The Cambridge Week, delightful. Beautiful weather till I left, and
after me--the deluge! Fair faces everywhere, and O those beautiful
"Backs"! As the poet sang--
"Ye Backs and Braes!"
Why lug in "Braes"? Fronts may be, and have been, false, but never
these "Backs." They never looked lovelier than at the commencement
of last week,--fine weather, warm, a gentle breeze. Lucky Cantabs, to
have such an idyllic idling place, where you can moon, spoon, stroll,
study, work or play, and, if in your boat, smoke, for the pernicious
weed is forbidden in the well-kept gardens, though it may be indulged
in on the water, beneath whose surface another pernicious weed can be
seen luxuriating.
Once more I visit the A. D. C., and witness a capital performance of
a burlesque, _Der Freischuetz_, founded on one of H. J. BYRON'S, and
written up to date by a precious STONE. Burlesque is not dead! Very
far from it. The "Sacred Lamp" is not even flickering, but burning
with undiminished brilliancy. For a time learned Thebans essayed to
extinguish it with High Comedy and even Shakspearian Drama. But the A.
D. C. was meant for recreation, and no Undergraduate saw any amusement
in either performing or witnessing High Comedy or an historical Drama
by WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. Relaxation for the pale student was needed, so
dancing and singing, and jokes, topical hits, and comic business,
drew big houses, and amused both players and audiences. The classical
Puritanical rebellion was over, and the Merry Monarch, King Burlesque,
was restored to his throne, merrier than ever. A crowded house, and I
am informed crowdeder and crowdeder every night.
The burlesque is a good one, as the story of _Der Freischuetz_ is
closely parodied, and it is not a mere variety show. And the actors
are as much in earnest as the other actors were in earnest, terrible
earnest, just thirty-five years ago, for the date over the proscenium
reminds me that the A. D. C. was founded in 1855. There are some
old original members down here, and they regard some old original
photographs of themselves when they were all boys together in this
A. D. C. The photographs are of beardless youths, all very much in
earnest. The middle-aged, grey-bearded men are contemplating their
former selves with an air of surprise. "Dear me! and those were us!"
they exclaim, in Academical English. They see themselves as others
saw them then, and they are secretly disappointed, though they soon
recover their serenity, and with pride to think their lineaments have
been preserved and handed down from generation to generation, they
bring up their wives and daughters to look at the pictures, and to
listen to their "tales of a grandfather."
Alas! the photographs are fading, and soon, but for the extant history
of the A. D. C., dedicated to its Honorary President, H.R.H., the
Prince of WALES, its origin would be lost in the obscurity of the
dark ages (before they were the grey ages), or be so confused and
intermingled with myth as to render any account of its early days
untrustworthy.
And what a crowd, driving, walking, riding, to see the boat-races!
Quite a little Water Derby Day. So much talk about "bumps," that
a stranger would think he had come to hear an open-air lecture on
phrenology.
One more lounge in the "Backs," and then to London and work, while
happy Undergrads commence their Long Vacation, and make holiday in
the sunshine of life. But roam where you will, never will you find any
spot to equal these Backs. _O Fortunati Cantabiles!_ _Backs vobiscum!_
As a barrister I love a refresher, and this flying visit has, indeed,
been a refresher to one who drinks to Trin. Coll. Cam. and the A.
D. C. in a bumper of '75 Margaux, and is able, after that, to sign
himself, academically and Lincolnsinnically, the