. Such is the
reading-man's day--now for the boating-man's.
Boating is _the_ university amusement, _par excellence_. The expense
of it is small, and the Cam so convenient--just behind the colleges.
At all times of the year you may see solitary men in wherries; while
the boat-clubs for the formal spring-races are a convenient outlet for
college emulation--the 'top of the river' being an honour hardly
inferior to the senior wranglership. Each college has at least one
boat-club; and about nine races take place in the season. They have an
annual match with Oxford, in which they are generally victorious, for
the cantabs are reckoned to be the best smooth-water 'oars' in
England, if not in the world. The Cam not being much wider than a
canal, it is impossible for the boats to race side by side. They are,
therefore, drawn up in a line, two lengths between each, and the
contest consists in each boat endeavouring to touch with its bow the
stern of the one before it, which operation is called _bumping_; and
at the next race, the _bumper_ takes the place of the _bumped_.
To-day, there is to be a race; and the gownsmen--_not_ in their
gowns--are hurrying down to the scene of action, distant two miles
from the town. Bang! There goes the first gun! In three minutes, there
will be another; and in two more, a third; and then for it! We are at
the upper end of 'the Long Reach,' where we have a good view. The
eight stalwart Caius-men bend to their oars the moment they see the
last gun flash. On they come at a good rate, the Caius-men, who are
first, taking it quite easy, when suddenly there is a shout: 'Trinity!
Trinity! Go it, Trinity!' Trinity is now overhauling Caius at every
stroke; and the partisans of the respective boats fill the air with
their shouts. 'Now, Keys (Caius)!' 'Now, Trinity!' 'Why don't you
pull, Keys?' 'Now you have 'em, Trinity!' 'Keys!' 'Trinity!' 'Now's
your chance, Keys!' 'Pull, Trinity!' 'Pull, Keys!' 'Hurrah, Trinity!
inity! inity!' Not more than half a foot intervenes between the
pursuer and the pursued, still Caius pulls with all his might; for
boats occasionally run a mile almost touching. But there is no more
chance. One tremendous pull from Trinity, and half that distance has
disappeared. Another such stroke, and you are aboard of them. Hurrah!
a bump--a bump! Not so. Caius is on the look-out; and with a skilful
inclination of the rudder, the steersman makes his boat fall off--just
the least bit in the world, but enough--Trinity overlaps, but does not
touch. Another moment, and Trinity is head of the river.
The staple exercise, however, is walking. Between 2 and 4, all the
roads in the neighbourhood of Cambridge are covered with men taking
their constitutionals. Longer walks, of twelve or fifteen miles, are
frequently taken on Sundays. There is not so much riding as might be
supposed. When there is ice enough, the cantabs are great skaters. It
is almost a _sine qua non_ that their exercise should be in the open
air. A finer set of men, consequently, is not to be seen. So bent,
indeed, are they upon combining study and recreation, that, during the
vacations, they form excursion-parties, which, from their professed
design, are called _reading_-parties (_lucus a non lucendo_), and of
which the utmost that can be advanced in justification of their name
is, that reading is _not impossible_. Reading-parties do not confine
themselves to England, or even the United Kingdom; sometimes they go
as far as Dresden. When a crack tutor goes on one, which is not
often, he takes his whole team with him.
Debating-clubs do not seem to be so common at the English universities
as at the Scotch. At Cambridge, there is only one of a public
nature--the 'Union.' Henry F. Hallam was instrumental in getting up a
small society of about forty members, called the 'Historical.' Another
society of a private nature was composed of a number of intellectual
aspirants, called the 'Cambridge _Apostles_;' so called, it is said,
because they had usually thirteen members in residence. This was a
university feeder to the Metropolitan Club, founded by the friends of
John Sterling. Their association had great influence in the formation
of their minds and characters--a sort of mutual benefit society in
more respects than one. For example, when a member of the club
publishes a book, one of the fraternity has a footing in the
_Edinburgh_, another in the _Quarterly_, a third in _Fraser_, and a
fourth in _Blackwood_, and so the new work is well introduced. Both
Tennyson and Thackeray, it is said, got well taken notice of in this
way by their comrades. But there was no plan at the bottom of
it--nothing to constitute them a name. The Apostles were always
inveighing against cant--always affecting much earnestness, and a
hearty dislike of formalism, which rendered them far from popular with
the _high_ and _dry_ in literature, politics, or religion. They were
eyed with terror by the conservatives as something foreign--German,
radical, altogether monstrous. But, in reality, their objects were
literary--not religious; and religion only entered into their
discussions as it must into those of all serious and philosophic men.
Upon the whole, our young American was much pleased with Cambridge,
and much benefited during his residence there. Genial himself, he
found Englishmen the same; and though he had his eyes open, while in
this country, and never forgot that he was an American, he writes with
great impartiality, which raises the value of his intense enthusiasm
for the English and English life. After five years' residence, he took
leave of his friends in a series of substantial dinners, that there
might be a pleasant memory of the transatlantic in their mouths. On a
fine May morning, he took his last walk in the beautiful grounds of
Trinity, and set out for New York, where he now leads a classical
existence, puzzling the natives by his free use of the Græco-cantab
dialect, as well as by a semi-pagan sort of worship which he pays to
his _Alma Mater_.