And oft suspend the dashing oar,
To bid his gentle spirit rest.”
Where was “yonder grave,” and where “yon whitening spire?” It was with some chagrin that I followed my directions into the dullest haunts of the town, and into a modernized church, in an unromantic street, and there soliloquized, over a miserable brass plate, amid a pile of pew-lumber—“In such a grave your Druid lies!” It is amusing, on a few square inches of worthless metal, as entirely devoid of artificial value as it is of intrinsic worth, to observe the vanity with which a man of rank has contrived to write his own name in as large letters as those of the poet’s. “The Earl of Buchan, unwilling that so good a man, and so sweet a poet, should be without a memorial, has denoted the place of his interment, &c.”—so reads the inscription. The Earl has at least the merit of having exactly expressed the character of his tribute, for it denotes the place, and that’s all. One would think a Scottish nobleman might have spared a few guineas in doing something better for the grave of his countryman.
A glimpse of Twickenham, and of the spire of the church where Pope is entombed, were all that I allowed myself, in honour of a bard whose faultless verse is no excuse for the frequent indecency and paganism of its sentiment. It is a curious and revolting fact that his skull has been purloined, and now belongs to a phrenologist. I caught a railway view of Dachet-lane, famous for Falstaff’s experiences in the buck-basket, and so once more to Windsor! I stopped, over a train, to enjoy one more walk on the castle terrace, and one more look at Eton college, and then hastened on to Oxford, to attend the Commemoration. I accepted the hospitalities of my friends of Magdalen, who lodged me in the rooms formerly occupied by the Bishop of Exeter.
During my visit I did not fail to see the celebrated Dr. Pusey, who struck me as a younger man than he is generally supposed to be. His appearance indicates nothing eccentric or ascetic, and his manners are those of a gentleman at home in the society of his fellow-men. He has friends and foes at Oxford, as well as elsewhere, but all seem to regard him with respect as a man of piety and learning. To me he was less a lion, however, because I have always regarded the application of his name to the great movement of 1833, as a mere instance of popular caprice. His share in it has been less than that of many others; neither the credit of its good, nor the disgrace of its evil, belongs to him in any superlative degree. Its progress has left him, with others, far in the rear of its existing interests; and what has been stigmatized as Puseyism is perhaps, when fairly distinguished from the extravagances of a few fanatics and sophists, the English phase of a world-wide return to principles that were the life of Christianity, long before Popery was in existence, and ages before it had bred Protestantism by its violent reaction.
CHAPTER XXXI.
Oxford and Cambridge.
I had seen Oxford in vacation, and again during term; I had now the privilege of attending its Encænia. The occasion brings many distinguished persons to the University, and the pleasures of dining and breakfasting in the college-halls, and with private parties, are greatly enhanced by such additions to the company of eminent residents. The ceremonies in the Academic theatre sadly disappointed me. Imagine an open area, filled with gownsmen and their friends, and surrounded by tiers of boxes filled with ladies, above which, near the ceiling, is elevated a third tier, full of undergraduates. The Dons and doctors, in their robes, sit on either side of the Vice-Chancellor, at one extremity of the theatre, in a place something between a row of boxes and an orchestra. In the presence of ladies and of such grave and reverend seniors, one naturally expects decorum from all parties; but though I had often read of the frolics in which the undergraduates are permitted to indulge on these occasions, I confess I was not fully prepared for the excessive and prolonged turbulence of the scene. While awaiting the opening of the ceremonial, it was well enough to laugh at the cheers of the youth as they called out successively the names of favourite public personages, or at their sibilations, when the names of “Lord John Russell” and “Cardinal Wiseman” were proposed for merited derision. But when, again and again, as the venerable Vice-Chancellor rose to make a beginning, his voice was vociferously outnoised by that of the boys overhead, I began to think the joke was carried a little too far. There had been some omission of customary music, and to supply the deficiency, uprose those legions of youth, and shouted—God save the Queen, in full chorus, stanza after stanza, till the Dons looked eminently disloyal in their impatience. The Creweian Oration was delivered by the Public Orator, and I was particularly desirous of marking his pronunciation of Latin words, as well as the general merit of a performance in which once, upon a like occasion, Bishop Lowth so handsomely acquitted himself. But, I think, I speak within bounds when I say that scarcely an entire sentence could be heard, from beginning to end. All manner of outcries assailed the speaker, from his rising till he surceased. At one time, an extremely impudent personality excited a general smile. The orator waxed warm as he spoke, and growing quite rubicund of visage, some flagitious freshman cried out—“Pray stop; it makes me hot to look at you.” Several distinguished individuals, bishops and generals, and scientific men, were presented to receive the Doctorate in Civil Law, and now I supposed the hospitality of the University would suffice to shield the eminent personages from the annoyance of such untimely fun. But there was no cessation, and when Sir W. Page Wood was presented, there was a merry cry of “inutile lignum,” at which no one laughed more heartily than the party himself. Verily, thought I, if this were unheard of in England, and were only set down in the book of some peregrine Dickens, as what he saw in America, at a Harvard Commencement, how inevitably would it figure in reviews and newspapers as a telling fact against the disorganizing tendencies of democratic education! In Oxford, it is regarded as a mere outbreak of youthful merriment, and such is indeed the case: and yet, unless Encænia and Saturnalia are synonymous terms, one must be allowed to think the custom best honoured in the breach. I must add, that during the delivery of a poem, by an undergraduate, his comrades showed more respect, and the tumult subsided for a time, like that of Ephesus, on the remonstrance of the town-clerk. The young poet pronounced his numbers in the same tribune where once stood Reginald Heber, enchanting all hearers with his “Palestine.”
A lunch in the superb new hall of Pembroke, of which many ladies partook with the other guests, giving the hall an unusually gay appearance; a dinner at Oriel, and afterwards sport with bowls, and other games, in the garden of Exeter; and, finally, a very agreeable evening party at Magdalen; these were the other occupations of the day, in which I greatly enjoyed the society with which I mingled. I was particularly pleased to observe the enthusiasm of the female visitors of Oxford, many of whom had come up for the first time, and were less acquainted with the place than myself. It was a novel pleasure, on my part, to turn cicerone, and to explain to a group of English ladies, the wonders of the University.
Next morning, after breakfast at Merton, and a lunch at Jesus College, with some kind friends who were preparing to leave Oxford for the Long Vacation, I went, in the company of some of them, to Bedford, and there took coach for Cambridge. I thought of John Bunyan, who once inhabited the county-jail, in this place, and there composed his wonderful allegory; and as I began to travel along the banks of the Ouse, I thought of William Cowper, who was one of the first to do justice to his piety and genius. If the Church of England, sharing in the fault of the times, (and visiting others with far milder penalties than both Papists and Puritans laid upon her) was in any sort a party to his ill-usage, it must be owned that she has done him full justice, in the end. He owed his enlargement to the Bishop of Lincoln’s interposition, and Cowper and Southey have affixed the stamp, and given currency to the gold of his genius. I am ashamed that he was not taken into the Bishop of Lincoln’s house, and made a deacon, and so cured of the mistaken enthusiasm which was evidently the misfortune of the tinker, and not the natural bent of the man.