“You don’t mean to say you expected to find them at the station? Why, man alive! what is easier than to tip the guard and engine-driver half-a-sovereign, and have the train stopped just by the Goods-station?”
The Senior Proctor mentally resolved to be sharper in future. He was sharper—when he caught men. But his sharpness was the sharpness of acidity and not of acuteness.
The Brasenose Ale Festival is simply ordinary dinner in Hall, at which some special ale, brewed by the College and kept for high occasions, is given in unlimited quantities to the undergraduates. Possibly the most important feature (certainly it is the most uncommon) is the fact of the ale being given. Anything not paid for is a fact so rare that of itself it deserves a festival to commemorate it. The ale is celebrated in a poem which is supposed to be written by the College Butler. College Butlers being, however, not necessarily gifted with the poetic faculty, the honour or duty is deputed to some undergraduate. The merits of the verses vary, apparently with the quality of the ale, which is sometimes good, often bad, and usually indifferent. In a collection of the productions of the laureates of the barrel, lately published, are verses by Bishop Heber, by Garbett, once Professor of Poetry, and others of less reputation. The various later authors may be found in country rectories, doubtless endeavouring on temperance principles to counteract the effects of the obnoxious liquor, which in the days of their youth they celebrated in such festive fashion.
The College bounty did not stop short, however, at ale; cakes of ample proportions were cut up and distributed. But when all rose to bless the indirect giver, and the direct benefactor, it must of course have been indigestion or malicious scepticism which made Frank’s host whisper to him,—
“I wonder what the difference is between the pecuniary value of the bequest, when it was made to the College, and its present value.”
Frank, not being able to hazard a conjecture, made the most apposite remark his state of ignorance allowed,—
“You’d better ask the Bursar.”