Some Oxford men of the early ’sixties may remember a famous Oratio Procuratoria of the Rev. J. Riddell, honoured name to all Balliol men. Speaking of the conduct of undergraduates at concerts, he lamented that men, who at other times are perfectly well conducted, when they appear at these meetings—nulla reverentia praepediti, fumum strepitumque edentes, barbarorum more ululantes, promiscue tumultuantur.
Who shall say that Latin is a dead language!
Once in a boys’ school, where discipline was not rigidly enforced, I was imploring the first class not to drown my voice with their conversation while I was examining the adjacent class; and the Rector’s wife, who was looking on, whispered to me, “Mr. Kynnersley, do tell me; do you really think they are disorderly now?”
“Very disorderly,” I said.
“Dear me!” she sighed: “you should see them on a Sunday.”
It is not always easy for a stranger to decide whether a baddish-seeming boy has really over-topped the line which separates seeming from being. Such an one’s mother came to me one day to consult me about her Jem; and from what she told me I went to the schoolmaster for further information.
“What do you think of James X.?”
“Well, sir, he is not a bad sort of boy, but he is—er—er——”
I broke in to his relief: “His mother says he is RONK.”
The master jumped at it: “That’s exactly what he is, sir: he’s ronk.”