| The illustrations may be viewed enlarged by clicking on them.
In order to ease the flow of reading, some of the illustrations have been moved to before or after the paragraph in which they appeared in the book. (note of etext transcriber) |
| MARIA HARE. From G. Canevari. (Photogravure) | [Frontispiece] |
| PAGE | |
| DRAWING-ROOM, LIME | [15] |
| FROM THE DEAN'S GARDEN, CANTERBURY | [24] |
| LA MADONNA DEI. SASSO, LOCARNO | [45] |
| IN S. APOLLINARE NUOVO, RAVENNA | [48] |
| LORETO | [51] |
| MACERATA | [53] |
| CIVITA CASTELLANA | [55] |
| VALMONTONE | [77] |
| ROCCA JANULA, ABOVE SAN GERMANO | [79] |
| CAPRI | [82] |
| PÆSTUM | [83] |
| VALLOMBROSA | [85] |
| AUGUSTUS J. C. HARE. From G. Canevari. (Photogravure) | To face [96] |
| PONTE ALLA MADDALENA, LUCCA | [96] |
| PIETRA SANTA | [102] |
| IL VALENTINO, TURIN | [107] |
| VILLAR, IN THE VAUDOIS | [110] |
| NOTRE DAME, PARIS | [117] |
| THE PONT NEUF, PARIS | [124] |
| PORT ROYAL | [126] |
| CATHERINE STANLEY. From E. U. Eddis. (Photogravure) | To face [132] |
| CANON STANLEY'S HOUSE, OXFORD | [136] |
| HODNET CHURCH | [159] |
| GIBSIDE | [181] |
| OLD BEECHES, HURSTMONCEAUX PARK | [227] |
| THE ABELES, LIME | [245] |
| MENTONE | [248] |
| GRIMALDI | [251] |
| DOLCEACQUA | [254] |
| PEGLIONE | [255] |
| VENTIMIGLIA | [257] |
| AT DURHAM | [262] |
| ON ALLEN WATER, RIDLEY HALL | [273] |
| FORD CASTLE, THE TERRACE | [281] |
| VIEW FROM HOLMHURST. (Full-page woodcut) | To face [286] |
| ENTRANCE TO HOLMHURST: "HUZ AND BUZ" | [287] |
| ALDERLEY CHURCH AND RECTORY | [293] |
| WARKWORTH, FROM THE COQUET | [352] |
| WINTON CASTLE | [355] |
| THE CHEVIOTS, FROM FORD | [361] |
| CARROZZA | [371] |
| ROMAN THEATRE, ARLES | [378] |
| HÔTEL DU MAUROY, TROYES | [379] |
| THE KING OF BOHEMIA'S CROSS, CRECY | [380] |
| S. FLAVIANO, MONTEFIASCONE | [386] |
| OSTIA | [391] |
| THEATRE OF TUSCULUM | [392] |
| AMALFI | [397] |
| COURMAYEUR | [410] |
| ANNE F. M. L. HARE. From G. Canevari. (Photogravure) | To face [416] |
| ARS | [421] |
| TOURS | [465] |
| AT ANGOULÊME | [467] |
| PAU | [471] |
| BÉTHARRAM | [481] |
| BIARRITZ | [489] |
| THE PAS DE ROLAND | [491] |
| S. EMILION CATHEDRAL DOOR | [494] |
| AMBOISE | [496] |
VII
OXFORD LIFE
"A few souls brought together as it were by chance, for a short friendship and mutual dependence in this little ship of earth, so soon to land her passengers and break up the company for ever."—C. Kinsgley.
| "To thine own self be true, |
| And it must follow, as the night the day, |
| Thou canst not then be false to any man." |
| —Shakspeare, Polonius to Laertes. |
"IF you would escape vexation, reprove yourself liberally and others sparingly."—CONFUCIUS.
It was the third year of our Oxford life, and Milligan and I were now the "senior men" resident in college; we sat at one of the higher tables in hall, and occupied stalls in chapel. We generally attended lectures together, and many are the amusing tricks I recall which Milligan used to play—one especially, on a freshman named Dry—a pious youth in green spectacles, and with the general aspect of "Verdant Green." An undergraduate's gown is always adorned with two long strings behind; these strings of Dry, Milligan adroitly fastened to mine, and, inventing one excuse after another, for slipping round the room to open the door, shut a window, &c., he eventually had connected the whole lecture in one continuous chain; finally, he fastened himself to Dry on the other side; and then, with loud outcries of "Don't, Dry,—don't, Dry," pulled himself away, the result being that Dry and his chair were overturned, and that the whole lecture, one after another, came crashing on the top of him! Milligan would have got into a serious scrape on this occasion, but that he was equally popular with the tutors and his companions, so that every possible excuse was made for him, while I laughed in such convulsions at the absurdity of the scene, that I was eventually expelled from the lecture, and served as a scapegoat.
I think we were liked in college—Milligan much better than I. Though we never had the same sort of popularity as boating-men and cricketers often acquire, we afforded plenty of amusement. When the college gates were closed at night, I often used to rush down into Quad and act "Hare" all over the queer passages and dark corners of the college, pursued by a pack of hounds who were more in unison with the general idea of Harrow than of Oxford. One night I had been keeping ahead of my pursuers so long, that, as one was apt to be rather roughly handled when caught after a very long chase, I thought it was as well to make good my escape to my own rooms in the New Buildings, and to "sport my oak." Yet, after some time, beginning to feel my solitude rather flat after so much excitement, I longed to regain the quadrangle, but knew that the staircase was well guarded by a troop of my pursuers. By a vigorous coup d'état, however, I threw open my "oak," and seizing the handrail of the bannisters, slipped on it through the midst of them, and reached the foot of the staircase in safety. Between me and the quadrangle a long cloistered passage still remained to be traversed, and here I saw the way blocked up by a figure approaching in the moonlight. Of course it must be an enemy! There was nothing for it but desperation. I rushed at him like a bolt from a catapult, and by taking him unawares, butting him in the stomach, and then flinging myself on his neck, overturned him into the coal-hole, and escaped into Quad. My pursuers, seeing some one struggling in the coal-hole, thought it was I, and flung all their sharp-edged college caps at him, under which he was speedily buried, but emerged in time to exhibit himself as—John Conington, Professor of Latin!
Meantime, I had discovered the depth of my iniquity, and fled to the rooms of Duckworth, a scholar, to whom I recounted my adventure, and with whom I stayed. Late in the evening a note was brought in for Duckworth, who said, "It is a note from John Conington," and read—"Dear Duckworth, having been the victim of a cruel outrage on the part of some undergraduates of the college, I trust to your friendship for me to assist me in finding out the perpetrators," &c. Duckworth urged that I should give myself up—that John Conington was very good-natured—in fact, that I had better confess the whole truth, &c. So I immediately sat down and wrote the whole story to Professor Conington, and not till I had sent it, and it was safe in his hands, did Duckworth confess that the note he had received was a forgery, that he had contrived to slip out of the room and write it to himself—and that I had made my confession unnecessarily. However, he went off with the story and its latest additions to the Professor, and no more was said.