The Provostship of Dr. Landon, 1795-1835, witnessed the commencement of that growth of Oxford, of which our own generation has seen so remarkable a development. The opening up of Beaumont St., as to which the College was in treaty with the city in 1820, materially assisted in drawing Worcester within the comity of Colleges.[345] It was still—and for many years to come—unrecognized upon the Proctorial rota. The first Proctor it nominated in its own right held office in 1863. The College could only be approached either by George St. and Stockwell St., or more directly by the narrow alley called Friar’s Entry; and an amusing picture is given of the stately Vice-Chancellor—“Old Glory” was his soubriquet—preceded by his Bedels, with their gold and silver maces, ducking beneath the fluttering household linen suspended across the alley on washing day. This must have been a trying test of the dignified deportment which had distinguished Dr. Landon as host of the Allied Sovereigns, and gained for him—so it is said—from the Prince Regent the Deanery of Exeter.
The College, thus drawn more directly within the influences of University life, began to feel the impulse given to academical resort by times of peace. New rooms were added; sets long vacant were fitted up for occupants. In 1821 three additional sets were constructed “in the space afforded by the old College chapel.” In 1822 it was ordered that all such apartments not at present inhabited, as shall be found capable of accommodating undergraduates, be immediately prepared for their reception. In 1824 the roof of part of the old building was raised, so as to give six additional sets of rooms. Finally in 1844 a new and handsome kitchen was built and seven additional sets constructed.[346]
The most distinguished inmate of the College in Landon’s time was Thomas de Quincey, of whom his old servant on No. 10 staircase—Common Room man till 1865—retained many memories. He lived a somewhat recluse life. He was always buying fresh books, and was sometimes at a loss how to find money for them. In those days men dressed for Hall: and De Quincey having one day parted with his one waistcoat for the purchase of a book went into Hall hiding his loss of clothing as best he could. But concealment was in vain, and he was promptly sconced for the deficiency. De Quincey crowned the peculiarities of his College career by suddenly leaving Oxford before the close of a brilliant examination.
In 1826 another member of the College—Francis William Newman—received the unique distinction of a present of books (now in the College Library) from his mathematical examiners. Bonamy Price, Arnold’s favourite pupil, shed a lustre upon the next generation of undergraduates. Both of them were subsequently Honorary Fellows of the College, and were present at the celebration of its six hundredth anniversary. Dr. Bloxam, a contemporary of the two, preserves some interesting recollections of the customs of the day. The Bachelors who resided for their M.A. Degree used to appear in Hall in full evening dress, breeches and silk stockings. Undergraduates had left off attending dinner in white neckcloths and evening costume. The table on the right was occupied by the gay men of the College, and was called the “Sinners’ Table.” These formed a class by themselves. The table on the left was called the “Smilers’ Table,” who also formed a distinct set between the “Sinners” and the “Saints,” the latter being the more quiet men, who occupied the table nearest the High Table, on the left. The Fellow Commoners, an institution retained at the present day for the convenience of older men resorting to the University, were at that time young men of fortune, who desired an exemption from the stricter discipline of undergraduate life. They dined at the High Table, and were members of the Common Room. But their affinities lay rather with the occupants of the “Sinners’ Table,” and their existence must have been a perpetual difficulty to a sorely-tried Dean. “Bodley” Coxe, a member of the College in those days, subsequently one of its Honorary Fellows, would tell of the formidable muster of “pinks” in Beaumont St. after a champagne breakfast, and of the excuse which satisfied a simple-minded tutor that the delinquent would not offend again during the whole of the summer.
There has been a great change too in the habits of the Seniors. The tutors, as elsewhere, gave their lectures or rather lessons, consisting of translations by the class, with questions and answers, without form or ceremony in their own rooms. After an early dinner they would retire to an uncarpeted Common Room. There after wine long clay pipes were a regular indulgence. An evening walk or other interlude was succeeded by a hot supper at nine, and the evening finished with a rubber. Dr. Cotton in his time was singular in retiring to his rooms after Common Room without joining the whist and supper party. All these customs have dropped away with the barbers and knee-breeches of our fathers. The Latin form of Morning Prayers was abolished by an excess of reforming zeal, and the Statutes of the College are no longer recited in annual conclave. Ordinances have succeeded statutes, and statutes succeeded ordinances. One ancient custom lingers on—the Porter still makes his morning rounds, and hammers upon the door of each staircase with a wooden mallet. This is a Benedictine usage, an echo of the thirteenth century continuing to haunt the old Benedictine walls.
XX.
HERTFORD COLLEGE.[347]
By the Rev. H. Rashdall, M.A., Fellow of Hertford.
Although Hertford is the youngest College of the University, it stands close to the very centre of the University’s most ancient home, on a site which has been the scene of Academical life from the earliest times. What the Oxford Local Board has chosen to call S. Catherine’s Street, has been known from the earliest times onwards as “Catte-Street” (Vicus Murilegorum). Lying just outside School Street, the scene of the Arts lectures, Cat Street was in the twelfth century the especial home of the Writers, Bookbinders, Parchment-makers, and Illuminers, for whose wares the growth of the University had created a demand. In the following century, it was partly occupied by University Halls or Hospices. At least four were comprised within the limits of the present College: Cat Hall, near the present Principal’s Lodgings; Black Hall, at the corner of New College Lane; Hart Hall, and Arthur Hall, the two latter occupying the Library corner of the Quadrangle. Hart Hall eventually swallowed up all its neighbours as well as the ground between them. The history of this process want of space forbids me to trace. I must confine myself to the Hall which has given its name to the present College.