The fact was, that during the long vacation Charles Larkyns had paid

considerable attention to our hero's equestrian exercises; not so

much, it must be confessed, out of friendship for his friend, as that

he might have an opportunity of riding by the side of that friend's

fair sister Mary, for whom he entertained something more than a

partiality. And herein, probably,

[164 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

Mr. Charles Larkyns showed both taste and judgment. For there may be

many things less pleasant in this world than cantering down a green

Warwickshire lane - on some soft summer's day when the green is

greenest and the blossoms brightest - side by side with a charming

girl whose nature is as light and sunny as the summer air and the

summer sky. Pleasant it is to watch the flushing cheek glow rosier

than the rosiest of all the briar-roses that stoop to kiss it.

Pleasant it is to look into the lustrous light of tender eyes; and to

see the loosened ringlets reeling with the motion of the ride.

Pleasant it is to canter on from lane to lane over soft moss, and

springy turf, between the high honeysuckle hedges, and the

broad-branched beeches that meet overhead in a tangled embrace. But

pleasanter by far than all is it, to hug to one's heart the darling

fancy that she who is cantering on by your side in all the witchery

of her maiden beauty, holds you in her dearest thoughts, and dowers

you with all her wealth of love. Pleasant rides indeed, pleasant

fancies, and pleasant day-dreams, had the long vacation brought to

Charles Larkyns!

"Well, come along, Verdant," said Mr. Larkyns, "we'll go to Charley

Symonds' and get our hacks. You can meet us, Harry, just over the

Maudlin Bridge; and we'll have a canter along the Henley road."

So Mr. Verdant Green and his friend walked into Holywell Street, and

passed under the archway up to Symonds' stables. But the nervous

trepidation which our hero had felt in the same place on a previous

occasion returned with full force when his horse was led out in an

exuberantly playful and "fresh" condition. The beast he had

bestridden during his long vacation rides, with his sister and his

(and sister's) friend, was a cob-like steed, whose placidity of

temper was fully equalled by its gravity of demeanour; and who would

as soon have thought of flying over a five-bar gate as he would of

kicking up his respectable heels both behind and before in the

low-lived manner recorded of the Ethiopian "Old Joe." But, if

"Charley Symonds'" hacks had been of this pacific and easygoing kind,

it is highly probable that Mr. C. S. and his stud would not have

acquired that popularity which they had deservedly achieved. For it

seems to be a ~sine-qua-non~ with an Oxford hack, that to general

showiness of exterior, it must add the power of enduring any amount

of hard riding and rough treatment in the course of the day which its

~pro-tem.~ proprietor may think fit to inflict upon it; it being an

axiom which has obtained, as well in Universities as in other places,

that it is of no advantage to hire a hack unless you get out of him

as much as you can for your money; you won't want to use him

to-morrow, so you don't care about over-riding him to-day.

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 165]

But, all this time, Mr. Verdant Green is drawing on his gloves, in

the nervous manner that tongue-tied gentlemen go through the same

performance during the conversational spasms of the first-set of

Quadrilles; the groom is leading out the exuberantly playful

quadruped on whose back Mr. Verdant Green is to disport himself;

Charles Larkyns is mounted; the November sun is shining brightly on

the perspective of the <VG165.JPG> yard and stables, and the tower of

New College; the dark archway gives one a peep of Holywell Street;

while the cold blue sky is flecked with gleaming pigeons.

At last, Mr. Verdant Green has scrambled into his saddle, and is

riding cautiously down the yard, while his heart beats in an alarming

alarum-like way. As they ride under the archway, there, in the

little room underneath it, is Mr. Four-in-hand Fosbrooke, selecting

his particular tandem-whip from a group of some two score of similar

whips kept there in readiness for their respective owners.

"Charley, you're a beast!" says Mr. Fosbrooke, politely addressing

himself to Mr. Larkyns; "I wanted Bouncer to come with me in the cart

to Abingdon, and I find that the little man is engaged to you." Upon

which, Mr. Fosbrooke playfully raising his tandem-whip, Mr. Verdant

Green's horse

[166 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

plunges, and brings his rider's head into concussion with the lamp

which hangs within the gateway; whereupon, the hat falls off, and our

hero is within an ace of following his hat's example.

By a powerful exertion, however, he recovers his proper <VG166.JPG>

position in the saddle, and proceeds in an agitated and jolted

condition, by Charles Larkyns's side, down Holywell Street, past the

Music Room,* and round by the Long Wall, and over Magdalen Bridge.

Here they are soon joined by Mr. Bouncer, mounted, according to the

custom of small men, on one of Tollitt's tallest horses, of

ever-so-many hands high. As by this time our hero has got more

accustomed to his steed, his courage gradually returns, and he rides

on with his companions very pleasantly, enjoying the magnificent

distant view of his University. When they have passed Cowley, some

very tempting fences are met with; and Mr. Bouncer and Mr. Larkyns,

being unable to resist their fascinations, put their horses at them,

and leap in and out of the road in an insane Vandycking kind of way;

while an excited agriculturist, whose smock-frock heaves with

indignation, pours down denunciations on their heads.

"Blow that bucolical party!" says Mr. Bouncer; "he's no right to

interfere with the enjoyments of the animals. If they break the

fences, it ain't their faults; it's the fault of the farmers for not

making the fences strong enough to bear them. Come along, Giglamps!

put your beast at that hedge! he'll take you over as easy as if you

were sitting in an arm-chair."

But Mr. Verdant Green has doubts about the performance of this piece

of equestrian upholstery; and, thinking that the arm-chair would soon

become a reclining one, he is firm in his refusal to put the leaping

powers of his steed to the test. But having, afterwards, obtained

some "jumping powder" at a certain small road-side hostelry to which

Mr. Bouncer has piloted the party, our hero, on his way back to

Oxford, screws up his courage sufficiently to gallop his steed

desperately at a ditch which yawns, a foot wide, before him. But to

his immense astonishment - not to say, disgust - the obtuse-minded

quadruped gives a leap which would have taken him clear over a canal;

and our hero, not being prepared for this very needless

---

* Now used for the Museum of the Oxford Architectural Society.

-=-

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 167]

display of agility, flies off the saddle at a tangent, and finds that

his "vaulting ambition" had o'erleap'd itself, and fallen on the

other side - of the ditch.

"It ain't your fault, Giglamps!" says Mr. Bouncer, when he has

galloped after Verdant's steed, and has led it up to him, and when he

has ascertained that his friend is not in <VG167.JPG> the least hurt;

but has only broken - his glasses; "it ain't your fault, Giglamps,

old feller! it's the clumsiness of the hack. He tossed you up, and

couldn't catch you again!"

And so our hero rides back to Oxford. But, before the Term has

ended, he has become more accustomed to Oxford hacks, and has made

himself acquainted with the respective merits of the stables of

Messrs. Symonds, Tollitt, and Pigg; and has, moreover, ridden with

the drag, and, in this way, hunted the fabled foxes of Bagley Wood,

and Whichwood Forest.

CHAPTER VI.

MR. VERDANT GREEN FEATHERS HIS OARS WITH SKILL AND

DEXTERITY.

NOVEMBER is not always the month of fog and mist and dulness.

Oftentimes there are brilliant exceptions to that generally-received

rule of depressing weather which, in this month (according to our

lively neighbours), induces the natives of our English metropolis to

leap in crowds from the Bridge of Waterloo. There are in November,

days of calm beauty, which are peculiar to that month - that kind of

calm beauty which is so often seen as the herald of decay.

But, whatever weather the month may bring to Oxford, it never brings

gloom or despondency to Oxford men. They are a happily constituted

set of beings, and can always create their own amusements; they crown

Minerva with flowers without

[168 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

heeding her influenza, and never seem to think that the rosy-bosomed

Hours may be laid up with bronchitis. Winter and summer appear to be

pretty much the same to them: reading and recreation go hand-in-hand

all the year round; and, among other pleasures, that of boating finds

as many votaries in cold November, as it did in sunny June - indeed,

the chillness of <VG168.JPG> the air, in the former month, gives zest

to an amusement which degenerates to hard labour in the dog-days.

The classic Isis in the month of November, therefore, whenever the

weather is anything like favourable, presents an animated scene.

Eight-oars pass along, the measured pull of the oars in the rowlocks

marking the time in musical cadence with their plashing dip in the

water; perilous skiffs flit like fire-flies over the glassy surface

of the river; men lounge about in the house-boats and barges, or

gather together at King's, or Hall's, and industriously promulgate

small talk and tobacco-smoke. All is gay and bustling. Although the

feet of the strollers in the Christ Church meadows rustle through the

sere and yellow leaf, yet rich masses of brown and russet foliage

still hang upon the

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 169]

trees, and light up into gold in the sun. The sky is of a cold but

bright blue; the distant hills and woods are mellowed into sober

purplish-gray tints, but over them the sun looks down with that

peculiar red glow which is only seen in November. <VG169.JPG>

It was one of these bright days of "the month of gloom," that Mr.

Verdant Green and Mr. Charles Larkyns being in the room of their

friend Mr. Bouncer, the little gentleman inquired, "Now then! what

are you two fellers up to? I'm game for anything, I am! from

pitch-and-toss to manslaughter."

"I'm afraid," said Charles Larkyns, "that we can't accommodate you in

either amusement, although we are going down to the river, with which

Verdant wishes to renew his acquaintance. Last term, you remember,

you picked him up in the Gut, when he had been played with at

pitch-and-toss in a way that very nearly resembled manslaughter."

"I remember, I remember, how old Giglamps floated by!" said Mr.

Bouncer; "you looked like a half-bred mermaid Giglamps."

"But the gallant youth," continued Mr. Larkyns, "undismayed by the

perils from which he was then happily preserved, has boldly come

forward and declared himself a worshipper of Isis, in a way worthy of

the ancient Egyptians, or of Tom Moore's Epicurean."

"Well! stop a minute you fellers," said Mr. Bouncer; "I must have my

beer first: I can't do without my Bass relief.

[170 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

I'm like the party in the old song, and I likes a drop of good beer."

And as he uncorked a bottle of Bass, little Mr. Bouncer sang, in

notes as musical as those produced from his own tin horn-

'Twixt wet and dry I always try

Between the extremes to steer;

Though I always shrunk from getting -- intoxicated,

I was always fond of my beer!

For I likes a drop of good beer!

I'm particularly partial to beer!

Porter and swipes

Always give me the - stomach-ache!

But that's never the case with beer!"

"Bravo, Harry!" cried Charles Larkyns; "you roar us an' twere any

nightingale. It would do old Bishop Still's heart good to hear you;

and 'sure ~I~ think, that ~you~ can drink with any that wears a

hood,' or that ~will~ wear a hood when you take your Bachelor's, and

put on your gown." And Charles Larkyns sang, rather more musically

than Mr. Bouncer had done, from that song which, three centuries ago,

the Bishop had written in praise of good ale,-

Let back and side go bare, go bare,

Both hand and foot go cold:

But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,

Whether it be new or old.

They were soon down at the river side, where Verdant was carefully

put into a tub (alas! the dear, awkward, safe, old things are fast

passing away; they are giving place to suicidal skiffs, and will soon

be numbered among the boats of other days!)- and was started off with

almost as much difficulty as on his first essay. The tub - which

was, indeed, his old friend the ~Sylph,~ - betrayed an awkward

propensity for veering round towards Folly Bridge, which our hero at

first failed to overcome; and it was not until he had performed a

considerable amount of crab-catching, that he was enabled to steer

himself in the proper direction. Charles Larkyns had taken his seat

in an outrigger skiff (so frail and shaky that it made Verdant

nervous to look at it), and, with one or two powerful strokes, had

shot ahead, backed water, turned, and pulled back round the tub long

before Verdant had succeeded in passing that eccentric mansion, to

which allusion has before been made, as possessing in the place of

cellars, an ingenious system of small rivers to thoroughly irrigate

its foundation - a hydropathic treatment which may (or may not) be

agreeable in Venice, but strikes one as being decidedly cold and

comfortless when applied to Oxford, - at any rate, in the month of

November. Walking on the lawn which stretched from this house

towards the river, our hero espied two extremely pretty young ladies,

whose hearts he endeavoured at once to take captive by dis-

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 171]

playing all his powers in that elegant exercise in which they saw him

engaged. It may reasonably be presumed that Mr. Verdant Green's

hopes were doomed to be blighted.

Let us leave him, and take a look at Mr. Bouncer.

Mr. Bouncer had been content to represent the prowess of his college

in the cricket-field, and had never aspired to any fame as an oar.

The exertions, as well as the fame, of aquatic honours, he had left

to Mr. Blades, and those others like him, who considered it a trifle

to pull down to Iffley and back <VG171.JPG> again, two or three times

a day, at racing pace with a fresh spurt put on every five minutes.

Mr. Bouncer, too, had an antipathy to eat beefsteaks otherwise than in

the state in which they are usually brought to table; and, as it

seemed a ~sine qua non~ with the gentleman who superintended the

training for the boat-races, that his pupils should daily devour

beefsteaks which had merely looked at the fire, Mr. Bouncer, not

having been brought up to cannibal habits, was unable to conform

himself to this, and those other vital principles which seemed to

regulate the science of aquatic training. The little gentleman

moreover, did not join with the "Torpids" (as the second boats of a

college are called), either, because he had a soul above them, - he

would be ~aut Caesar, aut nullus~; either in the eight, or nowhere, -

or else, because even the Torpids would cause him more trouble and

pleasurable pain than would be agreeable to him. When Mr. Bouncer

sat down on any hard substance, he liked to be able to do so without

betraying any emotion that the action caused him personal discomfort;

and he had noticed that many of the Torpids - not to mention one or

two of the eight - were more particular than young men usually are

about having a very easy, soft, and yielding chair to sit on. Mr.

Bouncer, too, was of opinion that continued blisters

[172 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

were both unsightly and unpleasant; and that rawness was bad enough

when taken in conjunction with beefsteaks, without being extended to

one's own hands. He had also a summer passion for ices and creams,

which were forbidden luxuries to one in training, - although

(paradoxical as it may seem to say so) they trained on Isis! He had

also acquired a bad habit of getting up in one day, and going to bed

in the next, - keeping late hours, and only rising early when

absolutely compelled to do so in order to keep morning chapel - a

habit which the trainer would have interfered with, considerably to

the little gentleman's advantage. He had also an amiable weakness

for pastry, port, claret, "et ~hock~ genus omne"; and would have felt

it a cruelty to have been deprived of his daily modicum of "smoke";

and in all these points, boat-training would have materially

interfered with his comfort.

Mr. Bouncer, therefore, amused himself equally as much to his own

satisfaction as if he had been one of the envied eight, by

occasionally paddling about with Charles Larkyns in an old pair-oar,

built by Davis and King, and bought by Mr. Bouncer of its late

Brazenfacian proprietor, when that gentleman, after a humorous series

of plucks, rustications, and heavy debts, had finally been compelled

to migrate to the King's Bench, for that purification of purse and

person commonly designated "whitewashing." When Charles Larkyns and

his partner did not use their pair-oar, the former occupied his

outrigger skiff; and the latter, taking Huz and Buz on board a

sailing boat, tacked up and down the river with great skill, the

smoke gracefully curling from his meerschaum or short black pipe, -

for Mr. Bouncer disapproved of smoking cigars at those times when the

wind would have assisted him to get through them.

"Hullo, Giglamps! here we are! as the clown says in the pantermime,"

sung out the little gentleman as he came up with our hero, who was

performing some extraordinary feats in full sight of the University

crew, who were just starting from their barge; "you get no end of

exercise out of your tub, I should think, by the style you work those

paddles. They go in and out beautiful! Splish, splash; splish,

splash! You must be one of the ~wherry~ identical Row-brothers-row,

whose voices kept tune and whose ears kept time, you know. You ought

to go and splish-splash in the Freshman's River, Giglamps; - but I

forgot - you ain't a freshman now, are you, old feller? Those swells in

the University boats look as though they were bursting with envy - not

to say, with laughter," added Mr. Bouncer, ~sotto voce~. "Who taught

you to do the dodge in such a stunning way, Giglamps?"

"Why, last term, Charles Larkyns did," responded Mr. Verdant Green,

with the freshness of a Freshman still lingering

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 173]

lovingly upon him. "I've not forgotten what he told me, - to put in

my oar deep, and to bring it out with a jerk. But though I make them

go as deep as I can, and jerk them out as much as possible, yet the

boat ~will~ keep turning round, and I can't keep it straight at all;

and the oars are very heavy and unmanageable, and keep slipping out

of the rowlocks -"

"Commonly called ~rullocks~," put in Mr. Bouncer, as a parenthetical

correction, or marginal note on Mr. Verdant Green's words.

<VG173.JPG>

"And when the Trinity boat went by, I could scarcely get out of their

way; and they said very unpleasant things to me; and, altogether, I

can assure you that it has made me very hot."

"And a capital thing,

too, Giglamps, this cold November day," said Mr. Bouncer; 'I'm

obliged to keep my coppers warm with this pea-coat, and my pipe.

Charley came alongside me just now, on purpose to fire off one of his

poetical quotations. He said that I reminded him of Beattie's

~Minstrel~:-

'Dainties he needed not, nor gaud, nor toy,

Save one short pipe.'

I think that was something like it. But you see, Giglamps, I

haven't got a figure-head for these sort of things like Charley has,

so I couldn't return his shot; but since then, to me deeply

pondering, as those old Greek parties say, a fine sample of our

superior old crusted jokes has come to hand; and when Charley next

pulls alongside, I shall tell him that I am like that beggar we read

about in old Slowcoach's lecture the other day, and that, if I had

been in the humour, I could have sung out, Io Bacche!* ~I owe baccy~

- d'ye see, Giglamps? Well, old

---

* - "Si collibuisset, ab ovo

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

-=-

[174 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

feller! you look rather puffed, so clap on your coat; and, if there's

a rope's end, or a chain, in your tub, and you'll just pay it out

here, I'll make you fast astern, and pull you down the river; and

then you'll be in prime condition to work yourself up again. The

wind's in our back, and we shall get on jolly." So our hero made

fast the tub to his friend's sailing-boat, and was towed as far as

the Haystack. During the voyage Mr. Bouncer ascertained that Mr.

Charles Larkyns had <VG174.JPG> improved some of the shining hours of

the long vacation considerably to Mr. Verdant Green's benefit, by

teaching him the art of swimming - a polite accomplishment of which

our hero had been hitherto ignorant. Little Mr. Bouncer, therefore,

felt easier in his mind, if any repetition of his involuntary bath in

the Gut should befal our hero; and, after giving him (wonderful to

say) some correct advice regarding the management of the oars, he

cast off the ~Sylph,~ and left her and our hero to their own devices.

But, profiting by the friendly hints which he had received, Mr.

Verdant Green made considerable progress in the skill and dexterity

with which he feathered his oars; and he sat in his tub looking as

wise as Diogenes may (perhaps) have done in ~his~. He moreover

pulled the boat back to Hall's without meeting with any accident

worth mentioning; and when he had got on shore he was highly

complimented by Mr. Blades and a group of boating gentlemen "for the

admirable display of science which he had afforded them." Mr.

Verdant Green was afterwards taken alternately by Charles Larkyns and

Mr. Bouncer in their pair-oar; so that, by the end of the term, he at

any rate knew more of boating than to accept as one of its

fundamental rules, "put your oar in deep, and bring it out with a

jerk."

In the first week in December he had an opportunity of pulling over a

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

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 175]

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

Christ Church 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 Christ Church

<VG175.JPG> 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.

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

[176 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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.

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 Longlegs

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 ~aeger~."

"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."

"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 resolu-

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 177]

tion, 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 <VG177-1.JPG> 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

<VG177-2.JPG> 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,

[178 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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 Smalls'. 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 ~aeger~;

which, you know, you didn't ought to was, Giglamps. Well, turn out,

old feller! I've told Robert to take your commons* 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 per-

---

* 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.

-=-

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 179]

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

<VG179.JPG>

"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 billyduxes; 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

[180 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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."

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

Larkyns; "so, while I fill my pipe, just spit out the <VG180.JPG>

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 amoose-

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 181]

ment 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 doesn't 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 wouldn't 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.

[182 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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

pianoforte, 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.

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,

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 183]

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

<VG183.JPG> 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;* witless men were cramming for

---

* 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~.

-=-

[184 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

Collections;* 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, ~via~ 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.

______________________

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

---

* College Terminal Examinations.

-=-

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 185]

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 faery

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 put 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.

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 <VG185.JPG> who is hopping about outside, in

expectation of the dinner which has been daily given to him.

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

[186 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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 generalized

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 lie 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 con-

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 187]

siderable 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 <VG187.JPG> 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 com-

[188 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

pany 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.

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 a 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.

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 189]

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 quaerere;

* * * nec dulces amores

Sperne, puer, neque tu choreas.

<VG189.JPG> 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

[190 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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.

__________________

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 191]

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. 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, <VG191.JPG> 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 ~retrousse~ (ill-natured people call it

"pug") nose a hue that mocks

The turkey's crested fringe.

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

[192 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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 <VG192.JPG> 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. 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.

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 193]

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. <VG193.JPG>

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

presentable), 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

[194 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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-a-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 up-stairs.

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 characterizes 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

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 195]

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 <VG195.JPG> 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

[196 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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 haweer 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 Rev.d 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

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 197]

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 <VG197.JPG> 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, - inquiring 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.

[198 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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.

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 199]

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 soliloquizes: "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

[200 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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."

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

discharges of chromatic fireworks from the fingers <VG200.JPG> 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

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 201]

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

gentleman-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 a

deux temps~, and twirls about until he has not a leg left to stand

upon. The harp, the violin, and the cornet-a-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.

[202 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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 gentle-

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 203]

man 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!

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,

[204 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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 <VG204.JPG> 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.

"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 Christ Church. 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

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 205]

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 <VG205-1.JPG> 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 <VG205-2.JPG> cigars. The train of

adulation being thus laid, an opportunity was only needed to fire it.

It soon came.

"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

[206 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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.

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

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 207]

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. <VG207.JPG>

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

bed-room. The Magnifico Pomposo had been too much for him, and had

produced sensations accurately interpreted by Mr. Bouncer, who

forthwith represented in expressive pantomime, the actions of a

distressed voyager, when he feebly murmurs "Steward!"

[208 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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

<VG208.JPG>

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 nondescript 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 marshal 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

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 209]

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 I, Wadham,

Balliol, St. John's, Pembroke, University, Oriel, Brazenface, Christ

Church I, 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 (I) 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

[210 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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 haven'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."

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, sangaree, 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,

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 211]

rather, loss of feature) that distinguished Mr. Bouncer's reading for

his degree. The gentleman with the limited knowledge of the

cornet-a-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 <VG211.JPG> 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

[212 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

(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. <VG212.JPG>

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-a-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

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 213]

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 Mum 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.

"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;

[214 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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 <VG214.JPG> 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

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 215]

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, e Coll. AEn. 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 sympathizing friends might have the

pride of seeing their names as coming out at drawing-rooms and

~levees~. 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?

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

[216 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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, <VG216.JPG> 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, e 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, e

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. Reassured 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 ~viva 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

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 217]

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, E COLL. AEN. FAC.

Quaestionibus Magistrorum Scholarum in Parviso pro forma

respondit.

{GULIELMUS SMITH,

Ita testamur, {

{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.*

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

Newdigate 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

---

* 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.

[218 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

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.

________________

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.