1 A sovereign.
This familiarity of style struck me as deserving reprehension; but I reflected this classic Jehu was perhaps licensed by the light-hearted sons of Alma Mater in these liberties of speech. Suspending therefore my indignation, I proceeded,—"And why so?" said I inquisitively:—"Why I know when I was an under graduate{2} of ——, where my father was principal, I used to keep a good prad here for a bolt to the village,{3} and then I had a fresh hack always on the road to help me back to chapel prayers."{4} The nonchalance of the speaker, and the easy indifference with which he alluded to his former situation in life, struck me with astonishment, and created a curiosity to know more of his adventures; he had, I found, brought himself to his present degradation by a passion for gaming and driving, which had usurped every just and moral feeling. His father, I have since learned, felt his conduct deeply, and had been dead some time. His venerable mother having advanced him all her remaining property, was now reduced to a dependence upon the benevolence of a few liberal-minded Oxford friends, and this son of the once celebrated head of————college was now so lost to every sense of shame that he preferred the Oxford road to exhibit himself on in his new character of a {university whip}.
2 The circumstances here narrated are unfortunately too
notorious to require further explanation: the character,
drawn from the life, forms the vignette to this chapter.
3 A cant phrase for a stolen run to the metropolis. No
unusual circumstance with a gay Oxonian, some of whom have
been known to ride the same horse the whole distance and
back again after prayers, and before daylight the next
morning.
4 When (to use the Oxford phrase) a man is confined to
chapel, or compelled to attend chapel prayers, it is a
dangerous risk to be missing,—a severe imposition and
sometimes rustication is sure to be the penalty.
Immediately behind me on the roof of the vehicle sat a rosy-looking little gentleman, the rotundity of whose figure proclaimed him a man of some substance; he was habited in a suit of clerical mixture, with the true orthodox hat and rosette in front, the broadness of its brim serving to throw a fine mellow shadow over the upper part of a countenance, which would have formed a choice study for the luxuriant pencil of some modern Rubens; the eyes were partially obscured in the deep recesses of an overhanging brow, and a high fat cheek, and the whole figure brought to my recollection a representation I had somewhere seen of Silenus reproving his Bacchanals: the picture was the more striking by the contrasted subjects it was opposed to: on one side was a spare-looking stripling, of about the age of eighteen, with lank hair brushed smoothly over his forehead, and a demure, half-idiot-looking countenance, that seemed to catch what little expression it had from the reflection of its sire, for such I discovered was the ancient's affinity to this cadaverous importation from North Wales. The father, a Welsh rector of at least one hundred and fifty pounds per annum, was conveying his eldest born to the care of the principal of Jesus, of which college the family of the Joneses{5} had been a leading name since the time of their great ancestor Hugh ap Price, son of Rees ap Rees, a wealthy burgess of Brecknock, who founded this college for the sole use of the sons of Cambria, in 1571.
5 DAVID JONES OR, WINE AND WORSTED.
Hugh Morgan, cousin of that Hugh
Whose cousin was, the Lord knows who,
Was likewise, as the story runs,
Tenth cousin of one David Jones.
David, well stored with classic knowledge,
Was sent betimes to Jesus College;
Paternal bounty left him clear
For life one hundred pounds a year;
And Jones was deem'd another Croesus
Among the Commoners of Jesus.
It boots not here to quote tradition,
In proof of David's erudition;—
He could unfold the mystery high,
Of Paulo-posts, and verbs in u;
Scan Virgil, and, in mathematics,
Prove that straight lines were not quadratics.
All Oxford hail'd the youth's ingressus,
And wond'ring Welshmen cried "Cot pless us!"
It happen'd that his cousin Hugh
Through Oxford pass'd, to Cambria due,
And from his erudite relation
Receiv'd a written invitation.
Hugh to the college gate repair'd,
And ask'd for Jones;—the porter stared!
"Jones! Sir," quoth he, "discriminate:
Of Mr. Joneses there be eight."
"Ay, but 'tis David Jones," quoth Hugh;
Quoth porter, "We've six Davids too."
"Cot's flesh!" cries Morgan, "cease your mockings,
My David Jones wears worsted stockings!"
Quoth porter, "Which it is, Heaven knows,
For all the eight wear worsted hose."
"My Cot!" says Hugh, "I'm ask'd to dine
With cousin Jones, and quaff his wine."
"That one word 'wine' is worth a dozen,"
Quoth porter, "now I know your cousin;
The wine has stood you, sir, in more stead
Than David, or the hose of worsted;
You'll find your friend at number nine—
We've but one Jones that quaffs his wine."
All these particulars I gleaned from the rapid delivery of the Welsh rector, who betrayed no little anxiety to discover if I was of the university; how long I had been matriculated; what was my opinion of the schools, and above all, if the same system of extravagance was pursued by the students, and under-graduates. Too cautious to confess myself a freshman, I was therefore compelled to close the inquiry with a simple negative to his early questions, and an avowal of my ignorance in the last particular. The deficiency was, however, readily supplied by an old gentleman, who sat on the other side of the reverend Mr. Jones. I had taken him, in the first instance, for a doctor of laws, physic, or divinity, by the studied neatness of his dress, the powdered head, and ancient appendage of a queue; with a measured manner of delivery, joined to an affected solemnity of carriage, and authoritative style. He knew every body, from the Vice-Chancellor to the scout; ran through a long tirade against driving and drinking, which he described as the capital sins of the sons of Alma Mater, complimented the old rector on his choice of a college for his son, and concluded with lamenting the great extravagance of the young men of the present day, whose affection for long credit compelled honest tradesmen to make out long bills to meet the loss of interest they sustain by dunning and delay. "Observe, sir," said he,
"The youth of England in our happy age!
See, to their view what varied pleasure springs,
Cards, tennis, hilliards, and ten thousand things;
'Tis theirs the coat with neater grace to wear,
Or tie the neckcloth with a royal air:
The rapid race of wild expense to run;
To drive the tandem or the chaise and one;
To float along the Isis, or to fly
In haste to Abingdon,—who knows not why?
To gaze in shops, and saunter hours away
In raising bills, they never think to pay:
Then deep carouse, and raise their glee the more,
While angry duns assault th' unheeding door,
And feed the best old man that ever trod,
The merry poacher who defies his God."
"You forget the long purses, Sir E—," said our classical Jehu, "which some of the Oxford tradesmen have acquired by these long practices of the university, Sir E—." The little Welsh rector bowed with astonishment, while his rustic scion stared with wild alarm to find himself for the first time in his life in company with a man of title. A wink from coachee accompanied with an action of his rein angle against my side, followed by a suppressed laugh, prepared me for some important communications relative to my fellow traveller. "An old snyder,"{6} whispered Jehu, "who was once mayor of Oxford, and they do say was knighted by mistake,—' a thing of shreds and patches,'
'Who, by short skirts and little capes,
Items for buckram, twist, and tapes, '