Mr. Lambkin possessed among other great and gracious qualities the habit of writing to his nephew, Thomas Ezekiel Lambkin,[36] who entered the college as an undergraduate when his uncle was some four years a Fellow. Of many such communications he valued especially this which I print below, on account of the curious and pathetic circumstances which surrounded it. Some months after Thomas had been given his two groups and had left the University, Mr. Lambkin was looking over some books in a second-hand book shop—not with the intention of purchasing so much as to improve the mind. It was a favourite habit of his, and as he was deeply engaged in a powerful romance written under the pseudonym of “Marie Corelli”[37] there dropped from its pages the letter which he had sent so many years before. It lay in its original envelope unopened, and on turning to the flyleaf he saw the name of his nephew written. It had once been his! The boy had so treasured the little missive as to place it in his favourite book!
Lambkin was so justly touched by the incident as to purchase the volume, asking that the price might be entered to his account, which was not then of any long standing. The letter he docketed “to be published after my death.” And I obey the wishes of my revered friend:
“My Dear Thomas,
“Here you are at last in Oxford, and at Burford, ‘a Burford Man.’ How proud your mother must be and even your father, whom I well remember saying that ‘if he were not an accountant, he would rather be a Fellow of Burford than anything else on earth.’ But it was not to be.
“The life you are entering is very different from that which you have left behind. When you were at school you were under a strict discipline, you were compelled to study the classics and to play at various games. Cleanliness and truthfulness were enforced by punishment, while the most instinctive habits of decency and good manners could only be acquired at the expense of continual application. In a word, ‘you were a child and thought as a child.’
“Now all that is changed, you are free (within limits) to follow your own devices, to make or mar yourself. But if you use Oxford aright she will make you as she has made so many of your kind—a perfect gentleman.
“But enough of these generalities. It is time to turn to one or two definite bits of advice which I hope you will receive in the right spirit. My dear boy, I want you to lay your hand in mine while I speak to you, not as an uncle, but rather as an elder brother. Promise me three things. First never to gamble in any form; secondly, never to drink a single glass of wine after dinner; thirdly, never to purchase anything without paying for it in cash. If you will make such strict rules for yourself and keep them religiously you will find after years of constant effort a certain result developing (as it were), you will discover with delight that your character is formed; that you have neither won nor lost money at hazards, that you have never got drunk of an evening, and that you have no debts. Of the first two I can only say that they are questions of morality on which we all may, and all do, differ. But the third is of a vital and practical importance. Occasional drunkenness is a matter for private judgment, its rightness or wrongness depends upon our ethical system; but debt is fatal to any hope of public success.
“I hesitate a little to mention one further point; but—may I say it?—will you do your best to avoid drinking neat spirits in the early morning—especially Brandy? Of course a Governor and Tutor, whatever his abilities, gets removed in his sympathies from the younger men.[38] The habit may have died out, and if so I will say no more, but in my time it was the ruin of many a fair young life.
“Now as to your day and its order. First, rise briskly when you are called, and into your cold bath, you young dog![39] No shilly-shally; into it. Don’t splash the water about in a miserable attempt to deceive your scout, but take an Honest British Cold Bath like a man. Soap should never be used save on the hands and neck. As to hot baths, never ask for them in College, it would give great trouble, and it is much better to take one in the Town for a shilling; nothing is more refreshing than a good hot bath in the Winter Term.
“Next you go out and ‘keep’ a Mosque, Synagogue, or Meeting of the Brethren, though if you can agree with the system it is far better to go to your College Chapel; it puts a man right with his superiors and you obey the Apostolic injunction.[40]