A delightful paper, entitled, _Percy Bysshe Shelley at Oxford_ is now in
course of appearance in the _New Monthly Magazine_, from the pen of a
fellow collegian and an early admirer of the genius of the youthful
poet. It is in part conversational. Thus, Shelley _loquitur_:--
"I regret only that the period of our residence is limited to four
years; I wish they would revive, for our sake, the old term of six or
seven years. If we consider how much there is for us to learn," here he
paused and sighed deeply through that despondency which sometimes comes
over the unwearied and zealous student; "we shall allow that the longer
period would still be far too short!" I assented, and we discoursed
concerning the abridgement of the ancient term of residence, and the
diminution of the academical year by frequent, protracted and most
inconvenient vacations. "To quit Oxford," he said, "would be still more
unpleasant to you than to myself, for you aim at objects that I do not
seek to compass, and you cannot fail since you are resolved to place
your success beyond the reach of chance." He enumerated with extreme
rapidity, and in his enthusiastic strain, some of the benefits and
comforts of a college life. "Then the _oak_ is such a blessing," he
exclaimed with peculiar fervour, clasping his hands, and repeating
often--"the oak is such a blessing!" slowly and in a solemn tone. "The
oak alone goes far towards making this place a paradise. In what other
spot in the world, surely in none that I have hitherto visited, can you
say confidently, it is perfectly impossible, physically impossible, that
I should be disturbed? Whether a man desire solitary study, or to enjoy
the society of a friend or two, he is secure against interruption. It is
not so in a house, not by any means; there is not the same protection in
a house, even in the best-contrived house. The servant is bound to
answer the door; he must appear and give some excuse: he may betray, by
hesitation and confusion, that he utters a falsehood; he must expose
himself to be questioned; he must open the door and violate your privacy
in some degree; besides there are other doors, there are windows at
least, through which a prying eye can detect some indication that
betrays the mystery. How different is it here! The bore arrives; the
outer door is shut; it is black and solid, and perfectly impenetrable,
as is your secret; the doors are all alike; he can distinguish mine from
yours by the geographical position only. He may knock; he may call; he
may kick if he will; he may inquire of a neighbour, but he can inform
him of nothing; he can only say, the door is shut, and this he knows
already. He may leave his card, that you may rejoice over it and at your
escape; he may write upon it the hour when he proposes to call again, to
put you upon your guard, and that he may be quite sure of seeing the
back of your door once more. When the bore meets you and says, I called
at your house at such a time, you are required to explain your absence,
to prove an _alibi_ in short, and perhaps to undergo a rigid
cross-examination; but if he tells you, 'I called at your rooms
yesterday at three and the door was shut,' you have only to say, 'Did
you? was it?' and there the matter ends.
"Were you not charmed with your oak? did it not instantly captivate
you!"
"My introduction to it was somewhat unpleasant and unpropitious. The
morning after my arrival I was sitting at breakfast: my scout, the
Arimaspian, apprehending that the singleness of his eye may impeach his
character for officiousness, in order to escape the reproach of seeing
half as much only as other men, is always striving to prove that he sees
at least twice as far as the most sharpsighted: after many
demonstrations of superabundant activity, he inquired if I wanted
anything more; I answered in the negative. He had already opened the
door: 'Shall I sport, Sir?' he asked briskly as he stood upon the
threshold. He seemed so unlike a sporting character, that I was curious
to learn in what sport he proposed to indulge. I answered--'Yes, by all
means,' and anxiously watched him, but to my surprise and disappointment
he instantly vanished. As soon as I had finished my breakfast, I sallied
forth to survey Oxford; I opened one door quickly, and not suspecting
that there was a second, I struck my head against it with some violence.
The blow taught me to observe that every set of rooms has two doors, and
I soon learned that the outer door, which is thick and solid, is called
the oak, and to shut it is termed to sport. I derived so much benefit
from my oak, that I soon pardoned this slight inconvenience: it is
surely the tree of knowledge."
"Who invented the oak?"
"The inventers of the science of living in rooms, or chambers--the
monks."
"Ah! they were sly fellows; none but men who were reputed to devote
themselves for many hours to prayers, to religious meditations, and holy
abstractions, would ever have been permitted quietly to place at
pleasure such a barrier between themselves and the world. We now reap
the advantage of their reputation for sanctity; I shall revere my oak
more than ever, since its origin is so sacred."
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