"No wonder that science, and learning profound,
In Oxford and Cambridge so greatly abound,
When so many take thither a little each day,
And we see very few who bring any away."
[Illustration: THE LECTURE.]
I was once told by a fellow of a college that he would never purchase
Hogarth's works, because Hogarth had in this print ridiculed one of
the Universities. I endeavoured to defend the artist, by suggesting
that this was not intended as a picture of what Oxford is now, but
of what it was in days long past: that it was that kind of general
satire with which no one should be offended, etc. etc. His reply
was too memorable to be forgotten: "Sir, the Theatre, the Bench,
the College of Physicians, and the Foot Guards, are fair objects of
satire; but those venerable characters who have devoted their whole
lives to feeding the lamp of learning with hallowed oil, are too
sacred to be the sport of an uneducated painter. Their unremitting
industry embraced the whole circle of the sciences, and in their
logical disputations they displayed an acuteness that their followers
must contemplate with astonishment. The present state of Oxford it
is not necessary for me to analyze, as you contend that the satire is
not directed against that."
In answer to this observation, which was uttered with becoming
gravity, a gentleman present remarked as follows: "For some of the
ancient customs of this seminary of learning I have much respect;
but as to their dry treatises on logic, immaterial dissertations on
materiality, and abstruse investigations of useless subjects, they
are mere literary legerdemain. Their disputations being usually
built on an undefinable chimera, are solved by a paradox. Instead
of exercising their power of reason, they exert their powers
of sophistry, and divide and subdivide every subject with such
casuistical minuteness, that those who are not convinced are almost
invariably confounded. This custom, it must be granted, is not quite
so prevalent as it once was: a general spirit of reform is rapidly
diffusing itself; and though I have heard cold-blooded declaimers
assert that these shades of science are become the retreats of
ignorance and the haunts of dissipation, I consider them as the great
schools of urbanity, and favourite seats of the _belles lettres_. By
the _belles lettres_ I mean history, biography, and poetry; that all
these are universally cultivated, I can exemplify by the manner in
which a highly accomplished young man, who is considered as a model
by his fellow-collegians, divides his hours.
"At breakfast I found him studying the marvellous and eventful
history of _Baron Munchausen_; a work whose periods are equally
free from the long-winded obscurity of Tacitus, and the asthmatic
terseness of Sallust. While his hair was dressing, he enlarged his
imagination and improved his morals by studying Doctor what's his
name's _Abridgment of Chesterfield's Principles of Politeness_.
To furnish himself with biographical information, and add to his
stock of useful anecdote, he studied the _Lives of the Highwaymen_;
in which he found many opportunities of exercising his genius and
judgment in drawing parallels between the virtues and exploits of
these modern worthies, and those dignified and almost deified ancient
heroes whose deeds are recorded in Plutarch and Nepos.
"With poetical studies he is furnished by the English operas, which,
added to the prologues, epilogues, and odes of the day, afford him
higher entertainment than he could find in Homer or Virgil: he has
not stored his memory with many epigrams, but of puns has a plentiful
stock, and in _conundra_ is a wholesale dealer. At the same college I
know a most striking contrast, whose reading"---- But as his opponent
would hear no more, my advocate dropped the subject; and I will
follow his example.
It seems probable that when the artist engraved this print he had
only a general reference to an university lecture; the words _datur
vacuum_ were an after-thought. I have seen prints without the
inscription, and in some of the early impressions it is written with
a pen.
The scene is laid at Oxford, and the person reading, universally
admitted to be a Mr. Fisher of Jesus College, _registrat_ of the
university, with whose consent this portrait was taken, and who lived
until the 18th of March 1761. That he should wish to have such a face
handed down to posterity in such company is rather extraordinary;
for all the band, except one man, have been steeped in the stream
of stupidity. This gentleman has the profile of penetration; a
projecting forehead, a Roman nose, thin lips, and a long pointed
chin. His eye is bent on vacancy: it is evidently directed to the
moon-faced idiot that crowns the pyramid, at whose round head,
contrasted by a cornered cap, he with difficulty supresses a laugh.
Three fellows on the right hand of this fat, contented "first-born
transmitter of a foolish face," have most degraded characters, and
are much fitter for the stable than the college. If they ever read,
it must be in Bracken's _Farriery_, or _The Country Gentleman's
Recreation_. Two square-capped students a little beneath the top, one
of whom is holding converse with an adjoining profile, and the other
lifting up his eyebrows and staring without sight, have the same
misfortune that attended our first James--their tongues are rather
too large. A figure in the left-hand corner has shut his eyes to
think; and having, in his attempt to separate a syllogism, placed the
forefinger of his right hand upon his forehead, has fallen asleep.
The professor, a little above the book, endeavours by a projection of
his under lip to assume importance; such characters are not uncommon:
they are more solicitous to look wise than to be so. Of Mr. Fisher it
is not necessary to say much: he sat for his portrait for the express
purpose of having it inserted in the "Lecture!"--We want no other
testimony of his talents. To the whole tribe I bid a long and last
adieu.
"Ye dull deluders, truth's destructive foes,
Cold sons of fiction, clad in stupid prose;
Ye treacherous leaders, who, yourselves in doubt,
Light up false fires, and send us far about;
Still may the spider round your pages spin,
Subtle and slow, her emblematic gin!
Buried in dust, and lost in silence dwell,
Most potent, grave, and reverend friends--farewell!"