Was unconsciously walking beyond the University church, on a Sunday morning, which (at both Oxford and Cambridge) he would have been expected to attend, when he was met by the Master of St. John’s College, Dr. Wood, who, by way of a mild rebuke, stopped him and asked him, “If the way he was going led to St. Mary’s Church?” “Oh, no, sir,” said he, with most lamb-like innocence, “this is the way,” pointing in the opposite direction. “Keep straight on, you can’t miss it.” The Doctor, however, having fully explained himself, preferred taking him as a guide.
WE MUST DO SOMETHING FOR THE POOR LOST YOUNG MAN.
Lords Stowel and Eldon both studied at Trinity College, Oxford, with success, and, it is well known, there laid the foundation of that fame, which, from the humble rank of the sons of a Newcastle coal-fitter, raised them to the highest legal stations and the English peerage. The former first graduated, and was elected a Fellow and Tutor of All Soul’s College (where he had the late Lord Tenterden for a pupil) and became Camden Professor. The latter afterwards graduated with a success that would have ensured him a fellowship and other University distinctions, but visiting his native place soon after he took A.B. he fell in love with Miss Surtees (the present Lady Eldon) daughter of a then rich banker, in Newcastle, who returned his affection, and they became man and wife. Her family were indignant, and refused to be reconciled to the young pair, because the lady had, as the phrase ran, “married below her station.” Mr. Scott, the father, was as much offended at the step his son had taken, which at once shut him out from the chance of a fellowship, and refused them his countenance. In this dilemma the new married pair sought the friendship of Mr. William Scott (now Lord Stowell) at Oxford. His heart, cast in a softer mould, readily forgave them,—his amiable nature would not have permitted him to do otherwise. He received them with a brotherly affection, pitied rather than condemned them, and is said to have observed to some Oxford friends, “We must do something for the poor lost young man!” What a lesson is there not read to mankind in the result! A harsher course might have led to ruin—the milder one was the stepping-stone to the woolsack and a peerage.
LIKE O’ WHISSONSET CHURCH.
A Cantab visited some friends in the neighbourhood of Whissonset, near Fakenham, Norfolk, during the life of the late rector of that parish, who was then nearly ninety, and but little capable of attending to his duty, but having married a young wife, she would not allow him a curate, but every Sunday drove him from Fakenham to the church. In short he was hen-pecked. His clerk kept the village public-house, and was not over-attentive to his duties. Our Cantab accompanied his friends to church at the usual time, arriving at which they found doors close; neither “Vicar or Moses” had arrived, nor did they appear till half an hour after. Under these circumstances our Cantab threw off the following epigram:
Like o’ Whissonset church
In vain you’ll search,
The Lord be thanked for’t:
The parson is old,
His wife’s a scold,
And the clerk sells beer by the quart.
The people who go
Are but so so,
And but so so are the singers;
They roar in our ears
Like northern bears,
And the devil take the ringers.