“If his own account of himself is to be believed (and perhaps in this instance his word may be taken), he was the most profligate man in the University. He obtained his office by the influence of the famous Lord Sandwich, the friend and betrayer of Wilkes, immortalised as Jenny Twitcher. Beverley had a large family, borrowed from everybody, and cheated all he could. Lord Sandwich entertained magnificently at Hinchinbrooke Castle, about fourteen miles from Cambridge, and Beverley was not above procuring invitations for members of the University who paid him.”
He must have had many attractive qualities and was a good musician. People were always trying to get him out of debt, especially Mr. Basil Montagu, a son of Lord Sandwich.
Montagu collected money to free him from his pressing liabilities and then invited Beverley to tea and read him a long lecture on his extravagance. Poor Beverley departed in tears, not having been told what his benefactor intended to do. Montagu felt he had been too severe and feared that Beverley might give way to despair and even kill himself. But, instead of finding the prodigal a corpse, he heard sounds of music if not of dancing, and found his volatile friend seated at his table with a bowl of punch and several boon companions. “After this exhibition Montagu troubled himself no further about Beverley’s debts.”
A notable character of the time was a certain Jimmy Gordon, who had fallen from a position of affluence to one of extreme degradation.[22] Seeing the Master of Trinity, who was also Bishop of Bristol, Gordon begged of him. His Lordship replied, “If you can find a greater scoundrel than yourself, I will give you a half a crown.” Off went Gordon and told Beverley that the Master wished to speak to him. The Master, when Beverley came, remarked, “You have been misinformed, Mr. Beverley.” Up came Jimmy at this moment and said, “I think, my lord, I am entitled to my half crown.”
I feel I must relate one more example of Beverley’s behaviour. On Midlent Sunday it was customary for the Vice-Chancellor to drive in state and preach in the church at Burwell and be accompanied by one or more of the Esquire Bedels. After the sermon they all dined at a farmer’s house and so enjoyed the ale and port wine that they did not go and hear the vicar at afternoon service. “What sort of preacher is Mr. Turner?” asked the Vice-Chancellor. “For my own part,” replied the tenant, “I would not go over the threshold to hear him preach.” “If that be your opinion, who have had frequent opportunities of hearing him, I am of that opinion too; and we will remain and have a few more glasses of your fine old port.” Needless to remark, the clergyman was furious at the having been thus neglected. On the way back to Cambridge a Mr. Hole, who was acting as a deputy Bedel, attacked Mr. Beverley, who had a good deal of wit, and gave him more than he got. Then the Vice-Chancellor tried to defend Mr. Hole, and he too got more than he bargained for. So he stopped the carriage and told Beverley to go and sit on the box. The Bedel refused, and told the other two that they had better get out and walk home. “They declined to follow this advice,” and “it was not long before perfect quiet reigned among them, and the university Marshal who acted as Vice-Chancellor’s servant imagined (and it was not a very improbable conclusion) that they had been overtaken by the drowsy god.”
A more reputable but still very striking character was Dr. Milner, the President of Queen’s College. His portrait is one I often study when I dine there. A portly man in his red gown and doctor’s wig, he sits grasping the arms of his chair, looking very strong and masterful. In politics a strong Tory, attached by religious sympathy to the evangelical party, editor of the “Church History” of his brother, from his force of character and his mathematical ability Milner was long the ruler of the University. Caring nothing for public opinion, he would have his own way; and he is reported to have once exclaimed, when settling a man’s place in an examination and the man’s tutor exclaimed, “Surely you do not say that A is better than B?” “I never said he was the better man; I said he should stand above him.” It was the custom for the moderators who conducted the Tripos and made out the lists to submit any doubtful cases to some great mathematician, who held a viva voce examination; and, as Milner’s undoubted ability made his judgment of great value, he was often called to do this. Except where men of his own college or Magdalene, a great centre of evangelicalism, were concerned, his judgment was excellent; but Gunning considers that he was quite unscrupulous when his partiality or interest led him to decide a point. Milner, though an ardent pietist and a valetudinarian, was somewhat notorious for the joviality of his supper parties, at which the bowl circulated freely and the fun was fast and furious. His powerful personality dominated the University, as may be seen from the fact that he did his best to stop the reform of Trinity College. In his account of this Mr. Gunning draws a striking picture of the Seniority of the college in the closing years of the eighteenth century. By its statutes Trinity was practically governed by the Master and the ten Senior Fellows, the latter men who had lived for years in the college without generally doing any work, being content with holding their fellowship and living in celibate idleness. Their power was great; and, as it may well be supposed, they were not as a rule qualified to exercise it, especially when they claimed a right to select the fellows themselves without regard to the reports of the examiners. The tutors fought a hard battle to remove this abuse and were taunted by Milner and the Tory party with being Jacobites and supporters of the French Revolution. The matter was decided in the courts, and the tutors won, with the result that a fellowship at Trinity became, in Macaulay’s words, a veritable “patent of nobility.”
I abbreviate Gunning’s description of the Seniority partly from a sense of propriety.
The Rev. Stephen Whiston, B.D., was, says our author, “I believe a very respectable man.”
The Rev. Samuel Backhouse, B.D., kept a girls’ school at a village called Balsham.
“Was it profit that he sought?