18036	----	Transcribed from the 1878 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk UPPINGHAM BY THE SEA. A Narrative of the Year at Borth. BY J. H. S. [Greek text]. London: MACMILLAN AND CO. 1878. [_All Rights reserved_.] CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS. EDUARDO THRING, _SCHOLAE UPPINGHAMIENSIS CONDITORI ALTERI_, _OB CIVES SERVATOS_: ET MAGISTRIS ADJUTORIBUS, QUI, SALUTE COMMUNI IN ULTIMUM ADDUCTA DISCRIMEN, DE RE PUBLICA NON DESPERAVERUNT. PREFACE. In the spring of 1876 and of 1877, letters under the heading "Uppingham by the Sea" were published in _The Times_ newspaper, and were read with interest by friends of the school. We have thought the following narrative would be best introduced to those readers under a name already pleasantly familiar to them, and have borrowed, with the writer's permission, the title of his sketches for our own more detailed account of the same events. The readers whom we have in view will demand no apology for the attempt to supply a circumstantial record of so memorable an episode in the school's history. It deserves indeed an abler historian; but one qualification at any rate may be claimed by the present writer: an eye- witness from first to last, but a minor actor only in the scenes he chronicles, he enjoyed good opportunities of watching the play, and risks no personal modesty in relating what he saw. The best purpose of the narrative will have been served if any Uppingham boy, as he reads these pages, finds in them a new reason for loyalty to the society whose name he bears. JUNE 27TH, 1878, FOUNDER'S DAY. CHAPTER I.--EXILES, OLD AND NEW. "_O what have we ta'en_?" _said the fisher-prince_, "_What have we ta'en this morning's tide_? _Get thee down to the wave_, _my carl_, _And row me the net to the meadow's-side_." _In he waded, the fisher-carl_, _And_ "_Here_," _quoth he_, "_is a wondrous thing_! _A cradle_, _prince_, _and a fair man-child_, _Goodly to see as the son of a king_!" _The fisher-prince he caught the word_, _And_ "_Hail_," _he cried_, "_to the king to be_! _Stranger he comes from the storm and the night_; _But his fame shall wax, and his name be bright_, _While the hills look down on the Cymry sea_." FINDING OF TALIESIN. Elphin, son of Gwyddno, the prince who ruled the coasts between the Dovey and the Ystwith, came down on a May-day morning to his father's fishing- weir. All that was taken that morning was to be Elphin's, had Gwyddno said. Not a fish was taken that day; and Elphin, who was ever a luckless youth, would have gone home empty-handed, but that one of his men found, entangled in the poles of the weir, a coracle, and a fair child in it. This was none other than he who was to be the father of Cymry minstrelsy, and whom then and there his rescuers named Taliesin, which means Radiant Brow. His mother, Ceridwen, seeking to be rid of her infant, but loath to have the child's blood on her head, had launched him in this sea proof cradle, to take the chance of wind and wave. The spot where he came to land bears at this day the name of Taliesin. On the hill-top above it men show the grave where the bard reposes and "glories in his namesake shore." * * * * * There is something magnetic in a famous site: it attracts again a like history to the old stage. Thirteen centuries and a half after the finding of Taliesin, the same shore became once again an asylum for other outcasts, whose fortunes we propose to chronicle. But since the day when they drifted to land the cradle of the bard, the waves have ebbed away from Gwyddno's weir, and left a broad stretch of marsh and meadow between it and the present coast, where stands the fishing village of Borth. The village fringes the sea-line with half a mile of straggling cottages; but the eye is caught at once by a massive building of white stone, standing at the head of the long street, and forming a landmark in the plain. This building is the Cambrian Hotel, reared on a scale that would suggest the neighbourhood of a populous health-resort. But the melancholy silence which haunts its doors is rarely broken, between season and season, by the presence of guests, unless it be some chance sportsman in quest of marsh-fowl, or a land-agent in quest of rents. When, therefore, on the 15th of March, 1876, a party of four visitors--the Rev. Edward Thring, Headmaster of Uppingham School, one of the Trustees of the school, and two of the masters--were seen mounting the steps of the porch, it was a sight to make the villagers wonder by what chance so many guests came to knock at the door in that dead season. Had the wind blown them hither? It blew a hurricane that day on the bleak coasts of Cardigan Bay; but it was a shrewder storm yet which had swept this windfall to the doors of Borth. The story must be briefly told. On November 2nd, 1875, Uppingham School was dispersed on account of a fever which had attacked both town and school, not without fatal casualties. On January 28th, 1876, the school met again. In the interval the school-houses had been put in complete sanitary order, and though the efforts made to amend the general drainage of the town had been only on a small and tentative scale, it was thought that the school, if secure on its own premises, might safely be recalled, in spite of remaining deficiencies outside those limits. But, _tua res agitur_--the term began with three weeks of watchful quiet, and then the blow fell again. A boy sickened of the same fever; then, after an interval of suspense, two or three fresh cases made it clear that this was no accident. An inspection of the town drainage, ordered by the authorities, revealed certain permanent sources of danger. It was clear that the interests of school and town, in matters of hygiene as in others, were not separable; perhaps the best fruit of the sequel has been the mutual conviction that those interests are one. Meanwhile the new illustration of this connection of interests had a formidable significance for the Uppingham masters. Men looked at one another as those do who do not like to give a name to their fears. For what could be done? The school could not be dismissed again. How many would return to a site twice declared untenable? But neither could it be kept on the spot: for there came in unmistakable evidence that, in that case, the school would dissolve itself, and that, perhaps, irrevocably, through the withdrawal of its scholars by their parents from the dreaded neighbourhood. Already the trickling had begun; something must be done before the banks broke, and the results and hopes of more than twenty long working years were poured out to waste. When the crisis was perceived, a project which had been already the unspoken thought in responsible quarters, but which would have sounded like a counsel of despair had the situation been less acute, was suddenly started in common talk and warmly entertained. Why should we not anticipate calamity by flight? Before the school melted away, and left us teaching empty benches, why should we not flit, master and scholar together, and preserve the school abroad for a securer future afterwards at home? In a space of time to be measured rather by hours than days, this project passed through the stages of conception, discussion, and resolve, to the first step in its execution. On Tuesday, March 7th, a notice was issued to parents and guardians that the school would break up that day week for a premature Easter holiday, and at the end of the usual three weeks reassemble in some other locality, of which nothing could as yet be specified except that it was to be healthier than that we were leaving. The proposed experiment--to transport a large public school from its native seat and all its appliances and plant to a strange site of which not even the name was yet known, except as one of several possible spots, and to do this at a few days' notice--was no doubt a novel one. But the resolve, if rapidly formed and daring, was none the less deliberate and sane. Its authors must not be charged either with panic or a passion for adventure. All the data of a judgment were in view, and delay could add no new fact, except one which would make any decision nugatory because too late. It was wisdom in those with whom lay the cast of the die, to take their determination while a school remained for which they could determine anything. It was a sharp remedy, however. For on the morrow of this resolve the owners of so many good houses, fields, and gardens, all the outward and visible of Uppingham School, became, for a term without assignable limit, landless and homeless men, and the Headmaster almost as much disburdened of his titular realm as if he were a bishop _in partibus_ or the chief of a nomad caravan. It was a sharp remedy; but those who submitted to it breathed the freer at having broken prison, and felt something, not indeed of the recklessness which inspires adventure, but of the elation which sustains it: Why now, blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark; The storm is up, and all is on the hazard! There was cited at this time a somewhat similar event in the history of Rugby School. Dr. Arnold, in a like emergency, had removed the school, or all who chose to go, in numerous detachments under the care severally of himself and others of his masters to various distant spots, among others his own house in the Lake country, where they spent some two months, and returned to Rugby when the danger was over. It was felt, however, that this incident furnished no real precedent for the present venture. What we were proposing was not to arrange a number of independent reading-parties in scattered country retreats. Such a plan would hardly have been practicable with a system in which, as in our case, the division of the school for teaching purposes has no reference to the division into boarding-houses. It was proposed to pluck up the school by the roots and transplant it bodily to strange soil; to take with us the entire body of masters, with, probably, their families, and every boy who was ready to follow; to provide teaching for the latter, not only without loss in the amount, but without interruption of the existing system in any branch; and to guarantee the supply of everything necessary for the corporate life of three hundred boys, who had to be housed, fed, taught, disciplined, and (not the easiest of tasks) amused, on a single spot, and one as bare of all the wonted appliances of public school life as that yet uncertain place was like to prove, of which the recommendation for our residence would be that no one else cared to reside there. CHAPTER II.--A CHARTER OF SETTLEMENT. _Habet populus Romanus ad quos gubernacula rei publicae deferat_: _qui ubicunque terrarum sunt_, _ibi omne est rei publicae praesidium_, _vel potius ipsa res publica_. CICERO. HAMLET. _Is not parchment made of sheep-skins_? HORATIO. _Ay_, _my lord, and of calf-skins too_. HAMLET. _They are sheep and calves which seek out assurance in that_. SHAKESPEARE. The Trustees of the School met at Uppingham on March 11th. This was the earliest opportunity of consulting them collectively on the resolution to break up the school and to migrate, which had been taken on the 7th. They sanctioned the breaking up of the school. On the question of its removal elsewhere they recorded no opinion. Meanwhile a reconnaissance was being made by one of our body, who was despatched to visit, as in a private capacity, Borth, and two or three other spots on the Welsh coasts, while inquiries were also made in other directions. On Monday, 13th, the Headmaster left Uppingham for a visit to the sites which promised most favourably. A deep snow on the ground made the departure from home seem the more cheerless, but it had melted from the Welsh hills before we reached them. On Tuesday, the party--which now consisted of the Headmaster, two of the staff, and one of the Trustees (whose services on this occasion, and many others arising out of it, we find it easier to remember than to acknowledge as they deserve)--stayed a night at the inland watering-place of Llandrindod, one of the suggested sites. The bleak moors round it were uninviting enough that squally March day. But the question of settling here was dismissed at once; there was not sufficient house-room in the place. So next morning we bore down upon Borth. The first sight of the place seemed to yield us assurance of having reached our goal. The hotel is a long oblong building with two slight retiring wings, beyond which extends a square walled enclosure of what was then green turf; Cambrian Terrace overlooks the enclosure at right angles to the hotel, the whole reminding us remotely of a college quadrangle. On entering the hotel, the eye seized on the straight roomy corridors which traverse it, and the wide solid staircase, as features of high strategic importance. A tour of the rooms was made at once, and an exact estimate taken of the possible number of beds. Besides two other members of the staff, who joined the pioneers at Borth, the school medical officer had come down to meet us, and reported on what lay within his province. Meanwhile two of the party were conducted by mine host to explore a "cricket-ground" close to the hotel, or at least a plot of ground to which adhered a fading tradition of a match between two local elevens. The "pitch" was conjecturally identified among some rough hillocks, over the sandy turf of which swept a wild northwester, "shrill, chill, with flakes of foam," and now and then a driving hailstorm across the shelterless plain. So little hospitable was our welcome to a home from which we were sometime to part not without regretful memories. Next day, March 16th, a contract was signed, which gave us the tenancy of the hotel till July 21st, with power to renew the contract at will for a further term after the summer holidays. Our landlord, Mr. C. Mytton, was to provide board (according to a specified dietary) and bed (at least bed- room) for all who could be lodged in his walls, and board (with light and firing) for the whole party; to supply the service for the kitchen, and to undertake the laundry. Servants for attendance on the boys were to be brought by the masters. The payment was to be 1 pound a head per week for all who were lodged and boarded, or boarded only, in the hotel. For washing, and one or two other matters, an extra charge was admitted. We have only to add that the bargain was one with which both parties, under their respective circumstances, had reason to be satisfied; and that the arrangement worked not more stiffly than could be expected where the large margin of the unforeseen left so much to subsequent interpretation. Even Dido and Hiarbas were not agreed about the precise width of a bull's- hide. We do not, however, wish it to be inferred from this classical parallel, that our settlers claim to have rivalled the adroitness of the Punic queen in her dealings with the barbarian prince: [Greek text] {12} CHAPTER III.--TRANSFORMATIONS. _Your snail is your only right house-builder_; _for he builds his house out of the stuff of his own vitals_, _and therefore wherever he travel he carries his own roof above him_. _But I have known men_, _spacious in the possession of bricks and mortar_, _who have not so much made their houses as their houses have made them_. _Turn such an one out of his home_, _and he is a bare_ "_O without a figure_," _counting for nothing in the sum of things_. _He only is truly himself who has nature in him_, _when the old shell is cracked_, _to build up a new one about him out of the pith and substance of himself_. Ten days after the reconnaissance described in the last chapter, the pioneers of the school were again upon the ground. On Monday, March 27th, a goods train of eighteen trucks, chartered by the Uppingham masters, was unloading three hundred bedsteads, with their bedding, on Borth platform. These were to be distributed among the quarters of their respective owners, in some dozen different houses, which we had engaged in addition to the hotel. The workmen were mostly Welshmen, anxious to be doing, but understanding imperfectly the speech of their employers. With the eagerness of their temperament, they went at the trucks, and Babel began. Amid a confused roar of contradictory exhortations, with energetic gesture, and faces full of animation and fire, they were hauling away, to any and every place, the ton-loads of mattresses, and the fragments of unnumbered bedsteads. It was time for the owners to interpose; and those of the school party who were present, knowing that time was very precious, and that example is better than precept, especially precept in a foreign language, put their own hands to the work, the Headmaster being foremost, and earned a labouring man's wage at unloading the trucks and carrying the goods to their billets. Some of our new acquaintances watched the scene with a shocked surprise that authorities should share in the manual labour, instead of looking on and paying for it. But their feelings at last determined to admiration. "Why, sirs," they exclaimed, "you get it done as if you were used to move every three weeks." But, in fact, there was so much to be done, and so few days to do it in, that the exigencies of the work spared neither age, sex, nor degree of our party. None were exempt, and those who were not employed in porterage and rough carpentry might be found shifting furniture, or stitching curtains, or jointing together bedsteads. Meanwhile, workmen in and round the hotel were as busy as stage-carpenters preparing a transformation scene. First, by the elimination of carpets and furniture, the interior was reduced to a _tabula rasa_. Then, in the somewhat weather-beaten top story, plastering and surface-washing went briskly on. Our hosts assured us no hands could be found for this work, but the Headmaster made a descent upon Aberystwith and returned with the required number. A contractor was fitting the large coffee-rooms, the billiard-room and others, and the ground-floor corridor from end to end, with long narrow tables--plain deal boards on wooden trestles--for the accommodation of three hundred diners. Outside, the stables were converted into the school carpentery, and the coach-house into a gymnasium. Above all, a wooden school-room, eighty-three feet by twenty, had been designed, and its site marked out on the north side of the enclosure behind the hotel. Then there was the care of providing supplementary house-room for many purposes: rooms for music practice, and for the boys' studies (of which we shall have more to say), and for hospital uses. Ordinary "sick-room" accommodation was soon obtained by paying for it, but a fever hospital was also a requirement which, with our experiences, we were not likely to forget, and this was less easy to secure. We had to scour the neighbourhood, knocking at the door of many a farmhouse and country homestead, before we were provided. The house-room being secured, came the labour of furnishing; the distribution of tables, benches, bookshelves, &c, for the class-rooms, and of furniture (in many cases a minimum) for the needs of masters and their families; the ticketing of the bed-room doors, the beds, the chests of drawers, and each drawer in them, with the name of the occupant--with many like minutiae, which it took longer to provide than it does to detail them. The task was not rendered easier by being shared in part with our hosts, who had hardly taken the measure of our requirements. It became necessary at the last moment to telegraph to the Potteries for a large consignment of bed-room ware, which, in spite of protestations, had been laid in only in half quantities. The world of school has marched forward since the days when three or four basins sufficed for the toilet of a dozen boys. While the elementary needs of the colony were being attended to, its more advanced wants were not neglected. There were those whom the anxiety of providing for the school amusements, and in particular its cricket, suffered not to sleep. We believe that the first piece of school property which arrived on the scene was the big roller from the cricket- field. Resolved to gather no moss in inglorious ease at home, it had mounted a North-Western truck, and travelled down to Bow Street station, where it was to disembark for action. It cost the Company's servants a long struggle to land it, but once again on terra firma it worked with a will and achieved wonders, reducing a piece of raw meadow land in a few weeks' space to a cricket-field which left little to be desired. This meadow lay within a few hundred yards of Bow Street station, four miles by rail from Borth. It is the property of Sir Pryse Pryse, of Gogerddan, who gave the school the use of it at a peppercorn rent. This was but one of the many acts of unreserved generosity shown by this gentleman to the school. It is not often that the opportunity offers of winning so much and such hearty gratitude as our neighbour of Gogerddan has won by his prompt liberality; still less often is the opportunity occupied with such thoughtful and ungrudging kindness. We had help in the same kind from the Bishop of St. David's, who put at our service a field close to the hotel; a rather wild one, but in which little plots and patches for a practising wicket were discovered by our experts. The firm sands to the north were reported to yield an excellent "wicket;" with the serious deduction, however, that the pitch was worn out and needed to be changed every half-dozen balls. Among such cares the week rolled away only too speedily, and brought the day of the school's arrival upon us. If we have failed, as we have, to convey a true impression of the serious labour and anxieties which crowded its hours, we will quote the summary of a writer who described it at the time, and knew what he was describing: "It was like shaking the alphabet in a bag, and bringing out the letters into words and sentences; such was the sense of absolute confusion turned into intelligent shape." {19} CHAPTER IV. _Gesta ducis celebro_, _Rutulis qui primus ab oris_ _Cambriae_, _odoratu profugus_, _Borthonia venit_ _Litora_; _multum ille et sanis vexatus et aegris_, _Vi Superum_, _quibus haud curae gravis aura mephitis_: _Multa quoque et loculo passus_, _dum conderet urbem_ _Inferretque deos Cymris_. AN EPIC FRAGMENT. [Greek text]. The careful general who has completed his disposition without one discoverable flaw, who has foreseen all emergencies, and anticipated every possible combination, may await the action with a certain moral confidence of success. But he would be a man of no human fibre, were he not to feel some disquiet in his inmost soul when he gets upon horseback with his enemy in sight, and listens for the boom of the first gun. Not very different, except for the absence of a like confidence in the completeness of their dispositions, were the emotions of the masters who manned the platform of Borth Station, when the gray afternoon of Tuesday, April 4th, drew sombrely towards its close. The station was crowded with spectators from Aberystwith and Borth itself, curious to watch the entry of the boys. Expectation was stimulated by the arrival of a train, which set all the crowd on tip-toe, and then swept through the station--a mere goods train. Half an hour's longer waiting, and the right train drew up, and discharged Uppingham School on the remote Welsh platform. It struck a spark of home feeling in the midst of the lonely landscape, and the chill of strange surroundings, to see well-known faces at the windows, and to meet the grasp of familiar hands. But there was no time for sentiment that stirring evening. The station was cleared with all speed of boys and spectators, the former turning in to tea at those endless tables, the latter strolling away to carry home their first impressions of their invaders. Then one group of masters and servants set to work to sort the luggage which cumbered the platform, while others received it at the hotel door, and distributed it to the various billets. Light was scant, hands were not too numerous, and the work was not done without some confusion. But it was done; and the tired workers went to their beds, thankful for what was finished, and full of good hopes for the work which was yet to be begun. And the boys--how did they feel? As they stepped out from the railway carriage into those bare, vasty corridors and curtainless dormitories, did some little sense of desolateness in the new prospect temper its excitement? Did some homesickness arise in the exile as he pondered on the retirement and comfort of the "house" at Uppingham, and his individual ownership of the separate cubicle, and the study which was "his castle?" He was a unit now, not of a household, but of a camp. Small blame to him if life seemed to have lost its landmarks, and things round him to be "all nohow," as he sat down in some bare hall upon a schoolfellow's book-box (wondering whether he should ever see his own), to while away with a story-book the listless interval before bed-time, under the niggard light of a smoking lamp, or a candle flickering in the draught. What exactly he felt or thought, however, we do not pretend to know. We only know that there was not one of them but felt proud to be out campaigning with his school, and would have counted "ten years of peaceful life" not more than worth his share in that honourable venture. There was no work for them next morning (their masters were busy enough providing for the physical needs of the colony), and they were free to explore their new country, to ramble up the headlands or along the margin of the marsh. The arrivals of last night were but the first instalment of the school, about half the number. The same train brought in a new freight this evening, and the scene on the platform was similar, but more tranquil. By a special train after midnight came in a few more from the most distant homes, and the muster was complete. The number, two hundred and ninety, fell but slightly below the full complement of the school. Putting out of account the names of those who would in any case have left the school that Easter, no more than three, we believe, failed to follow us down to Borth. So unanimous an adhesion of the school to its leaders no one had been sanguine enough to reckon on. It increased no doubt at the moment the difficulties of making provision, but withal it made the task better worth the effort. Next morning the school was called together, and the Headmaster addressed them, feeling, perhaps, somewhat like a general publishing a manifesto to his troops before a campaign. It was a great experiment, he said, in which they were sharing; let them do their best to make the result a happy one for themselves, and for the people among whom they had come. They were "making history," for this experience was a wholly new one, which might not impossibly prove helpful some day to others in like circumstances. It is pleasant to record that the appeal was not wasted. At the dinner-hour to-day, the full numbers being now on the spot, the resources of the commissariat were put to the test. Some anxiety was relieved when the supply proved sufficient; it would have been small cause for reproach if the caterers had failed in their estimate on the first experiment. But of the commissariat we shall say more presently. The secondary necessities of life, fire and light, were not forthcoming with quite the same promptness. There was a twilight period in many houses before lamps were furnished in sufficient abundance. The place of fuel was supplied by the genial weather of the first week; and perhaps few were aware of what we were doing without. Next week the east winds and the coal arrived together. The hotel laundry found the task it had undertaken beyond its strength. No wonder. Three hundred sets of _articles de linge_ reach a figure of which our hosts had hardly grasped the significance. We are sometimes told that Gaels and Cymry cannot count. At any rate, when the bales of linen came pouring in upon them, heaping every table and piling all the floor, and still flowing in faster than room could be found, the laundresses, brave workers though they were, felt that the game was lost: They stand in pause where they should first begin, And all neglect. One poor nymph was discovered by a compassionate visitor dissolved in tears over her wash-tub. Such misery could not be permitted; and we transferred half the task at once to the laundries of Aberystwith. On the afternoon of this day took place the distribution of "studies." That is to say, some sixty or eighty boys (a number more than doubled afterwards), in order to relieve the pressure on our sitting-rooms, were billeted upon some of the village people, who let their rooms for the purpose. From two to six boys were assigned to each room according to its capacity. We shall speak again of these studies. Here we will only pause to thank our good landladies for the intrepidity with which they threw their doors open to the invasion, the more so as they mostly claimed to belong to the category of "poor widows"--a qualification upon which they were disposed to set a price in arranging their charges. Their daring proved no indiscretion. The writer, who has the honour of knowing them all, was the depositary of many and emphatic testimonies on their part to the cordial relations between them and "the children." This endearing term was exchanged for another by one good old lady, who appealed to him against the "very wicked boys," whom she charged with having "foolished" her. The complication traced to ignorance of one another's speech (the boys spoke no Welsh, and she would have done more wisely to speak no English), and a _modus vivendi_ was easily restored. Poor soul! she took a pathetic farewell of them when their sojourn ended: "They must forgive her for having a quick temper; she had had much trouble; her husband and four sons had gone down at sea." On Friday came a piece of cheering news. Some sympathisers were intending to appeal to parents of boys in the school for subscriptions to a fund, which should help to defray the expense incurred by the masters in moving and resettling the school. The appeal met with a liberal response in many quarters; a large sum was raised, though from a number of subscribers smaller than the promoters of the fund expected. Men, who were feeling the double pressure at once of keen and novel cares, and of an outlay already large, which no one could see to the end of, will not forget that well-timed succour. Not least will it be remembered as a "material guarantee" that the subscribers believed the cause they aided to be worth a costly effort to save. The week closed with an old scene on a new stage--a football match on Sir Pryse's field at Bow Street. It was the last of the house-matches, which had been interrupted at Uppingham to be played out here. The sight of the school swarming into the railway carriages, which carried us to the four-mile-distant ground, and then the mimic war of the red and white jerseys contrasting the gray Gogerddan woodlands which overhang the meadow, and the shouts of the English boys blending with the excited but unintelligible cries of the Welsh rustic children, who were rapt spectators of the game, brought home to us the piquant contrast between our unchanged school habits and the novelty of their framework. The weather of this first week was dry and genial; and it had no pleasanter moments than those spent on the beach at sunset, whither the school flocked down after tea for half an hour's leisure in the after- glow. There is plenty of amusement for them on this broad reach of sand and shingle. Some are groping for shells or for pebbles, which the lapidary will transform for a trifle into dazzling jewels; others are playing ducks and drakes on the waves, or entertaining themselves like Prospero's elves, That on the sands, with printless feet, Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him When he comes back again. More pensive spirits saunter up and down the grassy terrace which overlooks the beach, and watch the shifting line of dark figures seen against the white wall of the breaker, or note the fugitive tints on the dimpling surface of the water, or the wet margin of the tide. A group of villagers is clustered round the water-fountain a few yards away; the children chatter about us as they fill their pitchers; and the old women, creeping homewards, cast a glance under their bonnets at the boys, and exchange muttered comments with their gossips. Soon the cliffs of the southern headland grow duskier and more remote; the sea fades to a cold uniform gray; the colours of the brown twilight marsh and the violet hills are lost in one another; and so, with a refreshing breath of idyllic peacefulness, the stirring week came to an end. "Its evening closed on a quiet scene of school routine, as if doubt and risk, turmoil and confusion and fear, weary head and weary hand, had not been known in the place. The wrestling-match against time was over, and happy dreams came down on Uppingham by the Sea." CHAPTER V.--THE NEW COUNTRY. _All places that the eye of Heaven visits_, _Are to a wise man ports and happy havens_. RICHARD II. The primitive man, after he has satisfied the claims of appetite, stitched his skin-mantle, and thatched a hut, may begin to spare time for reflection on the quality and flavour of the prey he has eaten, or the picturesqueness of his cabin. Till then his estimate of things is quantitative. He asks not of what sort his food is, but whether there is enough of it, and regards less the cut of his coat than its thickness. The analogy of our circumstances must be our excuse for postponing so long a description of our new settlement, its physical surroundings, and the complexion of our domestic and social life. Not in truth that we had returned to barbarism: but who could dilate on the beauty of mountain scenery, in sight of which he was perhaps to starve; who would criticise the pattern of his dinner-service, or be fastidious in carpets and wall- paper, before he could reckon upon dinner, or call shelter his own? But a week is over, and we have all settled into our berths. The boys have found that there will be dinner every day; the masters that no one will have to pitch his tent on a sand-dune, or spread a straw litter in a bathing-machine. The level of comfort was, of course, not uniform. How should it be? Probably there is a choice of corners in a workhouse or casual-ward. Some of our party tasted the painful pleasures of the poor in the scant accommodation and naked simplicity of cottage lodgings. It was long after our arrival that we discovered a valued friend still sitting on the corner of his packing-case, and brewing his coffee on a washhand-stand. The fire smoked all day; but this vice in the apartment was neutralised by a broken window. Yet he should be quite happy, he said, if he could get a glazier _and_ a sweep (like smoke and draught, one would not do without the other), a bolster, an occasional clean towel, and a little warm water in the morning. Those who had brought a family with them into camp were more seriously troubled with the cares of providing quarters, and pondered regretfully on the peace and roominess of home. Still as we are leaving no one houseless or dinnerless, we may turn aside to describe at more leisure the place we lived in and the manner of our life. The stage on which our little history was enacted is a maritime plain of irregular semicircular shape, with a sea-front of five miles, and a depth inland of from two to three miles. This plain, a dead level stretch of peat, of which part is coming under cultivation, while part is still marsh, is surrounded by a ring of hills, which rise in successive well- defined ranges of increasing height, till they culminate in the summits of Cader Idris on one side and Plinlimmon on the other. The River Dovey, which cleaves the circle of mountains, flows in a broad estuary along the base of the northward hills, under which, at the mouths of the estuary, lies the little port of Aberdovey. At the other end of the arc formed by the coastline, close under the slopes of the promontory which closes the plain at its north-west corner, stands the village of Borth, three-quarters of a mile of straggling dwellings, which vary in scale and character from the primitive mud-cabin of the squatter to the stately hotel which formed the headquarters of the school. The little town is irregular even to quaintness, without being picturesque. Its houses are not grouped according to size and character, but dropped as it were anyhow, in chance collocations, tall and low, thatched and slated together. Two or three gigantesque meeting-houses, featureless and sombre, domineer over the roofs around them. One or two others of a less puritan design, and not out of character with the church on a knoll a furlong off, compensate their severer rivals. The shape of the village is determined by the narrow ridge of terra firma, the mere heaping of the tides, between the quaking marsh and the encroaching sea. The nidus of the present settlement is the tiny hamlet of Old Borth, perched on a spur of the promontory, and well out of reach of flood tides. We are not sure that the mother may not outlive her colony, unless substantial measures are taken to guard against another 30th of January. Near Old Borth, through a gap in the hills, comes the River Lery, a trout-stream known to our anglers, thanks again to Sir Pryse who owns it. It races bubbling round the furze-clad knoll, whose Welsh name is translated Otter's Island, on which stands the church, and then is silenced in a blank straight-cut channel, which conveys it through the marsh into the estuary at Ynyslas. Up the gorge of the Lery runs the railway, which carried us so often past the massive church and steep pine-grown graveyard of Langfihangel-geneur-glyn, and across the broad meadows of Bow Street, to the civilisation of Aberystwith. For Aberystwith was our Capua, and used to draw large parties on many a blank afternoon for marketing or amusement. Then there was the beach, four miles of it, from the rocks of Borth Head, where the waves could be watched breaking on the seaweed-covered reef, and sending up columns of white spray against the black face of the cliffs, away to the yellow sand dunes near the Dovey's mouth, and the reaches of wet sands where we noted on summer days "the landscape winking through the heat," almost with the effect of a mirage. These sands, firm and sound under foot, were a famous walking-ground at all times; but they changed their character very much with the seasons; at one time retreating and laying bare a beach of shingle under the pebble ridge; at another, swinging back to cover them up again. In the former state of the shore a suggestive phenomenon might be observed. At low-water mark there appeared certain dark shapeless lumps, which might be taken for rocks at a distance, but were in fact the roots and stumps of a submerged pine-forest. Remains of the same forest are found in the marsh. Wood can be cut from the buried trunks, looking as fresh in fibre as if the tree still grew. Here is the verification of the legend (or is it, perhaps, the suggestion of it?) which records the fate of the Lost Lowland Hundred. Once on a time (the Cymric bards answer for it), a flourishing tract of country stretched at the foot of the hills which are now washed by the tides of Cardigan Bay. The fishermen of Borth, as they creep past the headlands in their fishing-smacks, have seen deep down in the clear waters, the firmly-cemented stones of a causeway, which must once have traversed the plain, and the line of which may be not indistinctly descried stretching far out to seaward from the mouth of a little combe. It is true that geologists whom we have consulted ridicule the fancy of masonry offering such resistance to the tides, and explain it away as a pebble-ridge built up by the action of currents. And perhaps we might mention in this connection, that one of our party, on the first view, was half persuaded he had seen a sea-serpent. Well, this prosperous country, defended against the sea by embankments, was during the heroic age of Wales laid under water by the opening of the sluices in a drunken frolic. A fragment of it, the marsh between the pebble-ridge of Borth and the hills, would seem to have been recovered; but it enjoys a precarious safety, and even within our experience the sea gave a meaning threat of claiming his own again. But that is a story which must be told in its own place. Such then were the geographical details of the spot in which we had settled, and they made up a landscape, which, if it can be more than rivalled in other parts of the Principality, has yet a characteristic and impressive beauty. The following extract may serve, for lack of a better rendering, to describe how the scene looked to the eyes of someone who watched it on a June afternoon from the grassy slopes of Borth Head: My eyes run on with the tide which drifts inland up the estuary, and, farther than vision can really follow, track the march of its glancing ripples, as they swim on past shoal and sand-dune and morass up to the dewy gates of the Spring, in among green-clad river meadows and crisp close-skirted woodlands which the salt breath of sea-winds restrains from a richer luxuriance, on past springing knolls plumed with dark firs, and dimpling valleys mellow with the contrasted gold of the oak's young leafage. Above these, hills moulded on a grander scale heave up their broad shoulders to the sunlight, which is reflected in pale but tender hues of blue or violet or rose from their bare rock masses, or the slopes hardly less bare, which are swept by great winds, and browsed yet closer by climbing mountain sheep. At this and the other point the bosses of the hills are lighted with the sparkle of gorse-thickets, or dusky with heather not yet kindled into bloom. Lower down there are belts of woodland, fencing off the pastures which strew the lowest terraces of the mountains from the barren wastes above them, and these pastures are brightly flecked with patches of white-walled homesteads down to the brown edge of the marsh. And so, ridge after ridge, the hills enclose the scene in a half-circle, of which this breezy headland, our "specular mount," is an extreme horn. But what the eye reposes on at last is the broad floor of marsh-land between mountain and sea. A broad smooth floor, which would be vacant and dull enough had not Nature taken thought to drape its formlessness the more lovingly and richly. She has unrolled on it a carpet of various and solemn-tinted stuffs, where pale breadths of rusted bents sometimes mellow into strips of verdurous pasture, sometimes deepen into belts of embrowned peat-beds, sometimes take a yellower barrenness in parched flats, still briny and unreclaimed, and shaggy with bristling reeds. It is a wilderness, but not unrelieved with here and there an oasis, where, like islands left high and dry in a deserted ocean bed, one and another rocky knoll lift up above the waste flats around them some acres of sweet grass, or a broad field of flowering mustard, shining with a splendour as of cloth of gold, and fringed with a loop or two of silver braid by the river winding at the base. There is animate life, too, sprinkled not stintedly over its surface, not only of visitant sea-fowl from the shore, or solitude- loving creatures native to the place--plover and duck and long-winged herons, but also of cattle and horses grazing on the cultivated edges of the marsh, which make us look for the homes of their human masters at no great distance. Why there they are, lying overlooked at our feet all the while, a straggle of lowly white-roofed dwellings clinging to the long pebble ridge like barnacles on a rock, breathing a thin smoke from their scattered chimneys, whence the blessed smell of peat-fires is wafted through the dry air to our nostrils. But one great house I notice with a crowd about its door-steps, and a flag waving over them a device I have somewhere seen before, where the kitchen chimney smokes with a most hospitable volume; guests must be plenty there. Yes; and if further signs of life be needed, you may listen to the puff of a farmer's steam-engine planted in the swamp, and see the glitter of the steel ropes, with which it draws its ploughshares, resistless as fate, through the oozy fallows. Well, if it is come to this, the farmers and their engines will soon civilise away the beauty of this romantic wild. But shall we complain? If they have begun to drain these intractable marshes, then there is a chance for other places, where the interest on the cost of drainage will be less problematical than here. CHAPTER VI.--MAKESHIFTS. [Greek text]. From our chapter on the geographical features of our settlement we pass on to describe how the settlers were housed and organised. If a school be an institution for teaching purposes, its school-room and class-rooms should be the most essential portion of its plant. Without discussing the adequacy of the definition, we will begin with these. We were not ill provided; with an exception or two, the rooms appropriated for class-rooms answered the purpose well. Some of them were spacious; the rest were large enough for the wants of the classes, limited to an average of twenty. Nor would a Government Inspector have justly measured this adequacy by the "cubic capacity," if he failed to take into account the exhilarating five minutes' breathing time upon the beach, at eleven o'clock. There was a rare pleasure in those moments of escape from Greek verbs to the sparkle of the tide and the scent of the sea breeze. What Germans call the "real" subjects, were also provided for. The modern languages were taught mostly in the class-rooms of the classical masters. Music took up her quarters in several scattered dwellings. Wales is the home of song, and our musicians were very welcome to make the cottage walls resound to violin or key-board. We remember well the affectionate reverence with which one aged custodian spoke of the "pianass" she was proud to house; she cherished them as if they had been tame elephants. Several concerts were given during our stay--but in the Assembly Rooms of Aberystwith; our wooden school-room was found, on the first experiment, unfit for the purpose, from the want of resonance. The makeshift gymnasium and carpentery, in the stables and coach-house, have been mentioned before. If among "real studies" we may include the cricket, this was, as we saw, well cared for; while the instructor in swimming had nothing to complain of, with four miles of good beach, and the Irish Channel before him. If the accommodation during school hours was adequate, it was less easy to find elbow-room for the boys at other times. It was well enough from May to August under the ample roof of blue summer weather; but in the rainy season (and at Borth, as elsewhere, that winter was a wet one) we should have been sorely cramped but for relief afforded by the "studies" noticed in a previous chapter. It is time we should describe them. Studies they were not, in the sense in which the word is understood at Uppingham, where a school law declares that "a boy's study is his castle," and confers upon him what Aristotle calls the "unspeakable" delight of the "sense of private property." At Borth this could not be. In very rare cases was a room the one and indivisible belonging of a single owner; often as many as six shared the table and fireplace. Some of these tenements had at least the less solid merit of looking picturesque. Peeping into a Welsh interior, with its stone kitchen-floor, polished wainscoting, and oak furniture, its walls hung with German prints of imaginative battle-pieces and Nonconforming worthies, and its kitchen-dresser with ranks of ancestral crockery, vivid in light and colour, which catches the eyes first of all things through the open door, "This," one was tempted to cry, "were the study for me! Here would I sit in the shelter of the wooden screen which keeps away draughts and noisy company, and turn the pages of my Livy for the tale of Cincinnatus, and deeds of rustic heroes; or hear old Horace descant on the gracious simplicity of life among the Sabines." The boys thought quite otherwise. The kitchen was generally the last room to be chosen. Perhaps the idyllic attractions did not balance the drawback of living in the thoroughfare of the house. Nor could one fail to sympathise with those who preferred the garret, a poor thing but their own, in which two studious souls could hob-nob, or even the austere whitewash, narrow skylight, and niggard dimensions of some monastic cell, which held just the one student, his table, and his books. The editor of the School Magazine, writing a month after our arrival, finds it "a queer new feeling to do the old work in a strange place, to miss the accustomed pictures on the walls, the accustomed column of books rising on either hand--even the familiar table-cloth and carpet, and to sit instead inside the framework of a six-foot bed, with roof and walls forming the queerest possible combinations of lines and angles, and hung with three different patterns of paper." To woo the muses in a garret is the common fate of genius; but most of the "students" (for so their landladies, misled by a name, called the occupants of a study) were better off than this literary gentleman. When fires came to be lighted in the winter, there was a cheerful domesticity in the sight of the red coals, which is unknown to the solitude of Uppingham studies, with their hot-water pipe that warms but not exhilarates. In particular, one cheery well-furnished parlour, where a blazing hearth threw its light over the well-worn bindings of a select library brought with us from the Sixth-Form-room, and on the well- contented faces of its two custodians, burns as a bright spot in our memory of those winter days. Thus we managed things even better than if we had listened to another ingenious writer, with whose proposal we will close this topic. It was this: "Let two hundred bathing-machines be brought together from Llandudno and other watering-places within reach, and ranged along the beach. Let one machine be assigned to each boy, and let them be filled up with book-shelves, table, chairs, &c. Thus the whole difficulty will be solved in a moment. And the plan has this further advantage, that when the time comes for returning to Uppingham, the bathing-machines would be simply formed in line, and driven across the country to Rutlandshire, and all further trouble in the way of furniture-vans and families-removing be cut away at one stroke." CHAPTER VII.--THE COMMISSARIAT. _To feed were best at home_. MACBETH. [Greek verse] ILIAD IX. PRINCE HENRY. _Doth it not show vilely in me to desire small beer_? POINS. _Why_, _a prince should not be so loosely studied as to remember so weak a composition_. PRINCE HENRY. _Belike then my appetite was not princely got_; _for_, _by my troth_, _I do now remember the poor creature_, _small beer_. _But_, _indeed_, _these humble considerations make me out of love with my greatness_. 2 HENRY IV. "Who ought to take the command, in the event of anything happening to your lordship?" asked Wellington's officers on an occasion in the Peninsular War. "Beresford," the great strategist answered, after reflection. And then, in answer to their surprised looks: "If it were a question of handling troops, some of you fellows might do as well, perhaps better than he; but what we now want is someone to _feed_ our men." {46} This story, and the countenance of the epic and royal personages of our mottoes, is our excuse for passing on to treat of the ignoble topic of knives and forks, and to describe how three times a day our colony was fed. It is a topic which could not be left outside a narrative which seeks to "show how fields were won." If our readers will follow the master of the week as he makes his round of the tea-tables at a quarter to seven on a winter evening, he will witness a cheerful scene not wanting in picturesqueness. The vista of the corridor is filled with three very long and very narrow tables, and the boys of as many houses seated at them. The subdued light, which streams from numerous but feeble oil-lamps through the atmosphere of fragrant vapour steamed up by the tea-urns, falls with Rembrandtesque contrast of light and shadow on the long ranks of faces. There is that hum of quiet animation which seems always to exhale along with the aroma of the Chinese leaf. From the urn, where the house matron mounts guard up to the Sixth Form end of the table, where the head of the house is jotting down the list of absentees from the roll-call, the cloth is thickly studded with the viands in tins and jars, rich and various in colour, with which the schoolboy adds succulence to his meal. We open a door out of the dim corridor, and enter a room with three more houses seated round its walls. The sense of animation rises with the warmth and brightness of the fire which roars in the grate. We collect the lists, and move on to another and another room, till we have seen the last of the eleven houses in a severely simple servants'-hall on the basement floor. Thence we return to the wind and rain outside. If we came here at dinner-time, we should see the housemaster at the head of his table, and his wife or members of his family at the other end. The scene would be quite wanting in the picturesque, but no sense of comfort would make amends for it. For it is dark, especially in the centre of the corridor, and the carver of those vast joints never knows when he will strike his elbow against the walls or passers-by; while the incidence of draughts is clearly enough defined by here and there a coat- collar turned up in self-defence; for neither the glass front door, nor the wooden porch, nor our massive porter can effectually keep out the weather. Dinner here is a stern bit of the day's work, to be discharged with a serious fortitude. We have described how we eat, but said nothing yet of what was eaten. Yet our practical narrative cannot ignore the matter. Certain delicate subjects, however, are best treated dialectically, and perhaps we could not here do better than record a dialogue which we think we must have overheard between Grumbler and Cheerful, two dramatic characters not unknown to readers of the School Magazine some year ago: _Cheer_. Have you read that jolly letter in _The Times_, on "Uppingham by the Sea?" _Grumb_. Yes, I have; and the writer says, "The commissariat was on the whole good." I must say that surprises me. _Cheer_. Why where was it at fault, then? _Grumb_. Where? It was at fault all round. Look at the puddings--everlastingly smoked! _Cheer_. Yes; but the commissariat is not puddings. _Grumb_. Well then, the coals--all chips and small dust; at least, when there _were_ any. _Cheer_. But the commissariat is not coals. _Grumb_. Then the cold plates your gravy froze on! _Cheer_. My good fellow, who ever heard of hot plates on a picnic? _Grumb_. How about the vegetables then, that never came to table except to make believe there was something in the Irish stew? or what do you call the thing they sometimes served out for butter? _Cheer_. Ah! well! "a rose by any other name"--you know the rest. But still, the commissariat isn't bad because the butter was so sometimes. _Grumb_. Oh! of course, you can say the Commissariat (if you spell it with a big C) doesn't mean the meat, or the soup, or the puddings, or the greens, or the butter, or the coals, or the rest of it--but if it isn't these, I should like to know what it is. _Cheer_. (_loftily_). My good friend, it is easy for you to say this thing or the other was not to your fancy, but it was not quite so easy a matter for our landlord to provide a daily supply of meat, bread, and dairy stuff for some four hundred people; especially as it had to be organised for the occasion, without previous experience. I take it if you knew how the farmers had to be coaxed to sell us their butter, how green things couldn't be had in the markets for love or money, and if you knew how many miles of railway those beeves travelled to and fro between pasture, slaughter-house, and kitchen, before their weary joints rested on our table, I say you would thank the commissariat that you hadn't something worth grumbling about. I am glad we never were on famine rations. I asked to live, not to live well. _Grumb_. (_a trifle ashamed, but dogged_). Why, of course, I don't mean to say things might not have been worse. Still I stick to it, they were not nice. _Cheer_. But you'll admit the commissariat did its work: the army was fed. After all, the proof of a pudding is _not_ the eating of it, it is how you feel after it. Now, people are not starved who look the strong healthy fellows ours did when they went home after the first term of it. No 'famine marks' in those firm, brown faces, eh? And then, tell me, did the Rutland pastures ever yield such juicy mutton, or flow so abundantly with milk? _Grumb_. Enough, enough; you have it. Only I won't be told I was revelling in comfort when I was doing nothing of the kind. I'll bear it, but I won't grin and say I like it; I'll say nothing against it if it's better not, but I shan't say what is untrue in favour of it. [_Exeunt arm-in-arm_.] Our two interlocutors fairly exhaust the facts of the case between them, and the historian, who can serve no purpose by trying to think things better or worse than they were, will silence neither. We give our honest praise to the organisers of the food supply for their effectual performance of a very heavy, vexatious, and precarious task, the scale of which we have been brought by inquiry to estimate at its true magnitude. At the same time we will spare such sympathy as the dignity of the matter demands for the sufferers from tough beef, tub butter, smoked puddings, cold potatoes, and congealed gravy, and not mislead any refugee schoolmaster of the future into the belief that he can dine in the wilderness as comfortably as in Pall Mall. CHAPTER VIII.--DIVERSIONS AT BORTH: NEW SOIL, NEW FLOWERS. _There be delights_, _there be recreations and jolly pastimes that will fetch the day about from sun to sun_, _and rock the tedious year as in a delightful dream_. MILTON, "AREOPAGITICA." _O summer day_, _beside the joyous sea_! _O summer day_, _so wonderful and white_, _So full of gladness and so full of pain_! _For ever and for ever shalt thou be_ _To some the gravestone of a dead delight_, _To some the landmark of a new domain_. LONGFELLOW. Housed, fed, and taught; what more does the school need done for it? "Is that all?" some of the English public will exclaim. "Then you have done nothing. What about the boys' sports?" We foresaw the question, and when we left home some people felt uneasy as to what would happen to a school separated from its fives-courts and playing-fields. True, there was to be a beach, and the boys could amuse themselves by throwing stones into the sea: but when there were no more stones to throw--what then? The prospect was a blank one. Well, as we have seen, things came right enough as regarded the cricket. Players had to content themselves with fewer games, for the ground could only be reached on half-holidays. On the other hand, the season of 1876 gained a character of its own from the novelty of its matches against Welsh teams. One of these was the eleven of Shrewsbury School. With this ancient seat of learning our troubles brought us into genial intercourse, and a few months later we met them again on the football- field. Both matches were played at Shrewsbury; in the former we gained a victory over our kind hosts, the latter was a drawn game. The athletics were held on the straight reach of road beyond Old Borth; the steeple-chases in the fields which border it. At the prize-giving, the "champion" was hoisted as usual, and carried round the hotel, instead of along the _via sacra_ of the Uppingham triumph, with the proper tumultuary rites. For the make-believe of paper-chases we had the realities of hare-hunting, of which we will speak again in its season. Grounds for football were found when the autumn came; the best was a meadow just below Old Borth, of excellent turf, which dries quickly after rain; though the peaty soil, lately reclaimed from the marsh, would quake under the outset of the players. The village boys, fired by a novel example, began to hold their own athletics. One might see the corduroyed urchins scrambling down the street in a footrace, or jerking their awkward little limbs over a roadside ditch. Our boys looked on as men look at a monkey, half amused, half indignant at the antics "which imitated humanity so abominably." If we were little worse off than at home in the appliances for games, there were other recreations which were proper to the place, and clear gain to the immigrants. For example, the fishing in the Lery, along whose banks groups of anglers might be seen strolling, whipping the water to the full entertainment of themselves and the fish, or now and then blessing Sir Pryse, as the angler landed his first trout from our good friend's waters. Yet we had our old sportsmen too, who could kill trout as well as amuse themselves, and bring home a delicate dish for a half- holiday tea. For masters, there was a little shooting to be had on the land of some friendly neighbours; and on the no-man's-land of the coast, a variety of sea-fowl fell to our guns, and were stuffed to enrich our museum with a "Borth Collection." We must not forget the Rink at Aberystwith, for which parties used to be formed on half-holidays; nor the Golf, which the long strip of rough ground along the shore tempted us to introduce. The "links" were famous in extent and variety of ground, but the game, in spite of patronage in high quarters, did not become popular. There were also recreations of a more intellectual kind: archaeological visits to "British camps," or others of those Cymric monuments, which were just then provoking Lord F. Hervey's incomprehensible spleen; scientific rambles in quest of rare shells, seaweeds, or the varieties of a new flora; and rambles, half-scientific, half-predatory, along the woody cliffs of the Lery, whence adventurers would return with news of a hawk's nest discovered, but not reached, or the more substantial result of snakes, and such venomous "beasties," captured and brought home in a bag. The rocks under Borth Head were good hunting-grounds, and supplied sea-monsters for an aquarium, which the Headmaster built and presented to the school. One of the first prizes was a small octopus, which his captor, having no other vessel handy, brought home floating in his cap. In the aquarium, however, spite of this good beginning, we have to record a failure. "The masters could not, and the boys would not, attend to it; and our best octopus, after coming to the top of the water, and spitting a last farewell at sundry lookers-on, died; and with him died the attempt." We are quoting from a letter of a correspondent to _The Times_, and we cannot better conclude this part of the subject than by a graphic paragraph from the same hand: Again, there were the birds, many always on shore and marsh; but when the herring-fry passed up the bay the birds positively possessed it. There was a wilderness of glistening wings in the air, a restless bank of floating feathers on the sea--a mile of wings and glancing foam of life, with many a strange wild cry, giving the high notes to the deep bass of the waves. How often from the marsh, or somewhere, dreamland or ghostland, came the plaintive wail of the curlews; then the dotterels would run and flit about the sands; and, not least, the herons, measuring out their dominions with their lordly arch of wings in leisurely pride of sovereignty, passed grandly on their way; or, ever and anon, a thousand plover, as with one soul, would turn and glance in the sun far away. All this was a new revelation to many boys, whose sole ideas of birds had been sparrows, thrushes, perhaps, and ducks at so much a couple, and a duck-pond. In our enumeration, however, of fish and fowl we had almost forgotten "a portent of the wave," which was a nine hours' wonder with us. A stray seal, revisiting the familiar shore, and unaware of the change which had transformed his quiet haunts was encountered by one of our party as he cruised round Borth Head in his fishing-boat. We are glad to record that the _rencontre_ ended without bloodshed. It was a sportsman and a naturalist who had crossed the poor seal's path; but he remembered that he, too, was a stranger in the land, and he could not lift rifle against the Sea-worn face, sad as mortality, which leaned from the ledge of rock to look at him. So the monster passed on his way unharmed. We have detailed at length enough of the diversions and interests which lay close at our own doors. But these delights pale by the side of those red-letter days when we went far afield to keep a holiday among the mountains. We shall not see the like of those days again! On such mornings, the hotel steps and the esplanade would be dotted with anxious groups waiting for breakfast, and observing the omens of the sky. If these are favourable, a little before eight a broad stream sets towards the station, and fills the sunny platform with a vivacious crowd. Masters, who organise the several expeditions, use the interval to count heads and sort their parties. The benevolent Cambrian railway supplies spare carriages and return tickets at single fares. Presently the train is sighted sliding down the winding incline from Langfihangel; it picks us all up--near two hundred souls, it may be--moves out into the open plain, still glittering with the morning dew, and reaching Glandovey, drops half its passengers at the junction to explore the northward coast, while it carries the rest to Machynlleth and Cemmes Road. Here and there it sows little companies of explorers at some mountain's foot or river's mouth. One band assails Cader Idris from the rich vale of Dolgelley, and meets on the summit another which has scaled it from Tal-y-llyn. Each party is convinced that their ascent was the more creditable in point of speed, and that they enjoyed the more magnificent views. One, however, claims an advantage which can be more easily gauged; they have haled a hamper of luncheon with them to the peak, with infinite pains. During the descent this hamper (but that was after luncheon) slipped from its carrier's hand, and plunged beyond recovery down the Fox' Walk. Meanwhile, others are befogged on the broad top of Aran Mowddy, but will be anxious to explain this evening, that if the view from the summit was lost in mist, that was more than made amends for by "the enchanting glimpses caught through the cloudrifts in the descent." The day wears on, and signs of fatigue appear. Some are wondering what Miss Roberts of the famous "Lion" at Dolgelley has got for their dinner. Small boys begin to declare that they could go on at this pace for any time you like; this is nothing to what they did last year in the Highlands; something like mountains _there_, you know! The sun is far in the west when the knot of adventurous reconnoitrers who have gone farthest afield mount the train at Portmadoc. Nearer home they thrust heads out of window to rally their friends who join them on the poverty of their exploits. These, taciturn with weariness or hunger, find they haven't their best repartees at command. But they are all smiles and good humour again at the news that young So-and-so, with two or three more, who had strayed from their party, were sighted rushing along, all dust up to their eyes, to catch the train as it moved out of the station. There is no other to-night; but our good hostess, we know, will give the youngsters tea, put them to bed, and forward them prepaid next morning. At length the last station has poured in its tributary to the volume of the returning multitude, and the train glides softly on between the brimming estuary and the marsh golden with sunset. The full stream is peaceably disgorged again through the narrow station-door, and distributes itself along the tea-tables. Sleep comes down upon tired limbs and easy consciences, and the day's glory throws the rich shadows of some Midsummer Night's Dream far into the bright dawn of another working day. It was never professed that on these occasions we were doing other than taking a holiday. If, together with mountain air and the scent of heather, a boy drank in a love and understanding of Nature, and felt, possibly for the first time, the inspiration of beauty, then probably hours were never spent in a class-room to more profit than were these on the slopes of Cader or Plinlimmon, or along the banks of Mowddy. CHAPTER IX.--THE FIRST TERM: MAKING HISTORY. "_Happy is the people which has no history_." _Stands this too among the beatitudes_? _Surely this were a fit evangel only for sheep and oxen_, _or for such human kine as covet the fat pastures rather than the high places of existence_. _For whoso is ill-content to live long and see good days_, _save he may also live much and see great days_, _will not be so tamely gospelled_, _seeing that every past is mother of a future_, _and that there is no history but is a prophecy as well_. In our late digression on the conditions and circumstances of our life at Borth, we have somewhat anticipated the narrative of events. But it was a plan agreeable to the facts of the case, that narrative should pass into description at the point where the stream of our little history, after descending the rapid of alarms and difficulties, abrupt resolves and swift action, fell quietly again into the smooth channel of a new routine. Not that the story of the succeeding months was really uneventful. If our readers suppose that from this point onward we led a prosperous untroubled existence, it will be due to the illusion, which, in fiction, makes us cheerful over the woes of the struggling hero, because we have glanced at the end of the book, and view the present trouble in the light of the successful issue: what the end would be we did not know, nor when it would come. And if, to resume our metaphor, the current of the enterprise flowed for the most part smoothly, there were rocks underneath which those who saw them could not forget, though they seldom raised an eddy on the surface. Here, however, we must ask the reader to believe us that it was so, without demanding explanations, which at this date would be inconvenient. We will go on then to notice the chief incidents of the term. The wooden school-room, the slow completion of which had been watched with some impatience, was ready for use on April 29th. On the next day, being Sunday, we inaugurated it by reuniting under its shelter our scattered congregations, hitherto distributed over the three largest rooms at our disposal. It was not a noble building, being, architecturally, a long shed of rough planks against the bowling-green wall, which was whitewashed for the better lighting of the room. But it was apt to the conditions of a colony, looking as it did like a log-house in a backwoods-clearing. Internally it was well lighted and ventilated, and just sufficient for our numbers. _Heureusement il n'y on a pas beaucoup_. This was not the only occasion on which we were thankful for the school's self-imposed limit of numbers. The completion of this poor structure was a fact of which those who have but little knowledge of school affairs will appreciate the value. It was a new burden on an embarrassed exchequer, but not a gratuitous one. It is not too much to say that the social life of the school would have been of a different and lower stamp, and its organisation crude and ineffective, if there had been no place of assembly where we could meet for common occasions, for roll-call, prayers, addresses, lectures, entertainments--no place to furnish the visible unity, which is so large an influence in a healthy social life. And did the school ever feel surer of its oneness, or more proud of its name, than when it sat on those rude benches within the ruder walls of their makeshift great school-room? The next day, May 1st, is the Uppingham Encoenia, the commemoration of the Chapel opening. It forced one to contrast the wooden walls in which the Saint's-day's service was held, with the high rooftree and the deep buttresses, which this year would not echo the chanting procession. The anniversary rites lapsed of necessity. An accidental piece of ceremony marked this day; for that morning a flagstaff was erected on the terrace in front of the hotel, and a flag run up, by the lowering of which the hour of dinner or roll-call could be signalled to ramblers on the shore or the hill. On the 19th of the month we hoisted with much cheering our own colours: a banner, on which some of the ladies had worked the Founder's device, the antique schoolmaster and his ring of scholars. The flags (there were three in all) were carried home with us, and the faded and tattered folds which had fought with the sou'-wester, now droop in a graceful canopy at one end of the great school-room. By the middle of June the new church of Borth, so opportunely built in time for our settlement, was declared ready. It was courteously placed at our disposal for two services on Sunday before the hours of the parish services. The building exactly held us, with a little pinching. The first occasion of our using it was a confirmation held by the Bishop of St. David's. The Bishop, whose early connections are with this neighbourhood, and who had already in his capacity of landowner given us proof of his goodwill, seemed to rejoice in the occasion of expressing his sympathy with the immigrants into his quiet home. The kindness of the visit was not slight; for the journey, to and fro, from difficulties of transport, demanded two days. We have the more reason to be grateful for his willing sacrifice of time, because, in view of the interval since the last confirmation and of the long sojourn in Wales before us, we should otherwise have suffered a kind of mitigated excommunication. June 29th and 30th were the days of the "Old Boys' Match," the annual reunion of the Past and Present School. There seemed no reason why absence from our native soil should sever our ties with the Past. Quite the contrary. _Ubi Caesar ibi patria_, thought our Old Boys, who, indeed, never before felt so glad to claim their heritage in the fortunes of Uppingham. The game, which was like other games of cricket, and need not be described, was played on the Gogerddan field, where the Headmaster, in lieu of his customary supper, not practicable at Borth, gave a luncheon each day. On the first day, as the company rose from table, a signal was given to the school to draw up to the tent, outside which the guests were standing. They formed a kind of hollow square to see what would happen, and an old Uppinghamian (Mr. R. L. Nettleship, Fellow of Balliol College, Oxford) came forward and presented an "Address from the Old Boys at Oxford, to the Headmaster and Masters of Uppingham School." He noticed briefly the circumstances under which it had been drawn up, explaining why (through lack of time to concert matters with the sister university) it had come from Oxford only, and added that they hoped shortly to give something more substantial than parchment. "What they could offer was a slight thing, it was true, yet one which their old Headmaster and his coadjutors would not think valueless." He proceeded to read the address, which ran thus: "We, the undersigned old members of Uppingham School, now resident at Oxford, write to express our deep sympathy with the Headmaster and Masters of Uppingham School in the great difficulties with which they have lately had to contend. Feeling as we do, that though we have left the school, we still, in the truest sense, belong to it, we can but testify our gratitude to those whose courage and skill have carried it safely through such a crisis, and converted a great misfortune into a proof that it is strong enough to defy accidents. Our confidence in the Headmaster is, as always, entire and unabated, and we are sure that the school which he has so successfully led to Borth will come back under the same leadership, with its vigour undiminished, to its home at Uppingham." {66} In reply the Headmaster said, addressing himself to the memorialists and the school, "the past and future (for what we are doing has a past and future), I thank you for this with all my heart, for this which you call 'a slight thing.' It is a slight thing; but yet, like a flag which armies have rallied round and have died for, it can give spirit and endurance and confidence. Yes, it is true, as you say, that these have been hard times, as those know who have had day by day to watch ruin coming closer and closer, with no hope, no room for escape. Like men in the story tied to the stake in front of the advancing tide, we had to see wave on wave coming up to bring a slow but sure destruction." Then, after speaking of the incidents which ended in our coming to this spot, he continued: "We have been brought by our troubles much before the eyes of the public. They speak of 'the fierce light that beats upon a throne,' but that is hardly so intolerable as the fierce light that beats upon a great calamity. Yet I trust that fierce light may prove to the school a refining fire. Certainly the present school has behaved worthily under their novel circumstances; they have shown themselves true sons of Uppingham. You of the past school see round you your successors, and you may be proud of them; at least we have suffered no trouble through those you see before you here. "The end of all this which of us knows? But we have faith that it shall be good. Though all seems to fail and perish, all our work to die, yet I am sure there shall be no real death of the life of the school, but that it shall have its resurrection." The words were meant for the ears to which they were addressed. If to readers remote from the facts and the feeling of the hour they perhaps strike a note of scarcely intelligible emotion yet our story cannot spare them. To us who heard them they were an expressive summary of many thoughts, and fears, and hopes of that time, which our narrative cannot give expression to otherwise than in this indirect fashion. Had those thoughts and hopes been other, we should not, perhaps, have had this story to tell. The choir gave an _al fresco_ concert on the night of the second day of the match in the grass close. The resonance from the surrounding buildings made the songs very effective for an outdoor entertainment. _Surgit amari aliquid_. Just at this time came news of a new fever case at Uppingham. We knew what might be the significance of the news, and began to make up our minds for another term at Borth. On July 5th a public concert was given by the choir, and attended by the rest of the school, at Aberystwith. It was the second of two given in support of the new church at Borth, to the debt on which the proceeds were devoted. The first was held in the Assembly Room of the Queen's Hotel, a beautiful room, with fine acoustic properties. We cannot say as much for the Temperance Hall, in which the second was given. It is a structure of the very severest Georgian architecture. "Why," asks a reporter, "should water-drinkers allow it to be supposed that the graces of art are all in the hands of Bacchus?" The journey to and fro by rail was, in the popular estimate, an integral part of the entertainment; its charm lay in the uncertainty as to whether the laden train would be able to climb the abrupt incline to Langfihangel, or would keep on the rickety rails as it spun down the same curve in returning. Otherwise, that the school should make a railway journey _en masse_ to hold an evening concert seemed, under our nomad conditions, to be only in the common course of things. One concert we held in the wooden school-room on the 22nd of May; on that occasion (we quote the magazine's reporter) "All the members of the choir might be seen flocking to the school-room, with candle and candlestick in hand, to furnish light for the performance. The candles were arranged in sevens on wooden shelves all down the sides of the room, and though the whole spectacle had its laughable side, as most things have, the general effect was far from bad. It was cheerful enough; in fact, only a Christmas-tree and some more disorder was needed to turn the entertainment into as good an imitation of a happy school-treat as you would get at a day's notice." But the music sounded dully in the timber walls, and the experiment was not repeated. Meanwhile a new inroad of care had for the last fortnight, since the late news from Uppingham, disquieted the colony. Major Tulloch, a Government Inspector, who, on behalf of the Local Sanitary Board, had reported on the state of the town of Uppingham, had expressed a strong opinion that the school ought not to return thither before Christmas. In consequence of this a memorial was sent from the masters to the Trustees, requesting them to reverse their decision of June 17th, which recalled the school in September. At a meeting of the Trustees, on July 14th, the following resolution was passed: Resolved--"That, while in the opinion of the Trustees there is nothing in the present condition of the town of Uppingham which calls upon them to rescind their resolution of the 17th ult, yet, having regard to a memorial addressed to them by the whole body of the assistant- masters, they are willing, in compliance with the same, that the school shall remain at Borth during the autumn term." Arrangements were at once begun for returning to camp after the holidays. The responsibility for this step, which was thus devolved upon the masters, though it was accepted without hesitation, was felt to be no light one. Our engagement with the lessee of the hotel had provided for a renewal of the contract at will; but there remained the owners of some thirty houses, large and small, with whom we should have to reckon. They would have us in their hands, and might, if so minded, "turn our necessity to glorious gain." Then, too, many of the lodging-houses, excellent as airy summer pavilions, did not promise much comfort in winter time, to those who remembered how in the spring weeks the curtains and everything movable within doors Fluttered in the besieging wind's uproar, And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor. Moreover, natives who knew, threatened us with rain all day and every day, from the beginning of September till the end of October, after which it would be dry. Others, who also knew, promised us fine weather till the latter date, and then wet till Christmas. Putting the two assurances together, one inferred that weather at Borth would be like weather in general. However, in prospect of winds and wet, the open porch of the hotel was walled up with planks so as to put another door between the sou'-wester and the diners in the corridor. Also a long lean-to shed, like a cloister without windows, was run along two sides of the bowling- green wall. The outlay on the latter yielded no adequate return. It afforded some shelter for chapel roll-call, and for the few minutes' lounge before evening prayers, except when it rained hard enough, and then the water poured through the contractor's felt roof. It was too narrow to be used, as was hoped, for games; unless, indeed, we had turned it into a skittle-alley. But then skittles is a game of low connections. Finally, well-wishers were solemn in their warnings that the drainage of the spot was defective (which, indeed, was no otherwise than true, till we brought about a reform), and that our settlement by the sea was nothing if it was not healthy. The outlook then was not unclouded. But one bright day we had before we said good-bye to the past, and fronted the future cares. Sir Pryse had invited the school to spend a day with him at Gogerddan, Thursday, July 20th, the last day of term. Room was found for all his guests to dine together in a large barn near the house, where, from the high and narrow windows, the light fell in picturesque mellowness on the close-packed ranks. A match was played in the grounds between the school and an Aberystwith eleven; the rest whiled away the afternoon right pleasantly among the flowers and grass-slopes. At a pause in the game there was a gathering on the lawn to watch the execution of a little surprise which the cricketers had prepared for our host. From a box which had been perilously smuggled in, was produced a memorial gift (it consisted of a study-clock and inkstand), which "the cricketers of Uppingham begged Sir Pryse to accept, as a slight acknowledgment of his special liberality to themselves;" for so it was set forth in an address which the captain of the eleven proceeded to read to him. Our host, as much startled as if the present and the address had been shot at him out of a cannon, answered in a brief but not the less effective speech. Then, as if to relieve the warmth of feeling generated between us, a piano was run into the bow of an open window, and the choir outside delivered themselves of some hearty music. Soon the evening train was carrying us home for the reading of the class-list and the prize-giving. In the customary address, the Headmaster could congratulate the school on having borne themselves well during the great time in the school's history which this day brought to a close: he called on them to "come back with the soldier spirit" to face whatever remained. There was dark work going on in the street that night. When dawn broke, it disclosed an array of flags, streamers, and devices, along the approach to the station, where "the special" was waiting. Prominent among the devices was the motto, _Au revoir_. For the feeling it spoke, all were grateful; but not all rejoiced in the occasion of it. The train moved out of the station with the school, to a boy, on board of it, to the sound of a farewell cheer, and so the curtain fell on the first act of the play. CHAPTER X.--A WINTER CAMPAIGN. _Sanitas sanitation, omnia sanitas_. _The farmer vext packed up his beds and chairs_, _And all his household stuff_, _and with his boy_ _Betwixt his knees_, _his wife upon the tilt_, _Sets forth_, _and meets a friend_, _who hails him_, "_What_! _You're flitting_!" "_Yes_, _we're flitting_," _says the ghost_ (_For they had packed the thing among the beds_). "_Oh_, _well_," _says he_, "_you flitting with us too_-- _Jack_, _turn the horses' heads and home again_." TENNYSON, "WALKING TO THE MAIL." September 15th and 16th were the days of the school's return to Borth. We slipped at once and easily into the groove of last term's routine, filling our old quarters and several additional houses. Some building operations needed for the winter's sojourn have been mentioned by anticipation. Our medical officer, also, and the ready pickaxe of "Sanitary Tom" (as the boys called the navvy who was his stout ally), had been at work laying bare the subterranean geography of our premises and making all right. At his instance, the proprietor ran out an extended culvert into the sea beyond low-water mark, a grand engineering work, which remains the one permanent monument of our settlement. Having in mind some ancient aspersions on the wholesomeness of Borth we are glad to bear testimony to the present adequate sanitation of the place. We do not write for the scientific, and yet we must notice (we hope without wounding an unprofessional ear) the beautiful economy of natural forces by which that sanitation is effected. The channel of the Lery, between which and the sea the hotel is built, runs parallel to the coastline, till it meets at right angles the estuary of the Dovey. The same tide which washes the beach also fills the Lery channel and the adjoining ditches. When the ebb has set in the water in the latter stands for a time at a higher level than on the beach. Reflecting on this, our engineers cut a duct between the Lery and the sea, so as to draw the water from the river down the main drainage artery, performing twice daily a most effective flushing. Some of us would have preferred to leave a more dignified memorial of ourselves, forgetting, perhaps, that it is a Cloaca which is the most impressive witness to the civilised resources of an ancient king. So an offer was made to the proprietors that, if they would find the tools and directors of the work, the school would provide the labourers for the making of a road between the village and the church, an interval of a furlong of marshy land, bridged at that time by a makeshift causeway. They did not, however, see their way to accept our amateur industry, and the project fell through. With the arrival of the boys came also news, that on the day before, September 14th, the engineers had broken ground at Uppingham: _Ea vox audita laborum_ _Prima tulit finem_. We had waited not without some impatience for the first sound of the pickaxe; and its echoes were welcomed as promising an end to our exile. The new term opened smilingly. The smooth working order into which everything fell at once contrasted pleasantly with the anxious bustle of the entry in April. A glorious autumn was settling on the hills, draping them from head to foot with a red mantle of the withering bracken, which slowly burnt itself out along their slopes. There was sun and daylight enough for many rambles along old paths or new ones before the year was fairly dead. Our prosperity was suddenly staggered. Just five weeks after the return a case of scarlet fever occurred, followed in the course of the week by half-a-dozen more. An outbreak of this kind is too common an incident in a large school to merit much surprise or great alarm. But then our circumstances were exceptional. If the infection spread, it might be difficult to find hospital room; to communicate it to the villagers, as might easily befall, would be an unhappy return for their own ready hospitality; and then how miserable to have fled from sickness at Uppingham, and find it had followed us to Borth, as if, like the haunted family of the poem, "we had packed the thing among the beds." Already there came news which raised unspoken doubts of our returning home after Christmas. How, then, if we could not stay here? The question was hard to answer. It is, however, a well-recognised fact that epidemics of this kind are very much under the control of scientific precautions, and as we had good advice on the spot, no time was lost in stamping out the plague. War is not made with rose-water (it certainly was not rose-water which reeked along our passages), and fever germs can be exterminated, it seems, by nothing less exasperatingly unsavoury than carbolic acid, an agency which was laid on without any ruth. Grumblers were offered the alternative of being smoked with sulphur. Some complained of sore throats, contracted, they said, from the fumes of the disinfectant, and declared that the remedy, like vaccination, was only a mitigated form of the disorder. The landlords of our studies looked on with irresolute wonder, when some of us sprinkled their floors with a potent decoction poured from watering- pots. Most of them regarded it as a kind of magical rite into which it would not be seemly to inquire. In one house a practical seaman, late home from a cruise, took a less reverent view of the lustration, and uttered hints of what he would do to the perpetrators' heads if their acid touched his carpets again. Probably the best disinfectant applied was the clear strong wind, which ten days after the first case succeeded the previous relaxing weather. All windows and doors were ordered wide open for the free passage of the blast; and the boys were directed to bring down their rugs, great-coats, and dressing-gowns, and anything of the kind which might be supposed to harbour mischief, and spread them for purification on the pebbles of the beach. It will be believed the scene was a quaint one, however it might remind the scholar of the idyllic laundry scene by the Phaeacian shore, where Nausicaa and her maidens: [Greek verse] Whether it was these purgations, or the fumes of the carbolic which exorcised the infection, or whether the pest was starved out by the immediate and careful isolation of the cases that occurred, we must leave doctors to determine. It is certain that the epidemic came to an end in less than ten days after the first case. That we were able to apply the most necessary of measures, that of isolating at once all cases declared or suspected, we owe to the readiness of the villagers to put house-room at our service, a readiness on which we certainly had no right to calculate. The rent we might pay them was no measure of the service rendered. If a panic had closed their doors, our situation would have been worse than critical. The cause of the outbreak could not be confidently assigned, but since the most probable theory traced it to a recent railway excursion made by some school parties, these expeditions were discontinued for a time. This was no great privation, for the year was closing in. About this time, October 16th, the appointment of new "Praepostors" was made, to fill up vacancies in the body. In speaking as usual on the occasion, the Headmaster called attention to the experiment in self-government which our special circumstances were affording. There would be little reason for our recording the occasion, were it not that since that date the monitorial system in public schools has been canvassed in the Press, on occasion of an untoward incident of recent notoriety, and has been described by some as the parent of the "grossest tyranny," ruinous to the future of any school from which the institution is inseparable. We had thought this view of the system obsolete, or correct only of schools subject to obsolete conditions. If we were mistaken, it may be worth while to record an experience which tends to a less pessimistic conclusion. It will easily be understood that the mechanical organisation of the school was greatly deranged by the removal from home. The boys of the several houses were no longer locally separated, nor in the same immediate contact with their housemasters; they were restrained by few bolt-and-bar securities, "lock-up" being for the most part impracticable, and were allowed a larger liberty in many less definable ways. At the same time they were exposed to no little discomfort, and during the rainy months to much monotony, the very conditions which promote bullying and other mischief. Further, the same causes which reduced the control of masters, also embarrassed the upper boys in their monitorial duties. Thus the school was left in a quite unusual degree to its self-government, and that government had to act at a disadvantage. Yet the result was that all went well. The boys did not bully one another, and they gave their masters no sort of trouble. Old rules had to be relaxed, because they could not be enforced, but no licence came of it; new rules had to be made, which might seem vexatious and not very intelligible restrictions, but there was no tendency to break them. Of course wrong things were done at Borth as elsewhere; but if we were to record the few misdeeds which occur to us, their insignificance would provoke a smile; while we have good evidence for the belief that the rate of undetected offences was not increased. These are the facts we have to record. Different explanations will suggest themselves to others, but among observers on the spot there was but one opinion--that the prosperous result was due to the system of self- government, "monitorial system," or whatever we name the institution, which rests on the assumption that English boys are capable of responsibility and authority, and will prove trustworthy if their masters are willing to trust them. We do not forget that other factors entered into the cause; one which cannot be ignored was the consciousness of the boys that the school was on its trial, and that a public one. But people cannot acquire self-control merely by the removal of restraints, or behave well, for a long time together and in spite of tedium, simply because they would like to do so. The truth is, that in a time which might have been anarchical, we lived on the fruits of a long-established order; and it is fair to add that at the end of thirteen months there were no visible symptoms that discipline was wearing threadbare. Shall we, for writing this, be taxed with the vain-glory for which public schools are at times reproached? We must brave the charge, then; for the facts seem to furnish evidence of a kind so rarely obtainable, that to omit them from this chapter in school life would be hardly excusable. An experiment so crucial as that to which we were submitted does not occur once in fifty years. But enough of serious matters. Let us go out and forget them in a run with Sir Pryse's harriers, along the breezy gorse-covered downs of the Gogerddan estate. We take the train which arrives just after we have risen from dinner, and land at the upland village of Langfihangel. It is a Saturday afternoon, the 21st of October, the day is clear and sunny, and several ladies are of the party. A few hundred yards from the station we met the hounds, and Sir Pryse's man who hunts them. The owner is not with them, but (by his good leave) yonder tall, lithe fellow, the best runner in the school, acts as Master of Hounds. He promises us good sport, having heard from the huntsman of a hare which is "waiting for us." As they prepare to cast off, the non-effectives separate from the runners, and climb a round-topped hill which commands the country. The fields are spread like a map under us; nothing on the face of the country escapes our eyes. The hare that was "waiting for us" has grown tired of it, and left the rendezvous, but another is soon started, and a stout one. She is of the mountain breed, as are many in this country; they could not otherwise have held out so long before the pursuit of such runners, to say nothing of the hounds. The "tally-ho" comes cheerly up to us from the valley through the crisp October air, and we see puss scudding along up the hedgerow, the hounds and the foremost runners in the next field, the rest thinning out and straggling behind them. Among these we recognise with glee a friend or two, who years ago were in the first flight of every Uppingham paper-chase (_si nunc foret illa uventus_), labouring across a turnip-field, or held by the leg in a gorse- cover. A check gives them a chance of coming up again with huntsman and master. We won't spoil the chance by halloing where the hare went, though, from our vantage-ground, we can view her throughout. Our friends have just got in line with the leaders, and are finding their breath again for a second burst, when the scent is recovered; the chase sweeps up the ridge, and over it out of our sight, away, perhaps, towards the moorland spurs of Plinlimmon. We descend the hill homewards, leaving puss to her doom, whatever it may be. For these runs sometimes had a fatal termination. In the school serial is told the story of a magnificent day, of which, however, the runners did not witness the end, for "time was drawing late, and we were far from the station, so had to leave the hounds under the charge of the huntsman alone, and as the hare was now exhausted, they soon killed her. We were on the scent for over two hours, and ran about twelve miles." These days took place two or three times a week; for good practical reasons the "field" was restricted in numbers. After the short and sharp battle with the scarlet fever narrated above, the term went on very peacefully, but with a growing expectation that this would not be the last one in Wales. News from Uppingham of the unpreparedness of the place to receive us left little room for doubt, but the question was not decided (at least, officially) even at the date of the break-up. The prospect of a fresh period of makeshift life was not a welcome one; but the worst had been faced by this time, and found, after all, not hard to deal with. The long dark evenings of November proved a less difficulty than was anticipated. With afternoon school shifted to the hour of sunset, and with meetings of the Debating and other societies on half-holiday evenings, the dark hours did not hang heavily, and the expected tedium of an Arctic winter was not experienced. The term closed with a concert given in the Assembly Room at Aberystwith, December 13th, and another on the next night in the Temperance Hall at popular prices. On the 14th, a team of Old Boys played the usual football match against the Present School, and were beaten by two goals to one. That evening the class-list was read and the prizes given. If the boys hoped to gather from the Headmaster's speech an intimation of where they would meet him after Christmas they were disappointed. The government had as yet no communication to make. Next morning, in the darkness before dawn, the special train carried them to their homes, to await with curiosity their next marching orders. CHAPTER XI.--LUDIBRIA MARIS. _Sit down_, _and hear the last of our sea-sorrow_. "THE TEMPEST." _They said_, "_and why should this thing be_? _What danger lowers by land or sea_? _They ring the tune of Enderby_." JEAN INGELOW. "England, when she goes to war," said a Prime Minister not long ago, "has not to consider whether she will be able to fight a second or a third campaign." We remembered that we were Englishmen; and on January 19th, 1877, went down again with a good courage for our third campaign on the Welsh coast. A furious gale was howling that day among the hills of Cardiganshire, recalling to the memory of some of us the stormy Ides of March, when the pioneers of our little army first set foot in Borth. _Omina principiis inesse solent_. This gale was sounding the key-note of the term's adventures. The cause of our return to Borth for a third term is briefly told. We had gone home at Christmas, uncertain whether we should meet again there or at Uppingham. Dr. Acland, of Oxford, to whose active sympathy with the school in its perplexities we must at least gratefully allude, had undertaken on our behalf to inspect the sanitary condition of Uppingham, and give us his judgment on the expediency of reassembling there. His judgment was submitted to the attention of the Trustees at their meeting, on December 22nd, when it was resolved that, "In the face of Dr. Acland's report, the Trustees deeply regret they cannot at present recall the school to Uppingham." So we went back to the sea. Our numbers this term just missed by one the normal total of three hundred. In the two preceding terms they had been smaller by some five or six. The camp at Borth, therefore, had not suffered from want of recruits. Indeed, it was now foreseen that the return to Uppingham would be for about one-third of the school a first arrival there. The beginning of the end of our exile seemed to be marked by the reduced number of masters' families in camp. Some had gone into winter quarters at Aberystwith; some had already resettled at Uppingham. Our connection with home began to be retightened also by parochial and other common transactions, in which we took our share from a distance. Not, indeed, that the connection had ever been discontinued. We had left too precious pledges behind us. The deserted gardens did not waste all their sweetness on the air which we had exchanged for a "fresher clime." A thin intermittent stream of their products found its way along the nine hours of railway through most of the year. Flowers, fruit, and vegetables might raise tantalising memories of the pleasant places where they grew, but were not the less welcome to dwellers in this somewhat austere tract where they did not grow or grew very niggardly. The traffic in these delicacies drew the attention of the London and North- Western Railway Company, whose officials called to account one of our servants for travelling with an excess of personal luggage. The artless contrabandist, besides his own modest pack, had fourteen several hampers and boxes under his charge. This was checked. But who was the miscreant who systematically staved in and pounded into such odd shapes the little tin boxes in which our rose-fanciers had their choice blooms sent them by post? Post Office authorities thought the damage was caused by "the pressure of the letters." We did not, and remonstrated, till the practice, whoever was the criminal, was stopped. Besides these gracious souvenirs of home, there were from time to time business matters which we had to transact as parishioners and ratepayers. One was sensible of an almost humorous contrast, when we discussed our interests in the Midlands in a room overlooking the coast and hills of Cardiganshire, where one turned from watching the waves breaking crisply on the beach, to study a map of some property in Rutland pastures. It has been accounted a signal proof of Roman self-confidence, that bidders could be found for a piece of land on which Hannibal was encamped at the moment of sale. The situations are not quite parallel. But people who could seriously debate, as we did, on the purchase of a freehold at a time when not even their Rome was their own, clearly had not despaired of their country. With the exception of the moving incidents to be immediately narrated, the tale of this term's life differs little from that of the preceding. The round of work and play was much the same; the harriers were out again, football went on as before, till superseded by the "athletics," and a match was played on March 7th against Shrewsbury School on their ground, of which the result was a drawn battle. Our difficulties this term were with the elements. In novels of school life, where the scene is laid on the coast, the hero always imperils his bones in an escapade upon the cliffs. The heroes of our romance knew what was expected of them. Accordingly, two new boys of a week's standing start one afternoon for a ramble on Borth Head and are missing at tea-time. Search parties are organised at once (it was not the first occasion, for the writer remembers sharing in a wild-goose chase which lasted four hours of the night, along and under the same cliffs); while one skirted the marsh to Taliesin, another explored the coast. The latter party at nine o'clock in the evening discovered the involuntary tenants perched upon a rock a little way up the cliff. They had climbed to it to escape the tide which had cut them off, and here they sat, telling stones in turn, they said, to while away the time till the tide should retire. Before the waters went, however, darkness came; and either from fear of breaking bones in the descent or suspicion of some fresh treachery in the mysterious sea, they clung to their perch, blessing the mildness of a January night without wind or frost, but blessing with still more fervency the lanterns of their rescuers. They had passed five hours in this anxious situation. This was the sportive prelude of more serious trouble. _Nunquam imprudentibus imber incidit_: as the servant perhaps reflected, who, on Monday, January 29th, was conveying the dinner of his master's family from the Hotel kitchen to Cambrian Terrace. As he crossed the gusty street between them, the harpies of the storm swept the dinner from dish, and rolled a prime joint over and over in the dust. A leg of mutton was following, but he caught it dexterously by the knuckle-end as it fell, and rescued so much from the wreck. Such incidents are significant: trifles light as air, no doubt, but at least they showed which way the wind blew. And did it not blow? for three days the sou'-wester had been heaping up the sea-water against the shores of Cardigan Bay. People remembered with misgivings that an expected high tide coincided in time with the gale, and shook their heads significantly as they went to bed on the eve of January 30th. In the half light before sunrise, the classes, emerging from the school- room after morning prayers, found the street between them and the Terrace threaded by a stream of salt water, which was pouring over the sea-wall in momently increasing volume. Skirting or jumping the obstruction they reached the class-rooms, and work began. But before morning school was over the stream had become a river, and thrifty housewives were keeping out the flood from their ground-floors by impromptu dams. Those who were well placed saw a memorable sight that morn, as the terrible white rollers came remorselessly in, sheeting the black cliff sides in the distance with columns of spouted foam, then thundering on the low sea- wall, licking up or battening down the stakes of its palisades, and scattering apart and volleying before it the pebbles built in between them, till the village street was heaped with the ruins of the barrier over which the waters swept victoriously into the level plain beyond: The feet had hardly time to flee Before it brake against the knee, And all the world was in the sea. Those who were looking inland saw how Along the river's bed A mighty eygre reared its head And up the Lery raging sped. And though they could not see how the tenants of the low-lying hamlet of Ynislas fled to their upper storey as the tide plunged them into twelve feet of water; how it breached the railway beyond, sapping four miles of embankment, and sweeping the bodies of a drowned flock of sheep far inland to the very foot of the hills; yet they saw enough to make them recall the grim memories of the historic shore, and doubt if our fortunes were not about to add a chapter to the legend of the Lost Lowland Hundred. For an hour the narrow ridge on which the village stands was swept by a storm of foam, while, from moment to moment, a wave exploding against the crest of the ridge, would leap in through the intervals between the houses, and carrying along a drift of sea-weed and shingle, splintered timber, and wrecked peat-stacks, go eddying down into the drowned pastures beyond. Yet when the ebb came, and men began to count their losses, there were but few to record. The embankment at the south end of the village had been beaten flat, and the road behind it buried under a silt of shingle; the nearest houses to it had been flooded and threatened with collapse, so that the owners were offering them next day on easy terms; from our hospital, which stood in this quarter, the one patient and his nurse were rescued on the backs of waders; the foundations of a chapel, which was building on lower ground, were reported sapped, and a staunch Churchman of our Welsh acquaintance stood rapturously contrasting the fate of the conventicle with the security of his own place of worship on the neighbouring knoll. "If Borth goes, the church won't, anyhow!" he cried, in self-forgetting fervour. No lives were lost, though several were barely saved. One of our party rescued his dog, already straining at his chain to escape a watery grave; another saved (dearer than life itself) his favourite violin. A fisherman, surprised in his kitchen, was flung down and nearly strangled between door and doorpost by the rush of a wave through the window. A neighbour was drifted out of his house on the top of one wave, and scrambled back to find the door slammed and held against him by another. Rueful groups of women stood in the street, sobbing over armfuls of what one feared might be drowned infants, but were, in fact, the little pigs which they had plucked alive and remonstrant from the flooded styes. In short, if many were frightened, few could plead to being hurt. Meanwhile, the boys had found their way from the class-rooms upon bridges of railway-sleepers requisitioned from the station-yard. We could not but enjoy that "something not altogether unpleasing to us in the calamities of our neighbours," but the "humorous ruth," with which we contemplated the comical incidents of the disaster was exchanged in good time for practical pity. There was to be another high tide that evening, and how would the village stand this second storm of its broken defences? So the order was given to assemble in the street after dinner, and work at the repair of the breaches. The street looked like an ant-hill, as the workers, divided into gangs by houses, with the housemaster at the head of his gang, swarmed on the roadway, clearing it from the _debris_ with pickaxe, spade, and a multitude of hands; re-stacking the cottagers' store of peat-sods, which the waves had sown broadcast; forming chains across the beach to pass up from hand to hand the large pebbles at low- water mark, to build in between the palisades; or cutting down the old stakes and driving in new ones. This last was the most attractive branch of the service. How enviable was he whom a reputation as a woodman secured the enjoyment of an axe, and the genial employ of hewing and hammering! This was much to be preferred to cutting your hands in moving rubbish or standing still to hand wet stones in a freezing wind. However, the pleasure of helping other people was common to all; and many of the young hearts, which tasted that pleasure in this rough day's labour, will have gained an impulse of prompt helpfulness that may serve them in other and ruder storms than that which shook the frail homes of these friendly villagers. We do not know how our defences would have stood the test of battle. They were not put to the proof, for the wind, veering to the north that morning, and blowing strongly all day, reduced again the volume of the water in the bay, and the following tides came and went harmlessly. But had the morrow repeated the terrors of this day, we should hardly have been up to witness them, for (_proh pudor_!) we rewarded ourselves for our exertions by a lie-a-bed next morning in place of early school. Elsewhere the storm-wave had worked more havoc. At Ynyslas, a flock of one hundred and fifteen sheep were caught in their pastures, and drowned, the farmer rescuing only eleven. The cottagers were driven to their lofts, while the tide snatched away their furniture, doors, window-frames, and tables, and strewed them along the railway banks. There was flotsam and jetsam on what was now once more the coast-line at the village of Taliesin, where in old days the bard's cradle had been washed ashore; here one poor woman recovered her parlour-table of heavy oak; her chairs had travelled farther yet to the door of a farmhouse in the extreme corner of the marsh. These people were greater sufferers than our villagers, but we could only help them by a subscription to replace their losses. For ourselves, we suffered nothing except a temporary scarcity of coals and oil from the interruption of the railway traffic. It was a fortnight before the next train ran on the stretch between us and Machynlleth, and in the meanwhile the gap was bridged by a coach service. From four miles of embankment the ballast had been sapped away, and the sleepers and rails collapsing into the void presented a dismal picture of wreck. Yes, we suffered one other privation. It was long before our football- field rose again from the deeps, and was dry enough for play. Its goalposts pricking up mournfully through the floods were a landmark which the boys recognised with rueful eyes in the midst of the drowned and deformed landscape. More substantial measures than the patching up of the barricades in which we assisted must be taken if Borth is to remain permanently in the roll of Welsh villages. Our storm-wave was but part of a system of aggression which the sea is carrying out upon these coasts. Older residents remember a coach-road under the promontory, where now there is nothing but rock and seaweed, and look forward gloomily to a day when Borth will be "disturbed;" for so they euphemistically describe the catastrophe which is finally to wash it away. But an acquaintance of ours, who claims one of the longest memories in the place, is more confident. He has known Borth seventy years and as he has never seen it destroyed during all that time, does not think it will be now. His own house is safe on the hill of Old Borth, so he judges with all the calm of conscious security. His conviction, however, is not shared by his townsfolk, who were soon busy holding meetings, and considering schemes for the provision of something better than these moral guarantees. Heartily do we hope that funds and measures will be found to save our friends from another and more calamitous "disturbance." But a letter from Borth, a year later, speaks of the sea as again threatening their security. "We are not afraid of him, though," the correspondent, one of our landladies, devoutly adds, "for he is under a Master." All the same, we should like to hear of a stout sea-wall as well. Once again the elements caused us alarm. A heavy gale got up in the evening of February 19th, and roared all night upon the roof of the hotel, tearing up the fluttering tiles in patches, and sending them adrift through the air, till the master who slept under the leads, in charge of the top storey, began to doubt whether the straining roof would last overhead till morning. It was small consolation that this time he and his neighbours should at least "die a dry death," so the inmates of the floor were summoned from their beds in the small hours to spend the rest of the night in a bivouack on the ground-floor. One or another of those luckless youngsters will, in after days, remember, as a cheerful incident, the arrival on the scene of the Headmaster, with a store of biscuits and such supplies as could be requisitioned at the moment, to provision the watch. Your schoolboy, he reflected, is hungry at all times; what must he be at night when dragged from bed to save his life, and forced to sit up, rather cold and very empty, for several hours before daybreak. Solaced, however, by these beguilements, the hours passed cheerfully away. CHAPTER XII.--FAREWELL. _The primal sympathy_, _Which_, _having been_, _must ever be_. WORDSWORTH. Thenceforward the weeks rolled smoothly on, unmarked by moving incident, till they gladdened us with the growing light of spring, and brought us within near sight of our home. Must the truth be told? We are all of us loyal sons of Uppingham, but not all of us were glad to find our return to the mother-country was at last arriving. So far away from the offence, we need not fear attainder if we confess, some few of us, that our hearts were not whole in their welcome of the long-deferred event. It belonged to the irony that waits on all lives which are not too dull a material for fortune's jests, that we should cease to desire our home just when long patience and often-thwarted efforts, and The slow, sad hours which bring us all things ill, And all good things from evil, had brought its coveted security at last within our reach. For so it was with some of us. Perhaps the air of sea and mountain had got into the blood, and infected it with a certain disrelish for the restraints, the even decorum, and the tamer surroundings of our life in the Midlands. Well, we are not the only emigrants who have preferred their backwoods to the streets of the mother city, nor the first campaigners who have come back to home-quarters a trifle spoiled by adventure. And, moreover, while everything about us was a reminder of what we must forego, there was nothing to tell us of what a greeting our townsmen were preparing for us, or of the solid mutual good which filled the vista beyond that auspicious welcome. However, alike for those who were impatient and those who were half reluctant to attain it, the equal-handed hours brought the end of our exile. On one of our last evenings, April 6th, a reading was given in the school-room, "A Midsummer Night's Dream" with Mendelssohn's music; no unfit close, we said, to our _annns mirabilis_. For, indeed, its incidents had been "such stuff as dreams are made of," as whimsical if not quite as harmless, as if their plot had been directed by the blithe goblin of Shakespeare's fantasy. The chorus of readers and of singers were so far encouraged by their success, as to offer a second recital as a farewell entertainment to the good people of Borth. They enjoyed it hugely. Doubtless some of the simpler members of that audience would follow the drift of the Sassenach poet only at a certain distance; but Bottom's "transformed scalp," a pasteboard ass's-head, come all the way from Nathan's, was eloquent without help of an interpreter. "Oh! that donkey, he was beautiful," was the dramatic criticism of an esteemed friend, a fisher's wife. The criticism was at least sincere; from the moment of the monster's entry she had been in one rapture of laughter, till her "face was like a wet cloak ill laid up." Well, the kind soul had reason good enough for her merriment. But had the reason been less, our neighbours would not have lost the occasion of dropping the shyness of intercourse in a frank outburst of good fellowship. But we took a more solemn farewell on the morrow, the 10th of April. The parts were reversed now, and we were the spectators. Just at sundown of a day of clear spring weather, the school was gathered at their doors watching a long procession of villagers advancing up the street towards them. We had heard whispers in the morning of a "demonstration," and now it was come. Through the dust we caught sight of banners flying at the head of the column; under them marched the choir of children singing, and behind them the whole village was a-foot. The people of Borth, of every age and degree, from the first householders and yeomen of the place to the fishermen's boys and girls, had come to wish us God speed. Reaching the school quarters they halted, the boys lining the roadway on each side of them, and filling the broad flight of steps before the hotel doors. When the cheers for "Uppingham" and our answering cheers for "Borth" had rung out across the sands to seaward, there was an interval, filled up with songs by the children, while they waited the arrival of the spokesmen, whom they had charged with their valediction. When these arrived, a deputation of the villagers moved into the school-room shed, and there presented a brief address, which ran thus: "We, the inhabitants of Borth, beg to tender our most sincere thanks to Dr. Thring, and all the masters and scholars of the celebrated Uppingham School, for the very many generous acts and kindly feelings exhibited to us during their sojourn here." The address was introduced and explained by speeches marked by refined feeling, and delivered with a noticeable grace of manner. We will here cite, though for another reason, a few words of the speaker who moved the address; he commented on the discipline which (from the evidence of their conduct when at large) seemed to rule the school; naively but pointedly he noted that no offence had ever been given; "No boy had laughed at the villagers, if they were old and queer-looking or queerly dressed; there had been no disorder, no shabby act, nothing _un_decent" (so he put it in his unpractised English) "during the whole twelve months we had spent among them." We give his testimony without note or comment, sure that the facts would not be better told in words less simple. They were little things he witnessed to; was it a little thing that the witness could be truly borne? The boys were not present to hear the speeches, but they will like well to remember the scene without doors at that unlooked-for reunion of school and village. It was a scene made up of homely elements enough, but somehow, in our own memory at least, few pictures will remain printed in such fast colours. Clearly, as on that evening, we shall always see, distinct in the quiet light of the afterglow, the ranks of serious faces, touched and stilled by the surprise of a contagious sympathy, as English boys and Welsh cottagers looked each other in the face, and felt, if for the space of a few heartbeats only, an outflash of that ancient kinship which binds man and man together more than race and circumstance divide. It pleases the smaller kind of criticism to cheapen the meaning of such incidents as this, and explain them by the easy reference to interested and conventional motives. Wiser men will take occasion to rejoice that human nature is after all so kind; and if this be error, we would rather err with the wise. Take once again our thanks, kind people of Borth, if our thanks are worth your taking. You showed us no little kindness in a strange land, and the day is far off when we shall forget the friendly, gentle people whose name is the memorial of a great ill escaped, of much good enjoyed, in the days that are over, and the landmark of who knows what greater good in the days that are to be. CONCLUSION. _Perhaps poetry and romance are as plentiful as ever in the world_, _except for those phlegmatic natures_, _who_, _I suspect_, _would in any age have regarded them as a dull form of erroneous thinking_. _They exist very easily in the same room with the microscope_, _and even in railway carriages_: _what banishes them is the vacuum in gentleman and lady passengers_. _How should all the apparatus of heaven and earth_, _from the farthest firmament to the tender bosom of the mother who nourished us_, _make poetry for a mind that has no movements of awe and tenderness_, _no sense of fellowship which thrills from the near to the distant, and back again from the distant to the near_? GEORGE ELIOT. [Greek verse] ANTIGONE. All is over now; April was just a twelfth-night old when the school departed. Some of our company have lingered on for business, a few from reluctance to have done with it. But to-day the last group has taken wing for the Midlands. Old "Borth," the colley dog, followed them to the station, and poked his nose into the carriage to take his leave. Old Borth--we had almost forgotten him, and that had been deep ingratitude for he was not the least warm-hearted of our friends in Wales. His master lived two miles away; but soon after our arrival, Borth had come down from the hills to attach himself to our fortunes, and henceforth became, as it were, our familiar, the pet of the regiment, like the goat of the "23rd." He knew his position, and was a stickler for formalities; he had a wag of the tail for every boy who wore the image of the venerable schoolmaster upon his cap; but if he met him bare-headed, or, by any chance, in an indistinctive head-gear, he would cut that boy dead, were he never so much the same urchin from whose hand he had yesterday eaten a cheese-cake. That was his official rebuke for the irregularity. By day, Borth would bask in some sunny corner of our quarters; at night, he has been known to venture on a nearer intimacy where doors were left open. We found you once ourselves, Borth, curled up and asleep upon our own bed. You woke up, shook yourself with a modest, but not startled manner, and walked quietly away, like a gentleman. Ah! kind friend, you showed us the sincerest of flatteries, that of imitation. You left a comfortable home for chance quarters and uncertain fare, that you might be one of us, an outcast among outcasts. Now we must part, for our home will spare us no longer, as neither will yours spare you. And so the last good-bye is said, and you are limping away to your hills again, with dejection expressed in every fibre of your frame, from the drooping ears to the last hair on your tail. All is over, and the place is very silent, except for the clink of hammers where they are breaking down our wooden walls, and, seaward, the cry and splash of gull and tern dipping for their prey in the shoal of herring-fry which is wandering about the bay. Close inshore a porpoise is wallowing, like the jolly sea-pig that he is, in his berth of glistening water. The wild creatures seem to have grown tamer since there are no strollers to keep them aloof. This morning, as we passed his pool, the stately heron let us come within twenty yards of him before he got leisurely upon the wing. The village seems even quieter; the people at their doors betray, to our fancy, a certain lassitude as if, like merrymakers on the morrow of a revel, they felt somewhat sleepy and sorry, now that the stirring social year is over, and the little fishing town has returned to its "old solitary nothingness." Yes, the silence has come down again; but it is a silence full of voices. For, as it often happens that, when things without are stillest, men hear most audibly the tumult of their own brains, so is it now with us. Action is ended, and memory begins to work. Into the vacuum which the silence makes, the stream of our little history pours in a long backwater. Our thoughts go back to the beginning of it, the hour when, as we were sailing prosperously under press of canvas, the blast struck us suddenly out of a sunny sky. We live again the slow months of enforced vacation, and the brief spell of apparent security, broken by the second stroke. We recall the slow and painful sickening of hope, amid the frustration of attempted remedies; the watchings and communings by late firesides; the morning questionings and bulletins; the deepening of fears, until the moment when the sharp pressure of calamity became the liberating touch, and made a hazardous adventure seem a welcome alternative. Not less distinctly we remember the zest with which the wretched waiting for evil tidings was exchanged for hopeful activity; the rush of preparations; the anxiety which watched their passage through the ordeal of practice; the growing sense of security; the mellowing down of novelty and privation into routine and ease; the contrast, all the while, between the outward peace of the colony, and the secret difficulties of finance and commissariat; the long intermittent crisis which gave the administrative no rest; the hopes and efforts for our return home, and the reversal of them; all this, and--and--very much else as well, which was of acutest interest at the time, and which it will become convenient to describe only when it will be of interest to no one. All this passes before us in the series of a long dissolving view, full of bright lights, and only less full of unlovely shadows. And, somehow, as we review the past this evening, pacing the beach in the twilight, the fact accomplished seems to us not smaller, but greater than when we lived in it. There are moments some would say of illusion, some of vision--when the things most familiar to our eyes and thoughts, whether in nature or human society, surprise us with a dignity and beauty not discovered in them before. That glamour is in the air this evening. Perhaps the night-wind, which creeps to us from over the grassy tomb of Taliesin, warrior and bard has touched the fancy with a breath out of his heroic days. What wonder if it were so? Thirteen centuries ago the hero became the guardian of the shore; but the story which ends to-day is, perhaps, as worthy note as any he has watched from his hill-side. Those who rate the dignity of human action by other standards than the breadth and conspicuousness of its stage, will not mock us because we find some stuff of romance in the homely circumstance and not always epic passages of this modern episode of school. But if the stranger who may read the tale will spare his scorn--those for whom we shall tell it would forgive even a bolder word; for some of them were themselves a part of it, and others will make it a part of their heritage in the past. English schools have always honoured their traditions, counting them the better part of their wealth. Some have majestic memories of royal benefactors, or can point to a muster-roll of splendid names, whose greatness was cradled in their walls. Such traditions are not ours. A past, not brief, but not memorable, has denied us these. But a tradition we have henceforward which is all our own and wholly single in its kind. We persuade ourselves that in far-off years those who bear our name will say that, in the memory of a great disaster overcome, no mean heirloom has been left them. They will not be ashamed of a generation which, in an hour of extreme peril, did not despair of the commonwealth, but dared to trust their faith in a further destiny, and saved for those who should come after them a cause which must else have perished in the dark. _Stet fortuna domus_. And stand it will if there is assurance in augury. For the fairy legend has a truth in fact, and the luck of a house, grasped daringly and held fast in an act of venturous hardihood, will not break or be lost again until the sons forget to guard it. Here and there, at any rate, among the posterity which will sometime fill our ranks, there will not be wanting generous and gifted spirits, _illustres animae nostrumque in nomen iturae_, who will rejoice in making good the forecast that the venture was not made in vain. They will possess more worthily the good which an elder race foresaw and laboured not all unworthily to preserve. To their safe keeping we commend as under a seal, the legacy of hopes which are better left unspoken now. APPENDIX. HOW WE LEFT BORTH. (_From_ "_The Cambrian News_.") On Tuesday evening, April 10, the inhabitants of Borth, almost to a man, turned out to take part in a farewell demonstration to the masters and scholars of Uppingham School, after their twelve months' residence in Wales. Shortly after seven o'clock a procession of the inhabitants was formed, and, headed by a flag-bearer, made its way to the square in front of the Cambrian Hotel, where several songs were sung by the assembly under the schoolmaster's (Mr. Jones's) direction; and at the conclusion a hearty round of cheers was given for the Uppingham School, who immediately responded by making the place ring again with three enthusiastic cheers for Borth. The assembly then adjourned to the wooden building in the hotel-yard, when Mr. Jones, Brynowen, was voted to the chair on the proposition of Mr. Lewis, Post Office, seconded by Mr. Jones, Neptune Baths. The CHAIRMAN said, as the meeting was aware, the object of the demonstration--and he was exceedingly glad to see such a popular demonstration--was, that the Borth people might have a chance of giving public expression to the kind feeling of respect they entertained for Mr. Thring, the masters, and scholars of Uppingham School before they left Borth, after a twelve months' sojourn there. (Cheers.) When some twelve months ago a rumour came to Borth respecting the advent of Uppingham School, a few old women and nervous people, in the innocence of their hearts, were afraid they would be swamped by an inundation of Goths and Vandals. (Laughter.) The meeting would, however, agree with him that kinder-hearted gentlemen than the masters, and better-behaved boys than the scholars, could not be found. (Hear, hear.) There had been no town- and-gown feeling existing similar to what prevailed in places of greater pretensions. The people of the village and the School had pulled together in a friendly manner, and everything had gone on quite smoothly. (Hear.) After referring to the progress of the School under the headmastership of Mr. Thring, and remarking that the older schools would have to look to their laurels, as Uppingham was treading close upon their heels, the Chairman said that in some fifteen or twenty years to come many of the boys would be in Parliament, some of them officers in the army or navy, fighting the battles of the nation, some of them would be barristers, seeing that the people got fair play in the courts of law, others would no doubt be eminent merchants, importing the produce of foreign countries, whilst others would be surgeons, like Dr. Childs--(loud cheering)--and physicians. They would therefore exercise an influence over the destinies of the nation. (Cheers.) The people of Borth were exceedingly sorry that the school was going away. Its members would be missed very much indeed. He owed the Uppingham people no ill-feeling, but if a case of smallpox, the cholera, or some other virulent disease broke out in that place and prevented the return of the school, he was sure that Borth people would not feel at all sorry. (Laughter and cheers.) There was the name of a gentleman whom he might mention. That gentleman had earned the gratitude of the Borth people perhaps more than anyone else. He referred to Dr. Childs. (Applause.) He had acted the part of the Good Samaritan thoroughly, responding as readily to the call of the sick and suffering at midnight as at noon. (Cheers.) He would detain them no longer, but ask Mr. Lewis to submit a proposition to the meeting. Mr. LEWIS, Post Office, said he had very great pleasure in reading the resolution, because he knew it would be heartily responded to by everyone present. It was as follows:--"We, the inhabitants of Borth, beg to tender our most sincere thanks to Dr. Thring, and all the masters and scholars of the celebrated Uppingham School, for the very many generous acts and kindly feelings exhibited towards us during their sojourn here." Mr. Lewis followed by commenting upon the excellent discipline which evidently ruled the school, judging from their exemplary conduct out of school. He was not aware of any shabby, mean, or ungenerous act committed by the young gentlemen during the whole twelve months they had been at Borth. (Applause.) The meeting would remember the assistance rendered in the terrific storm in February. Even the ladies came out and helped the people in their distress--(loud applause)--thereby setting an excellent example to the women of Borth. (Cheers.) They had not only worked as hard as they could, but subscribed money among themselves which they distributed to the most needy of those who had sustained loss by the storm. (Applause.) The money then distributed would pass into other hands in a short time, but the kind feelings the act engendered would last for ever. (Applause.) He only hoped that each and all connected with Uppingham School would enjoy long, prosperous, and useful lives. (Loud applause.) Mr. JONES, The Baths, expressed the fears he once entertained, in common with others, that the Uppingham School would take Borth by storm, an opinion he had to change entirely after the boys had been there a week, for instead of laughing at the quaintness of some of the Welsh costumes or the peculiarities of the nation, they had obtained the goodwill of the inhabitants by their gentleness of demeanour, and completely won their hearts on that memorable day when masters and scholars, young and old, turned out to assist in reducing, as much as possible, the ill-effects of the storm. (Cheers.) He did not exactly wish that some contagious disease would break out at Uppingham, but he hoped that when the School got back it would repent, and so return to Borth. (Laughter and cheers.) Speeches were also made by Mr. Thomas G. Thomas and Mr. R. Pritchard Roberts, Garibaldi House. The Rev. E. THRING, M.A., then rose amid cheers and said: Mr. Chairman and our friends at Borth, I have made many speeches in my life since I have been master of this school. Two-and-twenty years of school-mastering gives a good deal of exercise for the tongue from time to time; but never in my life have I stood up to make any speech which I feel so little capable of making as I do to-night; not from want of practice, but because the feelings you have aroused in us are such--and our sojourn here has been such a boon to us (cheers)--that it is impossible for me to tell you the value we set on living here, and the welcome we have received. (Applause.) I never heard anything sweeter to my ear than your singing to-night. The time it must have taken, the goodwill manifested in the songs, and altogether the circumstances under which they were delivered, and we on our last day here, made them go down into my heart, and into all our hearts with peculiar power. (Cheers.) Never in my life have I had such testimony to the school which I cared so much for, as the testimony you have given to-night. We get our reputation in the English world, but what is that compared to the inner life to which you have borne witness. What signifies it whether we know much or little in comparison with the fact that we have a character of life which you like. It is life answering unto life across all those ties, both of nationality--for I grieve I cannot speak in your native tongue--and also of distance which set gulfs between man and man, but cannot separate life when it is true. (Hear, hear.) If your life is true, and our lives are true, then it flows across and we meet as to-night one united body of living men. (Cheers.) And this is what gives a peculiar value to our being here. You know as none can know what this school is. We came among you as strangers, and you looked upon us with the eyes of strangers; we stayed among you as friends, and we part from you as friends. (Cheers.) Everybody knows that the one thing on earth which makes life pleasant is the friendly atmosphere in which men live--the one thing that makes it hateful is to be surrounded by thoroughly bitter hearts. There is an old saying that "stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage." No, the life within can make any place enjoyable--nay, happy. Yet, I think it is better to be in happy surroundings too. Of this, however, you may be sure: those glorious hills of yours, this sea, and all the happy hours we have spent wandering about, will not easily pass out of our minds. The jewel of a friendly spirit has also been set in very bright surroundings. We do rejoice in the life we have had here, and all that we have found. (Cheers.) You have spoken to-night of the good conduct of the school, and have said that we have caused no trouble since our stay here. That like many other questions, has two sides. Is it not a great credit to this place that when between a hundred and seventy and a hundred and eighty strange boys have been put into your cottages and homes, there has not arisen a single difficulty for the whole year? I say it is quite as much a feather in your caps as in ours. I am proud of it--very proud of it. (Applause.) I would also refer to the extensive power which lies in a great school. It is quite true that some few years hence, these boys whom you have looked on with interest will be schoolmasters, barristers, and leaders in every part of the world. (Applause.) There is not a quarter of the globe where we have not our representative. It is now, and not in the future only, that I may venture to say that there is no part of this globe where men are to be found, where, here and there, Borth has not been heard of this year. (Cheers.) I will mention two facts only which may interest you. This very week, quite unconscious of this meeting to-night, I sent a letter to North Canada, with, I may say, a very glowing account of Borth in it--(cheers)--and the day before yesterday, having a little leisure, I wrote to the Lieutenant-Governor of the North-West Provinces of India, when I mentioned Borth in equally warm terms. (Applause.) That, I need not say, is going on all around us. These three hundred pens of our school are busy day by day giving to their friends their own views of our life here, and I may no doubt say that on the whole they are pleasant views. (Cheers.) It is not only a pleasant fact to mention, but I hold that where life is working well with life it is a real power for good that goes out into all lands, a sort of missionary force traversing this earth, speaking of us as capable of coming here, and of the welcome you have given us. (Hear, hear.) That, however, would be a slight thing if we did not leave behind us, as I am sure we do, that feeling of happy life which we take away with us. (Cheers.) For my own part, at all events, if I leave, it is not the last time I hope to spend in Borth. (Applause.) I know no place that has been more attractive to me, no place where, if I can, I shall more readily come back to--not, I hope, next time as an exile, but coming from home to happy holiday to spend it pleasantly among my friends here. (Applause.) MR. LEWIS proposed a hearty vote of thanks to Dr. Childs for his gratuitous attendance on the sick in his professional capacity. (Loud cheers.) DR. CHILDS referred to the pleasure experienced in doing a kindly action, and afterwards humorously added that at one time he thought of setting up in practice at Borth, but finding the place so healthy he had given up the idea. (Laughter and cheers.) He should, however, know where to send his convalescent patients in future. He should recommend them to take the first train, and spend a week on the sands at Borth, with an occasional dip in the Neptune Baths. (Loud laughter and cheers.) Three cheers were given for the ladies of Uppingham School, and the assembly separated after singing the National Anthem. HOW WE CAME BACK TO UPPINGHAM. (_From the_ SCHOOL MAGAZINE.) (_Signifer, statue signum, hic manebimus optime_.) Who has not known the moment when, as he looked on some familiar landscape, its homely features and sober colouring have suddenly, under some chance inspiration of the changing sky, become alive with an unexpected beauty: its unambitious hills take on them the dignity of mountains, its woods and streams swell and broaden with a majesty not their own. Though, perhaps, it is their own, if Nature, like Man, is most herself when seen in her best self; if her brightest moments are her truest. Shall we be thought fanciful if we confess that we felt something of this same kind when, returning from a year-long exile, in the last gleams of a bright May evening we turned the corner of the High Street of Uppingham, and came face to face with our welcome. The old street, seen again at last after so many months of banishment, the same and not the same; the old, homely street--forgive us, walls and roofs of Uppingham, and forgive us, you who tenant them, if sometimes perhaps to some of us, as our eyes swept the grand range of Welsh mountain-tops, or travelled out over limitless sea distances, there would rise forbidden feelings of reluctance to exchange these fair things for the bounded views and less unstinted beauties of our midland home: forgive us, as you may the more readily because these thoughts, if any such lingered, were charmed away on the instant by the sight of the real Uppingham. There lay the path to our home, an avenue of triumphal arches soaring on pillars of greenery, plumed with sheaves of banners, and enscrolled with such words as those to whom they spoke will know how to read and remember. Our eyes could follow through arch after arch the reaches of the gently-winding street, alive from end to end with waving flags, green boughs, and fanciful devices, till the quiet golden light in the western sky closed the vista, and glorified with such a touch of its own mellow splendour the ranges of brown gables and their floating banners, that for a moment we half dreamed ourselves spectators of an historic pageant in some "dim, rich city" of old-world renown. Only for a moment, though; for when we drop our eyes to the street below us, those are our own townsfolk, well-remembered faces, that throng every doorstep and fill the overflowing pavements and swarming roadway. Yes, they are our own townsfolk, and they are taking care to let us know it--such a welcome they have made ready for us. We hardly know how to describe with the epic dignity which it merits the act by which they testified their joy at our return. We who saw the sight were reminded of an incident in the AEneid-- Instar montis equum divina Palladis arte Aedificant, sectaque intexunt abiete costas; Votum pro reditu simulant. * * * * * Pueri circum innuptaeque puellae Sacra canuut, funemque manu contingere gaudent. But the ill-starred folk of Troy could not have shown more enthusiasm in haling within their walls the fatal wooden horse, than did the men and boys of Uppingham, who harnessed themselves, some four-score of them, to that guileless structure, which, though indeed it has some other name, we will call at present our triumphal car. They harnessed themselves to it at the east-end of the town, and drew it with the pomp of a swarming multitude all the length of the long street to its western mouth and half the way back again. On went that unwieldy car of triumph, bearing a freight of eager faces behind its windows, and carrying a crowd of sitters, precariously clustered wherever a perch could be found on its swaying roof, under the verdant span of the arches and the flow of the streamers: Ilia subit mediaeque minans inlabitur urbi. On it went, with the hum of applauding voices increasing round it, till the popular fervour found articulate utterance in a burst of jubilant music. There swept past our ears, first, the moving strains of "Auld lang syne," and then, as if in answer to the appeal to "Auld acquaintance," came the jocund chorus "There is nae luck about the house"--most eloquent assurance that we were welcome home. And then in turn the music died down, and the crowd round the now halted procession cheered with a will for "the school," "the Headmaster and the masters," and the school taking up with zest the genial challenge, returned the blessing with such a shout as if they meant the echoes of that merry evening to make amends in full to street and houses for their fourteen months of silence. It was "all over but the shouting:" but that was not over till some hours of dusk had gathered over school and town. For first the multitude besieged the well-known mighty gates, behind which lies the studious quiet of the Schoolhouse Quad. When they were admitted they came in like a flood, and filled the space within; but for all they were so many, there was an orderliness and quietude in the strange assemblage which made their presence there seem not strange at all, and they listened like one man to the words in which the Headmaster, who came out to meet them, framed his thanks for this unequivocal welcome. This done, they flowed out again, and streamed across the valley and up the hill to carry the same message of goodwill to the distant houses, and so with more cheering and more speeches came to an end a day of happiest omen for the joint fortunes of Uppingham School and Town. A few additional details are needed to complete our account. A friend, remarkable for his plain common-sense, reminds us that the epic vehicle we so indistinctly describe, was the Seaton 'bus, and that the music was due to "the splendid band connected with Mrs. Edmonds' menagerie, which happened to be in the town." We are not in a position to deny either statement, or another to the effect that "the conveyances which accompanied the 'bus formed a procession of considerable length," having been halted by arrangement outside the town, and formed into file for the entry. When the same friend hazards some further criticism on a confusion of dates and incidents in our narrative, in which he finds the events of two days, a Friday and a Saturday, presented as in a single scene, we feel it time to silence him by an appeal, which he does not follow, to the "truer historic sense" and the "massive grouping" of imaginative history. THE ADDRESS. On Tuesday of the next week, May 8, an address was presented by a deputation of the townspeople to the Headmaster and assistant masters. The ceremony took place in the school-room, the body of which was almost filled by those who had assembled to support their deputation, while the masters, their families, and the Sixth Form were seated on the tiers of the orchestra. The deputation coming forward, Mr. Bell said that Mr. Hawthorn and himself had been requested by their fellow townsmen to undertake the presentation of an address, in explanation of which he would make a few remarks. In an appreciative speech he reviewed the circumstances which had given rise to the present occasion, gave some explanation of the form and terms of the address, and took occasion to add that although the ladies were not mentioned in the address, the townspeople were not unmindful of the energetic way in which they had seconded the efforts of the masters. MR. HAWTHORN said he had been asked to read the Address, but that he was unwilling to do so without some slight expression of the feelings with which he and others took part in the presentation of it. Though they were met to congratulate the school, they felt, he said, that there were good grounds to congratulate themselves as townsmen. The absence of the school had pressed with greater or less severity on many tradesmen, being felt more especially by a large number of the poorer inhabitants, and had made it evident to many how poor a place Uppingham would be without a school upon its present important scale. But they valued the School on other grounds too; they recognize the advantage of the presence among them of so many representatives of liberal education and its broader views on matters of public interest. To the Headmaster it must be a cause for rejoicing and thankfulness that the labour of his life had been saved from a sudden and unfortunate conclusion. To him and his assistant masters, the parents, and the boys, by whose loyal adherence the time of trial had been happily passed through, their congratulations were offered. He proceeded to read the address, which was received with much applause by the townspeople. It is a handsomely illuminated document, to which between sixty and seventy names are attached; the terms of it are as follows: "_To the Rev. Edward Thring, M.A., Headmaster, and to the Assistant Masters of Uppingham School_. "Gentlemen,--We, the undersigned residents in Uppingham, have great pleasure in meeting you with a hearty welcome on the re-assembling of the school in full numbers in its native home, and gladly avail ourselves of this opportunity of conveying to you our congratulations that the period of anxiety and trial through which you have so successfully passed has clearly demonstrated the sound principles upon which the school has been conducted, and which have raised it to its present eminence as one of the great schools of the country, and have won for it the confidence of parents in all parts of the kingdom, many of whom have entrusted their sons to your care at Borth, and are continuing that trust now that you are returning to your homes. "We desire also to express our sense of the courage and enterprise manifested in removing the school from Uppingham at the time of the anxious crisis in February, 1876. "And we pray Almighty God that it may please Him to bless the school, and that under His guidance those who from time to time leave the school may as scholars and Christian gentlemen uphold its fame in whatever sphere they may be placed. "_Uppingham_, _May_, 1877." The HEADMASTER then rose and said: "Mr. Bell, Mr. Hawthorn, and friends in Uppingham,--Home is home, and you may be quite sure that we, at all events, who went through exile felt it indeed to be home when we came back again. (Applause.) It does not signify what the circumstances may be, but it is not possible to live long in a place and to have your home there without taking root in it, and having fibres sent deep which cannot be torn up without pain. (Applause.) We are very grateful, therefore, for the hearty, the enthusiastic welcome you gave us on our return. (Cheers.) Assuredly as our eyes looked on this pleasant hill and the familiar fields, we felt a deep thankfulness for the great peril passed, the page of life turned, and a year such as never can come again closed with success. (Applause.) And it is a pleasant spot to look on when you come down the dip of the valley before you near Uppingham, and look up and see the ancient homes crowning the brow of the hill--it is a fair sight to any eye, even to a stranger's eye, the pleasant homes of Uppingham, with the church and its spire in the midst, the spire of the school chapel beyond, each adding, methinks, to the beauty of the other, and both alike in their upward spring and their holy worship. It _is_ a pleasant spot to look on, and you made your old picturesque street very beautiful with your decorations and that bright outbreak of welcome which greeted us as we came in. (Cheers.) The school hardly knew what we meant--they did not know when we asked them to cheer at the top of the hill; but as the stream of life wound round and came in sight of that avenue of arches and flags, then they understood what was meant, and they were ready enough to second it. (Cheers.) We were very thankful, also, that you recognise in that address--that able address and pleasing to receive--how hard it was to go, how great a risk had to be faced to save the school; for that was what was at stake. I do not say that in years to come there should not again have been a school as great as this, or greater; but this I am sure of, that we were in the very last week of the life of this present school; that at the beginning of the week, when it was decided to go, there was news from different quarters that made it absolutely certain that another Monday would have seen no school here. For a school is not a mere machine which can be set going to order, and which anybody who happens at the time to have the mastery of can deal with like a machine. "I can call spirits from the vasty deep," says Shakespeare in one of his plays; and the rejoinder comes, "Why, so can I, or so can any man; but will they come when you do call for them?" (Laughter and cheers.) Now that is just what they won't do; and we simply had no choice; we lay absolutely helpless before the fact that ruin stared us in the face, and we could not stir hand or foot to stop it unless we had been able then to find a door of escape. This present school was at an end, and neither I nor some others amongst us could have set foot again in Uppingham as our home. Now I do assure you ruin is a hard thing to look on after a life-work of many years of labour--not a less hard thing because the sun rose as usual, and it was all peace, and the buildings looked as of old, and the fields were just as they had always been; but an invisible barrier had risen up, and we had no place here any more. To see the four-and-twenty years of life go at a touch--indeed it was hard to think of. "For my part, I have built my heart in the courses of the wall"--(cheers)--and nothing short of this impelled us to that dire necessity of leaping in the dark, to go we did not know where, and when we found the _where_, not knowing who would follow us. But it was worth while to run any risk--to face any danger--to keep together the life of this place, and that its name should not go out in England. (Loud cheers.) We did not know who would follow us, and it was a day to be remembered--a day of much cheer, though full of labour and trial and fear also, when on that 4th of April three hundred came in. (Loud applause.) Not above two or three that night were wanting of those who were going to remain at the school. (Cheers.) Well have you taken in your address that staunch adherence of parent and boy as the proudest honour that a school can boast of (cheers), and well have you noted that at Borth also the entries kept level with the leavings, and that we have brought back this year--this day--almost a hundred boys who had never seen Uppingham. (Renewed cheering.) This was worth fighting for; this is worth rejoicing. The school was saved, and we and you to-night once more meet together as one body. (Loud applause.) We are united now as we never have been before methinks (cheers); for never before, to my knowledge, in England, have town and school been so completely welded together as your welcome to us home and our presence here together to- night shows us to be now. (Loud and long-continued applause.) There have been many blessings in this great trial, but certainly not least do I set that, that we and you are once more met as one. Your work and ours is so mixed up--our work so mixed with yours, and yours with ours--that it is not possible that anything should go out of this place, any life come forth from it, which does not to a great degree bring honour or discredit to both; and I do think (what was said to-night) that we are here together to work in the highest way, not as a matter of pecuniary advantage only in a place like this, but simply that we, one with another, should push forward life and make it crown that living edifice of truth, which, as it seems to me, is town and school working together. And what a type that town is. "A city set upon a hill cannot be hid;" and surely as a school and a home, a home of learning and light, this place is both actually and figuratively set upon its hill. Everything of the past year has gone out into land after land, in letters and papers and narratives on all sides: the busy-boy mind and the busy-boy pen photographs most accurately all the minute incidents that interest their opening life, and it passes out everywhere. I know that in India, and China, and Australia, and Canada--and I might go on with half the countries in the world--there has been talk in many a distant home of what has happened here. It may very well be that at this moment your names are on many lips as letters of English news have come in lately from England, and your welcome of us will travel out to the ends of the earth, so great is the power of "a city set upon a hill." And when you pray that we may be Christian gentlemen in the life that is coming, I say it lies a great deal in your own hands. Help us by so smoothing our path in all ways so that your honour may be our honour and your work our work, and that as we are grateful to you to-night so the world outside may be grateful to you also for work hereafter, and that none shall go out of Uppingham School and shall not carry wherever he goes a thankful memory of Uppingham town, and that whenever the name of Uppingham is heard in any part of the world it shall be that of an honoured place, with no divided interest, but one place working wisely, so that the world may be grateful for good work done, as we to-night are grateful for the welcome given, grateful for the lightening of our burdens, grateful for the possibility of good work in the future, most grateful for the happy homes you have given us in welcoming us home so fervently. I thank you most heartily in the name of the school and the masters and myself for this address, which I trust will for ever remain not the least honoured relic of this school." The Headmaster sat down again amid much cheering from the audience of townspeople, to which the small party of boys present found voice to make no ineffective answer in three salutes 'for Uppingham town.' * * * * * CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS. Footnotes: {12} "Prom. Vinct.," 904. {19} _The Times_, Friday, April 14th, 1876. {46} "Fifty Years of my Life," Albemarle, p. 308. {66} Believers in augury are too seldom confronted with the negative instance. May we then invite their attention to the following? The address was published in a paragraph of _The Times_, but the words "under the same leadership" were omitted. Nevertheless, to the discredit of omination, under the same leadership the school did return. 
13245	----	This eBook was produced by Philip H Hitchcock About the online edition. Italics are represented as /italics/. THE CHARM OF OXFORD by J. WELLS, M.A. Warden of Wadham College, Oxford Illustrated by W. G. BLACKALL Second Edition (Revised) SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON KENT & CO., LTD., 4 STATIONERS' HALL COURT : : LONDON, E.C.4 Copyright First published 1920 Second edition 1921 "'Home of lost causes'--this is Oxford's blame; 'Mother of movements'--this, too, boasteth she; In the same walls, the same yet not the same, She welcomes those who lead the age-to-be." "Much have ye suffered from time's gnawing tooth, Yet, O ye spires of Oxford domes and towers, Gardens and groves, your presence overpowers The soberness of reason." WORDSWORTH. [Plate 1. Christ Church : The Cathedral from the Garden] THE CHARM OF OXFORD PREFACE There are many books on Oxford; the justification for this new one is Mr. Blackall's drawings. They will serve by their grace and charm pleasantly to recall to those who know Oxford the scenes they love; they will incite those who do not know Oxford to remedy that defect in their lives. My own letterpress is only written to accompany the drawings. It is intended to remind Oxford men of the things they know or ought to know; it is intended still more to help those who have not visited Oxford to understand the drawings and to appreciate some of the historical associations of the scenes represented. I have written quite freely, as this seemed the best way to create the "impression" wished. I have to acknowledge some obligations to Messrs. Seccombe & Scott's /Praise of Oxford/, a book the pages of which an Oxford man can always turn over with pleasure, and to Mr. J. B. Firth's /Minstrelsy of Isis/; it is not his fault that the poetic merit of so much of his collection is poor. Oxford has not on the whole been fortunate in her poets. My own quotations are more often chosen for their local colour than for their poetic merit. I have unavoidably had to borrow a good deal from my own /Oxford and its Colleges/, but the aim of the two books is very different. WADHAM COLLEGE, OXFORD, April 1920. CONTENTS INTRODUCTION RADCLIFFE SQUARE THE BROAD STREET BALLIOL COLLEGE MERTON COLLEGE MERTON LIBRARY ORIEL COLLEGE QUEEN'S COLLEGE NEW COLLEGE: (1) FOUNDER AND BUILDINGS NEW COLLEGE: (2) HISTORY LINCOLN COLLEGE MAGDALEN COLLEGE: (1) SITE AND BUILDINGS MAGDALEN COLLEGE: (2) HISTORY BRASENOSE COLLEGE CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE CHRIST CHURCH: (1) THE CATHEDRAL CHRIST CHURCH: (2) THE HALL STAIRCASE CHRIST CHURCH: (3) "TOM" TOWER ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE WADHAM COLLEGE: (1) THE BUILDINGS WADHAM COLLEGE: (2) HISTORY HERTFORD COLLEGE ST. EDMUND HALL IFFLEY MILL LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS I CHRIST CHURCH, THE CATHEDRAL FROM THE GARDEN II ST. MARY'S SPIRE III VIEW IN RADCLIFFE SQUARE IV SHELDONIAN THEATRE, ETC., BROAD STREET V BALLIOL COLLEGE, BROAD STREET FRONT VI MERTON COLLEGE, THE TOWER VII MERTON COLLEGE, THE LIBRARY INTERIOR VIII ORIEL COLLEGE AND ST. MARY'S CHURCH IX HIGH STREET X NEW COLLEGE, THE ENTRANCE GATEWAY XI NEW COLLEGE, THE TOWER XII LINCOLN COLLEGE, THE CHAPEL INTERIOR XIII MAGDALEN TOWER XIV MAGDALEN COLLEGE, THE OPEN AIR PULPIT XV BRASENOSE COLLEGE, QUADRANGLE AND THE RADCLIFFE LIBRARY XVI CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE, THE FIRST QUADRANGLE XVII CHRIST CHURCH, THE CATHEDRAL FROM THE MEADOW XVIII CHRIST CHURCH, THE HALL STAIRCASE XIX CHRIST CHURCH, THE HALL INTERIOR XX CHRIST CHURCH, "TOM" TOWER XXI ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE GARDEN FRONT XXII WADHAM COLLEGE, THE CHAPEL FROM THE GARDEN XXIII WADHAM COLLEGE, THE HALL INTERIOR XXIV HERTFORD COLLEGE, THE BRIDGE XXV ST. PETER-IN-THE-EAST CHURCH AND ST. EDMUND HALL XXVI IFFLEY, THE OLD MILL OXFORD FROM THE EAST [End papers] INTRODUCTION In what does the charm of Oxford consist? Why does she stand out among the cities of the world as one of those most deserving a visit? It can hardly be said to be for the beauty of her natural surroundings. In spite of the charm of her "Rivers twain of gentle foot that pass Through the rich meadow-land of long green grass," in spite of her trees and gardens, which attract a visitor, especially one from the more barren north, Oxford must yield the palm of natural beauty to many English towns, not to mention those more remote. But she has every other claim, and first, perhaps, may be mentioned that of historic interest. An Englishman who knows anything of history is not likely to forget of how many striking events in the development of his country Oxford has been the scene. The element of romance is furnished early in her story by the daring escape of the Empress-Queen, Matilda, from Oxford Castle. The Provisions of Oxford (1258) were the work of one of the most famous Parliaments of the thirteenth century, the century which saw the building of the English constitution, and the students of the University fought for the cause which those Provisions represented. The burning of the martyr bishops in the sixteenth century is one of the greatest tragedies in the story of our Church. The seventeenth century saw Oxford the capital of Royalist England in the Civil War, and though there was no actual fighting there, Charles' night march in 1644 from Oxford to the West, between the two enclosing armies of Essex and Waller, is one of the most famous military movements ever carried out in our comparatively peaceful island. The Parliamentary history, too, of Oxford in the seventeenth century is full of interest, for it was there that in 1625 Charles' first Parliament met in the Divinity School. And fifty years later, his son, Charles II, triumphed over the Whig Parliament at Oxford, which was trying by factious violence to force the Exclusion Bill on a reluctant king and nation. Few towns beside London have been the scene of so many great historical events; yet any one who looks below the surface will attach less importance to these than to the great changes in thought which have found in Oxford their inspiration, and which make it a city of pilgrimage for those interested in the development of England's real life. Matthew Arnold's famous description, hackneyed though it is by quotation, gives one aspect of Oxford, an aspect which will appeal to many beside the scholar poet: "Beautiful city! so venerable, so lovely, so unravaged by the fierce intellectual life of our century, so serene! 'There are our young barbarians, all at play.' And yet, steeped in sentiment as she lies, spreading her gardens to the moonlight, and whispering' from her towers the last enchantments of the Middle Ages, who will deny that Oxford, by her ineffable charm, keeps ever calling us nearer to the true goal of all of us, to the ideal, to perfection--to beauty, in a word, which is only truth seen from another side?" But this is not the real intellectual charm of Oxford, which has been ever the centre of strenuous life, rather than of dilettante dreamings. From the very beginning, she has been a city of "Movements." Some visitors, then, will come to Oxford as the home and the burial-place of Roger Bacon, representing as he does the Franciscan Order, with its Christ-like sympathy for the poor and its early attempts to develop the knowledge of Natural Science; Oxford was in the thirteenth century the great centre of the Friars' movement in England. Others will remember that in the next century it produced, in John Wycliffe, the great opponent of the Friars, the man who, as the first of the Reformers, is to many the most interesting figure in mediaeval English religious history. In the sixteenth century, Oxford plays no great part in the actual revolution in the English Church; yet it will be a place attractive to many who cherish the memory of the "Oxford Reformers," the members of Erasmus' circle --John Colet, Thomas More, William Grocyn, and other scholars--who hoped by sound learning to amend the Church without violent change. Some, on the other hand, will see in the sixteenth-century Oxford, the school which trained men for the Counter-Reformation, such as the heroic Jesuit, Campion, or Cardinal Alien, the founder of the English College at Douai. The Anglican "Via Media" found its special representatives in Oxford in Jewel and Hooker, and in Laud, the practical genius who carried out its principles in the Church administration of his day. It was fitting that the movement for the revival of Church teaching in England in the nineteenth century should be an Oxford movement, and Newman's pulpit at St. Mary's and the chapel of Oriel College are sacred in the eyes of Anglicans all over the world. In the interval between Laud and Newman, Church principles had found a different development in another Oxford man; John Wesley's character and spiritual life were built up in Oxford, till he went forth to do the work of an Evangelist during more than half of the eighteenth century. Wycliffe, More, Hooker, Laud, Wesley, Newman, these are not the names of men who have affected the religious history of the world as did Luther, Calvin or Ignatius Loyola; but they have affected profoundly the religious life of the English-speaking race, and Oxford must ever be a sacred place for their sakes. And Oxford has been the starting-point of other than religious movements. No place in England has such a claim on the Englishmen of the New World as has Oxford. It was there that Richard Hakluyt taught geography, and collected in part his wonderful store of the tales of enterprise beyond the sea. Sir Humphrey Gilbert and his half-brother, Sir Walter Raleigh, both Oxford men, were the founders of English colonization. By their failures they showed the way to success later, and Calvert in Maryland, Penn in Pennsylvania, John Locke in the Carolinas, and Oglethorpe in Georgia are all Oxford men who rank as founders of States in the great Union of the West. And in our own day, Cecil Rhodes has once more proved that the academic dreamer can go out and advance the development of a great continent. By his magnificent foundation of scholarships at Oxford, he showed that he considered his old university a formative influence of the greatest importance in world history. Oxford with reason puts up one tablet to mark his lodgings in the city, and another to commemorate him in her stately Examination Schools. [Plate II, St. Mary's Spire] But there are many to whom the past, whether in the realm of action or in the realm of ideas, does not appeal, whether it be from lack of knowledge or from lack of sympathy. To some of these Oxford makes a different appeal as perhaps the best place in England for studying the development of English architecture. The early Norman work of the Castle and St. Michael's, the Transition work of the cathedral, the very early lancet windows of St. Giles' Church (consecrated by the great St. Hugh of Lincoln himself), the Decorated Style as seen in St. Mary's spire and in Merton chapel, the glories of the specially English style, the Perpendicular, in Wykeham's work at New College and in Magdalen Tower, the Tudor magnificence of Wolsey's work at Christ Church, the last flower of Gothic at Wadham and at St. John's, the triumph of Wren's genius, alike in the classical style at the Sheldonian and in "Gothic" as in Tom Tower, the Classical work of Hawkesmore at Queen's and of Gibbs in the Radcliffe, the wonderful beauty of Mr. Bodley's modern Gothic in St. Swithun's Quad at Magdalen, and the skilful adaptation of old English tradition to modern needs by Sir Thomas Jackson at Trinity and at Hertford--what other city can show such a series of architectural beauties? And it must not be forgotten that Oxford disputes with York the honour of having the most representative sequence of painted glass windows in England. Oxford, indeed, is a paradise for the student of Art. Nowhere, except at Cambridge, can the series of architectural works be paralleled, and at both universities the charm of their ancient buildings is enhanced by their beautiful setting in college gardens. It is not an accident that in the old universities more than anywhere else, so much of beauty has survived, nor is it to be put down as a happy piece of academic conservatism. It is rather the natural result of their constitution and endowment. What has been so fatal to the beauty of old England elsewhere has been material prosperity. The buildings inherited from the past had to go, at least so it was thought, because they were not suited to modern methods, or because the site they occupied was worth so much more for other purposes. But the colleges at Oxford and Cambridge could not carry on their work on different sites; "residence" was an essential of academic arrangements; and there was no temptation to the fellows of a college to make money by parting with their old buildings, for their incomes were determined by Statute, and any great increase of wealth would not advantage individual fellows. Hence, while great nobles and great merchants sold their splendid houses and grounds, and grew rich on the unearned increment, and while non-residential universities moved bodily from their old positions to new and more fashionable quarters, Oxford and Cambridge colleges went on working and living in the same places. Much the same reasons have preserved, in many old towns, picturesque alms-houses, to show the modern world how beautiful buildings once could be, while all around them reigns opulent ugliness. Certain it is that only in one instance, in recent times, has an Oxford college contemplated selling its old site and buildings and migrating to North Oxford, and then the sacrilegious attempt was outvoted. Hence, as has been said, the two old English Universities possess in an unique degree the "Strange enchantments of the past And memories of the days of old." The charms of Oxford for the historical student and for the lover of Art have been spoken of. But a large part of the world comes under neither head; to it the charm of Oxford consists in the young lives that are continually passing through it. Oxford and Cambridge present ever attractive contrasts between their young students and their old buildings, between the first enthusiasm of ever new generations, and customs and rules which date back to mediaeval times. But apart from the charm of contrast, Oxford has everything to make life attractive for young men. It is true that the old buildings combine with a dignity a millionaire could not surpass a standard of material comfort which in some respects is below that of an up-to- date workhouse. An amusing instance has occurred of this during the war. The students of one of the women's colleges, expelled from their own modern buildings, which had been turned into a hospital, became tenants of half of one of the oldest colleges. It was very romantic thus to gain admission to the real Oxford, but the students soon found that it was very uncomfortable to have their baths in an out- of-the-way corner of the college. And baths themselves are but a modern institution at Oxford; at one or two colleges still the old "tub in one's room" is the only system of washing. Perhaps this instance may be thought frivolous, but it is typical of Oxford, which has been described, with some exaggeration in both words, as a home of "barbaric luxury." But after all, comfort in the material sense is the least important element in completeness of life. Oxford has everything else, except, it is true, a bracing climate. She has society of every kind, in which a man ranks on his merits, not on his possessions; he is valued for what he is, not for what he has; she gives freedom to her sons to live their own life, with just sufficient restraint to add piquancy to freedom, and to restrain those excesses which are fatal to it; she has intellectual interests and traditions, which often really affect men who seem indifferent to them; life in her, as a rule, is not troubled by financial cares--for her young men, most of them, either through old endowments or from family circumstances, have for the moment enough of this world's goods. In view of all this, and much more, is it not natural that Oxford has a charm for her sons? And this is enhanced with many by all the force of hereditary tradition; the young man is at his college because his father was there before him; the pleasure of each generation is increased by the reflection of the other's pleasure. What traditional feeling in Oxford means may, perhaps, be illustrated by the story of an old English worthy, though one only of the second rank. Jonathan Trelawney, one of the Seven Bishops who defied James II, was a stout Whig, but when it was proposed to punish Oxford for her devotion to the Pretender, the Government found they could not reckon on his vote, though he was usually a safe party man. "I must be excused from giving my vote for altering the methods of election into Christ Church, where I had my bread for twenty years. I would rather see my son a link boy than a student of Christ Church in such a manner as tears up by the roots that constitution." But the days of hereditary tradition are over, and Trelawney belongs to an age long past; Oxford now is exposed to an influence compared to which the arbitrary proceedings of a king are feeble. A democratic Parliament with a growing Labour party has far more power to change Oxford than the Stuarts ever had, and even at this moment (1919) a third Royal Commission is beginning to sit. Will it modify, will it-- transform Oxford? The first answer seems to be that the very stones of Oxford are charged with her traditions. During the War the colleges have been full of officer-cadets; they were men of all ranks of life and of every kind of education; they came from all parts of the world; they were of all ages, from eighteen to forty, at least. Their training was a strenuous one by strict rule, a complete contrast to the free and easy life of academic Oxford. Yet in their few months of residence, most of them became imbued with the college spirit; they considered themselves members of the place they lived in; they tried to do most of the things undergraduates do. If Oxford thus, to some extent, moulded to her pattern men who, welcome as they were, were only accidental, surely the college spirit may be trusted to assimilate whatever material the changed conditions of social or of political life furnish to it. The hope of many at Oxford is that there will be a great development and a great change. On one side it will be good if Oxford becomes to a much greater extent not only an all-British, but also a world university; on another side it is to be hoped that far more than ever before men of all classes in England will come to Oxford. It would surprise many of the University's critics to find how much had already been done in these directions. It is certainly not true now that, as one of Oxford's critics wrote, "Too long, too long men saw thee sit apart From all the living pulses of the hour." On the contrary, the Oxford of the last generation has already become markedly more cosmopolitan, and she has been drawing to her an ever- increasing number of able men of every class. But these developments, thus begun, will certainly be carried much further in the near future. Oxford will be altered. Some of her customs will be changed. This may well issue in great and lasting good, though there will be loss as well as gain. But an Oxford man may be pardoned if he believes and hopes that his university will remain the university he has loved. There is a saying current in Oxford about Oxford men, which may not be out of place here--"If you meet a stranger, and if after a time you say to him, 'I think you were at Oxford,' he accepts it, as a matter of course, and is pleased. If you do the same to a Cambridge man, he indignantly replies, 'How do you know that?'" No doubt the saying is turned the other way round at Cambridge, and no doubt it is equally true and equally false of both universities, i.e. it is positively true and negatively false, like so many other statements. But it is positively true; the Oxford man is proud of having been at Oxford; the past and the present alike, his political and his religious beliefs, his traditions and his social surroundings, all endear Oxford to him. May it ever be so. RADCLIFFE SQUARE "Like to a queen in pride of place, she wears The splendour of a crown in Radcliffe's dome." L. JOHNSON. [Plate III. View of Radcliffe Square] The visitor to Oxford often asks--"Where is the University?" The proper answer is: "The University is everywhere," for the colleges are all parts of it. But if a distinction must be made, and some buildings must be shown which are especially "University Buildings," then it is undoubtedly in the Square, of which this picture shows one side, that they must be found. Immediately on the right is the Bodleian Library, the domed building in the centre is the Radcliffe Library, and in the background rises the spire of St. Mary's. Of this last building the tower and spire go back nearly to the beginnings of Oxford; they date from the time of Edward I; but for a century, at least, before they were erected, the students of Oxford had met for worship and for business in the earlier church, which stood on the site of the present St. Mary's. The Bodleian Library occupies the old Examination Schools, which were built, in the reign of James I, for the reformed University of Archbishop Laud; within the memory of men who do not count themselves old, the university examinations were still held in this building. Finally, the shapely dome between the Bodleian and St. Mary's is the work of James Gibbs, the greatest English architect of the eighteenth century, to whom Cambridge owes its Senate House, and London the noble church of St. Martin's in the Fields. The dome was built for a separate library, the foundation of Dr. John Radcliffe, Queen Anne's physician, the most munificent of Oxford benefactors; it is still managed by his trustees, a body independent of the University, but since 1861 they have lent it to the Bodleian Library for a reading- room. It is fitting that the oldest public library in the modern world, a title the Bodleian can proudly claim, should have the finest reading-room, where 400 students can have each his separate desk, and where, if so minded and so physically enduring, they can put in twelve hours' work in a day. No other great library in Europe allows such privileges. Round these three University buildings are grouped three colleges: Hertford, the youngest of Oxford foundations, the re-creation of an old hall by a Victorian financial magnate. Sir Thomas Baring; All Souls', standing a little beyond, of which the part here shown is the corner of the great Law Library, founded by Sir William Codrington in the days of good Queen Anne; while on the other side of the Radcliffe is Brasenose College (for pictures of which see Plates II and XV). No non-academic building fronts on the Square; the one or two houses facing on the south-west corner are occupied by college tutors. The academic influence has spread even under the earth, for between the Bodleian and the Radcliffe there is a great subterranean chamber of two stories, excavated 1909-1910, which, when full, will contain 1,000,000 books. It is refreshing to turn from the thought of so much dead industry, as these multitudes of unread books will represent, to the inspiration of the buildings. They are the very epitome of Oxford. The classic symmetry of Gibbs' dome looks across at the soaring spire of the mediaeval University Church, while the Bodleian is one of the best examples of the Jacobean Gothic, which still held its own in Oxford when the classical style was triumphing elsewhere. Such contrasts are typical of Oxford. The University had a European reputation in the days when it was one of the two great centres of mediaeval scholasticism. Roger Bacon, the most famous name in mediaeval science, no doubt saw the tower of St. Mary's beginning to rise. The University welcomed the Classical Revival, it survived the storms of the Reformation, it was the great centre of the building up of Anglican theology under the Laudian rule, it was one of the inspirations of English science in the seventeenth century, though Dr. Radcliffe's generous benefactions are a little later, and have hardly begun to yield their full fruit till our own day. Such are the learned traditions of the Radcliffe Square, while it has also been the centre of the young lives which, for seven centuries at least, have enjoyed their happiest years in Oxford. The view from the Radcliffe roof is undoubtedly the best in Oxford. It has been thus described by the worst of the many poets who have celebrated the University: "Spire, tower and steeple, roofs of radiant tile, The costly temple and collegiate pile, In sumptuous mass of mingled form and hue, Await the wonder of thy sateless view." But Robert Montgomery is more likely to be remembered for Macaulay's merciless but well-deserved chastisement than for his praises of Oxford. Even their utter bathos cannot degrade a group of buildings so wonderful. THE BROAD STREET "Ye mossy piles of old munificence, At once the pride of learning and defence." J. WARTON, /Triumph of Isis/ The east side of the University buildings proper was shown in the last picture (Plate III); in the following (Plate IV), the north side of the same block is seen. The old University "schools" lay just inside the city wall, and Broad Street, which is there represented, occupies the site of the ditch, which ran on the north of the wall. This picture is a fitting supplement to the last, for the Sheldonian Theatre on the right of it and the Clarendon Building in the background may claim rank even with the Bodleian and the Radcliffe as the University's special buildings. The Sheldonian celebrated its two hundred and fiftieth anniversary only last year (1919), when the music which had been performed at its opening was performed once more. It is a building interesting from many points of view. Architecturally it marks the first complete flowering of the genius of Sir Christopher Wren. He was only thirty- seven when it was completed, and had been previously known rather as a man of science than as an architect; he was Oxford's Professor of Astronomy; but Archbishop Sheldon chose him to build a worthy meeting place for his University, even as at the same time he was being called by the king to prepare plans for rebuilding London after the Great Fire. The very existence of the Sheldonian marks the development of University ideas. The simple piety--or was it the worldliness?--of Pre-Reformation Oxford had seen nothing unsuitable in the ceremonies of graduate Oxford and the ribaldries of undergraduate Oxford taking place in the consecrated building of St. Mary's; but the more sober genius of Anglicanism was shocked at these secular intrusions, and Sheldon provided his University with a worthy home, where its great functions have been performed ever since. The building is a triumph of construction; it is doubtful if so large an unsupported roof can be found elsewhere; but Wren is not to be held responsible for the outside ugly flat roof, which was put on 100 years ago, because it was said, quite falsely, that Wren's roof was unsafe. That architect had set himself the problem of getting the greatest number of people into the space at his disposal, and he managed to fit in a building that will hold 1,500. It was also intended for the Printing Press of the University, but was only used in that way for a short time, as in 1713 Sir John Vanbrugh put up the Clarendon Building, to house this department of University activity. The "heaviness" of Vanbrugh's buildings was a jest even in his own time; someone wrote as an epitaph for him "Lie heavy on him. Earth, for he Laid many a heavy load on thee." Blenheim Palace, his greatest work, is indeed a "heavy load." But the same criticism can hardly be brought against the columned portico, which forms a fine ending for the Broad Street. Vanbrugh's building was superseded in its turn, when the increasing business of the Oxford Printing Press was moved to the present building in 1830. [Plate IV. Sheldonian Theatre, etc., Broad Street] Since then, all kinds of University business have been carried on in the old Printing Press. The University Registrar and the University Treasurer (his style is "Secretary of the University Chest") have their offices there; the Proctors exercise discipline from there; the various University delegacies and committees meet there. And another side of Oxford life, not yet (in January 1920) fully recognized as belonging to the University, has found a home there; the top floor has been for twenty years past the centre of women's education in Oxford, a position elevated indeed, for it is up more than fifty stairs, but commodious and dignified when reached at last. Perhaps the Clarendon Building has gained in lightness of effect by being contrasted with the clumsy mass of the Indian Institute, which forms the background of our picture. The nineteenth century proudly criticized the taste of the eighteenth; but it may well be doubted if any building in Oxford of the earlier and much-abused century is more inartistic and inappropriate than "Jumbo's Joss House," which used to rouse the scorn and anger of the late Professor of History, Edward A. Freeman. No Oxford colleges are in this picture, though a small part of Exeter, one of Sir Gilbert Scott's least happy erections in Oxford, appears on the right, and a little piece of Trinity on the left; the last-named is the college of Professor Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, better known as "Q," one of the most delightful of Oxford's minor poets. The opening lines of his poem, "Alma Mater," "Know ye her secret none can utter, Hers of the book, the tripled crown? Still on the spire the pigeons flutter, Still by the gateway flits the gown, Still in the street from corbel and gutter Faces of stone look down," may well have been inspired by this very scene in the Broad, for the grim faces of stone that surround the Sheldonian are one of the features and the puzzles of Oxford. Are they the Roman Emperors, or the Greek Philosophers, or neither? It does not matter, for they are unlike anything in heaven or in earth, and yet they are loved by all true Oxford men for their uncompromising ugliness, which has been familiar to so many generations. BALLIOL COLLEGE "For the house of Balliol is builded ever By all the labours of all her sons, And the great deed wrought and the grand endeavour Will be hers as long as the Isis runs." F. S. BOAS The story is told of the old Greek admirals, after their victory at Salamis over the Persian king, that, when invited to name the two most deserving commanders, they each put their own name first, and then one and all put the Athenian Themistocles second. If a vote, on these principles, were taken in Oxford as to which was the best college, there is little doubt that Balliol would secure most of the second votes. It is one of the three oldest colleges, and actually has been in occupation of its present site longer than any other of our Oxford foundations--for more than six centuries and a half. Yet its greatness is but a thing of yesterday compared to the antiquity of Oxford, and it is fitting that a college which has come to the front in the nineteenth century should be mainly housed in nineteenth century buildings. Balliol has indeed ceased to be the "most satisfactory pile and range of old lowered and gabled edifices," which Nathaniel Hawthorne saw in the "fifties" of the last century. The painful imitation of a French chateau, the work of Sir Alfred Waterhouse, which forms the main part of our picture, was put up about 1868 (mainly by the munificence of Miss Hannah Brackenbury), and only the old hall and the library, which lie behind, remain of Pre-Reformation Balliol. In the background of our picture (Plate V) can be seen the Fisher Building, known to all Balliol men for the still existing inscription, "Verbum non amplius Fisher," which tradition says was put up at the dying request of the eighteenth-century benefactor. While it is true that the pre-eminence of Balliol is a growth of the nineteenth century, yet the college can count among its worthies one of the greatest names in English mediaeval history, that of John Wycliffe. He was probably a scholar of Balliol, and certainly Master for some years about 1360. But he left the college for a country living, and his time at Balliol is not associated with either of his most important works--his translation of the Bible or his order of "Poor Preachers." While at Balliol, he was rather "the last of the Schoolmen" than "the first of the Reformers." The modern greatness of Balliol is due to the fact that the college awoke more rapidly from the sleep of the eighteenth century than most of Oxford, and as early as 1828 threw open its scholarships to free competition. Hence even as early as the time of Dr. Arnold at Rugby, a "Balliol scholarship" had become "the blue riband of public-school education." It has now passed into popular phraseology to such an extent that lady novelists, unversed in academic niceties, confer a "Balliol scholarship" on their heroes, even when entering Cambridge. Balliol has known how to take full advantage of its opportunity. Governed by a series of eminent masters, especially Dr. Scott of Greek dictionary fame, and Professor Jowett, the translator of Plato and the hero of more Oxford stories than any other man, it has been ready to adapt itself to every new movement. While the governing bodies of other colleges in the middle of the last century were too often looking only to raising their own fellowships to the highest possible point, the Balliol dons were denying their own pockets to enrich and strengthen their college. Hence, undoubtedly, Balliol for a long time past has had a lion's share of Oxford's great men; two Archbishops of Canterbury, Tait and Temple, the present Archbishop of York, Cardinal Manning, a Prime Minister in Mr. Asquith, a Speaker in Lord. Peel, two Viceroys of India in Lord Lansdowne and Lord Curzon, poets like Clough, Matthew Arnold and Swinburne, these are only some of the more outstanding names. It is this which makes Balliol Hall so particularly interesting to the ordinary man; knowledge of present-day affairs, not of history, is all that is needed to appreciate its array of portraits. Nor has Balliol been unmindful of the social movements of our time. It is the chosen home of the Workers' Educational Association in Oxford, and in Arnold Toynbee it produced one of the pioneers and martyrs of modern social progress. Truly Balliol has much more to show to the visitor than its ultra-modern front on the Broad would promise. The street, on which Balliol looks out, is associated with the most famous scene of Oxford history; the stone with a cross in the middle of the road marks the traditional site of the burning of the bishops, Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer, although their memorial has been erected 200 yards further north in St. Giles', and though antiquarians argue (probably correctly) that the actual pyre was a little further south, in fact, behind the present row of Broad Street houses. But it is the living activity of the college, not the sad memories of the street in front, that gives the interest to the picture. The intellectual life of the Balliol men has been well described by Professor J. C. Shairp, whose verses on "Balliol Scholars" are likely to be remembered by Oxford in long days to come for their associations, if not for their poetic merits. He describes what a privilege it is "to have passed," with men who became famous afterwards, "The threshold of young life, Where the man meets, not yet absorbs, the boy, And ere descending to the dusky strife, Gazed from clear heights of intellectual joy That an undying image left enshrined." This will come home to many, as they think on their happy Oxford days when they had life all before them, even though their contemporaries have not become archbishops like Temple or poets like Matthew Arnold. [Plate V. Balliol College, Broad Street Front] MERTON COLLEGE "I passed beside the reverend walls In which of old I wore the gown." TENNYSON. [Plate VI. Merton College : The Tower] Merton is not only the oldest college in Oxford, it is also, as is claimed on the monument of the founder, Walter de Merton, in his Cathedral of Rochester, the model of "omnium quotquot extant collegiorum." Peterhouse, the first college at Cambridge, which was founded (1281) seven years later than Merton, had its statutes avowedly copied from those of its Oxford predecessor. So important a new departure in education calls for special notice. It is interesting to see how the English college system grew out of the long rivalry between the Regular and the Secular clergy which was so prominent in the mediaeval church. The Secular clergy, who had in their ranks all the "professional men" of the day, civil servants, architects, physicians, as well as, those devoted to religious matters in the strict sense, were always jealous of the monks and the friars, who, living by a "rule" in their communities, were much less in sympathy with English national feelings than the Seculars, who lived among the laity. Hence the growing influence of the Regular Orders, especially of the Franciscans and the Dominicans, in thirteenth-century Oxford, excited the alarm of a far-seeing prelate like Walter de Merton. There was a real danger that the most prominent and best of the students might be drawn into the great new communities, which were rapidly adding to their learning and their piety the further attractions of great buildings and splendid ceremonial. The founder of Merton had the same purpose as the founder of the College of the Sorbonne at Paris, a slightly earlier institution (1257). He intended that his college should rival the houses of the Dominicans and the Franciscans. These friaries were in the southern part of Oxford, and have completely perished, leaving behind only the names of two or three mean streets; but the college system which Walter de Merton founded has grown with the growth of Oxford and of England, and is to-day as vigorous and as useful as ever. Walter de Merton provided his fellows with noble buildings, at once for their common life and for their own private accommodation, and also with endowments sufficient to enable them to live in comfort, free from anxiety; most important of all, he gave them powers of self-government, so that they might recruit their own numbers and carry out for themselves the objects prescribed by him in his Statutes. In this great foundation then the three characteristic features of a college are found--a common life, powers of self-government, with the right of choosing future members, and endowments that enable religion and learning to flourish, free from more pressing cares. It is these features which distinguish the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge, and which have determined their history. Walter de Merton definitely prescribed that none of the fellows who benefited by his foundation should be monks or friars; to take the vows involved forfeiture of a fellowship. He also especially urged on the members of his society that, when any of them rose to "ampler fortune" /(uberior fortuna)/, they should not forget their /alma mater/. The founder died in 1277, so that none of the college buildings were complete in his time, except perhaps the treasury, which, with its high-pitched roof of stone, lies in the opposite corner of the Mob Quad to that shown in our picture. Why the Quad is called "The Mob Quad," nobody knows. As was fitting, the chapel was the first part of the college to be finished--about 1300--and it is a splendid specimen of early Geometrical Gothic; it retains a little of the old glass, given by one of the early fellows. The north side of the Mob Quad, which is shown in our picture, is very little later than the Chapel, and the whole of the Quad was finished before 1400; the rooms in it have been the homes of Oxford men for more than five centuries. It is sad to think that so unique a building was almost destroyed in the middle of the nineteenth century, by the zeal of "reformers"; it was actually condemned to be pulled down, to make way for modern buildings, but, fortunately, there was an irregularity in the voting. Mr. G. C. Brodrick, then a young fellow, later the Warden of the college, insisted on the matter being discussed again at a later meeting, and at this the Mob Quad was saved by a narrow majority. "He will go to Heaven for it," as Corporal Trim said of the English Guards, who saved his broken regiment at Steinkirk. The "reformers" of Merton had to be content with cutting down their beautiful "Grove" and spoiling the finest view in Oxford by erecting the ugliest building which Mid-Victorian taste inflicted on the University. In the old buildings which so narrowly escaped destruction may have lived John Wycliffe, who is claimed as a fellow of Merton in an almost contemporary list; his activity in Oxford belongs rather to the later time, when he was Master of Balliol. His is one of the outstanding names in English history; the success of Merton in producing great men of a more ordinary kind can be judged from the fact that between 1294 and 1366 six out of the seven Archbishops of Canterbury were Merton men. In the great period of the seventeenth century, Merton had the distinction of being one of the few colleges which were Parliamentarian in sympathy. Hence the Warden was deposed by King Charles, who installed in his place a really great man, William Harvey, the discoverer of the circulation of the blood. But the king did more harm than good to the college; it was turned into lodgings for Queen Henrietta Maria and her court, and ladies were intruded and children born within college walls. These proceedings were respectable, though unusual; but the college was even more humiliated by the visit of Charles II, who installed there, among other court ladies, the notorious Duchess of Cleveland. The college, however, with the Revolution, returned to less courtly views, and its Whig connection found an honourable representative in Richard Steele, the founder of the /Tatler/. It is not surprising that so cheerful a gentleman left Oxford without a degree, but "with the love of the whole society." The college register specially notes his gift of his /Tatler/; he was acting on the sound rule, by no means so universally followed as it ought to be, that Oxford authors should present their books to their college library. Merton, as has been said, is the "type" college, if one may thus apply a scientific term; hence it is fitting that to it belong the two men to whom perhaps Oxford owes most. Thomas Bodley was a fellow and lecturer in Greek there, before he left Oxford for diplomacy, and accumulated that wealth which he used to endow the oldest and the most fascinating, if not the largest, of British libraries. And among the men who have gained from "the rare books in the public library" a way to a "perfect elysium," none better deserves remembrance than the Mertonian, Antony Wood, whose monument stands in Merton Chapel, but who has raised /monumentum aere perennius/ to himself, in his /History of the University of Oxford/ and his /Athenae Oxonienses/. [Plate VII. Merton College : The Library Interior] MERTON LIBRARY "Hail, tree of knowledge! thy leaves fruit; which well Dost in the midst of Paradise arise, Oxford, the Muses' paradise, From which may never sword the blest expel. Hail, bank of all past ages! where they lie To enrich, with interest, posterity." COWLEY. "The appearance of the library" (at Merton), says the great Cambridge scholar, J. Willis Clark, in his /Care of Books/, "is so venerable, so unlike any similar room with which I am acquainted, that it must always command admiration." He classes it with the libraries at Oxford of Corpus, St. John's, Jesus, and Magdalen, and he regretfully adds that no college library in his own University has retained the same old features as these have done. But none of the four can compare with Merton, either in antiquarian interest or in picturesqueness; it stands in a class by itself. The Library was built by the munificence of Bishop Reed of Chichester between 1377 and 1379; the dormer windows, however (seen in Plate VII), are later in date. The bookcases in the larger room were made in 1623; one of the original half cases, however, was spared, that nearest to the entrance on the north side, and this is the most interesting single feature in the whole library. It need hardly be said that the reading-desk in early times was actually attached to the bookcase; the library then was a place to read in, not one from which books were taken to be read. The books were to be kept "in some common and secure place," and they were "chained in the library chamber for the common use of the fellows" (J. W. Clark). The old case that has been retained still has its chained books, and traces of the arrangement for chains can be seen in the other cases. Merton was one of the last libraries in Oxford to keep its books in chains; these were only removed in 1792; in the Bodleian the work had been begun a generation earlier (in 1757). Not all books, however, were chained; by special arrangements in old college statutes, some of them were allowed out to the fellows. The register of Merton contains interesting entries as to how the books were distributed, e.g. on August 26, 1500, "choice was made of the books on philosophy; it was found there were in all 349 books, which were then distributed." This was a large number: at King's, Cambridge, less than half a century before, there were only 174 books on all subjects, and in the Cambridge University Library in 1473, only 330. If a book was borrowed, great precautions were taken; the Warden of Merton in 1498 had to obtain the leave of the college to take out a book which he wanted; then, "in the presence of the four seniors," he received his book, depositing two volumes of St. Jerome's Commentaries as pledges for its safe return. A similar ceremony, with a similar entry in the register, marked the replacement of the book in the library. Though printing was already beginning to multiply books, yet then, and for long after, a book was a most valuable possession. The features of these venerable tomes are well described by Crabbe: "That weight of wood, with leathern coat o'erlaid, Those ample clasps, of solid metal made, The close pressed leaves, unclosed for many an age, The dull red edging of the well-filled page, On the broad back the stubborn ridges rolled, Where yet the title shines in tarnished gold, These all a sage and laboured work proclaim, A painful candidate for lasting fame." Such books are numbered by hundreds in every college library, and it is only too true of them that: "Hence in these times, untouched the pages lie And slumber out their immortality." The reception of such a book in a library was an event, and the record of one gift occupies six whole lines in the Merton Register; its donors are named as "two venerable men," and the entry sweetly concludes, "Let us, therefore, pray for them." The library, problem, acute everywhere, is perhaps especially so in a college library. How can it keep pace with the multiplicity of studies? How should it deal with books indispensable for a short time, perhaps for one generation, and then superseded? Even apart from the question of the cost of purchase, the amount of space available is small, considering modern needs. These problems and such as these have not yet been solved by college librarians; but the college library, quite apart from the books in it, is an education in itself. The old days of neglect are past, the days reflected in the scandalous story--told of more than one college--about the old fellow who was missing for two months, and, after being searched for high and low, was found hanging dead in the college library. Now the libraries everywhere are being used continually, and men can realize in them, perhaps better than anywhere else, how great the past of Oxford has been, and can form some idea of the labours of forgotten generations, which have made the University what it was and what it is. Every library has its treasures, to show the present generation how beautiful an old book can be which was produced in days when its production was not a mere publisher's speculation, but the work of a scholar seeking to promote knowledge and advance the cause of Truth. And it does not require much imagination for a student, in a building like Merton Library, to conjure up the picture of his mediaeval predecessor, sitting on his hard wooden bench, with his chained MSS. volume on the shelf above, and poring over the crabbed pages in the unwarmed, half-lighted chamber. If the picture brings with it the thought of the transitoriness of human endeavour, and if the words of the Teacher seem doubly true, "Of making of books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh," yet in the fresh life of young Oxford, such reflections are only salutary; pessimism, despair of humanity, are not vices likely to flourish among undergraduates in the healthy society of modern colleges. Those only, it might be said, can properly reform the present who understand the past, and it is perhaps the spirit of the Merton Library, at once old and new, which has inspired the statesmen whom Merton has sent to take part in the government of Britain during the last half-century. Lord Randolph Churchill, the founder of Tory democracy, his present-day successor in the same role, Lord Birkenhead, and the ever young Lord Halsbury are men of the type which Walter de Merton wished to train, "for the service of God in Church and State," men who champion the existing order, but who are willing to develop and improve it on the old lines. ORIEL COLLEGE "Here at each coign of every antique street A memory hath taken root in stone, Here Raleigh shone." L. JOHNSON. [Plate VIII. Oriel College and St. Mary's Church] It is a curious coincidence that three of the most troubled reigns of English history have been marked by double college foundations in Oxford. That of Henry VI, in spite of constant civil war, threatening or actual, saw the beginnings of All Souls' and of Magdalen; the short and sad reign of Mary Tudor restored to Oxford Trinity and St. John's; and in an earlier century the ministers of Edward II, the most unroyal of our Plantagenet kings, gave to Oxford Exeter and Oriel. The king himself was graciously pleased to accept the honour of the latter foundation, and his statue adorns the College Quad, along with that of Charles I, in whose day the whole College was rebuilt. The front may be compared architecturally with those of Wadham and of University, which date from about the same period (the first part of the seventeenth century), when, under the fostering care of Archbishop Laud, Oxford increased greatly in numbers, in learning, and in buildings. Though Oriel has neither the bold sweep of University nor the perfect proportions of Wadham, it yet is a pleasing building, at least in its front. Like New College, Oriel is dedicated to the Blessed Virgin, and, also like New College, the name of "St. Mary's" early gave way to a popular nickname. The College at once on its foundation received the gift of a tenement called "L'Oriole," which occupied its present site, and its name has displaced the real style of the College in general use. It is only fitting that, as in our picture, St. Mary's Church should be combined with Oriel, for the founder was Vicar of St. Mary's, and the presentation to that living has ever since been in the hands of the College. It was as a Fellow of Oriel that Newman became, in 1828, Vicar of St. Mary's, from the pulpit of which, during thirteen years, he moulded all that was best in the religious life of Oxford. The glorious spire of the church was still new when the College was founded. Oriel and its chapel are among the places for religious pilgrimage in Oxford. As Lincoln draws from all parts of the world those who reverence the name of John Wesley, so the Oxford Movement and the Anglican Revival had their starting-point, and for some time their centre, in Oriel. The connection of the College with the Movement was not in either case a mere accident; the Oxford Revival, at any rate, was profoundly influenced by the personality of Newman, and Newman, both by attraction and by repulsion, was largely what Oriel made him. Among those who were with him at the College were Archbishop Whately, whose Liberalism repelled him, Hawkins, the Provost, whose views on "Tradition" began to modify the Evangelicalism in which he had been brought up, Keble, whose /Christian Year/ did more for Church teaching in England than countless sermons, Pusey, already famous for his learning and his piety, who was to give his name to the Movement, and, slightly later, Church, afterwards Dean of St. Paul's, the historian of the Movement, and Samuel Wilberforce, who, as Bishop of Oxford, was to show how profoundly it would increase the influence of the English Church. Such a combination of famous names at one time is hardly found in the history of any other college, and it would be easy to add others hardly less known, who were also members of the same body at that famous time. Hero-worshippers can still see the rooms where these great men lived, and the Common Room in which they met and argued, in the days when Oxford did less teaching and had more time for talking and for thinking than the busy, hurrying ways of the twentieth century allow. But Oriel has many other associations besides those of the Oxford Movement. Walter Raleigh, the most fascinating of Elizabethans, was a student there, and probably in Oxford met the great historian of travel and discovery, Richard Hakluyt (a Christ Church man), whose influence did so much to bring home to Oxford the wonders of the strange worlds beyond the seas. It was probably also through his connection with Oriel that Raleigh made the acquaintance of Harriot, who shared in his colonial ventures in Virginia, and who became the historian of that foundation, so full of importance as the beginning of the new England across the Atlantic. It was only fitting that the Raleigh of the nineteenth century, Cecil John Rhodes, should also be an Oriel man, who was never weary of acknowledging what he owed to Oxford, and who showed his faith in her by his works. The Rhodes' Foundation expends his millions in bringing scholars to Oxford from the whole world; already its influence has been great during its twenty years of existence; what it will be in the future, only the future can show. If Mr. Rhodes gave his millions to the University, he gave his tens of thousands to his old College. The result on the High Street is--to put it gently--not altogether happy; but perhaps time may soften the lines of Mr. Champney's somewhat uninspired front, though it is not likely to quicken interest in the statues of the obscure provosts which adorn it. QUEEN'S COLLEGE "The building, parent of my young essays, Asks in return a tributary praise; Pillars sublime bear up the learned weight, And antique sages tread the pompous height." TICKELL. Queens's is one of the six oldest colleges in Oxford, and is far on to celebrating its sexcentenary, but it has purged itself of the Gothic leaven in its buildings more completely than any other Oxford foundation. It does not even occupy its own old site, for the building originally lay well back from the High Street. It was only the "civilities and kindnesses" of Provost Lancaster which induced the Mayor and Corporation of Oxford, in 1709, to grant to Queen's College "for 1,000 years," "so much ground on the High Street as shall be requisite for making their intended new building straight and uniform." And so the most important of "the streamlike windings of the glorious street" was in part determined by a corrupt bargain between "a vile Whig" (as Hearne calls this hated Provost) and a complaisant mayor. But much of the credit for the beauty of this part of the High must also be given to the architect of University College (seen in Plate IX on the left), who, whether by skill or by accident, combined at a most graceful angle the two quads, erected with an interval of some eighty years between them (1634 and 1719). A man must, indeed, be a Gothic purist who would wish away the stately front quadrangle of Queen's, designed by Wren's favourite pupil, Hawkmoor, while the master himself is said to be responsible for the chapel of the College, the most perfect basilican church in Oxford. If Queen's has been revolutionary in its buildings, it has been singularly tenacious of old customs. Its members still assemble at dinner to the sound of the trumpet (blown by a curious arrangement /after/ grace has been said); it still keeps up the ancient and honoured custom of bringing in the boar's head--"the chief service of this land"--for dinner on Christmas Day; while on New Year's Day, the Bursar still, as has been done for nearly 600 years, bids his guests "take this and be thrifty," as he hands each a "needle and thread," wherewith to mend their academic hoods; the /aiguille et fil/ is probably a pun on the name of the founder, Robert Eglesfield. The College at these festivities uses the loving, cup, given it by its founder, perhaps the oldest piece of plate in constant use anywhere in Great Britain; five and a half centuries of good liquor have stained the gold-mounted aurochs' horn to a colour of unrivalled softness and beauty. Robert Eglesfield was almoner of the good Queen Philippa, wife of Edward III, and, like Adam de Brome, the founder of Oriel, he, too, commended his college to a royal patron. Ever since his time, the "Queen's College" has been under the patronage of the Queen's consort of England, and the connection has been duly acknowledged by many of them, especially by Henrietta Maria, the evil genius of Charles I, and by Queen Caroline, the good genius of George II. Her present Gracious Majesty, too, has recognized the college claim. The Queens Regnant have no obligations to the college, but Queen Elizabeth gave it the seal it still uses, and good Queen Anne was a liberal contributor to the rebuilding of the college in her day; her statue still adorns the cupola on the front to the High. [Plate IX. High Street] No doubt it was the royal connection which brought to Queen's, if tradition may be trusted, two famous warrior princes, the Black Prince and Henry V; though it is at least doubtful whether the Queen's poet, Thomas Tickell, Addison's flattering friend, had any authority for the picture he gives of their college life. He describes them as: "Sent from the Monarch's to the Muses' Court, Their meals were frugal and their sleeps were short; To couch at curfew time they thought no scorn, And froze at matins every winters morn." The College has an interesting portrait of the great Henry, which may be authentic; but that of the Black Prince, which adorns the college hall, is known to have been painted from a handsome Oxford butcher's boy, in the eighteenth century. While we condemn the lack of historic sense in the Provost and Fellows of that day, we may at least acquit them of any intention of pacificist irony in their choice of a model. Queen's has had better poets than Tickell on its rolls, but, by a curious chance, the two most eminent--Joseph Addison and William Collins--were both tempted away from their first college by the superior wealth and attractions of Magdalen. The old local connections which were such a marked feature in the statutes of founders, and which so profoundly influenced Oxford down to the Commission of 1854, have been almost swept away at other colleges; but at Queen's they have always been strongly maintained. It has been, and is, emphatically, a north-country college. Not the least important factor in maintaining this tradition has been the great benefaction of Lady Elizabeth Hastings, fondly and familiarly known to all Queen's men as "Lady Betty." Steele wrote of her when young, that to "love her was a liberal education"; this may have been flattery, but her bounty, at any rate, has given a "liberal education" to hundreds of north-country men, who come up from the twelve schools of her foundation to her college at Oxford. It is interesting to note in Modern Oxford, attempts to re-establish those local connections, which the wisdom of our ancestors established, and which the self-complacency of Victorian reformers "vilely cast away." NEW COLLEGE (1) FOUNDER AND BUILDINGS "There the kindly fates allowed Me too room, and made me proud, Prouder name I have not wist, With the name of Wykehamist." L. JOHNSON. [Plate X. New College : The Entrance Gateway] Among the "Founders" of Oxford colleges, three stand out pre-eminent --all three bishops of Winchester and great public servants. If Wolsey has undisputed claims for first place, there can be little doubt that, in spite of the great public services of Bishop Foxe, the Founder of Corpus, the second place must be assigned to William of Wykeham, "sometime Lord High Chancellor of England, the sole and munificent founder of the two St. Mary Winton colleges." Others, beside Wykehamists, hear with pleasure the magnificent roll of the titles of the Founder of New College, when one of his intellectual sons occupies the University pulpit, and gives thanks for "founders and benefactors, such as were William of Wykeham." In Oxford, without doubt, his great claim to be remembered will be held to be his college with the school at Winchester, which he linked to it. But he was also a reformer and a champion of Parliamentary privilege in the days when the "Good Parliament" set to work to check the misgovernment of Edward III in his dotage, and, as an architect, he is equally famous as having given to Windsor Castle its present shape, and as having secured the final triumph of the Perpendicular style by his glorious nave at Winchester. William of Wykeham is a very striking instance of what is too often Forgotten--viz., that in the Mediaeval Church all professional men, and not simply spiritual pastors, found their work and their reward in the ranks of the clergy. As "supervisor of the king's works," he earned the royal favour, which, after sixteen years of service, rewarded him with the rich bishopric of Winchester. Such a career and such a reward seem to modern ideas incongruous, even as they did to John Wycliffe, his great contemporary, who complained of men being made bishops because they were "wise in building castles." But many forms of service were needed to create England; Wykeham and Wycliffe both have a place in the roll of its "Makers." At all events, if Wykeham obtained his wealth by secular service, he spent it for the promoting of the welfare of the Church, as he conceived it. The purpose of his two colleges was to remedy the shortness of clergy in his day, and to assist the /militia clericalis/, which had been grievously reduced /pestilentiis, guerris et aliis mundi miseriis/ (an obvious reference to the Black Death). New College was planned on a scale of magnificence which far exceeded any of the earlier colleges. It was emphatically the "New College," [1] and its foundation (it was opened in 1386) marks the final triumph of the college system. [1] The popular name has entirety displaced its official style. Rather more than a generation ago, an historically minded Wykehamist tried to revive the proper style of his college, and headed all his letters "The College, of St. Mary of Winchester, Oxford." The result was disastrous for him; the replies came to the Vicar of St. Mary's, to St. Mary's Hall, to Winchester, anywhere but to him; and very soon practical necessity overcame antiquarian, propriety. Its Warden was to have a state corresponding to that of the great mitred abbots; the stables, where he kept his six horses, on the south side of New College Lane (to be seen in Plate X on the right), show, by their perfect masonry, how well the architect-bishop chose his materials and how skilfully they were worked. The entrance tower, in the centre of the picture, with its statues of the Blessed Virgin and of the Founder in adoration below on her left, was the abode of the Warden; but his lodgings, still the most magnificent home in Oxford, extended in both directions from the tower. Behind this front lay Wykeham's Quad, nestling under the shadow of the towering chapel and hall on the north side. Here also, as in the stables, the technical knowledge of the Founder is seen; his "chambers," after more than 500 years, have still their old stone unrenewed; while the third story, added 300 years later on (1674-5), has had to be entirely refaced. But it is in the public buildings, and especially in the chapel, that the greatness of Wykeham, as an architect, is best seen. In spite of the destructive fanaticism of the Reformation, and the almost equally destructive "restorations" of the notorious Wyatt, and of Sir Gilbert Scott (who inexcusably raised the height of the roof), the chapel still is indisputably the finest in Oxford. And its glass may challenge a still wider field. The eight great windows in the ante- chapel, dating from the Founder's time, rival the glories of the French cathedrals; the windows of the chapel proper, whatever be thought of their artistic success, are a unique instance of what English glass-makers could do in the eighteenth century; and Sir Joshua Reynolds' west window (the outside of which is seen in the centre of the next picture) has at all events the suffrages of the majority, who agree with Horace Walpole that it is "glorious," and that "the sun shining through the transparencies has a magic effect." It must be added, however, that Walpole soon changed his mind, and was very severe on Sir Joshua's "washy virtues," which have been compared to "seven chambermaids." Not the least interesting feature of the Founder's chapel is its detached bell-tower, seen in the next picture, on the north side of the cloisters. He obtained leave to place this on the city wall, a large section of which the College undertook to maintain-thus adding a permanent charm to their own garden. The magnificence of the Founder Bishop is well seen in his splendid crozier, bequeathed to him by his college, and still preserved on the north side of the chapel. The results of his work, for Oxford and for learning, will be briefly told of in the next chapter. [Plate XI. New College : The Tower] NEW COLLEGE (2) HISTORY "Round thy cloisters, in moonlight, Branching dark, or touched with white: Round old chill aisles, where, moon-smitten, Blanches the Orate, written Under each worn old-world face." L. JOHHSON. William of Wykeham's College had other marked features besides its magnificent scale. Previous colleges had grown; at New College everything was organized from the first. As the great architectural History of Cambridge says: "For the first time, chapel, hall, library, treasury, the Warden's lodgings, a sufficient range of chambers, the cloister, the various domestic offices, are provided for and erected without change of plan." The chapel especially gave the model for the T shape, a choir and transepts without a nave, which has become the normal form in Oxford. The influence of Wykeham's building plan may be traced elsewhere also--at Cambridge and even in Scotland. In these well-planned buildings, definite arrangements were made for college instruction, as opposed to the general teaching open to the whole University; special /informafores/ were provided, who were to supervise the work of all scholars up to the age of sixteen. This marks the beginning of the Tutorial System, which has ever since played so great a part in the intellectual life of England's two old Universities. Wykeham's scholars all came from Winchester, and were supposed to be /pauperes/, but as one of the first, Henry Chichele, afterwards Henry V's Archbishop of Canterbury and the Founder of All Souls', was a son of the Lord Mayor of London, it is obvious that the qualification of "poverty" was interpreted with some laxity. It was not until the middle of the nineteenth century that others than Wykehamists were admitted as scholars. The fact that a mere boy was elected to a position which provided for him for life was not calculated to stimulate subsequent intellectual activity, and Wykehamists themselves have been among the first to say that the intellectual distinction of the great bishop's beneficiaries has by no means corresponded to the magnificence of the foundation or the noble intentions of the Founder. Antony Wood records in the seventeenth century that there was already an "ugly proverb" as to New College men--"Golden scholars, silver Bachelors, leaden Masters, wooden Doctors," "which is attributed," he goes on, "to their rich fellowships, especially to their ease and good diet, in which I think they exceed any college else." The nineteenth century has changed all this; the small and close college of pre-Commission days has become one of the largest and most intellectual in the University; but Winchester men in their Oxford college fully hold their own in every way against the scholars from the world outside, who are now admitted to share with them the advantages of Wykeham's foundation. The bishop's careful provision, however, of good teaching at his school and in his college bore good fruit at first, whatever may have been the result later. If Corpus is especially the college of the revival of learning, New College had prepared the way, and the first Englishman to teach Greek in Oxford was the New College fellow, William Grocyn, whom Erasmus called the "most upright and best of all Britons." From the same college, about the same time, came the patron of Erasmus, Archbishop Warham, of whose saintly simplicity and love of learning he gives so attractive a picture. Warham was not forgetful of his old college, and presented the beautiful "linen fold" panelling which still adorns the hall. At the time of the Reformation, New College was especially attached to the old form of the faith, and it has been maintained that the dangerous lowness of the wicket entrance in the Gate Tower was due to the deliberate purpose of the governing body, who resolved that everyone who entered the college, however Protestant his views, should bow his head under the statue of the Blessed Virgin above. At any rate, one New College man in the seventeenth century attributed his perversion to "the lively memorials of Popery in statues and pictures in the gates and in the chapel of New College." Certain it is that under Elizabeth, after the purging of the college from its recusant fellows, who contributed a large share of the Roman controversialists to the colleges of Louvain and Douai, Wykeham's foundation sank, as has been said, into inglorious ease for two centuries. Yet, during this period, it had the honour of producing two of the Seven Bishops who resisted King James II's attack on the English Constitution--one of them the saintly hymn writer, Thomas Ken. And to the darkest days of the eighteenth century belongs the most famous picture of the ideal Oxford life: "I spent many years, in that illustrious society, in a well-regulated course of useful discipline and studies, and in the agreeable and improving commerce of gentlemen and of scholars; in a society where emulation without envy, ambition without jealousy, contention without animosity, incited industry and awakened genius; where a liberal pursuit of knowledge and a genuine freedom of thought was raised, encouraged, and pushed forward by example, by commendation, and by authority." These were the words of Bishop Lowth, whose great work on /The Poetry of the Hebrews/ was delivered as lectures for the Chair of Poetry at Oxford. The spirit of Oxford has never been better described, and even that bitter critic, the great historian Gibbon, admits that Lowth practised what he preached, and that he was an ornament to the University in its darkest period. Of the days of Reform a forerunner was found in Sydney Smith, the witty Canon of St. Paul's. The names of New College men famous for learning or for political success, during the last half-century, are too recent to mention, but it is fitting to put on record that to New College belongs the sad distinction of having the longest Roll of Honour in the late War. It has lost about 250 of its sons, including four of the most distinguished young tutors in Oxford; History and Philosophy, Scholarship and Natural Science are all of them the poorer for the premature loss of Cheesman and Heath, Hunter and Geoffrey Smith; their names are familiar to everyone in Oxford, and they would have been familiar some day to the world of scholars everywhere. /Dis aliter visum est/. LINCOLN COLLEGE "This is the chapel; here, my son, Thy father dreamed the dreams of youth, And heard the words, which, one by one, The touch of life has turned to truth." NEWBOLT. [Plate XII. Lincoln College : The Chapel Interior] The name of Lincoln College recalls a fact familiar to all students of ecclesiastical history, though surprising to the ordinary man-- viz., that Oxford, till the Reformation, was in the great diocese of Lincoln, which stretched right across the Midlands from the Humber to the Thames. This fact had an important bearing on the history of the University; its bishop was near enough to help and protect, but not near enough to interfere constantly. Hence arose the curious position of the Oxford Chancellor, the real head of the mediaeval University and still its nominal head; though an ecclesiastical dignitary, and representing the Bishop, the Oxford Chancellor was not a cathedral official, but the elect of the resident Masters of Arts. How important this arrangement was for the independence of the University will be obvious. The ecclesiastical position of Oxford is responsible also for the foundation of four of its colleges; both Lincoln and Brasenose, colleges that touch each other, were founded by Bishops of Lincoln; Foxe and Wolsey, too, though holding other sees later, ruled over the great midland diocese. Richard Fleming, the Bishop of Lincoln, who founded the college that bears the name of his see, was in some ways a remarkable man. When resident in Oxford, he had been prominent among the followers of John Wycliffe and had shared his reforming views; but he was alarmed at the development of his master's teaching in the hands of disciples, and set himself to oppose the movement which he had once favoured. He founded his "little college" with the express object of training "theologians" "to defend the mysteries of the sacred page against those ignorant laics, who profaned with swinish snouts its most holy pearls." It is curious that Lincoln's great title to fame--and it is a very great one--is that its most distinguished fellow was John Wesley, the Wycliffe of the eighteenth century. The connection of Oxford and Lincoln College with Wesley and his movement is no accidental one, based merely on the fact that he resided there for a certain time. Humanly speaking, Wesley's connection with Lincoln was a determining factor in his spiritual and mental development, and it was while he was there that his followers received the name of "Methodists," a name given in scorn, but one which has become a thing of pride to millions. Wesley was a fellow of Lincoln for nine years, from 1726 to 1735. During the most impressionable years of a man's life--he was only twenty-three when he was elected fellow--he was developing his mental powers by an elaborate course of studies, and his spiritual life by the careful use of every form of religious discipline which the Church prescribed. A college, with its daily services and its life apart from the world, rendered the practice of such discipline possible. It was because Wesley and his followers, his brother Charles, George Whitefield and others, observed this discipline so carefully that they obtained their nickname. It is with good reason that Lincoln Chapel is visited by his disciples from all parts of the world; it has been little altered since his time, his pulpit is still here, and the glass and the carving which make it very interesting, if not beautiful, are those which he saw daily. The chapel is the memorial of the devotion to Lincoln of another churchman, more successful than Wesley from a worldly point of view, but now forgotten by all except professed students of history. John Williams, Bishop of Lincoln from 1621 to 1641, was the last ecclesiastic who "kept" the Great Seal of England. He had the misfortune to differ from Laud on the Church Question of the day, and was prosecuted before the Star Chamber for subornation of perjury, and heavily fined. There seems no doubt that he was guilty; but it was to advocacy of moderation and to his dislike of the king's arbitrary rule that he owed the severity of his punishment. Whatever his moral character, at all events he gave his college a beautiful little chapel, which is often compared to the slightly older one at Wadham; that of Lincoln is much the less spacious of the two, but in its wood carvings, at any rate, it is superior. Lincoln had the ill-fortune, in the nineteenth century, to produce the writer of one of those academic "Memoirs," which reveal, with a scholar's literary style, and also with a scholar's bitterness, the intrigues and quarrels that from time to time arise within college walls. Mark Pattison is likely to be remembered by the world in general because he is said to have been the original of George Eliot's "Mr. Casaubon"; in Oxford he will be remembered not only for the "Memoirs," but also as one who upheld the highest ideal of "Scholarship" when it was likely to be forgotten, and who criticized the neglect of "research." The personal attacks were those of a disappointed man; the criticisms, one-sided as they were, were certainly not unjustified. A university should certainly exist to promote learning, and Mark Pattison, with all his unfairness, certainly helped its cause in Oxford. But a university exists also for the promotion of friendships among young men, and for the development of their social life. Of this duty, Oxford has never been unmindful, and perhaps it is in small colleges like Lincoln that the flowers of friendship best flourish. It is needless to make comparisons, for they flourish everywhere; but it is appropriate to quote, when writing of one of the smaller Oxford colleges, the verses on this subject of a recent Lincoln poet (now dead); they will come home to every Oxford man: "City of my loves and dreams, Lady throned by limpid streams; 'Neath the shadow of thy towers, Numbered I my happiest hours. Here the youth became a man; Thought and reason here began. Ah! my friends, I thought you then Perfect types of perfect men: Glamour fades, I know not how, Ye have all your failings now," But Oxford friendships outlast the discovery that friends have "failings"; as Lord Morley, who went to Lincoln in 1856, writes: "Companionship (at Oxford) was more than lectures"; a friend's failure later (he refers to his contemporary, Cotter Morison's /Service of Man/) "could not impair the captivating comradeship of his prime." MAGDALEN COLLEGE (1) SITE AND BUILDINGS "Where yearly in that vernal hour The sacred city is in shades reclining, With gilded turrets in the sunrise shining: From sainted Magdalene's aerial tower Sounds far aloof that ancient chant are singing, And round the heart again those solemn memories bringing." ISAAC WILLIAMS. Macaulay was too good a Cambridge man to appreciate an Oxford college at its full worth; but he devotes one of his finest purple patches to the praise of Magdalen, ending, as is fitting, "with the spacious gardens along the river side," which, by the way, are not "gardens." Antony Wood praises Magdalen as "the most noble and rich structure in the learned world," with its water walks as "delectable as the banks of Eurotas, where Apollo himself was wont to walk." To go a century further back, the Elizabethan, Sir John Davies, wrote: "O honeyed Magdalen, sweete, past compare Of all the blissful heavens on earth that are." Such praises could be multiplied indefinitely, and they are all deserved. The good genius of Magdalen has been faithful to it throughout. The old picturesque buildings on the High Street, taken over (1457) by the Founder, William of Waynflete, from the already existing hospital of St. John, were completed by his munificence in the most attractive style of English fifteenth century domestic architecture; Chapel and Hall, Cloisters and Founder's Tower, all alike are among the most beautiful in Oxford. When classical taste prevailed, the architectural purists of the eighteenth century were for sweeping almost all this away, and had a plan prepared for making a great classic quad; but wiser counsels, or lack of funds, thwarted this vandalistic design, and only the north side of the new quad was built, to give Magdalen a splendid specimen of eighteenth century work, without prejudice to the old. And in our own day, the genius of Bodley has raised in St. Swithun's Quad a building worthy of the best days of Oxford, while the hideous plaster roof, with which the mischievous Wyatt had marred the beauty of the hall, was removed, and a seemly oak roof put in its place. It is a great thing to be thankful for, that one set of college buildings in Oxford, though belonging to so many periods, has nothing that is not of the best. But the great glory of Magdalen has not yet been mentioned. This is, without doubt, its bell tower, which, standing just above the River Cherwell, is worthily seen, whether from near or far. A most curious and interesting custom is preserved in connection with it. Every May morning, at five o'clock (in Antony Wood's time the ceremony was an hour earlier), the choir mounts the tower and sings a hymn, which is part of the college grace; in the eighteenth century, however, the music was of a secular nature and lasted two hours. The ceremony has been made the subject of a great picture by Holman Hunt, and has been celebrated in many poems; the sonnet of Sir Herbert Warren, the present President, may be quoted as worthily expressing something of what has been felt by many generations of Magdalen men: "Morn of the year, of day and May the prime, How fitly do we scale the steep dark stair, Into the brightness of the matin air, To praise with chanted hymn and echoing chime, Dear Lord of Light, thy sublime, That stooped erewhile our life's frail weeds to wear! Sun, cloud and hill, all things thou fam'st so fair, With us are glad and gay, greeting the time. The College of the Lily leaves her sleep, The grey tower rocks and trembles into sound, Dawn-smitten Memnon of a happier hour; Through faint-hued fields the silver waters creep: Day grows, birds pipe, and robed anew and crowned, Green Spring trips forth to set the world aflower." The tower was put to a far different use when, in the Civil War, it was the fortress against an attack from the east, and stones were piled on its top to overwhelm any invader who might force the bridge. Tradition connects this tower with the name of Magdalen's greatest son, Thomas Wolsey, who took his B.A. about 1486, at the age of fifteen, as he himself in his old age proudly told his servant and biographer, Cavendish. Certainty he was first Junior and then Senior Bursar for a time, while the tower was building, 1492-1504. But the scandal that he had to resign his bursarship for misappropriation of funds in connection with the tower may certainly be rejected. On the right of Magdalen Bridge, looking at the tower, as we see it in the picture, stretches Magdalen Meadow, round which run the famous water walks. The part of these on the north-west side is especially connected with Joseph Addison, who was a fellow at Magdalen from 1697 to 1711. He was elected "demy" (at Magdalen, scholars bear this name) the first year (1689) after the Revolution, when the fellows of Magdalen had been restored to their rights, so outrageously invaded by King James. This "golden" election was famous in Magdalen annals, at once for the number elected--seventeen--and for the fame of some of those elected. Besides the greatest of English essayists, there were among the new "demies," a future archbishop, a future bishop, and the high Tory, Henry Sacheverell, whose fiery but unbalanced eloquence overthrew the great Whig Ministry, which had been the patron of his college contemporary. Magdalen Meadow preserves still the well-beloved Oxford fritillaries, which are in danger of being extirpated in the fields below Iffley by the crowds who gather them to sell in the Oxford market. Of the part of the College on the High Street, the most interesting portion is the old stone pulpit (shown in Plate XIV). The connection of this with the old Hospital of St. John is still marked by the custom of having the University sermon here on St. John the Baptist's Day; this was the invariable rule till the eighteenth century, and the pulpit (Hearne says) was "all beset with boughs, by way of allusion to St. John Baptist's preaching in the wilderness." Even as early as Heame's time, however, a wet morning drove preacher and audience into the chapel, and open-air sermons were soon given up altogether, only to be revived (weather permitting) in our own day. The chapel lies to the left of the pulpit, and is known all the world over for its music; there are three famous choirs in Oxford-- those of the Cathedral, of New College, and of Magdalen, and to the last, as a rule, the palm is assigned. It is to Oxford what the choir of King's is to Cambridge; but the chapel of Magdalen has not "The high embowed roof With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light" of the "Royal Saint's" great chapel at Cambridge. MAGDALEN COLLEGE (2) HISTORY "Sing sweetly, blessed babes that suck the breast Of this sweet nectar-dropping Magdalen, Their praise in holy hymns, by whom ye feast, The God of gods and Waynflete, best of men, Sing in an union with the Angel's quires, Sith Heaven's your house." SIR J. DAVIES. Magdalen College was founded by William of Waynflete, Bishop of Winchester, who had been a faithful minister of Henry VI. He had served as both Master and Provost of the King's own college at Eton (and also as Master of Winchester College before), and from Eton he brought the lilies which still figure in the Magdalen shield. As a member of the Lancastrian party, he fell into disgrace when the Yorkists triumphed, but he made his peace with Edward IV, whose statue stands over the west door of the chapel, with those of St. Mary Magdalene, St. John the Baptist, St. Swithun (Bishop of Winchester), and the Founder. And the Tudors were equally friendly to the new foundation; Prince Arthur, Henry VIII's unfortunate elder brother, was a resident in Magdalen on two occasions, and the College has still a splendid memorial of him in the great contemporary tapestry, representing his marriage with Catharine of Aragon. To the very early days of Magdalen belongs its connection with the Oxford Reform Movement and the Revival of Learning. Both Fox and Wolsey, successively Bishops of Winchester, and the munificent founders of Corpus and of Cardinal (i.e. Christ Church) Colleges, were members of Waynflete's foundation, and so probably was John Colet, Dean of St. Paul's, whose learning and piety so impressed Erasmus. "When I listen to my beloved Colet," he writes in 1499, "I seem to be listening to Plato himself"; and he asks--why go to Italy when Oxford can supply a climate "as charming as it is healthful" and "such culture and learning, deep, exact and worthy of the good old times ?" Erasmus' praise of Oxford climate is unusual from a foreigner; the more usual view is that of his friend Vives, who came to Oxford soon after as a lecturer at the new college of Corpus Christi; he writes from Oxford: "The weather here is windy, foggy and damp, and gave me a rough reception." Colet's lectures on the Epistle to the Romans, perhaps delivered in Magdalen College, marked an epoch in the way of the interpretation of Holy Scripture, by their freedom from traditional methods and by their endeavour to employ the best of the New Learning in determining the real meaning of the Apostle. To the same school as Colet in the Church belonged Reginald Pole, Archbishop in the gloomy days of Queen Mary, the only Magdalen man who has held the See of Canterbury. Elizabeth visited the College, and gently rebuked the Puritan tendencies of the then President, Dr. Humphrey, who carried his scruples so far as to object to the academical scarlet he had to wear as a Doctor of Divinity, because it savoured of the "Scarlet Woman." "Dr. Humphrey," said the queen, with the tact alike of a Tudor sovereign and of a true woman, "methinks this gown and habit become you very well, and I marvel that you are so strait-laced on this point--but I come not now to chide." This President complained that his headship was "more payneful than gayneful," a charge not usually brought against headships at Oxford. In the seventeenth century, Magdalen was, for a short time, the very centre of England's interest. James II, in his desire to force Roman Catholicism on Oxford, tried to fill the vacant Presidency with one of his co-religionists. His first nominee was not only disqualified under the statutes, but was also a man of so notoriously bad a character that even the king had to drop him. Meanwhile, the fellows, having waited, in order to oblige James, till the last possible moment allowed by the statutes, filled up the vacancy by electing one of their own number, John Hough. When the king pronounced this election irregular and demanded the removal of the President and the acceptance of his second nominee, the fellows declared themselves unable thus to violate their statutes, even at royal command, and were accordingly driven out. The "demies," who were offered nominations to the fellowships thus rendered vacant, supported their seniors, and, in their turn, too, were driven out; they had showed their contempt for James' intruded fellows by "cocking their hats" at them, and by drinking confusion to the Pope. When the landing of William of Orange was threatening, James revoked all these arbitrary proceedings, but it was too late; he had brought home, by a striking example, to Oxford and to England, that no amount of past services, no worthiness of character, no statutes, however clear and binding, were to weigh for a moment with a royal bigot, who claimed the power to "dispense" with any statutes. The "Restoration" of the Fellows on October 25, 1688, is still celebrated by a College Gaudy, when the toast for the evening is /jus suum cuique/. Hough remained President for thirteen years, during most of which time he was bishop--first of Oxford and then of Lichfield. He finally was translated to Worcester, where he died at the age of ninety- three, after declining the Archbishopric of Canterbury. His monument, in his cathedral, records his famous resistance to arbitrary authority. Magdalen in the eighteenth century has an unenviable reputation, owing to the memoirs of its most famous historian, Edward Gibbon, who matriculated, in 1752, and who describes the fourteen months which elapsed before he was expelled for becoming a Roman Catholic, "as the most idle and unprofitable of my whole life." The "Monks of Magdalen," as he calls the fellows, "decent, easy men," "supinely enjoyed the gifts of the founder." It should be added that Gibbon was not quite fifteen when he entered the College, and that his picture of it is no doubt coloured by personal bitterness. But its substantial justice is admitted. Certainly, nothing could be feebler than the /Vindication of Magdalen College/, published by a fellow James Hurdis, the Professor of Poetry; his intellectual calibre may perhaps be gauged from the exquisite silliness of his poem, "The Village Curate," of which the following lines, addressed to the Oxford heads of houses, are a fair specimen: "Ye profound And serious heads, who guard the twin retreats Of British learning, give the studious boy His due indulgence. Let him range the field, Frequent the public walk, and freely pull The yielding oar. But mark the truant well, And if he turn aside to vice or folly, Show him the rod, and let him feel you prize The parent's happiness, the public good." Magdalen might fairly claim that a place so beautiful as it is, justifies itself by simply existing, and the perfection of its buildings and the beauty of its music must appeal, even to our own utilitarian age. But it has many other justifications besides its beauty; its great wealth is being continually applied to assist the University by the endowment of new professorships, especially for the Natural Sciences, and to aid real students, whether those who have made, or those who are likely to make, a reputation as researchers. It is needless to mention names: every Oxford man and every lover of British learning knows them. [Plate XIV. Magdalen College : The Open-Air Pulpit] For the world in general, which cares not for research, the success of the College under its present President, Sir Herbert Warren, himself at once a poet and an Oxford Professor of Poetry, will be evidenced by its increase in numbers and by its athletic successes. They will judge as our King judged when he chose Magdalen for the academic home of the Prince of Wales. The Prince, unlike other royal persons at Magdalen and elsewhere, lived (1912-14) not in the lodgings of the President, or among dons and professors, but in his own set of rooms, like any ordinary undergraduate. He showed, in Oxford, that power of self-adaptation which has since won him golden opinions in the great Dominion and the greater Republic of the West. BRASENOSE COLLEGE "Of the colleges of Oxford, Exeter is the most proper for western, Queen's for northern, and Brasenose for north-western men." FULLER, /Worthies/. [Plate XV. Bresenose College, Quadrangle and Radcliffe Library] Brasenose college is in the very centre of the University, fronting as it does on Radcliffe Square, where Gibbs' beautiful dome supplies the Bodleian with a splendid reading-room. And this site has always been consecrated to students; where the front of Brasenose now stands ran School Street, leading from the old /Scholae Publicae/, in which the disputations of the Mediaeval University were held, to St. Mary's Church. It was from this neighbourhood that some Oxford scholars migrated to Stamford in 1334, in order to escape one of the many Town and Gown rows, which rendered Mediaeval Oxford anything but a place of quiet academic study. They seem to have carried with them the emblem of their hall, a fine sanctuary knocker of brass, representing a lion's head, with a ring through its nose; this knocker was installed at a house in Stamford, which still retains the name it gave, "Brasenose Hall." The knocker itself was there till 1890, when the College recovered the relic (it now hangs in the hall). The students were compelled by threats of excommunication to return to their old university, and down to the beginning of the nineteenth century, Oxford men, when admitted to the degree of M.A., were compelled to swear "not to lecture at Stamford." The old "King's Hall," which bore the name of "Brasenose," was transformed into a college in 1511 by the munificence of our first lay founder, Sir Richard Sutton; he shared his benevolence, however, with Bishop Smith, of Lincoln. The College celebrated, in 1911, its quatercentenary in an appropriate way, by publishing its register in full, with a group of most interesting monographs on various aspects of the College history. The buildings are a good example of the typical Oxford college; the Front Quad, shown in our picture, belongs to the time of the Founders, but the picturesque third story of dormer windows, which give it a special charm, dates from the reign of James I, when all colleges were rapidly increasing their numbers and their accommodation. Of the rest of the buildings of Brasenose, the chapel deserves special notice, for it was the last effort of the Gothic style in Oxford, and it was actually finished in the days of Cromwell, not a period likely to be favourable to the erection of new college chapels. Brasenose (or B.N.C., as it is universally called) has produced a prime minister of England in Henry Addington, whom the college record kindly describes as "not the most distinguished" statesman who has held that position: but a much better known worthy is John Foxe, the Martyrologist, whose chained works used to add a grim charm of horror to so many parish churches in England; the experiences of the young Macaulay, at Cheddar, are an example which could be paralleled by those of countless young readers of Foxe, who, however, did not become great historians and are forgotten. Somewhat junior to Foxe, at B.N.C., was Robert Burton, the author of the /Anatomy of Melancholy/, who found both his lifework as a parish vicar, and his burial-place in Oxford. But these names, and the names of many other B.N.C. worthies, hardly attain to the first rank in the annals of England's life. The distinguishing features of the College have long been its special connection with the Palatine counties, Lancashire and Cheshire, and its prominence in the athletic life which is so large a part of Oxford's attraction. To the connection with Lancashire, B.N.C. owes the name of its college boat, "The Child of Hale"; for John Middleton, the famous, giant, who is said to have been 9 ft. 3 in. high (perhaps measurements were loose when James I was king), was invited by the members of his county to visit the College, where he is said to have left a picture of his hand; this the ever curious Pepys paid 2s. to see. A more profitable connection between Lancashire and B.N.C. is the famous Hulmeian endowment, which is almost a record instance of the value of the unearned increment of land to a learned foundation. The rowing men of Brasenose are as famous as the scholars of Balliol. The poet parodist, half a century ago, described her as: "Queen of the Isis wave, Who trains her crews on beef and beer, Competitors to brave," and the lines written in jest were a true compliment. The young manhood of England had maintained its vigour by its love of athletics, and has learned, in the discipline of the athletic club, how to obey and also how to command. Hence it was fitting that to B.N.C. should fall the honour of giving to Britain her greatest soldier in the Great War; Lord Haig of Bemerside was an undergraduate member of the College in the 'eighties of the last century, and the College has honoured him and itself by making him an Honorary Fellow. Most Oxford colleges have their quaint and distinctive customs; that of Brasenose was certainly not inappropriate to the character that has just been sketched. Every Shrove Tuesday some junior member of the College presented verses to the butler in honour of Brasenose ale, and received a draught in return. The custom is recorded by Hearne more than two hundred years ago, and may well be older, though, as the poet of the Quatercentenary sadly confessed, its attribution to King Alfred-- "Our woven fantasy of Alfred's ale, By conclusive cut of critic dry, Is shredded clean away." The most distinguished poet who thus commemorated the special drink of England and of B.N.C. was Reginald Heber, bishop and hymn-writer, who composed the verses in 1806; the compositions have been collected and published at least three times. When the old brew-house was pulled down to make room for the New Quad, the College gave up brewing its own beer, and its poets ceased to celebrate it; but the custom was revived, as has been said, in 1909. It may be permitted to a non-Brasenose man to quote and echo the patriotic expressions of the versifier of 1886: "Shall Brasenose, therefore, fail to hold her own? She nerves herself, anew, for coming strife, Her vigorous pulses beat with strength and life. Courage, my brothers! Troubles past forget! On to fresh deeds! the gods love Brasenose yet." CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE "But still the old quadrangle keeps the same, The pelican is here; Ancestral genius of the place, whose name All Corpus men revere." J. J. C., in "/The Pelican Record/," 1700. [Plate XVI. Corpus Christi College : The First Quadrangle] Corpus is emphatically, before all other colleges in Oxford, the college of the Revival of Learning; its very foundation marked the change from the old order of things to the new. Its Founder, Bishop Foxe, of Winchester, was one of the great statesman-prelates to whom mediaeval England owed so much, and he had a leading share in arranging the two royal marriages which so profoundly affected the history of our country, that of Henry VII's daughter, Margaret, with the King of Scotland, and that of his son, afterwards Henry VIII, with Catharine of Aragon. After a life spent "in the service of God" "in the State," rather than "in the Church," Foxe resolved to devote some of his great wealth to a foundation for the strengthening of the Church. His first intention was to found a college for monks, but, fortunately for his memory and for Oxford, he followed the advice of his friend, Bishop Oldham, of Exeter, who told him, in words truly prophetic, that the days of monasteries were past: "What, my lord, shall we build housed for a company of buzzing monks, whose end and fall we ourselves may live to see? No, no, it is more meet a great deal that we should have care to provide for the increase of learning." In the next generation the monasteries were all swept away, while Foxe's College remains a monument of the Founder's pious liberality and of his friend's wise prescience. Corpus was the first institution in England where definite provision was made for a teacher of the Greek Language, and Erasmus hailed it with enthusiasm; in a letter to the first President of the new college, he definitely contrasts the conciliatory methods of Reformers in England with the more violent methods of those in Germany, and counts Foxe's foundation, which he compares to the Pyramids of Egypt or the Colossus of Rhodes, among "the chief glories of Britain." Foxe, however, did not confine his benefactions to classical studies, important as these were. He imported a German to teach his scholars mathematics, and the scientific tastes of his students are well illustrated by the picturesque and curious dial, still in the centre of his College Quad, which was constructed by one of them in the reign of Elizabeth. It is well shown in our picture, as are also Foxe's charming low buildings, almost unaltered since the time of their Founder. But it has been on the humanistic, rather than on the scientific, side that Corpus men have specially distinguished themselves. The first century of the College existence produced the two great Elizabethan champions of Anglicanism. Bishop Jewel, whose "Apology" was for a long period the great bulwark of the English Church against Jesuit attacks, had laid the foundations of his great learning in the Corpus Library, still--after that of Merton--the most picturesque in Oxford; he often spent whole days there, beginning an hour before Early Mass, i.e. at 4 a.m., and continuing his reading till 10 p.m. "There were giants on the earth in those days." Even more famous is the "judicious Hooker," who resided in the college for sixteen years, and only left it when, by the wiles of a woman, he, "like a true Nathanael who feared no guile" (as his biographer, Isaac Walton, writes), was entrapped into a marriage which "brought him neither beauty nor fortune." The first editor of his great work, /The Ecclesiastical Polity/, was a Corpus man, and it was only fitting that the Anglican Revival of the nineteenth century should receive its first impulse from the famous Assize Sermon (in 1833) of another Corpus scholar, John Keble. Corpus has been singularly fortunate in its history, no doubt because its Presidents have been so frequently men of mark for learning and for character. Even in the dark period of the eighteenth century it recovered sooner than the rest of the University, and one of its sons records complacently that "scarcely a day passed without my having added to my stock of knowledge some new fact or idea." A charming picture of the life of the scholars of Corpus at the beginning of the last century is given in Stanley's /Life of Arnold/; for the famous reformer of the English public-school system was at the College immediately after John Keble, whom he followed as fellow to Oriel, on the other side of the road. It need hardly be added that in those days an Oriel Fellowship was the crown of intellectual distinction in Oxford. Bishop Foxe had set up his college as a "ladder" by which, "with one side of it virtue and the other knowledge," men might, while they "are strangers and pilgrims in this unhappy and dying world," "mount more easily to heaven." Changing his metaphor he goes on, "We have founded and raised up in the University of Oxford a hive wherein scholars, like intelligent bees, may, night and day, build up wax to the glory of God, and gather honeyed sweets for their own profit and that of all Christian men." So far as it is given to human institutions to succeed, his college has fulfilled his aims. CHRIST CHURCH (1) THE CATHEDRAL [Plate XVII. Christ Church : The Cathedral from the Meadows] "Those voiceless towers so tranquil seem, And yet so solemn in their might, A loving heart could almost deem That they themselves might conscious be That they were filled with immortality." F. W. FABER. The east end of Oxford Cathedral, shown both in the frontispiece (Plate I) and Plate XVII, probably contains the oldest buildings, above ground, in Oxford. Inside the cathedral can clearly be seen traces of three round arches, which may well be part of the church founded by St. Frideswyde in the eighth century. That princess, according to the tradition, the details of which are all pictured by Burne-Jones in the east window of the Latin Chapel, having escaped by a miracle the advances of too ardent a suitor, founded a nunnery at Oxford. The nunnery, which was later transferred to Canons, was undoubtedly the earliest institution in Oxford, and in its cloisters, in the second decade of the twelfth century, we hear of students gathering for instruction. It was this old monastery, which Wolsey, with his reforming zeal, chose as the site of his great Cardinal College, and the chapel of the old foundation was to serve for his new one, until such time as a great new chapel, rivalling in splendour that of King's College at Cambridge, had been built on the north side of Tom Quad. This new chapel never got beyond the stage of foundations; and hence the old building has continued to serve the college till this day, having been made also the cathedral of the new diocese of Oxford, which was founded by King Henry VIII. Wolsey may, perhaps, be credited with the fine fan tracery of the choir roof, but he certainly swept away three bays of the nave in order to carry out his ambitious building plans, and only one of these three bays has been restored in the nineteenth century. Wolsey's action at Christ Church was significant. Men felt that the days of monasteries were past, and the Church was ready to welcome and to extend the New Learning. But his changes were a dangerous precedent; as Fuller says with his usual quaintness: "All the forest of religious foundations in England did shake, justly fearing the King would finish to fell the oaks, seeing the Cardinal began to cut the underwood." Henry, however, when he swept away the monasteries, spared his great minister's work; modifying it, however, as has just been said, by associating the newly-founded college with the diocese of Oxford, now formed out of the unwieldy See of Lincoln. The cathedral is the smallest in England, but contains many features of special interest; its most marked peculiarity is the great breadth of the choir, due to the addition of two aisles on the north side; these were built to gain more room for the worshippers at the shrine of St. Frideswyde. Another feature of architectural interest is the spire, which is one of the earliest in England. But perhaps even more interesting is the wonderful series of glass windows, which give good examples of almost every English style from the fourteenth to the nineteenth century. And for once the moderns can hold their own; the Burne-Jones windows of the choir (not, however, the Frideswyde window, already mentioned) are particularly beautiful. The hand of the "restorer" has been active at Christ Church, as elsewhere in Oxford; Gilbert Scott took on himself to remove a fine fourteenth-century window from the east end of the choir, and to substitute the Norman work shown in Plate I. The effect is admittedly good, but it may be questioned whether it be right to falsify architectural history in this way. Oxford Cathedral has great associations apart from the college to which it belongs. It was to it that Cranmer was brought to receive the Pope's sentence of condemnation, and in the cloisters the ceremony of his degradation from the archbishopric was carried out. Almost a century later the Cathedral was the centre of the religious life of the Royalist party; when Charles I made his capital in Oxford and his home in Christ Church, and when the Cavaliers fought to the war-cry of "Church and King." It is not surprising that, when the Parliamentarians entered Oxford, the windows of the Cathedral were much "abused"; that so much old glass was spared was probably due to the local patriotism of old Oxford men. In the next century it was to Christ Church that Bishop Berkeley, the greatest of British philosophers, retired to end his days, and to find a burial-place; and, during the long life of Dr. Pusey, the Cathedral of Oxford was a place of pilgrimage, as the living centre of the Oxford movement. In the back of the picture (Plate XVII), behind the Cathedral, rises the square tower, put up by Mr. Bodley to contain the famous Christ Church peal of bells (now twelve in number), familiar through Dean Aldrich's famous round, "Hark, the bonny Christ Church bells." When the tower was erected, it was the subject of much criticism, especially from the witty pen of C. L. Dodgson, the world-famous creator of /Alice in Wonderland/. The opening paragraph is a fair specimen: "Of the etymological significance of the new belfry, Christ Church. "The word 'belfry' is derived from the French '/bel/-- beautiful, meet,' and from the German '/frei/--free, unfettered, safe.' Thus the word is strictly equivalent to 'meat-safe,' to which the new belfry bears a resemblance so perfect as almost to amount to coincidence." Others saw in the uncompromising squareness of the new tower a subtle compliment to the Greek lexicon of Liddell, who then was Dean. But in spite of the wits, who resented any innovation in so famous a group of buildings, Bodley's tower is a fine one, and really enhances the effect of Tom Quad. CHRIST CHURCH (2) THE HALL STAIRCASE "And love the high-embowed roof With antique pillars massy proof." MILTON [Plate XVIII. Christ Church : The Hall Staircase] When Wolsey began to build what he intended to be the most splendid college in the world, the first part to be finished was the dining- hall, with the kitchen. The wits of the time made very merry at this: their epigram /Egregium opus! Cardinalis iste instituit collegium et absolvit popinam/ may be rendered: "Here's a fine piece of work! Your Cardinal A college plans, completes a guzzling-hall." Certainly the hall of Christ Church is the finest "popina" which has ever been abused by envious critics; its size and magnificence place it easily first among the halls of Oxford, and its great outline stands conspicuous in all views of Oxford from the south, whether by day, or when by night, to quote M. Arnold's "Thyrsis": "The line of festal light in Christ Church Hall" shines afar. And the kitchen, a perfect cube in shape, is worthy of the hall which it feeds, and is, perhaps, more appreciated by many of Oxford's visitors; for the taste for meringues is more common than that for masterpieces of portraiture. The report to Wolsey, in 1526, by his agent, the Warden of New College, is still true; the kitchen is "substantially and goodly done, in such manner as no two of the best colleges in Oxford have rooms so goodly and convenient." The approach to the hall, seen in Plate XVIII, is later than Wolsey's work, but is fully worthy of him. The beautiful fan tracery, which hardly suffers by being compared with Henry VII's Chapel at Westminster, was put up, extraordinary as it may seem, in the middle of the seventeenth century, by the elder Dean Fell; all we know of its origin is that it was the work of "Smith, an artificer of London," surely the most modest architect who ever designed a masterpiece. The staircase itself is later, the work of the notorious Wyatt, who for once meddled with a great building without spoiling it. The history of Christ Church is very largely the history of the University of Oxford. It is still our wealthiest and largest foundation, although the disproportion between it and other colleges is by no means so great as it once was; and, thanks to its having been ruled by a series of famous and energetic deans, its periods of inglorious inactivity have been fewer than those of most other colleges. The roll of deans contains such names as those of John Owen, the most famous of Puritan preachers, John Fell, theologian and founder of the greatness of the Oxford Press, Henry Aldrich, universally accomplished as scholar, logician, musician, architect, Francis Atterbury, Jacobite and plotter, Cyril Jackson, who ruled Christ Church with a rod of iron, and who ranks first among the creators of nineteenth-century Oxford, Thomas Gaisford and Henry George Liddell, great Greek scholars. It seems that a college gains something by having its head appointed from outside; the Dean at Christ Church is appointed by the Crown. The importance of Christ Church is especially seen in its hall, through its collection of portraits. It is not only that this is superior to that of any one other college; it may well be doubted if the combined efforts of all the colleges could produce a collection equal to that of Christ Church in artistic merit, or superior to it in historical importance. The prime ministers of England, of whom Christ Church claims twelve (nine of them in the last century), are represented among others by George Grenville, the unfortunate author of the Stamp Act, George Canning, who called "the New World into existence to redress the balance of the Old," and W. E. Gladstone; among the eight Christ Church men who have been Governor-Generals of India, the Marquess Wellesley stands out pre-eminent; Christ Church has sent five archbishops to Canterbury and nine to York; there is a portrait in the hall of Wake, the most famous of the holders of the See of Canterbury. Lord Mansfield's picture worthily represents the learning and impartiality of the English Bench. But even more interesting than any of those already mentioned are the portraits of John Locke, who was philosopher enough to forgive Christ Church for obeying James II and expelling him, of William Penn, presented, as was fitting, by the American state that bears his name, of John Wesley and of Dr. Pusey, whose names will be for ever associated with the two greatest of Oxford's religious movements. And it may well be hoped that C. L. Dodgson ("Lewis Carroll") will delight children for many generations to come, as he has delighted those of the last half- century, by his Alice and her "Adventures." An interest, rather historical than personal, attaches to the group portrait that occupies a position of honour over the fireplace; it represents the three Oxford divines--John Fell (already mentioned), Dolben, who later was Archbishop of York, and Allestree, afterwards Provost of Eton, who braved the penal law against churchmen by reading the forbidden Church Service daily all through the time of the Commonwealth. Nowhere, so much as in Christ Church, is the poet's description of Oxford appropriate; her students may: "Stand, in many an ancient hall, Where England's greatest deck the wall, Prelate and Statesman, prince and poet; Who hath an ear, let him hear them call." [Plate XIX. Christ Church : The Hall Interior] CHRIST CHURCH (3) "TOM" TOWER "Those twins of learning, which he raised in you, Ipswich and Oxford, one of which fell with him; The other, though unfinished, yet so famous, So excellent in art, and still so rising, That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue." SHAKESPEARE, /Henry VIII/. Oxford is described by Matthew Amold as, "Beautiful city, with her dreaming spires," yet it is for her towers, especially, that she is famous. Glorious as St. Mary's is, it certainly does not surpass Magdalen Tower; and it may well be doubted whether the genius of Wren has not excelled both Magdalen and St. Mary's in "Tom" Tower. Gothic purists, of course, do not like it. There is a well-authenticated story of a really great architect who, in the early days of the twentieth century, was asked to submit a scheme for its repair; after long delay he sent in a plan for an entirely new tower on correct Gothic lines, because (as he wrote) no one would wish to preserve "so anomalous a structure" as Tom Tower. The world, however, does not agree with the minute critics; it is easy to find fault with the details of "Tom," but in proportion, in dignity, in suitability to his position, the greatest qualities that can be required in any building, "Tom" is pre-eminent. This is the more to be wondered at, as the tower was erected a century and a half after the great gateway which it crowns. The genius of Wolsey had planned a magnificent front, but only a little more than half of it was completed when Henry VIII ended the career of his greatest servant, and altered the plans of the most glorious college in Europe. It was not till the period just before the Civil War that the northern part of the front of Christ Church was built by the elder Dean Fell, and the work was only completed when his son, the famous Dr. Fell, doomed to eternal notoriety by the well-known rhymes about his mysterious unpopularity, employed Wren to build the gate tower. Yet the whole presents one harmonious design, worthy of the most famous of Oxford founders and of the greatest of British architects. It is fitting that it should be Wolsey's statue which adorns the gate--a statue given by stout old Jonathan Trelawny, one of the Seven Bishops, whose name is perpetuated by the refrain of Hawker's spirited ballad, which deceived even Macaulay as to its authenticity: "And must Trelawny die? Then thirty thousand Cornish men Will know the reason why." Tom Tower appeals to Oxford men through more than one of their senses; it is a most conspicuous object in every view; and in it is hung the famous bell, "Great Tom," the fourth largest bell in England, weighing over seven tons. This once belonged to Osney Abbey, when it was dedicated to St. Thomas of Canterbury, and bore the legend: "In Thomae laude resono Bim Bom sine fraude." It was transplanted to Christ Church in the reign of Queen Mary, and at the time it was proposed to rechristen it "Pulcra Maria," in honour at once of the Queen and of the Blessed Virgin; but the old name prevailed. Every night but one, from May 29, 1684, until the Great War silenced him, Tom has sounded out, after 9 p.m., his 101 strokes, as a signal that all should be within their college walls; the number is the number of the members of the foundation of Christ Church in 1684, when the tower was finished. During the war Tom was forbidden to sound, along with all other Oxford bells and clocks, for might not his mighty voice have guided some zeppelin or German aeroplane to pour down destruction on Oxford? Few things brought home more to Oxford the meaning of the Armistice than hearing Tom once more on the night of November 11, 1918. [Plate XX. Christ Church: "Tom" Tower] A patriotic tradition claims for Tom the honour of having inspired Milton's lines in "Il Penseroso": "Hear the far-off curfew sound Over some wide-watered, shore, Swinging slow with sullen roar." But it is difficult to believe this; Milton's connection with Oxford does not get nearer than Forest Hill, and blow the west wind as hard as it would, it could scarcely make Tom's voice reach so far. And the "wide-watered shore" is only appropriate to Oxford in flood time, the very last season when a poet would wish to remember it. The view in Plate XX of the tower is taken from the front of Pembroke, and must have been often admired by Oxford's devoted son, Samuel Johnson, when, as a poor scholar of Pembroke, "he was generally to be seen (says his friend. Bishop Percy) lounging at the college gate, with a circle of young students round him, whom he was entertaining with his wit and keeping from their studies." ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE [Plate XXI. St. John's College : Garden Front] "An English home--gray twilight poured On dewy pastures, dewy trees, Softer than sleep, all things in order stored, The haunt of ancient Peace." TENNYSON, Palace of Art. St. John's shares with Trinity and Hertford the distinction of having been twice founded. As the Cistercian College of St. Bernard, it owed its origin to Archbishop Chichele, the founder of All Souls', and it continued to exist for a century as a monastic institution. At the Reformation it was swept away with other monastic foundations by the greed of Henry VIII, but it was almost immediately refounded, in the reign of Mary, by Sir Thomas White, one of the greatest of London's Lord Mayors. In all these respects it has an exact parallel in Trinity, which had existed as a Benedictine foundation, being then called "Durham College," and which was refounded, in the same dark period of English History, by another eminent Londoner, Sir Thomas Pope. It is characteristic of England and of the English Reformation that men, who were undoubtedly in sympathy with the old form of the Faith, yet gave their wealth and their labours to found institutions which were to serve English religion and English learning under the new order of things. For the first generation after the Founder, St. John's was torn by the quarrels between those who wished to undo the work of the Reformation altogether, and those who wished to carry it further and to destroy the continuity of English Church tradition. The final triumph of the Anglican "Via Media" was the work, above all others, of William Laud, who came up as scholar to St. John's in 1590, and who, for most of the half century that followed, was the predominant influence in the life of the University. First in his own college and then in Oxford generally, he secured the triumph of his views on religious doctrine and order. Of these, it is not the place to speak here, nor yet of Laud's services to Oxford as the restorer of discipline, the endower and encourager of learning, the organizer of academic life, whose statutes were to govern Oxford for more than two centuries; but it is indisputable that Laud takes one of the highest places on the roll of benefactors, both to the University as a whole and to his own college. It was fitting that one who did so much for St. John's should leave his mark on its buildings; the inner quadrangle was largely built by him, and it owes to him its most characteristic features, the two classic colonnades on its east and west sides, and the lovely garden front, one of the three most beautiful things in Oxford: the north- east corner of this is shown in Plate XXI. Laud's building work was done between 1631 and 1635, and in 1636 Charles I and his Queen visited Oxford and were entertained in the newly-finished college. Much bad verse was written on this event, two lines of which as a specimen may be quoted from the quaintly-named poem, "Parnassus Biceps": "Was I not blessed with Charles and Mary's name, Names wherein dwells all music? 'Tis the same." The part of the entertainment to royalty on which the Archbishop specially prided himself was the play of The Hospital of Lovers, which was performed entirely by St. John's men, without "borrowing any one actor." Laud goes on to observe that, when the Queen borrowed the dresses and the scenery, and had it played over again by her players at Hampton Court, it was universally acknowledged that the professionals did not come up to the amateurs--a truly surprising and somewhat incredible verdict. St. John's, however, was always strong in dramatic ability; Shirley, the last great representative of the Elizabethan tradition, was a student there, and the library has the rare distinction of having possessed longest the same copy of the works of Shakespeare; it still has the second folio, presented in 1638, by one of the fellows. St. John's connection with the lighter side of literature has lasted to our own day; the most famous of Oxford parodies is still the Oxford Spectator, which has not been surpassed by any of its many imitators in the last half century. Other colleges, however, might challenge the supremacy of St. John's in the humours of literature.. In the richness and beauty of its garden it stands unrivalled, whether quantity or quality be the basis of comparison. It is not only that before the east front, seen in Plate XXI, stretches the largest garden in Oxford; thanks to the skill and the care of the present garden-master, the Rev. H. J. Bidder, this shows from month to month, as the pageant of summer goes on, what wealth of colour and variety of bloom the English climate can produce. It may be said to be laid out on Bacon's rule: "There ought to be gardens for all months in the year, in which severally things of beauty may be then in season"; only for "year" we naturally must read "academic year." If Bacon is right, that a garden is the "purest of human pleasures," then, indeed, St. John's should be the Oxford paradise. WADHAM COLLEGE (1) THE BUILDINGS "Here did Wren make himself a student home, Or e'er he made a name that England loves; I wonder if this straying shadow moves, Adown the wall, as then he saw it roam." A. UPSON. [Plate XXII. Wadham College : The Chapel from the Garden] The buildings of Wadham College have been pronounced by some good judges to be the most beautiful in Oxford. This is not, however, the usual opinion, nor is it my own, though, perhaps, it might be accepted if modified into the statement that Wadham is the most complete and perfect example of the ordinary type of college. However that may be, there are three points as to these buildings which are indisputable, and which are also most interesting to any lover of English architecture. They are: (1) Wadham is less altered than any other college in Oxford. (2) It is the finest illustration of the fact that the Gothic style survived in Oxford when it was being rapidly superseded elsewhere. (3) No building in Oxford (very few buildings anywhere) owe their effect so completely to their simplicity and their absence of adornment. These three points must be illustrated in detail. Wadham is the youngest college in Oxford, for all those that have been founded since are refoundations of older institutions (but, as its first stone was laid in 1610, it has a respectable antiquity); yet the Front Quad is completely unaltered in design, and of the actual stonework, hardly any has had to be renewed. Could the Foundress return to life, she would find the college, which was to her as a son, completely familiar. The second point is a more important one. In the reign of Elizabeth, classical architecture was being rapidly introduced; Gothic was giving way before the style of Palladio, even as the New Learning was banishing the schoolmen from the schools. This change is markedly seen in the Elizabethan buildings at Cambridge, especially in Dr. Caius' work, so far as it has been allowed to survive in the college that bears his name. But in Oxford the old style went on for half the following century; in the great building period of the first two Stuarts the old models were still faithfully copied. It was the genius of Wren, which, by its magnificent success in the Sheldonian, ultimately caused the new style to prevail over the late Gothic, of which his own college, Wadham, is so striking an example. In Wadham the conservative Oxford workmen were inspired by the presence of Somerset masons, whom the Foundress brought up from her own county, so rich in the splendid Gothic of the fifteenth century. Hence the chapel of Wadham (shown in Plate XXII) is to all intents and purposes the choir of a great Somerset church. So marked is the old style in its windows that some of the best authorities on architecture have maintained that the stonework of these could not have been made in the seventeenth century, but must have survived from some older building; Ferguson, the historian of architecture, when confronted with the fact that the college has still the detailed accounts showing how, week by week, the Jacobean masons worked, swept this evidence aside with the dictum--"No amount of documents could prove what was impossible." But here the "impossible" really happened. The permanence of Gothic in Oxford is a point for professional students; the studied simplicity, which is the great secret of Wadham's beauty, concerns everyone. The effect of the garden front is produced simply by the long lines of the string-courses and by the procession of the beautifully proportioned gables. Neither here nor in any part of the college is there a piece of carved work, except in the classical screen, which marks the entry to the hall. It may be noted that at Wadham and at Clare, Cambridge, the same effect is produced by the same means; different as the two colleges are, the one Gothic, the other classical, they have a restful and complete beauty which makes them specially attractive. And this is due more than anything else to the unbroken lines of the stonework, to which everything is kept in due subordination. Clare was building during half a century; Wadham was finished in three years; but both have been fortunate in being left alone; they have not been "improved" by later additions. The chapel at Wadham has another feature of great interest for those who visit it; the glass in it (not that in the ante-chapel) is all contemporary with the college, and is a first-rate example of the taste of early Stuart times. The apostles and the prophets of the side windows have few merits, except their age, and the fact that they illustrate what local craftsmen could do in the reign of James I; but the big east window is of a very different rank. The college authorities quarrelled with the local workmen, and introduced a foreign craftsman, Bernard van Ling from London. In our day he would have been called a "blackleg," and mobbed: perhaps, even in the seventeenth century, he needed protection, for the college built him a furnace in their garden, and he there produced the finest specimen of seventeenth century glass that Oxford can show. Even for those who are not students of glass, the Wadham windows are attractive with their two Jonahs and two whales, "The big one that swallowed Jonah, and the little one that Jonah swallowed" (to quote an old college jest). The gardens at Wadham are famous; they have not the magnificence of St. John's or the antiquarian charm of the old walls at New College or Merton; but, for the variety and fine growth of their trees, they are unsurpassed, though the glory of these is passing. Warden Wills planted them in the days of the French Revolution, and trees have their time to fall at last, even though they long survive their planters. WADHAM COLLEGE (2) HISTORY "But these were merciful men, whose righteousness hath not been forgotten. . . . Their bodies are buried in peace; but their name liveth for evermore." /Ecclesiasticus/, xliv. 10, 14. The collection of pictures In Wadham Hall is probably the best of any college in Oxford--always, of course, excepting Christ Church. It has no single picture to be compared with the "Thomas Warton" at Trinity, or the "Dr. Johnson" at Pembroke (both excellent works of Reynolds), nor does it give so many fine examples of the work of recent artists as do Trinity or Balliol; but it makes up for these deficiencies by the number and the variety of its pictures. Two only of the men they represent can be said to attain to the first rank among England's worthies--Robert Blake, second as an admiral only to Nelson and Oxford's greatest fighting man until the present war, and Christopher Wren, "that prodigious young scholar" (as John Evelyn calls him), who, as has been well said, would have been second only to Newton among English mathematicians had he not chosen rather to be indisputably the first of British architects. It is interesting to note that Wadham shares with All Souls' two of the greatest names in the Scientific Revival of the seventeenth century: both Wren and Thomas Sydenham, the physician, migrated from Wadham to fellowships at All Souls'. Their connection with Wadham is part of what is probably the most interesting single episode in the college history. When the Parliament triumphed, and the King's partisans were turned out of Oxford, the Lodgings at Wadham were given to the most distinguished of her Wardens, John Wilkins, who, no doubt, owed his promotion to the fact that he was the brother-in-law of Oliver Cromwell. In his own day everyone knew him; he was a moderate man, who interceded for Royalist scholars under the Commonwealth, and tempered the penal laws to Non-Conformists, when later he was Bishop of Chester. He was even better known to the "philosophers" as the inventor of a universal language and as curious for every advance in Natural Science. But, in our day, he is only remembered for his connection with the Royal Society; that most illustrious body grew out of the meetings held weekly at his Lodgings and the similar meetings held in London; when later these two movements were united, Wilkins was secretary of the committee which drew up the rules for their future organization, and thus prepared the way for the Royal Charter, given to the Society in 1662. When the Royal Society celebrated its 250th anniversary in 1912, many of its members made a pilgrimage to "its cradle" (or what was, at any rate, "/one/ of its cradles"). Wadham also produced, among other early members of the Royal Society, its historian, Thomas Sprat, Bishop of Rochester, who somehow, as "Pindaric Sprat" (he was the friend and also the editor of /Abraham Cowley/), found his way into Johnson's /Lives of the Poets/; he is, however, more likely to be remembered because his subserviency, when he was Dean of Westminster to James II, has earned him an unenviable place in Macaulay's gallery of Revolution worthies and unworthies. Sprat, it should be added, was an exception to the prevailing Whig tradition of Wadham, which found a worthy exponent in Arthur Onslow, the greatest Speaker of the House of Commons, who ruled over that august body for a record period, thirty-four years (1727-1761), and formed its rules and traditions in the period when it was first asserting its claim to govern. [Plate XXIII. Wadham College : The Hall Interior] Two centuries later than the Royal Society days at Wadham, another group of philosophers was trained there, who thought that the views of their master, Auguste Comte, were going to make as great a revolution in human thought as the views of a Bacon or a Newton. All the leading English Positivists were at Wadham--Congreve, Beesley, Bridges, Frederic Harrison, of whom the last alone survives, to fight with undiminished vigour for the causes which he championed in Mid- Victorian days. Positivism had less influence than its adherents expected, but it powerfully affected for a time the political and the religious thought of England. Forty years later another famous group of young men were at Wadham together. As they are all alive, it is impossible, and would be unbecoming, to estimate what their influence on English life and thought will be; but it was a curious coincidence that sent to Wadham together, in the 'nineties, Lord Birkenhead, who reached the Woolsack at the earliest age on record; Sir John Simon, who, if he had wished, could have lowered that record still further, and C. B. Fry, once a household name as the greatest of British athletes. Three groups of Wadham men have been spoken of; one other name must be mentioned of one who stood alone at college, and for a long time in the world outside, in his attitude to the social problems of our day. Whatever may be the future of the Settlement movement, its leader, Samuel Barnett, "Barnett of Whitechapel," is not to be forgotten, for his name is associated as a pioneer and an inspiring force with every movement of educational and social advance in the latter half of the nineteenth century. M. Clemenceau, no friendly judge of the ministers of any religious body, pronounced him one of the three greatest men he had met in England. Certainly he was great, if greatness means to anticipate the problems of the future before the rest of the world sees their urgency, and to make real contributions to their solution. It has been a feature of the history of Oxford that every college has, from time to time, come to the front as the special home and source of some movement. There has never been the overshadowing concentration of men and of wealth, which has given a more one-sided direction to the history of Cambridge. Hence the strength of the college system; every college has its traditions to live up to, its great names to cherish, and Wadham is, certainly, by no means last or least in these respects. HERTFORD COLLEGE "Outspake the (Warden) roundly: 'The bridge must straight go down; For if they once should get the bridge ...'" MACAULAY, /Horatius/, adapted. Academic bridges, over the Cam or elsewhere, are a great feature at Cambridge. At Oxford they were unknown till this century, when University first of all threw its modest little arch over Logic Lane; later, in 1913. the "Bridge of Sighs," which forms the subject of Plate XXIV, was completed. There was a hard struggle before leave could be obtained from the City Council for thus bridging a public thoroughfare; University only maintained their claim to a bridge by a long lawsuit, in which the college rights were firmly established by the production of charters, which went back to the reign of King John. The great opposition to the Hertford Bridge was said to be due to regard for the feelings of the old Warden of New College, who considered that it would injure the view of his college bell-tower. Whether this story be true or not, Hertford obtained its permission at last, and Sir Thomas Jackson added a new attraction to Oxford's buildings. His genius has been especially shown in triumphing over the difficulties of the Hertford site, for it was no easy thing to unite into a harmonious whole, buildings so various; his new chapel-- opened in 1908--is worthy to rank with the best classic architecture in Oxford. The variety of the Hertford buildings only reflects the chequered history of the foundations that have occupied them. As early as the thirteenth century Hart Hall stood on this site. In the eighteenth century this old hall was turned into a college by an Oxford reformer, Dr. Newton. But unfortunately Newton's endowments were not equal to his ambition, and the first Hertford /College/ fell into such decay that finally its buildings were transferred to an entirely different foundation, Magdalen Hall. Almost immediately afterwards, old Magdalen Hall, which stood close to Magdalen College, was burned down, and the society sold their site, thus made empty, to their wealthy namesake, and migrated, in 1822, to what had formerly been Hertford College. Finally, in 1874, Magdalen Hall was re-endowed by the head of the great financial house of Baring as "Hertford College" once more. This college then unites the traditions of two old halls, and of its own predecessor, and from all of them it derives some famous names. Hart Hall was the home of John Selden, one of the greatest of English scholars; Hertford College had an undistinguished English prime minister in Henry Pelham, and a most distinguished leader of opposition in Charles James Foxe; while Magdalen Hall was even more rich in traditions, as being the home of the translator of the Bible, William Tyndale, as the centre of Puritan strength in the Laudian days, when from its ranks were filled the vacancies all over Oxford caused by the expulsions of Royalists, and finally as having trained Lord Clarendon, famous as Charles II's minister, still more famous as the historian, whose monumental work was one of the first endowments of the Oxford Press. All these traditions are now concentrated in the one college, and, as has been said, the buildings have been greatly extended to meet the needs of the new foundation. When Hertford College is completed according to the plans already drawn by Sir Thomas Jackson, it will reach from All Souls' to Holywell. This last northern part of its front has been delayed by the European War. The new--or, rather, the revived--college has, as yet, hardly had time to make Oxford history, but the influence of its second Principal. Dr. Boyd, whose long reign, happily not yet over, began in 1877, has had the result of finding for Oxford new benefactors in one of the wealthiest of the London City Companies; the Drapers' magnificent gifts of the new Science Library and of the Electrical Laboratory are good instances to show that the days of the "pious founder" are not yet over. [Plate XXIV. Hertford College : The Bridge] ST. EDMUND HALL "Or wander down an ancient street Where mingling ages quaintly meet, Tower and battlement, dome and gable Mellowed by time to a picture sweet." A. G. BUTLER. The group of buildings, shown in Plate XXV, is not only picturesque-- it also illustrates Oxford history from more than one point of view. The apse of the Chapel of Queen's on the left belongs to a building already spoken of, which is the most perfect example of a small basilican church in Oxford. The church tower in the centre, though itself dating from the fourteenth century, is the most modern part of one of the oldest churches in Oxford, St. Peter in the East. The crypt and the chancel of this church go back to the time of the Conquest, and are probably the work of Robert d'Oili, to whom William the Conqueror gave the city of Oxford; he was first an oppressor and then a benefactor; in the former character, he built the castle keep, still standing near the station; in the latter, he was the builder, besides St. Peter, of the churches of St. Michael and of the Holy Cross; parts of his work survive in all three. The churchyard, at all events, of St. Peter in the East, deserves a visit, lying as it does between the beautiful garden of New College and the picturesque buildings of St. Edmund Hall. Before this last foundation is spoken of, a word must be said as to the road round which these three buildings are grouped--Queen's Lane. It survives, almost unaltered, from Pre-Reformation Oxford, and, winding as it does its narrow way between high walls, it is an interesting specimen of the "lanes" which threaded mediaeval Oxford, a city in which the High Street and, to a smaller extent, Cornmarket Street were the only real thoroughfares; the rest of the city was a network of narrow ways. But from the historic point of view, the most interesting part of the picture is its right side, where stand the buildings of St. Edmund Hall. This is the only survival of the system of residence in the earliest University, of the Oxford which knew not the college system. Before the days of "pious founders," the students had to provide their own places of residence, and very early the custom grew up of their living together in "halls," sometimes managed by a non-academic owner, but often under the superintendence of some resident Master of Arts, who was responsible, not for the teaching, but, at any rate in part, for the discipline of the inmates of his hall. These halls had at first no endowments and no permanent existence; they depended for their continuity on the person of their head. Gradually they became more organized; but when once the college system had been introduced, it tended, by its superior wealth and efficiency, to render the "halls" less and less important. They lost even the one element of self-government which they had once had, the right of their members to elect their own Principal; this right was usurped by the Chancellor. Hence, though five of the halls were surviving at the time of the University Commission (of 1850), all of them but St. Edmund Hall have now disappeared. In theory, "hall" and "college" have much in common; one Cambridge college indeed has retained the name of "hall," and two of the women's colleges in Oxford have preferred to keep the old style. In practice, their difference lies in the two facts that colleges are wealthier, with more endowments, and that they are self-governing, with Fellows who co-opt to vacancies in their own body and elect their head. St. Edmund Hall has its head appointed by the fellows of Queen's, with which institution it has long been connected. [Plate XXV. St. Peter-in-the-East Church and St. Edmund Hall] The origin of this hall is an unsolved problem: it derives its name according to one theory from Edmund Rich, the last Archbishop of Canterbury to be canonized, and probably the first recorded Doctor of Divinity at Oxford. But this theory is very doubtful, and Hearne, most famous of Oxford antiquarians, and probably the best known member of St. Edmund Hall, did not believe it. In any case, most of the buildings of the hall date long after St. Edmund, and belong to the middle of the seventeenth century. Hearne himself is sufficient to give interest to any foundation. He was a great scholar and a careful editor of the early English Chroniclers in days when learning was decaying in Oxford; even now his work as an editor is not altogether superseded. But it is not to this that he owes his fame; it is rather to the fact that he has high rank among the diarists of England, and the first place among those of Oxford. For thirty years (1705-1735) in which latter year he died, he poured into his diary everything that interested him--scholarly notes, political rumours, personal scandal, remarks on manners and customs. The 150 volumes came into the possession of his fellow Jacobite, Richard Rawlinson, the greatest of the benefactors of the Bodleian, and only now are they being fully edited; ten volumes have been issued by the Oxford Historical Society, and still there are a few more years of his life to cover. As a specimen of Hearne's style may be quoted his remarks, when the sermon on Christmas Day, 1732, was postponed till 11 a.m. "The true reason is that people might lie in bed the longer. . . . The same reason hath made them, in almost all places in the University, alter the times of prayer, and the hour of dinner (which used to be 11 o'clock) in almost every place (Christ Church must be excepted); which ancient discipline and learning and piety strangely decay." Hearne was critical rather of past history than of present- day rumour; he records complacently (in 1706) that at Whitchurch, when the dissenters had prepared a great quantity of bricks "to erect a capacious conventicle, a destroying angel came by night and spoyled them all, and confounded their Babel." Hearne would by no means have approved of the Methodist principles of six members of his hall in the next generation, who were expelled for their religious views (1768). A furious controversy, with many pamphlets, raged over them, and the Public Orator of the University wrote a bulky indictment of them, which was answered by another pamphlet with the picturesque title of "Goliath Slain." Pamphleteers were more free in their language in those days than they are now. The hall has always been a strong religious centre, and plays a very useful part in the University--by giving to poor men, seeking Holy Orders, a real Oxford education, based on the true Oxford principle of community of life. IFFLEY MILL "Thames, the best loved of all old Ocean's sons, Of his old sire, to his embraces runs . . . Though deep, yet clear, through gentle yet not dull, Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full." SIR J. DENHAM. [Plate XXVI. Iffley : The Old Mill] The subject of Plate XXVI is no longer in existence; it was burned to the ground some years ago, and has never been rebuilt--for steam has rendered unprofitable the old-fashioned water mills such as it was. Yet the very fact that Iffley Mill is no more perhaps renders it the more appropriate subject for a series of Oxford pictures. It claims a place among them, not for its beauty, picturesque though it was, but as a symbol of the open-air pursuits of Oxford, which play so large a part in the lives of her sons. And as those pursuits are so diverse, and cannot all be directly pictured, it is fitting that they should be represented by a picture which is a symbol of them all, by a picture of something no longer existing, not introduced for itself, but suggesting whole fields of varied activity, different and yet all akin. This may be fanciful, but the part played by open-air sports in the life of Oxford is a great reality. Yet, in their present organized form, they are a feature of quite, modern times. Fifty years ago, football as a college sport in Oxford was only beginning; the men are still living, and not octogenarians, who introduced their "school games"--"Rugby," "Eton Wall game," etc.--at Oxford. Golf was left to Scotchmen, hockey to small boys, La Crosse had not yet come from beyond the Atlantic. Cricket and rowing were the only organized games, and even in these the inter-University contests are comparative novelties; the first boat race against Cambridge was rowed in 1829, and it has only been an annual fixture since 1856. Several results followed from this. In the first place, the very sense of the word "sportsman" was different. Now it means a man who can play well some, one at least, of the games that all men play; then, it had its old meaning of a man who could shoot, or ride, or fish, or do all these. Again, as cricket is always a game for the few, and as the rowing authorities, by the time the summer term begins, had selected their chosen followers and left the rest of the world free, there was far more walking, and consequently more knowledge of the country round the city, than is the rule now. The long rambles which play so prominent a part in Oxford biographies, such as Stanley's /Life of Arnold/, were still the fashion, while of those who could afford to ride, certainly many more availed themselves of the privilege than do now. So far as games themselves were concerned, their cost was far less. College matches away from Oxford were almost unknown; college grounds, which were still quite a new thing in the middle of last century, were nearly all concentrated on Cowley Marsh, and the somewhat heavy contribution from all undergraduates, now generally collected by the college authorities in "battels" and become semi- official, was not dreamed of. Those who played paid, and the rest of the college got off easily. And games were much more games than they are now, and less of institutions; the "professional amateur," who comes up with a public school reputation to get his "blue," was almost unknown, and certainly, so far as rowing was concerned, any powerful man with broad shoulders and a sound heart was a likely candidate for the University Boat. The days were not dreamed of when the fortunes of Oxford and Cambridge on the river depended largely on the choice of a University by members of the Eton Eight. But there is of course another side to the development of Oxford athletics. Perhaps the most important point is that play is the greatest social leveller. It is easy to attend the same lectures as a man, and even to sit at the same table with him in hall, and not to know him well, because his clothes and his accent are not quite correct. But in these days when so many games are played, and when competition is so keen, any man who can do anything gets his chance; and many are the instances every year of men who would never have made friends in their colleges outside a small circle, had not their quickness as half-backs, or their ability as slow bowlers, brought their contemporaries to recognize their merits. You cannot play with a man without knowing him, and young Oxford is democratic at heart, and when once it knows a man, it does not trouble about the non- essentials of wealth and fashion. And again, though it may seem a paradox to say it, the amount of play in Oxford has increased the amount of work. Organized games mean physical fitness, and physical fitness means ability to get intellectual work done. Perhaps it may be argued that the absorption in athletics deadens all intellectual life, and that many Oxford men read only and discuss only the sporting news in the papers; this no doubt has a strange fascination, even for men who do not play; one of the most distinguished of Oxford statesmen of the last generation, himself so blind that he could not hit a ball, confessed to me that he always, in the summer, read the cricket news in /The Times/ before he read anything else. But he and many other Oxford men read something else, too. And it may be maintained without question that the hard exercise, which is the fashion in Oxford, tends to keep men's bodies healthy and to raise the moral tone of the place. Oxford and Cambridge may not be what they should be in morals, but they compare very favourably in this respect with other towns. All this seems a far cry from Iffley Mill; but Iffley means to an Oxford man, not so much the picturesque village, nor even its gem of a Norman Church that towers above the lock, but the place where Eights and Torpids start for the races. And the boating, which is so associated with the name of Iffley, is still--and long may it be so-- the queen of Oxford sports. To succeed as an oar, a man has to learn to sacrifice the present to the future, to scorn delights and live laborious days, to work together with others, and to sink his individuality in the common cause. These are great qualities, and therefore in any book on Oxford, the picture, which recalls them and is their symbol, has a right to a place. Printed in Great Britain. Letterpress by Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh. Plates engraved and printed by Henry Stone & Son, Ltd., Banbury. [OXFORD FROM THE EAST (End papers)] 
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26674	----	The Life and Times of John Wilkins [Illustration: WARDEN WILKINS.] Warden of Wadham College, Oxford; Master of Trinity College, Cambridge; and Bishop of Chester BY P. A. WRIGHT HENDERSON WARDEN OF WADHAM COLLEGE, OXFORD William Blackwood and Sons Edinburgh and London 1910 _ALL RIGHTS RESERVED_ _DEDICATED TO THE MEMBERS OF WADHAM COLLEGE._ PREFACE. This little book is written as an offering to the Members of Wadham College for the Tercentenary of its foundation. The writer makes no pretensions to learning or research: the title of the book would be misleading and ridiculous if taken to imply a profound study of the times of Bishop Wilkins, from his birth in 1614 to his death in 1672, the most important, perhaps, certainly the most interesting, in the history of Great Britain. It has been attempted only to touch on the great questions and events which shaped the life and character of a remarkable man. Use has been made freely and often, without due acknowledgment, of the 'History of Wadham College,' written by Mr T. G. Jackson, R.A., one of its Honorary Fellows and distinguished alumni; a history of the building and architecture of the College, which no one but he could have written,--a history also of its social and academical life from its beginning to the present day. Nor has less use been made of Mr J. Wells' History of the College, of which he is a Fellow. He will, I am sure, pardon my impertinence in saying that in his book are combined diligent research and a sense of humour and of the picturesque, excellences rarely found together in historians. Mr R. B. Gardiner, formerly Scholar of Wadham, has earned its gratitude by his invaluable 'Registers of Admissions,' which, it is to be hoped, he will bring down to 1910 or later: they will make easy the work of some member of the College, who will doubtless arise to write a _magnum opus_, the history of the College in every aspect--architectural, social, and academical. For it the writer will use, as I have done for this little book, the notes and comments of Mr Andrew Clark on Wood's 'Life and Times,' and other volumes published by the Oxford Historical Society. My thanks are due also to Dr Butler, the Master of Trinity, Cambridge, for his kindness in telling me what little there is to tell of Wilkins' short tenure of the Mastership. The Bishop of Chester, Dr Jayne, formerly a Scholar of Wadham, now Bishop of the Diocese which Wilkins held, has helped me with information about the short episcopate of his predecessor. For it I am grateful to him, as well for the suggestion or command which led to my first attempt, made four years ago, to write something about Wilkins. The too short article in the 'Dictionary of National Biography' has been of much service: it gives the bibliography of the subject, or an equivalent, for no life of Wilkins has been written till now, and indicates the sources of information about him: it also puts in clear order the events of his varied life. Mr Sanders must know much which he should be gently forced to tell. Fain would I acknowledge to Wood and Aubrey the debt I owe to them, especially to Wood, and ask his pardon for occasional ill-natured remarks about him, as ill-natured nearly as his own about most of his contemporaries. The only merit claimed for this _libellus_ is its brevity--no small recommendation in this age of "exhaustive treatment" when, in bibliography especially, it is difficult to see the wood for the trees. It is an inadequate expression of the writer's affection for the College in which he has spent more than forty years of his life, and the unvarying kindness and indulgence which he has received from pupils and colleagues. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. HISTORY OF THE COLLEGE FROM ITS FOUNDATION TO THE BEGINNING OF WILKINS' WARDENSHIP 1 II. WILKINS' LIFE TILL HIS APPOINTMENT TO THE WARDENSHIP 30 III. WILKINS' WARDENSHIP 54 IV. WILKINS AFTER HIS LIFE AT OXFORD 105 ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE WARDEN WILKINS _Frontispiece_ NICHOLAS WADHAM 12 DOROTHY WADHAM 16 ADMIRAL BLAKE 28 WADHAM COLLEGE FROM THE WARDEN'S GARDEN 48 WADHAM COLLEGE FROM THE COLLEGE GARDEN 78 SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 100 THE LIFE AND TIMES OF JOHN WILKINS. CHAPTER I. HISTORY OF THE COLLEGE FROM ITS FOUNDATION TO THE BEGINNING OF WILKINS' WARDENSHIP. Wadham College was founded in 1610, when on July 31st the foundation-stone was laid; and opened in 1613, when, on April 20th, the Warden and Fellows elected by the Foundress were admitted; the Warden, by the Vice-Chancellor of the University in St Mary's Church; the fifteen Fellows by the Warden in the College Hall; the fifteen Scholars by the Warden and Fellows in the same place. All of them, from the Warden to the Junior Scholars, were sworn to obey the Statutes of the College, save three of the Scholars, who were supposed to be too young to understand the nature of an oath. A site had been found on the ground where had stood the Priory of the Augustine Friars, founded in 1268--suppressed in 1540. It had been gradually removed or destroyed by time and plunder of its materials: no traces of it are left, except on the west side of the Warden's garden, a postern-gate which he maintains was used by the friars for various purposes. Another memorial of the Priory survived till 1800--the phrase of "doing Austins." Up to that date, or near it, every Bachelor of Arts was required once in each year to "dispute and answer ad Augustinenses," and the chapel or refectory of the Priory were convenient places in which to hold the disputations. In the University no official title, no name indeed of any kind, escapes abbreviation or worse indignity, instances of which will readily suggest themselves to the mind of any Oxford reader. The founders were Nicholas Wadham and Dorothy, his wife, of Merrifield and Edge in the county of Somerset. He was a squire of good estate and high degree, the last male descendant of the main line of Wadhams. Born in 1532, he was educated at Corpus or at Christ Church: there is a conflict of testimony on this point, but Corpus was probably his college. At the age of twenty-three he married Dorothy Petre. She was two years younger than her husband, born in 1534, the daughter of Sir William Petre of Writtle in Essex, near which much of the College property now lies. For his zeal in suppressing the monasteries Sir William had been rewarded by the grant of a large estate, and Wadham, so long a Whig and Evangelical College, was by the vicissitudes of fortune built both pecuniarily and materially on the ruins of the Roman Catholic Church. The young couple were wealthy and lived their lives in state at Merrifield, where they kept an open house, "an inn at all times for their friends, and a court at Christmas." Yet, owing probably to the management of Dorothy, a notable and prudent wife, they saved money, and the childless pair determined to devote their wealth to "the purposes of religion, learning, and education." Their creed, like that of many waverers in those days of transition, was by no means clear, possibly even to themselves. The Wadhams were suspected of being Recusants, and Dorothy was presented as such, even in the year 1613 when the College was completed. This may have given rise to Antony Wood's story that Nicholas was minded to found a College at Venice for Roman Catholic students, but the balance of probabilities is against its truth. It has been pointed out by Mr Jackson, on the suggestion of Mr Thorley, the late Warden, that "the discovery of the Gunpowder Plot in 1605 may have weakened his (Wadham's) attachment, in common with that of many liberal and loyal Catholics, to the cause of the old faith"; further, that "the Venice scheme comes very near, if it does not amount to, an offence which the law had anticipated and actually forbidden, and it would have exposed its author to the direful penalties of Pramunire, which by a Statute of 27 Elizabeth were denounced against any person contributing to the support of any College of Jesuits, or Seminary, erected, or hereafter to be erected, beyond the sea": and finally, Mr Jackson dwells on many evidences from facts that the Founder was in his later years strictly conformable to the Reformed Church. These are weighty arguments, and to them may be added others worthy of consideration. To a daughter of Sir William Petre her husband's design, if he ever entertained it, would have been more than distasteful, for its fulfilment would have meant a confession of sacrilege committed by her father and acquiesced in by herself: it would have meant also the establishment of a college beyond the sea, removed from the Founder's supervision and control. No one who knows human nature, or daughters, or Dorothy Wadham, can regard the story as more than an interesting fiction. And yet, is there no foundation for Wood's circumstantial narrative? Does the fact that the Foundress was presented as a Recusant mean nothing? The problem is one worthy of the industry and ingenuity of Mr Andrew Lang. The Founder died at the age of seventy-seven years in 1609. He was buried in "Myne Ile at Ilminster, where myne ancestors lye interred." The funeral was one befitting, in the estimation of those days, the obsequies of an important country gentleman: it cost £500, equivalent now to a sum sufficient for the public funeral of some great statesman. It is easy to condemn our ancestors; but their modes of extravagance were less frivolous than ours, if equally irrational. The building accounts have been preserved in the account-book treasured in the College archives: in it is recorded "every item of stone, wood, or metal used, and every workman's name and weekly wages," an important contribution to the history of prices. The architect was William Arnold, who combined in himself, as did architects in the middle ages and later, the functions of head workman, master mason, architect, and clerk of works in one--a master builder. The stones came from the quarries at Headington and Shotover; the slates from Stonesfield and Burford. Part of the beauty of the College is due to the soft colouring of the silver-grey stone, honeycombed and crumbled, on the south and west especially, where sun and wind and rain beat on it, giving it the appearance of indefinite antiquity; an appearance due, alas! also to the fact that stone from Headington is very friable, and little able to resist the Oxford air. One of the true College stories runs to the effect that Warden Griffiths used the account-book to refute the contention of a great historian of British architecture that Wadham College must have been built at different dates, because its architecture is of different styles--an improper combination of Jacobean and Perpendicular. Dr Griffiths was the kindliest of men, but the most accurate, and it gave him, for he was human, great pleasure to correct mistakes. He listened silently to the great man's argument: next morning, at a large breakfast party given in the College Common Room to the members of the British Association which met at Oxford in the year 1847, he quietly laid the Account-Book beside the plate of the unhappy dogmatist. The fact that the Chapel is Perpendicular while the Quadrangle is late Gothic has been explained by the late Mr J. H. Parker's reasonable, perhaps fanciful, suggestion that "the architect desired to emphasise by this variation of style the religious and secular uses of the several structures."[1] Wadham has been described by Ayliffe, and without much protest, as being "in respect of beauty the most regular and uniform of any in the University." It is the best specimen of that late Gothic style which makes the charm of Oxford, and which Mr Jackson has helped to preserve by his work there and elsewhere. The beauty of Wadham is of a singularly quiet and simple kind, the effect of proportion, of string-courses and straight lines, marred by little decoration. Except for buildings annexed from time to time, so plain that they are no disfigurement, the College stands as it stood three centuries ago. Mr Andrew Lang has remarked that it is "the only College in Oxford which has not been fiddled with"; this is high praise, and gratefully accepted. One defect the College has: the resources of the Founders sufficed to build only one quadrangle; they had not counted the cost of the stately Chapel and Hall, and little was left for College rooms. When will our benefactor come? But it would be ungracious in Wadham men to criticise the Founders of their College, to whom they owe the most beautiful of homes. It stood fifty years ago almost in the country, with nothing north or east of it save the Museum and green fields. It is still in a great measure what it was called, the Country College; for though it has neighbours close to it in Mansfield and Manchester Colleges, yet these and the cricket-grounds, which lie between Wadham and the Cherwell, and further north, the Parks, make one spacious region of almost country,--a region of grass and trees and silence, broken only by the sounds of birds, and the shouts of Matthew Arnold's "young barbarians all at play." It is a quiet old College,--not old as age is reckoned in Oxford,--like some great Elizabethan or Jacobean country-house turned into a College, splendid yet homely, possessing that double charm which no palace or castle or cathedral possesses in the same degree,--the charm of stately beauty and the charm of human interest which belongs to the home of generations who have spent there the happiest years of life, preparing for themselves distinction and success, or obscurity and failure. As you stand in the well-known College garden, one side of which is bounded by the chapel and long line of wall and gables showing half-white half-grey against the sward from which they rise, you might fancy, if you were a Platonist, that here Plato might have realised the dream of his Republic, and made a home for the chosen youths who were to rule and defend his state; here amid things beautiful "from which come effluences wholesome for the soul, like a breeze bringing health from blessed regions." The Educated Woman, with her unerring perception of the fitness of things, has already, it is whispered, marked Wadham for her own when the day of reckoning comes, and men will have to share with women not merely degrees but buildings and endowments. She has chosen well, for Tennyson could have imagined no fitter home for the Princess and her companions. Four days before his death Nicholas Wadham told his nephew, Sir John Wyndham, what were his objects in founding his College, and what were the provisions he wished made to effect them. His "instructions," two of which seemed strange to his nephew, and to need careful wording, ran as follows: "The one was that he would have an especial Statute to be made that neyther the head of the house, nor any of the fellowes should be married; the other that he would not tye any man to any profession, as eyther devinitie, lawe, or phisicke, but leave every man free to profess what he liked, as it should please God to direct him. He then told me that after they weare Masters of Arte of a competent number of yeares, that then he would have them absolutely to departe the Colledge, and not live there all theire lives like idle drones, but put themselves into the world, whereby others might growe up under them, his intente being chiefly to nourishe and trayne up men into Learninge. On the 19th of October, when he sealed the deede, I told him howe necessary it was for him to have a visitor of his Colledge, all the Colledges of Oxford having some Bishoppe appointed by the Founder for seeinge of the Statutes put in execution; and that in my opinion there was none fitter than the Bishoppe of Bathe and Welles, which he much applauded, and thanked me muche for putting him in minde of him; he also then sayd he would have his Colledge to be called Wadham Colledge." [Illustration: NICHOLAS WADHAM.] Our ancestors knew what they meant and how to express it in good English, though their spelling was irregular. In his instructions the Founder anticipated reforms made by the Commissioners of 1853 and 1882. They had the benefit of two and a half centuries' experience of national and academical life to guide them: Nicholas Wadham foresaw things and needs not foreseen or understood by his contemporaries or predecessors. His Fellowships were to be, all of them, open to laymen, and terminable after a tenure of years in which a young lawyer, of physician, might maintain and prepare himself till he had made a practice: eighteen years were allowed for that purpose, instead of the scanty seven with which a Prize Fellow must now content himself. It may be that Nicholas gave too much and the Commissioners gave too little; but that is a doubtful question. The Wardenship, as well as the Fellowships, could by the Founder's intention, and in the first draft of the Statutes, be held without the condition of Holy Orders. The Foundress, in this matter only, disobeyed her husband, and at the wish of the Society altered the Statutes, and by binding the Warden to take his Doctorate in Divinity made the office clerical for two hundred and sixty years. In all other points she followed the instructions which she may herself to some extent have inspired. Her Visitor was to be the Bishop of the diocese in which she had spent her life; her Warden was to be "a virtuous and honourable man of stainless life, not a bishop, nor a foreigner but born in Britain": the last word is significant. It was inserted in the Statutes by James I. in place of "England": even Dr Griffiths is known to have spoken of England as the kingdom in which he lived: further, the Warden was to be "thirty years old at least, and unmarried." There is nothing in Dorothy's grim features to suggest that she would have approved of one of the reforms or perversions of her Statutes ordained by the Commissioners, which gives a place in her College to a married Warden and to married Fellows, much less that she would have been willing to marry one of them herself. Thereby hangs a tale which might suggest a new situation to our exhausted novelists. The Foundress, so the story runs, chose for her first Warden a clergyman, Dr Robert Wright, whose _beaux yeux_ touched the heart of the lone widow: she loved him, and would fain have married him and reigned with him after the necessary alteration of the Statutes; but he was cold and irresponsive: the obligation of celibacy, save in the case of Warden Wilkins, remained incumbent on a Warden of Wadham till 1806, when it was removed by a special Act of Parliament. Modern criticism respects a love-story no more than it respects the Pentateuch. A comparison of dates shows that Dr Wright was fifty-four years old at the time of his appointment in 1613, and the Foundress was then seventy-nine. The difference of a quarter of a century makes the truth of the story not indeed impossible but improbable; the coy Warden held his office only for two months: the cause of his resignation or expulsion is not known, but was probably not "spretæ injuria formæ": the hero of the story wished to marry somebody else, and resigned his post because he was not permitted to do so, as Mr Wells informs us, adding a prosaic explanation of the lovers' quarrel, a disagreement about the appointment of an under-cook. Therefore "Dorothy's Romance" must take its place among the many College stories in which Oxford abounds, and become a forsaken belief. Wright was the first on the long roll of Wadham bishops, and played a not inconsiderable part at a crisis in English history. In December 1641, as Bishop of Lichfield, he was one of the twelve bishops who presented to Charles I. the famous protest against their exclusion by mob violence from the House of Lords, declaring all proceedings in their absence null and void: for this they were sent to the Tower as guilty of high treason. Wright was soon released, and died two years later defending his episcopal seat, Eccleshall Castle, against the Parliamentarians,--a member of the Church militant like Ancktill. [Illustration: DOROTHY WADHAM.] The history of the College from its foundation to the beginning of the Civil War is uneventful, one of great prosperity. Among the Fellows admitted in 1613, three, Smyth, Estcott, and Pitt, became Wardens: four of the Fellows were drawn from Exeter, then, as now, a west-country College like Wadham, though it has, more than Wadham, maintained its connection with the West of England. The Foundress showed her resolve that her husband's countryside should be well represented among the first members of the foundation: of the fifteen Fellows, eleven--of the fifteen Scholars, ten, came from western counties, especially from Somerset; the Commoners also were many of them western men. The value to a College of a local connection, not with a village or a small school, but with a county or a large town, was not understood by the Commissioners of 1853: they were under the tyranny of the formulæ current in their day, when "open competition" was supposed to be the solution of all the difficulties of life. In the first year of the College now opened for work, fifty-one undergraduates, including the Scholars, were admitted. The number of its inmates, from the Warden to the latest freshman, was therefore sixty-nine, including the two chaplains. The rooms were larger than most of the rooms in the older colleges, but fewer, and those available for undergraduates were not more than about forty: the freshmen of 1613 must have been closely packed, the Scholars especially, who had rooms three together, sleeping in the large chamber and working in the _muscoelæ_ or small studies attached, now used as bedrooms, or as scouts' pantries. In the nine years following the admissions were necessarily fewer--averaging twenty-seven. It is probable that till the depletion of Oxford, when the Civil War began--_i.e._, during the first thirty years of its life--Wadham numbered on an average between eighty and ninety undergraduates, all of them resident in College, as was then required by the Statutes of the University. This estimate is based on imperfect data, and Mr Gardiner has pronounced that materials for any accurate calculation are not to be found. We do not know what was the usual length of undergraduates' residence at that time; some resided only for a year, some proceeded to a degree. Nor is it clear whether the Warden used all the rooms, eight in number, assigned to him, or gave, perhaps rented, some of them to undergraduates. The estimate, which can neither be confirmed nor disproved, is worth making only as helping us to imagine the condition of the College in its early days. One thing is certain, that Wadham was popular and fashionable, to use a modern curious name, as is shown by the record of admissions. Life, both for graduates and undergraduates, was harder then than it is now. The Fellows were required to reside for forty-six weeks, the Scholars, and probably the Commoners, for forty-eight weeks in each year. All undergraduates had to attend lectures or disputations for twenty-four hours in every week. These tasks were arranged with careful malignity to begin at 6 A.M., and resumed at 2 P.M. and 6 P.M. Nor were examinations wanting. The Bible was to be read during dinner in Hall by a Bible Clerk or Scholar, and heard attentively and reverently. Latin was to be spoken in Hall, and English only when the presence of an unlearned person or of a member of another college justified its use. The Chapel Service was held between 5 and 6 A.M. and between 8 and 9 P.M.; and attendance twice a-day was required from bachelors and undergraduates, and rigidly enforced. Attendance at roll-call as a substitute for chapel was unheard of in those days, when all members of the colleges were, or were presumed to be, members also of the Church of England, nor would conscientious scruples have been treated with much courtesy. In other matters discipline was no less strict; clothes and boots were to be black, and gowns were to be long. No undergraduate was allowed to go out of College unaccompanied by a "discrete senior" of mature age as a witness to his good behaviour, unless to attend a lecture or a disputation: nor might he keep dogs, or guns, or ferrets, or any bird, within the precincts of the College, nor play any games with dice or cards or of any unseemly kind. Yet the Foundress showed a tenderness for human weakness by permitting the Fellows and Scholars to play cards in Hall on some of the Gaudy days for "moderate stakes and at timeous hours." Moreover, she ordained that £30 from the College revenues should be spent on College banquets to be held on Gaudy days, by which were meant the great Church festivals, the election days of Fellows and College officers, All Saints' Day, and, on what at first sight seems strange, the anniversary of her husband's death; but the strangeness disappears if it be remembered that October 20th comes close to All Saints' Day. This seems, in some of its provisions, Draconian legislation, but it was made for the government of boys, many of them only fourteen or fifteen years of age: how far it was, even in early days, unflinchingly enforced, we cannot tell. It began to fall into abeyance after the Restoration, if we are to believe Antony Wood. His statements are always to be received with caution; but they are on this point confirmed by other testimonies, and by the antecedent probability of a strong reaction against the Puritan _régime_. Eighteen months after the King's Restoration, he writes of the decay of learning and discipline in the University. "Before the warr wee had scholars that made a thorough search in scholasticall and polemicall divinity, in humane authors, and naturall philosophy. But now scholars studie these things not more than what is just necessary to carry them through the exercises of their respective Colleges and the Universitie. Their aime is not to live as students ought to do--viz., temperat, abstemious, and plaine and grave in the apparel; but to live like gentlemen, to keep dogs and horses, to turne their studies and coleholes into places to receive bottles, to swash it in apparell, to wear long periwigs, &c., and the theologists to ride abroad in grey coats with swords by their sides: the masters have lost their respect by being themselves scandalous, and keeping company with undergraduates." We cannot believe that Wadham escaped the contagion, and remained what its Foundress meant it to be. It would be interesting--but lack of space forbids--to compare the discipline prescribed with that administered in Wadham now. Sufficient to say--what indeed might go without saying--that the lapse of three hundred years has made changes desirable and necessary. The Foundress died on May 16, 1618, aged eighty-four. For five years she had watched over the infancy of her College, and had seen it grow into a vigorous child, with the promise of a robust manhood. The mythopoeic faculty is strong in all of us, and in Wadham has grown up a tradition that Dorothy was a strong-minded woman, and her husband a submissive man without character and will. The myth rests only on the science of physiognomy working on portraits,--a most insecure foundation. The Founders' portraits depict him as a gentle, placid person with melancholy eyes; her as a hard-featured woman with a long upper lip and an almost cruel mouth. Against the testimony, always dubious, of portraits, must be set the known facts of her loyal devotion in carrying out his wishes with scrupulous fidelity, and the sacrifices she made in doing so, of money and of laborious supervision in the last years of her long life. The College may do well to remember the closing of one of her last letters to the Warden and Fellows: "Above all things, I would have you to avoid contentions among yourselves, for without true charity there cannot be a true Society."--(Wells' 'History of Wadham,' p. 44.) She was buried beside her husband in the Wadham aisle at Ilminster. Only a few months after her death a question arose in which she would have taken a keen interest, and have supported her College to the uttermost. In October 1618 James I. set an example, which his grandson, James II., followed, of that contempt for law which proved fatal to the Stuarts. He wrote to his "trusty and well beloved, the Warden and Fellows of Wadham College, bidding them elect Walter Durham of St Andrews a Fellow, notwithstanding anything in their statutes to the contrary." Durham had not been a scholar, and the vacancy had been filled up by the Foundress, for whose death "their eyes were still wet." It is possible that Durham's being a Scotchman was another objection to his reception as a Fellow in those days when his aggressive countrymen had found the high-road to England: this objection the Society did not put before the King, but pleaded only the obligations of the statutes. Supported by the Earl of Pembroke, the Chancellor of the University, their resistance was successful. To Wadham belongs the honour of being the earliest Oxford champion of legality in the struggle of seventy years: as to Magdalen belongs the honour of the resistance which brought that struggle nearly to its close. From 1618 onward till--who can say when? the College has been on the popular or constitutional side, save in 1648. The portrait of James I., who gave the College its Charter, hangs in the Hall; there are no portraits there of Charles I., Charles II., James II. Among the admissions of this time the most illustrious name is that of Robert Blake, who matriculated at Alban Hall, but took his B.A. from Wadham in 1618, a few months before the Durham incident. The great admiral and soldier may therefore have learnt in Wadham the opinions which determined his choice of sides in the Parliamentary wars. The College possesses his portrait, and four gold medals struck to commemorate his victory over Van Tromp in 1653. It has never left the custody of the Warden, save when it was sent, concealed on the person of Professor and Commander Burroughs, to the Naval Exhibition some years ago; and last year, when after an interesting correspondence between the College and Colonel Maxse commanding the Coldstream Guards, leave was cordially given to that distinguished regiment to have an electrotype made of the Blake medal for its own exclusive use, and to be kept _in perpetuum_ among the memorials of its long history. It is the oldest regiment in the service, the only survivor of Cromwell's New Model; it was commanded by Monk, afterwards Duke of Albemarle, when he crossed the border to march to London, perhaps with no definite intention to restore the Monarchy--perhaps also prompted by his brother Nicholas, a Wadham man, to solve the great problem in that simple way. The rest of the New Model were disbanded after the Restoration, but, doubtless in deference to Monk, the Coldstreams were reformed, and became the King's Bodyguard. To Monk, who like Blake was half soldier, half sailor, one of the four medals had been awarded for his services against the Dutch. It was lost, and the replica will take its place. The other three medals are preserved--one in the possession of the representatives of the Penn family, one in the British Museum, one in Wadham: the last was sent to the British Museum for reproduction: it was carried by our historian Mr Wells, returned by him, and it now lies in the Warden's lodgings, in the cabinet of treasures bequeathed by Dr Griffiths, our benefactor in many ways unknown but to his friends. This tie of courtesy and history between a regiment and a college, arms and the gown, is worth recording and probably unique. No other name of real distinction than Blake's occurs in the registers of 1613 to 1648. But Colonel Henry Ancktill, "the priest and malignant doctor," as he was known among the Roundheads, one of the first Fellows, ought to be remembered, partly on his own account, for he was a vigorous and devoted Royalist, a fighting man when his cause was hopeless; partly because he may have been the original of Dr Rochcliffe in 'Woodstock.' Sir Walter Scott read the 'Athenæ Oxonienses,' and the resemblance between Ancktill and Rochcliffe is striking; but who can say what a great writer finds or creates in fiction or in history! [Illustration: ADMIRAL BLAKE.] A perusal of the register shows that in Wadham both of the great parties in Church and State were represented. There were represented also all classes of society, from Dymokes, Herberts, Russells, Portmans, Strangways, to the humblest _plebeiorum filii_, a fact which proves the falsity of the assertion made forty years ago, that Oxford was once a place for "gentlemen only." The history of the College at this time was not one of unbroken peace: occasional quarrels between members of the governing body are recorded,--evidences of the unrest of a time when greater questions than the interpretation of a Statute or the disputed election of a College officer were already in the air. The only dissension of any interest was one which led to an appeal to the Visitor: the Visitor was Laud, the Bishop of Bath and Wells, who showed great gentleness and patience in dealing with a person even more provoking than he found the worst of Scotch Presbyterians. We have now reached, "longas per ambages," the times of Wilkins' manhood: he was born a year later than the opening of the College which he was to rule. FOOTNOTE: [1] See Messrs Peel and Minchin's 'Oxford,' p. 130. CHAPTER II. WILKINS' LIFE TILL HIS APPOINTMENT TO THE WARDENSHIP. In the Common Room of Wadham College hangs the portrait of John Wilkins, Warden from 1648 to 1659. It is probably a faithful likeness, for Wilkins is described by Aubrey as "a lustie, strong-grown, well-set, broad-shouldered person, cheerful and hospitable; no great-read man, but one of much and deepe thinking, and of a working head; and a prudent man as well as ingeniose." In the portrait these characteristics, physical and mental, are well displayed: sanity of mind--that is, clearness, shrewdness, courage, kindliness, the contentment which makes the best of good and evil fortune, are, to the imaginative mind, written in the face, as presented in his picture, of this great man. His greatness fell short of genius, for it was the effect of ordinary qualities, rarely combined and tempered into one character; but more effective for useful work in the world than genius without sanity. He was born in 1614 at Fawsley in Northamptonshire. His father was Walter Wilkins, a goldsmith in Oxford, like his son "ingeniose, and of a very mechanicall head, which ran much upon the perpetuall motion,"--a problem less hopeful than most, not all, of those which attracted his more practical son, who inherited from him his "insatiable curiosity." It is from Aubrey that we derive the fullest account of the facts of Wilkins' life, as well as of his character. It is given in one of those "Brief Lives" which might well serve as models to modern biographers; lives compressed into two pages of nervous English, adorned here and there, rather than disfigured, by quaint pedantic words and phrases, relics of the euphuism of the sixteenth century. Aubrey is credulous, appallingly frank, a strong partisan, a man of great industry and learning, by no means trustworthy, but none the less entertaining and delightful. He tells us that Wilkins had his "grammar learning from Mr Sylvester, 'the common drudge of the University,' who kept a private school: that he entered Magdalen Hall from New Inn Hall in 1627 at the age of thirteen, and there was placed under the tutorship of 'the learned Mr John Tombs, the Coryphæus of the Anabaptists.'" Tombs was a man of great ability, notable for his "curious, searching, piercing witt, of whom it was predicted that he would doe a great deale of mischiefe to the Church of England, as great witts have done by introducing new opinions." He was a formidable disputant, so formidable that when he came to Oxford in 1664, and there "sett up a challenge to maintain 'contra omnes gentes' the doctrines of the Anabaptists, not a man would grapple with him, their Coryphæus; yet putting aside his Anabaptisticall opinions he was conformable enough to the Church of England"; so much so that he held a living at Leominster, and was the friend of two Bishops, Sanderson and Seth Ward. It is doubtful whether Mr Tombs would now, if he came back, move in Episcopal circles. His career gives us a glimpse into those puzzling times of confusion and cross-purposes, when compromise and toleration co-existed, both in parties and in individuals, with bitter fanaticism, more commonly than is supposed, or can be explained. It is easy to see what was the influence exercised by Tombs on a clever boy like Wilkins. He was probably trained to be a Latitudinarian; for Tombs, despite his strong opinions, could admire and praise sincerity in opponents: he was heard to say that "though he was much opposite to the Romish religion, truly for his part should he see a poor zealous friar goeing to preach he should pay him respect." Utterances of this kind, if heard by Wilkins, would make a strong impression on a youth by nature singularly tolerant. Wilkins took his B.A. degree in 1631, his M.A. in 1634. For a few years he took pupils--read to pupils (as the phrase was),--the common resource then, as now, of young Oxonians, who think themselves qualified to teach, and must support themselves till a Fellowship comes, or till they have chosen a profession. In 1637 he took Holy Orders in the Church of England, and became curate of Fawsley, the place in which he had been born. A country living was too small a sphere for a young man of twenty-three, conscious of his powers, ambitious and desirous to see the world of letters, science, and politics in those eventful days. Aubrey tells us that "he has sayd often times that the first rise, or hint of his rising, was from goeing accidentally a courseing of a hare, when an ingeniose gentleman of good quality falling into discourse with him, and finding him to have a very good witt, told him that he would never gett any considerable preferment by continuing in the University, and that his best way was to betake himself to some lord's or great person's house that had good benefices to conferre. Sayd Mr Wilkins, I am not knowne in the world; I know not to whom to addresse myself upon such a designe. The gentleman replied, 'I will commende you myselfe,' and did so to (as I think) Lord Viscount Say and Seale, where he stayed with very good likeing till the late civill warres." It is not clear whether this worldly but sound advice was given to Wilkins before or after he became a country clergyman, for the words "continuing in the University" might mean either residence there, or occasional visits to it. Coursing of a hare was, perhaps is, an amusement equally of University men and of the country clergy: the last alone can tell us whether they still "goe a courseing accidentally"--(the word is worth noting)--and whether conversations of this profitable kind occur in the intervals of sport. But the date of the incident is of less importance than its result; it was the turning-point of Wilkins' life. When he became chaplain to Lord Say and Seale he was introduced into a sphere of politics and action. William Fiennes, the first Viscount, was a man of light and leading in the Parliamentary party; "the oracle," as Clarendon styles him, "of those who were called Puritans in the worst sense, and steered all their counsels and designs." He deserved his nickname, Old Subtlely, for he had a clear insight into the real issues from the very beginning of the great quarrel: he headed in Oxfordshire the resistance to the levying of Ship-money, and was the champion of the Independents, the most determined of the king's opponents. His sons, John and Nathaniel Fiennes, were no less resolute and effective Puritans than the head of their house; more so indeed, for they were believed, and soon known to be, "for root and branch." At Broughton, Wilkins, now chaplain and resident there, met the most prominent men of the party which was against the Government. He must have heard "great argument about it and about"; whether "evermore he came out by the same door wherein he went" we cannot tell, for he possessed to an extraordinary degree the faculty of seeing the two sides of a question: as he stayed at Broughton "with very good likeing" for five or six years, it may be presumed that the discreet and morigerous man concealed the difficulty which he felt in accepting some of the views maintained at Broughton. Some light is thrown on his real opinions by words found in the sermon preached at his funeral by Lloyd, his friend and pupil. "When some thought these dissents ground enough for war, he declared himself against it, and confirmed others in their allegiance: he profest to the last a great hatred of that horrible rebellion." He doubtless resembled another Latitudinarian--Cudworth--whom Burnet describes as "a man of great competence and prudence upon which his enemies did very falsely accuse him of craft and dissimulation." When the Civil War broke out Wilkins removed to London and became Chaplain to Lord Berkeley, and later to Charles Lewis, Prince Elector Palatine, nephew of Charles I., and elder brother of Prince Rupert. The Elector was then an _émigré_ in England, hoping to be restored to his dominions by the aid of his uncle, who was then struggling to hold his own inheritance. During his seven years' residence in London, Wilkins became the friend, perhaps the leader, of the natural philosophers, who later formed themselves into the Royal Society. Thus, before he had reached "the middle of the way of life," he had seen much of the world. Like Ulysses, whom in many ways he resembled, "he saw the cities of many men and knew their mind." Dr Walter Pope, his half-brother, who wrote a life of Bishop Ward, and, curiously enough, a life also of Claude Duval, the famous highwayman, which had a wider circulation, says of Wilkins that he was "a learned man and a lover of such; of comely aspect and gentlemanlike behaviour. He had been bred in the court, and was also a piece of a traveller." The last sentence refers mainly to Wilkins' life after the Restoration; but he had travelled before then, and his acquaintance with the Fiennes', with the Elector, and with London society, had taught him "gentlemanlike behaviour" before he became a Head of a House,--a lesson which, apparently, some other Heads in his time had not learnt; for Pope goes on to say, "He had nothing of bigotry, unmannerliness or censoriousness, which then were in the zenith amongst some of the Heads and Fellows of Colleges in Oxford." It is to be hoped that such criticisms would not now be made on the manners of the senior members of the University, and that in this respect Oxford has been reformed, to the approval of all concerned. While Wilkins was experimenting and philosophising in London, events had been marching rapidly in England and in Oxford. In Wood's 'Life and Times' is written the history of the city of Oxford, of the University and of himself, from the day of his birth till his death in 1681. The three histories are mingled in a quaint and incoherent fashion. Wood is a chronicler like Aubrey, his friend, with whom he quarrelled, as antiquarians and historians do. Both were industrious, uncritical, and--Wood especially--sometimes venomous; both were vivid and picturesque, keen observers, and had a wonderful power of saying much in few words. Antony Wood, the son of Thomas Wood, Bachelor of Arts and of Civil Law, was born in 1632 at Oxford, where his father lived, in the Collegiate parish of St John Baptist de Merton. He was educated at New College School, in Oxford, and later at Thame Grammar School; was admitted into Merton College at the age of fifteen as a "filius generosi," and became Bible Clerk in 1650. When ten years old he saw the king, with his army of foot, his two sons, Charles and James, his nephews, Rupert and Maurice, enter Oxford after the battle of Edgehill. The incident was impressed on his memory by the expulsion of his father from the house in Merton Street, and the removal of the boys of New College School to the choristers' chamber at the east end of the College hall, "a dark nasty room, very unfit for such a purpose, which made the scholars often complaine, but in vaine." From this time onward Wood, a clever and observant boy, kept both his ears and eyes open, and accumulated from all quarters materials for his narrative which covers fifty years, the most interesting and important half century in the history of Oxford. "Your orthodox historian puts In foremost rank the soldier thus, The redcoat bully in his boots That hides the march of men from us." The "redcoat bully," as Thackeray somewhat harshly calls him, figures largely in the early pages of Wood's 'Life and Times,' but does not hide the march of men. In August 1642, "the members of the University began to put themselves in a posture of defence," and till June 1646, when Oxford was surrendered to Fairfax, it was a garrison town, the centre and object of much fighting, and of many excursions and alarms, as being "the chiefest hold the King had." Fain would the writer extract almost bodily Wood's description of the four years' occupation, but some things he cannot forbear from mentioning, for they throw light on the history of Wilkins' Oxford, and on the problems with which he had to deal after the war was ended. Mr Haldane would read with interest and approval how the Oxford undergraduates of 1642 responded to a call to arms, as he hopes their successors will respond, if and when need comes. "Dr Pink of New College, the deputy Vice-Chancellor, called before him to the public schools all the priviledged men's arms to have a view of them; when, not only priviledged men of the University and their servants, but also many scholars appeared, bringing with them the furniture of armes of every College that then had any." The furniture for one man was sent by Wood's father--viz., "a helmet, a back and breast plate, a pike, and a musquet." The volunteers, both graduates, some of them divines, and undergraduates, mustered in New College quadrangle, and were drilled in the Newe Parkes (the Parks of our day) to the number of four hundred, "in a very decent arraye, and it was delightsome to behold the forwardnesse of so many proper yonge gentlemen so intent, docile, and pliable to their business." Town and gown took opposite sides: the citizens were, most of them, ready to support the Parliament, or the King and Parliament, but not the King against the Parliament. Long before the Civil War began there were in Oxford and in the kingdom, as always in our history, though called by different names, three parties, divided from each other by no very fast or definite lines; the King's, the Parliament's and the party of moderate men, to which Wilkins belonged; the Constitutional party in the strict meaning of the word, who wished both to preserve and reform the constitution. In those days of confusion and perplexity, when men's hearts were failing them for fear and for looking after those things which were to come, many knew not what to think or do. It was a miserable time both for Roundheads and Cavaliers, and most of all for those who were not sure what they were. If Hyde and Falkland wavered for a time, how must the timid and lukewarm have wavered? Though the great questions were fairly clear, the way to solve them, and the end to which any way would lead, were dark and gloomy. It is an error to think that the Civil War was a sudden outbreak, a short struggle on simple issues between two sharply divided parties, assured of their beliefs and interests. The French Revolution was that, or nearly that; but our revolutions are managed deliberately, and lead to conclusive and permanent results: the art of revolution belongs to the English race. In Oxford there must have been much bewilderment and questioning among citizens and gownsmen when Lord Say and Seale, the new Lord-Lieutenant of the county appointed by the Parliament, came into the town on September 14, 1642, and ordered that the works and trenches made by the scholars should be demolished; yet next day he "sent a drumme up and downe the towne for volunteers to serve the King and Parliament." What did that mean? Almost any answer might have been given to the question. His lordship's opinions soon became clearer than his puzzling proclamation; on September the 24th he sent for the Heads of Houses to rebuke them for having "broken the peace and quiet of the University," so much broken it that "they had nowe left no face of a Universitie, by taking up armes and the like courses." He had before this interview "caused diverse popish bookes and pictures taken out of churches, and of papish houses, here and abroad, to be burned in the street over against the signe of the Starre, where his Lordship laye." We know not what is meant by "papish bookes and pictures," but the Puritan Lord Say may not have discriminated sharply between them and the books and ornaments of the High Party in the Church of England. For seven or eight weeks before the battle of Edgehill, Oxford swarmed with soldiers. It had been held for a fortnight by the King's men, who were succeeded by the Parliamentary troopers brought in by Lord Say. Some disturbances took place, in which the soldiers from Puritan London especially distinguished themselves: one of them, when flushed with wine presented by the Mayor "too freely," went so far as to "discharge a brace of bulletts at the stone image of Our Lady over the church St Mairie's parish, and at one shott strooke off her hed, and the hed of her child which she held in her right arme: another discharged his musket at the image of our Saviour over All Soule's gate, and would have defaced all the worke there, had it not been for some townsmen, who entreated them to forbeare, they replienge that they had not been so well treated here at Oxford as they expected: many of them came into Christ Church to viewe the Church and paynted windowes, much admiringe at the idolatry thereof, and a certain Scot, beinge amongst them, saide that he marvaylled how the Schollers could goe for their bukes to these paynted idolatrous wyndoes." From a Scot of that time this utterance was not surprising: bukes had been substituted for paynted wyndowes destroyed in his country many years before his visit to Oxford. But to the honour of the Puritans be it said, there were no serious outrages on person or property in Oxford, and that its citizens had to endure nothing more than fear and discomfort: in no other country in Europe at that time would a city occupied by troops have suffered as little as did Oxford in those two months. In 'John Inglesant' a man of genius has drawn a picture of Oxford when it was the residence of the King and Queen and Court. His description is so vivid that one is tempted to believe it to be history: it is that, and not mere fiction, for it is based on a careful study of facts, and, allowance made for the writer's strong Royalist bias, it is true ethically or in spirit, that highest truth which accurate and laborious historians often fail to reach. John Inglesant entered Wadham before the war began--the date of his admission is obviously uncertain--and lived there from time to time till the rout at Naseby, in 1645, brought about the surrender of Oxford to the Parliament in 1646. It was by a sure instinct that he chose Wadham, that quiet and beautiful college, for his home. He was a dreamer, and in no place could he have dreamt more peacefully and happily than there, though sometimes perhaps, even in his first term, he must have been disturbed by the ominous sounds of axe and hammer, pick and spade, busy on the "fortifications in making about the towne on the north and north-west thereof," and, later, on the east, toward Headington Hill and close to Wadham. A trace of them remains in the terrace on the east of the Warden's garden, which did not then exist for Inglesant to walk in, and muse on the problems of the day. [Illustration: WADHAM COLLEGE FROM THE WARDEN'S GARDEN.] Oxford in his time at Wadham presented a curious spectacle. Huddled together were soldiers, courtiers, ladies beautiful, gay, and famous in many ways, severe Divines and College Heads, to whom such surroundings were unfamiliar and perhaps not uninteresting: masques and revels were frequent; Christ Church meadow and the grove at Trinity were the resort of a brilliant throng, more brilliant even than the gatherings which fill Oxford at Commemoration time in our more sober age. But beneath this merriment there were doubtless in the minds at least of those who thought, or stopped to think, terrible anxieties and the grimmest of forebodings. It was becoming clearer every month that Edgehill had not broken the rebellion; that the struggle would be long, and that the issue was uncertain; events soon justified these fears. On January 10, 1643, "the Kinges letters came to all the Colledges and Halls for their plates to be brought into the mint at Oxford, there to be coyned into money with promise of refunding it, or payeinge for it again after five shillings the ounce for silver, five and sixpence for silver and gilt." The fruitless sacrifice was made by no college with more unhesitating devotion than by Wadham, which preserves the letter addressed by Charles I. to "our trusty and well-beloved ye Warden and Fellows of Wadham College," and the receipt for 124 lb. of plate from the king's officers of the mint, a liberal contribution from a college only thirty years old. Few relics of the ancient Collegiate plate are now to be found in the University; in most instances pieces, either bestowed or given by special benefactors: the Communion vessels of the Colleges were not taken by the king--a loyal son of the Church. Six colleges, among them Wadham, retained theirs through all the confusion of the war, and still possess them. In February 1643 warning came of fresh troubles from the north: three Commissioners representing the nobility, clergy, gentry, and commons of Scotland presented themselves to the king, "to press his Majestie that the Church of England might be made conformable in all points to the Church of Scotland." To Charles, himself a Scot, this request must have seemed an outrageous insult, inflicted on him by those of his own household, and an omen of his desertion by his warlike countrymen, whom, despite their resistance to the English Liturgy, he trusted to be faithful to a Stuart. On June 24, 1646, the last fighting Royalist left Oxford. In the following Michaelmas, Wood returned "to the home of his nativitie." He found Oxford "empty as to scholars, but pretty well replenished with Parliamentarian soldiers." In his opinion the young men of the city and the University had reaped less benefit from the Royalist occupation than their seniors; the latter had gained "great store of wealth from the court and royalists that had for several years continued among them"; the former he "found many of them to have been debauched by bearing arms, and doing the duties belonging to soldiers, as watching, warding, and sitting in tipling houses for whole nights together." Nor were the spiritual teachers sent by Parliament to restore good manners and religion, in Wood's opinion, fitted for their mission: they were six Presbyterian Ministers, "two of them fooles, two knaves, two madmen." With the history of Oxford for the next eighteen months, important and interesting though it is, we are not concerned. The scholars returned slowly to the half-empty colleges, where admissions had dwindled almost to vanishing point. At Wadham, for instance, the admissions in 1643 were only seven; in 1644, three; in 1645, none; in 1646, seven; in 1647, when the worst of the fighting was over, they rose to nineteen. The Independents and the Presbyterians were now in possession of Oxford. In spite of both oppressors the undergraduates, of Wood's College at least, enjoyed themselves, as undergraduates do in the darkest times, and played "high jinks" on Candlemas Day, compelling the freshmen "to speake some pretty apothegme or make a jest or bull," or take strange oaths "over an old shoe," and suffer indignities if they were shy or stupid. "Naturam expellas furca tamen usque recurrit." CHAPTER III. WILKINS' WARDENSHIP. In 1647 a Commission, as it would now be called, was appointed by Parliament to conduct the visitation of the University. 'Lord have mercy upon us; or, the Visitation at Oxford,' is the title of one of the numerous pamphlets relating to this Oxford revolution; Tragi-comoedia Oxonienses' is the title of another, and both suggest curious reflections to Oxonians at the present time. The visitors did their business effectually. They set to work in 1648, and purged the University by ejecting from the colleges all who did not by a certain day give in their assurance that they would submit to the visitors and their visitation appointed by Parliament. No party in our country can claim the monopoly of loyalty to conviction attested by self-sacrifice. In England, non-jurors and dissenters; in Scotland, Episcopalians, Covenanters, and Free Churchmen; in Ireland, Roman Catholics, have "gone out," or stayed out, for some lost cause. In Oxford, Royalists, from Heads to Servitors, stood by their colours manfully. It is uncertain how many submitted, how many were expelled. The estimates vary from Clarendon's statement that almost all the Heads and Fellows of Colleges were ejected, "scarce one submitting," to Wood's estimate of 334; it is probable that 400--that is, about half of the whole number of Heads, Fellows, and Scholars then resident in the University--"made the great refusal," not to accept office, but to retain it. Antony Wood did not show himself ambitious of martyrdom. On May 12, 1648, he, along with other members of his College, appeared before the Visitors. When asked by one of them, "Will you submit to the authority of Parliament in this visitation?" he wrote on a paper lying on the table, "I do not understand the business, and therefore I am not able to give a direct answer." "Afterwards his mother and brother, who advised him to submit in plaine terms, were exceedingly angry with him, and told him that he had ruined himself and must therefore go a-begging." Women, then as now, ready to sacrifice themselves, are less ready to permit those dear to them to be overscrupulous. Wood's mother made intercession for him to Sir Nathaniel Brent, President of the Visitors and Warden of Merton, and "he was connived at and kept in his Postmastership, otherwise he had infallibly gon to the pot." At Wadham the Visitors met with an obstinate resistance: Dr Pitt, then Warden, was a stout Royalist, and refused to acknowledge the authority of a Parliament acting without the king's consent. He was expelled on April 13, 1648, along with nine of his thirteen Fellows, nine of his fourteen Scholars, and many of his Commoners, all of them save one to return no more. John Wilkins was put in his place by the Visitors on the same day, and held it till his resignation on September 3, 1659. Before the end of his stay in London he had taken the covenant and definitely given his allegiance to the Parliamentarian party. He was marked out for promotion as a known man of great ability, and he had made many friends among influential persons by his courtesy and tact. It was inevitable that a distinguished Oxford man should be chosen for an important post in the University, which Cromwell desired to convert from a hotbed of Royalism into a nursery of Puritans. Wilkins was qualified by his common-sense and genial ways for what would have been a hopeless task to the clumsy fanatics ready enough to undertake it. The new Warden must have found himself in a difficult position. There were in Oxford the three parties into which Englishmen and Scotchmen invariably divide themselves. These parties are called by different names at different times, and are formed on different questions, but remain essentially the same. In Oxford they were called Royalists, Presbyterians, Independents; the questions at issue were the life, discipline, and religion of the University. This classification has all the faults which a classification can have; it is not exhaustive, for the variations, religious and political, being infinite, cannot be included under three heads; nor do the _membra dividentia_ exclude each other: among the Royalists were some members of the established Church, of Calvinistic opinions, who were hardly distinguishable from Presbyterians; and some professed Presbyterians would have stood by Charles had not Laud driven them away, for they had in their nature some of the best elements of conservatism, the historical sense, and a love of order and discipline, especially as administered by themselves. But classifications may be illogical yet useful, and Wilkins would have accepted this one, in his practical way, for working purposes. The Presbyterians were for forcing on the Church of England, the Covenant, the Westminster Confession, and the deposition of the Bishop by the Presbyter, or a board of Presbyters. The Independents conceived that every Christian congregation had, under Christ, supreme jurisdiction in things spiritual; that appeals to provincial and national synods were scarcely less Scriptural than appeals to the Court of Arches or to the Vatican, and that Popery, Prelacy, Presbyterianism, were merely three forms of one great apostacy. In politics the Independents were, to use the phrase of their time, "root and branch men," or, to use the kindred phrase of our own time, radicals: not content with limiting the power of the monarch, they were desirous to erect a commonwealth on the ruins of the old English polity. Macaulay's vigorous words explain the difference between the Presbyterians and the Independents: that difference is explained also by Wood in words as vigorous but less dignified and scholarly. "The Presbyterians," he says, "with their disciples seemed to be very severe in their course of life, manners or conversation, and habits or apparell; of a Scoth (_i.e._, Scotch) habit, but especially those that were preachers. The other (the Independents) were more free, gay, and, with a reserve, frollicsome, of a gay habit, whether preachers or not." John Owen, Dean of Christ Church--to be distinguished from Thankful Owen, President of St John's--seems to have been of a specially gay habit; when Vice-Chancellor "he had alwaies his hair powdred, cambric bands with large costly band strings, velvet jacket, his breeches set round at knee with ribbons pointed, Spanish leather boots with cambric tops, &c.,--all this was in opposition to prelattical cutt." The habit of a Vice-Chancellor, even in full dress, is nowadays far less gay, and of the Presbyterian rather than the Independent fashion. Whatever may have been their difference in dress, both parties were "void of public and generous spirits: the Presbyterians for the most part preached nothing but damnation, the other not, but rather for libertie; yet both joyne together to pluck downe and silence the prelattical preachers, or at least to expose their way to scorne." Wood carries his comparisons further, and tells, perhaps invents, many things about their common hatred of Maypoles, players, cassocks, surplices, and the use of the Lord's Prayer in public religious service. He more than hints at darker sins,--drunkenness, and immorality cloaked by hypocrisy, the favourite theme of the Restoration dramatists. His account of the Puritan domination in Oxford is, despite his bitter prejudices, historically important, and must have been used by Scott when he wrote 'Woodstock.' It seems at first sight strange that the Independents should have been "gay," and, even with a reserve, frolicsome, for they were originally the soldiers of Cromwell's "New Model," "honest and religious men." But Wood describes them as he knew them many years after Naseby and Marston Moor, when their character had changed with changing circumstances. Triumphant success seldom improves the morale of any party. Oxford proved a Capua to the Independents who lived in it after the strain of war was over: the very principle of Independency, liberty of opinion and action given to every Christian congregation, came to be applied to the life of the individual: freedom to reject any doctrine or practice which you do not like naturally ends in much gaiety and frolicsomeness, especially if your lines are cast in pleasant places: it becomes difficult not to slide into practical Antinomianism. What a place to live in for eleven years! yet Wilkins did so with success and general applause. He was inclined by temperament to the freedom of mellowed Independency rather than to the stiffness of the Presbyterians, who more successfully than their rivals resisted the enervating influences of life in Oxford. Circumstances as well as inclination led him to become an Independent: his marriage with Cromwell's sister, and the appointment to be one of the Commissioners to execute the office of Chancellor, perhaps also his appointment to the Wardenship, all tended to draw him to the side of Ireton and the Protector. Of the latter he saw much, and was consulted by him on academical and ecclesiastical affairs. Lord Morley[2] records "a story told by Bishop Wilkins, who was the husband of Cromwell's youngest sister Robina, that the Protector often said to him that no temporal government could have a sure support without a national church that adhered to it, and that he thought England was capable of no constitution but Episcopacy." Lord Morley thinks that "the second imputation must be apocryphal." That is by no means clear: Cromwell may have said what Wilkins probably did not invent, meaning that he thought Episcopacy good enough for England, for Englishmen were incapable of any better constitution; or he may have modified his judgment of Episcopacy,--who knows all that Cromwell came to think in his latter days, a time when most men revise their opinions? He may have felt the disenchantment which awaits success. Wilkins' marked success, both in his College and in his University, can be explained only by the fact that he possessed the qualities necessary for the work he had to do,--strong common-sense, moderation, and geniality. He had to live, as the most prominent man, in a society composed of three factions crowded together within the narrow limits of a University town, which even in quiet times is not always the abode of peace. He had to deal with the most burning questions, religious and political, which divide communities: questions which had been stifled for a time by force, and therefore, when force was removed or slackened, came back into vigorous life, and were constantly and bitterly discussed. But he was the man for the time and the place. His College flourished under his wise and kindly rule. Dr Pope tells us that "many country gentlemen, of all persuasions, but especially those then called Cavaliers and Malignants for adhering to the King and to the Church, sent their sons to his College to be under his government. The affluence of gentlemen was so great that I may fairly say of Wadham College that it was never before in so flourishing a condition." The "affluence of gentlemen" of all sorts, Fellow Commoners, Commoners, Servitors, and migrants from Cambridge, was, in 1649, fifteen; in 1650, fifty-one; in 1651, twenty-four; in 1652, forty. In the ten complete years of Wilkins' Wardenship the average of admissions was thirty. The large admission made in 1650 was due to the reputation of Wilkins as an able and tolerant College Head, as well as to the belief that the tumult of war had died away. Men's thoughts were turning to civil affairs and the ordinary business of life, especially to education, the preparation for it. In the registers of the period between 1648 and 1659, are found many names either of distinction in themselves, or of interest as showing that the connection of Wadham with the western counties was well maintained. Walter Pope, who has been already mentioned, was appointed Scholar by the Visitors in 1648, perhaps on the suggestion of the new Warden, his half-brother. He filled many offices in the College, was one of the original Fellows of the Royal Society, and became Professor of Astronomy in Gresham College. He deserves to be remembered as the author of a quaint and interesting little book, in which he gives a brief account of Wilkins, Lawrence Rooke, and Isaac Barrow, as well as a complete life of Seth Ward, Bishop of Salisbury. It is full of digressions on the manners and customs of the time, written with much humour, and is worthy of a humble place beside the diaries of Evelyn and Pepys. Seth Ward was a Scholar of Sidney Sussex, ejected from his College and from Cambridge because "he refused the Covenant and other oaths." He went to London, and, like Wren and Wallis, studied mathematics under William Oughtred, the author of the 'Clavis Mathematica,'--"a little book, but a great one as to the contents,"--which brought its author a great name, as well it might. When in London Ward met Wilkins and formed a lifelong friendship with him. They were both men of learning, moderate, dexterous, and successful. Ward entered Wadham as a Fellow Commoner in October 1649, became Savilian Professor of Astronomy, and in 1659 President of Trinity. Like Wilkins, he was ejected from his Headship at the Restoration, and like him obtained high preferment under the new _régime_ and became a Bishop. Both of them, when in Oxford, "became liable to the persecutions of peevish people who ceased not to clamour, and even to article against them as Cavaliers in their hearts--meer moral men without the Power of Godliness." "You must know," continues Pope, "that a moral and unblamable person, if he did not herd with them, was an abomination to that Party. I have heard one of them deliver himself in this manner." The "manner" is impossible to quote; it is to the effect that the speaker's opponents were hypocrites and Pharisees of the worst kind, and "in a desperate condition, on whom Jesus Christ can take no hold." The passage is instructive; it reveals the exasperation of party feeling in those times, and gives much food for reflection. Christopher Wren belongs both to Wadham and to All Souls. He was admitted Fellow Commoner of Wadham in 1649, and migrated to All Souls in 1653, but maintained his connection with his first College, and for several years occupied the chamber over the gateway. Of him, the close friend of Wilkins, the scientist and architect, the President of the Royal Society, nothing more need here be said. His portrait hangs in Wadham College Hall, beneath that of Robert Blake. Less known is Thomas Sprat, admitted Scholar of Wadham in 1651. Of him Wood says that he was "an excellent poet and orator, and one who arrived at a great mastery of the English language." His reputation does not rest on his poetry: he was known by the strange and dubious title of "Pindarick Sprat." But his History of the Royal Society justifies Wood's encomium; and he wrote a 'Relation of the late wicked contrivance of Stephen Blackhead and of Robert Young,' of which Macaulay, who does not praise lightly, says that "there are few better narratives in the language." Sprat became Bishop of Rochester and Chaplain to Charles II., though in his youth he had written an Ode on the death of Oliver Cromwell. Lawrence Rooke was admitted in 1650 from King's College, Cambridge. He accompanied Ward in his migration to Oxford, "and seated himself in Wadham College for the benefit of his conversation." Pope "never was acquainted with any person who knew more and spoke less." He was a prominent member of the band of philosophers who met in Wilkins' Lodgings; and after the Restoration held the Professorship of Astronomy in Gresham College, and was a Fellow of the Royal Society. Pope's account of him is well worth reading: of his travels in France; of his encounter with the redoubtable Thomas Hobbes, whose quadrature of the circle he proved false: that hard-headed philosopher's logic or "computation" must have failed him on this occasion, for finding, as he thought, errors in Rooke's criticism, he concluded that his own solution must be true. With Ward and Wallis Hobbes had still more fierce encounters on the same question. Gilbert Ironside, admitted in 1650, became Warden, Vice-Chancellor of the University, and, as his father had been, Bishop of Bristol, and finally of Hereford. He was the "rudest man in the University," and that without respect of persons, for he remonstrated, in a tone not far removed from rudeness, with James II. when he visited Oxford in 1687 to enforce his mandate on Magdalen College. William Lloyd, who entered Wadham in 1655, was a learned Divine, with his learning at command, of whom Burnet says that "he had the most learning in ready cash of any one he knew." He devoted himself to the interpretation of prophecy. His labours were rewarded by the title of Pseudopropheta Canus, bestowed on him when he was old and white-haired, by the _terræ filius_ of 1703. He had himself in his younger days shown some tendency to irreverent joking, by inventing an Eastern Patriarch, a native of London, a man of venerable appearance and dressed to suit the character, who deceived some eminent members of the University, and gave them his blessing; an incident of which Lloyd used to make his "bragge" long afterwards. He became Bishop of St Asaph, and was one of the Seven Bishops committed to the Tower. William III. rewarded him with the Bishoprics of Lichfield and Coventry, and finally of Worcester. Samuel Parker matriculated in 1657, and became Bishop of Oxford in 1686. In the following year he was intruded by James II. into the President's place at Magdalen College, but held his office for only five months. He died in his Lodgings, and was buried in the ante-chapel, but honoured by no memorial to mark the place of his interment. His must have been a dismal reign. Beside these names of bishops and philosophers occur names of interest of various kinds: historic names--Russell, Lovelace, Windham, Strangways; one also of quite different associations, Sedley, who entered Wadham in 1656, the boon companion later of Rochester, who, also a Wadham undergraduate, was his junior by four years. Both of them were libertines and wits, who received at their College, it may be presumed, an education the precepts of which they did not practise at the Court of Charles II. Other entries show the continued connection of the College with the West of England--with Somerset, the Wadhams' county; with Devon, Dorset, Hampshire, and Gloucestershire. Enough has been said to prove that Wadham under Wilkins was a college of high reputation and efficiency. It was a nursery of bishops, contributing to the bench no less than six, including Wilkins himself; a nursery also of Fellows of the Royal Society,--Wilkins, Ward, Rooke, Wren, Sprat, and Pope were original members of the "invisible college." Not only to the Church and to Science did Wadham do good service, but more directly to the State, by educating together impartially the youth of both the great parties. "When the hurly-burly's done, when the battle's lost and won," it is above all things desirable to allay bitter feelings, and bring the former combatants together. For this most difficult and delicate of tasks Wilkins was well qualified. He was beloved by the Cavaliers because he treated all his undergraduates kindly, Royalists and Puritans alike, in marked contrast with other Heads of Houses, who appear to have dealt faithfully with young Malignants, the sons of their political opponents. That Wilkins possessed great administrative abilities and vigour is shown by his work in the University and in his College. He had seen much of the world, and was in the prime of life, and already a man of eminence--a combination of qualities as rare in Heads of Houses as in Cabinet Ministers. He persuaded the Visitors that Wadham and Trinity were fitted, specially and immediately, in 1651 for freedom to elect their Fellows--a privilege of which all the Colleges had been deprived in 1648. The administration of the College estates and finances was carefully revised, and the Statutes were amended. Wilkins' life was varied and full of activities outside as well as within his College. He was selected to deal with problems more difficult and pressing than Compulsory Pass Greek, or degrees for women. Was Oxford to be dismantled? Its security had been threatened by a rising of the "Levellers"; and in 1649 Wilkins, along with the Proctor and a Canon of Christ Church, was appointed to confer with the mayor and the citizens on this important question, not then decided. Two years later he served on a Commission appointed to consider how to suppress troubles caused by sturdy beggars, "poore soldiers, cashiered or maimed, and Irish people with petitions, that pretended to be undon by the late rebellion there,"--the miserable sequel of the civil war. He helped in the revision of the College and University Statutes, and on the nomination of Cromwell was made one of the Commissioners for executing the office of Chancellor, proving himself a man of affairs as well as of learning. For ten years, as critical as any in the history of Oxford, he took a leading part in its academical and municipal administration. Yet he found time to avail himself of the privilege to marry given to the Warden of Wadham: it was accorded to him by a dispensation of the Visitors, who doubtless thought that enforced celibacy savoured of Popery. The privilege was withdrawn after the Restoration, as being a concession made by Puritans, whose views on the marriage of the clergy were not the views of the High Church party. Leave to marry was given to all Wardens of Wadham by a special Act of Parliament in 1806, and not, as the College story goes, by a clause tacked on to a Canal or Turnpike Bill. Pope's account of Wilkins' marriage is a strange solution of an always interesting question, and not altogether complimentary to the lady of his choice. "Dr Ward," he says, "rid out of this storm,"--the storm of obloquy which broke out on him and Wilkins as being "mere moral men." Wilkins "put into the port of matrimony," apparently as a harbour of refuge in distress. He married Robina, the Protector's sister, widow of Dr Peter French, Canon of Christ Church. Her first husband was "a pious, humble, and learned person, and an excellent preacher," the best, in Pope's opinion, of the censorious party. Ward did not imitate his friend, though, if we believe Pope, he had many opportunities for doing so. "He was never destitute of friends of the Fair Sex, never without proffers of Wives," which became increasingly frequent as he rose in the world. Pope professes to have known "several persons of great quality and estates who found ways to make it known to Ward, that if he would address himself to them in the honourable way of marriage, he should not want a kind entertainment." But he, then Bishop of Salisbury, had before his eyes the fate of one of his predecessors who married after he became a bishop, and "upon that had received so severe a reprimand from his brother, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and laid it so much to heart that it accelerated his death." This story may be apocryphal; it is certainly startling. Do ladies of quality still give such hints to bishops? Do bishops die of a rebuke from the archbishop of their province? Wilkins' marriage "gained him a strong interest and authority in the University, and set him at safety, and out of the reach of his Adversaries." We may trust that it was for his happiness in other ways. Of his wife little is known, nor is there a portrait of her in the College. She had a son by her second marriage, Joshua Wilkins, who became Dean of Down: by her first marriage she had a daughter, Elizabeth French, the wife of Tillotson. The writer once amused himself with the fancy that the Archbishop to-be met and courted Miss French in the Warden's Lodgings at Wadham, which have few romantic associations; but chronology proves that Tillotson, a Cambridge man, born in 1630, would probably not have made acquaintance with Wilkins before 1659, when he became Master of Trinity. The romance had therefore to be transferred to the Master's Lodge. Even there it could not stay, for Tillotson's first meeting with his future wife in all likelihood took place in London, when he was appointed Tuesday Lecturer at St Lawrence Jewry, the vicarage of which was one of Wilkins' earliest preferments after his ejection from the Mastership of Trinity. When Tillotson made suit for the hand of his stepdaughter, Wilkins, upon her desiring to be excused, said, "Betty, you shall have him, for he is the best polemical Divine this day in England." Though excellence in polemical divinity has not an attraction for most women, she consented, and they were married in 1664. The stories both of Dorothy and Betty are myths, which fade away at the first touch of criticism. [Illustration: WADHAM COLLEGE FROM THE COLLEGE GARDEN.] Wilkins was a diligent student, and wrote books of many kinds. These books the writer does not pretend to have read, save in the most hurried, even careless way, except two of them, the 'Real Character' and 'Natural Religion.' The others are of interest to natural philosophers, as containing anticipations of discoveries and ideas which belong to a later age, and as showing that Wilkins possessed the inspiring conviction of all genuine men of Science, that for it the word impossible does not exist. In 1638 he published his first work, an Astronomical treatise, the fruit of his studies at Oxford and at Fawsley. It is entitled 'The Discovery of a World in the Moone, or a discourse tending to prove that there may be another habitable World in that Planet': in the third impression, issued in 1640, is added a "Discourse concerning the Possibility of a Passage thither." Like Lucian he imagined a voyage to the moon, though he admits that the journey through the air was a formidable difficulty. He successfully defended his views against an objection raised by the Duchess of Newcastle. That clever and eccentric lady, the authoress of many "fancies," philosophical and poetical, asked him where she was to bait her horses if she undertook the journey. "Your Grace could not do better," he replied, "than stop at one of your castles in the air." In his treatment of the difficulties caused by the apparent conflict between certain passages of Scripture and the conclusions of Astronomical Science, which he accepts, he anticipates in a remarkable way that explanation of them which rests on the understanding of the meaning of the Bible and of the nature of inspiration. The book was parodied in the story of 'Peter Wilkins' Journey to the Moon,' which even usually well-informed persons have been known to attribute as a _jeu-d'esprit_ to the Warden of Wadham. It was written by Robert Paltock, and published in 1751. His next production was 'Mercurie; or the Secret and Swift Messenger,'--a treatise on Cryptography or ciphers; curious contrivances whereby A can communicate with C without B's suspecting or understanding, by signs, gestures, parables, and transpositions of the alphabet: such as the writer looked at seemed to confirm the view that every cipher which depends on system, and not on an arrangement of a capricious kind, can be interpreted by an expert, a title to which he lays no claim. The book was meant perhaps for use in the Civil War, as was the system of Wilkins' friend, Dr Wallis, who could both invent and solve such puzzles, and distinguished himself by deciphering the letters of the king which fell into the hands of the Parliamentarians at Naseby. There is also among the "Tracts of Bishop Wilkins," a treatise dated 1648, entitled 'Mathematical Magic; or, the Wonders worked by Mechanical Powers and Motions,' subdivided, according to that distinction, into two books, styled Archimedes and Dædalus. The names are quaint, and the classical illustrations are very numerous. The work is a kind of handbook for engineers, enlivened by quotations, not always apposite, from ancient authors, as was the fashion when high literary culture and science could be more easily combined than in our days of ruthless specialism. It is dedicated in very courtly language to the Prince Elector Palatine. Wilkins looks forward to the Prince's restoration to his dominions--a curious aspiration to be professed by a man who did not, then at least, put his trust in princes. But he did not foresee what was to come, both to himself or others. His two books of a devotional character were, one on 'The Gift of Prayer,' a formal and elaborate treatise with many divisions and subdivisions, in spirit earnest and devout. Its companion treatise, 'Ecclesiastes; or the Gift of Preaching,' shows a high conception of the learning which he thought necessary for one who would preach well; knowledge of commentators; of preachers, especially of English sermon-writers; of works on Christian doctrine, on the history of Christianity; of all subjects which can be included in Theology. The list of books recommended is enormous, and beyond the reach of any man--even of Wilkins or Casaubon: it must have been intended to be a work of reference, a catalogue from which a student might select. It, like his 'Sermons Preached on Several Occasions,' is illumined by quaint utterances, humorous, sensible, and devout; qualities more frequently combined in those days than in our own, when the "dignity of the pulpit," a lamentable superstition, has weakened its influence, and has made religion appear to simple people remote from common life. Wilkins' most original and valuable contribution to Theology is 'The Principles and Duties of Natural Religion,' written in his later years, and published after his death by Tillotson. Mr Sanders, the writer of the too short article on Wilkins in the 'Dictionary of National Biography,' says that "in this work there are thoughts which anticipate the argument of Butler's 'Analogy.'" Wilkins, like Butler and Newman, draws distinctions between different kinds of evidence and different degrees of consequent assent. He points out that neither Natural Religion nor Christianity can be proved true by demonstration like a conclusion in geometry, or in any kind of mathematical reasoning; that in default of this inference from self-evident premises to propositions of equal cogency, we must, in a matter of paramount practical importance, be content to judge, as fairly and soberly as we can, by that "probability" which Butler calls "the guide of life." Wilkins perceived, what few in his time perceived, that there are no "demonstrations" of Christianity, nor even of Theism; that faith is faith. Further, he emphasises the harmony between Natural and Revealed Religion, the fact that one is the complement of the other. But in him there are not the depth, candour, and seriousness of Butler, nor that sense of mystery which makes him the weightiest of Christian Apologists in the estimation both of disciples and opponents. The book by which Wilkins will always be remembered among curious students and philologers is his 'Essay towards a Real Character and a Philosophical Language.' It is a quarto of 600 pages, including an alphabetical dictionary of English words, with their equivalents in what may be called, without irreverence, Wilkinese. It was written at the request of the Royal Society, and, by its order, published in 1688. The meaning of the somewhat obscure title is explained by Wilkins in a very interesting preface. Character means language, or rather writing, and a universal character is the script of a language like that which was spoken before the confusion of tongues; a language for and of all men. By "Real" is signified that the new language is founded on a study of things which are "better than words"; of "the nature of things, and that common notion of them wherein mankind does agree." The making of such a language "will prove the shortest and plainest way for the attainment of real knowledge," and the language thus made will be truly philosophical, or, to use our modern term, scientific. The labour bestowed by Wilkins on his magnificent project was immense, but the result was failure. "Sunt lacrimæ rerum," and tears were never shed over a greater waste of ingenuity and heroic toil, if indeed a fine example of fruitless devotion is to be called waste. With apologies to the Esperantists, it must be said that the invention of a universal language, of any but the narrowest compass, seems impossible, for language, in any real sense, is not made but grows. It is dangerous, however, to dogmatise on possibilities. Misled, as we can gather from his preface, by the proved usefulness of mathematical signs, Wilkins attempted to provide for philosophers of all countries a better means of communication than Latin, then the universal language of literature and science, but in his opinion unscientific, full of anomalies and difficult to acquire; for in it there were, he said, thirty thousand words. In his language there were only three thousand, and they could be learnt by a man of good capacity in a month. His estimate of capacity and diligence is somewhat high. It is possible to explain the principles on which he constructed his new tongue. He began by dividing the universe, the sum total of existence, things, thoughts, relations, after the manner of Aristotle, though not into ten, but into forty categories, or genera, or great classes, such as World, Element, Animal, and apparently species of animals, such as Bird, Fish, Beast: for each of these great classes he devised a monosyllabic name--_e.g._, De for Element, Za for Fish; each of these genera is subdivided into species indicated by the addition of a consonant, and these are again subdivided into subordinate species distinguished by a vowel affixed. For example--De means an Element, any of the four, Fire, Air, Earth, Water; add to it B, which, as the first consonant, stands for the first species of a genus, and you will have the significant word DEB, which means Fire, for it, we know not why, is the first of the four Elements. Let us take a more complex instance--his name for Salmon. The salmon is a species of Za or Fish, a particular kind of fish called N, namely, the Squameous river fish. This class ZaN is subdivided into lower classes, and the lower class Salmon is called A, which means the red-fleshed kind of squameous river fish, and so a salmon is a ZaNA. If you wished to state the fact that a salmon swims, you would use the words ZaNA GoF, for Go stands for the great category of motion, F for the particular kind of motion meant, swimming. Voice, tense, and mood are indicated by lines of different lengths, straight or curved, crossed, hooked, looped; adverbs and conjunctions by dots or points differently arranged. Wilkins' universal character therefore means a kind of shorthand writing of his Real Language. The writer fears that he may only have confused his readers and himself by his bold but poor attempt to express in a few lines the meaning of six hundred pages. He would be the last to ridicule the "folly" of a great man, whose system he has made no very laborious effort to understand, for it seems to be built on sand, on a classification of things superficial, imperfect, and capricious, which would not have been accepted by learned men, and if accepted would have become obsolete in a quarter of a century. The syllable Co stands for all relations between human beings, and these relations are of eight kinds. What would a professor of social science now say to this? What would an ichthyologist say to Wilkins' definition of a salmon? The interest of the book lies in its being the most striking of many proofs of the wide intellectual interests, the alert and insatiable curiosity, and the extraordinary industry of its writer. It has also the pathetic interest of "love's labour lost," for who now reads the 'Real Character,' or who read it twenty years after Wilkins' death? His name was "writ in water," for he spent himself on many things, and did little because he did too much. The "greatest curioso" of his time relieved his toils by music. Nowhere are Wood's vanity and self-consciousness shown more vividly than in his account of a musical entertainment given by Wilkins in honour of Thomas Baltzar, "the most famous artist for the violin which the world had yet produced. The books and instruments were carried thither," to the Warden's lodgings, "but none could be persuaded there to play against him in consort on the violin. At length the company, perceiving A. W. standing behind in a corner neare the dore, they haled him in among them, and play forsooth he must against him: whereupon, he being not able to avoid it, took up a violin, and behaved himself as poor Troylus did against Achilles." Wood consoled himself for his failure by the honour he acquired from being asked to play with the Master, of whom he maliciously remarks that "he was given to excessive drinking,"--a characteristic comment. Wilkins' greatest achievement was the founding of the Royal Society. He may be called its founder, if that high title can be given to any one of the eminent men who, in Oxford and in London, revived or regenerated the study of natural philosophy. Pope, Aubrey, and Sprat differ from Wallis in their accounts of the origin of the mother of scientific parliaments. The first three find that origin in meetings held in Wadham College under the presidency of Wilkins. Wallis traces the beginnings of the Royal Society to meetings held in London in 1645. "In that year," he writes, "there had sprung up an association of certain worthy persons inquisitive in Natural Philosophy, who met together, first in London, for the investigation of what was called the new or experimental philosophy, and afterwards several of the more influential of the members, about 1648 or 1649, finding London too much distracted by civil commotions, commenced holding their meetings in Oxford." Among those who removed to Oxford were, "first, Dr Wilkins, then I, and soon after Dr Goddard, whereupon our company divided. Those at London (and we when we had occasion to be there) met as before. Those of us at Oxford, with Dr Ward, Dr Petty, and many others of the most inquisitive persons in Oxford, met weekly for some years at Dr Petty's lodgings, on the like account, to wit, so long as Dr Petty continued in Oxford, and for some while after, because of the conveniences we had there (being the house of an apothecary) to view and make use of drugs, and other like matters as there was occasion. We did afterwards (Dr Petty being gone to Ireland and our numbers growing less) remove thence, and (some years before his Majesty's return) did meet at Dr Wilkin's lodgings in Wadham College." This account is plain enough: it differs from the story told by Sprat in this point only, that Sprat omits reference to the first meetings in London between 1645 and 1648, and to the meetings in Oxford at Dr Petty's lodgings. The causes of these omissions are not far to seek. Sprat was a youth of seventeen in 1651, the year of his admission into Wadham: it is difficult to believe that he was present at the gatherings of men many years his senior in Dr Petty's lodgings, or knew as much as Wallis did of the infancy of the Royal Society. No Oxford man is to be entirely trusted when writing about his own College, and Sprat laudably claimed for Wadham the honour of being the cradle of the great association. In his history of the Royal Society, published in 1667, he gives a full account of its growth and objects, though not of its beginnings. "It was some space," he writes, "after the end of the Civil Wars at Oxford, in Dr Wilkins, his lodgings, in Wadham College, which was then the place of resort for virtuous and learned men, that the first meetings were held which laid the foundation of all this that followed. The University had at this time many members of its own who had begun a free way of reasoning; and was also frequented by some gentlemen of philosophical minds, whom the misfortunes of the kingdom, and the security and ease of a retirement among Gownsmen had drawn thither. Their first purpose was no more than only the satisfaction of breathing a freer air, and of conversing in quiet one with another, without being engaged in the passions and madness of that dismal Age. And from the Institution of that Assembly, it had been enough if no other advantage had come but this: that by this means there was a race of young men provided, against the next Age, whose minds, receiving from them their first impressions of sober and general knowledge, were invincibly armed against the enchantments of Enthusiasm. But what is more, I may venture to affirm that it was in good measure by the influence which these Gentlemen had over the rest, that the University itself, or at least any part of its Discipline or Order was saved from ruine. For such a candid and impassionate company as that was, and for such a gloomy season, what could have been a fitter subject to pitch upon than Natural Philosophy? To have been always tossing about some Theological question would have been to have made that their private diversion the excess of which they themselves disliked in the public. To have been eternally musing on Civil business and distresses of their Country was too melancholy a reflection. It was Nature alone which could pleasantly entertain them in that estate." It would be superfluous to praise this noble and pathetic passage. It shows the weariness of political and religious controversy which oppressed men's minds; the discouragement, almost hopelessness, which made the Restoration welcome, and Puritanism odious, for a time at least, to the majority of Englishmen. The word Enthusiasm is of strange significance; then and for more than a hundred years later it connoted extravagance and fanaticism. Worthy of notice also are Sprat's words to the effect that the influence of Wilkins and his friends was on the side of discipline and order in the University, and saved it from "ruine." They ought to please and encourage, perhaps instruct, the modern apostles of science who are with us now. From a comparison of Wallis' and Sprat's accounts, it is clear that the dispute, if dispute there be, whether Wadham or London was the cradle of the Royal Society, can be settled more easily than most contested claims of this kind. The facts are ascertained: the question turns on the meaning of the words "founder" and "foundation." The first meetings of the Philosophical Club, which became the Royal Society, were unquestionably held in London, and were continued there, at the Bull's Head Tavern in Cheapside, after Wilkins had removed to Oxford in 1648, and gathered round him there the members of a new philosophical society, which may be called, if that name be preferred, an offshoot from the parent stem: the two clubs co-existed till the Restoration, when most of the Oxford philosophers migrated or returned to London, and were incorporated into one society which received its name and charter from Charles II. in July 1662. Metaphors do not always illustrate, but the facts may be stated thus: the Royal Society was born in London or cradled there; the infant did not thrive, and was put out to nurse at Oxford where it waxed and prospered: it was a proper child of three years old when (on Petty's leaving Oxford in 1651) it found a settled home in the Warden's lodgings in Wadham for eight years; grown and strengthened, the boy was brought back to his birthplace, and was recognised and named. In this sense it may be said that the Royal Society was founded by Wilkins in Wadham: that College was its early home, and Wilkins was the most prominent and active man in the Philosophical Club. A very clear and short account of many of its members is given in the 'History of the Oxford Museum,' by Dr Vernon and Miss Vernon, which, if I may presume to praise it, resembles the work of Oughtred before mentioned, as being "a little book, but a great one as to the contents." Sprat enumerates as "the principal and most constant of those who met at Wadham, Dr Seth Ward, Mr Boyle, Dr Wilkins, Sir William Petty, Dr Wallis, Dr Goddard, Dr Willis, Dr Bathurst, Mr Matthew Wren, Dr Christopher Wren, Mr Rooke, besides several others, who joyn'd themselves to them, upon occasion." The list is remarkable; it represents the science of the time,--Mathematics, Astronomy, Chemistry, Physics, Engineering, Architecture, Theology, and Political Economy or Arithmetic, for nothing "scibile" was alien to these inquisitive persons. "Their proceedings," we are told, "were rather by action than discourse, chiefly attending some particular Trials in Chymistry or Mechanicks: they had no Rules nor Method fixed: their intention was more to communicate to each other their discoveries which they could make in so narrow a compass, than an united, constant, or regular inquisition." They were probably "clubbable" persons, friends with a common interest, each pursuing his own path with perfect freedom, a method which must have enhanced the harmony and efficiency of their meetings. The Club, or a branch of it, survived at Oxford the departure of Wilkins and most of the philosophers. To Robert Boyle was mainly due the continuance of the faithful remnant. In the year 1659 he imported into Oxford Peter Sthael, a noted Chemist and Rosicrucian, "a great hater of women and a very useful man." Among those who attended his lectures were Antony Wood, Wallis, Wren, Bathurst, and, not least, Locke, who was troublesome, and "scorned to take notes"--why we are not told, and may imagine as we please. Wood's account of this survival is obscure--he seems uncertain as to the relation of Sthael's pupils to the Royal Society at Oxford: they were probably the same, and incurred the wrath and misrepresentations of Henry Stubb, who inveighed against them as dangerous,--the Society had become obnoxious to the University, being suspected of a desire to confer degrees, against which the University "stuck," to use Wood's word, not unreasonably. The Oxford meetings in Wilkins' time, after 1651, were held, not in the room over the gateway, but in the dining-room or drawing-room of the Warden's lodgings. By the direction of the Foundress "the chamber over the great gate" had been assigned to the Warden, as commanding the entrance into the College, and a view of all who should go in or out: he was to have also for his own use seven rooms next adjoining on the north side. It is uncertain at what date he migrated to his present lodgings, but there is abundant evidence to show that it was before the time of Wilkins, for from 1640 to 1663 the great chamber was occupied by various tenants,--among them Seth Ward and Christopher Wren. The writer is therefore warranted in picturing to the eye of his imagination the personages of the club assembled in his drawing-room, a club less famous, but no less worthy of fame, than the Literary Club of Johnson, Goldsmith, Burke, and Reynolds. [Illustration: SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN.] Fain would he ask questions of Wren or Ward or Wilkins, or any of the members of the club, most of whom he would recognise by their portraits in the College or elsewhere. On September 3, 1658, Oliver Cromwell died. To Wood the exact date is important, because "some writers tell us that he was hurried away by the Devill in a terrible raging wind on the 30th of August," a statement which the chronicler might have been expected to believe. Richard Cromwell was proclaimed Protector at Oxford on September 6th, in the usual places where kings had been proclaimed. The ceremony was disturbed by young scholars, who pelted with carrots and turnips the mayor, recorder, and town clerk, as well as Colonel Upton and his troopers. These missiles were symptoms of the reaction which was fast approaching. It belongs to the history of England, but so far as it showed itself in Oxford, it is part of the life of Wilkins. It must have given him much to think of during the last year of his Wardenship. In February 1659 the Vice-Chancellor wrote to the Dean of Christ Church, then in London, that "he must make haste to Oxford, for godliness laye a gasping." Nathaniel Crewe of Lincoln had in the same month drawn up a petition, which Wood signed, to put out the Visitors. He was a Presbyterian, and ready to have the Visitors "put downe, notwithstanding he had before submitted to them and had paid to them reverence and obedience. The Independants, who called themselves the godly party, drew up a petition contrary to the former, and said 'twas for the cause of Christ." The feud between the two parties was no less bitter, when their supremacy in Oxford was drawing to its end, than it had been many years before. Which of the petitions did Wilkins sign? A year later, in February 1660, Monk made a speech to Parliament of doubtful meaning, exhorting his hearers to be careful "that neither the Cavalier nor the phanatique party have yet a share in your civil or military power,"--on which utterance Wood notes that "the word phanatique comes much into fashion after this." Monk's meaning was quickly interpreted for him, both in London and in Oxford,--on February 13th "there was great rejoicing here at Oxon for the news of a free parliament, ringing of bells, bonfires, &c.: there were rumps (_i.e._, tayles of sheep) flung in a bonfire at Queen's Coll., and some at Dr Palmer's window at All Soles." The joy of the Royalists especially was manifested by the reading at Magdalen parish church of Common Prayer, "after it had been omitted to be read in public places in Oxon since the surrender of the city or in 1647." All the tokens of Monarchy were restored: "the signe of the King's Head had been dashed out, or daubled over, tempore Olivari, and (in its place was written 'This was the King's Head') was new painted." On the 1st of May "a Maypole was set up against the Beare in All Hallows parish (_i.e._, opposite the Mitre of our time) on purpose to vex the Presbyterians and Independants," despite the interference of Dr Conant, the Vice-Chancellor. On the 10th the new King was proclaimed: on the 14th letters from Richard Cromwell to Convocation were read, whereby he resigned the Chancellorship of the University in dignified and courteous words. By May 29th the Restoration was complete, and the day was observed in all or in most towns in England, "particularly at Oxon, which did exceed any place of its bigness." Wood's comment on these events is worth giving in full: "The world of England was perfectly mad. They were free from the chains of darkness and confusion which the Presbyterians and phanatiques had brought upon them: yet some of them, seeing then what mischief they had done, tack'd about to participate of the universal Joy, and at length closed with the Royal partie." Here we take leave, for a time, of Antony Wood, who has been allowed to tell his story in his own words; unwilling leave, for though he is provoking, he is charming, with a keen eye for character, both of parties and individuals, and for the issues and events of real importance, never dull or lengthy, save when he descants on his family affairs or on the minutiæ of his occasionally meticulous antiquarianism, and even then to be forgiven for his zeal and industry. FOOTNOTE: [2] See 'Cromwell,' p. 368, 2nd edition. CHAPTER IV. WILKINS AFTER HIS LIFE AT OXFORD. Wilkins was spared the pain of witnessing the end of the Commonwealth in Oxford, and of being ejected from his post like other Heads of Houses. On September 3, 1659, he resigned the Wardenship, and was succeeded on September 5th by Walter Blandford, one of the Fellows who had submitted to the Visitors in 1648, and later, in that strange time of opinions which "could be changed," had made his peace with the Royalists. During his Wardenship of six years the College flourished. He was made Bishop of Oxford in 1665, and was in 1671 promoted to the See of Worcester, another of the many Wadham Bishops. Wilkins left Wadham to become Master of Trinity College, Cambridge. He had been invited there by the Fellows, on whose petition he was presented by Richard Cromwell. Thirty years later Cambridge, as if in exchange for value received, sent Richard Bentley to Wadham, who left it to return to Cambridge as Master of Trinity,--an interchange of which neither University can complain. At Cambridge Wilkins' stay was brief. He was Master of Trinity only for ten months, but in that short reign he proved himself as vigorous and effective as he had been at Wadham: he stimulated and organised the College teaching, and made his Fellows work, by instituting disputations, and examinations at elections, probably fallen out of use in the troubles of the fifteen previous years; yet here as elsewhere he was able to win and rule, for "he was honoured there and heartily loved by all." At Cambridge, Burnet tells us, "he joined with those who studied to propagate better thoughts, to take men off from being in parties, or from narrow notions, from superstitious conceits, and fierceness about opinions." He must have had as his allies there Cudworth and Whichcote, men of his own age, and one younger, Stillingfleet, the Latitudinarians, from whom our Broad Churchmen are theologically descended. The evil days came soon: despite the petition of the Fellows who wished to keep him, he was ejected from the Mastership when the King came back. "The whirligig of time brings in his revenges," and what Pitt had undergone Wilkins had to undergo. Pope describes, surely with some exaggeration, the troubles of Wilkins during the eight years between his departure from Cambridge and his being made Bishop of Chester. He was a man whom no misfortunes could crush--elastic, resolute, resourceful master of his fate,-- "Merses profundo, pulchrior evenit." He had many friends and a great reputation; they brought him various preferments,--the lectureship at Gray's Inn, the vicarage of St Lawrence Jewry, and the Deanery of Ripon, within a few years after his banishment from Cambridge. Preferment may not have brought him happiness, but it must have prevented his fortunes from being, as Pope says they were, "as low as they could be." He suffered indeed one calamity--a cruel one to a man of his pursuits and tastes: in the great fire of London the vicarage house of St Lawrence Jewry was burnt, and with it were destroyed his books and the collection of scientific instruments made during his residence at Oxford with the help of the members of the club. Add to this that he was out of favour both at Whitehall and at Lambeth on account of his marriage--for that reason "Archbishop Sheldon who had the keys of the Church for a great time in his power, and could admit unto it and keep out of it whom he pleased, I mean (Pope hastens to explain) disposed of all Ecclesiastical Preferments, entertained a strong prejudice against him." This prejudice the Archbishop, when later, on the introduction of Ward, he came to know him better, acknowledged to have been unjust, a signal instance of Wilkins' power of winning men. The Latitudinarian was at first coldly received at Lambeth: the brother-in-law of Cromwell was not acceptable at Whitehall. His friend Ward did not desert him, but "followed up good words with answerable actions," and procured for him the Precentor's place at Exeter,--"the first step which Wilkins ascended to a better fortune." In Charles II. he soon found a still more powerful friend. The King, who was himself the broadest of Latitudinarians, as far as Protestantism was concerned, was not repelled by Wilkins' theological views, and yielded readily to the attractions of a versatile and agreeable man of science. Science was the most creditable of Charles's tastes and occupations; the one in which he took a genuine and enduring interest. On November 28, 1660, the Invisible College was embodied, and became a tangible reality. At a meeting held in Gresham College, twelve persons of eminence in science and in other ways "formed the design," as the first Journal Book of the Royal Society records, "of founding a College for the promotion of Physico-Mathematicall Experimentall Learning." Among those present were Rooke, Petty, Wren, and Wilkins: a committee was formed, of which Wilkins was appointed chairman: the King gave his approval to the scheme drawn up by the committee, and offered to become a member of the new College: in 1662 he gave it the Charter of Incorporation which passed the Great Seal on July 13th of that year. Wilkins was not chosen President; that honour was given to Lord Brouncker. The Royal Society of London for the Improvement of Natural Knowledge (its official title) took knowledge for its province; that is, natural knowledge, of Nature, Art, and Works, in preference to, though not necessarily to the exclusion of, moral and metaphysical philosophy, history and language. The experiments, its chief work, were to be productive both of light and fruit: the influence of Bacon is so great and evident that he might in a sense be called the founder of the Royal Society. Sprat's real preface to his History is Cowley's famous ode. The poet speaks of philosophy--_i.e._, natural philosophy, as the captive and slave of Authority and Words, set free by Bacon: its followers he likens to the Children of Israel wandering aimlessly from one desert to another till Moses brought them to the border of the promised land. The stately lines may well be quoted here:-- "From these and all long errors of the way In which our wandering predecessors went, And like th' old Hebrews many years did stray In desarts but of small extent, Bacon like Moses led us forth at last, The barren Wilderness he past, Did on the very Border stand Of the blest promised land, And from the Mountain Top of his Exalted Wit Saw it himself and shew'd us it. But Life did never to one Man allow Time to discover Worlds and conquer too; Nor can so short a line sufficient be To fadome the vast depths of Nature's sea." Like all human institutions, the Royal Society was criticised, feared, misunderstood, and ridiculed. There is evidence of this in Sprat's anxiety to show that experiments "are not dangerous to the Universities nor to the Church of England," a contention which now would be admitted or denied if the term "experiments" were first defined. He labours, too, to show that they are not dangerous to the Christian religion, either its belief or practice. His remarks on this question are of great interest and value, and are strangely modern. He pleads that "experiments will be beneficial to our wits and writers." Alas! the wits at least benefited in a way which Sprat did anticipate. Shadwell in his 'Virtuoso' found material for profane merriment in some of the unquestionably absurd inquiries made or suggested by the natural philosophers. "Science was then only just emerging from the Mists of Superstition." Astrology and Alchemy still infected Astronomy, Chemistry, and Medicine. A Fellow of the Royal Society, along with the Puritan, made a ridiculous figure on the stage. But Puritanism and Natural Philosophy both survived the "test of truth," and were better for the ordeal.[3] In 1668, through the influence of the Duke of Buckingham, Wilkins was made Bishop of Chester. The position of a Bishop in some ways resembles that of the Head of a College: Fellows are like canons and archdeacons; undergraduates are the "inferior clergy." The Bishop showed in the management of his diocese the moderation, tact, and charity which had made him a successful Warden. He brought back into the Church of England, or into loyalty to that Church, many ministers who had been ejected from their livings for non-compliance with the Act of Uniformity: his success in this good work was due to his "soft interpretation of the terms of conformity." They needed softening; no part of Macaulay's 'History of England' is more striking and instructive than his account in chapter ii. of the sufferings of the Puritans and Nonconformists of all descriptions. "It was made a crime to attend a dissenting place of worship. A new and most unreasonable test was imposed on divines who had been deprived of their benefices for Nonconformity; and all who refused to take that test were prohibited from coming within five miles of any town which was governed by a corporation, of any town which was represented in Parliament, or of any town where they had themselves resided as ministers. The magistrates by whom these vigorous statutes were to be enforced, were in general men inflamed by party spirit, and by remembrances of wrongs suffered in the time of the Commonwealth. The jails were therefore soon crowded with dissenters, and among the sufferers were some of whose genius and virtue any Christian society might well be proud." It is probable that Chester jail was less crowded than other jails in England, and that dissenters were allowed to come within five miles of Chester, even to the Bishop's palace. Wilkins, like many "moderate" men, had convictions, and was ready to make sacrifices in their defence. Not only in his diocese, but in the House of Lords, he pleaded for a lenient treatment of dissenters. In reference to the second Conventicle Act, Wilkins gained for himself, in the view of all right-minded men, especial honour. He argued earnestly against the Bill in the Upper House. Even when the king desired him to be silent, he replied "That he thought it an ill thing, both in conscience and policy, and therefore as an Englishman and a Bishop, he was bound to oppose it." Being still further requested by Charles not to go to the House while the Bill was pending, his answer was "That by the law and constitution of England, and by his Majesty's favour, he had a right to debate and vote: and he was neither afraid nor ashamed to own his opinion in this matter, and to act pursuant to it, and the king was not offended with his freedom."[4] He did not hesitate to endanger his favour with the king--perhaps not with him, for Charles was not by temper a persecutor, but with the party then in power. From the 'Church of England in the Reigns of the Stuarts,' I quote another instance of his moderation and clear-headedness in the fierce controversies of his time. In a conversation with Cosin, Bishop of Devon, who had censured him for his moderation, Wilkins frankly told him that he was a better friend to the Church of England than his lordship--"for while you," says he, "are for setting the top on the picqued end and downwards, you won't be able to keep it up any longer than you keep whipping and scourging; whereas I am for setting the broad end downwards, and so 'twill stand of itself." The metaphor has obvious defects, but expresses the broadness of the Broad party in the Church. Of Wilkins' work in his diocese few particulars are recorded: it is called by Wood the "kill Bishop see," a name which now happily it does not deserve. His had been a laborious life, and the last years of it must have been full of difficulties and anxieties to the friend of an unpopular cause. After four years' tenure of his bishopric, he died in the year 1672, at the age of fifty-eight, in Tillotson's house: he was buried in the churchyard of St Lawrence Jewry, his old vicarage. His College pupil, William Lloyd, preached the funeral sermon, in which he defends him against the charge of having looked with too much favour on the dissenters, urging as his excuse, "the vehemence of his desire to bring the Dissenters off their prejudices, and reduce them to the Unity of the Church"; no bad defence. It is pleasant to turn from Wilkins' public to his private life. There are many allusions to him in the Diaries of Pepys and Evelyn. Pepys made his first acquaintance with Wilkins in 1665: he was now a man widely known in London society, especially among learned men and natural philosophers. Pepys describes his first visit to him, paid at his house, then probably the Vicarage of St Lawrence Jewry. "And so to Dr Merritt" (a Fellow of the Royal Society), "and fine discourse among them to my great joy, so sober and ingenious: he is now upon finishing his discourse of a Universal Character." At a dinner-party later he met Wilkins, when "I choosing to sit next Dr Wilkins, Sir George Ent, and others whome I value, there talked of several things; Dr Wilkins of the Universal Speech, of which he hath a book coming out, and did first inform me how man was certainly made for society, without which he would be a very mean creature." In 1668 the book was published, carried home by Pepys, and carefully perused. He enjoyed the account given by Wilkins of the ark, and his solutions of the difficulties raised even in his time. The solutions, Pepys says, "do please me mightily, and are much beyond whatever I heard of the subject." This is easy to believe. He must have been impressed by Wilkins' contention that "few were the several species of beasts and fowls which were to be in the Arke"; a consequence of the fundamental error of his system, the belief that nature was easily classified, and her classes few. In Pepys' last important reference to Wilkins, he tells us that he "heard talk that Dr Wilkins, my friend the Bishop of Chester, shall be removed to Winchester and be made Lord Treasurer: though this be foolish talk, I do gather he is a mighty rising man, as being a Latitudinarian, and the Duke of Buckingham his friend." Evelyn was a warm friend of Wilkins, and a frequent visitor at his lodgings in Wadham. In 1654 he came to Oxford with his wife and daughter, as London visitors do now for a weekend, or for Commemoration. He "supped at a magnificent entertainment in Wadham Hall, invited by my dear and excellent friend Dr Wilkins," and met "that miracle of a youth, Mr Christopher Wren." Two years later, on another visit, he "dined with that most obliging and universally curious person Dr Wilkins at Wadham College." There he saw many wonderful things--transparent apiaries, a statue that spoke through a tube, a way-wiser (_i.e._, a kind of pedometer), dials, perspectives, mathematical and magical curiosities, the property or invention of Wilkins or of "that prodigious young scholar Christopher Wren." Alas! there are none of these magical curiosities in the Warden's lodgings now; they were taken to London and lost in the Great Fire. In 1665 Evelyn heard his friend preach before the Lord Mayor at St Paul's on the text, "Obedience is better than sacrifice,"--a curious text for him to choose, for it may be interpreted in more ways than one, and might have been taken by an enemy as a summary of the preacher's own career. Under the same entry Evelyn describes his friend as one "who took great pains to preserve the Universities from the ignorant and sacrilegious commanders who would have demolished all places and persons that pretended to learning"; another indication among many that the "obliging" Dr Wilkins was not invertebrate. In the same year Evelyn, calling at The Durdans, the home of Wilkins' former pupil, Lord Berkeley, found there a remarkable group, Petty, Rooke, and Wilkins, amusing themselves with "contrivances for chariots, and for a wheel for one to run races in,"--the first forms possibly of a hansom, and a cycle. "Perhaps," continues Evelyn, "three such persons were not to be found elsewhere in Europe for parts and ingenuity." Lord Rosebery, we may safely presume, would be glad to see them at The Durdans now. In November 1668, Evelyn went to London, "invited to the consecration of that excellent person, the Dean of Ripon, now made Bishop of Chester: Dr Tillotson preached." Then he went to a sumptuous banquet in the Hall of Ely House, where were "the Duke of Buckingham, Judges, the Lord Keeper, Noblemen, and innumerable other company, who were honourers of this incomparable man, universally beloved by all who knew him." Tillotson, who married Wilkins' stepdaughter, and may therefore have been prejudiced, though such relationships give rise to prejudices of various kinds, was deeply attached to him. He edited and wrote a preface to the book on 'Natural Religion,' and did the same pious duty in respect of the 'Sermons Preached on Several Occasions,' taking opportunity in the preface to defend him against the censures of Antony Wood. He edited also a pamphlet of an attractive title, which the writer has not seen and fain would see, 'The Moderate Man, the best subject in Church and State, proved from the arguments of Wilkins, with Tillotson's opinions on the subject.' Between them they must make a strong case for the Moderate Man. Tillotson says of his father-in-law: "I think I may truly say that there are or have been few in this age and nation so well known, and greatly esteemed, and favoured by many persons of high rank and quality, and of singular worth and eminence in all the learned professions." This eulogy has perhaps the ring of a time when rank and quality were made more of than they are now made, but it is quoted as an illustration of the change of feeling which would make it now impossible or indecorous to praise a bishop because he got on well with great people: allowance must be made for the difference between the seventeenth and the twentieth century. Funeral sermons are not always the naked truth, but Lloyd's fine saying about Wilkins bears on it the stamp of sincerity: "It was his way of friendship not so much to oblige men as to do them good." Burnet adds another testimony to Wilkins' singular power of winning affection. He writes: "Wilkins was a man of as great a mind, as true a judgement, as eminent virtues, and of as good a soul, as any one I ever knew. He was naturally ambitious, but was the wisest clergyman I ever knew. He was a lover of mankind, and had a delight in doing good." Burnet was a partisan, but these are the words of more than partisanship. In his 'History of his Own Time' he introduces Wilkins to his readers in very distinguished company, among the Latitudinarians--Whichcote, Cudworth, Tillotson, Lloyd, and Stillingfleet,--of whom he says that if such men had not appeared, of another stamp than their predecessors, "the Church had quite lost its esteem over the nation." Clarendon, whom he calls "more the friend of the Bishops than of the Church," had, in his opinion, endowed them and the higher clergy too well, and they were sunk in luxury and sloth. The Latitudinarians infused into the Church life, energy, and a sense of duty: they were, he adds, good preachers and acceptable to the king, who, "having little or no literature, but true and good sense," liked sermons "plain, clear, and short." "Incedo per ignes," but it is impossible to refrain from quoting Burnet's language, which, _mutatis mutandis_, would have expressed what High Churchmen felt towards the leaders of the Oxford movement, and with equal truth and justice. Here Antony Wood may be called in to play the part of the Advocatus Diaboli. He plays it in the following passage, as always, with great vigour and enjoyment: "Dr John Wilkins, a notorious complyer with the Presbyterians, from whom he obtained the Wardenship of Wadham; with the Independants and Cromwell himself, by whose favour he did not only get a dispensation to marry (contrary to the College Statutes), but also, because he had married his sister, Master of Trinity College, Cambridge: from which being ejected at the Restoration, he faced about, and by his smooth language, insinuating preaching, flatteries, and I know not what, got among other preferments the Deanery of Ripon, and at length by the commendation of George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, a great favourer of fanaticks and atheists, the Bishopric of Chester." The passage is inaccurate both in grammar and in facts, but it is valuable as evidence of the venomous party spirit prevalent in the seventeenth century,--a spirit to which we can easily rise superior, we whose station, property, life, do not depend on the triumph of this or that opinion. In Oxford at least we do not now say such things about each other. But in another place Wood takes a less unfavourable view of Wilkins' character, and uses about him the politest language at his command. "He was a person of rare gifts, a noted theologist and preacher; a curious critick in several matters; an excellent mathematician and experimentalist, &c.; and I cannot say that there was anything deficient in him but a constant mind and settled principles." This is an outline of the facts and opinions about Wilkins which have come down to us. What are we to think of him? Unquestionably there lies against a man who prospered under Cromwell and Charles II., and was a favourite of both, a presumption of excessive pliancy, of too much readiness to adapt himself to his environment, of time-serving, if you like, and insincerity. It cannot be proved that he was not a Vicar of Bray, the title which at once suggests itself. Tolerance, geniality, and charity are virtues which have their own defects, and some measure of austerity is one of the ingredients of a perfect character. It has been said of Wilkins that two principles determined his career: a large tolerance of actions and opinions; a readiness to submit himself to "the powers that be," let them have been established if they might. These are the marks of a wise man, and of a man supremely useful in times of bitter hatred and uncompromising revenge: they are not the marks of a hero or a martyr. Wilkins was in fact a Trimmer. It may be said of him what has been said by Mr Herbert Paul of a more famous Trimmer, Lord Halifax (not our Lord Halifax), that "he was thoroughly imbued with the English spirit of compromise, that he had a remarkable power of understanding, even sympathetically understanding, opinions which he did not hold." Wilkins hated persecution, and that hatred nerves a Trimmer to defend unpopular persons and unpopular causes, as he did in his College and University and Diocese. Toleration has a courage of its own equal to that of fanaticism, and more useful and intelligent. It is now an easier and a safer virtue than it was two hundred and fifty years ago: it is not popular now; it was odious then, and men were impatient with those who took no side, or changed sides for reasons good or bad. Macaulay--who never knew a doubt, whose way was clear and easy in the struggles of his day, when reform and free trade in corn were obviously desirable and necessary--writes with contemptuous severity of the profligacy of politicians from the Restoration to the accession of the House of Hanover. "One who in such an age is determined to attain civil greatness must renounce all thought of consistency. Instead of affecting immutability in the midst of mutation, he must always be on the watch for the indications of a coming reaction. He must seize the exact moment for deserting a falling cause. He has seen so many institutions from which much had been expected produce mere disappointment, that he has no hope of improvement. There is nothing in the state which he could not, without a scruple, join in defending or destroying." Compare with these scathing words his estimate of the character of Halifax, the Whig: "The most estimable of the statesmen who were formed in the corrupt and licentious Whitehall of the Restoration. He was called inconsistent because the relative position in which he stood to the contending parties was perpetually varying. As well might the Polar Star be called inconsistent because it is sometimes to the east and sometimes to the west of the pointers. To have defended the ancient and legal constitution of the realm against a seditious populace at one conjunction, and against a tyrannical government at another; to have been the foremost champion of order in the turbulent Parliament of 1680, and the foremost champion of liberty in the servile Parliament of 1685; to have been just and merciful to the Roman Catholics in the days of the Popish Plot, and to the Exclusionists in the days of the Rye House Plot; this was a course which contemporaries, heated by passion, and deluded by names and badges, might not unnaturally call fickle, but which deserves a very different name from the late justice of posterity." More than one British statesman, Tory, be it observed, as well as Whig, needs and deserves a defence like this. Alter names and dates, and it will serve as a vindication of Wilkins' deficiency in a "constant mind and settled principles." Therefore the paradox is true that a Trimmer may be a man of firmness and courage; one who is bold enough to make many enemies and few friends; who has convictions of his own, but by a power of sympathy, one of the rarest and highest mental, half moral, half intellectual, qualities, can understand opinions which he does not hold; understand and pardon, as the French say. Whether Wilkins' tolerance was of the exalted kind, or alloyed by an admixture of that other tolerance which is no better than indifference and opportunism, it is impossible to say, for we do not know enough about him to pronounce a judgment. Our data are scanty and incoherent, scattered about in diaries and memoirs written by persons of different stations and opinions. This much is certain, that Pope, Aubrey, Sprat, Evelyn, Pepys, Tillotson, and Burnet speak of him with affection and respect: one note runs through all their eulogies, that he was universally beloved; yet he was not one of those nonentities whom now we style amiable persons, but a man of character and power. As a loyal son of the College, the writer is prepared to maintain that a Vicar of Bray could not have won love and admiration in his College, his University, and in his Diocese, and in a larger world than these; nor have been "laudatus a laudatis viris." It is more rational to believe that Wilkins was a good and wise man, who accepted the situations in which he found himself placed, and made the best of them, being more solicitous to do good than to preserve consistency, that most negative of virtues. Let him be judged by his best, as men are most fairly judged, and by another good criterion, the times in which he lived,--times of perpetual change, confusion, and perplexity. FOOTNOTES: [3] See Mr Pearson's instructive and amusing article on "The Virtuoso" in the 'Nineteenth Century,' November 1909. [4] This is an abbreviation of the passage in Burnet's 'History of his Own Time,' vol. i. p. 272. First edition. PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS. 
27320	----	images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) The College [Illustration] Monographs Edited and Illustrated by EDMUND H. NEW TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE W. W. ROUSE BALL. ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE R. F. SCOTT. KING'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE C. R. FAY. MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD THE PRESIDENT. NEW COLLEGE, OXFORD A. O. PRICKARD. MERTON COLLEGE, OXFORD REV. H. J. WHITE. [Illustration: Gateway St. John's Coll.] [Illustration] ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY ROBERT FORSYTH SCOTT FELLOW AND SENIOR BURSAR OF THE COLLEGE ILLUSTRATED BY EDMUND H. NEW 1907: LONDON: J. M. DENT & CO. NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO. [Illustration] _All Rights Reserved_ CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. THE COURTS AND BUILDINGS 1 II. SOME INTERIORS 13 III. THE HOSPITAL OF ST. JOHN (CIRCA 1135-1511) 35 IV. THE FIRST CENTURY (1511-1612) 40 V. THE SECOND CENTURY (1612-1716) 52 VI. THE THIRD CENTURY (1716-1815) 66 VII. THE CURRENT CENTURY 74 VIII. SOCIAL LIFE 86 INDEX 109 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS _The Entrance Gateway_ _Frontispiece_ PAGE _Plan of College Buildings_ x _Bag of Flowers; detail of Carving over Entrance Gateway_ 3 _The Second and Third Courts from the Screens_ 6 _The Gatehouse from the Churchyard of All Saints_ 12 _Monument of Hugh Ashton in the Chapel_ 19 _The Hall from the Second Court_ 24 _Interior of the Library_ 34 _The Old Bridge_ 41 _The Hall and Chapel Tower from the Second Court_ 53 _The College Arms_ (_in the Third Court_) 58 _The Chapel Tower from the River_ 67 _The College Chapel from the Round Church_ 75 _The New Court from Trinity College Bridge_ 87 _The "Bridge of Sighs"_ 98 [Illustration: Plan of St John's College] St. John's College CHAPTER I THE COURTS AND BUILDINGS St. John's College was founded in 1511, in pursuance of the intentions of the Lady Margaret Beaufort, mother of King Henry VII. Approaching the College from the street we enter by the Great Gate. The gateway with its four towers is the best example of the characteristic Cambridge gate, and dates from the foundation of the College. It is built of red brick (the eastern counties marble), dressed with stone. The street front of the College to the right and left remains in its original state, except that after the old chapel and infirmary of the Hospital of St. John (to which allusion will be made hereafter) were pulled down, the north end was completed by a block of lecture rooms in 1869. The front of the gate is richly decorated with heraldic devices, full of historical meaning and associations. The arms are those of the foundress; the shield, France (ancient) and England quarterly, was the royal shield of the period; the bordure, gobonny argent and azure (the argent in the upper dexter compartment), was the "difference" of the Beauforts, and is only slightly indicated. The supporters, two antelopes, come from Henry VI. There is no crest above the shield, and heraldic rules are against its use by a lady, but on her seal the Lady Margaret used the Beaufort arms as above ensigned, with a coronet of roses and fleur-de-lis, out of which issues an eagle, displayed or; and this device of coat and crest is used by the College. The arms on the gate are surrounded by badges, the Portcullis of the Beauforts, the Tudor, or Union, rose, each surmounted by a crown. Besides these we have daisies (marguerites), the badge of the Lady Margaret, and some flowers, which are not so easily identified. Certain vestments and embroideries, which belonged to the Lady Margaret, of which a list has been preserved, are described as "garnishede with sophanyes and my ladyes poisy," or, "with rede roses and syphanyes." The sophanye was an old English name for the Christmas rose, and there seems little doubt that these flowers on the gate are meant for Christmas roses. The carving on the right, under the portcullis, where these emblems seem to be growing out of something resembling a masonic apron, is very curious. Above the gate are two sets of rooms. The upper set has been used from the beginning as the Treasury or Muniment Room of the College; the set immediately above the arch is now an ordinary set of rooms. In this set resided, during his college career, Lord Thomas Howard, a son of the fourth Duke of Norfolk, afterwards himself first Earl of Suffolk and Baron Howard de Walden. He fought against the Armada in 1588, and commanded the expedition to the Azores in 1591; the fame of Sir Richard Grenville of the _Revenge_ has somewhat eclipsed that of his leader in the latter case; the reader may recall Tennyson's _Ballad of the Fleet_. [Illustration: BAG OF FLOWERS OVER ENTRANCE GATEWAY] To the left of the gate it will be observed that five windows on the first floor are of larger size than the rest; this was the original position of the Library; the books were removed in 1616 to a room over the Kitchen, and later to the present Library. According to tradition Henry Kirke White, the poet, occupied, and died in, the rooms on the ground-floor next the tower; he lies buried in the old churchyard of All Saints', across the street. Entering the gate the Hall and Kitchen face us, and preserve much of their original appearance. But right and left the changes have been great. The old Chapel was swept away in 1869--its foundations are marked out by cement; at this time the Hall was lengthened, and a second oriel window added. The range of buildings on the south was raised and faced with stone about 1775, when the craze for Italianising buildings was fashionable; it was then intended to treat the rest of the Court in like manner, but fortunately the scheme was not carried out. If we walk along the south side of the Court we may notice on the underside of the lintel of G staircase the words, "Stag, Nov. 15, 1777." It seems that on that date a stag, pursued by the hunt, took refuge in the College, and on this staircase; the members of the College had just finished dinner when the stag and his pursuers entered. On the next staircase, F, there is a passage leading to the lane with the Kitchen Offices, this passage is sometimes known as "The Staincoat"; the passage leading from the Screens into the Kitchen is still sometimes called "The Staincoat," or "The Stankard." These curious names really mean the same thing. It appears that in times past a pole was kept, probably for carrying casks of beer, but on which the undergraduates seem also to have hoisted those of their number, or even servants, who had offended against the rules and customs of the College; this pole was called the Stang, and the place or passage in which it was kept the Stangate Hole, with the above variations or corruptions. Reserving the Chapel for the present we pass through the Screens, the entrance to the Hall being on the right, to the Kitchen on the left. We enter the Second Court. This beautiful and stately Court was built between 1599 and 1600 (the date 1599 may be seen on the top of one of the water-pipes on the north side), the cost being in great part provided by Mary, Countess of Shrewsbury, a daughter of Sir William Cavendish by the celebrated Bess of Hardwick, and wife of Gilbert, seventh Earl of Shrewsbury. The original drawings for the Court, and the contract for its construction, almost unique documents of their kind, are preserved in the Library. The whole of the first floor on the north side was at first used as a gallery for the Master's Lodge; it is now used as a Combination Room. Over the arch of the gate on the western side of the Court is a statue of the Countess, with her shield (showing the arms of Talbot and Cavendish impaled); these were presented to the College by her nephew, William Cavendish, Duke of Newcastle. [Illustration: VIEW FROM THE SCREENS] A pleasing view of the Court is got by standing in the south-west corner and looking towards the Chapel Tower, with an afternoon sun the colouring and grouping of the buildings is very effective. Passing through the arch we enter the Third Court; this was built at various times during the seventeenth century. On the north we have the Library, the cost of which was chiefly provided by John Williams, a Fellow of the College, successively Dean of Westminster, Bishop of Lincoln, and Archbishop of York; he was also Lord Keeper of the Great Seal to James I. As originally built the Library occupied the upper floor only, the ground-floor being fitted up as rooms for the accommodation of the Fellows and scholars, on a special foundation of Bishop Williams, but this lower part is now all absorbed into the Library. The southern and western sides of the Court were built between 1669 and 1674, some part of the cost being provided from College funds, the rest by donations from members of the College. On the last or southern pier of the arcade, on the west side of the Court, there are the two inscriptions: "Flood, Oct. 27, 1762," "Flood, Feb. 10, 1795," recording what must have been highly inconvenient events at the time. The central arch on the western side of the Court has some prominence, and was probably intended from the first as the approach to a bridge. Towards the end of the seventeenth century Sir Christopher Wren was consulted on the subject, and a letter from him to the then Master, Dr. Gower, has been preserved. Sir Christopher's proposal was a curious one: he suggested that the course of the river Cam should be diverted and carried in a straight line from the point where it bends near the Library of Trinity College. A new channel was to be dug, and a bridge built over this; the water was then to be sent down the new channel, and the old one filled up. He pointed out that this would give "a parterre to the river, a better access to the walks, and a more beautiful disposal of the whole ground." This scheme was, however, not carried out, but a stone bridge was built outside the range of the buildings on the site of an old wooden bridge, which then gave access to the grounds. This is the bridge which still exists; it was built, apparently from Wren's designs, under the superintendence of his pupil, Nicholas Hawksmoor. More than a century now passed before further building operations were undertaken. In 1825 the College employed Mr. Thomas Rickman and his partner, Mr. H. Hutchinson, to prepare designs for a new Court, with from 100 to 120 sets of rooms. This work was started in 1827, and completed in 1831. The covered bridge connecting the old and new parts of the College was designed by Mr. Hutchinson; it is popularly known as the "Bridge of Sighs." The style of this Court is Perpendicular Gothic. The site was unsuited for building operations, consisting mostly of washed and peaty soil; it had been known for generations as "the fishponds close." The modern concrete foundations were then unknown, and the plan adopted was to remove the peaty soil and to lay timber on the underlying gravel. On this an enormous mass of brickwork, forming vaulted cellars, was placed; this rises above the river level, and the rooms are perfectly dry. The total cost of the building was £78,000, most of which was provided by borrowing. The repayment, extending over a number of years, involved considerable self-denial on the Fellows of the College, their incomes being materially reduced for many years. Crossing the covered bridge and passing down the cloisters of the New Court, we enter the grounds by the centre gate; these extend right and left, being bounded on the east by the Cam, and separated from the grounds of Trinity by a ditch. From the old, or Wren's, bridge over the Cam two parallel walks extend along the front of the Court; according to tradition the broader and higher was reserved for members of the College, the lower for College servants. At one time an avenue of trees extended from the bridge to the back gate, but the ravages of time have removed all but a few trees. At the western end of the walk we have on the left the (private) Fellows' garden, known as "The Wilderness," an old-world pleasance, left as nearly as may be in a state of nature. Towards the end of the eighteenth century the College employed the celebrated Mr. Lancelot ("capability") Brown to lay out the grounds and Wilderness. The plantation in the latter was arranged so as to form a cathedral, with nave, aisles, and transept, but here also old age and storms have brought down many of the trees. On the right, opposite to the Wilderness, there is an orchard, the subject of much legend. One popular story is that this orchard formed the subject of a bequest to "St. John's College," and that the testator, being an Oxford man, was held by the Courts to have intended to benefit the College in his own University. As a matter of prosaic fact, the orchard originally belonged to Merton College, Oxford, being part of the original gift of their founder, Walter de Merton, and it was acquired by St. John's College by exchange in the early years of the nineteenth century. The long walk terminates in a massive gate with stone pillars, surmounted by eagles. Outside and across the road is the Eagle Close, used as the College cricket and football field. The visitor in returning should cross the old bridge, thus getting a view of the Bridge of Sighs, and re-enter the College by the archway on the left. [Illustration: The Gatehouse: St John's College] CHAPTER II SOME INTERIORS The visitor has been conducted through the College without pausing to enter any of the buildings. We now retrace our steps to describe these parts of the College open to inspection. It must be understood that during a great part of the year the inspection of these interiors is subject to the needs of a large resident Society, and as a rule it is best to inquire at the gate for information as to the hours when these parts of the College are open. _The Chapel._ The present Chapel was built between the years 1863 and 1869, from the designs of Sir George Gilbert Scott; it was consecrated by the Bishop of Ely, 12th May 1869. As we approach it we see on the right the outline of the old Chapel, which had served the College and the Hospital which preceded it for something like six hundred years. This former Chapel was a building quite uniform and simple in appearance, filling the whole of the north side of the Court. Originally built to serve the needs of the Hospital of St. John, it was considerably altered when the College was founded. Side Chantries were then, or shortly afterwards, added. In early times a good deal of the life of the College centred in the Chapel, in addition to its uses for worship. It was regarded as a place in which the Society was formally gathered together. In it the statutes, or rules for the government of the Society, were read at stated times, so that all might become aware of the rule under which they lived. The names of those who had not discharged their College bills were publicly read out by the Master. The elections of the Master and of the Fellows and Scholars were held within it; of this practice the sole part that remains is the election of a Master, which by the present statutes must be held in the Chapel. The scholastic exercises of Acts and Opponencies, in which certain doctrines were maintained and opposed, took place there. The seal of the College was kept in the vestry, and the sealing of documents took place in the Ante-Chapel. Though documents are now sealed elsewhere, the stock of wafers for the College seal is kept by the Chapel Clerk. The erection of a new Chapel for the College was contemplated for about 200 years before it was carried out. Dr. Gunning, who was Master from 1661 to 1670, afterwards successively Bishop of Chichester and of Ely, left by his will the sum of £300 "to St. John's College, towards the beginning for the building for themselves a new Chapel." Gunning died in 1684, and in 1687 the College paid to Robert Grumbold the sum of £3 for "a new ground plott modell of the old and new designed Chappell." Nothing, however, came of the proposal at that time, though the idea seems always to have been before the Society. Preaching on Commemoration Day (May 6), 1861, Dr. William Selwyn, Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity, and a former Fellow, pointing out that the College was celebrating "its seventh jubilee," just 350 years having passed since the charter was granted, pleaded earnestly for the erection of a larger Chapel. The matter was taken up, and in January 1862 Sir (then Mr.) George Gilbert Scott was requested "to advise us as to the best plans, in his opinion, for a new Chapel." The scheme grew, and in addition to the Chapel it was determined by the end of that year to have also a new Master's Lodge, and to enlarge the Dining Hall. It was then intended that the scheme should not involve a greater charge on the corporate funds of the College than £40,000. As a matter of fact, before the whole was carried out and paid for, the cost had risen to £97,641; of this £17,172 was provided for by donations from members of the College, the rest was met, partly out of capital, partly by a charge on the College revenues, which ran for many years. The Chapel was built on a site to the north of the old Chapel, and through this site ran a lane from St. John's Street to the river. An Act of Parliament had to be obtained before this lane could be closed, and the consent of the borough was only given on condition that St. John's Street should be widened by pulling down a row of houses on its western side, and throwing their site into the street. The foundation-stone of the new Chapel was laid on 6th May 1864 by Mr. Henry Hoare, a member of the College, and of the well-known banking firm. As originally designed the Chapel was to have had a slender _flèche_ instead of a tower. This had been criticised, and Mr. Scott, the architect, designed the present tower; the additional cost being estimated at £5000. This Mr. Hoare offered to provide in yearly instalments of £1000, but had only paid two instalments when he died from injuries received in a railway accident. The finial on the last pinnacle of the tower was fixed on 13th December 1867 by Mr. (now Sir Francis) Powell, M.P. for the borough of Cambridge, and a former Fellow of the College; Mr. Powell was accompanied on that occasion by Professor John Couch Adams and the Rev. G. F. Reyner, the Senior Bursar of the College. The new Chapel was, as we have said, opened in 1869, and the old Chapel then cleared away. The woodwork of the stalls had been transferred to the new Chapel, but most of the internal fittings were scattered. The ancient rood-screen stands in the church of Whissendine, in Rutlandshire, and the old organ-case in Bilton Church, near Rugby, and other parts of the fabric were dispersed; it was perhaps inevitable. Sir Gilbert Scott's idea was that the new Chapel should be of the same period of architecture as the old, but it is absolutely different in design; in the lover of things old there must always be a feeling of regret for what has gone. The mural tablets in the old Chapel were removed to the new Ante-Chapel, the slabs in the floor were left. It is worth noting that Eleazar Knox, a Fellow of the College, and one of the sons of John Knox, the famous Scotch Reformer, was buried in the Chapel in 1591. His elder brother, Nathanael Knox, was also a Fellow. To the north of the old Chapel, and bordering on the lane which has been mentioned, stood the Infirmary of the Hospital which preceded the College. This was originally a single long room, of which the eastern end formed an oratory. In this the poor and sick, for whose benefit the Hospital was founded, were received, and Mass said for them, and in their sight, as they lay in their beds. This Infirmary, after the foundation of the College, was devoted to secular uses. For some time it was used as a stable and storehouse for the Master. Then later it was fitted up with floors and turned into chambers. It was approached by a tortuous passage at the eastern end of the Chapel, and was popularly known as the Labyrinth. When the Infirmary was taken down a very beautiful double piscina was found covered up on the walls; this is preserved in the new Chapel. The new Chapel is built of Ancaster stone, and is in the style of architecture known as Early Decorated, which prevailed about 1280, the probable date of the Chapel of the Hospital. Sir Gilbert Scott very skilfully made the most of the site, and by the device of the transeptal Ante-Chapel made full use of the space at his disposal. At the springs of the outer arch of the great door are heads of King Henry VIII. and of Queen Victoria, indicating the date of the foundation of the College and of the erection of the Chapel. On the north side of the porch is a statue of the Lady Margaret, and on the south one of John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester. The statues on the buttresses are those of famous members of the College, or of its benefactors. Those facing the Court are William Cecil, Lord Burghley; Lucius Carey, Viscount Falkland; John Williams, Lord Keeper to James I.; Thomas Wentworth, Lord Strafford; William Gilbert, author of _De Magnete_, in which the theory of the magnetism of the earth was first developed, and physician to Queen Elizabeth; Roger Ascham, and the Countess of Shrewsbury. [Illustration: MONUMENT OF HUGH ASHTON] We enter the Ante-Chapel. This has a stone-vaulted roof; over the central bay the tower is placed. On the south wall are placed the arches from Bishop Fisher's Chantry in the old Chapel. The monument with the recumbent figure is that of Hugh Ashton, comptroller of the household to the Lady Margaret, a prebendary and Archdeacon of York. He was buried in the old Chapel, and this tomb originally stood in a chantry attached thereto. He founded four fellowships and four scholarships in the College, the Fellows being bound to sing Mass for the repose of his soul. The carving on the tomb and on the finials of the railing around it include a rebus on his name, an ash-tree growing out of a barrel (ash-tun). On the north wall is a bust of Dr. Isaac Todhunter, the well-known mathematical writer; on the western wall a tablet by Chantrey, to the memory of Kirke White, the poet, who died in College. He was buried in the chancel of the old Church of All Saints, which stood opposite to the College; when the church was pulled down the tablet was transferred to the College Chapel. The statue is that of James Wood, sometime Master of the College, part of whose bequests went towards building the Chapel. On the east wall is an old brass to the memory of Nicholas Metcalfe, third Master of the College, the words "_vestras ... preces vehementer expetit_" have been partly obliterated, probably during the Commonwealth. The roof of the Choir is of high pitch, of quadripartite vaulting in oak, and is decorated with a continuous line of full-length figures. In the central bay at the east end is our Lord in Majesty, the other bays contain figures illustrating the Christian centuries. Owing to the deep colour of the glass in the windows, it is only on a very sunny day that the figures can be clearly discerned. The windows in the Choir have been given by various donors, the subjects being scenes from Scripture at which St. John was present; his figure robed in ruby and green will be seen in each. The five windows in the apse, the gift of the Earl of Powis, High Steward of the University, depict scenes from the Passion, Crucifixion, and Resurrection of Christ. In the apse is preserved the double piscina which was found covered up in the walls of the Infirmary, and removed by Sir G. G. Scott, with such repairs as were absolutely necessary. It is probably one of the oldest specimens of carved stonework in Cambridge. The steps leading up to the Altar are paved with Purbeck, Sicilian, and black Derbyshire marbles. The spaces between the steps are decorated with a series of scriptural subjects in inlaid work in black and white marble, with distinctive inscriptions. The Altar is of oak, with a single slab of Belgian marble for its top. On the sides of the Altar are deeply carved panels; that in the centre represents the Lamb with the Banner, the other panels contain the emblems of the four Evangelists. The organ stands in a special chamber on the north side; the carved front was not put in place till 1890. It was designed by Mr. J. Oldrid Scott, a son of Sir Gilbert Scott. In 1635 the famous Robert Dallam of Westminster built a "paire of new orgaines" for the College. The organ has been repeatedly enlarged, altered, and improved; it may be that some of Dallam's work still remains, though this is uncertain. The present organ is one of the best in Cambridge; its tone throughout is uniformly beautiful. The brass reading-desk was given to the old Chapel by the Rev. Thomas Whytehead, a Fellow of the College; the pedestal is copied from the wooden lectern in Ramsay Church, Huntingdonshire; the finials, which are there wanting, having been restored, and the wooden desk replaced by an eagle. As we return to the Ante-Chapel we may note the great west window, representing the Last Judgment; this was given by the Bachelors and Undergraduates of the College. There are also windows in the Ante-Chapel to the memory of Dr. Ralph Tatham, Master of the College, and to the Rev. J. J. Blunt, Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity. The oil-painting which hangs on the south wall of the Ante-Chapel near the door--a Descent from the Cross--is by Anthony Raphael Mengs. It was given to the College in 1841 by the Right Hon. Robert Henry Clive, M.P. for Shropshire. _The Hall._ We enter the Hall from the Screens, between the First and Second Courts. The southern end is part of the original building of the College. It was at first about seventy feet long, with one oriel only, the old Combination Room being beyond it. When the new Chapel was built the Hall was lengthened, and the second oriel window added. The oak panelling is of the old "linen" pattern, and dates from the sixteenth century; that lining the north wall, beyond the High Table, is very elaborately carved, being the finest example of such work in Cambridge. Within living memory all this oak work was painted green. The fine timbered roof has a lantern turret, beneath which, until 1865, stood an open charcoal brazier. From allusions in early documents it would appear that members of the Society gathered round the brazier for conversation after meals. In addition to its use as a dining-room, the Hall also served as a lecture-room, and for the production of stage plays. On these latter occasions it seems to have been specially decorated, for Roger Ascham, writing 1st October 1550, from Antwerp, to his brother Fellow, Edward Raven, tried to picture to him the magnificence of the city by saying that it surpassed all others which he had visited, as much as the Hall at St. John's, when decorated for a play at Christmas, surpassed its appearance at ordinary times. [Illustration: The Hall, St. John's College] Many of the College examinations are held in the Hall, and in the days of the brazier, examinees were warned by their Tutors not to sit too near the brazier; the comfort from the heat being dearly purchased by the drowsiness caused by the fumes of the charcoal. Many interesting portraits hang on the walls. That of the foundress in the centre of the north wall is painted on wooden panel, and is very old. She is flanked by Lord Keeper Williams, and by Sir Ralph Hare, K.C.B., both benefactors to the College. Other noteworthy portraits are those of Sir Noah Thomas, physician to King George III., by Romney; William Wordsworth, poet-laureate, by Pickersgill; Professor John E. B. Mayor, by Herkomer; Professor B. H. Kennedy, long headmaster of Shrewsbury School, by Ouless; Professor E. H. Palmer, Lord Almoner's Reader of Arabic in the University, and a famous oriental scholar, by the Hon. John Collier; and Professor G. D. Liveing, by Sir George Reid. The shields in the windows are those of distinguished members of the College, or benefactors. The further oriel window has busts of Sir John F. W. Herschel and Professor John Couch Adams. _The Combination Room._ We enter by the staircase at the north end of the Hall. This was originally about 187 feet long, extending the whole length of the Second Court, and was used as a gallery in connection with the old Master's Lodge. The ceiling dates from 1600, and the panelling from 1603. In 1624 about 42 feet were sacrificed to obtain a staircase and vestibule for the Library; the ceiling can be traced right through. In the eighteenth century partitions were put up, dividing up the gallery into rooms. When the new Master's Lodge was built these partitions were removed, and the whole now forms two Combination Rooms. In the oriel window on the south side is an old stained-glass portrait of Henrietta Maria, Queen of King Charles I. The tradition runs that the marriage articles between Prince Charles and Henrietta Maria were signed in this room; King James I. was at that time holding his Court in Trinity College. A number of interesting portraits hang on the walls: George Augustus Selwyn, Bishop of New Zealand, afterwards of Lichfield, by George Richmond, R.A.; a chalk drawing (also by Richmond) of William Tyrrell, Bishop of Newcastle, New South Wales; of Sir John Herschel and Professor J. C. Adams; of William Wilberforce and Thomas Clarkson, the opponents of the slave-trade. There is also a very beautiful sketch of the head of William Wordsworth; this study was made by Pickersgill to save the poet the tedium of long sittings for the portrait in the Hall. It was presented to the College by Miss Arundale, a descendant of the painter. The smaller Combination Room contains many engraved portraits of distinguished members of the College. The institution of the Combination Room seems gradually to have grown up in colleges as a place where the Fellows might meet together, partly about business, partly for the sake of society. In early times, as the Fellows shared their chambers with their pupils, there could have been no privacy. The room seems to have been called the Parlour for some time; the name Combination Room is now universal at Cambridge, and may have arisen from the fact that the cost of running the room was met by the Fellows combining together for the purpose. At the present time the Combination Room is used for College meetings, as a room where the Fellows meet for a short time after dinner and for dessert on those nights when there is a dinner in Hall to which guests are invited. _The Library._ The Library is only open to visitors by leave of the Librarian, or to those accompanied by a Fellow of the College. The usual access is by staircase E in the Second Court, but leaving the Combination Room by the west door we find ourselves in front of the Library door. The visitor may note that the moulded ceiling of the Combination Room extends overhead. This portion, as we have already seen, originally forming part of the long gallery. The door of the Library is surmounted by the arms of John Williams, impaled with those of the see of Lincoln. The original position of the Library, as has been already stated, was in the First Court, next the street, and to the south of the entrance gate. In 1616 the books were moved out of this Library to a room over the Kitchen, and in the succeeding year the Master and Fellows wrote to the Countess of Shrewsbury to intimate their intention of building a Library, and hinting at the possibility of her aid in the scheme. The answer of the Countess, if there was one, has not been preserved. In the year 1623, Valentine Carey, Bishop of Exeter, and a former Fellow, wrote announcing that an unnamed person had promised £1200 towards a Library. After some little time Lord Keeper Williams disclosed himself as the donor, and some further advances were promised. The Library was commenced in 1623, and the books finally placed in it in 1628. The style of the building is Jacobean Gothic, and its interior, with the whitewashed walls and dark oak roof and bookcases, is singularly striking. John Evelyn visited it while at Cambridge in 1654, and describes it as "the fairest of that University"; after 250 years the description still holds good. The upper part of the Library has been little altered since it was built. The intermediate (or lower) cases were heightened to the extent of one shelf for folios when Thomas Baker left his books to the College; but two, one on either hand next the door, retain their original dimensions, with the sloping tops to be used as reading-desks. At the end of each of the taller cases, in small compartments with doors, are class catalogues written about 1685. These catalogues have been pasted over original catalogues written about 1640; small portions of the earlier catalogues are yet to be seen in some of the cases. Of the treasures in manuscript and print only a slight account can be given here. One of the most interesting to members of the College is the following note by John Couch Adams:-- "1841 July 3. Formed a design, in the beginning of this week, of investigating, as soon as possible after taking my degree, the irregularities in the motion of Uranus, wh. are yet unaccounted for; in order to find whether they may be attributed to the action of an undiscovered planet beyond it; and if possible thence to determine the elements of its orbit, &c. approximately, wh. wd. probably lead to its discovery." The original memorandum is bound up in a volume containing the mathematical calculations by which Adams carried out his design and discovered the planet Neptune. Lord Keeper Williams, who was instrumental in building the Library, presented to it many books; amongst others, the Bible known as Cromwell's Bible. Thomas Cromwell employed Miles Coverdale to revise existing translations, and this Bible was printed partly in Paris and partly in London, "and finished in Aprill, A.D. 1539." Two copies were printed on vellum--one for King Henry VIII., the other for Thomas, Lord Cromwell, his Vicar-General. This College copy is believed to be that presented to Cromwell, and is now unique, the other copy having disappeared from the Royal Library; the volume is beautifully illustrated, and has been described as "the finest book in vellum that exists." One of the show-cases in the centre contains the service-book which King Charles I. held in his hand at his coronation, and the book used by Laud on the same occasion, with a note in Laud's handwriting: "The daye was verye faire, and ye ceremony was performed wthout any Interruption, and in verye good order." The same case contains the mortuary roll of Amphelissa, Prioress of Lillechurch in Kent, who died in 1299. The nuns of the priory announce her death, commemorate her virtues, and ask the benefit of the prayers of the faithful for her soul. The roll consists of nineteen sheets of parchment stitched together; its length is 39 ft. 3 in., and its average width is about 7 in. There are in all 372 entries of the ecclesiastical houses visited by the roll-bearer for the purpose of gaining prayers for the soul of Amphelissa. The roll-bearer visited nearly all parts of England: there are entries by houses at Bodmin and Launceston in Cornwall; at Dunfermline and St. Andrews in Scotland; each house granting the benefit of its prayers, and concluding in each case with the formula, "_Oravimus pro vestris: orate pro nostris._" As a collection of contemporary handwritings, such a document has great value; and it is interesting to note that in 600 years the roll has had only two owners, the Priory of Lillechurch and the College, which succeeded to its possession. In this case there is also an IOU of King Charles II.: "I do acknowledge to have received the summe of one hundred pounds, by the direction of Mr. B., Brusselles the first of April 1660. CHARLES R." The "Mr. B." was John Barwick, a Fellow of the College, afterwards Dean of St. Paul's. The date seems to indicate that the money was advanced to enable Charles to return to England for the Restoration. In the other show-case there is a very curious Irish Psalter of the eighth century, with crude drawings. Its value is much increased by the fact that the Latin text is interlined throughout with glosses in the Irish dialect. Of printed books one of the choicest is a very fine Caxton, "The Boke of Tulle of old age; Tullius his book of Friendship." The volume contains the autograph of Thomas Fairfax, the Parliamentary General, who entered the College in 1626. It was presented to the College by Dr. Newcome, Master from 1735 to 1765. To Dr. Newcome the College owes a very fine collection of early printed classics; among these is a copy of Ovid, printed by Jacobus Rubaeus at Venice in 1474; this was formerly in the possession of Lorenzo de Medicis. Dr. Newcome and Thomas Baker share between them the distinction of having added many of the chief glories of the Library. Matthew Prior, the poet, a Fellow of the College, presented his own works and many interesting French and Italian works on history. There is also a presentation copy from Wordsworth of his poems. _The Kitchen._ The Kitchen (opposite to the Hall) may sometimes be visited when the daily routine permits. The whole has been recently modernised, and a picturesque open fire with rotating spits done away with. To gain more air-space it was necessary to incorporate in the Kitchen some rooms in the floor above. One of these was the set occupied during his College life by the poet Wordsworth, and the fact is commemorated by a stained-glass window. [Illustration: The Library: St. John's Coll:] CHAPTER III THE HOSPITAL OF ST. JOHN CIRCA 1135-1511 St. John's College, as we know it, was founded in 1511, and opened in 1516. But at the time of its foundation it took over the buildings and property, and many of the duties, of an earlier and then a venerable foundation, that of the Hospital of St. John the Evangelist in Cambridge. The origin of the old house is obscure, and its earlier history lost, but it seems to have been founded about 1135 by Henry Frost, a burgess of Cambridge. It consisted of a small community of Augustinian canons; its site was described about 140 years later as "a very poor and waste place of the commonalty of Cambridge." Whatever its early history and endowments may have been, it formed a nucleus for further gifts; and its chartulary, still in the possession of St. John's College, shows a continuous series of benefactions to the old house. Founded before the University existed, the brethren were occupied with their religious duties, and with the care of the poor and sick who sought their help. An Infirmary, part of which was adapted for worship, was built. In the thirteenth century a chapel was added, afterwards adapted as the College Chapel, and used as such down to 1869. Of the domestic buildings practically nothing is known. When some years ago trenches were dug to lay the electric cables for the lighting of the Hall, some traces of a pavement of red tiles were found near the entrance gate of the College. The Hospital had the opportunity of becoming the earliest College in Cambridge. Hugo de Balsham, Bishop of Ely, obtained in 1280 a licence from King Edward I. to introduce a certain number of scholars of the University into the Hospital, to be governed according to the rules of the scholars of Merton. The regular canons and the scholars were to form one body and one College. The Bishop gave additional endowments to provide for the scholars, but the scheme was a failure. Thomas Baker, the historian of the College, suggests that "the scholars were overwise and the brethren over good." All we do know is that both were eager to part company. The Bishop accordingly removed the scholars in 1284 to his College of Peterhouse, now known as the oldest College in Cambridge. His endowments were transferred with the scholars, and perhaps something besides, for shortly afterwards the brethren complained of their losses. It was then decreed that Peterhouse should pay twenty shillings annually to the Hospital, an acknowledgment of seniority still made by Peterhouse to St. John's College. For another two hundred years the Hospital went on, not however forgetting its temporary dignity, and occasionally describing itself, in leases of its property, as the College of St. John. Towards the end of the fifteenth, or beginning of the sixteenth century, the old house seems to have fallen into bad ways. The brethren were accused of having squandered its belongings, of having granted improvident leases, of having even sold the holy vessels of their Chapel. At this juncture the Lady Margaret came to the rescue. She had already founded Christ's College in Cambridge, and intended to still further endow the wealthy Abbey of Westminster. Her religious adviser, John Fisher, sometime Master of Michael-House and President of Queens' College in Cambridge, then Bishop of Rochester and Chancellor of the University, persuaded her to bestow further gifts on Cambridge, suggesting the Hospital of St. John as the basis for the new College. The then Bishop of Ely, James Stanley, was her stepson, and in 1507 an agreement was entered into with him for the suppression of the Hospital and the foundation of the College, the Lady Margaret undertaking to obtain the requisite Bull from the Pope, and the licence of the King. Before this could be carried out King Henry VII. died, 21st April 1509, and the Lady Margaret on the 29th June following. By her will she had set aside lands to the annual value of £400 for the new College; but innumerable difficulties sprang up. King Henry VIII. was not sympathetic; the Bishop of Ely raised difficulties; the Lady Margaret's own household claimed part of her goods. Fisher has left a quaintly worded and touching memorandum of the difficulties he experienced, but he never despaired. He ultimately got the licence of the King, the requisite Papal Bull, and the consent of the Bishop of Ely. From a letter to Fisher, still preserved in the College, it appears that the "Brethren, late of St. John's House, departed from Cambridge toward Ely the 12th day of March (1510-11) at four of the clokke at afternone, by water." All facts which have been preserved show Fisher to have been the real moving spirit--to have been the founder in effect, if not in name, and the College from the first has always linked his name with that of the foundress. Of the foundress' estates only one small farm, at Fordham, in Cambridgeshire, came to the College, and that because it was charged with the payment of her debts. What did come was part of what would now be called her personal estate--moneys she had out on loan, and what could be realised from the sale of her plate and jewels, the furniture and hangings of her various mansions. Rough priced-lists of these, probably handed over by Fisher, are preserved in College. One personal relic, a manuscript Book of Hours, which belonged to her, was in 1902 presented to the Library by Dr. Alexander Peckover, Lord-Lieutenant of Cambridgeshire. CHAPTER IV THE FIRST CENTURY 1511-1612 The Hospital being closed, the way was cleared for the new College. The Charter, signed by the Executors of the Lady Margaret, is dated 9th April 1511; in this Robert Shorton is named as Master. He held office until on 29th July 1516 the College was opened, when Alan Percy, of the Northumberland House, succeeded. He again was succeeded in 1518 by Nicholas Metcalfe, a member of the Metcalfe family of Nappa Hall, in Wensleydale. Metcalfe had been Archdeacon of Rochester, and was no doubt well known to Fisher as Bishop of that Diocese. The building of the College commenced under Shorton, but was not finished until about 1520. It must be remembered that the College was founded before the Reformation, and that these three Masters were priests of the Church of Rome. [Illustration: THE OLD BRIDGE] Metcalfe was more of an administrator than a student, and his energies were chiefly devoted to the material side of the College interests. Fresh endowments were obtained in place of those which had been lost. King Henry VIII. was persuaded to hand over to the College the estates of three decayed religious houses--the Maison Dieu at Ospringe, the Nunnery of Lillechurch in Higham, both in Kent, and the Nunnery of Broomhall in Berkshire. As these houses, as well as the Hospital, had allowed their affairs to fall into disorder, it is probable that the identification of their lands, and the reduction of these to effective possession, was a matter of some difficulty. Metcalfe was much absent from College; the accounts of his private expenditure on these journeys have survived, and letters to him from the College during his absences show that his skill and wisdom were much relied on. Fisher also gave largely to the College, and through his example and influence others were induced to endow fellowships and scholarships. He gave three successive codes of statutes for the government of the College in 1516, 1524, and 1530. These present no novel features, being for the most part based on existing statutes of Colleges at Oxford or Cambridge. They are long, and, as the fashion then was, lay down many rules with regard to minor matters. A few of the leading provisions may be given. One scholar was to be Chapel clerk, to assist the sacrist at Mass; another was to ring the great bell at 4 A.M., as was done before the College was founded, and again at 8 P.M., when the gates were closed; another was to be clock-keeper. These three scholars were to be exempt from all other domestic duties, except that of reading the Bible in time of plague. Seven scholars were told off to serve as waiters in Hall, to bring in and remove the food and dishes; an eighth was to read the Bible in Hall while the Society were at dinner. When in honour of God, or the Saints, a fire was made up in Hall, the Fellows, scholars, and servants might stay to amuse themselves with singing and repeating poetry and tales. The Master, Fellows, and scholars were to wear clerical dress; red, white, green, or parti-coloured boots were forbidden. One-fourth part of the Fellows were always to be engaged in preaching to the people in English; Bachelors of Divinity, preaching at Paul's Cross, were to be allowed ten days of absence for each sermon. No arms were to be borne, though archery was allowed as a recreation. No Fellow or scholar was allowed to keep hounds, ferrets, hawks, or singing-birds in College. The weekly allowance for commons was 1s. for the Master and each Fellow, 7d. for each scholar. The President or Bursar was to receive a stipend of 40s. a year, a Dean 26s. 8d. No one under the standing of a Doctor of Divinity was to have a separate room; Fellows and scholars were to sleep singly, or not more than two in a bed. Each room was to have two beds--the higher for the Fellow, the lower or truckle-bed for the scholar; the truckle-bed being tucked under the other during the day. The College made an excellent start, and was soon full of earnest and successful students. It is sufficient to mention the names of Sir John Cheke, the famous Greek scholar; of Roger Ascham, the tutor of Queen Elizabeth; and, in another sphere, William Cecil, first Lord Burghley, to give an idea of the influence the College was spreading through her sons. In all this Metcalfe had his share. He is the "Good Master of a College" in Fuller's _Holy State_, where we read: "Grant that Metcalfe with Themistocles could not fiddle, yet he could make a little city a great one." And Ascham in _The Scholemaster_ writes of him: "His goodnes stood not still in one or two, but flowed aboundantlie over all that Colledge, and brake out also to norishe good wittes in every part of that universitie; whereby at his departing thence, he left soch a companie of fellowes and scholers in S. Johnes Colledge as can scarce be found now in som whole universitie: which either for divinitie on the one side or other, or for civill service to their Prince and contrie, have bene, and are yet to this day, notable ornaments to this whole Realme. Yea S. Johnes did then so florish, as Trinitie College, that princely house now, at the first erection was but _Colonia deducta_ out of S. Johnes, not onelie for their Master, fellowes and scholers, but also, which is more, for their whole both order of learning, and discipline of maners; and yet to this day it never tooke Master but such as was bred up before in S. Johnes; doing the dewtie of a good _colonia_ to her _metropolis_, as the auncient cities in Greice, and some yet in Italie at this time are accustomed to do." But troubles were in store both for Fisher and Metcalfe. The Reformation, the divorce of Henry VIII. from Queen Catherine, the Act of Succession, and the sovereign's views on the royal supremacy, were the stumbling-blocks. Fisher went to the Tower, and on 22nd June 1535, to the scaffold; Metcalfe was compelled to resign in 1537. Fisher had by deed of gift presented his library to the College, but retained its use for his lifetime--the greatest loan of books on record, as has been said. This magnificent collection was now lost, a loss more lamentable than that of the foundress' estates. Endowments might be replaced, but "the notablest library of bookes in all England" was gone for ever. It is to the credit of the Fellows of the College that, no doubt at some risk to themselves, they stood by Fisher. They visited him in his prison, and in a nobly worded letter stated that as they owed everything to his bounty, so they offered themselves and all they were masters of to his service. In 1545 King Henry VIII. gave new statutes to the College, adapted to the reformed religion; but all mention of Fisher and his endowments is cut out; the College even had to pay 3d. for removing his armorial bearings from the Chapel. During the reign of King Edward VI. the outspoken and eloquent Thomas Leaver was Master; on the accession of Queen Mary he, with many of the Fellows, had to fly to Switzerland. In Ascham's words: "mo perfite scholers were dispersed from thence in one moneth, than many years can reare up againe." The reign of Queen Mary did not extend over much more than five years, but while it lasted a resolute and unflinching effort was made to re-establish the Roman Catholic faith. The accession of Queen Elizabeth resulted in an equally rapid and fundamental revolution of opinion on the most vital points which can interest mankind. A few selected extracts from the College Account Books for this period bring before us, with almost dramatic effect, the changes which occurred. (Queen Mary succeeded in 1553, Queen Elizabeth on 17th November 1558.) "1555, To the joyner for setting up the rood, 2_d._; A new graell printed in parchment 40_s._;--1556, In Spanish money given to the goldsmyth by Mr Willan to make a pixe to the highe Aultar, 24_s._ 11_d._; A redde purple velvet cope, with the border of imagrie, having the assumption of our Ladie behinde and three little angels about her and the greater being full of floure de luces, 46_s._ 8_d._;--1557, To William Allom for two antiphoners, one masse book and hymnal and processioners, £6 13_s._ 4_d._" "1558, To John Waller and his man for a dayes working pulling down the hye Altar and carrying it away 20_d._; For pulling down the aulter in Mr Ashton's Chapel 6_d._; 1563, Received for certain old Albes and other popishe Trashe, sold out of the Revystry the last yere, 26_s._ 10_d._; Paid to Mr Baxter for ten Geneva psalters and six service psalters, bought at Christmas last, 22_s._" This last entry gives us the key to the troubles at St. John's; the Marian exiles had returned with strong Calvinistic leanings. The unrest was, of course, not confined to St. John's, but was general throughout the University. But for the greater part of the reign of Elizabeth there was a strong leaning toward Puritanism in the College. There was a rapid succession of Masters, most of whom were thrust on the College by Court influence; and about this time the Fellows of St. John's acquired the reputation of being "cunning practitioners" in the art of getting rid of unpopular Masters. Queen Elizabeth visited Cambridge in August 1564, and was received with all honour. She rode into the Hall of St. John's on her palfrey and listened to a speech from Mr. Humphrey Bohun, one of the Fellows, in which for the last time the restitution of the Lady Margaret's estates was hinted at, without result. Richard Longworth, a man of Presbyterian sympathies, was at this time Master. In 1565 he, with the Fellows and scholars, appeared in Chapel without the surplice. Lord Burghley, as Chancellor of the University, wrote a sharply worded letter to Longworth, expressing his grief that such a thing should happen in "my dear College of St. John's"; adding, "truly no mishap in all my service did ever plunge me more grievously." Fortunately affairs were in strong and capable hands. With the authority and in the name of Queen Elizabeth, Whitgift, at this time Master of Trinity, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, and Cecil provided new statutes for the University in 1570, and for St. John's in 1580. By these much more power was put in the hands of the Master, and government rendered easier to a resolute man. Matters improved, if not at once, at least gradually, and the Anglican rule became firmly established. But during the mastership of William Whitaker (1586-1595) we still hear of troubles with "Papists." Whitaker was a learned scholar and an acute theologian, but he does not seem to have been a ruler of men or a judge of character. He got involved in an unfortunate dispute with Everard Digby, one of the Fellows, a man of considerable literary reputation, but of a turbulent disposition. Whitaker, who clearly wanted to get rid of Digby, seized upon the pretext that his bill for a month's commons, amounting to 8s. 7¼d., was left unpaid, and deprived Digby of his fellowship. An appeal was lodged with Whitgift and Cecil, who ordered Whitaker to reinstate Digby. Whitaker replied that Digby was a Papist, was wont to blow a horn in the Courts and to holloa after it, and that he had threatened to put the President in the stocks! He seems to have succeeded in getting rid of Digby for good. On the death of Whitaker in 1595, Richard Clayton became Master. If not a brilliant scholar, he commanded respect, and the tenor of many letters which have come down from that time shows that the Fellows in residence were on good terms with each other, and with those of the Society who had gone out into the world. The College was prosperous, and the building of the Second Court was the visible sign of returned efficiency. Clayton lived on into the reign of King James I., dying 2nd May 1612; besides being Master of St. John's, he was also Dean of Peterborough and a Prebendary of Lincoln. During this period the College enjoyed a considerable reputation as a training ground for medical men. Thomas Linacre, physician to Henry VIII., founded in 1534 a medical lectureship in the College, endowing it with some property in London. The stipend of the lecturer was to be £12 a year, no mean sum in these days--being, in fact, the same as the statutable stipend of the Master. In the Elizabethan statutes special and detailed provisions are made for the continuance of the lectureship. These lay down that the lecturer must be versed in the works of Aristotle, and that he should lecture on the works of Galen, which Linacre had translated. The effect of the foundation was to attract a number of medical students to the College, many of whom seem to have obtained fellowships, for we find the Fellows petitioning Queen Elizabeth, while her code of statutes was under consideration, that Divines should be preferred to Physicians in the election of Senior Fellows; otherwise, they submitted, an undue proportion of Physicians would get on the seniority and rule the College. Further, they asked that the medical Fellows, as some return for their privileges, should attend on poor students free of charge. That the College school of medicine was a noted one is confirmed by the fact that three successive Presidents of the Royal College of Physicians were Fellows of St. John's: Richard Smith (1585-1589), William Baronsdale (1589-1600), and William Gilbert (1600-1601). Smith and Gilbert were physicians to Queen Elizabeth; Baronsdale and Gilbert had been Senior Bursars of the College. Of these Gilbert is the most celebrated; his treatise, _De Magnete_, is a scientific classic. Galileo spoke of Gilbert as "great to a degree which might be envied." Francis Bacon mentions the book with applause, and Hallam describes Gilbert as "at once the father of experimental philosophy in this island, and by a singular felicity and acuteness of genius, the founder of theories which have been revived after the lapse of ages, and are almost universally received into the creed of science." Gilbert, who always signs his name Gilberd or Gylberd in the College books, was Senior Bursar of the College in 1569, and President in the succeeding year. Amongst others who have held the Linacre lectureship, and attained to scientific distinction, was Henry Briggs, who was appointed lecturer in 1592. He afterwards became Gresham Professor of Geometry and Savilian Professor at Oxford. He took up Napier's discovery of logarithms; the idea of tables of logarithms having 10 for their base, and the calculation of the first table of the kind, is due to him. CHAPTER V THE SECOND CENTURY 1612-1716 The second century of the College history opened quietly. Owen Gwyn was elected Master by the choice of the Fellows; John Williams, then a Fellow, afterwards Lord Keeper, Dean of Westminster, Bishop of Lincoln, and Archbishop of York, exerting himself on Gwyn's behalf. It appears that Williams in after years repented of the choice, and Thomas Baker, the historian of the College, speaks slightingly of Gwyn. Still, under his rule the College flourished, and Williams himself marked the period by providing the greater part of the funds for the new Library. King James I. and Prince Charles (afterwards Charles I.) frequently visited the University; James holding his Court at Trinity, but being entertained at St. John's. On one of these occasions, comparing the great Court of Trinity with the two then existing Courts of St. John's, he is said to have remarked that there was no greater difference between the two Societies than between a shilling and two sixpences. [Illustration: _HALL, AND CHAPEL TOWER_] With the advent of the Stuart kings the practice arose of sending mandatory letters to Colleges, directing the election of named persons to fellowships. In theory it may have been correct enough; the statutes as enacted by Queen Elizabeth reserved to herself and her successors the power of rescinding or altering them. To direct that the statutory provisions as to elections should be dispensed with in favour of an individual was thus within the sovereign's power, however inconvenient it might prove in practice. One of the special grievances at St. John's was that King James directed the College to elect a Scotchman, George Seaton, M.A., to a fellowship, though there was none then actually vacant. The College obeyed, informing his Majesty that they had made their statutes wink to fulfil his bidding, and maintained an extra Fellow for a time. The practice was, however, followed by others; and Gwyn seems to have been deluged with letters from persons in high places, begging for his favour at elections. At some Colleges the device of "pre-elections" seems to have been resorted to; a promising man being elected to the next fellowship which should be vacant. Thus, when the vacancy became known, the College could, with a clear conscience, say that it had been already filled up; there is, however, no trace of this practice at St. John's. On Gwyn's death in 1633 there was a disputed election to the mastership, which Charles I. settled by nominating William Beale. Beale was originally a Trinity man, but had been for about a year Master of Jesus. He was a supporter of Laud; he embellished the Chapel, and introduced a more ornate ritual; under his influence St. John's seems to have been the only College at Cambridge which fully complied with Laud's instructions. Thus when the Puritans got the upper hand, Beale and his College were the subject of their displeasure. In 1642 King Charles applied to the University for supplies. The contribution of St. John's was £150 in money and 2065 ounces "grocers weight" of silver plate. The list of the pieces of plate and of the donors' names is but melancholy reading; suffice it to say that among those sent were pieces bearing the names of Thomas Wentworth, Lord Strafford, and of Thomas Fairfax. The fact that this plate actually reached the King did not endear the College to the parliamentary party. Oliver Cromwell surrounded the College, took Dr. Beale a prisoner, and, to equalise matters, confiscated the communion plate and other valuables. Beale, after some imprisonment and wandering, escaped from England and became chaplain to Lord Cottington and Sir Edward Hyde (afterwards Lord Clarendon) in their embassy to Spain; he died at Madrid, and was there secretly buried. A number of the Fellows were also ejected, and for some time the College was used as a prison. The Chapel was stripped of the obnoxious ornaments, and other damage done. A little bundle of papers labelled "Receipts for Army taxes during the Commonwealth" still reposes, as a memento of these days, in the Muniment Room. St. John's, which dabbled in Presbyterian doctrines during the days of Elizabeth, now had these imposed upon it by superior authority. The two Commonwealth Masters, John Arrowsmith (1644-1653) and Anthony Tuckney (1653-1661), were able men of Puritan austerity, the rule of the latter being the more strict; judging from the after careers of its members, the College was certainly capably directed. A well-authenticated College tradition relates that when, at an election, the President called upon the Master to have regard to the "godly," Tuckney replied that no one showed greater regard for the truly godly than himself, but that he was determined to choose none but scholars; adding, with practical wisdom, "They may deceive me in their godliness; they cannot in their scholarship." On the Restoration, Dr. Peter Gunning, afterwards Bishop of Ely, was made Master; and the Earl of Manchester, who, as an officer of the Parliament, was the means of ejecting many of the Fellows, now directed that some of them should be restored to their places. An interesting College custom dates from this period: on the 29th of May in each year the College butler decorates the Hall and Kitchen with fresh oak boughs; there is no order to that effect, but--"it has always been done." [Illustration: THE COLLEGE ARMS] The rest of this century of the College existence, with the exception of one exciting event, passed quietly enough. Such troubles as there were in College were but eddies of the storms in the world outside. Of the "seven Bishops" sent to the Tower by King James II. in 1688, three were of St. John's: Francis Turner, Bishop of Ely (who had been Master of the College from 1670 to 1679); John Lake, Bishop of Chichester; and Thomas White, Bishop of Peterborough. The event of College interest was the fate of the nonjuring Fellows. The Nonjurors were those who, on various grounds, honourable enough, declined to take the oath of allegiance to King William and Queen Mary. Under the law they were liable to be deprived of their places and emoluments. At St. John's twenty Fellows and eight scholars took up the nonjuring position. In the rest of the University there were but fourteen in all, and the same number at the University of Oxford. No explanation seems to be forthcoming as to why there was this preponderance of opinion at St. John's. It is difficult to believe that it was enthusiasm for the cause of James II.; for when in 1687 that King directed the University to admit Father Alban Francis, a Benedictine monk, to the degree of M.A. without making the subscription or taking the oaths required for a degree, Thomas Smoult and John Billers, members of the College (the latter afterwards a Nonjuror), maintained the right of the University to refuse the degree before the notorious Judge Jeffreys, after the Vice-Chancellor and Isaac Newton had been silenced. Humphrey Gower was at this time Master of the College; he was of Puritan origin, and entered the College during the Commonwealth. After the Restoration he joined the Church of England, and though his sympathies were with the Nonjurors, he took the oaths and retained his mastership after the flight of King James. He had been for less than six months Master of Jesus before becoming Master of St. John's. Abraham de la Pryme, a member of St. John's, has handed down an irreverent jest on his appointment. "Our master, they say, is a mighty, high, proud man.... He came from Jesus College to be master here, and he was so sevear that he was commonly called the divel of Jesus; and when he was made master here some unlucky scholars broke this jest upon him--that now the divel was entered into the heard of swine; for us Johnians are abusively called hoggs." In 1693 the Court of King's Bench issued a _mandamus_ calling upon Gower to remove those Fellows who had not taken the oath. Defence upon the merits of the case there was none; but Gower or his legal advisers opposed the mandate with great skill on technical points, and after much litigation the Court had to admit that its procedure was irregular, and the matter dropped for some twenty-four years. During this period some of the Fellows in question died, others ceded their fellowships owing to the combined action of the general law and the College statutes. Under the latter Fellows were bound, when of proper standing, to proceed to the B.D. degree, but the oath of allegiance was required of those who took the degree, and so fellowships were forfeited. Thomas Baker, the historian, who was one of the Nonjurors, had taken the B.D. degree before 1688, so this cause did not operate in his case. But on the accession of King George I., an abjuration oath was required, and the meshes of the net being now smaller, the then Master, Dr. Jenkin, had no other course but to eject Baker and others. The College did all it could to soften the blow, and allowed Baker to reside in College until his death in 1740. He worked unweariedly at his manuscript collections and at the history of the College. The latter was first published in 1869, under the editorship of Professor John E. B. Mayor; with the editor's additions it forms a record of a College such as almost no other foundation can show. Baker's learning and accuracy are undoubted; but it may be permitted (even to a member of his College) to hint that Baker's judgments are a little severe, and his views somewhat narrow. One notable improvement in the College records dates from this century. In early days no record was made of the names of those who joined the College. The statutes of King Henry VIII. enjoined that a register should be kept of all those admitted to scholarships and fellowships or College offices. This was begun in 1545, and has been continued to the present time. The entries of scholars and Fellows are in the autograph of those admitted, and if they possessed no other interest, have that of providing numerous examples of contemporary handwriting. But of those not admitted on the foundation, or of those admitted prior to 1545, there is no official College record. Dr. Owen Gwyn and the seniors of his day passed a rule that "the register of the College should have a book provided him wherein he should from time to time write and register the names, parents, county, school, age, and tutor of every one to be admitted to the College." This was commenced in January 1629-30, and has been continued, with varying care and exactness, ever since. It seems probable that the initiative in this matter was due to Gwyn, as few Masters have so carefully preserved their official correspondence. Just before this general register commenced, three notable men joined the College: Thomas Wentworth, afterwards Earl of Strafford; Thomas Fairfax, afterwards Lord Fairfax, the victor at Naseby; and Lucius Cary, Viscount Falkland, who fell in Newbury fight in September 1643. Complimentary letters to the first and last of these, with the replies, have been preserved. Falkland, in his reply, complains that of the titles given to him by the College "that which I shold most willingly have acknowledged and mought with most justice clayme you were not pleased to vouchsafe me, that of a St. John's man." Of others who entered we may name: Sir Ingram Hopton, son of Ralph, first Baron Hopton, who entered as a Fellow Commoner 12th May 1631. Sir Ingram fell at the battle of Winceby, 11th October 1643. He there unhorsed Oliver Cromwell in a charge, and knocked him down again as he rose, but was himself killed. Titus Oates, "the infamous," first entered at Caius 29th June 1667, migrating to St. John's, where he entered 2nd February 1668-69. Thomas Baker for once abandons his decorous reticence and states of Oates: "He was a lyar from the beginning, he stole and cheated his taylor of a gown, which he denied with horrid imprecations, and afterwards at a communion, being admonisht and advised by his Tutor, confest the fact." Matthew Prior, the poet, was both scholar and Fellow of the College, holding his fellowship until his death. Robert Herrick, though he graduated at Trinity Hall, was sometime a Fellow Commoner here. Thomas Forster of Adderstone, general to the "Old Pretender," and commander of the Jacobite army in 1715, entered the College as a Fellow Commoner 3rd July 1700. Brook Taylor, well known to mathematicians as the discoverer of "Taylor's theorem," entered as a Fellow Commoner 3rd April 1701. While David Mossom of Greenwich, who entered the College as a sizar 5th June 1705, after being ordained, emigrated to America, and became rector of St. Peter's Church, New Kent County, Virginia. He was the officiating clergyman at the marriage of George Washington in St. Peter's Church. We get an amusing glimpse of the importance of the Master of a College in the following anecdote: "In the year 1712 my old friend, Matthew Prior, who was then Fellow of St. John's, and who not long before had been employed by the Queen as her Plenipotentiary at the Court of France, came to Cambridge; and the next morning paid a visit to the Master of his own College. The Master (Dr. Jenkin) loved Mr. Prior's principles, had a great opinion of his abilities, and a respect for his character in the world; but then he had much greater respect for himself. He knew his own dignity too well to suffer a Fellow of his College to sit down in his presence. He kept his seat himself, and let the Queen's Ambassador stand. Such was the temper, not of a Vice-Chancellor, but of a simple Master of a College. I remember, by the way, an extempore epigram of Matt's on the reception he had there met with. We did not reckon in those days that he had a very happy turn for an epigram; but the occasion was tempting; and he struck it off as he was walking from St. John's College to the Rose, where we dined together. It was addressed to the Master:-- "'I _stood_, Sir, patient at your feet, Before your elbow chair; But make a bishop's throne your seat, I'll _kneel_ before you there. One only thing can keep you down, For your great soul too mean; You'd not, to mount a bishop's throne, Pay _homage_ to the Queen.'" CHAPTER VI THE THIRD CENTURY 1716-1815 The third century of the College history coincides roughly with the eighteenth century. It was not a period of very high ideals, and "privilege" was in full force. For the first time in the College registers men are entered as "Noblemen." These were allowed to proceed to the M.A. degree direct in two years without passing through the intermediate stage of B.A. The College was also full of Fellow Commoners, who sat with the Fellows at the High Table in Hall; until the close of the century these do not seem to have proceeded to any degree. The other two classes were the pensioners, who paid their way, and the sizars. A sizar was definitely attached to a Fellow or Fellow Commoner, and in return for duties of a somewhat menial character passed through his College course on reduced terms. Among other duties, a sizar had, with some of the scholars, to wait at table, a service not abolished until 6th May 1786. [Illustration: THE CHAPEL TOWER FROM THE RIVER.] Speaking in general terms, the College seems gradually to have acquired the reputation of being the Tory College in the Whig University; it became exceedingly fashionable, and towards the end of the century had more students in residence than any other College. At the same time its reputation for efficiency was very high. This was due to the policy of Dr. William Samuel Powell, Master from 1765 to 1775. He introduced various administrative changes on the financial side of College management, and also started annual examinations in the College, then a novelty in the University. These examinations were not very severe, and to the somewhat overtaxed undergraduate of the present day might seem almost trivial. They were not competitive, there was no order of merit, but no one seems to have been exempt; their object was simply to test the knowledge of the students. The success of the plan attracted much attention; it was proposed to institute similar examinations for the University at large, but Powell opposed this on the ground that candidates ought to be examined by those who taught them. From this date it would appear that Fellow Commoners, at St. John's at least, began to take degrees in the University. During Powell's mastership an observatory was established on the top of the western gateway of the Second Court, and regular astronomical observations taken. Two sets of observations there made by Fellows of the College have been published; one set made by William Ludlam in 1767 and 1768, the other by Thomas Catton between 1796 and 1826, the latter being published by the Royal Astronomical Society in 1854. We find members of the College taking part in all the movements of the time. In the rebellion of 1745, James Dawson, a captain in the Manchester Regiment, was taken prisoner at Carlisle, and executed in July 1746 on Kennington Common; while Robert Ganton, afterwards a clergyman, was excused one term's residence in the University, during which, as one of "his majesty's Royal Hunters," he was fighting the rebels. Charles Churchill, satirist, was for a short time a member of the College in 1748. William Wordsworth, afterwards Poet Laureate, entered the College as a sizar, and was admitted a foundress' scholar 6th November 1787. Many adopted military careers; of these we may mention George, first Marquis Townshend, who joined the College in 1741, afterwards entered the army, and was present at Fontenoy and Culloden; he went with Wolfe to Canada, and took over the command when Wolfe fell. Daniel Hoghton entered in 1787, he also became a soldier, and was one of Wellington's men in the Peninsular War; he was killed at the battle of Albuera, being then a major-general. Of another type were William Wilberforce (entered 1776) and Thomas Clarkson (1779), whose names will always be associated in connection with the abolition of slavery. The saintly Henry Martyn, Senior Wrangler in 1801 and Fellow of the College, went out as a missionary to India in 1805, and died at Tokat in Persia in 1812. There have been many missionary sons of the College since his day, but his self-denial greatly impressed his contemporaries, and Sir James Stephen speaks of him as "the one heroic name which adorns the annals of the Church of England from the days of Elizabeth to our own." With Martyn curiously enough is associated in College annals another name, that of Henry John Temple, third Viscount Palmerston, sometime Prime Minister of England; for Martyn and Temple appear as officers of the College company of volunteers in the year 1803. Thomas Denman, afterwards Lord Chief Justice, entered the College in 1796; he resided in the Second Court, staircase G, at the top. When he brought up his son, the Hon. George Denman, to Trinity he pointed the rooms out to him, and the latter pointed them out to the present writer, "in order that the oral tradition might be preserved." Alexander John Scott, who, as private secretary and interpreter to Lord Nelson, was present on the _Victory_ at Trafalgar, entered the College in 1786, and became a scholar of the College 3rd November 1789. Fletcher Norton, Speaker of the House of Commons from 1770 to 1780, and first Lord Grantley, entered the College in 1734. With him, in a way, was connected John Horne (afterwards Horne Tooke), who entered in 1754; for Horne, for purposes of his own, libelled Fletcher Norton when Speaker. Horne Tooke's stormy career belongs rather to political than College history; but it is worth noting that when he presented himself at Cambridge for the M.A. degree, and the granting of this was opposed in the senate on the ground that he had traduced the clergy in his writings, the members of St. John's, headed by Dr. Richard Beadon, then Public Orator, afterwards Bishop of Bath and Wells, carried the grace for the degree. Horne and Beadon entered the College in the same year. We have already mentioned Charles Churchill. Another Johnian poet of this period was William Mason, who entered the College in 1742. Mason afterwards became a Fellow of Pembroke, where he was the intimate friend of Thomas Gray. As the biographer of Gray he is perhaps better remembered than for his own poetry, though during his lifetime he enjoyed considerable fame. A somewhat unusual career was that of William Smith, who entered the College from Eton in 1747, but left without taking a degree. He is reported to have snapped an unloaded pistol at one of the Proctors, and rather than submit to the punishment which the College authorities thought proper to inflict, left the University. He became an actor, and was very popular in his day, being known as "Gentleman Smith." He was associated with David Garrick, and Smith's admirers held that he fell little short of his master in the art. The reputation of the College as a medical school was maintained by Dr. William Heberden, who entered in 1724. Heberden attended Samuel Johnson in his last illness, and Johnson described him as "_ultimus Romanorum_, the last of our learned physicians." A description which may be amplified by saying that Heberden was in a way the first of the modern physicians. CHAPTER VII THE CURRENT CENTURY The time has probably not yet come when a satisfactory account of College and University development during the nineteenth century can be written. The changes have been fundamental, involving perhaps a change of ideal as well as of method. In early days the College was filled with men saturated with the spirit of the Renaissance; casting aside the studies of the Middle Ages, they returned to the literature of Greece and Rome. The ideals of the present day are not less high, but more complex and less easy to state briefly; the aim is perhaps rather to add to knowledge than to acquire it for its own sake alone. [Illustration: The College Chapel] For the first half of the century College life was still regulated by the statutes of Elizabeth. These were characterised by over-cautious and minute legislation. Now that they are superseded, the chief feeling is one of surprise that a system of laws, intended to be unchangeable, should have endured so long in presence of the changing character of the wants and habits of mankind. It must be remembered that each member of the corporate body, Master, Fellow, or Scholar, on admission, each officer on his appointment, bound himself by oaths of great solemnity to observe these statutes and to seek no dispensation from their provisions. To a more logical race the difficulties must have proved intolerable--the practical Englishman found his own solution. The forms were observed _juramenti gratia_, but much practical work was supplemental to the statutes. This could be illustrated in more than one way--the most interesting is the development of the educational side and the tutorial system. The statutes prescribed the appointment of certain lecturers--even the subjects of their lectures. Space need not be occupied in showing that such provisions soon became obsolete. The working solution was found in the tutorial system. In early days it was contemplated and prescribed that each Fellow should have the care of two or three students, living with them, teaching them daily; the exact date when this system passed away has not been traced with any certainty, but gradually the number of Fellows taking individual charge of the undergraduates diminished until it became reduced to two or three. Those in charge became known as Tutors, and with each Tutor was associated one or two others called Assistant Tutors or Lecturers. A charge was made to the undergraduates for tuition, and the sum so received was shared by the Tutors and their assistants. But the Tutor was not a College officer in the eye of the statutes, nor the money received for tuition treated as part of the College revenues. The system worked, because it was meant to work, and as it was not subject to obsolete rules could be modified and adapted to changing conditions. So long as the chief subjects of study were few in number, practically restricted to classics and mathematics, College provision for teaching was possible and simple. The multiplication of studies, the needs of the studies generally known as the Natural Sciences, with their expensive laboratories and equipment, are entailing further changes, and the tendency, more especially in the newer subjects, is to centralise teaching under the control of University professors and teachers. The subject is one of great interest, but cannot be further touched upon here. To return to the history of St. John's. Dr. James Wood became Master in 1815. He was a man of humble origin, a native of Holcombe, in the parish of Bury, Lancashire. According to a well-authenticated tradition he "kept," as an undergraduate, in a garret in staircase O in the Second Court, and studied in the evening by the light of the rush candle which lit the staircase, with his feet in straw, not being able to afford fire or light. He became a successful and popular College Tutor, and his mathematical writings were long the standard text-books in the University. At the time of his death in 1839 he held, with his mastership, the Deanery of Ely and the Rectory of Freshwater in the Isle of Wight. He made the College his residuary legatee, but during his life had handed over large sums for College purposes, and the total of his gifts cannot have been less than £60,000. In Wood's time we find the first movement in favour of change taken by the College itself. St. John's then suffered under a specially awkward restriction arising from the joint effect of the general statutes and the trusts of private foundations. By the statutes not more than two Fellows could come from any one county in England, or more than one from each diocese in Wales. There were thirty-two foundation Fellows, and twenty-one founded by private benefactors, the latter having all the privileges and advantages of the former. Each of these private foundations had its own special restriction; the holders were to be perhaps of founder's name or kin, or to come from certain specified counties, parishes, or schools. The effect of these special restrictions was that many fellowships had to be filled by men possessing the special qualification without, perhaps, any great intellectual distinction. But once a county was "full" no Fellow could be elected who had been born in that county; and even if a vacancy occurred a promising man might be again cut out by some special restriction. Dr. Wood and the Fellows addressed themselves to this point and obtained in 1820 the Royal consent to a statute throwing open the foundress' fellowships without restriction as to county; the private foundations were left untouched, but the College was empowered to transfer a Fellow on the foundress' foundation to one of the special foundations, if qualified. Dr. Wood was succeeded as Master by Dr. Ralph Tatham, whose father and grandfather (of the same names) had been members of the College. He was Public Orator of the University from 1809 to 1836, an office for which he was well qualified by a singular dignity of person and courtesy of manner. "He brought forth butter," said the wags, "in a lordly dish." In the year 1837 the Earl of Radnor and others raised the question of University reform, and tried to induce the House of Lords to pass a bill for the appointment of a University Commission. In the end the matter was shelved, the friends of the University undertaking that the Colleges, with the approval of their Visitors, should prepare new statutes for the assent of the Crown. The change in St. John's was opposed by some ultra-conservative Fellows, who urged that as they were bound by oath to observe and uphold the statutes, and to seek no dispensation from them, they were precluded from asking for any change. The Bishop of Ely, however, gently put this objection on one side, and the statutes then prepared were approved by Queen Victoria in 1849. The more ardent reformers have described this code as merely legalising the customs and "abuses" which had grown up around the Elizabethan statutes without introducing any effective change. On the death of Dr. Tatham (19th January 1857), Dr. William Henry Bateson was elected Master; he had been Senior Bursar of the College from 1846, and Public Orator of the University from 1848. Dr. Bateson was a man of scholarly tastes, but he was above all a practical man of affairs and of broad views. He served on more than one University Commission appointed to examine into and report upon the University and Colleges. The College statutes were twice revised during his mastership; the first code becoming law in 1860, the second was prepared during his lifetime, though it did not become law till a year after his death. These statutes are much less interesting reading than the early statutes, though undoubtedly more useful. While aiming at precision in the matter of rights and duties, they leave great freedom in matters of study, discipline, and administration. All local restrictions on scholarships and fellowships have been abolished. The government of the College is entrusted to a Council of twelve, elected by the Fellows, and presided over by the Master; a simple method has been provided of altering them if necessary. Independently of the changes thus introduced the College, on its own initiative, was providing for the newer studies. In 1853 a chemical laboratory was built, and a lecturer in chemistry appointed, and other lecturers appointed from time to time as the scope of University teaching was widened. St. John's at an early date began to elect men to scholarships and fellowships for Natural Science. In all this we may trace the influence of Dr. Bateson, one of whose guiding principles was to widen and increase the teaching power of the College, and to reward intellectual distinction of any kind. Dr. Bateson died 27th March 1881, and was succeeded by Dr. Charles Taylor, the present Master. Of men who have added lustre to the College roll of worthies we may mention Sir John F. W. Herschel, the astronomer, who was Senior Wrangler in 1813, and died in 1871, laden with all the honours which scientific and learned bodies could bestow upon him; he lies buried in Westminster Abbey close to the tomb of Newton. John Couch Adams, Senior Wrangler in 1843, in July 1841, while yet an undergraduate, resolved to investigate the irregularities in the motion of the planet Uranus, with the view of determining whether they might be attributed to an undiscovered planet. The memorandum he made of his resolve is, as has been stated, now in the College Library. It is a matter of history how Adams carried out his purpose, and how through a series of unlucky accidents he did not get the sole credit for his discovery of the planet Neptune. Adams became a Fellow of the College in 1843, but had to vacate his fellowship in 1852 as he was not in orders. The College tried to induce a Mr. Blakeney, who then held one of the very few fellowships tenable by a layman, to resign his fellowship and make way for Adams; offering to pay him for the rest of his life an income equal to that of his fellowship. Mr. Blakeney, however, refused, and a fellowship was found for Mr. Adams at Pembroke College, which he held till his death. It is perhaps a delicate matter to allude to those still living, but two may perhaps be mentioned. The Hon. Charles A. Parsons by his development of the steam turbine has revolutionised certain departments of engineering. Dairoku Kikuchi, the first Japanese student to come to Cambridge, after graduating in 1877, in the same year as Mr. Parsons, returned to Japan, and has held many offices, including that of Minister of Education, in his native country. We may say that the changes introduced in the nineteenth century have restored to the College its national character, admitting to the full privileges of a University career certain classes of students who had been gradually excluded. During the reigns of Henry VIII., Edward VI., Mary, and Elizabeth, there was always a part of the nation, Protestant or Roman Catholic, which found the entry barred to it. The establishment of the Anglican rule in the reign of Elizabeth led to the exclusion of Roman Catholics, and for three hundred years the doors of the University were closed to them. The Civil Wars, the Commonwealth, and the Restoration produced religious difficulties of another kind; the wholesale ejections in 1644 and 1660 testify to the troubles men had to face for conscience' sake. After the Restoration the Puritan, the Protestant Dissenter, was excluded with the Romanist. In the eighteenth century a certain variety was introduced by the entry of students from the West Indies, sons of planters; one or two individuals came from the American colonies. The constant wars drew off men to military careers, and the religious movements towards the close of the century attracted men, after leaving College, to Unitarianism or Wesleyanism. The celebrated Rowland Hill was a member of the College; Francis Okeley, after leaving, became a Moravian or a Mystic. Such dissenters as entered the College, and they were very few, were obliged to leave without graduating. The removal of all religious tests has thus restored to the ancient Universities a national character they had not possessed since the early days of Henry VIII., when all could come, as all were practically of the same faith. Thus a wider field is open to the College to draw on, not only in the British Islands, but in all its colonies and dependencies. On the other hand, it is no less true that her sons are to be found more widely scattered. A hundred and fifty years ago one could say of a selected group of men that the majority would become clergymen or schoolmasters, a few would become barristers, others would return to their country estates, one or two might enter the army; with that we should have exhausted the probabilities. Now there is probably not a career open to educated men in which members of the College are not to be found; the State in every department, civil, ecclesiastical, or military, enlists her sons in its service. The rise of scientific industries has opened new careers to trained men. We talk of the spacious days of Elizabeth; if space itself has not increased it is at least more permeated with men who owe their early training to the foundation of the Lady Margaret. CHAPTER VIII SOCIAL LIFE Hitherto we have confined ourselves to an outline of the College history on what may be called its official side. In what follows we deal briefly with some features of the life of the place. [Illustration: THE NEW COURT] The original, and perhaps the chief, purpose of the College in the eyes of those who founded it was practically that it should form a training ground for the clergy. The statutes of King Henry VIII. distinctly lay down that theology is the goal to which philosophy and all other studies lead, and that none were to be elected Fellows who did not propose to study theology. The statutes of Elizabeth provided a certain elasticity by prescribing that those Fellows who did not enter priests' orders within six years should vacate their fellowships; but that two Fellows might be allowed, by the Master and a majority of the Senior Fellows, to devote themselves to the study of medicine. King Charles I. in 1635 allowed a like privilege to be granted from thenceforth to two Fellows who were to study law. These privileges were not always popular, and we occasionally find the clerical Fellows complaining that while the duties of teaching and catechising were laid on them, a man who had held one of the law or medical fellowships sometimes took orders late in life and then claimed presentation to a College benefice in virtue of his seniority as a Fellow, having in the meantime escaped the drudgery to which the Fellow in orders had been subject. The emoluments of members of the Society in early times were very modest, and as prices rose became quite inadequate; the amounts being named in the College statutes were incapable of alteration, and indirect means were taken to provide relief. In Bishop Fisher's time it was considered that an endowment of £6 a year sufficed to found a fellowship, and £3 a year to found a scholarship. The statutable stipend of the Master was only £12 a year, though he had some other allowances, the total amount of which was equally trivial. James Pilkington, Master from 1559 to 1561, when he became Bishop of Durham, wrote to Lord Burghley on the subject of his successor, stating that whoever became Master must have some benefice besides to enable him to live. Richard Longworth, Master from 1564 to 1569, made a similar complaint, putting the weekly expenses of his office at £3. We accordingly find that many of the Masters held country benefices, prebends, or deaneries with their College office. Lord Keeper Williams, who gave to the College the advowsons of Soulderne in Oxfordshire, Freshwater in the Isle of Wight, and the sinecure rectories of St. Florence and Aberdaron in Wales, made it part of the conditions of his gift that the Master should always be entitled to take one of these livings if a vacancy occurred. Many of the Fellows also held benefices or curacies near Cambridge. In the eighteenth century the business of holding ecclesiastical preferment in plurality became almost a fine art; thus Sir Isaac Pennington, who was President of the College and Regius Professor of Physic, left to the College by his will a fund to provide the sum of £200 a year for the Master "if he be rector of Freshwater and not otherwise," a direct and curious incentive to holding in plurality. A Fellow was entitled to his commons, and, in addition, to allowances of 13s. 4d. under each of the three heads of "corn," "livery," and "stipend," or, as we may say, food, clothes, and pocket-money. The College officers received but small salaries, the most highly paid being the President and Senior Bursar, who each received £2. An effort was made by the Statutes of the Realm to improve the condition of members of colleges. It seems to have been assumed that the rent of a college farm, like its statutes, could not be altered; but by an Act of Parliament passed in the eighteenth year of Elizabeth, known as Sir Thomas Smith's Act, it was enacted that from thenceforth one-third of the rents were to be paid in wheat and malt; the price of wheat for the purposes of the Act being assumed to be 6s. 8d. a quarter, and of malt 5s. a quarter. Thus if before the Act the rent of a farm was £6 a year, after it became law the tenant had to pay £4 in money, three-quarters of wheat, and four quarters of malt, these two latter items coming to £1 each. But the tenant now paid a rent varying according to the prices of the day--namely, the money rent plus the cash value of the wheat and malt according to the best prices of these commodities in Cambridge on the market-day preceding quarter-day. Thus as the prices of wheat and malt rose the College benefited. By the Act this variable one-third, or "corn-money," went to increase the allowance for commons. As time went on the amount of the corn-money was more than sufficient to pay for the commons, and a further modest allowance out of the surplus was made to all who participated in the College revenues, whether as Master, Fellow, scholar, or sizar, under the name of _præter_. In process of time another source of revenue arose. Leases of College estates were usually granted for a term of forty years, and there was a general custom that the tenant might surrender his lease at the end of fourteen years and receive a new one for forty years. As prices rose tenants were willing to pay a consideration for the renewal known as a "fine"--this was calculated on the full letting value of the estate at the time of the renewal, the rent reserved remaining at its traditional amount. At first this fine-money was regarded as a species of surplus, and grants were made from it to Fellows or scholars who were ill or in special need of temporary assistance. The cost of entertaining royalties or other distinguished visitors, and part of the cost of new buildings, were defrayed from this source. In the year 1629 the practice arose of dividing this fine-money up among the Master and Fellows in certain shares, and the money so paid became known as the "dividend." At the present time the College property is managed like any other landed estate, and after the necessary expenses of management and maintenance have been met, and certain fixed sums paid to the scholars and exhibitioners, and to the University, the remainder is by the statutes divided up into shares called dividends, each Fellow getting one dividend, the Master and the members of the College Council receiving certain additions calculated in dividends; there is a general restriction that the dividend shall not exceed £250 a year. The fall in the value of land at present automatically provides that this limit is not exceeded; if the revenues become more than sufficient for the purpose, additional fellowships and scholarships must be established. The reader will gather that the chief endowment of the College arises from land. The College estates lie scattered over most of the eastern side of England, from Yorkshire to Kent. There is no large block of property anywhere. The estates in past times, when means of communication were poor, must have been difficult to visit. In the leases of the more distant farms it was usual to stipulate that the tenant should provide "horse meat and man's meat" for the Master and Bursar and their servants while on a tour of inspection. That some care was bestowed on the management is clear from the regular entries, in the books of accounts, of the expenses of those "riding on College business." Probably the estates were visited when leases came to be renewed, and an effort made to discover the actual letting value of the property. Land agents seem to have been first employed to make formal valuations towards the end of the eighteenth century, and about the same time plans of the estates were obtained, some of these, made before the enclosures, showing the land scattered in many minute pieces, are very curious and interesting. The actual life within the College walls is not so easy to describe with any certainty. At first, as we have seen, the undergraduates actually lived with Fellows of the College, and overcrowding must have been a constant feature of College life. On 15th December 1565 a return was made to Lord Burghley of all students, "whether tutors or pupils," residing in the College, with notes as to whether they had come into Chapel in their surplices or not. The return concludes with this summary: "The whole number is 287, whereof there came into the Chappell with surplesses upon the last Saturdaie and Sondaie 147; and abrode in the country 33. And of thother 107 whiche cumme not in as yet, there be many cumme to the Colledge of late and be not yet provided of surplesses." At this time we have to remember that the buildings of the College consisted only of the First Court, the Infirmary or Labyrinth, and a small block of buildings in a corner of the ground now occupied by the Second Court, swept away when that was built. The arrangement seems to have been as follows. The ground-floor rooms were occupied by junior Fellows, each with a few pupils. The rooms on the first floor, known in the College books as the "middle chambers," were in greater request; with these went the rooms on the second floor, with sometimes _excelses_ or garrets over them--these could accommodate a senior Fellow with several pupils. In the older parts of the College the rooms occupied the whole depth of the building, and so were lighted from both sides; in the corners, when light could be obtained, cubicles or studies were partitioned off. From a sanitary point of view, life under such conditions must have left much to be desired, and the burial registers of All Saints' parish (in which the older part of the College is situated) leave the impression of frequent and almost epidemic illness in the College during the sixteenth and early part of the seventeenth century. The undergraduates in early times were much younger than the men of the present day. The statutes prescribed that the oath should not be required from scholars who were under sixteen years of age; the frequent occurrence of _non juratus_ in the admission entry of a scholar shows that many came to the College before that age. Probably the average age was about sixteen; the idea being that after the seven years' residence required for the M.A. degree they would be of the proper age to present themselves for ordination. Those under eighteen years of age might be publicly whipped in the Hall for breaches of discipline. Students from distant parts of England probably resided continuously in College from the time they entered it until they took their degrees. The statutes of King Henry VIII. contemplate a period of some relaxation at Christmas; providing that each Fellow in turn should be "Lord" at Christmas, and prepare dialogues and plays to be acted by members of the College between Epiphany and Lent. The brazier in the Hall seems to have been kept burning in the evening about Christmas time; of this practice a curious relic survived until comparatively lately, it being the custom to leave a few gas-jets burning in the Hall until midnight from St. John's Day (December 27) until Twelfth Night. There were three classes of students. The Fellow Commoners, sons of noblemen or wealthy land-owners, who sat at the High Table, or, as it was phrased, were in Fellows' commons. Some came in considerable state. In 1624 the Earl of Arundel and Surrey sent his two sons, Lord Maltravers and Mr. William Howard, to the College. The Earl's chaplain, or secretary, in making arrangements for their coming, wrote to request that they should have one chamber in the College, with a "pallett for the gromes of their chamber"; the rest of "his lordships company, being two gentlemen, a grome of his stable and a footman, may be lodged in the towne near the College." At this period the Second Court had been built, and the accommodation for residence thus somewhat greater than in Elizabethan times. The Fellow Commoner wore a gown ornamented with gold lace, and a cap with a gold tassel. The last Fellow Commoner at St. John's to wear this dress was the present Admiral Sir Wilmot Hawksworth Fawkes. The next class in order of status were the Pensioners--men who paid their expenses without assistance from the College, sons of middle-class parents. In times of which we have any definite record this was the most numerous class in College. Lastly, we have the sizars. A sizar was definitely attached to a Fellow or Fellow Commoner; he was not exactly a servant, but made himself generally useful. For example, those members of the College who absented themselves from the University sermon were in the eighteenth century fined sixpence, and the sizars were expected to mark the absentees. The sizar at Cambridge had, however, always a better status than the servitor at Oxford, and in the days when scholarships were strictly limited as to locality, a sizarship was something of the nature of what at the present day we should describe as an entrance scholarship or exhibition, the assistance given consisting in a reduction of expenses rather than in actual direct emolument. At the present time there is no difference in status among members of the College; the foundation scholars, however, having special seats in Chapel and a separate table in Hall if they choose to make use of it. Until 1882 the condition of celibacy attached to all fellowships in the College; Queen Elizabeth held strong views on the matter, even discouraging the marriage of Masters. The necessity of taking orders was somewhat relaxed in 1860. The system had its advantages--it tended to produce promotion; for the natural inclination of mankind to marry, vacated fellowships; the disadvantage was that men with a real taste for study or teaching had no certain career before them. The question of allowing Fellows to marry was raised in the eighteenth century, but met with little support and much opposition. Even in the middle of the nineteenth century a University Commission inclined to the view that celibacy was inseparable from the collegiate system. [Illustration: THE "BRIDGE OF SIGHS"] The clerical restriction had the effect of chiefly confining selection to College offices to those who were in orders. These in due course went off to benefices in the gift of the College, these acting as a species of pension. One form of benefaction frequently bestowed by past members was the gift of an advowson; one or two benefactors left estates, the revenues from which were to accumulate, and with the sums so raised advowsons were to be purchased. Presentation to livings went by seniority of standing, and this practice, with the restriction on marriage, gave rise to the belief, still prevalent in many parishes where the College is patron, that the College on a vacancy always chooses for the next incumbent "the oldest bachelor." It seems probable, without any minute statistical inquiry, that most of the Fellows left the College before the age of forty. A few remained on for life. It is difficult now to reconstruct a picture of the High Table, made up as it was for many years of a group of middle-aged or elderly men, with a considerable admixture of youthful Fellow Commoners. During the eighteenth century the proportion of Fellow Commoners was probably from one-fourth to one-third of those dining together, and constraint on both sides must have been almost inevitable. The terms "don" and "donnishness" seem to have acquired their uncomplimentary meaning about this period. The precise significance of "don" is not easy to express concisely; the most felicitous is perhaps that of the Oxford _Shotover Papers_, where we read that don means, in Spain, a gentleman; in England, a Fellow. The abolition of the Fellow Commoner was perhaps chiefly due to the rise of the democratic spirit and a general dislike of privilege, but there are other grounds for welcoming it. Of the individuals who make up the stream of youthful life which has ebbed and flowed through the College gate there is but little official record. An Admonition Book exists, in which more than a century ago those who were punished for graver offences against discipline signed the record of their sentence and promised amendment. One youth admits over a trembling signature that he was "admonished by the Master, before the Seniors, for keeping strangers in my chamber till twelve o' the clock, and disturbing the Master by knocking at his gate in an irreverent manner at that hour for the keys of the gate." When the College gate was closed it may be explained that the keys were placed in the Master's keeping. We are, however, left in ignorance of what passed in that chamber until the midnight hour. Yet no doubt the student in past days had his amusements as well as his successor of the present day--rougher perhaps, but not less agreeable to him. In Bishop Fisher's statutes archery was encouraged as a pastime, and we know from Ascham's writings that he indulged in it. In the sixteenth century the College built a tennis-court for the use of its members. John Hall, who entered the College in 1646, recommended "shittlecock" as fit for students--"it requires a nimble arme with quick and waking eye." We hear of horse matches and cock-fighting, but in terms of disapproval. Football is mentioned in 1574, when the Vice-Chancellor directed that scholars should only play upon their own College ground. In 1595 "the hurtful and unscholarly exercise of football" was forbidden, except within each College and between members of the same College. Certain general orders for the discipline of the undergraduates, which gave rise to much controversy about 1750, forbade cricket between the hours of nine and twelve in the morning. In 1763 the Vice-Chancellor required that no scholar, of whatever rank, should be present at bull-baiting. We read in the eighteenth century of "schemes" or water-parties on the river, but these appear to have been more of the nature of picnics than exercises of skill. Riding was probably very common, the student arriving on his nag, perhaps selling it and using the proceeds as a start in his new life. The phrase "Hobson's choice" took its rise from the rule in the livery stables of Hobson the carrier that a man who hired a hack had to take the one that stood nearest to the stable door. In later days stage-coaches supplied a more regular means of conveyance. Students leaving Cambridge for the North betook themselves to Huntingdon, and were housed at the George Inn there till places could be found for them in the coaches. The landlord of the George sending over to Cambridge to let it be known that one batch were gone and that another might come over. Traditions linger in parishes round Cambridge that the University "gentlemen" used certain fields or commons for the purpose of riding races; the Cottenham steeplechases are presumably a survival of this practice. Shooting and coursing, with a little hunting, came into vogue at the end of the eighteenth century. The rise and organisation of athletic sports as an essential element of College life would require a bulky history in itself. The first to take definite form was rowing. The historic boat club of the college is the Lady Margaret Boat Club; this was founded in the October term of 1825. The actual founder of the club seems to have been the Hon. Richard John Le Poer Trench, a son of the second Earl of Clancarty. Trench afterwards became a captain in the 52nd Regiment, and died 12th August 1841. The club was the first to start an eight-oared boat on the Cam, though some Trinity men had a four-oar on the river a short time before the Lady Margaret was started. Among the first members of the club were William Snow and Charles Merivale, afterwards Dean of Ely. Trench acted as stroke of the original first boat crew in the Lent Term of 1826. There were at first no regular races, but impromptu trials of speed with other crews frequently took place. In 1827 the University Boat Club was started, and regular bumping races begun. The first challenge to Oxford was determined on at a meeting of the University Boat Club held 20th February 1829, when it was resolved: "That Mr. Snow, of St. John's, be requested to write immediately to Mr. Staniforth, Christ Church, Oxford, proposing to make up a University Match." The match was made up, and the race rowed at Henley on 10th June 1829, and from this the annual boat-race between Oxford and Cambridge takes its rise. Snow acted as stroke of the Cambridge boat, George Augustus Selwyn, successively Bishop of New Zealand and Lichfield, rowed "seven," and Charles Merivale "four." Snow (afterwards Strahan) became a banker, and died at Florence 4th July 1886. In after years when, from 1861 to 1869 inclusive, Oxford had uniformly beaten Cambridge, the Lady Margaret supplied the late John H. D. Goldie to break the spell and restore hope and confidence to Cambridge crews. Thus the College club has taken an important part in the establishment and maintenance of Cambridge rowing. Two verses of the College boat song run as follows:-- "Mater regum Margareta Piscatori dixit laeta 'Audi quod propositum; Est remigium decorum Suavis strepitus remorum Ergo sit Collegium.' * * * * * Sic Collegium fundatum Et Johannis nomen datum Margareta domina, Ergo remiges gaudendum Triumphandum et canendum In saeclorum secula." So that, if we can trust the historic insight of the author (Mr. T. R. Glover), the intentions of the foundress have been duly carried out. The uniform of the club was at first much what it is now, a white jersey with pink stripes; with this was worn a jacket of scarlet flannel, popularly known as a "blazer"--a name which has passed into the English language as descriptive of the coloured jackets of all clubs. It is said that some one, whose feeling for analogy was stronger than for decorum, described the surplice as "the blazer of the Church of England." Organised cricket clubs, athletic clubs, and football clubs grew up, and in process of time clubs for the pursuit of every kind of athletic exercise have been started. Originally each club in College had a subscription, paid by its members, towards the expenses of the special game. About twenty years ago all the clubs in St. John's were united into one club--"The Amalgamation." The subscription to this entitles a member to join in any of the recognised games. The funds are administered by a committee consisting of the representatives of those interested in the different games, and grants made from the general fund towards the expenses of each game. The presence of a few senior members of the College on the committee provides the continuity so difficult to maintain with the short-lived generations of undergraduate life. The College provides the ground for the cricket, football, and lawn-tennis clubs, while through the generosity of members of the College of all standings a handsome boat-house has recently been built on the river. The College also possesses flourishing musical and debating societies, and from time to time clubs arise for literary and social purposes, dying out and being refounded with great persistence. In another sphere of work the College has taken a leading part. St. John's was the first College in Cambridge to start a mission in London--the Lady Margaret Mission in Walworth. Preaching in the College Chapel on 28th January 1883, the Rev. William Allen Whitworth, a Fellow of the College, then Vicar of St. John's, Hammersmith, afterwards Incumbent of All Saints', Margaret Street, suggested that the College should support a mission in some neglected district of London. The matter took form a little later in the year, and since then the College Mission has been a College institution. Members of the College visiting the mission district, and visitors from Walworth coming for an annual outing, including a cricket match, in August. Another flourishing institution is the College magazine, _The Eagle_. Founded in the year 1858, it has maintained its existence for nearly fifty years, being now the oldest of College magazines. It has numbered among its contributors many who have subsequently found a wider field and audience: some of the earliest efforts of Samuel Butler, author of _Erewhon_, are to be found in its pages. * * * * * I now bring my sketch of the College history to a close. I have endeavoured, within the prescribed limits, to give an outline of the corporate life of an ancient and famous foundation. In writing it two classes of readers have been borne in mind: the visitor who, within a short compass, may wish to learn something more than can be picked up by an inspection of the buildings; members of the College who feel a lively interest in the habits and pursuits of those who have preceded them. I have, perhaps, thought more of the latter than of the former class. Members of the College have always been distinguished for a certain independence of thought and adherence to principle, not always guided by motives of mere worldly prudence; they have always been noted for that strong corporate feeling which finds expression in the words of Viscount Falkland's letter, before alluded to: "I still carry about with me an indelible character of affection and duty to that Society, and an extraordinary longing for some occasion of expressing that affection and that duty." To one who has spent much of his life in the service of the institution to which he owes so much, the words of the Psalmist (a Scot naturally quotes the version endeared to him by early association) seem to put the matter concisely-- "For in her rubbish and her stones thy servants pleasure take; Yea, they the very dust thereof do favour for her sake." INDEX Adams, J. C., 16, 25, 26, 29, 82 Admonition Book, 100 Armorial Bearings, 2 Arrowsmith, J., 57 Ascham, R., 19, 23, 44 Ashton, H., 19 Baker, T., 28, 32, 61 Balsham, Hugo de, 36 Baronsdale, W., 50 Barwick, J., 31 Bateson, W. H., 81 Beale, W., 56 "Blazer," 104 Blunt, J. J., 22 Boat Club, 102 Bohun, H., 47 "Bridge of Sighs," 8, 10 Briggs, H., 51 Brown, "Capability," 10 Bull-baiting, 101 Burghley, Lord, 18, 48 Carey, V., 28 Catton, T., 70 Caxton, 31 Celibacy, 97 Chapel, New, 13-17 Chapel, Old, 4, 13 Charles I., 26, 30, 52, 56, 86 Charles II., 31 Cheke, Sir J., 44 Churchill, C., 70, 72 Clarkson, T., 26 Clayton, R., 49 Clive, R. H., 22 College Leases, 91 Combination Room, 5, 23, 25, 27 Commons, 43, 90 Corn Rents, 91 Cricket, 101 Cromwell, O., 56, 63 Cromwell, T., 29, 30 Dallam, R., 22 Dawson, J., 70 Denman, T., 71 Digby, E., 48 Dividend, 92 _Eagle, The_, 106 Eagle Close, 10 Edward VI., 45 Elizabeth, Queen, 46, 47 Estates, 93 Examinations, 24, 69 Fairfax, T., 31, 56, 62 Falkland, Viscount, 18, 62, 107 Fawkes, Sir W. H., 96 Fellow Commoners, 66, 96, 97, 99 Fisher, John, 37 Floods, 7 Football, 101 Forster, T., 63 Frost, H., 35 Ganton, R., 70 Gilbert, W., 18, 50, 51 Glover, T. R., 104 Goldie, J. H. D., 103 Gower, H., 7, 59, 60 Gunning, P., 57 Gwyn, O., 52, 62 Hall, The, 23 Hare, Sir R., 25 Hawksmoor, N., 8 Heberden, W., 73 Henrietta Maria, Queen, 26 Henry VII., 38 Henry VIII., 18, 38, 41, 45, 86 Herrick, R., 63 Herschel, Sir J. F. W., 25, 26, 82 High Altar, 46 Hill, R., 84 Hoare, H., 16 Hoghton, General, 70 Hopton, Sir I., 63 Horne Tooke, 72 Hospital of St. John, 14, 35 Howard, Lord Thomas, 3 Hutchinson, H., 8 Infirmary, 17 James I., 26, 49, 52 James II., 58 Jenkin, R., 61, 64 Kennedy, B. H., 25 Kikuchi, D., 83 Kirke White, H., 4, 20 Kitchen, 32 Knox, E., 17 Knox, John, 17 Knox, N., 17 Labyrinth, 17, 18, 94 Lady Margaret, 1, 2, 37 Laud, 30 Leases, 92 Library, 25, 27, 28 Lillechurch, 30, 41 Linacre, T., 49 Liveing, G. D., 25 Longworth, R., 47, 89 Ludlam, W., 70 Martyn, H., 71 Mary, Queen, 46 Mason, W., 72 Master's Lodge, 15, 25 Mayor, J. E. B., 25, 61 Mengs, R. A., 22 Merivale, C., 102, 103 Metcalfe, N., 20, 40, 42 Mission, Walworth, 105 Mortuary Roll, 30 Mossom, D., 63 Newcome, J., 31 Nonjurors, 59 Norton, F., 72 Oates, Titus, 63 Okeley, F., 84 Organ, 22 Ospringe, 41 Palmer, E. H., 25 Palmerston, Viscount, 71 Parsons, Hon. C. A., 83 Paul's Cross, 43 Peckover, Dr. A., 39 Pennington, Sir I., 90 Percy, A., 40 Peterhouse, 36, 37 Pilkington, J., 89 Powell, Sir F. S., 16 Powell, W. S., 69 Powis, Earl, 21 _Præter_, 91 Prior, M., 32, 63 Reform, University, 80 Registers, 61, 62 Reyner, G. F., 16 Rickman, T., 8 Rowing, 102 St. John's Street, 16 Scott, A. J., 71, 72 Scott, Sir G. G., 15, 17 Scott, J. O., 22 Seaton, G., 55 Selwyn, G. A., 26, 103 Selwyn, W., 15 Seven Bishops, 58 Shittlecock, 101 Shorton, R., 40 Shrewsbury, Countess of, 5, 19, 28 Sizar, 97 Smith, R., 50 Smith, W., 73 Snow, W., 102, 103 Stag Staircase, 4 Stage Plays, 23, 95 Staincoat, 5 Stankard, 5 Statues, 18 Statutes, 42, 43, 61, 74, 79, 81 Strafford, Lord, 18, 56, 62 Tatham, R., 22, 80 Taylor, B., 63 Taylor, C., 82 Thomas, Sir N., 25 Townshend, Marquis, 70 Trench, R. J. Le P., 102 Trinity College, 44 Tuckney, A., 57 Tutorial System, 77 Tyrrell, W., 26 Victoria, Queen, 18 Washington, Geo., 64 Whitaker, W., 48 Whitgift, J., 48 Whitworth, W. A., 105 Whytehead, T., 22 Wilberforce, W., 26 Wilderness, The, 9, 10 Williams, John, 7, 18, 25, 27, 28, 29, 52 Wood, J., 20, 78 Wordsworth, W., 25, 26, 32 Wren, Sir C., 7 Wren's Bridge, 8, 9 THE END Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. Edinburgh & London * * * * * TRANSCRIBERS' NOTES General: Spelling of words in quotations has been preserved. General: Corrections to punctuation have not been individually documented. Page 51: logarithims corrected to logarithms (second occurrence) 
39203	----	available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org) Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See http://www.archive.org/details/edinburghelevenp00barrrich AN EDINBURGH ELEVEN Pencil Portraits from College Life by J. M. BARRIE Author of "The Little Minister," "A Window in Thrums," "When a Man's Single," "Auld Licht Idylls," etc. New York Lovell, Coryell & Company 5 And 7 East Sixteenth Street CONTENTS. PAGE I. LORD ROSEBERY, 7 II. PROFESSOR MASSON, 19 III. PROFESSOR BLACKIE, 31 IV. PROFESSOR CALDERWOOD, 41 V. PROFESSOR TAIT, 53 VI. PROFESSOR FRASER, 67 VII. PROFESSOR CHRYSTAL, 77 VIII. PROFESSOR SELLAR, 91 IX. MR. JOSEPH THOMSON, 105 X. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, 115 XI. REV. WALTER C. SMITH, D.D., 129 LORD ROSEBERY. I. LORD ROSEBERY. The first time I ever saw Lord Rosebery was in Edinburgh when I was a student, and I flung a clod of earth at him. He was a peer; those were my politics. I missed him, and I have heard a good many journalists say since then that he is a difficult man to hit. One who began by liking him and is now scornful, which is just the reverse process from mine, told me the reason why. He had some brochures to write on the Liberal leaders, and got on nicely till he reached Lord Rosebery, where he stuck. In vain he walked round his lordship, looking for an opening. The man was naturally indignant; he is the father of a family. Lord Rosebery is forty-one years of age, and has missed many opportunities of becoming the bosom friend of Lord Randolph Churchill. They were at Eton together and at Oxford, and have met since. As a boy, the Liberal played at horses, and the Tory at running off with other boys' caps. Lord Randolph was the more distinguished at the university. One day a proctor ran him down in the streets smoking in his cap and gown. The undergraduate remarked on the changeability of the weather, but the proctor, gasping at such bravado, demanded his name and college. Lord Randolph failed to turn up next day at St. Edmund Hall to be lectured, but strolled to the proctor's house about dinner-time. "Does a fellow, name of Moore, live here?" he asked. The footman contrived not to faint. "He do," he replied, severely; "but he are at dinner." "Ah! take him in my card," said the unabashed caller. The Merton books tell that for this the noble lord was fined ten pounds. There was a time when Lord Rosebery would have reformed the House of Lords to a site nearer Newmarket. As politics took a firmer grip of him, it was Newmarket that seemed a long way off. One day at Edinburgh he realized the disadvantage of owning swift horses. His brougham had met him at Waverley Station to take him to Dalmeny. Lord Rosebery opened the door of the carriage to put in some papers, and then turned away. The coachman, too well bred to look round, heard the door shut, and, thinking that his master was inside, set off at once. Pursuit was attempted, but what was there in Edinburgh streets to make up on those horses? The coachman drove seven miles, until he reached a point in the Dalmeny parks where it was his lordship's custom to alight and open a gate. Here the brougham stood for some minutes, awaiting Lord Rosebery's convenience. At last the coachman became uneasy and dismounted. His brain reeled when he saw an empty brougham. He could have sworn to seeing his lordship enter. There were his papers. What had happened? With a quaking hand the horses were turned, and, driving back, the coachman looked fearfully along the sides of the road. He met Lord Rosebery travelling in great good humor by the luggage omnibus. Whatever is to be Lord Rosebery's future, he has reached that stage in a statesman's career when his opponents cease to question his capacity. His speeches showed him long ago a man of brilliant parts. His tenure of the Foreign Office proved him heavy metal. Were the Gladstonians to return to power, the other Cabinet posts might go anywhere, but the Foreign Secretary is arranged for. Where his predecessors had clouded their meaning in words till it was as wrapped up as a Mussulman's head, Lord Rosebery's were the straightforward despatches of a man with his mind made up. German influence was spoken of; Count Herbert Bismarck had been seen shooting Lord Rosebery's partridges. This was the evidence: there has never been any other, except that German methods commended themselves to the minister rather than those of France. His relations with the French government were cordial. "The talk of Bismarck's shadow behind Rosebery," a great French politician said lately, "I put aside with a smile; but how about the Jews?" Probably few persons realize what a power the Jews are in Europe, and in Lord Rosebery's position he is a strong man if he holds his own with them. Any fears on that ground have, I should say, been laid by his record at the Foreign Office. Lord Rosebery had once a conversation with Prince Bismarck, to which, owing to some oversight, the Paris correspondent of the _Times_ was not invited. M. Blowitz only smiled good-naturedly, and of course his report of the proceedings appeared all the same. Some time afterward Lord Rosebery was introduced to this remarkable man, who, as is well known, carries Cabinet appointments in his pocket, and complimented him on his report. "Ah, it was all right, was it?" asked Blowitz, beaming. Lord Rosebery explained that any fault it had was that it was all wrong. "Then if Bismarck did not say that to you," said Blowitz, regally, "I know he intended to say it." The "Uncrowned King of Scotland" is a title that has been made for Lord Rosebery, whose country has had faith in him from the beginning. Mr. Gladstone is the only other man who can make so many Scotsmen take politics as if it were the Highland Fling. Once when Lord Rosebery was firing an Edinburgh audience to the delirium point, an old man in the hall shouted out, "I dinna hear a word he says, but it's grand, it's grand!" During the first Midlothian campaign Mr. Gladstone and Lord Rosebery were the father and son of the Scottish people. Lord Rosebery rode into fame on the top of that wave, and he has kept his place in the hearts of the people, and in oleographs on their walls, ever since. In all Scottish matters he has the enthusiasm of a Burns dinner, and his humor enables him to pay compliments. When he says agreeable things to Scotsmen about their country, there is a twinkle in his eye and in theirs to which English scribes cannot give a meaning. He has unveiled so many Burns statues that an American lecturess explains: "Curious thing, but I feel somehow I am connected with Lord Rosebery. I go to a place and deliver a lecture on Burns; they collect subscriptions for a statue, and he unveils it." Such is the delight of the Scottish students in Lord Rosebery that he may be said to have made the triumphal tour of the northern universities as their lord-rector; he lost the post in Glasgow lately through a quibble, but had the honor with the votes. His address to the Edinburgh undergraduates on "Patriotism" was the best thing he ever did outside politics, and made the students his for life. Some of them had smuggled into the hall a chair with "Gaelic chair" placarded on it, and the lord-rector unwittingly played into their hands. In a noble peroration he exhorted his hearers to high aims in life. "Raise your country," he exclaimed [cheers]; "raise yourselves [renewed cheering]; raise your university [thunders of applause]." From the back of the hall came a solemn voice, "Raise the chair!" Up went the Gaelic chair. Even Lord Rosebery's views on imperial federation can become a compliment to Scotland. Having been all over the world himself, and felt how he grew on his travels, Lord Rosebery maintains that every British statesman should visit India and the colonies. He said that first at a semi-public dinner in the country--and here I may mention that on such occasions he has begun his speeches less frequently than any other prominent politician with a statement that others could be got to discharge the duty better; in other words, he has several times omitted this introduction. On his return to London he was told that his colleagues in the Administration had been seeing how his scheme would work out. "We found that if your rule were enforced, the Cabinet would consist of yourself and Childers." "This would be an ideal cabinet," Lord Rosebery subsequently remarked in Edinburgh, "for it would be entirely Scottish," Mr. Childers being member for a Scottish constituency. The present unhappy division of the Liberal party has made enemies of friends for no leading man so little as for Lord Rosebery. There are forces working against him, no doubt, in comparatively high places, but the Unionists have kept their respect for him. His views may be wrong, but he is about the only Liberal leader, with the noble exception of Lord Hartington, of whom troublous times have not rasped the temper. Though a great reader, he is not a literary man like Mr. Morley, who would, however, be making phrases where Lord Rosebery would make laws. Sir William Harcourt has been spoken of as a possible prime minister, but surely it will never come to that. If Mr. Gladstone's successor is chosen from those who have followed him on the home-rule question, he probably was not rash in himself naming Lord Rosebery. Lord Rosebery could not now step up without stepping into the premiership. His humor, which is his most obvious faculty, has been a prop to him many a time ere now, but, if I was his adviser, I should tell him that it has served its purpose. There are a great many excellent people who shake their heads over it in a man who has become a power in the land. "Let us be grave," said Dr. Johnson once to a merry companion, "for here comes a fool." In an unknown novel there is a character who says of himself that "he is not stupid enough ever to be a great man." I happen to know that this reflection was evolved by the author out of thinking over Lord Rosebery. It is not easy for a bright man to be heavy, and Lord Rosebery's humor is so spontaneous that if a joke is made in their company he has always finished laughing before Lord Hartington begins. Perhaps when Lord Rosebery is on the point of letting his humor run off with him in a public speech, he could recover his solemnity by thinking of the _Examiner_. PROFESSOR MASSON. II. PROFESSOR MASSON. Though a man might, to my mind, be better employed than in going to college, it is his own fault if he does not strike on some one there who sends his life off at a new angle. If, as I take it, the glory of a professor is to give elastic minds their proper bent, Masson is a name his country will retain a grip of. There are men who are good to think of, and as a rule we only know them from their books. Something of our pride in life would go with their fall. To have one such professor at a time is the most a university can hope of human nature; so Edinburgh need not expect another just yet. These, of course, are only to be taken as the reminiscences of a student. I seem to remember everything Masson said, and the way he said it. Having, immediately before taken lodgings in a crow's nest, my first sight of Masson was specially impressive. It was the opening of the session, when fees were paid, and a whisper ran round the quadrangle that Masson had set off home with three hundred one-pound notes stuffed into his trouser pockets. There was a solemn swell of awestruck students to the gates, and some of us could not help following him. He took his pockets coolly. When he stopped it was at a second-hand bookstall, where he rummaged for a long time. Eventually he pounced upon a dusty, draggled little volume, and went off proudly with it beneath his arm. He seemed to look suspiciously at strangers now, but it was not the money but the book he was keeping guard over. His pockets, however, were unmistakably bulging out. I resolved to go in for literature. Masson, however, always comes to my memory first knocking nails into his desk or trying to tear the gas-bracket from its socket. He said that the Danes scattered over England, taking such a hold as a nail takes when it is driven into wood. For the moment he saw his desk turned into England; he whirled an invisible hammer in the air, and down it came on the desk with a crash. No one who has sat under Masson can forget how the Danes nailed themselves upon England. His desk is thick with their tombstones. It was when his mind groped for an image that he clutched the bracket. He seemed to tear his good things out of it. Silence overcame the class. Some were fascinated by the man; others trembled for the bracket. It shook, groaned, and yielded. Masson said another of the things that made his lectures literature; the crisis was passed; and everybody breathed again. He masters a subject by letting it master him; for though his critical reputation is built on honesty, it is his enthusiasm that makes his work warm with life. Sometimes he entered the class-room so full of what he had to say that he began before he reached his desk. If he was in the middle of a peroration when the bell rang, even the back benches forgot to empty. There were the inevitable students to whom literature is a trial, and sometimes they call attention to their sufferings by a scraping of the feet. Then the professor tried to fix his eyeglass on them, and when it worked properly they were transfixed. As a rule, however, it required so many adjustments that by the time his eye took hold of it he had remembered that students were made so, and his indignation went. Then, with the light in his eye that some photographer ought to catch, he would hope that his lecture was not disturbing their conversation. It was characteristic of his passion for being just that, when he had criticised some writer severely he would remember that the back benches could not understand that criticism and admiration might go together, unless they were told so again. The test of a sensitive man is that he is careful of wounding the feelings of others. Once, I remember, a student was reading a passage aloud, assuming at the same time such an attitude that the professor could not help remarking that he looked like a teapot. It was exactly what he did look like, and the class applauded. But next moment Masson had apologized for being personal. Such reminiscences are what make the old literature class-room to thousands of graduates a delight to think of. When the news of Carlyle's death reached the room, Masson could not go on with his lecture. Every one knows what Carlyle has said of him; and no one who has heard it will ever forget what he has said of Carlyle. Here were two men who understood each other. One of the Carlylean pictures one loves to dwell on shows them smoking together, with nothing breaking the pauses but Mrs. Carlyle's needles. Carlyle told Masson how he gave up smoking and then took to it again. He had walked from Dumfriesshire to Edinburgh to consult a doctor about his health, and was advised to lose his pipe. He smoked no more, but his health did not improve, and then one day he walked in a wood. At the foot of a tree lay a pipe, a tobacco pouch, a match-box. He saw clearly that this was a case of Providential interference, and from that moment he smoked again. There the professor's story stops. I have no doubt, though, that he nodded his head when Carlyle explained what the pipe and tobacco were doing there. Masson's "Milton" is, of course, his great work, but for sympathetic analysis I know nothing to surpass his "Chatterton." Lecturing on Chatterton one day, he remarked, with a slight hesitation, that had the poet mixed a little more in company and--and smoked, his morbidness would not have poisoned him. That turned my thoughts to smoking, because I meant to be a Chatterton, but greater. Since then the professor has warned me against smoking too much. He was smoking at the time. This is no place to follow Masson's career, nor to discuss his work. To reach his position one ought to know his definition of a man of letters. It is curious, and, like most of his departures from the generally accepted, sticks to the memory. By a man of letters he does not mean the poet, for instance, who is all soul, so much as the strong-brained writer whose guardian angel is a fine sanity. He used to mention John Skelton, the Wolsey satirist, and Sir David Lindsay, as typical men of letters from this point of view, and it is as a man of letters of that class that Masson is best considered. In an age of many whipper-snappers in criticism, he is something of a Gulliver. The students in that class liked to see their professor as well as hear him. I let my hair grow long because it only annoyed other people, and one day there was dropped into my hand a note containing sixpence and the words: "The students sitting behind you present their compliments, and beg that you will get your hair cut with the enclosed, as it interferes with their view of the professor." Masson, when he edited _Macmillan's_, had all the best men round him. His talk of Thackeray is specially interesting, but he always holds that in conversation Douglas Jerrold was unapproachable. Jerrold told him a good story of his seafaring days. His ship was lying off Gibraltar, and for some hours Jerrold, though only a midshipman, was left in charge. Some of the sailors begged to get ashore, and he let them, on the promise that they would bring him back some oranges. One of them disappeared, and the midshipman suffered for it. More than twenty years afterward Jerrold was looking in at a window in the Strand when he seemed to know the face of a weatherbeaten man who was doing the same thing. Suddenly he remembered, and put his hand on the other's shoulder. "My man," he said, "you have been a long time with those oranges!" The sailor recognized him, turned white, and took to his heels. There is, too, the story of how Dickens and Jerrold made up their quarrel at the Garrick Club. It was the occasion on which Masson first met the author of "Pickwick." Dickens and Jerrold had not spoken for a year, and they both happened to have friends at dinner in the strangers' room, Masson being Jerrold's guest. The two hosts sat back to back, but did not address each other, though the conversation was general. At last Jerrold could stand it no longer. Turning, he exclaimed, "Charley, my boy, how are you?" Dickens wheeled round and grasped his hand. Many persons must have noticed that, in appearance, Masson is becoming more and more like Carlyle every year. How would you account for it? It is a thing his old students often discuss when they meet, especially those of them who, when at college, made up their minds to dedicate their first book to him. The reason they seldom do it is because the book does not seem good enough. PROFESSOR JOHN STUART BLACKIE. III. PROFESSOR JOHN STUART BLACKIE. Lately I was told that Blackie--one does not say Mr. Cromwell--is no longer professor of Greek in Edinburgh University. What nonsense some people talk! As if Blackie were not part of the building! In his class one day he spoke touchingly of the time when he would have to join Socrates in the Elysian fields. A student cheered--no one knows why. "It won't be for some time yet," added John Stuart. Blackie takes his ease at home, in a dressing-gown and straw hat. This shows that his plaid really does come off. "My occupation nowadays," he said to me recently, "is business, blethers, bothers, beggars, and backgammon." He has also started a profession of going to public meetings, and hurrying home to write letters to the newspapers about them. When the editor shakes the manuscript, a sonnet falls out. I think I remember the professor's saying that he had never made five shillings by his verses. To my mind they are worth more than that. Though he has explained them frequently, there is still confusion about Blackie's politics. At Manchester they thought he was a Tory, and invited him to address them, on that understanding. "I fancy I astonished them," the professor said to me. This is quite possible. Then he was mistaken for a Liberal. The fact is that Blackie is a philosopher, who follows the golden mean. He sees this himself. A philosopher who follows the golden mean is thus a man who runs zig-zag between two extremes. You will observe that he who does this is some time before he arrives anywhere. The professor has said that he has the strongest lungs in Scotland. Of the many compliments that might well be paid him, not the least worthy would be this: that he is as healthy mentally as physically. Mrs. Norton begins a novel with the remark that one of the finest sights conceivable is a well-preserved gentleman of middle age. It will be some time yet before Blackie reaches middle age, but there must be something wrong with you if you can look at him without feeling refreshed. Did you ever watch him marching along Princes Street on a warm day, when every other person was broiling in the sun? His head is well thrown back, the staff, grasped in the middle, jerks back and forward like a weaver's shuttle, and the plaid flies in the breeze. Other people's clothes are hanging limp. Blackie carries his breeze with him. A year or two ago Mr. Gladstone, when at Dalmeny, pointed out that he had the advantage over Blackie in being of both Highland and Lowland extraction. The professor, however, is as Scotch as the thistle or his native hills, and Mr. Gladstone, quite justifiably, considers him the most outstanding of living Scotsmen. Blackie is not quite sure himself. Not long ago I heard him read a preface to a life of Mr. Gladstone that was being printed at Smyrna in modern Greek. He told his readers to remember that Mr. Gladstone was a great scholar and an upright statesman. They would find it easy to do this if they first remembered that he was Scottish. The _World_ included Blackie in its list of "Celebrities at Home." It said that the door was opened by a red-headed lassie. That was probably meant for local color, and it amused every one who knew Mrs. Blackie. The professor is one of the most genial of men, and will show you to your room himself, talking six languages. This tends to make the conversation one-sided, but he does not mind that. He still writes a good deal, spending several hours in his library daily, and his talk is as brilliant as ever. His writing nowadays is less sustained than it was, and he prefers flitting from one subject to another, to evolving a great work. When he dips his pen into an ink-pot, it at once writes a sonnet--so strong is the force of habit. Recently he wrote a page about Carlyle in a little book issued by the Edinburgh students' bazaar committee. In this he reproved Carlyle for having "bias." Blackie wonders why people should have bias. Some readers of this may in their student days have been invited to the Greek professor's house to breakfast, without knowing why they were selected from among so many. It was not, as they are probably aware, because of their classical attainments, for they were too thoughtful to be in the prize-list; nor was it because of the charm of their manners or the fascination of their conversation. When the professor noticed any physical peculiarity about a student, such as a lisp, or a glass eye, or one leg longer than the other, or a broken nose, he was at once struck by it, and asked him to breakfast. They were very lively breakfasts, the eggs being served in tureens; but sometimes it was a collection of the maimed and crooked, and one person at the table--not the host himself--used to tremble lest, making mirrors of each other, the guests should see why they were invited. Sometimes, instead of asking a student to breakfast, Blackie would instruct another student to request his company to tea. Then the two students were told to talk about paulo-post futures in the cool of the evening, and to read their Greek Testament and to go to the pantomime. The professor never tired of giving his students advice about the preservation of their bodily health. He strongly recommended a cold bath at six o'clock every morning. In winter, he remarked genially, you can break the ice with a hammer. According to himself, only one enthusiast seems to have followed his advice, and he died. In Blackie's class-room there used to be a demonstration every time he mentioned the name of a distinguished politician. Whether the demonstration took the professor by surprise or whether he waited for it, will never perhaps be known. But Blackie at least put out the gleam in his eye, and looked as if he were angry. "I will say Beaconsfield," he would exclaim (cheers and hisses). "Beaconsfield" (uproar). Then he would stride forward, and, seizing the railing, announce his intention of saying Beaconsfield until every goose in the room was tired of cackling. ("Question.") "Beaconsfield." ("No, no.") "Beaconsfield." ("Hear, hear," and shouts of "Gladstone.") "Beaconsfield." ("Three cheers for Dizzy.") Eventually the class would be dismissed as--(1) idiots, (2) a bear garden, (3) a flock of sheep, (4) a pack of numskulls, (5) hissing serpents. The professor would retire, apparently fuming, to his anteroom, and five minutes afterward he would be playing himself down the North Bridge on imaginary bagpipes. This sort of thing added a sauce to all academic sessions. There was a notebook also, which appeared year after year. It contained the professor's jokes of a former session, carefully classified by an admiring student. It was handed down from one year's men to the next; and thus, if Blackie began to make a joke about haggis, the possessor of the book had only swiftly to turn to the H's, find what the joke was, and send it along the class quicker than the professor could speak it. In the old days the Greek professor recited a poem in honor of the end of the session. He composed it himself, and, as known to me, it took the form of a graduate's farewell to his alma mater. Sometimes he would knock a map down as if overcome with emotion, and at critical moments a student in the back benches would accompany him on a penny trumpet. Now, I believe, the Hellenic Club takes the place of the class-room. All the eminent persons in Edinburgh attend its meetings, and Blackie, the Athenian, is in the chair. The policeman in Douglas Crescent looks skeered when you ask him what takes place on these occasions. It is generally understood that toward the end of the meeting they agree to read Greek next time. PROFESSOR CALDERWOOD. IV. PROFESSOR CALDERWOOD. Here is a true story that the general reader may jump, as it is intended for Professor Calderwood himself. Some years ago an English daily paper reviewed a book entitled "A Handbook of Moral Philosophy." The professor knows the work. The "notice" was done by the junior reporter, to whom philosophical treatises are generally intrusted. He dealt leniently, on the whole, with Professor Calderwood, even giving him a word of encouragement here and there. Still the criticism was severe. The reviewer subsequently went to Edinburgh University, and came out 144th in the class of moral philosophy. That student is now, I believe, on friendly terms with Professor Calderwood, but has never told him this story. I fancy the professor would like to know his name. It may perhaps be reached in this way: He was the young gentleman who went to his classes the first day in a black coat and silk hat, and was cheered round the quadrangle by a body of admiring fellow-students, who took him for a professor. Calderwood contrives to get himself more in touch with the mass of his students than some of his fellow-professors, partly because he puts a high ideal before himself, and to some extent because his subject is one that Scottish students revel in. Long before they join his class they know that they are moral philosophers; indeed, they are sometimes surer of it before they enrol than afterward. Their essays begin in some such fashion as this: "In joining issue with Reid, I wish to take no unfair advantage of my antagonist;" or, "Kant is sadly at fault when he says that----" or, "It is strange that a man of Locke's attainments should have been blind to the fact----" When the professor reads out these tit-bits to the class, his eyes twinkle. Some students, of course, are not such keen philosophers as others. Does Professor Calderwood remember the one who was never struck by anything in moral philosophy until he learned by accident that Descartes lay in bed till about twelve o'clock every morning? Then it dawned on him that he, too, must have been a philosopher all his life without knowing it. One year a father and son were in the class. The father got so excited over volition and the line that divides right from wrong that he wrenched the desk before him from its sockets and hit it triumphantly, meaning that he and the professor were at one. He was generally admired by his fellow-students, because he was the only one in the class who could cry out "Hear, hear," and even "Question," without blushing. The son, on the other hand, was _blasé_, and would have been an agnostic, only he could never remember the name. Once a week Calderwood turns his class into a debating society, and argues things out with his students. This field-day is a joy to them. Some of them spend the six days previous in preparing posers. The worst of the professor is that he never sees that they are posers. What is the use of getting up a question of the most subtle kind, when he answers it right away? It makes you sit down quite suddenly. There is an occasional student who tries to convert liberty of speech on the discussion day into license, and of him the professor makes short work. The student means to turn the laugh on Calderwood, and then Calderwood takes advantage of him, and the other students laugh at the wrong person. It is the older students, as a rule, who are most violently agitated over these philosophical debates. One with a beard cracks his fingers, after the manner of a child in a village school that knows who won the battle of Bannockburn, and feels that he must burst if he does not let it out at once. A bald-headed man rises every minute to put a question, and then sits down, looking stupid. He has been trying so hard to remember what it is that he has forgotten. There is a legend of two who quarrelled over the Will and fought it out on Arthur's Seat. One year, however, a boy of sixteen or so, with a squeaky voice and a stammer, was Calderwood's severest critic. He sat on the back bench, and what he wanted to know was something about the infinite. Every discussion day he took advantage of a lull in the debate to squeak out, "With regard to the infinite," and then could never get any further. No one ever discovered what he wanted enlightenment on about the infinite. He grew despondent as the session wore on, but courageously stuck to his point. Probably he is a soured man now. For purposes of exposition, Calderwood has a blackboard in his lecture-room, on which he chalks circles that represent the feelings and the will, with arrows shooting between them. In my class there was a boy, a very little boy, who had been a dux at school and was a dunce at college. He could not make moral philosophy out at all, but did his best. Here were his complete notes for one day: "Edinburgh University; Class of Moral Philosophy; Professor Calderwood; Lecture 64; Jan. 11. 18--You rub out the arrow, and there is only the circle left." Professor Calderwood is passionately fond of music, as those who visit at his house know. He is of opinion that there is a great deal of moral philosophy in "The Dead March in Saul." Once he said something to that effect in his class, adding enthusiastically that he could excuse the absence of a student who had been away hearing "The Dead March in Saul." After that he received a good many letters from students, worded in this way: "Mr. McNaughton (bench 7) presents his compliments to Professor Calderwood, and begs to state that his absence from the class yesterday was owing to his being elsewhere, hearing 'The Dead March in Saul.'" "Dear Professor Calderwood: I regret my absence from the lecture to-day, but hope you will overlook it, as I was unavoidably detained at home, practising 'The Dead March in Saul.' Yours truly, Peter Webster." "Professor Calderwood: Dear Sir,--As I was coming to the lecture to-day, I heard 'The Dead March in Saul' being played in the street. You will, I am sure, make allowance for my non-attendance at the class, as I was too much affected to come. It is indeed a grand march. Yours faithfully, John Robbie." "The students whose names are subjoined thank the professor of moral philosophy most cordially for his remarks on the elevating power of music. They have been encouraged thereby to start a class for the proper study of the impressive and solemn march to which he called special attention, and hope he will excuse them, should their practisings occasionally prevent their attendance at the Friday lectures." Professor Calderwood does not lecture on "The Dead March in Saul" now. The class of moral philosophy is not for the few, but the many. Some professors do not mind what becomes of the nine students, so long as they can force on every tenth. Calderwood, however, considers it his duty to carry the whole class along with him; and it is, as a consequence, almost impossible to fall behind. The lectures are not delivered, in the ordinary sense, but dictated. Having explained the subject of the day with the lucidity that is this professor's peculiar gift, he condenses his remarks into a proposition. It is as if a minister ended his sermon with the text. Thus: "Proposition 34: Man is born into the world--(You have got that? See that you have all got it.) Man is born into the world with a capacity--with a capacity----" (Anxious student: "If you please, professor, where did you say man was born into?") "Into the world, with a capacity to distinguish----" ("With a what, sir?")--"with a capacity to distinguish----" (Student: "Who is born into the world?") "Perhaps I have been reading too quickly. Man is born into the world, with a capacity to distinguish between--distinguish between----" (student shuts his book, thinking that completes the proposition)--"distinguish between right and wrong--right--and wrong. You have all got Proposition 34, gentlemen?" Once Calderwood was questioning a student about a proposition, to see that he thoroughly understood it. "Give an illustration," suggested the professor. The student took the case of a murderer. "Very good," said the professor. "Now give me another illustration." The student pondered for a little. "Well," he said at length, "take the case of another murderer." Professor Calderwood has such an exceptional interest in his students that he asks every one of them to his house. This is but one of many things that makes him generally popular; he also invites his ladies' class to meet them. The lady whom you take down to supper suggests Proposition 41 as a nice thing to talk about, and asks what you think of the metaphysics of ethics. Professor Calderwood sees the ladies into the cabs himself. It is the only thing I ever heard against him. PROFESSOR TAIT. V. PROFESSOR TAIT. Just as I opened my desk to write enthusiastically of Tait, I remembered having recently deciphered a pencil note about him, in my own handwriting, on the cover of Masson's "Chronological List," which I still keep by me. I turned to the note to see if there was life in it yet. "Walls," it says, "got 2s. for T. and T. at Brown's, 16 Walker Street." I don't recall Walls, but T. and T. was short for "Thomson and Tait's Elements of Natural Philosophy" (elements!), better known in my year as the "Student's First Glimpse of Hades." Evidently Walls sold his copy, but why did I take such note of the address? I fear T. and T. is one of the "Books Which Have Helped Me." This somewhat damps my ardor. When Tait was at Cambridge, it was flung in the face of the mathematicians that they never stood high in Scriptural knowledge. Tait and another were the two of whom one must be first wrangler, and they agreed privately to wipe this stigma from mathematics. They did it by taking year about the prize which was said to hang out of their reach. It is always interesting to know of professors who have done well in Biblical knowledge. All Scottish students at the English universities are not so successful. I knew a Snell man who was sent back from the Oxford entrance exam., and he always held himself that the Biblical questions had done it. Turner is said by medicals to be the finest lecturer in the university. He will never be that so long as Tait is in the natural philosophy chair. Never, I think, can there have been a more superb demonstrator. I have his burly figure before me. The small twinkling eyes had a fascinating gleam in them; he could concentrate them until they held the object looked at; when they flashed round the room he seemed to have drawn a rapier. I have seen a man fall back in alarm under Tait's eyes, though there were a dozen benches between them. These eyes could be merry as a boy's, though, as when he turned a tube of water on students who would insist on crowding too near an experiment, for Tait's was the humor of high spirits. I could conceive him at marbles still, and feeling annoyed at defeat. He could not fancy anything much funnier than a man missing his chair. Outside his own subject he is not, one feels, a six-footer. When Mr. R. L. Stevenson's memoir of the late Mr. Fleeming Jenkin was published, Tait said at great length that he did not like it; he would have had the sketch by a scientific man. But though scientists may be the only men nowadays who have anything to say, they are also the only men who can't say it. Scientific men out of their sphere know for a fact that novels are not true. So they draw back from novelists who write biography. Professor Tait and Mr. Stevenson are both men of note, who walk different ways, and when they meet neither likes to take the curbstone. If they were tied together for life in a three-legged race, which would suffer the more? But if Tait's science weighs him to the earth, he has a genius for sticking to his subject, and I am lost in admiration every time I bring back his lectures. It comes as natural to his old students to say when they meet, "What a lecturer Tait was!" as to Englishmen to joke about the bagpipes. It is not possible to draw a perfect circle, Chrystal used to say, after drawing a very fine one. To the same extent it was not possible for Tait never to fail in his experiments. The atmosphere would be too much for him once in a session, or there were other hostile influences at work. Tait warned us of these before proceeding to experiment, but we merely smiled. We believed in him as though he were a Bradshaw announcing that he would not be held responsible for possible errors. I had forgotten Lindsay--"the mother may forget her child." As I write, he has slipped back into his chair on the professor's right, and I could photograph him now in his brown suit. Lindsay was the imperturbable man who assisted Tait in his experiments, and his father held the post before him. When there were many of us together, we could applaud Lindsay with burlesque exaggeration, and he treated us good-humoredly, as making something considerable between us. But I once had to face Lindsay alone, in quest of my certificate; and suddenly he towered above me, as a waiter may grow tall when you find that you have not money enough to pay the bill. He treated me most kindly; did not reply, of course, but got the certificate, and handed it to me as a cashier contemptuously shovels you your pile of gold. Long ago I pasted up a crack in my window with the certificate, but it said, I remember, that I had behaved respectably--so far as I had come under the eyes of the professor. Tait was always an enthusiast. We have been keeping Lindsay waiting. When he had nothing special to do, he sat indifferently in his chair, with the face of a precentor after the sermon has begun. But though it was not very likely that Lindsay would pay much attention to talk about such playthings as the laws of nature, his fingers went out in the direction of the professor when the experiments began. Then he was not the precentor; he was a minister in one of the pews. Lindsay was an inscrutable man, and I shall not dare to say that he even half-wished to see Tait fail. He only looked on, ready for any emergency; but if the experiment would not come off, he was as quick to go to the professor's assistance as a member of Parliament is to begin when he has caught the Speaker's eye. Perhaps Tait would have none of his aid, or pushed the mechanism for the experiment from him--an intimation to Lindsay to carry it quickly to the ante-room. Do you think Lindsay read the instructions so? Let me tell you that your mind fails to seize hold of Lindsay. He marched the machine out of Tait's vicinity as a mother may push her erring boy away from his father's arms, to take him to her heart as soon as the door is closed. Lindsay took the machine to his seat, and laid it before him on the desk, with well-concealed apathy. Tait would flash his eye to the right to see what Lindsay was after, and there was Lindsay sitting with his arms folded. The professor's lecture resumed its way, and then out went Lindsay's hands to the machine. Here he tried a wheel; again he turned a screw; in time he had the machine ready for another trial. No one was looking his way, when suddenly there was a whizz--bang, bang. All eyes were turned upon Lindsay, the professor's among them. A cheer broke out as we realized that Lindsay had done the experiment. Was he flushed with triumph? Not a bit of it; he was again sitting with his arms folded. A Glasgow merchant of modest manners, when cross-examined in a law court, stated that he had a considerable monetary interest in a certain concern. "How much do you mean by a 'considerable monetary interest'?" demanded the contemptuous barrister who was cross-examining him. "Oh," said the witness, humbly, "a maiter o' a million an' a half--or, say, twa million." That Glasgow man in the witness-box is the only person I can think of, when looking about me for a parallel to Lindsay. While the professor eyed him and the students deliriously beat the floor, Lindsay quietly gathered the mechanism together and carried it to the ante-room. His head was not flung back nor his chest forward, like one who walked to music. In his hour of triumph he was still imperturbable. I lie back in my chair to-day, after the lapse of years, and ask myself again, How did Lindsay behave after he entered the ante-room, shutting the door behind him? Did he give way? There is no one to say. When he returned to the class-room he wore his familiar face; a man to ponder over. There is a legend about the natural philosophy class-room, the period long antecedent to Tait. The professor, annoyed by a habit students had got into of leaving their hats on his desk, announced that the next hat placed there would be cut in pieces by him in presence of the class. The warning had its effect, until one day when the professor was called for a few minutes from the room. An undergraduate, to whom the natural sciences, unrelieved, were a monotonous study, slipped into the ante-room, from which he emerged with the professor's hat. This he placed on the desk, and then stole in a panic to his seat. An awe fell upon the class. The professor returned, but when he saw the hat he stopped. He showed no anger. "Gentlemen," he said, "I told you what would happen if you again disobeyed my orders." Quite blandly he took a pen-knife from his pocket, slit the hat into several pieces, and flung them into the sink. While the hat was under the knife, the students forgot to demonstrate; but as it splashed into the sink, they gave forth a true British cheer. The end. Close to the door of the natural philosophy room is a window that in my memory will ever be sacred to a janitor. The janitors of the university were of varied interest, from the merry one who treated us as if we were his equals, and the soldier who sometimes looked as if he would like to mow us down, to the Head Man of All, whose name I dare not write, though I can whisper it. The janitor at the window, however, sat there through the long evenings while the Debating Society (of which I was a member) looked after affairs of state in an adjoining room. We were the smallest society in the university and the longest-winded, and I was once nearly expelled for not paying my subscription. Our grand debate was, "Is the policy of the government worthy the confidence of this society?" and we also read about six essays yearly on "The Genius of Robert Burns"; but it was on private business that we came out strongest. The question that agitated us most was whether the meetings should be opened with prayer, and the men who thought they should would not so much as look at the men who thought they should not. When the janitor was told that we had begun our private business, he returned to his window and slept. His great day was when we could not form a quorum, which happened now and then. Gregory was a member of that society--what has become of Gregory? He was one of those men who professors say have a brilliant future before them, and who have not since been heard of. Morton, another member, was of a different stamp. He led in the debate on "Beauty of the Mind v. Beauty of the Body." His writhing contempt for the beauty that is only skin-deep is not to be forgotten. How noble were his rhapsodies on the beauty of the mind! And when he went to Calderwood's to supper, how quick he was to pick out the prettiest girl, who took ten per cent in moral philosophy, and to sit beside her all the evening! Morton had a way of calling on his friends the night before a degree examination to ask them to put him up to as much as would pull him through. Tait used to get greatly excited over the rectorial elections, and, if he could have disguised himself, would have liked, I think, to join in the fight round the Brewster statue. He would have bled for the Conservative cause, as his utterances on university reform have shown. The reformers have some cause for thinking that Tait is a greater man in his class room than when he addresses the graduates. He has said that the less his students know of his subject when they join his class, the less, probably, they will have to unlearn. Such views are behind the times that feed their children on geographical biscuits in educational nurseries with astronomical ceilings and historical wall-papers. PROFESSOR CAMPBELL FRASER. VI. PROFESSOR CAMPBELL FRASER. Not long ago I was back in the Old University--how well I remember pointing it out as the jail to a stranger, who had asked me to show him round. I was in one of the library ante-rooms, when some one knocked, and I looked up, to see Campbell Fraser framed in the doorway. I had not looked on that venerable figure for half a dozen years. I had forgotten all my metaphysics. Yet it all came back with a rush. I was on my feet, wondering if I existed strictly so called. Calderwood and Fraser had both their followings. The moral philosophers wore an air of certainty, for they knew that if they stuck to Calderwood he would pull them through. You cannot lose yourself in the back garden. But the metaphysicians had their doubts. Fraser led them into strange places, and said he would meet them there again next day. They wandered to their lodgings, and got into difficulties with their landlady for saying that she was only an aggregate of sense phenomena. Fraser was rather a hazardous cure for weak intellects. Young men whose anchor had been certainty of themselves went into that class floating buoyantly on the sea of facts, and came out all adrift--on the sea of theory--in an open boat--rudderless--one oar--the boat scuttled. How could they think there was any chance for them, when the professor was not even sure of himself? I see him rising in a daze from his chair and putting his hands through his hair. "Do I exist," he said, thoughtfully, "strictly so called?" The students (if it was the beginning of the session) looked a little startled. This was a matter that had not previously disturbed them. Still, if the professor was in doubt, there must be something in it. He began to argue it out, and an uncomfortable silence held the room in awe. If he did not exist, the chances were that they did not exist either. It was thus a personal question. The professor glanced round slowly for an illustration. "Am I a table?" A pained look travelled over the class. Was it just possible that they were all tables? It is no wonder that the students who do not go to the bottom during their first month of metaphysics begin to give themselves airs strictly so called. In the privacy of their room at the top of the house, they pinch themselves to see if they are still there. He would, I think, be a sorry creature who did not find something to admire in Campbell Fraser. Metaphysics may not trouble you, as it troubles him, but you do not sit under the man without seeing his transparent honesty and feeling that he is genuine. In appearance and in habit of thought he is an ideal philosopher, and his communings with himself have lifted him to a level of serenity that is worth struggling for. Of all the arts professors in Edinburgh, he is probably the most difficult to understand, and students in a hurry have called his lectures childish. If so, it may be all the better for them. For the first half of the hour, they say, he tells you what he is going to do, and for the second half he revises. Certainly he is vastly explanatory, but then he is not so young as they are, and so he has his doubts. They are so cock-sure that they wonder to see him hesitate. Often there is a mist on the mountain when it is all clear in the valley. Fraser's great work is his edition of Berkeley, a labor of love that should live after him. He has two Berkeleys, the large one and the little one, and, to do him justice, it was the little one he advised us to consult. I never read the large one myself, which is in a number of monster tomes, but I often had a look at it in the library, and I was proud to think that an Edinburgh professor was the editor. When Glasgow men came through to talk of their professors, we showed them the big Berkeley, and after that they were reasonable. There was one man in my year who really began the large Berkeley, but after a time he was missing, and it is believed that some day he will be found flattened between the pages of the first volume. The "Selections" was the text-book we used in the class. It is sufficient to prove that Berkeley wrote beautiful English. I am not sure that any one has written such English since. We have our own "stylists," but how self-conscious they are after Berkeley! It is seven years since I opened my "Selections," but I see that I was once more of a metaphysician than I have been giving myself credit for. The book is scribbled over with posers in my handwriting about dualism and primary realities. Some of the comments are in short-hand, which I must at one time have been able to read, but all are equally unintelligible now. Here is one of my puzzlers: "Does B here mean impercipient and unperceived subject or conscious and percipient subject?" Observe the friendly B. I dare say further on I shall find myself referring to the professor as F. I wonder if I ever discovered what B meant. I could not now tell what I meant, myself. As many persons are aware, the "Selections" consist of Berkeley's text with the professor's notes thereon. The notes are explanatory of the text, and the student must find them an immense help. Here, for instance, is a note: "Phenomenal or sense dependent existence can be substantiated and caused only by a self-conscious spirit, for otherwise there could be no propositions about it expressive of what is conceivable; on the other hand, to affirm that phenomenal or sense dependent existence, which alone we know, and which alone is conceivable, is, or even represents, an inconceivable non-phenomenal or abstract existence, would be to affirm a contradiction in terms." There we have it. As a metaphysician I was something of a disappointment. I began well, standing, if I recollect aright, in the three examinations, first, seventeenth, and seventy-seventh. A man who sat beside me--man was the word we used--gazed at me reverently when I came out first, and I could see by his eye that he was not sure whether I existed properly so called. By the second exam. his doubts had gone, and by the third he was surer of me than of himself. He came out fifty-seventh, this being the grand triumph of his college course. He was the same whose key translated _cras donaberis hædo_ "To-morrow you will be presented with a kid," but who, thinking that a little vulgar, refined it down to "To-morrow you will be presented with a small child." In the metaphysics class I was like the fountains in the quadrangle, which ran dry toward the middle of the session. While things were still looking hopeful for me, I had an invitation to breakfast with the professor. If the fates had been so propitious as to forward me that invitation, it is possible that I might be a metaphysician to this day, but I had changed my lodgings, and, when I heard of the affair, all was over. The professor asked me to stay behind one day after the lecture, and told me that he had got his note back with "Left: no address" on it. "However," he said, "you may keep this," presenting me with the invitation for the Saturday previously. I mention this to show that even professors have hearts. That letter is preserved with the autographs of three editors, none of which anybody can read. There was once a medical student who came up to my rooms early in the session, and I proved to him in half an hour that he did not exist. He got quite frightened, and I can still see his white face as he sat staring at me in the gloaming. This shows what metaphysics can do. He has recovered, however, and is sheep-farming now, his examiners never having asked him the right questions. The last time Fraser ever addressed me was when I was capped. He said, "I congratulate you, Mr. Smith," and one of the other professors said, "I congratulate you, Mr. Fisher." My name is neither Smith nor Fisher, but no doubt the thing was kindly meant. It was then, however, that the professor of metaphysics had his revenge on me. I had once spelt Fraser with a "z." PROFESSOR CHRYSTAL. VII. PROFESSOR CHRYSTAL. When Chrystal came to Edinburgh, he rooted up the humors of the class-room as a dentist draws teeth. Souls were sold for keys that could be carried in the waistcoat pocket. Ambition fell from heights, and lay with its eye on a certificate. By night was a rush of ghosts, shrieking for passes. Horse-play fled before the Differential Calculus in spectacles. I had Chrystal's first year, and recall the gloomy student sitting before me who hacked "All hope abandon, ye who enter here" into a desk that may have confined Carlyle. It took him a session, and he was digging his own grave, for he never got through; but it was something to hold by, something he felt sure of. All else was spiders' webs in chalk. Chrystal was a fine hare for the hounds who could keep up with him. He started off the first day with such a spurt that most of us were left behind mopping our faces, and saying, "Here's a fellow," which is what Mr. Stevenson says Shakespeare would have remarked about Mr. George Meredith. We never saw him again. The men who were on speaking acquaintance with his symbols revelled in him as students love an enthusiast who is eager to lead them into a world toward which they would journey. He was a rare guide for them. The bulk, however, lost him in labyrinths. They could not but admire their brilliant professor; but while their friend the medallist and he kept the conversation to themselves, they felt like eavesdroppers hearkening to a pair of lovers. It is "beautiful," they cried, "but this is no place for us; let us away." A good many went, but their truancy stuck in their throats like Otway's last roll. The M.A. was before them. They had fancied it in their hands, but it became shy as a maiden from the day they learned Chrystal's heresy that Euclid is not mathematics, but only some riders in it. This snapped the cord that had tied the blind man to his dog, and the M.A. shot down the horizon. When Rutherford delivered his first lecture in the chair of institutes of medicine, boisterous students drowned his voice, and he flung out of the room. At the door he paused to say, "Gentleman, we shall meet again at Philippi." A dire bomb was this in the midst of them, warranted to go off, none able to cast it overboard. We too had our Philippi before us. Chrystal could not be left to his own devices. I had never a passion for knowing that when circles or triangles attempt impossibilities it is absurd; and _x_ was an unknown quantity I was ever content to walk round about. To admit to Chrystal that we understood _x_ was only a way he had of leading you on to _y_ and _z_. I gave him his chance, however, by contributing a paper of answers to his first weekly set of exercises. When the hour for returning the slips came round, I was there to accept fame--if so it was to be--with modesty; and if it was to be humiliation, still to smile. The professor said there was one paper, with an owner's name on it, which he could not read, and it was handed along the class to be deciphered. My presentiment that it was mine became a certainty when it reached my hand; but I passed it on pleasantly, and it returned to Chrystal, a Japhet that never found its father. Feeling that the powers were against me, I then retired from the conflict, sanguine that the teaching of my mathematical schoolmaster, the best that could be, would pull me through. The Disowned may be going the round of the class-room still. The men who did not know when they were beaten returned to their seats, and doggedly took notes, their faces lengthening daily. Their note-books reproduced exactly the hieroglyphics of the blackboard, and, examined at night, were as suggestive as the photographs of persons one has never seen. To overtake Chrystal after giving him a start was the presumption that is an offshoot from despair. There was once an elderly gentleman who for years read the _Times_ every day from the first page to the last. For a fortnight he was ill of a fever; but, on recovering, he began at the copy of the _Times_ where he had left off. He struggled magnificently to make up on the _Times_, but it was in vain. This is an allegory for the way these students panted after Chrystal. Some succumbed and joined the majority--literally; for to mathematics they were dead. I never hear of the old university now, nor pass under the shadow of the walls one loves when he is done with them, without seeing myself as I was the day I matriculated, an awestruck boy, passing and repassing the gates, frightened to venture inside, breathing heavily at sight of janitors, Scott and Carlyle in the air. After that I see nothing fuller of color than the meetings that were held outside Chrystal's door. Adjoining it is a class-room so little sought for that legend tells of its door once showing the notice, "There will be no class to-day, as the student is unwell." The crowd round Chrystal's could have filled that room. It was composed of students hearkening at the door to see whether he was to call their part of the roll to-day. If he did, they slunk in; if not, the crowd melted into the streets, this refrain in their ears: "I'm plucked, I do admit; I'm spun, my mother dear: Yet do not grieve for that Which happens every year. I've waited very patiently, I may have long to wait; But you've another son, mother, And he will graduate." A professor of mathematics once brought a rowdy student from the back benches to a seat beside him, because: "First, you'll be near the board; second, you'll be near me; and, third, you'll be near the door." Chrystal soon discovered that students could be too near the door, and he took to calling the roll in the middle of the hour, which insured an increased attendance. It was a silent class, nothing heard but the patter of pencils, rats scraping for grain, of which there was abundance, but not one digestion in a bench. To smuggle in a novel up one's waistcoat was perilous, Chrystal's spectacles doing their work. At a corner of the platform sat the assistant, with a constable's authority, but, not formed for swooping, uneasy because he had legs, and where to put them he knew not. He got through the hour by shifting his position every five minutes; and, sitting there waiting, he reminded one of the boy who, on being told to remain so quietly where he was that he could hear a pin drop, held his breath a moment, then shouted, "Let it drop!" An excellent fellow was this assistant, who told us that one of his predecessors had got three months. A jest went as far in that class as a plum in the midshipmen's pudding, and, you remember, when the middies came on a plum they gave three cheers. In the middle of some brilliant reasoning, Chrystal would stop to add 4, 7, and 11. Addition of this kind was the only thing he could not do, and he looked to the class for help--"20," they shouted, "24," "17," while he thought it over. These appeals to their intelligence made them beam. They woke up as a sleepy congregation shakes itself into life when the minister says, "I remember when I was a little boy----" The daring spirits--say, those who were going into their father's office, and so did not look upon Chrystal as a door locked to their advancement--sought to bring sunshine into the room. Chrystal soon had the blind down on that. I hear they have been at it recently, with the usual result. To relieve the monotony, a student at the end of bench ten dropped a marble, which toppled slowly downward toward the professor. At every step it took, there was a smothered guffaw; but Chrystal, who was working at the board, did not turn his head. When the marble reached the floor, he said, still with his back to the class, "Will the student at the end of bench ten, who dropped that marble, stand up?" All eyes dilated. He had counted the falls of the marble from step to step. Mathematics do not obscure the intellect. Twenty per cent was a good percentage in Chrystal's examinations; thirty sent you away whistling. As the M.A. drew nigh, students on their prospects might have been farmers discussing the weather. Some put their faith in the professor's goodness of heart, of which symptoms had been showing. He would not, all at once, "raise the standard"--hated phrase until you are through, when you write to the papers advocating it. Courage! was it not told of the Glasgow Snell competition that one of the competitors, as soon as he saw the first paper, looked for his hat and the door; that he was forbidden to withdraw until an hour had elapsed, and that he then tackled the paper and ultimately carried off the Snell? Of more immediate interest, perhaps, was the story of the quaking student, whose neighbor handed him in pencil, beneath the desk, the answer to several questions. It was in an M.A. exam., and the affrighted student found that he could not read his neighbor's notes. Trusting to fortune, he inclosed them with his own answers, writing at the top, "No time to write these out in ink, so inclose them in pencil." He got through: no moral. A condemned criminal wondering if he is to get a reprieve will not feel the position novel if he has loitered in a university quadrangle waiting for the janitor to nail up the results of a degree exam. A queer gathering we were, awaiting the verdict of Chrystal. Some compressed their lips, others were lively as fireworks dipped in water; there were those who rushed round and round the quadrangle; only one went the length of saying that he did not want to pass. H. I shall call him. I met him the other day in Fleet Street, and he annoyed me by asking at once if I remembered the landlady I quarrelled with because she wore my socks to church of a Sunday: we found her out one wet forenoon. H. waited the issue with a cigar in his mouth. He had purposely, he explained, given in a bad paper. He could not understand why men were so anxious to get through. He had ten reasons for wishing to be plucked. We let him talk. The janitor appeared with the fateful paper, and we lashed about him like waves round a lighthouse, all but H., who strolled languidly to the board to which the paper was being fastened. A moment afterward I heard a shriek: "I'm through! I'm through!" It was H. His cigar was dashed aside, and he sped like an arrow from the bow to the nearest telegraph office, shouting "I'm through!" as he ran. Those of us who had H.'s fortune now consider Chrystal made to order for his chair, but he has never, perhaps, had a proper appreciation of the charming fellows who get ten per cent. PROFESSOR SELLAR. VIII. PROFESSOR SELLAR. When one of the distinguished hunting ladies who chase celebrities captured Mr. Mark Pattison, he gave anxious consideration to the quotation which he was asked to write above his name. "Fancy," he said with a shudder, "going down to posterity arm in arm with _carpe diem_!" Remembering this, I forbear tying Sellar to _odi profanum vulgus_. Yet the name opens the door to the quotation. Sellar is a Roman senator. He stood very high at Oxford, and took a prize for boxing. If you watch him in the class, you will sometimes see his mind murmuring that Edinburgh students do not take their play like Oxford men. The difference is in manner. A courteous fellow-student of Sellar once showed his relatives over Balliol. "You have now, I think," he said at last, "seen everything of interest except the master." He flung a stone at a window, at which the master's head appeared immediately, menacing, wrathful. "And now," concluded the polite youth, "you have seen him also." Mr. James Payn, who never forgave the Scottish people for pulling down their blinds on Sundays, was annoyed by the halo they have woven around the name "professor." He knew an Edinburgh lady who was scandalized because that mere poet, Alexander Smith, coolly addressed professors by their surnames. Mr. Payn might have known what it is to walk in the shadow of a Senatus Academicus could he have met such specimens as Sellar, Fraser, Tait, and Sir Alexander Grant marching down the Bridges abreast. I have seen them: an inspiriting sight. The pavement only held three. You could have shaken hands with them from an upper window. Sellar's treatment of his students was always that of a fine gentleman. Few got near him; all respected him. At times he was addressed in an unknown tongue, but he kept his countenance. He was particular about students keeping to their proper benches, and once thought he had caught a swarthy north countryman straying. "You are in your wrong seat, Mr. Orr." "Na, am richt eneuch." "You should be in the seat in front. That is bench 12, and you are entered on bench 10." "Eh? This is no bench twal, [counting] twa, fower, sax, aucht, ten." "There is something wrong." "Oh-h-h, [with sudden enlightenment] ye've been coontin' the first dask; we dinna coont the first dask." The professor knew the men he had to deal with too well to scorn this one, who turned out to be a fine fellow. He was the only man I ever knew who ran his medical and arts classes together, and so many lectures had he to attend daily that he mixed them up. He graduated, however, in both faculties in five years, and the last I heard of him was that, when applying for a medical assistantship, he sent his father's photograph because he did not have one of himself. He was a man of brains as well as sinew, and dined briskly on a shilling a week. There was a little fellow in the class who was a puzzle to Sellar, because he was higher sitting than standing: when the professor asked him to stand up, he stood down. "Is Mr. Blank not present?" Sellar would ask. "Here, sir," cried Blank. "Then, will you stand up, Mr. Blank?" (Agony of Blank, and a demonstration of many feet.) "Are you not prepared, Mr. Blank?" "Yes, sir. _Pastor quum traharet_----" "I insist on your standing up, Mr. Blank." Several students rise to their feet to explain, but subside. "Yes, sir. _Pastor quum traharet per_----" "I shall mark you 'Not prepared,' Mr. Blank." (Further demonstration, and then an indignant squeak from Blank.) "If you please, sir, I am standing." "But, in that case, how is it? Ah, oh, ah, yes; proceed, Mr. Blank." As one man was only called upon for exhibition five or six times in a year, the professor had always forgotten the circumstances when he asked Blank to stand up again. Blank was looked upon by his fellow-students as a practical jest, and his name was always received with the prolonged applause which greets the end of an after-dinner speech. Sellar never showed resentment to the students who addressed him as Professor Sellars. One day the professor was giving out some English to be translated into Latin prose. He read on--"and fiercely lifting the axe with both hands----" when a cheer from the top bench made him pause. The cheer spread over the room like an uncorked gas. Sellar frowned, but proceeded--"lifting the axe----" when again the class became demented. "What does this mean?" he demanded, looking as if he, too, could lift the axe. "Axe!" shouted a student in explanation. Still Sellar could not solve the riddle. Another student rose to his assistance. "Axe--Gladstone!" he cried. Sellar sat back in his chair. "Really, gentlemen," he said, "I take the most elaborate precautions against touching upon politics in this class, but sometimes you are beyond me. Let us continue--'and fiercely lifting his weapon with both hands----'" The duxes from the schools suffered a little during their first year, from a feeling that they and Sellar understood each other. He liked to undeceive them. We had one, all head, who went about wondering at himself. He lost his bursary on the way home with it, and still he strutted. Sellar asked if we saw anything peculiar in a certain line from Horace. We did not. We were accustomed to trust to Horace's reputation, all but the dandy. "Eh--ah! professor," he lisped; "it ought to have been so and so." Sellar looked at this promising plant from the schools, and watered him without a rose on the pan. "Depend upon it, Mr.--ah, I did not catch your name, if it ought to have been so and so, Horace would have made it so and so." Sellar's face was proof against wit. It did not relax till he gave it liberty. You could never tell from it what was going on inside. He read without a twitch a notice on his door: "Found in this class a gold-headed pencil case; if not claimed within three days will be sold to defray expenses." He even withstood the battering-ram on the day of the publication of his "Augustan Poets." The students could not let this opportunity pass. They assailed him with frantic applause; every bench was a drum to thump upon. His countenance said nothing. The drums had it in the end, though, and he dismissed the class with what is believed to have verged on a smile. Like the lover who has got his lady's glance, they at once tried for more, but no. Most of us had Humanity our first year, which is the year for experimenting. Then is the time to join the university library. The pound, which makes you a member, has never had its poet. You can withdraw your pound when you please. There are far-seeing men who work the whole thing out by mathematics. Put simply, this is the notion. In the beginning of the session you join the library, and soon you forget about your pound; you reckon without it. As the winter closes in, and the coal-bunk empties; or you find that five shillings a week for lodgings is a dream that cannot be kept up; or your coat assumes more and more the color identified with spring; or you would feast your friends for once right gloriously; or next Wednesday is your little sister's birthday; you cower, despairing, over a sulky fire. Suddenly you are on your feet, all aglow once more. What is this thought that sends the blood to your head? That library pound! You had forgotten that you had a bank. Next morning you are at the university in time to help the library door to open. You ask for your pound; you get it. Your hand mounts guard over the pocket in which it rustles. So they say. I took their advice and paid in my money; then waited exultingly to forget about it. In vain. I always allowed for that pound, in my thoughts. I saw it as plainly, I knew its every feature as a schoolboy remembers his first trout. Not to be hasty, I gave my pound two months, and then brought it home again. I had a fellow-student who lived across the way from me. We railed at the library-pound theory at open windows over the life of the street; a beautiful dream, but mad, mad. He was an enthusiast, and therefore happy, whom I have seen in the Humanity class-room on an examination day, his pen racing with time, himself seated in the contents of an ink bottle. Some stories of exams. have even a blacker ending. I write in tears of him who, estimating his memory as a leaky vessel, did with care and forethought draw up a crib that was more condensed than a pocket cyclopædia, a very Liebig's essence of the classics, tinned meat for students in the eleventh hour. Bridegrooms have been known to forget the ring; this student forgot his crib. In the middle of the examination came a nervous knocking at the door. A lady wanted to see the professor at once. The student looked up, to see his mother handing the professor his crib. Her son had forgotten it; she was sure that it was important, so she had brought it herself. Jump the body of this poor victim. There was no M.A. for him that year; but in our gowns and sashes we could not mourn for a might-have-been. Soldiers talk of the Victoria cross, statesmen of the Cabinet, ladies of a pearl set in diamonds. These are pretty baubles, but who has thrilled as the student that with bumping heart strolls into Middlemass' to order his graduate's gown? He hires it--five shillings--but the photograph to follow makes it as good as his for life. Look at him, young ladies, as he struts to the Synod Hall to have M.A. tacked to his name. Dogs do not dare bark at him. His gait is springy; in Princes Street he is as one who walks upstairs. Gone to me are those student days forever, but I can still put a photograph before me of a ghost in gown and cape, the hair straggling under the cap as tobacco may straggle over the side of a tin when there is difficulty in squeezing down the lid. How well the little black jacket looks, how vividly the wearer remembers putting it on. He should have worn a dress-coat, but he had none. The little jacket resembled one with the tails off, and, as he artfully donned his gown, he backed against the wall so that no one might know. To turn up the light on old college days is not always the signal for the dance. You are back in the dusty little lodging, with its battered sofa, its slippery tablecloth, the prim array of books, the picture of the death of Nelson, the peeling walls, the broken clock; you are again in the quadrangle with him who has been dead this many a year. There are tragedies in a college course. Dr. Walter Smith has told in a poem mentioned elsewhere of the brilliant scholar who forgot his dominie; some, alas! forget their mother. There are men--I know it--who go mad from loneliness; and medallists ere now have crept home to die. The capping-day was the end of our springtide, and for some of us the summer was to be brief. Sir Alexander, gone into the night since then, flung "I mekemae" at us as we trooped past him, all in bud, some small flower to blossom in time, let us hope, here and there. MR. JOSEPH THOMSON. IX. MR. JOSEPH THOMSON. Two years hence Joseph Thomson's reputation will be a decade old, though he is at present only thirty years of age. When you meet him for the first time you conclude that he must be the explorer's son. His identity, however, can always be proved by simply mentioning Africa in his presence. Then he draws himself up, and his eyes glisten, and he is thinking how glorious it would be to be in the Masai country again, living on meat so diseased that it crumbled in the hand like short-bread. Gatelaw-bridge Quarry, in Dumfriesshire, is famous for Old Mortality and Thomson, the latter (when he is at the head of a caravan) being as hardheaded as if he had been cut out of it. He went to school at Thornhill, where he spent great part of his time in reading novels, and then he matriculated at Edinburgh University, where he began to accumulate medals. Geology and kindred studies were his favorites there. One day he heard that Keith Johnston, then on the point of starting for Africa, wanted a lieutenant. Thomson was at that time equally in need of a Keith Johnston, and everybody who knew him saw that the opening and he were made for each other. Keith Johnston and Thomson went out together, and Johnston died in the jungle. This made a man in an hour of a stripling. Most youths in Thomson's position at that turning-point of his career would have thought it judicious to turn back, and in geographical circles it would have been considered highly creditable had he brought his caravan to the coast intact. Thomson, however, pushed on, and did everything that his dead leader had hoped to do. From that time his career has been followed by every one interested in African exploration, and by his countrymen with some pride in addition. When an expedition was organized for the relief of Emin Pacha, there was for a time some probability of Thomson's having the command. He and Stanley differed as to the routes that should be taken, and subsequent events have proved that Thomson's was the proper one. Thomson came over from Paris at that time to consult with the authorities, and took up his residence in the most overgrown hotel in London. His friends here organized an expedition for his relief. They wandered up and down the endless stairs looking for him, till, had they not wanted to make themselves a name, they would have beaten a retreat. He also wandered about looking for them, and at last they met. The leader of the party, restraining his emotion, lifted his hat, and said, "Mr. Thomson, I presume?" This is how I found Thomson. The explorer had been for some months in Paris at that time, and France did him the honor of translating his "Through Masailand" into French. In this book there is a picture of a buffalo tossing Thomson in the air. This was after he had put several bullets into it, and in the sketch he is represented some ten feet from the ground, with his gun flying one way and his cap another. "It was just as if I were distributing largess to the natives," the traveller says now, though this idea does not seem to have struck him at the time. He showed the sketch to a Parisian lady, who looked at it long and earnestly. "Ah, M. Thomson," she said at length, "but how could you pose like that?" Like a good many other travellers, including Mr. Du Chaillu, who says he is a dear boy, Thomson does not smoke. Stanley, however, smokes very strong cigars, as those who have been in his sumptuous chambers in Bond Street can testify. All the three happen to be bachelors, though; because, one of them says, after returning from years of lonely travel, a man has such a delight in female society that to pick and choose would be invidious. Yet they have had their chance. An African race once tried to bribe Mr. Du Chaillu with a kingdom and over eight hundred wives--"the biggest offer," he admits, "I ever had in one day." Among the lesser annoyances to which Thomson was subjected in Africa was the presence of rats in the night-time, which he had to brush away like flies. Until he was asked whether there was not danger in this, it never seems to have struck him that it was more than annoying. Yet though he and the two other travellers mentioned (doubtless they are not alone in this) have put up cheerfully with almost every hardship known to man, this does not make them indifferent to the comforts of civilization when they return home. Du Chaillu was looking very comfortable in a house-boat the other day, where his hosts thought they were "roughing it"--with a male attendant; and in Stanley's easy-chairs you sink to dream. The last time I saw Thomson in his rooms in London he was on his knees, gazing in silent rapture at a china saucer with a valuable crack in it. If you ask Thomson what was the most dangerous expedition he ever embarked on, he will probably reply, "Crossing Piccadilly." The finest thing that can be said of him is that during these four expeditions he never once fired a shot at a native. Other explorers have had to do so to save their lives. There were often occasions when Thomson could have done it, to save his life to all appearance, too. The result of his method of progressing is that where he has gone--and he has been in parts of Africa never before trod by the white man--he really has "opened up the country" for those who care to follow him. Civilization by bullet has only closed it elsewhere. Yet though there is an abundance of Scotch caution about him, he is naturally an impulsive man, more inclined personally to march straight on than to reach his destination by a safer if more circuitous route. Where only his own life is concerned, he gives you the impression of one who might be rash; but his prudence at the head of a caravan is at the bottom of the faith that is placed in him. According to a story that got into the papers years ago, M. de Brazza once quarrelled with Thomson in Africa, and all but struck him. Thomson was praised for keeping his temper. The story was a fabrication, but I fear that if M. de Brazza had behaved like this, Thomson would not have remembered to be diplomatic till some time afterward. A truer tale might be told of an umbrella, gorgeous and wonderful to behold, that De Brazza took to Africa to impress the natives with, and which Thomson subsequently presented to a dusky monarch. The explorer has never shot a lion, though he has tracked a good many of them. Once he thought he had one. It was reclining in a little grove, and Thomson felt that it was his at last. With a trusty native he crept forward till he could obtain a good shot, and then fired. In breathless suspense he waited for its spring, and then when it did not spring he saw that he had shot it through the heart. However, it turned out only to be a large stone. The young Scotchman sometimes thinks of the tremendous effect it would have had on the natives had he been the possessor of a complete set of artificial teeth. This is because he has one artificial tooth. Happening to take it out one day, an awe filled all who saw him, and from that hour he was esteemed a medicine man. Another excellent way of impressing Africa with the grandeur of Britain was to take a photograph. When the natives saw the camera aimed at them, they fell to the ground vanquished. When Thomson was recently in this country, he occasionally took a walk of twenty or thirty miles to give him an appetite for dinner. This he calls a stroll. One day he strolled from Thornhill to Edinburgh, had dinner, and then went to the Exhibition. In appearance he is tall and strongly knit rather than heavily built, and if you see him more than once in the same week you discover that he has still an interest in neck-ties. Perhaps his most remarkable feat consisted in taking a bottle of brandy into the heart of Africa, and bringing it back intact. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. X. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. Some men of letters, not necessarily the greatest, have an indescribable charm to which we give our hearts. Thackeray is the young man's first love. Of living authors, none perhaps bewitches the reader more than Mr. Stevenson, who plays upon words as if they were a musical instrument. To follow the music is less difficult than to place the musician. A friend of mine, who, like Mr. Grant Allen, reviews 365 books a year, and 366 in leap years, recently arranged the novelists of to-day in order of merit. Meredith, of course, he wrote first, and then there was a fall to Hardy. "Haggard," he explained, "I dropped from the Eiffel Tower; but what can I do with Stevenson? I can't put him before 'Lorna Doone.'" So Mr. Stevenson puzzles the critics, fascinating them until they are willing to judge him by the great work he is to write by and by when the little books are finished. Over "Treasure Island" I let my fire die in winter without knowing that I was freezing. But the creator of Alan Breck has now published nearly twenty volumes. It is so much easier to finish the little works than to begin the great one, for which we are all taking notes. Mr. Stevenson is not to be labelled novelist. He wanders the byways of literature without any fixed address. Too much of a truant to be classified with the other boys, he is only a writer of fiction in the sense that he was once an Edinburgh University student because now and again he looked in at his classes when he happened to be that way. A literary man without a fixed occupation amazes Mr. Henry James, a master in the school of fiction which tells, in three volumes, how Hiram K. Wilding trod on the skirt of Alice M. Sparkins without anything's coming of it. Mr. James analyzes Mr. Stevenson with immense cleverness, but without summing up. That "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" should be by the author of "Treasure Island," "Virginibus Puerisque" by the author of "The New Arabian Nights," "A Child's Garden of Verses" by the author of "Prince Otto," are to him the three degrees of comparison of wonder, though for my own part I marvel more that the author of "Daisy Miller" should be Mr. Stevenson's eulogist. One conceives Mr. James a boy in velveteens looking fearfully at Stevenson playing at pirates. There is nothing in Mr. Stevenson's sometimes writing essays, sometimes romances, and anon poems to mark him versatile beyond other authors. One dreads his continuing to do so, with so many books at his back, lest it means weakness rather than strength. He experiments too long; he is still a boy wondering what he is going to be. With Cowley's candor he tells us that he wants to write something by which he may be forever known. His attempts in this direction have been in the nature of trying different ways, and he always starts off whistling. Having gone so far without losing himself, he turns back to try another road. Does his heart fail him, despite his jaunty bearing, or is it because there is no hurry? Though all his books are obviously by the same hand, no living writer has come so near fame from so many different sides. Where is the man among us who could write another "Virginibus Puerisque," the most delightful volume for the hammock ever sung in prose? The poems are as exquisite as they are artificial. "Jekyll and Hyde" is the greatest triumph extant in Christmas literature of the morbid kind. The donkey on the Cevennes (how Mr. Stevenson belabored him!) only stands second to the "Inland Voyage." "Kidnapped" is the outstanding boy's book of its generation. "The Black Arrow" alone, to my thinking, is second class. We shall all be doleful if a marksman who can pepper his target with inners does not reach the bull's-eye. But it is quite time the great work was begun. The sun sinks while the climber walks round his mountain, looking for the best way up. Hard necessity has kept some great writers from doing their best work, but Mr. Stevenson is at last so firmly established that if he continues to be versatile it will only be from choice. He has attained a popularity such as is, as a rule, only accorded to classic authors or to charlatans. For this he has America to thank rather than Britain, for the Americans buy his books, the only honor a writer's admirers are slow to pay him. Mr. Stevenson's reputation in the United States is creditable to that country, which has given him a position here in which only a few saw him when he left. Unfortunately, with popularity has come publicity. All day the reporters sit on his garden wall. No man has written in a finer spirit of the profession of letters than Mr. Stevenson, but this gossip vulgarizes it. The adulation of the American public and of a little band of clever literary dandies in London, great in criticism, of whom he has become the darling, has made Mr. Stevenson complacent, and he always tended perhaps to be a thought too fond of his velvet coat. There is danger in the delight with which his every scrap is now received. A few years ago, when he was his own severest and sanest critic, he stopped the publication of a book after it was in proof--a brave act. He has lost this courage, or he would have rewritten "The Black Arrow." There is deterioration in the essays he has been contributing to an American magazine, graceful and suggestive though they are. The most charming of living stylists, Mr. Stevenson is self-conscious in all his books now and again, but hitherto it has been the self-consciousness of an artist with severe critics at his shoulder. It has become self-satisfaction. The critics have put a giant's robe on him, and he has not flung it off. He dismisses "Tom Jones" with a simper. Personally Thackeray "scarce appeals to us as the ideal gentleman; if there were nothing else [what else is there?], perpetual nosing after snobbery at least suggests the snob." From Mr. Stevenson one would not have expected the revival of this silly charge, which makes a cabbage of every man who writes about cabbages. I shall say no more of these ill-considered papers, though the sneers at Fielding call for indignant remonstrance, beyond expressing a hope that they lie buried between magazine covers. Mr. Stevenson has reached the critical point in his career, and one would like to see him back at Bournemouth, writing within high walls. We want that big book; we think he is capable of it, and so we cannot afford to let him drift into the seaweed. About the writer with whom his name is so often absurdly linked we feel differently. It is as foolish to rail at Mr. Rider Haggard's complacency as it would be to blame Christopher Sly for so quickly believing that he was born a lord. The key-note of all Mr. Stevenson's writings is his indifference, so far as his books are concerned, to the affairs of life and death on which their minds are chiefly set. Whether man has an immortal soul interests him as an artist not a whit: what is to come of man troubles him as little as where man came from. He is a warm, genial writer, yet this is so strange as to seem inhuman. His philosophy is that we are but as the light-hearted birds. This is our moment of being; let us play the intoxicating game of life beautifully, artistically, before we fall dead from the tree. We all know it is only in his books that Mr. Stevenson can live this life. The cry is to arms; spears glisten in the sun; see the brave bark riding joyously on the waves, the black flag, the dash of red color twisting round a mountain-side. Alas! the drummer lies on a couch beating his drum. It is a pathetic picture, less true to fact now, one rejoices to know, than it was recently. A common theory is that Mr. Stevenson dreams an ideal life to escape from his own sufferings. This sentimental plea suits very well. The noticeable thing, however, is that the grotesque, the uncanny, holds his soul; his brain will only follow a colored clew. The result is that he is chiefly picturesque, and, to those who want more than art for art's sake, never satisfying. Fascinating as his verses are, artless in the perfection of art, they take no reader a step forward. The children of whom he sings so sweetly are cherubs without souls. It is not in poetry that Mr. Stevenson will give the great book to the world, nor will it, I think, be in the form of essays. Of late he has done nothing quite so fine as "Virginibus Puerisque," though most of his essays are gardens in which grow few weeds. Quaint in matter as in treatment, they are the best strictly literary essays of the day, and their mixture of tenderness with humor suggests Charles Lamb. Some think Mr. Stevenson's essays equal to Lamb's, or greater. To that I say, no. The name of Lamb will for many a year bring proud tears to English eyes. Here was a man, weak like the rest of us, who kept his sorrows to himself. Life to him was not among the trees. He had loved and lost. Grief laid a heavy hand on his brave brow. Dark were his nights; horrid shadows in the house; sudden terrors; the heart stops beating waiting for a footstep. At that door comes Tragedy, knocking at all hours. Was Lamb dismayed? The tragedy of his life was not drear to him. It was wound round those who were dearest to him; it let him know that life has a glory even at its saddest, that humor and pathos clasp hands, that loved ones are drawn nearer, and the soul strengthened in the presence of anguish, pain, and death. When Lamb sat down to write, he did not pull down his blind on all that is greatest, if most awful, in human life. He was gentle, kindly; but he did not play at pretending that there is no cemetery round the corner. In Mr. Stevenson's exquisite essays one looks in vain for the great heart that palpitates through the pages of Charles Lamb. The great work, if we are not to be disappointed, will be fiction. Mr. Stevenson is said to feel this himself, and, as I understand, "Harry Shovel" will be his biggest bid for fame. It is to be, broadly speaking, a nineteenth-century "Peregrine Pickle," dashed with Meredith, and this in the teeth of many admirers who maintain that the best of the author is Scottish. Mr. Stevenson, however, knows what he is about. Critics have said enthusiastically--for it is difficult to write of Mr. Stevenson without enthusiasm--that Alan Breck is as good as anything in Scott. Alan Breck is certainly a masterpiece, quite worthy of the greatest of all story-tellers, who, nevertheless, it should be remembered, created these rich side characters by the score, another before dinner-time. English critics have taken Alan to their hearts, and appreciate him thoroughly; the reason, no doubt, being that he is the character whom England acknowledges as the Scottish type. The Highlands, which are Scotland to the same extent as Northumberland is England, present such a character to this day, but no deep knowledge of Mr. Stevenson's native country was required to reproduce him. An artistic Englishman or American could have done it. Scottish religion, I think, Mr. Stevenson has never understood, except as the outsider misunderstands it. He thinks it hard because there are no colored windows. "The color of Scotland has entered into him altogether," says Mr. James, who, we gather, conceives in Edinburgh Castle a place where tartans glisten in the sun, while rocks re-echo bagpipes. Mr. James is right in a way. It is the tartan, the claymore, the cry that the heather is on fire, that are Scotland to Mr. Stevenson. But the Scotland of our day is not a country rich in color; a sombre gray prevails. Thus, though Mr. Stevenson's best romance is Scottish, that is only, I think, because of his extraordinary aptitude for the picturesque. Give him any period in any country that is romantic, and he will soon steep himself in the kind of knowledge he can best turn to account. Adventures suit him best, the ladies being left behind; and so long as he is in fettle it matters little whether the scene be Scotland or Spain. The great thing is that he should now give to one ambitious book the time in which he has hitherto written half a dozen small ones. He will have to take existence a little more seriously--to weave broadcloth instead of lace. REV. WALTER C. SMITH, D.D. XI. REV. WALTER C. SMITH, D.D. During the four winters another and I were in Edinburgh, we never entered any but Free churches. This seems to have been less on account of a scorn for other denominations than because we never thought of them. We felt sorry for the "men" who knew no better than to claim to be on the side of Dr. Macgregor. Even our Free kirks were limited to two, St. George's and the Free High. After all, we must have been liberally minded beyond most of our fellows, for, as a rule, those who frequented one of these churches shook their heads at the other. It is said that Dr. Whyte and Dr. Smith have a great appreciation of each other. They, too, are liberally minded. To contrast the two leading Free Church ministers in Edinburgh as they struck a student would be to become a boy again. The one is always ready to go on fire, and the other is sometimes at hand with a jug of cold water. Dr. Smith counts a hundred before he starts, while the minister of Free St. George's is off at once at a gallop, and would always arrive first at his destination if he had not sometimes to turn back. He is not only a Gladstonian, but Gladstonian; his enthusiasm carries him on as steam drives the engine. Dr. Smith being a critic, with a faculty of satire, what would rouse the one man makes the other smile. Dr. Whyte judges you as you are at the moment; Dr. Smith sees what you will be like to-morrow. Some years ago the defeated side in a great Assembly fight met at a breakfast to reason itself into a belief that it had gained a remarkable moral victory. Dr. Whyte and Dr. Smith were both present, and the former was so inspiriting that the breakfast became a scene of enthusiasm. Then Dr. Smith arose and made a remark about a company of Mark Tapleys--after which the meeting broke up. I have a curious reminiscence of the student who most frequently accompanied me to church in Edinburgh. One Sunday when we were on our way up slushy Bath Street to Free St. George's he discovered that he had not a penny for the plate. I suggested to him to give twopence next time; but no, he turned back to our lodgings for the penny. Some time afterward he found himself in the same position when we were nearing the Free High. "I'll give twopence next time," he said cheerfully. I have thought this over since then, and wondered if there was anything in it. The most glorious privilege of the old is to assist the young. The two ministers who are among the chief pillars of the Free Church in Edinburgh are not old yet, but they have had a long experience, and the strength and encouragement they have been to the young is the grand outstanding fact of their ministries. Their influence is, of course, chiefly noticeable in the divinity men, who make their Bible classes so remarkable. There is a sort of Freemasonry among the men who have come under the influence of Dr. Smith. It seems to have steadied them--to have given them wise rules of life that have taken the noise out of them, and left them undemonstrative, quiet, determined. You will have little difficulty, as a rule, in picking out Dr. Smith's men, whether in the pulpit or in private. They have his mark, as the Rugby boys were marked by Dr. Arnold. Even in speaking of him, they seldom talk in superlatives: only a light comes into their eye, and you realize what a well-founded reverence is. I met lately in London an Irishman who, when the conversation turned to Scotland, asked what Edinburgh was doing without Dr. Smith (who was in America at the time). He talked with such obvious knowledge of Dr. Smith's teaching, and with such affection for the man, that by and by we were surprised to hear that he had never heard him preach nor read a line of his works. He explained that he knew intimately two men who looked upon their Sundays in the Free High, and still more upon their private talks with the minister, as the turning-point in their lives. They were such fine fellows, and they were so sure that they owed their development to Dr. Smith, that to know the followers was to know something of the master. This it is to be a touchstone to young men. There are those who think Dr. Smith the poet of higher account than Dr. Smith the preacher. I do not agree with them, though there can be no question that the author of "Olrig Grange" and Mr. Alexander Anderson are the two men now in Edinburgh who have (at times) the divine afflatus. "Surfaceman" is a true son of Burns. Of him it may be said, as it never can be said of Dr. Smith, that he sings because he must. His thoughts run in harmonious numbers. The author of "Olrig Grange" is the stronger mind, however, and his lines are always pregnant of meaning. He is of the school of Mr. Lewis Morris, but an immeasurably higher intellect if not so fine an artist: indeed, though there are hundreds of his pages that are not poetry, there are almost none that could not be rewritten into weighty prose. Sound is never his sole object. Good novels in verse are a mistake, for it is quite certain they would be better in prose. The novelist has a great deal to say that cannot be said naturally in rhythm, and much of Dr. Smith's blank verse is good prose in frills. It is driven into an undeserved confinement. The privilege of critics is to get twelve or twenty minor poets in a row, and then blow them all over at once. I remember one who despatched Dr. Smith with a verse from the book under treatment. Dr. Smith writes of a poet's verses, "There is no sacred fire in them, Nor much of homely sense and shrewd;" and when the critic came to these lines he stopped reading: he declared that Dr. Smith had passed judgment on himself. This is a familiar form of criticism, but in the present case it had at least the demerit of being false. There is so much sacred fire about Dr. Smith's best poetry that it is what makes him a poet; and as for "homely sense and shrewd," he has simply more of it than any contemporary writer of verse. It is what gives heart to his satire, and keeps him from wounding merely for the pleasure of drawing blood. In conjunction with the sacred fire, the noble indignation that mean things should be, the insight into the tragic, it is what makes "Hilda" his greatest poem. Without it there could not be pathos, which is concerned with little things; nor humor, nor, indeed, the flash into men and things that makes such a poem as "Dr. Linkletter's Scholar" as true as life, as sad as death. If only for the sake of that noble piece of writing, every Scottish student should have "North-Country Folk" in his possession. The poem is probably the most noteworthy thing that has been said of northern university life. * * * * * Transcriber's note: Minor punctuation errors were corrected. The following typographical errors were corrected: Page 50: Changed Calderwod to Calderwood. Page 111: Changed civiliaztion to civilization. Page 128: Changed litle to little. 
31408	----	[Illustration] The Oxford Degree Ceremony By J. Wells Fellow of Wadham College Oxford At the Clarendon Press 1906 HENRY FROWDE, M.A. PUBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD LONDON, EDINBURGH NEW YORK AND TORONTO PREFACE The object of this little book is to attempt to set forth the meaning of our forms and ceremonies, and to show how much of University history is involved in them. It naturally makes no pretensions to independent research; I have simply tried to make popular the results arrived at in Dr. Rashdall's great book on the _Universities of the Middle Ages_, and in the Rev. Andrew Clark's invaluable _Register of the University of Oxford_ (published by the Oxford Historical Society). My obligations to these two books will be patent to all who know them; it has not, however, seemed necessary to give definite references either to these or to Anstey's _Munimenta Academica_ (Rolls Series), which also has been constantly used. I have tried as far as possible to introduce the language of the statutes, whether past or present; the forms actually used in the degree ceremony itself are given in Latin and translated; in other cases a rendering has usually been given, but sometimes the original has been retained, when the words were either technical or such as would be easily understood by all. The illustrations, with which the Clarendon Press has furnished the book, are its most valuable part. Every Oxford man, who cares for the history of his University, will be glad to have the reproduction of the portrait of the fourteenth-century Chancellor and of the University seal. I have to thank Dr. Rashdall and the Rev. Andrew Clark for most kindly reading through my chapters, and for several suggestions, and Professor Oman for special help in the Appendix on 'The University Staves'. J.W. CONTENTS CHAPTER I PAGE THE DEGREE CEREMONY 1 CHAPTER II THE MEANING OF THE DEGREE CEREMONY 19 CHAPTER III THE PRELIMINARIES OF THE DEGREE CEREMONY 34 CHAPTER IV THE OFFICERS OF THE UNIVERSITY 50 CHAPTER V UNIVERSITY DRESS 64 CHAPTER VI THE PLACES OF THE DEGREE CEREMONY 79 APPENDIX I THE PUBLIC ASSEMBLIES OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD 93 APPENDIX II THE UNIVERSITY STAVES 94 INDEX 97 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS THE ORIGINAL SHELDONIAN _Frontispiece_ THE UNIVERSITY SEAL _To face p._1 (The seal dates from the fourteenth century and is kept by the Proctors.) THE CHANCELLOR RECEIVING A CHARTER FROM EDWARD III _To face p._19 (From the Chancellor's book, circ. 1375.) MASTER AND SCHOLAR _To face p._34 (From the title-page of Burley's _Tractatus de natura et forma_.) THE BEDEL OF DIVINITY'S STAFF _To face p._50 PROCTOR AND SCHOLARS OF THE RESTORATION PERIOD _To face p._64 (From _Habitus Academicorum_, attributed to D. Loggan, 1674.) THE INTERIOR OF THE DIVINITY SCHOOL _To face p._79 [Illustration] CHAPTER I THE DEGREE CEREMONY The streets of Oxford are seldom dull in term time, but a stranger who chances to pass through them between the hours of nine and ten on the morning of a degree day, will be struck and perhaps perplexed by their unwonted animation. He will find the quads of the great block of University buildings, which lie between the 'Broad' and the Radcliffe Square, alive with all sorts and conditions of Oxford men, arrayed in every variety of academic dress. Groups of undergraduates stand waiting, some in the short commoner's gown, others in the more dignified gown of the scholar, all wearing the dark coats and white ties usually associated with the 'Schools' and examinations, but with their faces free from the look of anxiety incident to those occasions. Here and there are knots of Bachelors of Arts, in their ampler gowns with fur-lined hoods, some only removed by a brief three years from their undergraduate days, others who have evidently allowed a much longer period to pass before returning to bring their academic career to its full and complete end. From every college comes the Dean in his Master's gown and hood, or if he be a Doctor, in the scarlet and grey of one of the new Doctorates, in the dignified scarlet and black of Divinity, or in the bold blending of scarlet and crimson which marks Medicine and Law. College servants, with their arms full of gowns and hoods, will be seen in the background, waiting to assist in the academic robing of their former masters, and to pocket the 'tips' which time-honoured custom prescribes. Presently, when the hour of ten has struck, the procession of academic dignity may be seen approaching across the Quad, the Vice-Chancellor preceded by his staves as the symbol of authority, the Proctors in their velvet sleeves and miniver hoods, and the Registrar (or Secretary) of the University. Already most of those concerned are waiting in the room where degrees are to be given: others still lingering outside follow the Vice-Chancellor and the Proctors, and the ceremony of conferring degrees begins. Should our imaginary spectator wish to see the ceremony, he will have no difficulty in gaining admittance to the Sheldonian, even if he have delayed outside till the proceedings have commenced; but if the degrees are conferred in one of the smaller buildings, it is well to secure a seat beforehand, which can be done through any Master of Arts. The ceremony will well repay a visit, for it is picturesque, it should be dignified, it is sometimes amusing. But it is more than this; in the conferment of University Degrees are preserved formulae as old as the University itself, and a ritual which, if understood, is full of meaning as to the oldest University history. The formulae, it is true, are veiled in the obscurity of a learned language, and the ritual is often a mere survival, which at first sight may seem trivial and useless; but those who care for Oxford will wish that every syllable and every form that has come down to us from our ancient past should be retained and understood. It is to explain what is said and what is done on these occasions that this little book is written. [Sidenote: Notice of Degree Ceremony.] Degrees at Oxford are conferred on days appointed by the Vice-Chancellor, of which notice is now given at the beginning of every term, in the _University Gazette_; the old form of giving notice, however, is still retained, in the tolling of the bell of St. Mary's for the hour preceding the ceremony (9 to 10 a.m.)[1]. The assembly at which degrees are conferred is the Ancient House of Congregation (p. 93). The old arrangement of the Laudian Statutes is still maintained, by which the proceedings commence with the entrance of the Vice-Chancellor and Proctors, while one of the Bedels 'proclaims in a quiet tone', 'Intretis in Congregationem, magistri, intretis.' The Vice-Chancellor, when he has formally taken his seat, declares the 'cause of this Congregation'. It will be noticed that both the Vice-Chancellor and the two Proctors, as representing the elements of authority in the University (as will be explained later), wear their caps all through the ceremony. [Sidenote: Other business beside Degree giving.] Degree giving, however, is sometimes preceded and delayed by the confirmation of the lists of examiners who have been 'duly nominated' by the committees appointed for this purpose; it is of course natural that the same body which gives the degree should appoint the examiners, on whose verdicts the degree now mainly depends. A less reasonable cause of delay is the fact that the 'Congregation' is sometimes preceded by a 'Convocation' for the dispatch of general business, as a rule (but not always) of a formal character; the two bodies, Convocation and Congregation, are usually made up of the same persons, and are the same in all but name; the change from one to the other is marked by the Vice-Chancellor's descending from his higher seat, with the words 'Dissolvimus hanc Convocationem; fiat Congregatio'. [Sidenote: The Registrar's Declaration.] The degree ceremony itself begins with the declaration on the part of the Registrar that the candidates for the degrees have duly received permissions (_gratiae_) from their Colleges to present themselves, and that their names have been approved by him[2]; he has already certified himself from the University Register that all necessary examinations have been passed, and has been informed officially that all fees have been paid. The names have been already posted outside the door of the House; it is said that this is done to enable a tradesman to find out when any of his young debtors is about to leave Oxford, so that he may protest, if he wish, against the degree. The posting, however, is natural for many reasons, and no such tradesman's protest has been known for years; nor is it easy to see how it could be made by any one not himself a member of the University. [Sidenote: The College Grace.] The form of the college 'grace' states that the candidate has performed all the University requirements; that for the B.A. may be given as a specimen:-- 'I, _A.B._, Dean of the College _C.D._, bear witness that _E.F._ of the College _C.D._, whom I know to have kept bed and board continuously within the University for the whole period required by the statutes for the degree of B.A., according as the statutes require, since he has undergone a public examination and performed all the other requirements of the statutes, except so far as he has been dispensed, has received from his college the grace for the degree of B.A. Under my pledged word to this University. _A.B._, Dean of the College _C.D._' The words as to residence, that 'bed and board have been kept continuously' are derived immediately from the Laudian statute, but are in fact much older: the other clauses have of course been changed. [Sidenote: Order of Degrees.] The various degrees are then taken in the following order:-- Doctor of Divinity. Doctor of Civil Law or of Medicine. Bachelor of Divinity. Master of Surgery. Bachelor of Civil Law or of Medicine (and of Surgery). Doctor of Letters or of Science.[3] Master of Arts. Bachelor of Letters or of Science. Bachelor of Arts. Musical degrees. It sometimes happens, however, that a candidate is taking two degrees at once (i.e. B.A. and M.A.); this 'unusual distinction', as local newspapers admiringly call it, is generally due to the unkindness of examiners who have prolonged the ordinary B.A. course by repeated 'ploughs'. In these cases the lower degree is conferred out of order before the higher. The same forms are observed in granting all degrees; they are fourfold, and are repeated for each separate degree or set of degrees. Here they are only described once, while minor peculiarities in the granting of each degree are noticed in their place; but it is important to remember that the essentials recur in each admission; this explains the apparently meaningless repetition of the same ceremonies. This repetition was once a much more prominent feature; within living memory it was necessary for each 'grace' to be taken separately, and the Proctors 'walked' for each candidate. Degree ceremonies in those days went on to an interminable length, although the number graduating was only half what it is now. [Sidenote: (1) The _Supplicat_.] The first form is the appeal to the House for the degree. One of the Proctors reads out the _supplicat_, i.e. the petition of the candidate or candidates to be allowed to graduate; this is the duty of the Senior Proctor in the case of the M.A.s, of the Junior Proctor in the case of the B.A.s; for the higher degrees, e.g. the Doctorate, either Proctor may 'supplicate'. The form of the _supplicat_ is the same, with necessary variations, in all cases; that for the M.A. may be given as a specimen:-- 'Supplicat venerabili Congregationi Doctorum et Magistrorum regentium _E.F._ Baccalaureus facultatis Artium e collegio _C._ qui complevit omnia quae per statuta requiruntur, (nisi quatenus cum eo dispensatum fuerit) ut haec sufficiant quo admittatur ad incipiendum in eadem facultate.' ('_E.F._ of _C._ College, Bachelor of Arts, who has completed all the requirements of the statutes (except so far as he has been excused), asks of the venerable Congregation of Doctors and Regent Masters that these things may suffice for his admission to incept in the same faculty.') This form is at least as old as the sixteenth century, and probably much older; but in its original form it set forth more precisely what the candidate had done for his degree (cf. cap. ii). After each _supplicat_ has been read by the Proctor, he with his colleague walks half-way down the House; this is in theory a formal taking of the votes of the M.A.s present. When the Proctors have returned to their seats, the one of them who has read the _supplicat_, lifting his cap (his colleague imitating him in this), declares 'the graces (or grace) to have been granted' ('Hae gratiae concessae sunt et sic pronuntiamus concessas'). The Proctors' walk is the most curious feature of the degree ceremony; it always excites surprise and sometimes laughter. It should, however, be maintained with the utmost respect; for it is the clear and visible assertion of the democratic character of the University; it implies that every qualified M.A. has a right to be consulted as to the admission of others to the position which he himself has attained. But popular imagination has invented a meaning for it, which certainly was not contemplated in its institution; it is currently believed that the Proctors walk in order to give any Oxford tradesman the opportunity of 'plucking' their gown and protesting against the degree of a defaulting candidate. 'Verdant Green'[4] was told that this was the origin of the ominous 'pluck', which for centuries was a word of terror in Oxford; in the last half-century, it has been superseded by the more familiar 'plough'. There is a tradition that such a protest has actually been made within living memory and certainly it was threatened quite recently; a well-known Oxford coach (now dead) informed the Proctors that he intended in this way to prevent the degree of a pupil who had passed his examinations, but had not paid his coach's fee. The defaulter, in this case, failed to present himself for the degree, and so the 'plucking' did not take place. [Sidenote: (2) The Presentation.] The second part of the ceremony is the presentation of the candidates to the Vice-Chancellor and Proctors; this is done in the case of the higher degrees, Divinity, Medicine, &c., by the Professor at the head of the faculty[5], in the case of the M.A.s and B.A.s by the representative of the college. The candidates are placed on the right hand of the presenter, who with 'a proper bow' ('debita reverentia') to the Vice-Chancellor and the Proctors, presents them with the form appropriate to the degree they are seeking; that for the M.A. is as follows:-- 'Insignissime Vice-Cancellarie, vosque egregii Procuratores, praesento vobis hunc Baccalaureum in facultate Artium, ut admittatur ad incipiendum in eadem facultate.' ('Most eminent Vice-Chancellor, and excellent Proctors, I present this B.A. to you for admission to incept in the faculty of Arts.') The old custom was that the presenter should grasp the hand of each candidate and present him separately; some senior members of the University still hold the hand of one of their candidates, though the custom of separate presentation has been abolished; there was an intermediate stage fifty years ago, when the number of those who could be presented at once was limited to five; each of them held a finger or a thumb of the presenter's right hand. [Sidenote: (3) The Proctorial Charge.] The third part of the ceremony is the charge which is delivered, usually by the Junior Proctor, to the candidates for the degree. Each receives a copy of the New Testament from the Bedel, on which to take his oath. The charge to all candidates for a doctorate or for the M.A. is:-- 'Vos dabitis fidem ad observandum statuta, privilegia, consuetudines et libertates istius Universitatis. Item quod quum admissi fueritis in domum Congregationis et in domum Convocationis, in iisdem bene et fideliter, ad honorem et profectum Universitatis, vos geretis. Et specialiter quod in negotiis quae ad gratias et gradus spectant non impedietis dignos, nec indignos promovebitis. Item quod in electionibus habendis unum tantum semel et non amplius in singulis scrutiniis scribetis et nominabitis; et quod neminem nominabitis nisi quem habilem et idoneum certo sciveritis vel firmiter credideritis.' ('You will swear to observe the statutes, privileges, customs and liberties of your University. Also when you have been admitted to Congregation and to Convocation, you will behave in them loyally and faithfully to the honour and profit of the University. And especially in matters concerning graces and degrees, you will not oppose those who are fit or support the unfit. Also in elections you will write down and nominate one only and no more at each vote; and you will nominate no one but a man whom you know for certain or surely believe to be fit and proper.') To this the candidates answer 'Do fidem'. The charge to candidates for the B.A. or other lower degrees is much simpler:-- 'Vos tenemini ad observandum omnia statuta, privilegia, consuetudines, et libertates istius Universitatis, quatenus ad vos spectent' (as far as they concern you). This charge, which is of course the first part of the charge to M.A.s, goes back to the very beginnings of University ceremonial; the latter part of the charge to M.A.s is modern, and takes the place of the more elaborate oaths of the Laudian and of still earlier statutes. By these a candidate bound himself not to recognize any other place in England except Cambridge as a 'university', and especially that he 'would not give or listen to lectures in Stamford as in a university'.[6] There was also a special direction that each candidate should within a fortnight obtain the dress proper for his degree, in order that 'he might be able by it to do honour to our mother the University, in processions and in all other University business'. It is a great pity that this latter part of the old statutes was ever omitted. The candidates for a degree in Divinity, whether Bachelors or Doctors, are charged by the Senior Proctor; the senior of them makes the following declaration, taken from the thirty-sixth canon of the Church of England (as revised and confirmed in 1865): 'I, _A.B._, do solemnly make the following declaration. I assent to the Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion and to the Book of Common Prayer and of the ordering of bishops, priests, and deacons, and I believe the doctrine of the United Church of England and Ireland, as therein set forth, to be agreeable to the Word of God.' The Senior Proctor then says to the other candidates:-- 'Eandem declarationem quam praestitit _A.B._ in persona sua, vos praestabitis in personis vestris, et quilibet vestrum in persona sua.' ('The declaration which _A.B._ has made on his part, you will make on your part, together and severally.') [Sidenote: (4) The Admission by the Vice-Chancellor.] When the candidates have duly taken the oath, the last and most important part of the ceremony is performed. The candidates for any Doctorate, except the new 'Research' ones, or for the M.A., kneel before the Vice-Chancellor; the Doctors are taken separately according to their faculties, then the M.A.s in successive groups of four each; the Vice-Chancellor, as he admits them, touches them each on the head with the New Testament, while he repeats the following form:-- 'Ad honorem Domini nostri Jesu Christi, et ad profectum sacrosanctae matris ecclesiae et studii, ego auctoritate mea et totius Universitatis do tibi (_vel_ vobis) licentiam incipiendi in facultate Artium (_vel_ facultate Chirurgiae, Medicinae, Juris, S. Theologiae) legendi, disputandi, et caetera omnia faciendi quae ad statum Doctoris (_vel_ Magistri) in eadem facultate pertinent, cum ea completa sint quae per statuta requiruntur; in nomine Domini, Patris, Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.' ('For the honour of our Lord Jesus Christ, and for the profit of our holy mother, the Church, and of learning, I, in virtue of my own authority and that of the whole University, give you permission to incept in the Faculty of Arts (or of Surgery, &c.), of reading, disputing, and performing all the other duties which belong to the position of a Doctor (or Master) in that same faculty, when the requirements of the statutes have been complied with, in the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.') This venerable form goes back (p. 26) to the beginning of the fifteenth century, and is probably much older; the only change in it is the omission at the beginning of 'et Beatae Mariae Virginis'. Modern toleration has provided a modified form for use in cases of candidates for whom the full form is theologically inappropriate, but this is rarely used. [Sidenote: Change of Gowns.] The ceremony of the licence is now complete; but before the B.A.s are admitted, the Doctors first, and then the Masters in their turn, retire outside, and don 'their appropriate gowns and hoods'. They receive these from those who were once their college servants, and the right of thus bringing gown and hood is strictly claimed; nor is this surprising, as unwritten custom prescribes that the gratuity must be of gold. The newly created Doctors or Masters then come back, with the Bedel leading the procession, and 'make a bow' to the Vice-Chancellor, who usually shakes hands with the new Doctors; they are then conducted to a place in the raised seats behind and around his chair, from which they can watch the rest of the proceedings. The M.A.s either leave the house or join their friends among the spectators. The ceremony of admitting B.A.s is much simpler. As in the case of the Masters, they are presented by their college Dean; the form of presentation is: 'Insignissime Vice-Cancellarie, vosque egregii Procuratores, praesento vobis hunc meum scholarem (_vel_ hos meos scholares) in facultate Artium, ut admittatur (_vel_ admittantur) ad gradum Baccalaurei in Artibus.' The charge is then given by the Junior Proctor (see pp. 12 and 13). After this the candidates are, without kneeling, admitted by the Vice-Chancellor, in the following words: 'Domine (_vel_ Domini), ego admitto te (_vel_ vos) ad gradum Baccalaurei in Artibus; insuper auctoritate mea et totius Universitatis, do tibi (_vel_ vobis) potestatem legendi, et reliqua omnia faciendi quae ad eundem gradum spectant.' This form also is old, but has been cut down from its former fullness; e.g. in the Laudian Statutes the candidate was admitted, among other things, to 'read a certain book of the Logic of Aristotle'. The B.A.s, when admitted, are allowed to disperse as they please, and the ceremony is over. It is unfortunate that the form of admission to the degree which is most frequently taken, and which (speaking generally) is the most real degree given, should be such an unsatisfactory and bare fragment of the old ceremonial. [Sidenote: Degrees in Absence and Incorporations.] It may be noticed that degrees 'in absence' are announced by the Vice-Chancellor after each set of degrees has been conferred, e.g. an 'absent' M.A. is announced after the M.A.s have made their bow. The University only allows this privilege to those who are actually out of the country, and to them only on stringent conditions; an extra payment of £5 is required. The proceedings terminate sometimes with the admission to 'ad eundem' rank at Oxford, of graduates of Cambridge or of Dublin; this privilege is now rarely granted, though it was once freely given. When all is over, the Vice-Chancellor rises, announces 'Dissolvimus hanc Congregationem', and solemnly leaves the building in the same pomp and state with which he entered. [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: In 1619 a B.A. candidate from Gloucester Hall (now Worcester College), who failed to present himself for his 'grace', was excused 'because he had not been able to hear the bell owing to the remoteness of the region and the wind being against him'.] [Footnote 2: Till recently the whole list of candidates for all degrees was read by the Registrar, as well as by the Proctors afterwards when 'supplicating' for the graces of the various sets of candidates. Time is now economized by having the names read once only.] [Footnote 3: If the Doctor be not an M.A., then his admission to the Doctorate follows the admission of the M.A.s.] [Footnote 4: _Verdant Green_ was published in 1853, and this is the oldest literary evidence for the connexion of 'plucking' and the Proctorial walk. The earliest mention of 'plucking' at Oxford is Hearne's bitter entry (May, 1713) about his enemy, the then Vice-Chancellor, Dr. Lancaster of Queen's--'Dr. Lancaster, when Bachelor of Arts, was plucked for his declamation.' But it is most unlikely that so good a Tory as Hearne would have used a slang phrase, unless it had become well established by long usage. 'Pluck', in the sense of causing to fail, is not unfrequently found in English eighteenth century literature, without any relation to a university; the metaphor from 'plucking' a bird is an obvious one, and may be compared to the German use of 'rupfen'.] [Footnote 5: The old principle is that no one should be presented except by a member of the University who has a degree as high or higher than that sought; this is unfortunately neglected in our own days, when an ordinary M.A., merely because he is a professor, is appointed by statute to present for the degree of D.Litt. or D.Sc.] [Footnote 6: This delightful piece of English conservatism was only removed from the statutes in 1827. It refers to the foundation of a university at Stamford in 1334 by the northern scholars who conceived themselves to have been ill-treated at Oxford; the attempt was crushed at once, but only by the exercise of royal authority.] CHAPTER II THE MEANING OF THE DEGREE CEREMONY [Sidenote: The Oath of the M.A.] For the last 500 years certainly, for nearly 200 longer probably, the candidate presented for 'inception' in the Faculty of Arts (i.e. for the M.A. degree) has sworn that he will observe the 'statutes, privileges, customs and liberties' of his university.[7] It is difficult to know what the average man now means when he hurriedly says 'Do fidem' after the Junior Proctor's charge; but there is no doubt that when the form of words was first used, it meant much. The candidate was being admitted into a society which was maintaining a constant struggle against encroachments, religious or secular, from without, and against unruly tendencies within. And this struggle gave to the University a vivid consciousness of its unity, which in these days of peace and quiet can hardly be conceived. [Sidenote: What is a University?] The essential idea of a university is a distinctly mediaeval one; the Middle Ages were above all things gifted with a genius for organization, and men were regarded, and regarded themselves, rather as members of a community than as individuals. The student in classical times had been free to hear what lectures he pleased, where he pleased, and on what subjects he pleased, and he had no fixed and definite relations with his fellow students. There is little or no trace of regular courses of study, still less of self-governing bodies of students, in the 'universities' of Alexandria or Athens. But with the revival of interest in learning in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, the real formation of universities begins. The students formed themselves into organized bodies, with definite laws and courses of study, both because they needed each other's help and protection, and because they could not conceive themselves as existing in any other way. These organized bodies were called 'universitates'[8], i.e. guilds or associations; the name at first had no special application to bodies of students, but is applied e.g. to a community of citizens; it was only gradually that it acquired its later and narrower meaning; it finally became specialized for a learned corporation, just as 'convent' has been set apart for a religious body, and 'corps' for a military one. [Sidenote: The origin of Oxford University.] When these organized bodies were first formed is a question which it is impossible to discuss at length here, nor could a definite answer be given. The University of Oxford is, in this respect, as in so many others, characteristically English; it grew rather than was made, like most of our institutions, and it can point to no definite year of foundation, and to no individual as founder. Here it must suffice to say that references to students and teachers at Oxford are found with growing frequency all through the twelfth century; but it is only in the last quarter of that century that either of those features which differentiate a university from a mere chance body of students can be clearly traced. These two features are organized study and the right of self-government. The first mention of organized study is about 1184, when Giraldus Cambrensis, having written his _Topographia Hibernica_ and 'desiring not to hide his candle under a bushel,' came to Oxford to read it to the students there; for three days he 'entertained' his audience as well as read to them, and the poor scholars were feasted on a separate day from the 'Doctors of the different faculties'. Here we have definite evidence of organized study. Much more important is the record of 1214 (the year before Magna Carta[9]), when the famous award was given by the Papal Legate, which is the oldest charter of the University of Oxford. In this the 'Chancellor' is mentioned, and we have in this office the beginnings of that self-government which, coupled with organized study, may justify us in saying that the real university was now in existence. It is quite probable that the first Doctor of Divinity whom we find 'incepting' in Oxford, is the learned and saintly Edmund Rich, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury; he seems to have taken this degree in the reign of John, but he had been already teaching secular subjects in the preceding reign (Richard I's). It is significant of mediaeval Oxford's position as a pillar of the Church and a champion of liberty, that her first traceable graduate should be the last Archbishop of Canterbury who was canonized, and one of the defenders of English liberties against the misgovernment of Henry III. [Sidenote: The University a Guild of M.A.s.] The 'University' of Oxford, like the great sister (or might we say mother?) school of Paris, was an association of Masters of Arts, and they alone were its proper members. In our own days, when not more than half of those who enter the University proceed to the M.A. Degree, and when only about ten per cent. of them reside for any time after the B.A. course is ended, this state of things seems inconceivable; but it has left its trace, even in popular knowledge, in the well-known fact that M.A.s are exempt from Proctorial jurisdiction; and our degree terminology is still based upon it. It is the M.A. who is admitted by the Vice-Chancellor to 'begin', i.e. to teach (_ad incipiendum_), when he is presented to him, and at Cambridge and in American Universities the ceremonies at the end of the academic year are called 'Commencement'. What seems an Irish bull is really a survival of the oldest university arrangements. [Sidenote: The meaning of the 'Degree'.] As then the University is a guild of Masters, the degree is the 'step' by which the distinction of becoming a full member of it is attained. Gibbon wrote a century ago that 'the use of academical degrees is visibly borrowed from the mechanic corporations, in which an apprentice, after serving his time, obtains a testimonial of his skill, and his licence to practise his trade or mystery'. This statement, though accurate in the main, is misleading; the truth is that the learned body has not so much borrowed from the 'mechanic' one, as that both have based their arrangements independently on the same idea. [Sidenote: A Bachelor of Arts.] This connexion may be illustrated from the other degree title, 'Bachelor.' If the etymology at present best supported may be accepted, that honourable term was originally used for a man who worked on a 'cow-strip' of land, i.e. who was assistant of a small cultivator; whether this be true or not, it at any rate soon came to denote the apprentice as opposed to the master-workman; in fact the 'Bachelor' in the university corresponded to the 'pupil-teacher' of more humble associations in our own days. In this sense of the word, as Dr. Murray quaintly says, a woman student can become a 'Bachelor' of Arts. [Sidenote: Two elements in the Degree Ceremony: (1) Consent of existing M.A.'s.] It was natural that the existing members of the 'university' or guild should be consulted as to the admission of new members; their consent was one element in the degree giving. The means by which the fitness of applicants for the degree was tested will be spoken of later, and also the methods by which the existing Masters expressed their willingness to admit the new-comer among them. [Sidenote: (2) Outside authority, that of the Church.] But there is quite a different element in the degree from that which has so far been mentioned. That was democratic, the consent of the community; this is autocratic, the authority conferred by a head, superior to, and outside of the community. The Vice-Chancellor of Oxford represents this second principle; he gives the degree in virtue of 'his own authority' as well as of that 'of the University'. This authority is originally that of the Church, to which, in England at any rate, all mediaeval students _ipso facto_ belonged; the new student was admitted into the 'bosom' (_matricula_) of the University by receiving some form of tonsure, and for the first two centuries of University existence, no other ceremony was needed. Matriculation examinations at any rate were in those happy days unknown. Hence the authority which the cathedral chancellor, representing the bishop, had exercised over the schools and teachers of the diocese, was extended as a matter of course to the teachers of the newly-risen Universities. The fitness of the applicant for a degree was tested by those who had it already, but the ecclesiastical authority gave the 'licence' to teach. This ecclesiastical origin of the M.A. degree is well shown in the formula of admission (pp. 15, 16). The new Master is admitted 'in honorem Domini nostri Jesu Christi' and 'in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost'. [Sidenote: The Pope and the Universities.] The close connexion of the Church and higher education is further illustrated by the view of the fourteenth-century jurists that a bull from the Pope or from the Holy Roman Emperor was needed to make a teaching body a 'Studium Generale', and to give its doctors the _jus ubique docendi_[10]. A curious survival of the same idea still remains in the power of the Archbishop of Canterbury, as English Metropolitan, to recommend the Crown to grant 'Lambeth degrees' to deserving clergy; this is probably a survival of the old rights of the Archbishop as 'Legatus Natus' in England of the Holy See. [Sidenote: Survivals in the modern Degree Ceremony.] There were then two elements in the conferring of a mediaeval degree, the formal approval of the candidate by the already existing Masters and the granting of the 'licence' by the Chancellor. Of these the 'licence' is fully retained in our present ceremony; the new M.A. receives permission (_licentia_) from the Vice-Chancellor to 'do all that belongs to the status of a Master', when 'the requirements of the statutes have been fulfilled'. This condition is now meaningless, for he has already fulfilled all 'the requirements'; but in mediaeval times it referred to the second (and what was really the most important) part of his qualifications, his appearance at the solemn 'Act' or ceremony which was the chief event of the University year. At it Masters and Doctors formally showed that they were able to perform the functions of their new rank, and were then 'admitted' to it by investiture with the 'cap' of authority, with the 'ring', and with the 'kiss' of peace; the kiss was given by the Senior Proctor; the ring was the symbol of the inceptor's mystical marriage to his science. The 'Act' in our day only survives as giving a name to one of our two Summer Terms, which still have a place in the University Calendar, and in the requirements of 'twelve terms of residence', although only nine real terms are kept. Its disappearance was gradual; already in 1654, when John Evelyn attended the 'Act' at St. Mary's, he expresses surprise at 'those ancient ceremonies and institution (_sic_) being as yet not wholly abolished'; but the 'Act' survived into another century, although becoming more and more of a form; it is last mentioned in 1733. With the ceremony disappeared the formal exhibition of the candidate's fitness for the degree he is seeking. [Sidenote: The Master in Grammar.] But in the mediaeval University it had been far otherwise. The idea that a degree was formally taken by the applicant showing himself competent for it, may be well illustrated from the quaint ceremony of admitting a Master in Grammar at Cambridge, as described by the Elizabethan Esquire Bedel, Mr. Stokys: 'The Bedel in Arts shall bring the Master in Grammar to the Vice-Chancellor, delivering him a palmer with a rod, which the Vice-Chancellor shall give to the said Master in Grammar, and so create him Master. Then shall the Bedel purvey for every Master in Grammar a shrewd boy, whom the Master in Grammar shall beat openly in the Schools, and he shall give the boy a groat for his labour, and another groat to him that provideth the rod and the palmer. And thus endeth the Act in that faculty.' It may be added that the Vice-Chancellor and each of the Proctors received a 'bonnet', but only one, however many 'Masters' might be incepting. In Oxford likewise the 'Master in Grammar' was created '_ferula_ (i.e. palmer) _et virgis_'. [Sidenote: The Disputations at the Act.] The Oxford M.A. had to show his qualifications in a way less painful, though as practical, by publicly attacking or defending theses solemnly approved for discussion by Congregation. These theses were themselves by no means always solemn, e.g. one of those appointed in 1600 was 'an uxor perversa humanitate potius quam asperitate sanetur?' ('whether a shrew is better cured by kindness or by severity'). This question, obviously suggested by Shakespeare's _Taming of the Shrew_, which was written soon after 1594, was answered by the incepting M.A.s in the opposite sense to the dramatist. It need hardly be said that all the disputations were in Latin. The Doctors too of the different faculties were created at the 'Act' after disputations on subjects connected with their faculty. Something resembling these disputations still survives in a shadowy form at Oxford, in the requirements for the degrees of B.D. and D.D. A candidate for the B.D. has to read in the Divinity School two theses on some theological subject approved by the Regius Professor, a candidate for the D.D. has to read and expound three passages of Holy Scripture; in both cases notice has to be given beforehand of the subject, a custom which survives from the time when the candidate might expect to have his theses disputed; but now the Regius Professor and the candidate generally have the Divinity School to themselves. All the ceremonies of the 'Act' have passed away from Oxford completely.[11] They are only referred to here as serving to illustrate the idea that a new Master was not admitted till he had performed a 'masterpiece', i.e. done a piece of work such as a Master might be expected to do. There was till quite recently one last trace of them in our degree arrangements; a new M.A. was not admitted to the privileges of his office till the end of the term in which he had been 'licensed to incept'; although the University, having given up the 'Act', allowed no opportunity of 'incepting', an interval was left in which the ceremony might have taken place. Now, however, for purposes of practical convenience, even this form is dropped, and a new M.A. enters on his privileges, e.g. voting in Convocation, &c., as soon as he has been licensed by the Vice-Chancellor. Strictly speaking an Oxford man never takes his M.A., for there is no ceremony of institution; he is 'licensed' to take part in a ceremony which has ceased to exist. [Sidenote: The Encaenia.] And yet in another form the 'Act' survives in our familiar Commemoration; the relation of this to the 'Act' seems to be somewhat as follows. The Sheldonian Theatre was opened, as will be described later (p. 81), with a great literary and musical performance, a 'sort of dedication of the Theatre'; this was called 'Encaenia'.[12] So pleased was the University with the performance that the Chancellor next year (1670) ordered that it should be repeated annually, on the Friday before the 'Act'. From the very first there was a tendency to confuse the two ceremonies; even the accurate antiquarian, Antony Wood, speaks of music as part of 'the Act', which was really performed at the preliminary gathering, the Encaenia. The new function gradually grew in importance, and additions were made to it; the munificent Lord Crewe, prince-bishop of Durham, who enjoys an unenviable immortality in the pages of Macaulay, and a more fragrant if less lasting memory in Besant's charming romance _Dorothy Forster_, left some of his great wealth for the Creweian Oration, in which annual honour is done to the University Benefactors at the Commemoration. Hence, while the customs of the 'Act' became more and more meaningless and neglected, the Encaenia became more and more popular, until finally the older ceremony was merged in the newer one. In our Commemoration degree-giving still takes place, along with recitation of prize poems and the paying of honour to benefactors. The degrees are all honorary, but they are submitted to the House in the same way as ordinary degrees; the Vice-Chancellor puts the question to the Convocation, just as the Proctor submits the 'grace' to Congregation, and in theory a vote is taken on the creation of the new D.C.L.s, just as in theory the Proctors take the votes as to the admission of new M.A.s. Commemoration may be, as John Richard Green said, 'Oxford in masquerade'; there may be 'grand incongruities, Abyssinian heroes robed in literary scarlet, degrees conferred by the suffrages of virgins in pink bonnets and blue, a great academical ceremony drowned in an atmosphere of Aristophanean (_sic_) chaff'. But the chaff is the legitimate successor of the burlesque performance of the Terrae Filius at the old 'Act', and the degrees are submitted to the House with the old formula; even the presence of ladies would have been no surprise to our predecessors of 200 years ago, however much they would have astonished our mediaeval founders and benefactors; in the Sheldonian from the first the gallery under the organ was always set apart for 'ladies and gentlewomen'. 'Oxford', to quote J.R. Green once again, 'is simply young', but when he goes on to say 'she is neither historic nor theological nor academical', he exaggerates; the charm of Oxford lies in the fact that her youth is at home among survivals historic, theological, and academical; and the old survives while the new flourishes. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 7: The form is found in the two 'Proctors' books', of which the oldest, that of the Junior Proctor, was drawn up (in 1407) by Richard Fleming, afterwards Bishop of Lincoln and founder of Lincoln College; but it was then already an established form, and probably goes back to the thirteenth century, i.e. to the reign of Henry III.] [Footnote 8: It is perhaps still necessary to emphasize the fact that the name 'University' had nothing to do with the range of subjects taught, or with the fact that instruction was offered to all students; the latter point is expressed in the earlier name 'studium generale' borne by universities, which is not completely superseded by 'universitas' till the fifteenth century.] [Footnote 9: The coincidence is not accidental. Magna Carta was wrested from a king humiliated by his submission to the Pope, and the University Charter was given to redress an act of violence on the part of the Oxford citizens, who had been stimulated in their attack on the 'clerks' of Oxford by John's quarrel with the Pope.] [Footnote 10: Oxford never received this Papal ratification; but as its claim to be a 'studium generale' was indisputable, it, like Padua, was recognized as a 'general seat of study' 'by custom'. The University of Paris, however, at one time refused to admit Oxford graduates to teach without re-examination, and Oxford retorted (the Papal bull in favour of Paris notwithstanding) by refusing to recognize the rights of the Paris doctors to teach in her Schools.] [Footnote 11: In the Scotch Universities Doctors are still created by '_birettatio_', the laying on of the cap, and I believe this is still done at many 'Commencements' in America.] [Footnote 12: Compare St. John x. 22, [Greek: enkainia] = 'The Feast of the Dedication'.] CHAPTER III THE PRELIMINARIES OF THE DEGREE CEREMONY [Sidenote: The Preliminaries of the Degree Ceremony.] It is needless to describe the requirements of our modern examination system, for those who present themselves for degrees, and their friends, know them only too well. And to describe completely the requirements of the mediaeval or the Laudian University would be to enter into details which, however interesting, would yet belong to antiquarian history, and which have no relation to our modern arrangements. But there are certain broad principles which are common to the present system and to its predecessors, and which well deserve attention. [Illustration] [Sidenote: (1) Residence.] The first and most important of these is that Oxford has always required from those seeking a degree, as she requires now, 'residence' in the University for a given time. It is declared in the Proctors' books (mediaeval statutes used picturesque language), that 'Whereas those who seek to mount to the highest places by a short cut, neglecting the steps (_gradibus_) thereto, seem to court a fall, no M.A. should present a candidate (for the B.A.) unless the person to be presented swear that he has studied the liberal arts in the Schools, for at least four years at some proper university'. There was of course a further three years required of those taking the M.A. degree, and a still longer period for the higher faculties. Residence, it may be added, was required to be continuous; the modern arrangement which makes it possible to put in a term, whenever convenient to the candidate, would have seemed a scandal to our predecessors. It will be noticed that much more than our modern 'pernoctation' was then required for residence, and that migration from other universities was more freely permitted than is now the case. This freedom to study at more than one university is still the rule in Germany, and Oxford is returning to it in the new statute on Colonial and Foreign Universities, which excuses members of other bodies who have complied with certain conditions, from one year of residence, and from part of our examinations. [Sidenote: Relaxations of Residence.] The University in old days, however, was more prepared to relax this requirement than it is in modern times; the sons of knights and the eldest sons of esquires[13] were permitted to take a degree after three years, and 'graces' might be granted conferring still further exemptions; e.g. a certain G. More was let off with two years only, in 1571, because being 'well born and the only son of his father', he is afraid that he 'may be called away before he has completed the appointed time', and so may 'be unable to take his degree conveniently'. The University is less indulgent now. [Sidenote: (2) Lectures.] The old statute quoted above also implies that there were special lectures to be heard during the four years of residence; some of them had to be attended twice over. The old Oxford records give careful directions how the lectures were to be given; the text was to be closely adhered to and explained, and digressions were forbidden. There are, however, none of those strict rules as to the punctuality of the lecturer, the pace at which he was to lecture, &c., which make some of the mediaeval statutes of other universities so amusing[14]. The list of subjects for a mediaeval degree is too long to be given here; it may be mentioned, however, that Aristotle, then as always, held a prominent place in Oxford's Schools.[15] This was common to other universities, but the weight given to Mathematics and to Music was a special feature of the Oxford course. The lectures were of course University and not college lectures; the latter hardly existed before the sixteenth century, and were as a rule confined to members of the college. As there were no 'Professors' in our sense, the instruction was given by the ordinary Masters of Arts, among whom those who were of less than two years' standing were compelled to lecture, and were styled 'necessary regents' (i.e. they 'governed the Schools'). They were paid by the fees of their pupils (_Collecta_, a word familiar in a different sense in our 'Collections'). There was keen competition in early days to attract the largest possible audience, but later on the University enacted that all fees should be pooled and equally divided among the teachers. For this (and for other reasons) the lectures became more and more a mere form, and no real part of a student's education. [Sidenote: Cutting Lectures.] There had been from time immemorial a fixed tariff for 'cutting'[16] lectures, and there was a further fine of the same amount for failing to take notes. But the University from time to time tried actually to enforce attendance. A curious instance of this occurs toward the close of the reign of Elizabeth; a number of students were solemnly warned that 'by cutting' lectures, they were incurring the guilt of perjury, because they had sworn to obey the statutes which required attendance at lectures. They explained they had thought their 'neglect' to hear lectures only involved them in the fine and not in 'perjury', and after this apology they seem to have proceeded to their degrees without further difficulty. [Sidenote: Graces.] In fact there was a growing separation after the fifteenth century, between the formal requirements for the degree, and the actual University system; sometimes irreconcilable difficulties arose, e.g. when two students were (in 1599) summoned to explain why they had not attended one of the lectures required for the degree, and they presented the unanswerable excuse that the teacher in question had not lectured, having himself been excused by the University from the duty of giving the lecture. In fact the whole system would have been unworkable but for the power of granting 'graces' or dispensations, which has already been referred to: how necessary and almost universal these were, may be seen from the fact that even so conscientious a disciplinarian as Archbishop Laud, stern alike to himself and to others, was dispensed from observing all the statutes when he took his D.D. (1608) 'because he was called away suddenly on necessary business'. We can well believe that Laud then, as always, was busy, but there were other students who got their 'graces' with much less excuse. Modern students may well envy the good fortune of the brothers Carey from Exeter College, who (in 1614) were dispensed because 'being shortly about to depart from the University, they desired to take with them the B.A. degree as a benediction from their Alma Mater, the University'. [Sidenote: The New College Privilege.] One curious development of the old system of 'graces' survived in one of the most prominent of Oxford colleges almost till within living memory.[17] William of Wykeham had ordained that his students should perform the whole of the University requirements, and not avail themselves of dispensations. When the granting of these became so frequent that they were looked upon as the essential part of the system, the idea grew up that New College men were to be exempt from the ordinary tests of the University. Hence a Wykehamist took his degree with no examination but that of his own college, both under the Laudian Statute and after the great statute of 1800, which set up the modern system of examinations. What the founder had intended as an encouragement for industry was made by his degenerate disciples an excuse for idleness. [Sidenote: (3) Examinations.] So far only the qualifications of residence and attendance on lectures have been spoken of. The great test of our own times, the examination, has not even been referred to. And it must certainly be admitted that the terrors of the modern written examinations were unknown in the old universities; such testing as took place was always viva voce. That the tests were serious, in theory at any rate, may be fairly inferred from the frequent statutes at Paris against bribing examiners, and from the provision at Bologna that at this 'rigorous and tremendous examination', the examiner should treat the examinee 'as his own son'. Robert de Sorbonne, the founder of the famous college at Paris, has even left a sermon in which an elaborate comparison is drawn between university examinations and the Last Judgement; it need hardly be said that the moral of the sermon is the greater severity of the heavenly test as compared with the earthly; if a man neglects his prescribed book, he will be rejected once, but if he neglect 'the book of conscience, he will be rejected for ever'. Such a comparison was not likely to have been made, had not the earthly ordeal possessed terrors at least as great as those that mark its modern successors. [Sidenote: Responsions.] It may be added at once, however, that we hear very little about examinations in old Oxford; but still there were some. Then as now the first examination was Responsions, a name which has survived for at least 500 years, whatever changes there have been in its meaning. The University also still retains the time-honoured name of the 'Masters of the Schools' for those who conduct this examination (though there are now six and not four, as in the thirteenth century), and candidates who pass are still said as of old to have 'responded in Parviso'.[18] In the fifteenth century a man had to be up at least a year before he entered for this examination, in the sixteenth century he could not do so before his ninth term, i.e. only a little more than a year before he took his B.A. The examination is now generally taken before coming into residence, and the most patriotic Oxford man would hardly apply to it the enthusiastic praises of the seventeenth-century Vice-Chancellor (1601) who called it 'gloriosum illud et laudabile in parviso certamen, quo antiquitus inclaruit nostra Academia'. [Sidenote: Other examinations.] At the end of four years, as has been said, a man 'determined', i.e. performed the disputations and other requirements for the degree of B.A., and after this ceremony there were more 'lectures and disputings' to be performed in the additional three years' residence required for a Master's degree. Nothing, however, is said of definite examinations as to the intellectual fitness of candidates for the M.A. Hearne (early in the eighteenth century) quotes from an old book, that the candidate 'must submit himself privately to the examination of everyone of that degree, whereunto he desireth to be admitted'. But the terror of such a multiplied test was no doubt greatly softened by the fact that what is everybody's business is nobody's business. [Sidenote: (4) Character.] The stress laid on the course followed rather than on the final examination brings out the great idea underlying the old degree; it sought its qualifications on all sides of a man's life, and not simply in his power to get up and reproduce knowledge. Hence it is provided that M.A.s should admit to 'Determination' (i.e. to the B.A.) only those who are 'fit in knowledge and character'; 'if any question arises on other points, e.g. as to age, stature, or other outward qualifications (_corporum circumstantiis_)', it is reserved for the majority of the Regents. How minute was the inquiry into character can be seen in the case of a certain Robert Smith (of Magdalen) in 1582, who was refused his B.A., because he had brought scandalous charges against the fellows of his College, had called an M.A. 'to his face "arrant knave", had been at a disputation in the Divinity School' in the open assembly of Doctors and Masters 'with his hat on his head', and had 'taken the wall of M.A.s without any moving of his hat'. All such minute inquiries as these are now left to the colleges, who are required by statute to see to it that candidates for the degree are 'of good character' (_probis moribus_). [Sidenote: (5) _Circuitus_.] When a candidate's 'grace' had been obtained there was still another precaution before the degree, whether B.A. or M.A., was actually conferred. He had to go bare-headed, in his academical dress, round the 'Schools', preceded by the Bedel of his faculty, and to call on the Vice-Chancellor and two Proctors before sunset; this gave more opportunity to the authorities or to any M.A. to see whether he was fit. Of this old ceremony a bare fragment still remains in the custom that a candidate's name has to be entered in a book at the Vice-Chancellor's house before noon on the day preceding the degree-giving; but this formality now is usually performed for a man by his college Dean, or even by a college servant. [Sidenote: (6) _De positio._] When the day of the ceremony arrived, solemn testimony was given to the Proctor of the candidate's fitness by those who 'deposed' for him. In the case of the B.A., nine Bachelors were required to testify to fitness; in the case of the M.A., nine Masters had to swear this from 'sure knowledge', and five more 'to the best of their belief' (_de credulitate_). These depositions were whispered into the ears of the Proctor by the witnesses kneeling before him. The information was given on oath, and as it were under the seal of confession; for neither they nor the Proctors were allowed to reveal it. Of all this picturesque ceremony nothing is left but the number 'nine'; so many M.A.s at least must be present, in order that the degree may be rightly given. It is not infrequent, towards the close of a degree ceremony, for a Dean who is about to leave, having presented his own men, to be asked to remain until the proceedings are over, in order to 'make a House'. The preliminaries, formal or otherwise, to the conferment of degrees have now been described. Two other points must be here mentioned, in one of which the University still retains its old custom, in the other it has departed from it. [Sidenote: Degrees in Arts required for entrance to the Higher Faculties.] The first is the requirement which has always been maintained in Oxford, that a candidate for one of the higher degrees, e.g. the D.D. or the D.M., should have first passed through the Arts course, and taken the ordinary B.A. degree. This principle, that a general education should precede a special study, is most important now; it has also a venerable history. It was established by the University as long ago as the beginning of the fourteenth century, and was the result of a long struggle against the Mendicant Friars. This struggle was part of that jealousy between the Regular and the Secular Clergy, which is so important in the history of the English Church in mediaeval times. The University, as identified with the ordinary clergy, steadfastly resisted the claim of the great preaching orders, the Franciscans and the Dominicans, to proceed to a degree in Theology without first taking the Arts course. The case was carried to Rome more than once, and was decided both for and against the University; but royal favour and popular feeling were for the Oxford authorities against the Friars, and the principle was maintained then, and, as has been said, has been maintained always. [Sidenote: The M.A. becomes a form.] In the other point there has been a great departure from old usage. The original degree course involved seven years' residence for those who wished to become Masters. Even before the Reformation, the number of those who took the degree was comparatively small, although the candidate at entrance was often only thirteen years old or even younger; and with the improvement of the schools of the country in the sixteenth century, the need of such prolonged residence became less, as candidates were better prepared before they came up. Since the old arrangements were clearly unworkable, different universities have modified them in various ways; in Scotland the Baccalaureate has disappeared altogether, and the undergraduate passes straight to his M.A.; in France the degree of _bachelier_ is the lowest of university qualifications, and more nearly resembles our Matriculation than anything else; in Germany the Doctorate is the reward of undergraduate studies, although it need hardly be said that those studies are on different lines from those of our own undergraduates. In England the old names have both been maintained (the English, like the Romans, are essentially conservative), but their meaning has been entirely altered. We can trace in the Elizabethan and the Stuart periods the gradual modification of the old requirements for the residence of M.A.s, by means of dispensations. This was done in two ways. Sometimes the actual time required was shortened, because a man was poor, because he could get clerical promotion if he were an M.A., or even by a general 'grace' in order to increase the number of those taking the degree. If only a small number incepted it was thought a reflection on Oxford, and there were always Cambridge spectators at hand to note it. And as the Proctors were largely paid by the degree fees, they had an obvious interest in increasing the number of M.A.s. But it was more frequent to retain the length of time, but to dispense with actual residence; special reasons for this, e.g. clerical duties, travel, lawsuits, are at first given, but it gradually became the normal procedure, and residence ceased to be required after the B.A. degree had been taken. The Master's term was retained _pro forma_ till within the recollection of graduates still living (it will be remembered that Mr. Hughes makes 'Tom Brown' return to keep it, a sadder and a wiser man); but even that form has now disappeared, and the Oxford M.A. qualifies for his degree only by continuing to live and by paying fees. It may be added at once that the maintenance of the form is essential to the finance of the University; the M.A. fees alone, apart from the dues paid in the interval between taking the B.A. and the M.A., amount to some £6,000 a year, and considering how little the ordinary man pays as an undergraduate to the University, the payment of the M.A. is one that is fully due; it should be regarded by all Oxford men as an expression of the gratitude to their Alma Mater, which they are in duty bound to show. The future of Oxford finance would be brighter if some reformer could devise means by which the relation of the M.A. to his University might become more of a reality, so that he might realize his obligations to her. The doctrine of Walter de Merton that a foundation should benefit by the 'happy fortune' (_uberiore fortuna_) of its sons in subsequent life, is one that sadly needs emphasizing in Oxford. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 13: This custom has left its trace in our matriculation arrangements. Candidates are still required to state the rank of their father, and their position in the family, though birth and primogeniture no longer carry any privileges with them at Oxford.] [Footnote 14: The University authorities at Paris and elsewhere had a great objection to dictating lectures; on the other hand the mediaeval undergraduate, like his modern successor, loved to 'get something down', and was wont to protest forcibly against a lecturer who went too fast, by hissing, shouting, or even organized stone-throwing.] [Footnote 15: It is amusing to notice that the irreducible minimum of the _Ethics_ at Paris in the fourteenth century consists of the same first four books that are still almost universally taken up at Oxford for the pass degree (i.e. in the familiar 'Group A. I').] [Footnote 16: It was only _2d._, a sum which has been immortalized by Samuel Johnson's famous retort on his tutor: 'Sir, you have sconced me _2d._ for non-attendance at a lecture not worth a penny.'] [Footnote 17: It was resigned voluntarily by New College in 1834; but the distinction is still observed (or should be) that a Fellow of the College needs no grace for his degree, or if one is asked, 'demands' it as a right (_postulat_ is used instead of the usual _supplicat_). I have adopted Dr. Rashdall's explanation of the origin of this strange privilege. It is curious to add that King's College, Cambridge, copied it, along with other and better features, from its great predecessor and model, New College.] [Footnote 18: i.e. in the Parvis or Porch of St. Mary's, where the disputations on Logic and Grammar, which formed the examination, took place: this was probably a room over the actual entrance, such as was common in mediaeval churches; there is a small example of one still to be seen in Oxford, over the south porch of St. Mary Magdalen Church.] CHAPTER IV THE OFFICERS OF THE UNIVERSITY [Sidenote: The Origin of the Chancellor's Authority.] The beginning of the organized authority of the University, as has been already said (p. 22), is the mention of the Chancellor in the charter of 1214. In the earliest period this officer was the centre of the constitutional life of Oxford. Although the bishop's representative, and as such endowed with an authority external to the University, he was, perhaps from the first, elected by the Doctors and Masters there. Hence by a truly English anomaly, the representative of outside authority becomes identified with the representative of the democratic principle, and the Oxford Chancellor combined in himself the position of the elected Rector of a foreign university, and that of the Chancellor appointed by an external power. The reason for this anomaly is partly the remote position of the episcopal see; Lincoln, the bishop's seat, was more than 100 miles from the University town, which lay on the very borders of his great diocese. The combination too was surely made easy by the influence of the great scholar-saint, Bishop Grosseteste, who had himself filled the position of Chancellor (though he may not have borne the title) before he passed to the see of Lincoln, which he held for eighteen years (1235-1253) during the critical period of the growth of the academic constitution. [Illustration] [Illustration] During the first two centuries of the University's existence, the Chancellor was a resident official; but in the fifteenth century it became customary to elect some great ecclesiastic, who was able by his influence and wealth to promote the interests of Oxford and Oxford scholars; such an one was George Neville, the brother of the King-Maker Earl of Warwick, who became Chancellor in 1453 at the age of twenty. He no doubt owed his early elevation to the magnificence with which he had entertained the whole of Oxford when he had proceeded to his M.A. from Balliol College in the preceding year. [Sidenote: The Vice-Chancellor.] From the fifteenth century onwards the Vice-Chancellor takes the place of the Chancellor as the centre of University life; as the Chancellor's representative, he is nominated every year by letters from him, though the appointment is in theory approved by the vote of Convocation. The nomination of a Vice-Chancellor is for a year, but renomination is allowed; as a matter of fact, the Chancellor's choice is limited by custom in two ways; no Vice-Chancellor is reappointed more than three times, i.e. the tenure of the office is limited to four years, and the nomination is always offered to the senior head of a house who has not held the position already; if any head has declined the office when offered to him on a previous occasion, he is treated as if he had actually held it. The Vice-Chancellor has all the powers and duties of the Chancellor in the latter's absence; but in the rare cases when the Chancellor visits Oxford, his deputy sinks for the time into the position of an ordinary head of a college. [Sidenote: The Control of Examinations.] The only duties of the Vice-Chancellor that need be here mentioned are his authority and control over examinations and over degrees, duties which are of course connected. Any departure from the ordinary course of proceeding needs his approval: e.g. (to take a constantly recurring case) he alone can give permission to examine an undergraduate out of his turn, when any one has failed to present himself at the right time for viva voce. Now that all Oxford arrangements for examinations have developed into a cast-iron system, the appeal, except in matters of detail, to the Vice-Chancellor is rare; but it was not always so; his control was at one time a very real and important matter. In the case of the famous Dr. Fell, Dean of Christ Church, Antony Wood notes 'that he did frequent examinations for degrees, hold the examiners up to it, and if they would or could not do their duty, he would do it himself, to the pulling down of many'. It is no wonder that men said of him:-- I do not like thee, Dr. Fell, The reason why I cannot tell. He was equally careful of the decencies and proprieties of the degree ceremony; 'his first care (as Vice-Chancellor) was to make all degrees go in caps, and in public assemblies to appear in hoods. He also reduced the caps and gowns worn by all degrees to their former size and make, and ordered all cap-makers and tailors to make them so.' It was necessary for him to be strict; some of the Puritans, although they were not on the whole neglectful of the dignity and the studies of the University, had carried their dislike of all ceremonies and forms so far as to attempt to abolish academical dress. 'The new-comers from Cambridge and other parts (in 1648) observed nothing according to statutes.' It was only the stubborn opposition of the Proctor, Walter Pope (in 1658), which had prevented the formal abolition of caps and gowns; and one of Fell's predecessors as Vice-Chancellor, the famous Puritan divine, John Owen, also Dean of Christ Church, had caused great scandal to the 'old stock remaining' by wearing his hat (instead of a college cap) in Congregation and Convocation; 'he had as much powder in his hair as would discharge eight cannons' (but this was a Cambridge scandal, and may be looked on with suspicion), and wore for the most part 'velvet jacket, his breeches set round at knee with ribbons pointed, Spanish leather boots with Cambric tops'. But in spite of this somewhat pronounced opposition to a 'prelatical cut', Owen had been in his way a disciplinarian. He had arrested with his own hands, pulling him down from the rostrum and committing him to Bocardo prison, an undergraduate who had carried too far the wit of the 'Terrae Filius', the licensed jester of the solemn Act. [Sidenote: The Bedels.] Fortunately the Vice-Chancellor in these more orderly days has not to carry out discipline with his own hands in this summary fashion. He has his attendants, the Bedels, for this purpose, who, as the statutes order, 'wearing the usual gowns and round caps, walk before him in the customary way with their staves, three gold and one silver.' The office of Bedel is one of the oldest in Oxford, and is common to all Universities; Dr. Rashdall goes so far as to say that 'an allusion to a bidellus is in general (though not invariably) a sufficiently trustworthy indication that a School is really a University or Studium Generale'. The higher rank of 'Esquire Bedel' has been abolished, and the old office has sadly shrunk in dignity; it is hard now to conceive the state of things in the reign of Henry VII, when the University was distracted by the counter-claims of the candidates for the post of Divinity Bedel, when one of them had the support of the Prince of Wales, and another that of the King's mother, the Lady Margaret, and when the electors were hard put to it to decide between candidates so royally backed; it was a contest between gratitude in the sense of a lively expectation of favours to come, and gratitude for benefits already received (i.e. the Lady Margaret Professorship of Divinity, the first endowment of University teaching in Oxford). Even the Puritans had attached the greatest importance to the office, and a humorous side is given to the sad account of the Parliamentary Visitation in 1648 and the following years, by the distress of the Visitors at the disappearance of the old symbols of authority. The Bedels, being good Royalists, had gone off with their official staves, and refused to surrender them to the usurping intruders. Resolution after resolution was passed to remedy the defect; the Visitors were reduced to ordering that the stipends of suppressed lectureships should be applied to the purchase of staves, and were finally compelled to appeal to the colleges for contributions towards the replacing of these signs of authority. The present staves date from the eighteenth century, while the old ones[19] rest in honourable retirement at the University Galleries. Though the office of Bedel has ceased to be in our own days a matter of high University politics, it would be difficult to exaggerate the importance of the part played by the Bedel of the Faculty of Arts in the degree ceremony. It is he who marshals the candidates for presentation, distributes the testaments on which they have to take their oath, and superintends the retirement of the Doctors and the M.A.s into the Apodyterium, whence they return under his guidance in their new robes, to make their bow to the Vice-Chancellor and Proctors.[20] If the truth must be added, he is often relied on by these officers to tell them what they have to do and to say. [Sidenote: The Proctors.] If the Vice-Chancellor is responsible for order in the Congregation, and actually admits to the degree, the Proctors, as representatives of the Faculty of Arts, play an equally important part in the ceremony. These officials are to the undergraduate without doubt the most prominent figures in the University; they form the centre of a large part of Oxford mythology; it may be said (it is to be hoped the comparison is not irreverent) that they play much the same part in Oxford stories as the Evil One does in mediaeval legends, for like him they are mysterious and omnipresent beings, powerful for mischief, yet often not without a sense of humour, who are by turns the oppressors and the butts of the wily undergraduate. To most Oxford men it comes as a discovery, about the time they take their degree at the earliest, that the Proctors have many other things to do besides looking after them. The office goes back to the very beginnings of the University and is first mentioned in 1248, when the Proctors are associated with the Chancellor in the charter of Henry III, which gave the University a right to interfere in the assize of bread and beer. Their number recalls one of the most important points in the early history of Oxford. The division of the students according to 'Nations', which prevailed at mediaeval Paris, and which still survives in some of the Scotch universities, never was established in the English ones; in this as in other respects the strong hand of the Anglo-Norman kings had made England one. But though there was no room for division of 'Nations', there was a strongly-marked line of separation between the Northerners and the Southerners, i.e. between those from the north of the Trent, with whom the Scotch were joined, and those south of that river, among whom were reckoned the Welsh and the Irish. The fights between these factions were a continual trouble to the mediaeval University, and it was necessary for the M.A.s of each division to have their own Proctor; hence originally the Senior Proctor was the elect of the Southerners and the Junior Proctor of the Northerners. Proctorial elections were a source of constantly recurring trouble, till Archbishop Laud at last transferred the election to the colleges, each of which took its turn in a cycle carefully calculated according to the numbers of each college. In our own generation this system has been carried a step further, and all colleges, large or small alike, have their turn for the Proctorship, which comes to each once in eleven years. The electors for it are the members of the governing body along with all members of Congregation belonging to the college. The Proctors represent the Masters of Arts as opposed to the higher faculties (i.e. the Doctors), and it is in virtue of the time-honoured right of the Faculty of Arts to decide all matters concerning the granting of 'graces', that the Proctors take their prominent part in the degree ceremony. Although the Vice-Chancellor is presiding, it is the Proctor who submits the degrees to the House, and declares them 'granted'. Before doing this the two Proctors, as has been said (p. 9), walk half-way down the House and return, thus in form fulfilling the injunction of the statutes that 'they should take the votes in the usual way'.[21] [Sidenote: The Registrar.] One other University official must be mentioned, the Registrar, i.e. the Secretary of the University. The existence of a Register of Convocation implies that there must have been an officer of this kind in mediaeval Oxford, but the actual title does not occur till the sixteenth century; its first holder seems to have been John London of New College, so scandalously notorious in the first days of the Reformation. But the character of University officials was not high in the sixteenth century. One of the earliest Registrars, Thomas Key of All Souls, was expelled from his post in 1552 for having during two years neglected to take any note of the University proceedings; he actually struck in the face another Master of Arts who was trying to detain him at the order of the Vice-Chancellor. For this he was sent to prison, and fined 26_s._ 8_d._; but he was released the very next day, and his fine cut down to 4_d._ He lived to be elected Master of University College nine years later, and to be the mendacious champion of the antiquity of Oxford against the Cambridge advocate. This was his namesake Dr. Caius, equally mendacious but more reputable, the pious 'second founder' of a great Cambridge college. The Registrar's duty in the degree ceremony, as has been said (p. 5), is to certify that the candidates have fulfilled all the requirements for the degree, that they have received 'graces' from their colleges as to proper residence, and that all examinations have in every case been passed; the Registrar derives this latter information from the University books in which records are now kept of each stage of an undergraduate's career. It is only recently, however, that this system has been adopted; less than twenty years ago each candidate for a degree had to produce his 'testamur', the precious scrap of blue paper issued after every examination to each successful candidate, pass-man and class-man alike. It was a clumsy system, but it had strong claims of sentiment; most old Oxford men will remember the rush to get the 'testamur' for self or for friend, and the triumph with which the visible symbol was brought home. Since the University has abolished these, it might with advantage introduce the custom of granting to each graduate, on taking his degree, a formal certificate of the examinations he has passed, of his residence and of the rank to which he has attained. Such a certificate, whether called 'diploma' or by any other name, would be of practical value; in these days study is international, and the number of men is very great, and is increasing, who need to produce evidence of their University career and its results for the authorities of foreign or American universities. These bodies often issue diplomas of most dignified appearance; it is a pity that Oxford, which in some ways is so rich in survivals of picturesque custom, should fail in this matter. It is true that a certificate of the degree can be obtained, if a man writes to the Registrar for it and pays an extra fee; this additional payment seems a little unjust; and men would be more willing to take the degree if, as they say, 'they had something definite to show for it.' [Sidenote: The Presenters for the degrees.] The presenters for the degrees are mainly college officials; it is only for the higher degrees that University professors present, and then not simply in virtue of being University officials[22], but also as having already attained the degree which the candidate is seeking. The old Oxford theory was that of the Roman magistracy, that only those who were of a certain rank could admit others to that rank. Thus the Regius Professor of Medicine usually presents our medical Bachelors and Doctors; but he performs this duty because he is a Doctor; he has, however, as occupying the professorial chair, the right to claim presentations for himself, as against all other Doctors, even those senior to him in standing. This right is a matter of immemorial custom for the Regius Professors; it has been given to the Professor of Music by a recent statute (1897). FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 19: For their history and for a description of the present staves, cf. Appendix II.] [Footnote 20: It seems a pity that the old order cannot be restored, and the candidates kept outside till their 'graces' have been passed. Formerly they were kept in the 'Pig Market', i.e. the ante-chamber of the Divinity School (see p. 89), or in the Apodyterium, till this part of the ceremony was completed; they were then finally ushered into the presence of the Vice-Chancellor by the Yeoman Bedel. The modern arrangement, by which candidates are present at the passing of their own 'graces', i.e. at their admission to the degree, may be convenient, but it is quite inconsistent with the whole theory of the ceremony.] [Footnote 21: For the importance of the Proctorial walk and for the legends attached to it, compare p. 10.] [Footnote 22: For the presentation to the new doctorates, D.Litt. and D.Sc., cf. p. 11.] CHAPTER V UNIVERSITY DRESS [Sidenote: Importance attached to dress.] 'From the soberest drab to the high flaming scarlet, spiritual idiosyncrasies unfold themselves in the choice of colour; if the cut betoken intellect and talent, so does the colour betoken temper and heart.' Mediaeval Oxford would have agreed with Carlyle's German Professor in his philosophy of clothes, as an instance or two will show. A solemn enactment was passed in 1358 against the tailors, who were apparently trying to shorten the length of University garments; 'for it is honourable and in accordance with reason that clerks to whom God has given an advantage over the lay folk in their adornments within, should likewise differ from the lay folk outwardly in dress.' If any tailor broke the statute, he was to be imprisoned. [Illustration: _PROCURATOR_] [Illustration: _COMMENSALIS Superioris ordinis_] [Sidenote: Statute as to M.A.s.] The observance of this principle was strictly enjoined also on members of the University; the Master of Arts at his inception had to swear that he has 'of his own' the dress proper for his degree, and that he will wear it on all proper occasions. Moreover it was further provided that Masters should wear 'boots either black or as near black as possible', and that they should never give 'ordinary lectures' when wearing 'shoes cut down or short in any way'. [Sidenote: Sophisters[23].] Naturally means had to be taken also to prevent members of the University of lower rank from usurping the dress of their superiors. In 1489 it was ordained that 'whereas the insolence of many scholars in our days is reaching such a pitch of audacity that they are not afraid to wear hoods like Masters', henceforth they were to wear only the '_liripipium consutum et non contextum_'[24], on pain of a fine of 2_s._; the fine was to be shared between the University, the Chancellor, and the Proctors; it was further provided (which seems unnecessary) that if any official had been negligent in exacting it, his portion should go to the University. [Sidenote: B.A.s.] At the same time, the hoods of the B.A.s were legislated on: 'Whereas the B.A.s in the different faculties, careless of the safety of their own souls,' were wearing hoods insufficiently lined with fur, henceforth all hoods were to be fully lined; a fortnight was given to the B.A.s to put their scanty hoods right. The danger to salvation was incurred by the perjury involved in the neglect of a statute which had been solemnly accepted on oath. [Sidenote: Tailors.] The University further settled what was to be charged by tailors for cutting the various dresses; the prices seem very low, only 3_d._ for a furless gown (_toga_) and 6_d._ for a furred cope; but no doubt the tailors of those days knew how to evade the statute by enhancing their profit on the price of materials; we have one suit before the Chancellor (in 1439) in which the furred gown in question was priced at no less than 36_s._ 8_d._ These instances, which could be multiplied indefinitely, are enough to show how careful the mediaeval University was as to dress. But it will be noticed that they nearly all refer to the dress of graduates; the modern University on the other hand practically leaves its M.A.s alone[25], while it still enforces (at least in theory) academic dress on its undergraduates, as to whom the mediaeval University had little to say. The Laudian Statutes here as elsewhere form the transition from the arrangements of Pre-Reformation Oxford to those of our own day. They enforce (on all alike) dress of a proper colour, short hair, and abstinence from 'absurdus ille et fastuosus mos' of walking abroad in fancy boots (_ocreae_); only while the graduate is fined 6_s._ 8_d._ for offending, the undergraduate ('if his age be suitable') suffers '_poena corporalis_' at the discretion of the Vice-Chancellor and Proctors. Perhaps the following general points may be made as to University dress in the olden times. [Sidenote: (1) University Dress clerical.] As all members of the University were _ipso facto_ clerks, their dress had to correspond; the marks of clerical dress were that it was to be of a certain length (later it was specified that it should reach the heels, _talaris_), and that it should be closed in front, but there was great licence as to colour; the 'black' or 'subfusc' prescribed by the Laudian Statutes is the result of the asceticism of the Reformation, and was unknown in Oxford before the sixteenth century. We have in the wills of students and in the inventories of their properties, abundant evidence that our mediaeval predecessors wore garments suitable to 'Merrie Englande', e.g. of green, blue or blood-colour. Sometimes the founder of a college left directions what 'livery' all his students should wear; e.g. Robert Eglesfield prescribed for the fellows of Queen's College that they were to dine in Hall in purple cloaks, the Doctors wearing these trimmed with fur, while the M.A.s wore theirs 'plain'; the colour was 'to suit the dignity of their position and to be like the blood of The Lord'. Cambridge colleges still in some cases prescribe for their undergraduates gowns of a special colour or cut. One curious survival of the 'clerkship' of all students is the requirement of the white tie in all University examinations and in the degree ceremony. The 'bands', which (to quote Dr. Rashdall) 'are merely a clerical collar', have disappeared from the necks of all lay members of the University below the degree of Doctor, except the Vice-Chancellor and the Proctors; the dress of the latter is the full-dress of an ordinary M.A. in the seventeenth century, and preserves picturesque old features which have been lost elsewhere. [Sidenote: (2) The Cope and the Gown.] The proper dress of the mediaeval Master, though probably an undergraduate could also wear it, was the _cappa_ or cope; this at Oxford was usually black in colour, but Doctors had quite early (i.e. in the time of the Edwards) adopted as the colour for it some shade of red, thus beginning the custom which still survives. The scarlet 'habit', worn at Convocations by Oxford Doctors over their ordinary gowns, retains the old name '_cappa_', but the shape has been completely altered. The sister University, however, still preserves the old shape; the Cambridge Vice-Chancellor presides at their degree ceremonies in a sleeveless scarlet cloak, lined with miniver, which exactly corresponds to the fourteenth-century picture of our Chancellor receiving the charter from Edward III. The gown, the 'putting on' of which is now the distinguishing mark of the taking of the B.A. or M.A., is simply the survival of a mediaeval garment which was not even clerical, the long gown (_toga_) or cassock, which was worn under the _cappa_. The dress of the 'Blues' at Christ's Hospital preserves the gown in an earlier stage of development. The modern usage which gives the gown of the B.A. sleeves, while that of an M.A. has them cut away, has in some unexplained way grown out of a similar usage as to the mediaeval _cappa_. [Sidenote: (3) The Hood.] The mark, however, which specially distinguished the degree was the hood, as to which the University was always strict, assigning the proper material and the proper colour[26] to that of each faculty. The hood was not a mere adornment or a badge, it was an article of dress. Originally it seems to have been attached to the _cappa_, and, as its name implies, was used for covering (the head) when required. Its practical purpose is quaintly implied in the books of the Chancellor and the Proctors (sub anno 1426), where it is provided that 'whereas reason bids that the varieties of costume should correspond to the ordering of the seasons, and whereas the Festival of Easter in its due course is akin from its nearness to summer,' it is henceforth allowed that from Easter to All Saints' day, 'graduates may wear silken hoods,' instead of fur ones, 'old custom notwithstanding.' The M.A. hood, even in its present mutilated form, still presents survivals of the time when it was a real head covering, survivals which should prevent those who wear it from putting it on upside down, as many often do. The B.A. hood was already in the fifteenth century lined with lamb's wool or rabbit's fur, and the use of miniver by other than M.A.s and persons of birth or wealth[27] was strictly forbidden by a statute of 1432. [Sidenote: (4) The Cap.] The last and not the least important part of mediaeval academic dress still remains to be spoken of, the cap. The conferring of this with the ring and the kiss of peace has been already mentioned (p. 27), these being the marks of the admission of new Masters and Doctors. As under the Roman Law the slave was manumitted by being allowed to put on a cap, so the '_pileus_' of the M.A. was the sign of his independence; hence he was bound to wear it at all University ceremonies. The cap was sometimes square (_biretta_), sometimes round (_pileus_); Gascoigne (writing in 1456) tells us that in his day the round cap was worn by Doctors of Divinity and Canon Law, and that it had always been so since the days of King Alfred; not content with this antiquity, he also affirms that the round cap was given by God Himself to the doctors of the Mosaic Law. He adds the more commonplace but more trustworthy information that the cap was in those days fastened by a string behind, to prevent its falling off. The modern stiff corners of the cap are an addition, which is not an improvement; the old cap drooped gracefully from its tuft in the centre, as can still be seen in the portraits of seventeenth-century divines, e.g. in Vandyck's 'Archbishop Laud', so familiar from its many replicas and copies. Later usage has specialized the round cap of velvet as belonging to the Doctors of Law and Medicine, and a most beautiful head-gear it is; it is preserved, in a less elaborate form, at the degree ceremony in the round caps of the Bedels. After the Reformation the cap began to be worn by B.A.s and undergraduates, but originally without the tuft; the eighteenth century, careless of the old traditions, replaced the tuft by the modern commonplace tassel, and extended this to all caps except those of servitors. With the disappearance of social distinctions in dress, the tassel has been extended to all, except to choir-boys, and so the coveted badge of the mediaeval Master is now the property of all University ranks, and is undervalued and neglected in the same proportion as it has been rendered meaningless. Before leaving the subject of head-gear, it may be noted that the old University custom of giving the son of a nobleman a gold tassel for his cap has left a permanent mark in the familiar phrase 'tuft-hunting'; the right of wearing this distinctive badge still exists for peers and for their eldest sons[28], but they are at liberty not to avail themselves of it, and it is practically never used. Academic dress has sadly lost its picturesqueness, especially for the undergraduate; his gown no longer reaches to his heels, as the statute still requires it to do, and the injunction against 'novi et insoliti habitus' is surely a dead letter in these days when Norfolk jackets and knickerbocker suits penetrate even to University and college lecture-rooms. But what can the University expect when M.A.s, in evasion of the statutes, come to Congregation without gowns, and borrow them from each other in order to vote, and when the University itself knows nothing of the 'exemplaria' (models) which are supposed to be 'in archivis reposita'? Whether there ever were these models of proper University dress, e.g. a doll in D.D. habit, &c., is uncertain; what is certain is that there are none now. At the present time the scanty relics of mediaeval usage are at the mercy of the tailors; and though it must be said for their representatives in Oxford that they do their best to maintain old traditions, yet there is no doubt that innovations are slowly but steadily introduced, e.g. the M.A. hood is losing in length, and is altering in colour. The recent attempt on the part of the University to devise new gowns and habits for the 'Research' Doctors is, it may be hoped, the beginning of a better state of things; whatever may be thought of the aesthetic success in this case, the subject was treated with seriousness and expert evidence was taken. Perhaps in the near future Oxford may bestir itself in this matter, and see that nothing more is lost of its mediaeval survivals; restoration of what is actually gone is probably hopeless. Such pious conservatism would be in accordance with the spirit of the present age; for even the modern Radical, unlike his predecessor of half a century back, cares, or at any rate professes to care, for the external traces of the past. [Sidenote: Oxford Hoods and Gowns.] The following list makes no attempt to distinguish between the full dress and the undress of Doctors; it is only intended as a help in identifying the various functionaries who take part in the degree ceremony. _Doctors._ Divinity (D.D.[29]).--Scarlet hood and habit; the gown has black velvet sleeves. {Scarlet hood and Civil Law (D.C.L.) {habit; the gown Medicine (D.M.) {has sleeves of crimson {silk. The Master of Surgery (M.Ch.) wears the same hood, gown, and habit as an M.D., and ranks next after him. Science (D.Sc.) {Scarlet hood and habit; Letters (D.Litt.) {the gown has sleeves of {French grey. The habits of these Doctors, though in the main similar, have different facings, that of the D.D. being black, of the D.M. and D.C.L. crimson, and of the D.Litt. and D.Sc. French grey. Doctor of Music (Mus.Doc.).--Gown of crimson and cream brocade. The hood is of the same colours. This gorgeous dress goes back for nearly 300 years. The gown is made of that rich kind of brocade which is popularly said to be able to stand up by itself, and tradition (not very well authenticated) has it that the identically same gown was worn by Richter on his admission as Doctor in 1885, which had been worn by Haydn in the preceding century. The Doctor of Music, however, unlike all other Doctors, ranks after an M.A.; the reason is that musical graduates need not take the ordinary Arts course, but the degrees in Music are open to all who have passed Responsions, or an equivalent examination. The undress gowns of all Doctors but those of Divinity have the sleeves trimmed with lace; D.D.s wear also a scarf (fastened by a loop behind), and a cassock under their habit or their gown. All Doctorates are given, or at any rate are supposed to be given, for original work that is a contribution to knowledge; but in the case of the D.D. the theses have quite lost this character. _The Proctors._ The Proctors, as the representatives of the M.A.s, wear their old full-dress gown, which has otherwise disappeared from use. The sleeves are of black velvet; the hoods are of miniver, and are passed on from Proctor to Proctor. On the back of the gown is a curious triangular tassel, called a 'tippet'; this is a survival of a bag or purse, which was once used for collecting fees; the appropriateness of its retention by Proctors will still be easily understood by undergraduates. They used also to receive all fees for examinations, till about 1891. _Master of Arts_ (M.A.) Crimson hood and black gown, with the sleeves cut short and fitting above the elbows, and hanging in a long bag, cut at the end into crescent shape. _Bachelors._ Divinity (B.D.).--The hood is black. A scarf is worn, and a cassock also is worn under the gown. The Bachelor of Divinity is placed here for convenience of reference; but the degree is really higher than that of an M.A. and can only be taken three years after a man has 'incepted' as M.A. Civil Law (B.C.L.)} Medicine (B.M.) } The hoods are blue, Surgery (B.Ch.) } trimmed with lamb's Music (B.Mus.) } wool. The gown of all the above Bachelors has laced sleeves fitting to the arm, like those of the M.A.s, but slit; the bag is straight and also trimmed with lace. Arts (B.A.).--The hood is trimmed with lamb's wool; the gown has full sleeves, with strings to fasten back. [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 23: When a candidate had passed Responsions, he was called a '_sophista generalis_'. The title has now died out in the English Universities, but survives in the form 'sophomore' in America.] [Footnote 24: This adornment seems to have survived in Oxford till within the last half-century; at all examinations subsequent to 'Responsions' a candidate, when going in for Viva Voce, had a little black hood placed round his neck; this arrangement has now disappeared.] [Footnote 25: The old statutes as to the dress of graduates are still in force, and partially observed at conferment of degrees, examinations, &c., but there is consideredable slackness as to them. It is only too common to see a Dean 'presenting' in a coloured tie, although his undergraduates are all compelled to don a white one.] [Footnote 26: This is delightfully commemorated in the old custom of Queen's College, by which, at the Gaudy dinner on Jan. 1st, each guest receives a needle with a silk thread of the colour of his faculty--Theologians black, Lawyers blue, Arts students red--and is bidden 'Take this and be thrifty'. The mending of the hood was a duty which must have often devolved on the poor mediaeval student. The custom dates from the time of the Founder (1340). It is sad that so few colleges have been careful, as Queen's has been, to preserve their old customs.] [Footnote 27: Those of royal blood, the sons of peers and members of Parliament, and those who could prove an income of 60 marks a year, were allowed the privilege of Masters.] [Footnote 28: i.e. if they are admitted by a college as 'noblemen', and are entered on the books as such.] [Footnote 29: The initials S.T.P. (Sanctae Theologiae Professor), so commonly used for Doctors of Divinity on monuments, are simply a survival of the old usage according to which, in the Middle Ages, Doctor, Professor, and Master were synonymous terms for the highest degree. It was only later that 'professor' came to be especially applied to a paid teacher in any subject.] CHAPTER VI THE PLACES OF THE DEGREE CEREMONY The University of Oxford confers its degrees in three rooms, the Sheldonian Theatre, the Divinity School, and the Convocation House; the choice rests with the Vice-Chancellor, and now that, in the last year or so, degree-days have been made less frequent, and there are consequently more candidates on each occasion, the place is often the Sheldonian. This is a great improvement on old custom, for it is the only one of the three buildings which was designed for the purpose, and it is also the only one which gives room for the proper conduct of the ceremony, when the number of candidates is large. [Sidenote: The Sheldonian.] The Sheldonian, therefore, commonly known in Oxford as 'The Theatre', will be spoken of first, although it is the last in date of construction. It is a memorial at once of the munificence of one of the greatest among Oxford's many episcopal benefactors, and also of the architectural skill of her most eminent architect, Sir Christopher Wren. Down to the time of the Civil War, the ceremony of the 'Act' (cf. p. 27 seq.) at which degrees were conferred, had taken place in St. Mary's; but the influence of the Puritans was beginning to affect all parties, and was causing the growth of a feeling that religious buildings should not be used for secular purposes. John Evelyn, who gives us our fullest account of the opening ceremony at the Sheldonian, notes that it might be thought 'indecent' that the Act should be held in a 'building set apart for the immediate worship of God'[30], and this was 'the inducement for building this noble pile'. Wren had shown his design to the Royal Society in 1663, and it had been much commended; he was only a little more than thirty years of age, and it was his first public building, but he was already known as that 'miracle of a youth' and that 'prodigious young scholar', and he fully justified the Archbishop's confidence in him. So great was this that Sheldon told Evelyn that he had never seen the building and that he never intended to do so. Wren showed his boldness alike in the style he chose--he broke once for all with the Gothic tradition in Oxford--and in the skill with which he designed a roof which was (and is) one of the largest unsupported roofs in England. The construction of it was a marvel of ingenious design. [Sidenote: Its Dedication.] The cost of the whole building was £25,000, as Wren told Evelyn, and architects, even the greatest of them, do not usually over-estimate the cost of their designs; but other authorities place it at £16,000, or even at a little over £12,000. At any rate, it was felt to be, as Evelyn writes, 'comparable to any of this kind of former ages, and doubtless exceeding any of the present, as this University does for colleges, libraries, schools, students and order, all the universities in the world.' We may pardon the enthusiasm of one who was himself an Oxford man, after a day on which 'a world of strangers and other company from all parts of the nation' had been gathered for the Dedication. The ceremonies lasted two days (July 9 and 10, 1669), and on the first day extended 'from eleven in the morning till seven at night'; we are not told how long they lasted on the second day. They consisted of speeches, poems, disputations, and all the other forms of learned gaiety wherein our academic predecessors took such unwearying delight; there was 'music too, vocal and instrumental, in the balustrade corridor opposite to the Vice-Chancellor's seat'. And those who took part had among them some who bore famous names; the great preacher, South, was Public Orator; among the D.D.s incepting were Tillotson, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, one of the first to introduce Modern English into the style of the pulpit, and Compton, who, as Bishop of London, took so prominent a part in the Revolution. [Sidenote: The Roof Paintings.] Not the least conspicuous feature in the new building was the paintings by Robert Streater, which had been especially executed for it. In accordance with the idea of Wren, who wished to imitate the uncovered roofs of Greek and Roman theatres, the building, 'by the painting of the flat roof within, is represented as open.' Pepys, who went to see everything, records how he went to see these pictures in Streater's studio, and how the 'virtuosos' who were looking at them, thought 'them better than those of Rubens at Whitehall'; 'but,' Pepys has taste enough to add, 'I do not fully think so.' This unmeasured admiration was, however, outdone by the contemporary poetaster, Whitehall, who ends his verses on the paintings, That future ages must confess they owe To Streater more than Michael Angelo, lines in which the grammar and the connoisseurship are about on an equality. The paintings are on canvas fixed on stretchers, and hence have been removed for cleaning purposes more than once; this was last done only a few years ago (1899-1901). There are thirty-two sections, and the whole painting measures 72 feet by 64. Unfortunately the subject is rendered difficult to understand, because the most important section, which is the key of the whole, representing 'The Expulsion of Ignorance', is practically concealed by the organ; the present instrument was erected in 1877. [Sidenote: The Sheldonian Press.] Sheldon's building was designed for a double use. It was to be at once the University Theatre and the University Printing Press, and it was used for the latter purpose till 1714, when the Oxford Press was moved across the quadrangle to the Clarendon Building, designed by Sir John Vanbrugh. The actual printing was done in the roof, on the floor above the painted ceiling. The Theatre is for this reason the mark on all Oxford books printed during the first half-century of its existence. In one respect Archbishop Sheldon was so unlike most Oxford benefactors that his merit must be especially mentioned. Men are often willing enough to give a handsome sum of money down to be spent on buildings; they too often leave to others the charge of maintaining these; but Sheldon definitely informed the University that he did not wish his benefaction to be a burden to it, and invested £2,000 in lands, out of the rents of which his Theatre might be kept in repair. The Sheldonian, thanks to its original donor and to the ever liberal Dr. Wills of Wadham, who supplemented the endowment a century later, has never been a charge on the University revenues. [Sidenote: The Restoration of the Sheldonian.] Unfortunately these repairs have been carried out with more zeal than discretion. Even in Wren's lifetime the alarm was raised that the roof was dangerous (1720), but the Vice-Chancellor of the time was wise enough not to consult a rival architect but to take the practical opinion of working masons and carpenters, who reported it safe. Nearly 100 years later the same alarm was raised, whether with reason or not we do not know, for no records were left; all we do know is that the 'restorers' of the day took Wren's roof off, removed his beautiful windows, inserted a new and larger cupola, and generally did their best to spoil his work. It is only necessary to compare the old pictures of the Sheldonian with its present state to see how in this case, as in so many others, Oxford's architectural glories have suffered from our insane unwillingness to let well alone. [Sidenote: The History of the Sheldonian.] The Sheldonian was not in existence during the period when University history was most picturesque. Its associations therefore are nearly all academic, and academic functions, however interesting to those who take part in them, do not appeal to the great world. Perhaps the most romantic scene that the Sheldonian has witnessed was the Installation of the Duke of Wellington as Chancellor in 1833, when the whole theatre went mad with enthusiasm as the writer of the Newdigate, Joseph Arnould of Wadham, declaimed his lines on Napoleon,-- And the dark soul a world could scarce subdue Bent to thy genius, chief of Waterloo. The subject of the poem was 'The Monks of St. Bernard'. But the enthusiasm was almost as great, and the poetry far superior, when Heber recited the best lines of the best Newdigate on record:-- No hammer fell, no ponderous axes swung; Like some tall palm the mystic fabric sprung. Majestic silence. This happy reference to the manner of building of Solomon's Temple was suggested by Sir Walter Scott. Another almost historic occasion in the Sheldonian was when, at a Diocesan Conference, the late Lord Beaconsfield made his well-known declaration, 'I for my part prefer to be on the side of the angels.' But these scenes only indirectly touch Oxford. More intimately connected with her history are the famous Proctorial Veto of 1845, when Dean Church and his colleague saved Tract No. 90 from academic condemnation, and the stormy debates of twenty years ago, when the permission to use Vivisection in the University Physiological Laboratory was only carried after a struggle in which the Odium Scientificum showed itself capable of an unruliness and an unfairness to opponents which has left all displays, previous or subsequent, of Odium Theologicum far behind. [Sidenote: Commemoration Scenes.] There is no doubt that the organized medical vote on that occasion holds the record for noise in the Theatre. And the competition for the record has been and is still severe; every year at Commemoration, we have a scene of academic disorder, which can only be called 'most unbecoming of the gravity of the University', to use John Evelyn's words of the performance of the Terrae Filius at the opening of the Sheldonian. It is true that the proceedings of the Encaenia have been always able to be completed, since the device was hit on of seating ladies freely among the undergraduates in the upper gallery; this change was introduced in 1876. The disorder of the undergraduates' gallery had culminated in 1874, and in 1875 the ceremony was held in the Divinity School. But the noise is as prevalent as ever, and it must be confessed that undergraduates' wit has suffered severely from the feminine infusion. However, our visitors, distinguished and undistinguished alike, appreciate the disorder, and it certainly has plenty of precedent for it in all stages of University history. But the Sheldonian has more harmonious associations. Music was from the first a regular feature of the Encaenia, and compositions were written for it. The most famous occasion of this kind was in July, 1733, when Handel came to Oxford, at the invitation of the Vice-Chancellor, to conduct the performance of some of his works; among these was the Oratorio _Athaliah_, especially written for the occasion. Handel was offered the degree of Doctor of Music, but (unlike Haydn) declined it, because he disliked 'throwing away his money for dat de blockhead wish'. [Sidenote: Convocation House.] Till quite recently the degree ceremony was usually held in the Convocation House, which lies just in front of the Sheldonian, under the northern end of the Bodleian Library (the so-called Selden Wing). This plain and unpretentious building, which was largely due to the munificence of Archbishop Laud, was begun in 1635 and finished two years later. It cost, with the buildings above, about £4,200. Its dreary late-Gothic windows and heavy tracery, and the Spartan severity of its unbacked benches, are characteristic of the time of transition, alike architectural and religious, to which it belongs. It has been from that time to this the Parliament House of the University, where all matters are first discussed by the Congregation of resident Doctors and Masters; it is only on the rare occasions when some great principle is at stake, and when the country is roused, that matters, whether legislative or administrative, are discussed anywhere else; a Sheldonian debate is fortunately very rare. [Sidenote: Its History.] The building is well suited for the purpose for which it was erected, and so has not unnaturally been used as the meeting-place of the nation's legislators, when, as has several times happened, Parliament has been gathered in Oxford. Charles I's House of Commons met here in 1643, when Oxford was the royalist capital of England; and in 1665, when Parliament fled from the Great Plague, and in 1681, when Charles II fought and defeated the last Exclusion Parliament, the House of Commons again occupied this House. It was on the latter occasion just preparing to move across to the Sheldonian, and the printers there were already packing up their presses to make room for the legislators, when Charles suddenly dissolved it, and so completed his victory over Shaftesbury and Monmouth. A less suitable use for the Convocation House was its employment for Charles I's Court of Chancery in 1643-4. For the reasons given above, degree days are now much more important functions than they used to be, and the Convocation House, never very suitable for the ceremony, is now seldom used. [Sidenote: Divinity School.] But the Divinity School, which lies at a right angle to the Convocation House, under the Bodleian Library proper, is a room which by its beauty is worthy to be the scene of any University ceremony, for which it is large enough, and degrees are still often conferred there as well as in the Sheldonian. The architecture of the School makes it the finest room which the University possesses. It was building through the greater part of the fifteenth century, which Professor Freeman thought the most characteristic period of English architecture; and certainly the strength and the weakness of the Perpendicular style could hardly be better illustrated elsewhere. The story of its erection can be largely traced in the _Epistolae Academicae_, published by the Oxford Historical Society; they cover the whole of the fifteenth century, and though they are wearisome in their constant harping on the same subject--the University's need of money--they show a fertility of resource in petition-framing and in the returning of thanks, which would make the fortune of a modern begging-letter writer, whether private or public. The earliest reference to the building of the proposed new School of Divinity is in 1423, when the University picturesquely says it was intended 'ad amplianda matris nostrae ubera' (so many things could be said in Latin which would be shocking in English). In 1426 the Archbishop of Canterbury, Chichele, is approached and asked 'to open the torrents of his brotherly kindness'. Parliament is appealed to, the Monastic Orders, the citizens of London, in fact anybody and everybody who was likely to help. Cardinal Beaufort gave 500 marks, William of Waynflete lent his architectural engines which he had got for building Magdalen--at least he was requested to do so--(1478), the Bishop of London, by a refinement of compliment, is asked to show himself 'in this respect also a second Solomon'. [The touch of adding 'also' is delightful.] The agreement to begin building was signed in 1429, when the superintendent builder was to have a retaining fee of 40_s._ a year, and 4_s._ for every week that he was at work in Oxford; the work was finally completed in 1489. And the building was worthy of this long travail; its elaborate stone roof, with the arms of benefactors carved in it, is a model at once of real beauty and of structural skill. [Sidenote: History of the Divinity School.] The Divinity School, as its name implies, was intended for the disputations of the Theological Faculty, and perhaps it was this special purpose which prevented it being used so widely for ordinary business, as the other University buildings were. At any rate it was this connexion which led to its being the scene of one of the most picturesque events in Oxford history; it was to it, on April 16, 1554, that Cranmer was summoned to maintain his theses on the Blessed Sacrament against the whole force of the Roman Doctors of Oxford, reinforced by those of Cambridge. Single-handed and without any preparation, he held his own with his opponents, and extorted their reluctant admiration by his courtesy and his readiness. 'Master Cranmer, you have answered well,' was the summing up of the presiding Doctor, and all lifted their caps as the fallen Archbishop left the building. It was the last honour paid to Cranmer. In the eighteenth century, when all old uses were upset, the Divinity School was even lent to the City as a law court, and it was here the unfortunate Miss Blandy was condemned to death. But as a rule its associations have been academic, and it is still used for its old purpose, i.e. for the reading of the Divinity theses. It is only occasionally that University functions of a more general kind are held there, e.g. the famous debates on the admission of women to degrees in 1895. So splendid a room ought to be employed on every possible occasion, and happy are they who, when the number of candidates is not too large, take their degrees in surroundings so characteristic of the best in Oxford. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 30: The buffooneries of the Terrae Filius, who was a recognized part of the 'Act', would be even more shocking in a consecrated building than merely secular business.] APPENDIX I THE PUBLIC ASSEMBLIES OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD I. Degrees are given and examiners appointed by the Ancient House of Congregation. This corresponds to the 'Congregation of Regents' of the Laudian Statutes. Its members are the University officials, the professors, the heads and deans of colleges, all examiners, and the 'necessary regents', i.e. Doctors and Masters of Arts of not more than two years' standing; it thus includes all those who have to do with the conduct, the instruction, or the examination of students. The 'necessary regents' are added, because in the mediaeval University the duty of teaching was imposed on Doctors and Masters of not more than two years' standing; others might 'rule the Schools' if they pleased, but the juniors were bound to discharge this duty unless dispensed. II. Congregation consists of all those members of Convocation who reside within two miles of Carfax, along with certain officials. This body has nothing to do with degrees; it is the chief legislative body of Oxford. III. Convocation is made up of all Doctors and Masters whose names are on the University's books. It confirms the appointment of examiners, and confers honorary degrees at Commemoration. It is also the final legislative body of the University, and controls all expenditure. APPENDIX II THE UNIVERSITY STAVES The old University staves, which are now in the Ashmolean Museum at the University Galleries, seem to date from the reign of Elizabeth; they have no hall-marks, but the character of the ornamentation is of that period. No doubt the mediaeval staves perished in the troubles of the Reformation period, along with other University property, and the new ones were procured when Oxford began to recover her prosperity. Two of the old staves were discovered in 1895 in a box on the top of a high case in the Archives; their very existence had been forgotten, and they were covered with layers of dust. The legend that they had been concealed there by the loyal Bedels must be given up; no doubt they were put away when the present staves were procured in 1723. The third staff was in the keeping of the Esquire Bedel, and was brought to the University Chest, when that office ceased to exist. The present staves are six in number, three silver and three silver-gilt. The three former are carried by the Bedel of Arts and the two sub-bedels, the three latter are carried by the Bedels of the three higher faculties, Divinity, Law, and Medicine. All of them date (as is proved by the hall-marks) from 1723, except one of the silver staves, which seems to have been renewed in 1803. The three silver staves bear the following inscriptions:-- No. I. On the top 'Ego sum Via'; on the base 'Veritas et Vita'. No. II. On the top 'Aequum et Bonum'; on the base 'Iustitiae Columna'. No. III. On the top 'Scientiae et Mores'; on the base 'Columna Philosophiae'. The inscriptions are the same on the silver-gilt staves, except that the staff of the Bedel of Divinity has all the mottoes on it--'Ego sum Via', 'Veritas et Vita' on the top, and the others on the base. The letters on the bases of all the staves are put on the reverse way to those on the tops; this is because the staves are carried in different ways; before the King and the Chancellor they are carried upright, before the Vice-Chancellor always in a reversed position, with the base uppermost. It should be noted that they are staves and not maces, as the University of Oxford derives its authority from no external power, but is independent. The arms on the tops of three of the staves present a very curious puzzle; one roundel bears those of Neville and Montagu quarterly, and seems to be a reproduction of the arms of the Chancellor of 1455, George Neville, the Archbishop of York; another bears the old Plantagenet 'England and France quarterly' as borne by the sovereigns from Henry IV to Elizabeth; a third the Stuart arms as borne from James I to Queen Anne; yet the work of all three roundels seems to be seventeenth century in character, and does not match that of the rest of the fabric of the staves. INDEX 'Act,' meaning of, 27; term, 28; confused with Encaenia, 31-2. Aristotle, portions read of, 18, 37. Arnould, J., 85. Bachelor (of Arts), etymology of, 24; in France, 47; dress of, 69, 78; hood of, 66, 71, 78; when taken, 35, 43. ---- of Divinity, qualification for, 30; dress of, 77. Bands worn, 68. Beaconsfield, Lord, 86. Beaufort, Cardinal, 91. Bedels, history of, 54 seq.; caps of, 72; at degrees, 4, 17. Bodleian, 88, 89. Boots to be worn, 65. Caius, Dr., 61. Cambrensis, G., 22. Cambridge, dress of Vice-Chancellor at, 69; degree ceremonies at, 28-9; King's College, 40 _n._; gowns at, 68. Candidates (for degrees), dress of, 1; presentation of, 11; oath of, 13; admission of, 15, 17. Cap, 71 seq. _Cappa_, 69, 70. Chancellor, origin of, 22, 26; authority of, 50; non-resident, 51. Chichele, Archbishop, 90. Church and University, 25. Church, Dean, 86. _Circuitus_, 44. _Collecta_, 37. 'Commencement' in American Universities, 23. Commemoration, origin of, 31; description of, 32-3; noise at, 86-7; music at, 87. Compton, H., 82. Congregation, 88, 93. ---- Ancient House of, 93; degrees conferred in, 4, 5; nominates examiners, 4. Convocation, 93; business in, 4. ---- House, 88 seq. Cranmer, Archbishop, 92. Crewe, Lord, 32; oration of, 32. Degrees, meaning of, 24; order of taking, 6-7; elements in, 27; requirements for, 34 seq.; in absence, 18; _ad eundem_, 18; Lambeth, 27; honorary, 32. ---- ceremony, admittance to, 2; notice of, 3. D.C.L., 32; dress of, 75. D.D., first, 22; qualifications for, 30; dress of, 69, 75-6; cap of, 72; theses for, 30, 92. _Depositio_, 45. Divinity School, 87, 89 seq. D.M., dress of, 75. D.Mus., dress of, 76; Haydn, 76; Handel, 87; Richter, 76. Doctorate, German, 47; qualifications for, 76; presentation for, 11, 63. Eglesfield, R., 68, 70 _n._ _Encaenia_, see Commemoration; etymology of, 31 _n._ Evelyn, J., 28, 80, 81, 87. Examinations, mediaeval, 41 seq.; control of, 52. Fell, Dr., 53. Friars at Oxford, 46. Gibbon, E., quoted, 24. Gowns, 69, 75 seq.; proposed abolition of, 54. 'Graces,' college, 5, 6; University, 38 seq., 59. Green, J.R., quoted, 33. Heber, R., 85. Hoods, 70-1, 75 seq. 'Inception,' 19, 29, 31. Key, T., 60. Laud, 'Grace' for, 39; and Proctorial election, 59; portrait of, 72; munificence of, 88. Laudian Statutes, quoted, 4, 6, 18, 40; oath in, 13; greater strictness of, 67. Lectures required for degree, 36; rules as to, 36-7; fees for, 37; cutting of, 38; college, 37. 'Licence,' origin of, 26; conferred, 27. London, J., 60. Margaret, the Lady, 55. Master of Arts, admission of, 15; association of, 23; old qualifications for, 29, 43, 47; modern, 49; privileges of, 31; M.A.s term, 48; gowns of, 64, 69, 77; hood of, 71, 74, 77. Master in Grammar, 28. Masters of the Schools, 42. Matriculation, 25. 'Nations,' divisions into, 58. Neville, G., Chancellor, 51; arms of, 95. New College, privilege of, 40. Paris, University of, 23; examinations at, 41; Oxford and, 26 _n._ Parliaments at Oxford of Charles I and Charles II, 89. Parvis of St. Mary's, Examinations in, 42. Pepys, S., 82. Pig Market, the, 57 _n._ 'Plucking,' 10. Pope and universities, 26. Printing Press, 83, 89. Proctors, history of, 57 seq.; walk of, 9; charge by, 12, 14, 17; 'books' of, 19 _n._; dress of, 77. Professor, original meaning of, 75 _n._; presentations by, 11 _n._, 62-3. Queen's College, customs of, 70 _n._ Rashdall, Dr., quoted, 40 _n._, 55. Registrar, history of, 60 seq.; duties of, 5, 61. Residence for degree, 34; relaxations as to, 35, 47. Responsions, 42. Rich, E., 22-3. St. Mary's, 80; bell of, 3. Scott, Sir W., 86. Sheldon, G., 80, 84. Sheldonian, history of, 79 seq.; dedication of, 31, 81; roof of, 82; organ, 83; alteration of, 84. Sophisters, 65. South, R., 82. Staves, description of, 94; Puritan 'Visitors', 55-6. Streater, R., 82. _Studium Generale_, 21 _n._, 26. _Supplicat_, 8, 9. Tailors, Oxford, 66, 74; statute as to, 64. _Terrae Filius_ at 'Act', 33, 54, 80 _n._ _Testamur_, 61. Tillotson, J., 82. _Tom Brown_, quoted, 48. Tract No. 90, 86. Tufts on caps, 72, tuft-hunting, 73. University, meaning of, 20; oldest charter of, 22; colonial and foreign, 35. Vanbrugh, Sir J., 83. _Verdant Green_, quoted, 10. Vice-Chancellor, history of, 51 seq.; admission by, 17, 25. Vivisection, debate on, 86. Wellington, Duke of, 85. White ties, 68. Wills, J., 84. Wood, A., quoted, 53, 54. Wren, Sir C., 80, 81, 84. Wykeham, W. of, 40. Oxford: Printed at the Clarendon Press by HORACE HART, M.A. 
37893	----	OXFORD AND HER COLLEGES [Illustration] [Illustration: RADCLIFFE LIBRARY.] OXFORD AND HER COLLEGES A View from the Radcliffe Library BY GOLDWIN SMITH, D.C.L. AUTHOR OF "THE UNITED STATES: AN OUTLINE OF POLITICAL HISTORY," ETC. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS REPRODUCED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS New York MACMILLAN AND CO. AND LONDON 1895 _All rights reserved_ COPYRIGHT, 1893, BY MACMILLAN AND CO. Norwood Press: J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. PREFACE. The writer has seldom enjoyed himself more than in showing an American friend over Oxford. He has felt something of the same enjoyment in preparing, with the hope of interesting some American visitors, this outline of the history of the University and her Colleges. He would gladly believe that Oxford and Cambridge, having now, by emancipation and reform, been reunited to the nation, may also be reunited to the race; and that to them, not less than to the Universities of Germany, the eyes of Americans desirous of studying at a European as well as at an American University may henceforth be turned. It was once the writer's duty, in the service of a Royal Commission of Inquiry, to make himself well acquainted with the archives of the University and its Colleges. But he has also availed himself of a number of recent publications, such as the series of the Oxford Historical Society, the history of the University by Mr. Maxwell Lyte, and the volume on the Colleges of Oxford and their traditions, edited by Mr. Andrew Clark, as well as of the excellent little Guide published by Messrs. James Parker and Co. [Illustration] OXFORD AND HER COLLEGES. To gain a view of Oxford from a central point, we mount to the top of the Radcliffe Library. We will hope that it is a fine summer day, that, as we come out upon the roof, the old city, with all its academical buildings lying among their gardens and groves, presents itself to view in its beauty, and that the sound of its bells, awakening the memories of the ages, is in the air. The city is seen lying on the spit of gravel between the Isis, as the Thames is here called, which is the scene of boat races, and the Cherwell, famed for water-lilies. It is doubtful whether the name means the ford of the oxen, or the ford of the river (_oxen_ being a corruption of _ousen_). Flat, sometimes flooded, is the site. To ancient founders of cities, a river for water carriage and rich meads for kine were prime attractions. But beyond the flat we look to a lovely country, rolling and sylvan, from many points of which, Wytham, Hinksey, Bagley, Headington, Elsfield, Stowe Wood, are charming views, nearer or more distant, of the city. Turner's view is taken from Bagley, but it is rather a Turner poem than a simple picture of Oxford. * * * * * There is in Oxford much that is not as old as it looks. The buildings of the Bodleian Library, University College, Oriel, Exeter, and some others, mediæval or half mediæval in their style, are Stuart in date. In Oxford the Middle Ages lingered long. Yon cupola of Christ Church is the work of Wren, yon towers of All Souls' are the work of a still later hand. The Headington stone, quickly growing black and crumbling, gives the buildings a false hue of antiquity. An American visitor, misled by the blackness of University College, remarked to his host that the buildings must be immensely old. "No," replied his host, "their colour deceives you; their age is not more than two hundred years." It need not be said that Palladian edifices like Queen's, or the new buildings of Magdalen, are not the work of a Chaplain of Edward III., or a Chancellor of Henry VI. But of the University buildings, St. Mary's Church and the Divinity School, of the College buildings, the old quadrangles of Merton, New College, Magdalen, Brasenose, and detached pieces not a few are genuine Gothic of the Founders' age. Here are six centuries, if you choose to include the Norman castle, here are eight centuries, and, if you choose to include certain Saxon remnants in Christ Church Cathedral, here are ten centuries, chronicled in stone. Of the corporate lives of these Colleges, the threads have run unbroken through all the changes and revolutions, political, religious, and social, between the Barons' War and the present hour. The economist goes to their muniment rooms for the record of domestic management and expenditure during those ages. Till yesterday, the codes of statutes embodying their domestic law, though largely obsolete, remained unchanged. Nowhere else in England, at all events, unless it be at the sister University, can the eye and mind feed upon so much antiquity, certainly not upon so much antique beauty, as on the spot where we stand. That all does not belong to the same remote antiquity, adds to the interest and to the charm. This great home of learning, with its many architectures, has been handed from generation to generation, each generation making its own improvements, impressing its own tastes, embodying its own tendencies, down to the present hour. It is like a great family mansion, which owner after owner has enlarged or improved to meet his own needs or tastes, and which, thus chronicling successive phases of social and domestic life, is wanting in uniformity but not in living interest or beauty. * * * * * Oxford is a federation of Colleges. It had been strictly so for two centuries, and every student had been required to be a member of a College when, in 1856, non-collegiate students, of whom there are now a good many, were admitted. The University is the federal government. The Chancellor, its nominal head, is a non-resident grandee, usually a political leader whom the University delights to honour and whose protection it desires. Only on great state occasions does he appear in his gown richly embroidered with gold. The acting chief is the Vice-Chancellor, one of the heads of Colleges, who marches with the Bedel carrying the mace before him, and has been sometimes taken by strangers for the attendant of the Bedel. With him are the two Proctors, denoted by their velvet sleeves, named by the Colleges in turn, the guardians of University discipline. The University Legislature consists of three houses,--an elective Council, made up equally of heads of Colleges, professors, and Masters of Arts; the Congregation of residents, mostly teachers of the University or Colleges; and the Convocation, which consists of all Masters of Arts, resident or non-resident, if they are present to vote. Congregation numbers four hundred, Convocation nearly six thousand. Legislation is initiated by the Council, and has to make its way through Convocation and Congregation, with some chance of being wrecked between the academical Congregation, which is progressive, and the rural Convocation, which is conservative. The University regulates the general studies, holds all the examinations, except that at entrance, which is held by the Colleges, confers all the degrees and honours, and furnishes the police of the academical city. Its professors form the general and superior staff of teachers. * * * * * Each College, at the same time, is a little polity in itself. It has its own governing body, consisting of a Head (President, Master, Principal, Provost, or Warden) and a body of Fellows. It holds its own estates; noble estates, some of them are. It has its private staff of teachers or tutors, usually taken from the Fellows, though the subjects of teaching are those recognised by the University examinations. The relation between the tutors teaching and that of the professor is rather unsettled and debatable, varying in some measure with the subjects, since physical science can be taught only in the professor's lecture-room, while classics and mathematics can be taught in the class-room of the tutor. Before 1856 the professorial system of teaching had long lain in abeyance, and the tutorial system had prevailed alone. Each College administers its domestic discipline. The University Proctor, if he chases a student to the College gates, must there halt and apply to the College for extradition. To the College the student immediately belongs; it is responsible for his character and habits. The personal relations between him and his tutor are, or ought to be, close. Oxford life hitherto has been a College life. To his College the Oxford man has mainly looked back. Here his early friendships have been formed. In these societies the ruling class of England, the lay professions and landed gentry mingling with the clergy, has been bred. It is to the College, generally, that benefactions and bequests are given; with the College that the rich and munificent _alumnus_ desires to unite his name; in the College Hall that he hopes his portrait will hang, to be seen with grateful eyes. The University, however, shares the attachment of the _alumnus_. Go to yonder river on an evening of the College boat races, or to yonder cricket ground when a College match is being played, and you will see the strength of College feeling. At a University race or match in London the Oxford or Cambridge sentiment appears. In an American University there is nothing like the College bond, unless it be that of the Secret, or, to speak more reasonably, the Greek Letter societies, which form inner social circles with a sentiment of their own. * * * * * The buildings of the University lie mainly in the centre of the city close around us. There is the Convocation House, the hall of the University Legislature, where, in times of collision between theological parties, or between the party of the ancient system of education and that of the modern system, lively debates have been heard. In it, also, are conferred the ordinary degrees. They are still conferred in the religious form of words, handed down from the Middle Ages, the candidate kneeling down before the Vice-Chancellor in the posture of mediæval homage. Oxford is the classic ground of old forms and ceremonies. Before each degree is conferred, the Proctors march up and down the House to give any objector to the degree--an unsatisfied creditor, for example--the opportunity of entering a _caveat_ by "plucking" the Proctor's sleeve. Adjoining the Convocation House is the Divinity School, the only building of the University, saving St. Mary's Church, which dates from the Middle Ages. A very beautiful relic of the Middle Ages it is when seen from the gardens of Exeter College. Here are held the examinations for degrees in theology, styled, in the Oxford of old, queen of the sciences, and long their tyrant. Here, again, is the Sheldonian Theatre, the gift of Archbishop Sheldon, a Primate of the Restoration period, and as readers of Pepys's "Diary" know, of Restoration character, but a patron of learning. University exercises used, during the Middle Ages, to be performed in St. Mary's Church. In those days the church was the public building for all purposes, that of a theatre among the rest. But the Anglican was more scrupulous in his use of the sacred edifice than the Roman Catholic. In the Sheldonian Theatre is held the annual commemoration of Founders and benefactors, the grand academical festival, at which the Doctorate appears in its pomp of scarlet, filing in to the sound of the organ, the prize poems and essays are read, and the honorary degrees are conferred in the presence of a gala crowd of visitors drawn by the summer beauty of Oxford and the pleasures that close the studious year. In former days the ceremony used to be enlivened and sometimes disgraced by the jests of the _terræ filius_, a licensed or tolerated buffoon whose personalities provoked the indignation of Evelyn, and in one case, at least, were visited with expulsion. It is now enlivened, and, as visitors think, sometimes disgraced, by the uproarious joking of the undergraduates' gallery. This modern license the authorities of the University are believed to have brought on themselves by encouraging political demonstrations. The Sheldonian Theatre is also the scene of grand receptions, and of the inauguration of the Chancellor. That flaunting portrait of George IV. in his royal robes, by Lawrence, with the military portraits of the Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia by which it is flanked and its gorgeousness is rebuked, mark the triumphs of the monarchs, whose cause had become that of European independence, over Napoleon. Perhaps the most singular ceremony witnessed by these walls was the inauguration of the Iron Duke as Chancellor of the University. This was the climax of Oxford devotion to the Tory party, and such was the gathering as to cause it to be said that if the roof of the Sheldonian Theatre had then fallen in, the party would have been extinguished. The Duke, as if to mark the incongruity, put on his academical cap with the wrong side in front, and in reading his Latin speech, lapsed into a thundering false quantity. [Illustration: DIVINITY SCHOOL, FROM EXETER GARDENS.] [Illustration: INTERIOR OF SHELDONIAN THEATRE.] The Clarendon was built with the proceeds of the history written by the Minister of the early Restoration, who was Chancellor of the University, and whose touching letter of farewell to her, on his fall and flight from England, may be seen in the Bodleian Library. There, also, are preserved documents which may help to explain his fall. They are the written dialogues which passed between him and his master at the board of the Privy Council, and they show that Clarendon, having been the political tutor of Charles the exile, too much bore himself as the political tutor of Charles the king. In the Clarendon are the University Council Chamber and the Registry. Once it was the University press, but the press has now a far larger mansion yonder to the north-west, whence, besides works of learning and science, go forth Bibles and prayer-books in all languages to all quarters of the globe. Legally, as a printer of Bibles the University has a privilege, but its real privilege is that which it secures for itself by the most scrupulous accuracy and by infinitesimal profits. [Illustration: THE BODLEIAN.] Close by is the University Library, the Bodleian, one of those great libraries of the world in which you can ring up at a few minutes' notice almost any author of any age or country. This Library is one of those entitled by law to a copy of every book printed in the United Kingdom, and it is bound to preserve all that it receives, a duty which might in the end burst any building, were it not that the paper of many modern books is happily perishable. A foundation was laid for a University Library in the days of Henry VI., by the good Duke Humphrey of Gloucester, who gave a collection of books. But in the rough times which followed, the Duke's donation perished, only two or three precious relics being saved from the wreck. Sir Thomas Bodley, a wealthy knight and diplomatist of the time of James I., it was who reared this pile, severely square and bare, though a skilful variation of the string course in the different stories somewhat relieves its heaviness. In the antique reading-room, breathing study, and not overthronged with readers, the bookworm finds a paradise. Over the Library is the University Gallery, the visitor to which is entreated to avert his eyes from the fictitious portraits of founders of early Colleges, and to fix them, if he will, on the royal portraits which painfully attest the loyalty of the University, or, as a relief from these, on Guy Fawkes's lantern. Beneath the Library used to be the Schools or examination-rooms of the University, scenes of youthful hopes and fears; perhaps, as the aspirants to honours were a minority, of more fears than hopes; and at those doors formerly gathered the eager crowd of candidates and their friends to read the class lists which were posted there. But the examination system has outgrown its ancient tenement and migrated to yonder new-built pile in High Street, more fitted, perhaps, by its elaborate ornamentation for the gala and the dance, than for the torture of undergraduates. In the quadrangle of the Bodleian sits aloft, on the face of a tower displaying all the orders of classical architecture, the learned King and royal theologian. The Bible held in his hand is believed to have fallen down on the day that Mr. Gladstone lost his election as Member for the University of Oxford and set forth on a career of liberalism which has since led him to the disestablishment of the Church. We stand on the Radcliffe, formerly the medical and physical library, now a supplement and an additional reading-room of the Bodleian, the gift of Dr. Radcliffe, Court Physician and despot of the profession in the times of William and Anne, of whose rough sayings, and sayings more than rough, some are preserved in his "Life." He it was who told William III. that he would not have His Majesty's two legs for his three kingdoms, and who is said to have punished the giver of a niggardly fee by a prediction of death, which was fulfilled by the terrors of the patient. Close at hand is the Ashmolean, the old University Museum, now only a museum of antiquities, the most precious of which is King Alfred's gem. Museum and Medical Library have together migrated to the new edifice on the north side of the city. But of all the University buildings the most beautiful is St. Mary's Church, where the University sermons are preached, and from the pulpit of which, in the course of successive generations and successive controversies, a changeful and often heady current of theology has flowed. There preached Newman, Pusey, and Manning; there preached Hampden, Stanley, and the authors of "Essays and Reviews." [Illustration: THE HIGH STREET. University College. St. Mary's Church. Queen's College.] Oxford and Cambridge were not at first Universities of Colleges. The Colleges were after-growths which for a time absorbed the University. The University of Oxford was born in the twelfth century, fully a century before the foundation of the first College. To recall the Oxford of the thirteenth century, one must bid vanish all the buildings which now meet our eyes, except yonder grim castle to the west of the city, and the stern tower of St. Michael's Church, at once the bell tower of the Church and a defence of the city gate facing the dangerous north. The man-at-arms from the castle, the warder from the gate, looks down upon a city of five or six thousand inhabitants, huddled for protection under the castle, and within those walls of which a fine remnant is seen bounding the domain of New College. In this city there is a concourse of students brought together to hear a body of teachers who have been led, we know not how, to open their mart of knowledge here. Printing not having been invented, and books being scarce, the fountain of knowledge is the lecture-room of the professor. It is the age of an intellectual revival so remarkable as to be called the Mediæval Renaissance. After the migrations and convulsions, by which the world was cast in a new mould, ensues a reign of comparative peace and settled government, under which the desire of knowledge has been reawakened. Universities have been coming out all over Europe like stars in the night; Paris, famous for theology and philosophy, perhaps being the brightest of the constellation, while Bologna was famed for law and Salerno for medicine. It was probably in the reign of Henry I. that the company of teachers settled at Oxford, and before the end of the thirteenth century students had collected to a number which fable exaggerates to thirty thousand, but which was really large enough to crowd the little city and even the bastions of its walls. A light had shone on youths who sat in the shadow of feudal servitude. There is no more romantic period in the history of human intellect than the thirteenth century. The teachers, after the fashion of that age, formed themselves into a guild, which guarded its monopoly. The undergraduate was the apprentice; the degree was a license to teach, and carried with it the duty of teaching, though in time it became a literary title, unconnected with teaching, and coveted for its own sake. The University obtained a charter, elected its Chancellor, formed its academical Legislature of graduates, obtained jurisdiction over its own members. In time it marshalled its teachers and students into regular Faculties of theology, law, and medicine, with arts, or general and liberal culture, if the name can be applied to anything so rudimentary as the literature and science of that day, forming the basis of all. At first the professors taught where they could; in the cloisters, perhaps, of St. Frydeswide's monastery, subsequently absorbed by Christ Church; in the porches of houses. A row of lecture-rooms, called the Schools, was afterwards provided in School Street, which ran north and south just under the Radcliffe. So little anchored was the University by buildings, that when maltreated at Oxford it was ready to pack up its literary wares and migrate to another city such as Northampton or Stamford. Many of the undergraduates at first were mere boys, to whom the University was a grammar school. For the real University students the dominant study was that of the School philosophy, logical and philosophical, with its strange metaphysical jargon; an immense attempt to extract knowledge from consciousness by syllogistic reasoning, instead of gathering it from observation, experience, and research, mocking by its barrenness of fruit the faith of the enthusiastic student, yet training the mind to preternatural acuteness, and perhaps forming a necessary stage in the mental education of the race. The great instrument of high education was disputation, often repeated, and conducted with the most elaborate forms in the tournaments of the Schools, which might beget readiness of wit and promptness of elocution, but could hardly beget habits of calm investigation or paramount love of truth. The great event in the academical life was Inception, when the student performed exercises which inaugurated his teachership; and this was commonly celebrated by a feast, the expenditure on which the University was called upon to restrain. Oxford produced some of the greatest schoolmen: Duns Scotus, the "subtle," who had written thirteen folio volumes of arid metaphysics before his early death; Bradwardine, the "profound," and Ockham, the "invincible and unmatched." The idol was Aristotle, viewed mainly as the metaphysician, and imperfectly understood through translations. To reconcile Aristotelian speculation with orthodox theology was a hard task, not always successfully performed. Theology was, of course, first in dignity of the Faculties, but the most lucrative was the civil and canon law practised in the ecclesiastical courts and, as Roman, misliked by the patriotic Parliament. Philosophy complained that it had to trudge afoot while the liegemen of Justinian rode high in the car of preferment. Of physical science the hour was not yet come, but before its hour came its wonderful and almost miraculous precursor, Roger Bacon, who anticipated the invention of gunpowder and the telescope, and whose fabled study stood over Folly Bridge, till, with Carfax's monument and Cranmer's prison, it was cleared away by an improving city corporation. Roger Bacon was, of course, taken for a dealer in black arts; an astrologer and an alchemist he was, and at the same time an illustrious example of the service indirectly rendered by astrology and alchemy in luring to an investigation of nature which led to real discoveries, just as Columbus, seeking a western passage to the golden cities of the East, discovered America. * * * * * All the Universities belonged not to one nation but to Latin Christendom, the educated population of which circulated among them. At one time there was a migration to Oxford from the University of Paris, which had got into trouble with the government. Of all the Universities alike, ecclesiastical Latin was the language. The scholars all ranked with the clerical order, so that at Oxford, scholar and clerk, townsman and layman, were convertible terms. In those days all intellectual callings, and even the higher mechanical arts, were clerical. The student was exempted by his tonsure from lay jurisdiction. The Papacy anxiously claimed the Universities as parts of its realm, and only degrees granted by the Pope's authority were current throughout Christendom. When, with Edward III., came the long war between England and France, and when the confederation of Latin Christendom was beginning to break up, the English Universities grew more national. * * * * * Incorporated with the buildings of Worcester College are some curious little tenements once occupied by a colony from different Benedictine Monasteries. These, with the Church of St. Frydeswide, now Christ Church Cathedral, and the small remains of Osney Abbey, are about the only relics of monastic Oxford which survived the Reformation. But in the Middle Ages there were Houses for novices of the great Orders, Benedictines, Cistercians, Carmelites, Augustinians, and most notable and powerful of all, the two great mendicant Orders of Dominicans and Franciscans. The Mendicants, who came into the country angels of humility as well as of asceticism, begging their bread, and staining the ground with the blood from their shoeless feet, soon changed their character, and began in the interest of Holy Church to grasp power and amass wealth. The Franciscans especially, like the Jesuits of an after day, strove to master the centres of intellectual influence. They strove to put the laws of the University under their feet. Struggles between them and the seculars, with appeals to the Crown, were the consequence. Attraction of callow youth to an angelic life seems to have been characteristic of the Brethren of St. Francis, and it is conjectured that in this way Bacon became a monk. Faintly patronised by a liberal and lettered Pope, he was arraigned for necromancy by his Order, and ended his days in gloom, if not in a monastic prison. The Church of the Middle Ages with one hand helped to open the door of knowledge, with the other she sought to close it. At last she sought to close it with both hands, and in her cruel panic established the Inquisition. * * * * * Tory in its later days, the University was liberal in its prime. It took the part of the Barons and De Montfort against Henry III., and a corps of its students fought against the King under their own banner at Northampton. Instead of being the stronghold of reaction, it was the focus of active, even of turbulent aspiration, and the saying ran, that when there was fighting at Oxford there was war in England. Oxford's hero in the thirteenth century was its Chancellor, Grosseteste, the friend of De Montfort and the great reformer of his day, "of prelates the rebuker, of monks the corrector, of scholars the instructor, of the people the preacher, of the incontinent the chastiser, of writings the industrious investigator, of the Romans the hammer and contemner." If Grosseteste patronised the Friars, it was in their first estate. * * * * * At first the students lodged as "Chamberdekyns" with citizens, but that system proving dangerous to order, they were gathered into hostels, or, to use the more dignified name, Halls (_aulæ_) under a Principal, or Master of the University, who boarded and governed them. Of these Halls there were a great number, with their several names and signs. Till lately a few of them remained, though these had lost their original character, and become merely small Colleges, without any foundation except a Principal. The students in those days were mostly poor. Their indigence was almost taken for granted. Some of them begged; chests were provided by the charitable for loans to them. A poor student's life was hard; if he was earnest in study, heroic. He shared a room with three or four chums, he slept under a rug, his fare was coarse and scanty, his garment was the gown which has now become merely an academical symbol, and thankful he was to be provided with a new one. He had no fire in his room, no glass in his window. As his exercises in the University Schools began at five in the morning, it is not likely that he read much at night, otherwise he would have to read by the light of a feeble lamp flickering with the wind. His manuscript was painful to read. The city was filthy, the water polluted with sewage; pestilence often swept through the crowded hive. * * * * * Mediæval students were a rough set; not less rough than enthusiastic; rougher than the students of the Quartier Latin or Heidelberg, their nearest counterparts in recent times. They wore arms, or kept them in their chambers, and they needed them not only in going to and from the University over roads beset with robbers, but in conflicts with the townspeople, with whom the University was at war. With the townspeople the students had desperate affrays, ancient precursors of the comparatively mild town and gown rows of this century. The defiant horns of the town were answered by the bells of the University. Arrows flew; blood was shed on both sides; Halls were stormed and defended; till Royalty from Abingdon or Woodstock interfered with its men-at-arms, seconded by the Bishop with bell, book, and candle. A Papal Legate, an Italian on whom national feeling looks with jealousy, comes to Oxford. Scholars crowd to see him. There is a quarrel between them and his train. His cook flings a cauldron of boiling broth over an Irish student. The scholars fly to arms. The Legate is ignominiously chased from Oxford. Excommunications, royal thunders, and penitential performances follow. Jews settle in Oxford, ply their trade among the scholars, and form a quarter with invidiously wealthy mansions. There is a royal edict, forbidding them to exact more than forty-three per cent interest from the student. Wealth makes them insolent; they assault a religious procession, and with them also the students have affrays. Provincial feeling is strong, for the students are divided into two nations, the Northern and the Southern, which are always wrangling, and sometimes fight pitched battles with bows and arrows. The two Proctors, now the heads of University police, were appointed as tribunes of the two nations to settle elections and other matters between them without battle. Amusements as well as everything else were rude. Football and other rough games were played at Beaumont, a piece of ground to the north of the city; but there was nothing like that cricket field in the parks, nor like the sensation now created by the appearance of a renowned cricketer in his paddings before an admiring crowd, to display the fruit of his many years of assiduous practice in guarding his stumps. The Crown and local lords had to complain of a good deal of poaching in Bagley, Woodstock, Shotover, and Stowe Wood. * * * * * To this Oxford, with its crowd of youth thirsting for knowledge, its turbulence, its vice, its danger from monkish encroachment, came Walter de Merton, one of the same historic group as Grosseteste and Grosseteste's friend, Adam de Marisco, the man of the hour, with the right device in his mind. Merton had been Chancellor of Henry III. amidst the political storms of the time, from which he would gladly turn aside to a work of peaceful improvement. It was thus that violence in those ages paid with its left hand a tribute to civilisation. Merton's foundation is the first College, though University and Balliol come before it in the Calendar in deference to the priority of the benefactions out of which those Colleges grew. Yonder noble chapel in the Decorated style, with its tower and the old quadrangle beneath it, called, nobody knows why, Mob Quad, are the cradle of College life. Merton's plan was an academical brotherhood, which combined monastic order, discipline, and piety with the pursuit of knowledge. No monk or friar was ever to be admitted to his House. The members of the House are called in his statutes by the common name of Scholars, that of Fellows (_Socii_), which afterwards prevailed here and in all the other Colleges, denoting their union as an academical household. They were to live like monks in common; they were to take their meals together in the Refectory, and to study together in the common library, which may still be seen, dark and austere, with the chain by which a precious volume was attached to the desk. They had not a common dormitory, but they must have slept two or three in a room. Probably they were confined to their quadrangle, except when they were attending the Schools of the University, or allowed to leave it only with a companion as a safeguard. They were to elect their own Warden, and fill up by election vacancies in their own number. The Warden whom they had elected, they were to obey. They were to watch over each other's lives, and hold annual scrutinies into conduct. The Archbishop of Canterbury was to visit the College and see that the rule was kept. But the rule was moral and academical, not cloistral or ascetic. The mediæval round of religious services was to be duly performed, and prayers were to be said for the Founder's soul. But the main object was not prayer, contemplation, or masses for souls; it was study. Monks were permanently devoted to their Order, shut up for life in their monastery, and secluded from the world. The Scholars of Merton were destined to serve the world, into which they were to go forth when they had completed the course of preparation in their College. They were destined to serve the world as their Founder had served it. In fact, we find Wardens and Fellows of Merton employed by the State and the Church in important missions. A Scholar of Merton, though he was to obey the College authorities, took no monastic vow of obedience. He took no monastic vow of poverty; on the contrary, it was anticipated that he would gain wealth, of which he was exhorted to bestow a portion on his College. He took no monastic vow of celibacy, though, as one of the clerical order, he would of course not be permitted to marry. He was clerical as all Scholars in those days were clerical, not in the modern and professional sense of the term. The allowances of the Fellow were only his Commons, or food, and his Livery, or raiment, and there were to be as many Fellows as the estate could provide with these. Instruction was received not in College, but in the Schools of the University, to which the Scholars of Merton, like the other Scholars, were to resort. A sort of grammar school, for boys of the Founder's kin, was attached to the College. But otherwise the work of the College was study, not tuition, nor did the statutes contemplate the admission of any members except those on the foundation. [Illustration: MERTON COLLEGE, FROM FIELDS.] * * * * * Merton's plan, meeting the need of the hour, found acceptance. His College became the pattern for others both at Oxford and Cambridge. University, Balliol, Exeter, Oriel, and Queen's were modelled after it, and monastic Orders seem to have taken the hint in founding Houses for their novices at Oxford. University College grew out of the benefaction of William of Durham, an ecclesiastic who had studied at Paris, and left the University a sum of money for the maintenance of students of divinity. The University lodged them in a Hall styled the Great Hall of the University, which is still the proper corporate name of the College. In after days, this Hall, having grown into a College, wished to slip its neck out of the visitorial yoke of the University, and on the strength of its being the oldest foundation at Oxford, claimed as founder Alfred, to whom the foundation of the University was ascribed by fable, asserting that as a royal foundation it was under the visitorship of the Crown. Courts of law recognised the claim; a Hanoverian court of law probably recognised it with pleasure, as transferring power from a Tory University to the King; and thus was consecrated a fiction in palliation of which it can only be said, that the earliest of our literary houses may not improperly be dedicated to the restorer of English learning. Oriel was founded by a court Almoner, Adam de Brome, who displayed his courtliness by allowing his Scholars to speak French as well as Latin. Queen's was founded by a court Chaplain, Robert Egglesfield, and dedicated to the honour of his royal mistress, Queen Philippa. It was for a Provost and twelve Fellows who were to represent the number of Christ and his disciples, to sit at a table as Egglesfield had seen in a picture the Thirteen sitting at the Last Supper, though in crimson robes. Egglesfield's building has been swept away to make room for the Palladian palace on its site. But his name is kept in mind by the quaint custom of giving, on his day, a needle (_aiguille_) to each member of the foundation, with the injunction, Take that and be thrifty. Yonder stone _eagles_ too on the building recall it. Exeter College was the work of a political Bishop who met his death in a London insurrection. As the fashion of founding Colleges grew, that of founding Monasteries decreased, and the more as the mediæval faith declined, and the great change drew near. That change was heralded by the appearance of Wycliffe, a genuine off-spring of the University, for while he was the great religious reformer, he was also the great scholastic philosopher of his day. To what College or Hall his name and fame belong is a moot point among antiquaries. We would fain imagine him in his meditations pacing the old Mob Quadrangle of Merton. His teaching took strong and long hold of the University. His reforming company of "poor priests" drew with it the spiritual aspiration and energy of Oxford youth. But if his movement has left any traces in the shape of foundations, it is in the shape of foundations produced by the reaction against it, and destined for its overthrow. [Illustration: NEW COLLEGE, CLOISTERS AND TOWER.] [Illustration: NEW COLLEGE CHAPEL.] Yonder rises the bell tower of New College over a famous group of buildings, with ample quadrangle, rich religious chapel, a noble Hall and range of tranquil cloisters, defaced only by the addition of a modern upper story to the quadrangle and Vandalic adaptation of the upper windows to modern convenience. This pile was the work of William of Wykeham, Bishop of Winchester, a typical character of the Middle Ages, prelate, statesman, and court architect in one, who negotiated the peace of Bretigny and built Windsor Castle. The eye of the great architect as well as of the pious Founder must have ranged with delight over his fair creation. It is likely that New College, as a foundation highly religious in its character, was intended to counteract Wycliffism as well as to replenish the clergy which had been decimated by the Black Death. Wykeham was a reformer in his way, and one of the party headed by the Black Prince which strove to correct the abuses of the court in the dark decline of Edward III. But he was a conservative, religious after the orthodox fashion, and devoted to the worship of the Virgin, to whom his College was dedicated, after whom it was named, and whose image surmounts its gate. The College of St. Mary of Winton his foundation was entitled. In its day it might well be called New College. New it was in its scale, having seventy Fellows and Scholars besides ten Chaplains, three Clerks, and sixteen Choristers for the services of the Chapel, which is still famous for its choir. New it was in the extent and magnificence of its buildings. New it was in the provision made for solemn services in its Chapel, for religious processions round its cloisters, for the daily orisons of all its members. New it was in the state assigned to its Warden, who was not to be like the Warden of Merton, only the first among his humble peers, living with them at the common board, but to resemble more a great Abbot with a separate establishment of his own, keeping a sumptuous hospitality and drawn by six horses when he went abroad. New it was in having undergraduates as well as graduates on the foundation, and providing for the training of the youth during the whole interval between school and the highest University degree. Even further back than the time of admittance to the University, stretched the care of the reformer of education. The most important novelty of all, perhaps, in his creation, was the connection between his College and the school which he founded at Winchester, his cathedral city, to feed his College with a constant supply of model Scholars. This was the first of those great Public Schools which have largely moulded the character of the ruling class in England. The example was followed by Henry VI. in connecting King's College, Cambridge, with Eton, and would have been followed by Wolsey had he carried out his design of connecting Cardinal College with his school at Ipswich. From the admission of an undergraduate element into the College it naturally followed that there should be instruction of the juniors by the seniors, and superintendence of study within the College walls. This was yet another novelty, and Wykeham seems to have had an additional motive for adopting it in the low condition of the University Schools, from the exercises of which attention had perhaps been diverted by the religious movement. In the careful provision for the study of Grammatica, that is, the elements of Latin, we perhaps see a gleam of the Renaissance, as the style of the buildings belonging to the last order of mediæval architecture indicates that the Middle Age was hastening to its close. But it was one of Wykeham's objects to strengthen the orthodox priesthood in a time of revolutionary peril. Ten of his Fellows were assigned to the study of civil, ten to that of canon, law. Two were permitted to study medicine. All the rest were to be theologians. The Founder was false to his own generous design in giving a paramount and perpetual preference in the election of Fellows to his own kin, who, being numerous, became at length a fearful incubus on his institution. It is not likely that his own idea of kinship was unlimited, or extended beyond the tenth degree. All the Fellows and Scholars were to be poor and indigent. This was in unison with the mediæval spirit of alms-giving as well as with the mediæval theory of poverty as a state spiritually superior, held, though not embodied, by wealthy prelates. Study, not teaching, it is always to be remembered, was the principal duty of those who were to eat the Founder's bread. * * * * * [Illustration: MAGDALEN COLLEGE, FROM STREET.] The Statutes of New College are elaborate, and were largely copied by other founders. They present to us a half-monastic life, with the general hue of asceticism which pervades everything mediæval. Here, as in the case of Merton, there are no vows, but there is strict discipline, with frugal fare. The Commons, or allowances for food, are not to exceed twelve pence per week, except in the times of dearth. Once a year there is an allowance of cloth for a gown. There is a chest for loans to the very needy, but there is no stipend. The Warden rules with abbatial power, though in greater matters he requires the consent of the Fellows, and is himself under the censorship of the Visitor, the Bishop of Winchester, who, however, rarely interposed. Every year he goes on "progress" to view the College estates, there being in those days no agents, and is received by tenants with homage and rural hospitality. The Fellows and Scholars are lodged three or four in a room, the seniors as monitors to the juniors. Each Scholar undergoes two years of probation. As in a baronial hall the nobles, so in the College Hall the seniors, occupy the dais, or high table, while the juniors sit at tables arranged down the Hall. In the dining-hall the Fellows and Scholars sit in silence, and listen to the reading of the Bible. In speaking they must use no tongue but the Latin. There is to be no lingering in the Hall after dinner, except when in winter a fire is lighted on some church festival. Then it is permitted to remain awhile and rehearse poems, or talk about the chronicles of the kingdom, the wonders of the world, and other things befitting clerical discourse. This seems to be the principal concession made to the youthful love of amusement. As a rule, it appears that the students were confined to the College and its cloisters when they were not attending the Schools of the University. They are forbidden to keep hounds or hawks, as well as to throw stones or indulge in any rough or noisy sports. The injunctions against spilling wine and slops in the upper rooms, or beer on the floor of the Hall, to the annoyance of those who lodged beneath, betoken a rough style of living and rude manners. The admission of strangers is jealously restricted, and on no account must a woman enter the College, except a laundress, who must be of safe age. There were daily prayers for the Founder's soul, daily masses, and fifty times each day every member of the College was to repeat the salutation to the Virgin. The Founder's obit was to be celebrated with special pomp. Self-love in a mediæval ascetic was not annihilated by humility, though it took a religious form. Thrice every year are held scrutinies into life and conduct, at which the hateful practice of secret denunciation is admitted, and the accused is forbidden to call for the name of his accuser. Every cloistered society, whether monastic or academic, is pretty sure to seethe with cabals, suspicions, and slanders. Leave of absence from the College was by statute very sparingly allowed, and seldom could the young Scholar pay what, in the days before the letter post, must have been angel's visits to the old people on the paternal homestead. The ecclesiastical and ascetic system of the Middle Ages had little regard for domestic affection. It treated the boy as entirely a child of the Church. In times of pestilence, then common, the inmates of the Colleges usually went to some farm or grange belonging to the College in the neighbourhood of Oxford, and those were probably pleasant days for the younger members. Oaths of fearful length and stringency were taken to the observation of the statutes. They proved sad traps for conscience when the statutes had become obsolete, a contingency of which the Founders, ignorant of progress and evolution, never dreamed. * * * * * In the interval between the foundation of New College and the revolution, religious and intellectual, which we call the Reformation, were founded Lincoln, All Souls', Magdalen, and Brasenose. Lincoln, All Souls', and Brasenose lie immediately round us, close to what was the centre of academical life. Magdalen we recognise in the distance by the most beautiful of towers. Lincoln was theological, and was peculiar in being connected with two of the Churches of Oxford, which its members served, and the tithes and oblations of which formed its endowment. Its Founder, Fleming, Bishop of Lincoln, had as a graduate resident at Oxford been noted for sympathy with the Wycliffites. But when he became Bishop of Lincoln, the fact dawned upon him that the Scriptures too freely interpreted were dangerous. He went over to the Reaction, burned Wycliffe's body, and determined to found a little college of true students in theology, who would "defend the mysteries of the sacred page against those ignorant laics who profaned with swinish snouts its most holy pearls." His successor, Bishop Rotherham, being of the same mind, carried forward the work, and gave the College statutes enjoining the expulsion of any Fellow convicted of favouring in public or in private heretical tenets, and in particular the tenets of "that heretical sect lately sprung up which assails the sacraments, diverse orders and dignities, and properties of the Church." Rotherham had evidently a keen and just sense of the fact, that with the talismanic sacraments of the Church were bound up its dignity and wealth. The two orthodox prelates would have stood aghast if they could have foreseen that their little College of true theologians would one day number among its Fellows John Wesley, and that Methodism would be cradled within its walls. They would not less have stood aghast if they could have foreseen that such a chief of Liberals as Mark Pattison, would one day be its Rector. The history of these foundations is full of lessons for benefactors who fancy that they can impress their will upon posterity. All Souls' was designed by its Founder, Archbishop Chicheley, _ad orandum_ as well as _ad studendum_; it was to serve the purpose of a chantry not less than of a College. The sculptured group of souls over the gateway in High Street denotes that the Warden and Fellows were to pray for the souls of all Christian people. But particularly were they to pray for the souls of "the illustrious Prince Henry, late King of England, of Thomas, Duke of Clarence, and of all the Dukes, Earls, Barons, Knights, Esquires, and others who fell in the war for the Crown of France." Of that unhappy war Chicheley had been the adviser; and seeing the wreck which his folly, or, if the suspicion immortalised by Shakespeare is true, his selfish policy, as the head of a bloated Establishment threatened with depletion, had wrought, he may well have felt the sting of conscience in his old age. The figures in the new reredos of the Chapel tell the story of the foundation. * * * * * [Illustration: ST. JOHN'S PULPIT. Magdalen College, First Quadrangle.] Magdalen was the work of Waynflete, Bishop of Winchester and Chancellor of Henry VI., another statesman-prelate who turned from the political storm to found a house of learning. Of all the houses of learning in England, perhaps of any country, that which Waynflete founded is the loveliest, as he will say who stands in its cloistered and ivy-mantled quadrangle, either beneath the light of the summer's sun or that of the winter's moon. Some American architect, captivated by the graces of Magdalen, has reproduced them in his plan for a new University in California. Those courts, when newly built, were darkened by the presence of Richard III. Waynflete came to Oxford to receive the king; and this homage, paid by a saintly man, seems to show that in those fierce times of dynastic change, Richard, before the murder of his nephews, was not regarded as a criminal usurper, perhaps not as a usurper at all. The tyrant was intellectual. In him, as still more notably in Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester, nicknamed for his cruelty the Butcher, but literary and a benefactor to the University, was something like an English counterpart of the mixture in the Italian Renaissance of culture with licentiousness and crime. But as he sat beside Waynflete in the Hall wooing popularity by apparent attention to the exercises, Richard's thoughts probably were far away. A red rose among the architectural ornaments is found to have been afterwards painted white. It changed, no doubt, with fortune, when she left the red for the white rose. A new relation between College and University is inaugurated by the institution at Magdalen of three Readers to lecture to the University at large. * * * * * The old quadrangle of Brasenose remains much as it was left by its co-founders, a munificent Bishop and a pious Knight. It is of no special historic interest, and its importance belongs to later times. It absorbed several Halls, the sign of one of which was probably the brazen nose which now adorns its gate, and so far it marks an epoch. * * * * * The quiet and sombre old quadrangle of Corpus Christi lies yonder, by the side of Merton, much as its Founder left it. Now we have come to the real dawn of the English Renaissance, a gray dawn which never became a very bright day; for in England, as in Germany and other Teutonic countries, reawakened and emancipated intellect turned to the pursuit of truth rather than of beauty, and the great movement was less a birth of literature and of art than of reformation in religion. This is the age of Grocyn, the teacher of Greek; of Linacre, the English Hippocrates; of Colet, the regenerator of education; of Sir Thomas More, who carried culture to the Chancellorship of the realm, and whose "Utopia" proclaims the growth of fresh aspirations and the opening of a new era in one way, as Rabelais did in another. Duke Humphrey of Gloucester, uncle of Henry VI., had perhaps opened the epoch at Oxford by his princely gift of books, in which the Renaissance literature was strongly represented, and which was the germ of the University Library. Soon Erasmus will visit Oxford and chant in elegant Latin the praises of the classical and cultured circle which he finds there. Now rages the war between the humanists of the new classical learning, called the Greeks, and its opponents, the Trojans, who desired to walk in the ancient paths, and who, though bigoted and grotesque, were, after all, not far wrong in identifying heresy with Greek, since the study of the New Testament in the original was subversive of the mediæval faith. Again, as in the cases of Merton, Wykeham, and Waynflete, a statesman-prelate turns in old age from the distractions of State to found a house of learning. Foxe, Bishop of Winchester, was the chief counsellor and diplomatist of Henry VII., in whose service he had no doubt passed anxious hours and trodden dark paths. It may have been partly for the good of his soul that he proposed to found a house in Oxford for the reception of young monks from St. Swithin's Priory in Winchester while studying in Oxford. He was diverted from that design, and persuaded to found a College instead, by his friend Hugh Oldham, Bishop of Exeter, who is represented as saying, "What, my Lord, shall we build houses and provide livelihoods for a company of bussing monks whose end and fall we ourselves may live to see? No, no. It is more meet, a great deal, that we should have care to provide for the increase of learning and for such as by their learning shall do good in the Church and Commonwealth." Supposing the prognostication embodied in these words genuine, they show that to an enlightened Bishop the dissolution of the Monasteries seemed inevitable. The statutes of Foxe's College are written in a style which affects the highest classical elegance. They elaborate throughout the metaphor of a bee-hive with its industrious insects and its store of intellectual honey. They embody the hopes of the Renaissance and depict a College of the Humanities. There is to be a Reader in Greek, and for the subjects of his lectures a long list of great Greek authors is assigned. There is to be a Reader of Latin, for whose lectures a similar list of Latin authors is given, and who is to keep "barbarism," that mortal sin in the eyes of a devotee of the Renaissance, out of the hive. Theology is not forgotten. The Founder pays a due, possibly somewhat conventional, tribute to its surpassing importance. Of this, also, there is a Professor, but its guides in interpreting Scripture are not to be the mediæval textbooks, such as Aquinas and the Master of the Sentences, but the Greek and Latin Fathers, including the daring Origen and Augustine the favourite of Luther. The Readers are to lecture not to the College only, but to the University at large, a new provision, connecting the College with the University, which hardly took effect till very recent times. One of the first Readers was the learned Spaniard, Juan Luis Vives, whose appointment bespoke the cosmopolitan character of the humanist republic of letters. The statutes were signed by the Founder with a trembling hand eight months before his death, so that only in imagination did he see his literary bees at work. * * * * * Yonder to the south is Tom Tower, where hangs the great bell, which, "swinging slow with sullen roar," was heard by Milton at Forest Hill. It was tolled a hundred and one times for the hundred and one students of Wolsey's House. The Tower, or Cupola, was the work, not of Wolsey but of Wren. Around the great quadrangle over which it rises are seen the lines for cloisters which were never built. The balustrade on the top of the quadrangle is an alien work of modern times. The Church of St. Frydeswide's Monastery does duty as the College Chapel, in place of the grand Chapel in the perpendicular style, which, had the Founder's plan taken effect, would have stood there. Moreover, that which should have been wholly a College is made to serve and to expend a part of its power as the Chapter of the Diocese of Oxford, lending its Chapel as the Cathedral, a niggardly arrangement which has been productive of strained relations between occupants of the See and Heads of the College. Ample and noble are the courts of Wolsey. Worthy of his magnificence is the great Hall, the finest room, barring Westminster Hall, in England, and filled with those portraits of _Alumni_, which, notwithstanding the frequency of pudding sleeves, form the fairest tapestry with which hall was ever hung. But it all falls short of Wolsey's conception. Had Wolsey's conception been fulfilled, Ipswich would have been a nursery of scholars for Cardinal College, as Winchester was for New College, and Eton for King's College, Cambridge. The Cardinal was an English Leo X. in morals, tastes, perhaps in beliefs; a true Prince, not of the Church but of the Renaissance. For him, perhaps, as for Foxe, it was a refreshment to turn from public life, full, as it must have been, of care and peril for the Vizier of a headstrong and capricious despot, to the calm happiness of seeing his great College rise, and gathering into it the foremost of teachers and the flower of students. But in the midst of his enterprise the sky of the Renaissance became overcast with clouds, and the storm of religious revolution, which had long been gathering, broke. Forewarnings of the storm Wolsey had received, for he had found that in opening his gates to the highest intellectual activity he had opened them to free inquiry and to heterodoxy. Himself, too, had set the example of suppressing monasteries, though he did this not for mere rapine or to gorge his parasites, but to turn useless and abused endowments to a noble use. Wolsey all but drew his foundation down with him in his fall. The tyrant and his minions were builders of nothing but ruin. Christ Church, as at last it was called, was threatened with confiscation and destruction, but was finally spared in its incomplete condition, appropriated by Henry as his own foundation, and dedicated to the honour of the king, whose portrait, in its usual attitude of obtrusive self-conceit, occupies in the Hall the central place, where the portrait of the Cardinal should be. The Cardinal's hat, on the outer wall of the house, is left to speak of the true Founder. That the College was to be called after its Founder's name, not, like the Colleges of Wykeham and Waynflete, after the name of a Saint, seems a symptom of the pride which went before Wolsey's fall. * * * * * Now come upon the hapless University forty years of religious revolution, the monuments of which are traces of destruction and records of proscription. All the monastic houses and houses for monastic novices were forfeited to the Crown, and their buildings were left desolate, though, from the ruins of some of them, new Colleges were afterwards to rise. Libraries which would now be priceless, were sacked and destroyed because the illumination on the manuscripts was Popish. It was the least to be deplored of all the havoc, that the torn leaves of the arid tomes of Duns Scotus were seen flying about the quadrangle of New College, while a sporting gentleman of the neighbourhood was picking them up to be used in driving the deer. There is a comic monument of the religious revolution in the coffer shrine at Christ Church, in which the dust of Catherine, wife of the Protestant Doctor, Peter Martyr, is mingled with that of the Catholic Saint, Frydeswide. Catholicism, in its hour of triumph under Mary, had dug up the corpse of the heretic's concubine and buried it under a dung-hill. Protestantism, once more victorious, rescued the remains, and guarded against a repetition of the outrage, in case fortune should again change, by mingling them with those of the Catholic Saint. A more tragic memorial of the conflict is yonder recumbent cross in Broad Street, close to the spot, then a portion of the town ditch, where Cranmer, Latimer, and Ridley died. Bocardo, the prison over the neighbouring gate of the city, from the window of which Cranmer, then confined there, witnessed the burning of Latimer and Ridley, was pulled down at the beginning of this century. The Divinity School, Christ Church Cathedral, and St. Mary's Church witnessed different scenes of the drama. St. Mary's witnessed that last scene, in which Cranmer filled his enemies with fury and confusion by suddenly recanting his recantation, and declaring that the hand which had signed it should burn first. College archives record the expulsion, readmission, and re-expulsion of Heads and Fellows, as victory inclined to the Protestant or Catholic side. So perished the English Renaissance. For the cultivation of the humanities there could be no room in a centre of religious strife. * * * * * Fatal bequests of the religious war were the religious tests. Leicester, as Chancellor, introduced subscription to the Thirty-nine Articles to keep out Romanists; King James, that to the three articles of the Thirty-sixth Canon to keep out Puritans. These tests, involving scores of controverted propositions in theology, were imposed on the consciences of mere boys. The Universities were thus taken from the nation and given to the State Church, which, in the course of time, as dissent from its doctrines gained ground, came to be far from identical with the nation. * * * * * [Illustration: ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE--GARDEN FRONT.] In the first lull, however, new Colleges arose, partly out of the ruins of the monastic houses of the past. Trinity College, of which the quiet old quadrangle is curiously mated with a fantastic Chapel of much later date, was founded out of the ruin of Durham College, a Benedictine House. Its Founder, Sir Thomas Pope, was one of that group of highly educated lay statesmen, eminent both in the councils of kings and among the patrons of learning, which succeeded the great Prelates of the Middle Ages. He was a Catholic, as his statutes show; but a liberal Catholic, not unfriendly to light, though little knowing perhaps whither it would lead him. Among his friends was Sir Nicholas Bacon, who bequeathed to him the splendid whistle, then used to call servants, which is seen round his neck in his portrait. Another of his friends was Pole, who showed his intellectual liberality by recommending him to enjoin in his statutes the study of Greek. St. John's College, again, rose out of the wreck of a Bernardine House. The Founder was not a statesman or a prelate, but a great citizen, Sir Thomas White, sometime Lord Mayor of London, who had amassed wealth in trade, and made a noble use of it. White also was of the olden faith. That the storm was not over when his College was founded is tragically shown by the fate of Campion, who, when White was laid in the College Chapel, preached the funeral sermon, and afterwards becoming a Jesuit and an emissary of his Order, was brought to the rack and to the scaffold. There was also a great secession of Fellows when the final rupture took place between Rome and Elizabeth. In the group of cultivated Knights and statesmen, who patronised learning and education, may be placed Sir William Petre, the second Founder of Exeter College, whose monument is its old quadrangle, and Sir Thomas Bodley, whose monument is the Bodleian Library. If Petre and Bodley were Protestants, while Pope and White were Catholics, the difference was rather political than religious. In religion the public men changed with the national government, little sharing the passions of either theological party. * * * * * Jesus, whose old quadrangle, chapel, and hall belong to early Stuart times, was the first distinctly Protestant College. This its name, in contrast with Colleges named after Saints, denotes. The second Protestant College was Wadham, the buildings of which stand in their pristine beauty, vying with Magdalen, perhaps even excelling it in the special air of a house of learning, and proving that to be interesting and impressive it is not necessary to be mediæval. At the same time Wadham shows how long the spirit of the Middle Ages clung to Oxford; for the style of the Chapel is anterior by a century and a half to the date. Here we have a conscious desire, on the part of the architect, to recall the past. The Founder, Sir Nicholas Wadham, was a wealthy Western land-owner. We may dismiss the tradition that his first design was to found a College of Roman Catholic priests in Italy, and his second to found a Protestant College at Oxford, as at most significant of the prolonged wavering of the religious balance in the minds of a number of the wealthier class. The statutes were, in the main, like those of the mediæval Colleges, saving in making the Fellowship terminable after about twenty-two years, thus more clearly designating the College as a school for active life. The prohibition of marriage was retained, not as an ascetic ordinance, but as a concomitant of the College system. In the mediæval Colleges it was not necessary to extend the prohibition to the Heads, who, being priests, were bound to celibacy by the regulations of their Order; but marriage being now permitted to the clergy generally, the prohibition was in the statutes of Wadham expressly extended, in the interest of the College system, to the Head. Hence it is an aspersion on the reputation of Dame Dorothy Wadham, who, after her husband's death, carried out his design, and whose effigy kneels opposite that of her loving lord in the old quadrangle, to say that she was in love with the first Warden, and because he would not marry her, forbade him by statute to marry any other woman. [Illustration: WADHAM COLLEGE--GARDEN FRONT.] * * * * * These foundations, followed by that of Pembroke and the building of the South quadrangle of Merton, of the South quadrangle of Lincoln, of the West front of St. John's, of the quadrangle and hall of Exeter, of part of the quadrangle of Oriel, of the West quadrangle of University College, as well as of the Bodleian Library, the Schools' quadrangle, the Convocation House, and of the gateway of the Botanic Garden, prove that, though the old University system, with its scholastic exercises, had become hollow, there was life in Oxford, and the interest of patrons of learning was attracted to it during the period between the Reformation and the Rebellion. It was also felt to be a centre of power. Elizabeth twice visited it, once in the heyday of her youthful glory, and again in her haggard decline. On the first occasion she exerted with effect those arts of popularity which were the best part of her statesmanship. On both occasions she was received with ecstatic flattery and entertained with academical exercises at tedious length, and plays, to our taste not less tedious, performed in College Halls. Her successor could not fail to exhibit himself in a seat of learning, where he felt supreme, and, to do him justice, was not unqualified, to shine. To his benignity the University owes the questionable privilege of sending two members to the House of Commons, whereby it became entangled in political as well as in theological frays. * * * * * Great changes, however, had by this time passed or were passing over the University. As in former days the Halls had absorbed the Chamberdekyns, so the Colleges had now almost absorbed the Halls. They did this, not by any aggression, but by the natural advantages of wealth, their riches always increasing with the value of land, and by their reputation. Most of them, in addition to the members on the foundation, took students as boarders, and they got the best and wealthiest. Universities, losing their pristine character as marts of available knowledge, and becoming places of general education, ceased, by a process equally natural, to be the heritage of the poor and became the resort of the rich. The mediæval statutes of the Colleges still limited the foundations to the poor, but even these in time, by cunning interpretation, were largely evaded. Already in the later Middle Ages Oxford had received, and, it seems, too complacently received, young scions of the aristocracy and gentry, the precursors of the noblemen and the silk-gowned gentleman-commoners of a later day. The Black Prince had been for a short time at Queen's College. In the reign of Henry VI., George Neville, the brother of the King-maker, had celebrated the taking of his degree, a process which was probably made easy to him, with banquets which lasted through two days on a prodigious scale. At the same time and for the same causes the system of College instruction grew in importance and gradually ousted the lectures of University Professors. Fellows of Colleges were not unwilling to add to their Commons and Livery the Tutor's stipend. Thus the importance of the College waxed while that of the University waned, and the College Statutes became more and more collectively the law of the University. These Statutes were mediæval and obsolete, but they were unalterable, the Heads and Fellows being sworn to their observance, and there being no power of amendment, since the Visitor could only interpret and enforce. Thus the mediæval type of life and study was stereotyped and progress was barred. The Fellowships having been originally not teacherships or prizes, but aids to poor students, the Founders deemed themselves at liberty in regulating the elections to give free play to their local and family partialities, and the consequence was a mass of preferences to favoured counties or to kin. With all these limitations, the teaching body of the University was now practically saddled. Even the restrictions to particular schools--as to Winchester in the case of New College, to Westminster, which had been substituted for Wolsey's Ipswich, in the case of Christ Church, and to Merchant Tailors' School in the case of St. John's--were noxious, though in a less degree, albeit their bad influence might be redeemed by some pleasant associations. Worst of all, however, in their effect were the restrictions to the clerical Order. This meant little in the Middle Ages, when all intellectual callings were clerical, when at Oxford gownsman and clerk, townsman and laic, were convertible terms. Wykeham, Foxe, and Wolsey themselves were thorough laymen in their pursuits and character, though they had received the tonsure, were qualified, if they pleased, to celebrate mass, and derived their incomes from bishoprics and abbeys. But the Reformation drew a sharp line between the clerical and the other professions. The clergyman was henceforth a pastor. The resident body of graduates and the teaching staff of Oxford belonging almost exclusively to the clerical profession, the studies and interests of that profession now reigned alone. Whatever life remained to the University was chiefly absorbed in theological study and controversy. This was the more deplorable as theology, in the mediæval sense, was a science almost as extinct as astrology or alchemy. Oxford was turned into the cock-pit of theological party. At the same time she was bound hand and foot to a political faction, because her clergymen belonged to the Episcopal and State Church, the patrons and upholders of which, from political motives, were the Kings and the Cavaliers, or, as they were afterwards called, the Tories. Cambridge suffered like Oxford, though with some abatement, because there, owing to the vicinity of a great Puritan district, high Anglicanism did not prevail, and, for reasons difficult to define, the clergy altogether were less clerical. Newton was near forfeiting his Fellowship and the means of prosecuting his speculations because he was not in Holy Orders. Luckily, a Lay Fellowship fell just in time. Let Founders, and all who have a passion for regulating the lives of other people, for propagating their wills beyond the reach of their foresight, and for grasping posterity, as it were, with a dead hand, take warning by a disastrous example. * * * * * As the Colleges became the University, their Heads became the governors of the University. They formed a Board called the Hebdomadal Council, which initiated all legislation, while the executive was the Vice-Chancellorship, which, though legally elective, was appropriated by the Heads, and passed down their list in order. With a single exception, the Headships were all clerical, and they were almost always filled by men of temperament, to say the least, eminently conservative. Thus academical liberty and progress slept. * * * * * [Illustration: ST. MARY'S CHURCH.] On the eve of another great storm we have a pleasant glimpse of Oxford life and study in Clarendon's picture of Falkland's circle, at Great Tew, within ten miles of Oxford, whither, he says, "most polite and accurate men of that University resorted, dwelling there as in a College situated in a purer air, so that his was a University bound in a less volume, whither his intellectual friends came not so much for repose as study, and to examine and refine those grosser propositions which laziness and consent made current in conversation." This indicates that, while study was going on, liberal inquiry was also on foot. But clouds again gathered, the storm again came, and once more from the ecclesiastical quarter. The triumph of the Reformation, the accession of a Protestant Queen, and the Chancellorship of Leicester, who, for politic purposes, played the Puritan, had been attended by a general expulsion or secession of the Romanising party, which left the University for a time in the hands of the Calvinists and Low Churchmen. Hooker, the real father of Anglicanism, had, for a time, studied Church antiquity in the quiet quadrangle of Corpus, but he had come into collision with Puritanism, and had, for a time, been driven away by it. Perhaps its prevalence may have ultimately inclined him to exchange the University for a far less congenial sphere. The clergy, however, of an Episcopal Church, and one which laid claim to Apostolical succession, was sure in time to come round to High Church doctrine. To High Church doctrine the clergy of Oxford did come round under the leadership of Laud, University Preacher, Proctor, President of St. John's College, and afterwards Chancellor of the University. Of Laud there are several memorials at Oxford. One is the inner quadrangle of St. John's College, ornamented in the style of Inigo Jones, where the Archbishop and Chancellor, in the noontide of his career, received with ecstasies of delight, ecclesiastical, academical, and political, his doomed king and master with the fatal woman at Charles's side. Another is a fine collection of oriental books added to the Bodleian Library. A third and more important is the new code of statutes framed for the reformation of the University by its all-powerful Chancellor. A fourth is the statue of the Virgin and Child over the porch of St. Mary's Church, which, as proof of a Romanising tendency, formed one of the charges against the Archbishop, though it was really put up by his Chaplain. The fifth is the headless corpse which lies buried in the Chapel of St. John's College, whither pious hands conveyed it after the Restoration. Laud was a true friend of the University and of learned men, in whom, as in Hales, he respected the right of inquiry, and to whom he was willing to allow a freedom of opinion which he would not allow to the common herd. He was not so much a bigot as a martinet. It was by playing the martinet in ecclesiastical affairs that he was brought into mortal collision with the nation. In the code of statutes which by his characteristic use of autocratic power he imposed on Oxford the martinet is betrayed; so is the belief in the efficacy of regulation. We see the man who wrecked a kingdom for the sake of his forms. Nor had Laud the force to deliver University education from the shackles of the Middle Ages and the scholastic system. But the code is dictated by a genuine spirit of reform, and might have worked improvement had it been sustained by a motive power. * * * * * The period of the Civil War is a gap in academical history. Its monuments are only traces of destruction, such as the defacement of Papistical images and window paintings by the Puritan soldiery, and the sad absence of the old College plate, of which two thousand five hundred ounces went to the Royal mint in New Inn Hall, only a few most sacred pieces, such as the Founder's drinking-horn at Queen's, and the covered cup, reputed that of the Founder, at Corpus, being left to console us for the irreparable loss. Exeter College alone seems to have shown compunction; perhaps there had remained in her something of the free spirit for which in the days of Wycliffe she had been noted. Art and taste may mourn, but the University, as a centre of Episcopalianism, had little cause to complain; for the war was justly called the Bishops' war, and by the Episcopal Church and the Queen, between them, Charles was brought to the block. Oxford was bound by her ecclesiasticism to the Royal cause, and she had the ill luck to be highly available as a place of arms from her position between the two rivers, while she formed an advanced post to the Western country in which the strength of the King's cause lay. During those years the University was in buff and bandolier, on the drill ground instead of in the Schools, while the Colleges were filled with the exiled Court and its ghost of a Parliament. Traces of works connecting the two rivers were not long ago to be seen, and tradition points to the angle in the old city wall under Merton College as the spot where Windebank, a Royalist officer, was shot for surrendering his post. There was a reign of garrison manners as well as of garrison duties, and to the few who still cared for the objects of the University, even if they were Royalists, the surrender of the city to the Parliament may well have been a relief. * * * * * Then came Parliamentary visitation and the purge, with the inevitable violence and inhumanity. Heads and Fellows, who refused submission to the new order of things, were turned out. Mrs. Fell, the wife of the Dean of Christ Church, deposed for Royalism, refused to quit the Deanery, and at last had to be carried out of the quadrangle, venting her wrath in strong language as she went, by a squad of Parliamentary musketeers. But the Puritans put in good men: such as Owen, who was made Dean of Christ Church; Conant, who was made Rector of Exeter; Wilkins, who was made Warden of Wadham; and Seth Ward, the mathematician, who was made President of Trinity College. Owen and Conant appear to have been model Heads. The number of students increased. Evelyn, the Anglican and Royalist, visiting Oxford, seems to find the academical exercises, and the state of the University generally, satisfactory to his mind. He liked even the sermon, barring some Presbyterian animosities. Nor did he find much change in College Chapels. New College was "in its ancient garb, notwithstanding the scrupulosity of the times." The Chapel of Magdalen College, likewise, was "in pontifical order," and the organ remained undemolished. The Protectorate was tolerant as far as the age allowed. Evelyn was cordially received by the Puritan authorities and hospitably entertained. Puritanism does not seem to have been so very grim, whatever the satirist in "The Spectator" may say. Tavern-haunting and swearing were suppressed. So were May-poles and some innocent amusements. But instrumental music was much cultivated, as we learn from the Royalist and High Church antiquary Anthony Wood, from whom, also, we gather that dress, though less donnish, was not more austere. Cromwell, having saved the Universities from fanatics who would have laid low all institutions of worldly learning, made himself Chancellor of Oxford, and sought to draw thence, as well as from Cambridge, promising youths for the service of the State. Even Clarendon admits that the Restoration found the University "abounding in excellent learning," notwithstanding "the wild and barbarous depopulation" which it had undergone; a miraculous result, which he ascribes, under God's blessing, to "the goodness and richness of the soil, which could not be made barren by all the stupidity and negligence, but choked the weeds, and would not suffer the poisonous seeds, which were sown with industry enough, to spring up." Puritanism might be narrow and bibliolatrous, but it was not obscurantist nor the enemy of science. We see this in Puritan Oxford as well as in Puritan Harvard and Yale. In Puritan Oxford the scientific circle which afterwards gave birth to the Royal Society was formed. Its chief was Warden Wilkins, and it included Boyle, Wallis, Seth Ward, and Wren. It met either in Wilkins's rooms at Wadham, or in those of Boyle. Evelyn, visiting Wilkins, is ravished with the scientific inventions and experiments which he sees. On the stones of Oxford, Puritanism has left no trace; there was hardly any building during those years. There were benefactions not a few, among which was the gift of Selden's Library. Upon the Restoration followed a Royalist proscription, more cruel, and certainly more lawless, than that of the Puritans had been. All the good Heads of the Commonwealth era were ejected, and the Colleges received back a crowd of Royalists, who, during their exclusion, had probably been estranged from academical pursuits. Anthony Wood himself is an unwilling witness to the fact that the change was much for the worse. "Some Cavaliers that were restored," he says, "were good scholars, but the majority were dunces." "Before the War," he says in another place, "we had scholars who made a thorough search in scholastic and polemical divinity, in humane learning and natural philosophy, but now scholars study these things not more than what is just necessary to carry them through the exercises of their respective Colleges and the University. Their aim is not to live as students ought to do, temperate, abstemious, and plain in their apparel, but to live like gentry, to keep dogs and horses, to turn their studies into places to keep bottles, to swagger in gay apparel and long periwigs." Into the Rectorship of Exeter, in place of the excellent Conant, was put Joseph Maynard, of whom Wood says, "Exeter College is now much debauched by a drunken Governor; whereas, before, in Doctor Conant's time, it was accounted a civil house, it is now rude and uncivil. The Rector is good-natured, generous, and a good scholar, but he has forgot the way of College life, and the decorum of a scholar. He is much given to bibbing, and when there is a music meeting in one of the Fellow's chambers, he will sit there, smoke, and drink till he is drunk, and has to be led to his lodgings by the junior Fellows." This is not the only evidence of the fact that drinking, idling, and tavern-haunting were in the ascendant. Study as well as morality, having been the badge of the Puritan, was out of fashion. Wilkins's scientific circle took its departure from Oxford to London, there to become the germ of the Royal Society. The hope was gone at Oxford of a race of "young men provided against the next age, whose minds, receiving the first impressions of sober and generous knowledge, should be invincibly armed against all the encroachments of enthusiasm." The presence of the merry monarch, with his concubines, at Oxford, when his Parliament met there, was not likely to improve morals. Oxford sank into an organ of the High Church and Tory party, and debased herself by servile manifestos in favour of government by prerogative. Non-conformists were excluded by the religious tests, the operation of which was more stringent than ever since the passing of the Act of Uniformity. The love of liberty and truth embodied in Locke was expelled from Christ Church; not, however, by the act of the College or of the University, but by Royal warrant, though Fell, Dean of Christ Church, bowed slavishly to the tyrant's pleasure; so that Christ Church may look with little shame on the portrait of the philosopher, which now hangs triumphant in her Hall. The Cavaliers did not much, even in the way of building. The Sheldonian Theatre was given them by the Archbishop, to whom subscriptions had been promised, but did not come in, so that he had to bear the whole expense himself. He was so deeply disgusted that he refused ever to look upon the building. * * * * * Over the gateway of University College stands the statue of James II. That it should have been left there is a proof both of the ingrained Toryism of old Oxford, and of the mildness of the Revolution of 1688. Obadiah Walker, the Master of the Colleges, was one of the political converts to Roman Catholicism, and it was in ridicule of him that "Old Obadiah, Ave Maria," was sung by the Oxford populace. A set of rooms in the same quadrangle bears the trace of its conversion into a Roman Catholic Chapel for the king. It faces the rooms of Shelley. Reference was made the other day, in an ecclesiastical lawsuit, to the singular practice which prevails in this College, of filing out into the ante-chapel after the sacrament to consume the remains of the bread and wine, instead of consuming them at the altar or communion table. This probably is a trace of the Protestant reaction which followed the transitory reign of Roman Catholicism under Obadiah Walker. All are familiar with the Magdalen College case, and with the train of events by which the most devoutly royalist of Universities was brought, by its connection with the Anglican Church and in defence of the Church's possessions, into collision with the Crown, and arrayed for the moment on the side of constitutional liberty. After the Revolution the recoil quickly followed. Oxford became the stronghold of Jacobitism, the scene of treasonable talk over the wine in the Common Room, of riotous demonstrations by pot-valiant undergraduates in the streets, of Jacobite orations at academical festivals, amid frantic cheers of the assembled University, of futile plotting and puerile conspiracies which never put a man in the field. "The king to Oxford sent a troop of horse." But the troop of horse was not called upon to act. There was a small Hanoverian and constitutional party, and now and then it scored a point against its adversaries, who dared not avow their disloyalty to the reigning dynasty. A Jacobite Proctor, having intruded into a convivial meeting of Whigs, they tendered him the health of King George, which, for fear of the treason law, he was fain to drink upon his knees. * * * * * [Illustration: STAIRCASE, CHRIST CHURCH.] In the early part of the eighteenth century there was some intellectual life in Christ Church, to which Westminster still sent up good scholars, and which was the resort of the nobility, in whom youthful ambition and desire for improvement might be stirred by the influences of political homes, and the prospects of a public life. Dean Aldrich was a scholar and a virtuoso. The spire of All Saints' Church is a soaring monument of his taste, if not of his genius, for architecture. In the controversy with Bentley about the Epistles of Phalaris, Christ Church, though she was hopelessly in the wrong, showed that she had some learning and some interest in classical studies. Otherwise the eighteenth century is a blank, or worse than a blank, in the history of the University. The very portraits on the College walls disclose the void of any but ecclesiastical eminence. That tendency to torpor, which, as Adam Smith and Turgot have maintained, is inherent in the system of endowments, fell upon Oxford in full measure. The Colleges had now, by the increase in value of their estates, become rich, some of them very rich. The estates of Magdalen, Gibbon tells us, were thought to be worth thirty thousand pounds a year, equivalent to double that sum now. Instead of being confined to their original Commons and Livery, the Heads and Fellows, as administrators of the estate, were now dividing among themselves annually large rentals, though they failed to increase in equal proportion the stipends of the Scholars and others who had no share in the administration. The statutes of mediæval Founders had become utterly obsolete, and were disregarded, notwithstanding the oath taken to observe them, or observed only so far as they guarded the interest of sinecurists against the public. Nor were any other duties assumed. A few of the Fellows in each College added to their income by holding the tutorships, the functions of which they usually performed in the most slovenly way, each Tutor professing to teach all subjects, while most of them knew none. In the Common Room, with which each of the Colleges now provided itself, the Fellows spent lives of Trulliberian luxury, drinking, smoking, playing at bowls, and, as Gibbon said, by their deep but dull potations excusing the brisk intemperance of youth. Even the obligation to residence was relaxed, and at last practically annulled, so that a great part of the Fellowships became sinecure stipends held by men unconnected with the University. About the only restriction which remained was that on marriage. Out of this the Heads had managed to slip their necks, and from the time of Elizabeth downwards there had been married Heads, to the great scandal of Anthony Wood and other academical precisians, to whom, in truth, one lady, at least, the wife of Warden Clayton of Merton, seems to have afforded some grounds for criticism by her usurpations. But in the case of the Fellows, the statute, being not constructive, but express, could not be evaded except by stealth, and by an application of the aphorism then current, that he might hold anything who would hold his tongue. The effect of this, celibacy being no longer the rule, was to make all the Fellows look forward to the benefices, of a number of which each College was the patron, and upon which they could marry. Thus devotion to a life of study or education in College, had a Fellow been inclined to it, was impossible, under the ordinary conditions of modern life. Idleness, intemperance, and riot were rife among the students, as we learn from the novels and memoirs of the day. Especially were they the rule among the noblemen and gentlemen-commoners, who were privileged by their birth and wealth, and to whom by the servility of the Dons every license was allowed. Some Colleges took only gentlemen-commoners, who paid high fees and did what they pleased. All Souls' took no students at all, and became a mere club which, by a strange perversion of a clause in their statutes, was limited to men of high family. The University as a teaching and examining body had fallen into a dead swoon. Few of the Professors even went through the form of lecturing, and the statutory obligation of attendance was wholly disregarded by the students. The form of mediæval disputations was kept up by the farcical repetition of strings of senseless syllogisms, which were handed down from generation to generation of students. The very nomenclature of the system had become unmeaning. Candidates for the theological degree paced the Divinity School for an hour, nominally challenging opponents to disputation, but the door was locked by the Bedel, that no opponent might appear. Examinations were held, but the candidates, by feeing the University officer, were allowed to choose their own examiners, and they treated the examiner after the ordeal. The two questions, "What is the meaning of Golgotha?" and "Who founded University College?" comprised the examination upon which Lord Eldon took his degree. A little of that elegant scholarship, with the power of writing Latin verses, of which Addison was the cynosure, was the most of which Oxford could boast. Even this there could hardly have been had not the learned languages happened to have formed an official part of the equipment of the clerical profession. Of science, or the mental habit which science forms, there was none. Such opportunities for study, such libraries, such groves, a livelihood so free from care could scarcely fail, now and then, to give birth to a learned man, an Addison, a Lowth, a Thomas Warton, an Elmsley, a Martin Routh. * * * * * The Universities being the regular finishing schools of the gentry and the professions, men who had passed through them became eminent in after life, but they owed little or nothing to the University. Only in this way can Oxford lay claim to the eminence of Bishop Butler, Jeremy Bentham, or Adam Smith, while Gibbon is her reproach. The figures of Lord Eldon and Lord Stowell, whose ponderous twin statues sit side by side in the Library of University College, were more academical, especially that of Lord Stowell, who was Tutor of his College, and held a lectureship of Ancient History. Here and there a Tutor of the better stamp, no doubt, would try to do his duty by his pupils. A rather pathetic interest attaches to Richard Newton, who tried to turn Hart Hall into a real place of education, and had some distinguished pupils, among them Charles Fox. But the little lamp which he had kindled went out in the uncongenial air. On the site, thanks to the munificence of Mr. Baring, now stands Hertford College. Johnson's residence at Pembroke College was short, and his narrative shows that it was unprofitable, though his High Church principles afterwards made him a loyal son and eulogist of the University. One good effect the interdiction of marriage had. It kept up a sort of brotherhood, and saved corporate munificence from extinction by the private interest of fathers of families. As the College revenues increased, building went on, though after the false classical fashion of the times and mostly for the purpose of College luxury. Now rose the new quadrangle of Queen's, totally supplanting the mediæval College, and the new buildings at Magdalen and Corpus. A plan is extant, horrible to relate, for the total demolition of the old quadrangle of Magdalen, and its replacement by a modern palace of idleness in the Italian style. To this century belong Peckwater and Canterbury quadrangles, also in the classical style, the first redeemed by the Library which fills one side of the square, and which has a heavy architectural grandeur as well as a noble purpose. To the eighteenth century we also mainly owe the College gardens and walks as we see them; and the gardens of St. John's, New College, Wadham, Worcester, and Exeter, with the lime walk at Trinity and the Broadwalk--now unhappily but a wreck--at Christ Church, may plead to a student's heart for some mitigation of the sentence on the race of clerical idlers and wine-bibbers, who, for a century, made the University a place, not of education and learning, but of dull sybaritism, and a source, not of light, but of darkness, to the nation. It is sad to think how different the history of England might have been had Oxford and Cambridge done their duty, like Harvard and Yale, during the last century. * * * * * [Illustration: CHRIST CHURCH--FRONT.] At the end of the last or beginning of the present century came the revival. At the end of the last century Christ Church had some brilliant classical scholars among her students, though the great scene of their eminence was not the study but the senate. The portraits of Wellesley and Canning hang in her Hall. In the early part of the present century the general spirit of reform and progress, which had been repressed during the struggle with revolutionary France, began to move again over the face of the torpid waters. Eveleigh, Provost of Oriel, led the way. At his College and at Balliol the elections to Fellowships were free from local or genealogical restrictions. They were now opened to merit, and those two Colleges, though not among the first in wealth or magnificence, attained a start in the race of regeneration which Balliol, being very fortunate in its Heads, has since in a remarkable manner maintained. The examination system of Laud had lacked a motive power, and had depended, like his policy, on his fiat instead of vital force. There was no sufficient inducement for the examiner to be strict or for the candidate to excel. The motive power was now supplied by a list of honours in classics and mathematics, and among the earliest winners in the first class in both schools was Robert Peel. * * * * * Scarcely, however, had the University begun to awake to a new life, when it was swept by another ecclesiastical storm, the consequence of its unhappy identification with clericism and the State Church. The liberal movement which commenced after the fall of Napoleon and carried the Reform Bill, threatened to extend to the religious field, and to withdraw the support of the State from the Anglican Church. This led the clergy to look out for another basis, which they found in the reassertion of High Church and sacerdotal doctrines, such as apostolical succession, eucharistical real presence, and baptismal regeneration. Presently the movement assumed the form of a revival of the Church of the Middle Ages, such as High Church imagination pictured it, and ultimately of secession to Rome. Oxford, with her mediæval buildings, her High Church tradition, her half-monastic Colleges, and her body of unmarried clergy, became the centre of the movement. The Romanising tendencies of Tractarianism, as from the "Tracts for the Times" it was called, visible from the first, though disclaimed by the leaders, aroused a fierce Protestant reaction, which encountered Tractarianism both in the press and in the councils of the University. The Armageddon of the ecclesiastical war was the day on which, in a gathering of religious partisans from all sections of the country which the Convocation House would not hold, so that it was necessary to adjourn to the Sheldonian Theatre, Ward, the most daring of the Tractarian writers, after a scene of very violent excitement, was deprived of his degree. This was the beginning of the end. Newman, the real leader of the movement, though Pusey, from his academical rank, was the official leader, soon recognised the place to which his principles belonged, and was on his knees before a Roman Catholic priest, supplicating for admission to the Church of Rome. A ritualistic element remained, and now reigns, in the Church of England; but the party which Newman left, bereft of Newman, broke up, and its relics were cast like drift-wood on every theological or philosophical shore. Newman's poetic version of mediæval religion, together with the spiritual graces of his style and his personal influence, had for a time filled the imaginations and carried away the hearts of youth, while the seniors were absorbed in the theological controversy, renounced lay studies, and disdained educational duty except as it might afford opportunities of winning youthful souls to the Neo-Catholic faith. Academical duty would have been utterly lost in theological controversy, had it not been for the Class List, which bound the most intellectual undergraduates to lay studies by their ambition, and kept on foot a staff of private teachers, "coaches," as they were called, to prepare men for the examinations, who did the duty which the ecclesiastical Fellows of the University disdained. The Oxford movement has left a monument of itself in the College founded in memory of Keble, the gentle and saintly author of "The Christian Year." It has left an ampler monument in the revival of mediæval architecture at Oxford, and the style of new buildings which everywhere meet the eye. The work of the Oxford Architectural Society, which had its birth in the Neo-Catholic movement, may prove more durable than that movement itself. Of the excess to which the architectural revival was carried, the new Library at University College, more like a mediæval Chapel than a Library, is a specimen. It was proposed to give Neo-Catholicism yet another monument by erecting close to the spot where Cranmer, Latimer, and Ridley died for truth, the statue of Cardinal Newman, the object of whose pursuit through life had been, not truth, but an ecclesiastical ideal. Of the reaction against the Tractarian movement the monument is the memorial to the Protestant martyrs Cranmer, Latimer, and Ridley, the subscription for which commenced among the Protestants who had come up to vote for the condemnation of Ward, and which Tractarians scornfully compared to the heap of stones raised over the body of Achan. * * * * * [Illustration: GATE TOWER AND CLOISTERS, MAGDALEN.] Here ended the reign of ecclesiasticism, of the Middle Ages, and of religious exclusion. The collision into which Romanising Oxford had been brought with the Protestantism of the British nation, probably helped to bring on the revolution which followed, and which restored the University to learning, science, and the nation. The really academical element in the University invoked the aid of the national government and Legislature. A Royal Commission of Inquiry into the state of the University and its Colleges was appointed, and though some Colleges closed their muniment rooms, and inquiry was obstructed, enough was revealed in the Report amply to justify legislative reform and emancipation. An act of Parliament was passed which set free the University and Colleges alike from their mediæval statutes, restored the University Professoriate, opened the Fellowships to merit, and relaxed the religious tests. The curriculum, the examination system, and the honour list were liberalised, and once more, as in early times, all the great departments of knowledge were recognised and domiciled in the University. Science, long an exile, was welcomed back to her home at the moment when a great extension of her empire was at hand. Strictly professional studies, such as practical law and medicine, could not be recalled from their professional seats. Elections to Fellowships by merit replaced election by local or school preferences, by kinship, or by the still more objectionable influences which at one time had been not unfelt. Colleges which had declined the duty of education, which had been dedicated to sinecurism and indolence, and whose quadrangles had stood empty, were filled with students, and once more presented a spectacle which would have gladdened the heart of the Founder. A Commission, acting on a still more recent Act of Parliament, has carried the adaptation of Oxford to the modern requirements of science and learning further than the old Commission, which acted in the penumbra of mediæval and ecclesiastical tradition, dared. The intellectual Oxford of the present day is almost a fresh creation. Its spirit is new; it is liberal, free, and progressive. It is rather too revolutionary, grave seniors say, so far as the younger men are concerned. This is probably only the first forward bound of recovered freedom, which will be succeeded in time by the sober pace of learning and scientific investigation. Again, as in the thirteenth century, the day of Grosseteste and Simon de Montfort, Oxford is a centre of progress, instead of being, as under the later Stuarts, the stronghold of reaction. Of the College revival, the monuments are all around in the new buildings, for which increasing numbers have called, and which revived energy has supplied. Christ Church, New College, Magdalen, Merton, Balliol, Trinity, University have all enlarged their courts, and in almost every College new life has been shown by improvement or restoration. Of the reign of mediævalism the only trace is the prevalence in the new buildings of the mediæval style, which architectural harmony seemed to require, though the new buildings of Christ Church and Trinity are proofs of a happy emancipation from architectural tradition. The University revival has its monument in the new examination Schools in High Street, where the student can no longer get his degree by giving the meaning of Golgotha and the name of the Founder of University College. There are those who, like Mark Pattison, look on it with an evil eye, regarding the examination system as a noxious excrescence and as fatal to spontaneous study and research; though they would hardly contend that spontaneous study and research flourished much at Oxford before the revival of examinations, or deny that since the revival Oxford has produced the fruits of study and research, at least to a fair extent. The restoration of science is proclaimed by the new Museum yonder; a strange structure, it must be owned, which symbolises, by the unfitness of its style for its purpose, at once the unscientific character of the Middle Ages, and the lingering attachment of Oxford to the mediæval type. Of the abolition of the religious tests, and the restoration of the University to the nation, a monument is Mansfield College for Congregationalists, a vision of which would have thrown an orthodox and Tory Head of a College into convulsions half a century ago. Even here the mediæval style of architecture keeps its hold, though the places of Catholic Saints are taken by the statues of Wycliffe, Luther, John Knox, Whitefield, and Wesley. By the side of Mansfield College rises also Manchester College for Independents, in the same architectural style. Neither of them, however, is in the Oxford sense a College; both are places of theological instruction. * * * * * On the North of the city, where fifty years ago stretched green fields, is now seen a suburb of villas, all of them bespeaking comfort and elegance, few of them overweening wealth. These are largely the monuments of another great change, the removal of the rule of celibacy from the Fellowships, and the introduction of a large body of married teachers devoted to their profession, as well as of the revival of the Professorships, which were always tenable by married men. Fifty years ago the wives of Heads of Houses, who generally married late in life if they married at all, constituted, with one or two officers of the University, the whole female society of Oxford. The change was inevitable, if education was to be made a profession, instead of being, as it had been in the hands of celibate Fellows of Colleges, merely the transitory occupation of a man whose final destination was the parish. Those who remember the old Common Room life, which is now departing, cannot help looking back with a wistful eye to its bachelor ease, its pleasant companionship, its interesting talk and free interchange of thought, its potations neither "deep" nor "dull." Nor were its symposia without important fruits when such men as Newman and Ward, on one side, encountered such men as Whately, Arnold, and Tait, on the other side, in Common Room talk over great questions of the day. But the life became dreary when a man had passed forty, and it is well exchanged for the community that fills those villas, and which, with its culture, its moderate and tolerably equal incomes, permitting hospitality but forbidding luxury, and its unity of interests with its diversity of acquirements and accomplishments, seems to present the ideal conditions of a pleasant social life. The only question is, how the College system will be maintained when the Fellows are no longer resident within the walls of the College to temper and control the younger members, for a barrack of undergraduates is not a good thing. The personal bond and intercourse between Tutor and pupil under the College system was valuable as well as pleasant; it cannot be resigned without regret. But its loss will be compensated by far superior teaching. Half a century ago conservatism strove to turn the railway away from Oxford. But the railway came, and it brings, on summer Sundays, to the city of study and thought not a few leaders of the active world. Oxford is now, indeed, rather too attractive; her academical society is in danger of being swamped by the influx of non-academical residents. * * * * * [Illustration: THE RIVER--BOATS RACING.] The buildings stand, to mark by their varying architecture the succession of the changeful centuries through which the University has passed. In the Libraries are the monuments of the successive generations of learning. But the tide of youthful life that from age to age has flowed through college, quadrangle, hall, and chamber, through University examination-rooms and Convocation Houses, has left no memorials of itself except the entries in the University and College books; dates of matriculation, which tell of the bashful boy standing before the august Vice-Chancellor at entrance; dates of degrees, which tell of the youth putting forth, from his last haven of tutelage, on the waves of the wide world. Hither they thronged, century after century, in the costume and with the equipments of their times, from mediæval abbey, grange, and hall, from Tudor manor-house and homestead, from mansion, rectory, and commercial city of a later day, bearing with them the hopes and affections of numberless homes. Year after year they departed, lingering for a moment at the gate to say farewell to College friends, the bond with whom they vowed to preserve, but whom they were never to see again, then stepped forth into the chances and perils of life, while the shadow on the College dial moved on its unceasing round. If they had only left their names in the rooms which they had occupied, there would be more of history than we have in those dry entries in the books. But, at all events, let not fancy frame a history of student life at Oxford out of "Verdant Green." There are realities corresponding to "Verdant Green," and the moral is, that many youths come to the University who had better stay away, since none get any good and few fail to get some harm, saving those who have an aptitude for study. But the dissipation, the noisy suppers, the tandem-driving, the fox-hunting, the running away from Proctors, or, what is almost as bad, the childish devotion to games and sports as if they were the end of existence, though they are too common a part of undergraduate life in the University of the rich, are far from being the whole of it. Less than ever are they the whole of it since University reform and a more liberal curriculum have increased, as certainly they have, industry and frugality at the same time. Of the two or three thousand lamps which to-night will gleam from those windows, few will light the supper-table or the gambling-table; most will light the book. Youthful effort, ambition, aspiration, hope, College character and friendship have no artist to paint them,--at least as yet they have had none. But whatever of poetry belongs to them is present in full measure here. INDEX. Addison, Joseph, 136. Aldrich, Henry, 128. Alfred (King), 24, 51. All Souls' College, 67 _et sq._ Amusements, mediæval, 43. Antiquity, apparent, of the buildings, 3. Architectural revival at Oxford, 147, 148. Aristotle, 31. Ashmolean Museum, 24. Augustinians, 35. _Aulæ_, 39. Bacon, Roger, 32, 33, 37. Bacon, Sir Nicholas, 91. Balliol College, 50; intellectual revival in, 141. Baring, T. C., 138. Benedictines, 35. Bentham, Jeremy, 137. Bentley, Richard, 129. Black Prince, the, 100. Bocardo, 88. Bodleian Library, 19, 20, 21, 97. Bodley, Sir Thomas, 20, 93. Bologna, University of, 29. Botanic Garden, 97. Boyle, Charles, 119. Bradwardine, Thomas, 31. Brasenose College, 67 _et sq._, 74, 75. Broadwalk, the, 140. Brome, Adam de, 52. Buildings, dates of, 3 _et sq._ Butler, Bishop, 137. Cardinal College, 83. Carmellites, 35. Celibacy enjoined on Heads of Colleges, 96; effects of its withdrawal, 132, 133. Chamberdekyns, 39, 99. Charles I. at Oxford, 113, 114. Charles II. at Oxford, 123. Chicheley, Archbishop, 70, 71. Christ Church Cathedral, 35. Christ Church College, 80 _et sq._; intellectual revival in, 128, 129, 140, 141. Cistercians, 35. Civil War, Oxford in the time of the, 112 _et sq._ Clarendon, Earl of, 18, 107. Clarendon Building, 18, 19. Clarendon Press, 19. Class Lists, 142. Clayton, Thos., wife of, 132. Clerical profession, dominance of, 104. Colet, John, 76. College life, 9 _et sq._ Colleges, administration and government of, 9 _et sq._; growing importance of, 99 _et sq._; the present intellectual revival in the, 152 _et sq._ Commemoration, 15. Common Room life, 157. Commons, 49. Commonwealth, Oxford in the time of the, 114 _et sq._ Conant, John, 116. Congregation, 8. Convocation, 8. Convocation House, 13, 14, 97. Corpus Christi College, 75. Cranmer, Archbishop, 88, 89. Cromwell, Oliver, Chancellor of Oxford, 118. Degrees, manner of conferring, 13. Disputation, stress laid upon, 30. Divinity School, 14. Dominicans, 36. Duns Scotus, 31. Durham College, 91. Egglesfield, Robert, 52. Eldon, Lord, 135, 137. Elizabeth (Queen), 98. Elmsley, Peter, 136. Erasmus, D., 76. "Essays and Reviews," authors of, 24. Eton, 59. Eveleigh, John, 141. Evelyn, John, 116, 119. Examinations, 21, 22. Examination system, the, 153, 154. Examination-rooms. _See_ Schools. Exeter College, 50, 53 _et sq._ Faculties, 28. Falkland, Viscount, 107. Fawkes's (Guy) lantern, 21. Fell, John, 124. Fellows, 46. Fellowships, 102. Fleming, Bishop, 68. Founders, portraits of, 21. Foxe, Bishop, 77. Franciscans, 36. Frydeswide, St., 87. Gibbon, Edward, 137. Gladstone, W. E., 22. Graduation. _See_ Degrees. Great Hall of the University, the, 51. Great Tew, 107. Grocyn, William, 76. Grosseteste, Robert, 38, 44. Halls, 39, 98, 99. Hart Hall, 137. Hebdomadal Council, 106. Hertford College, 138. High Church Traditions at Oxford, 144 _et sq._ Hooker, Richard, 108. Houses, monastic, 50. Humanists, the, 77. Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, 20, 76. Inception, 31. Jacobitism at Oxford, 127, 128. James I., 22, 98. James II., statue of, 125. Jesus College, 94. Jews at Oxford in the Middle Ages, 42. Johnson, Samuel, at Oxford, 138. Keble, John, 147. Keble College, 147. Laud, Archbishop, 109 _et sq._ Leicester, Earl of, 108. Lime Walk at Trinity College, the, 140. Linacre, Thomas, 76. Lincoln College, 67 _et sq._ Livery, 49. Locke, John, 124. Lowth, Robert, 136. Magdalen College, 67 _et sq._, 72 _et sq._, 130. Magdalen College Case, 126. Manchester College, 155. Manning, H. E., 24. Mansfield College, 155. Marisco, Adam de, 44. Martyr, Catherine, 87. Maynard, Joseph, 121. Mendicant Orders, 36. Merton, Walter de, 44, 45. Merton College, 45 _et sq._ Mob Quad, 45. Monastic Orders, 35. Monastic Oxford, 35. Monasteries, 35, 37, 50, 53. Montfort, Simon de, 37, 38. More, Sir Thomas, 76. Museum, the Ashmolean. _See_ Ashmolean. Museum, the University, 153, 154. Neo-Catholicism. _See_ Tractarianism. Neville, George, 101. Newman, J. H., 14, 24, 145, 148. New College, 55 _et sq._ Newton, Isaac, 105. Newton, Richard, 137. Non-conformists excluded, 123. Ockham, 31. Oldham, Hugh, 78. Oriel College, 50, 52. Osney Abbey, 35. Owen, John, 116. Oxford (the name), derivation of, 2. Oxford Architectural Society, 147. Oxford (the city), situation of, 1; environs of, 1, 2; of the 13th century, 27 _et sq._ Oxford (the University), administration and government of, 7 _et sq._, 106 _et sq._; origin and growth of, 25 _et sq._; political proclivities of, 28, 37, 105; in the 18th century, 130 _et sq._; in the 19th century, 140 _et sq._; intellectual revival of, in the present day, 152. Oxford Movement, the. _See_ Tractarianism. Oxford University Commissions (1850 and 1876), 149, 151. Papacy, the, and the Universities, 34, 37. Paris, University of, 27, 34. Pattison, Mark, 70. Pembroke College, 97. Peel, Robert, 142. Petre, Sir William, 93. Philippa, Queen, 52. Philosophy, Scholastic, early addiction to, 30. Pope, Cardinal, 92. Pope, Sir Thomas, 91. Portraits of Founders, 21. Press, the University (_see also_ Clarendon Press), 19. Proctors, 10, 13, 14. Professors, 10. Protectorate, the. _See_ Commonwealth. Puritanism and Oxford, 115 _et sq._ Pusey, E. B., 24, 145. Queen's College, 50, 52. Radcliffe, Dr. John, 23. Radcliffe Library, 23. Reformation, influence of, on Oxford, 108, 110. Religious tests, 90. Renaissance, the Mediæval, 23. Restoration, the, and Oxford, 120 _et sq._ Revolution, the (1688), and Oxford, 125, 127. Richard III. at Oxford, 73, 74. Rotheram, Bishop, 69. Routh, Martin, 136. Royal Commissions. _See_ Oxford University Commissions. Royal Society, The, 119 _et sq._ St. Frydeswide's Church, 35. St. John's College, 92. St. Mary of Winton, College of, 56. St. Mary's Church, 15, 24. St. Michael's Church, 25. Salerno, University of, 27. Scholars, 46 _et sq._ Schools, the, 21. Schools, the new examination, 153. Sermons, University, 24. Sheldon, Archbishop, 14. Sheldonian Theatre, 14, 15, 124, 125. Smith, Adam, 137. _Socii_, 46. Sports, 162. Statutes, fettering influence of, 101, 102; disregarded, 130. Stowell, Lord, 137. Student life, mediæval, 39 _et sq._, 63 _et sq._ Students, mediæval, 39, 41 _et sq._; their affrays with the townspeople, 41, 42; their amusements, 43. Suburbs of Oxford, 156 _et sq._ Teachers, the first, at Oxford, 28. Tests. _See_ Religious tests. Theology, 32. Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester, 73. Tom Tower, 81. Tractarianism, 145 _et sq._ Trinity College, 91. "Trojans, The," 77. Turner's picture of Oxford, 2. Tutors, 9. Undergraduate life, modern, 162, 163. Universities, rise of, in Europe, 27. University College, 51. University Gallery, 21. "Verdant Green," 162. Vice-Chancellorship, the, 106. Vives, Juan Luis, 81. Wadham, Dorothy, 96. Wadham, Sir Nicholas, 95. Wadham College, 94. Walker, Obadiah, 126. Ward, Seth, 116. Ward, W. G., 145. Warton, Thomas, 136. Waynflete, Bishop, 72, 73. Wellington, Duke of, his inauguration as Chancellor, 17. Wesley, John, 70. White, Sir Thomas, 92, 93. Wilkins, John, 116, 119, 122. William of Durham, 50. William of Wykeham, 55 _et sq._ Winchester School, 58. Windebank, Thos., 114. Wolsey, Cardinal, 59, 81, 82 _et sq._ Wood, Anthony (_quoted_), 120, 121. Worcester College, 35. Wren, Christopher, 3, 82. Wycliffe, John, 54. Wykeham. _See_ William of Wykeham. 
53909	----	Transcriber's Note: Punctuation and possible typographical errors have been changed. Archaic, variable and inconsistent spelling and hyphenation have been preserved. Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. A SHORT HISTORY OF NEWNHAM COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE PUBLISHERS. [Illustration: colophon] CAMBRIDGE. LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED GLASGOW: MACLEHOSE, JACKSON & CO. [Illustration: By Mrs. F. W. H. Myers. Henry Sidgwick ] A SHORT HISTORY OF NEWNHAM COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY ALICE GARDNER, M.A. (BRISTOL) FORMERLY LECTURER AND FELLOW OF NEWNHAM COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE AUTHOR OF "THE LASCARIDS OF NICÆA," "THEODORE OF STUDIUM," ETC. _WITH TEN ILLUSTRATIONS_ CAMBRIDGE BOWES & BOWES 1921 TO THE HONOURED MEMORY OF A. J. C. AND H. S. COPYRIGHT PREFACE This little book is primarily intended for present and past students of Newnham College and for the numerous friends who have been helpers or sympathetic spectators of its early progress. At the same time I venture to hope that it may prove interesting and suggestive to a wider circle of persons practically or theoretically concerned in movements for the higher education of women. Of the deficiencies of this short history, no one could be more fully aware than the writer herself. But for the expressed wish of the Council of Newnham College, it would never have been attempted, nor could it have been written at all without the kind co-operation of friends, who, like myself, had known the College from the inside. I would especially thank the present Principal, Miss B. A. Clough, and the Registrar, Miss E. M. Sharpley, for supplying me with information and with kindly criticisms throughout my task. It has been gratifying to realize that the Publisher is son of an early friend of the College. One of the chief difficulties in writing the history of a comparatively young institution, and one raised by the labours, forethought, and sacrifices of many "pious founders and benefactors" is that the range of view possible to any former student and teacher must necessarily be limited. I have felt deep regret in realizing how many honoured helpers have--for lack of space--not even been mentioned. Similarly, among the former students whose labours, scientific, literary, and practical, have brought credit to the College, I have necessarily shown most appreciation of those with whose work and influence I have been personally best acquainted. Every past student will have to supplement the story with recollections from her own experience. I trust that, at least, I shall have brought home to many the conviction that Newnham College is unique, in the character and motives of its first founders, in the steady devotion to its best interests of successive governors, teachers and students, as also in its relations--complicated, but near, we may hope, to a solution--with the University under the protecting shadow of which it has grown to prosperity. My hope for this little work is that, besides helping to justify the existence of the College in the eyes of the world, it may in some measure preserve in its members the knowledge of our best traditions in the past and inspire a confident hope for the future. ALICE GARDNER. BRISTOL, _April, 1921_. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. INTRODUCTORY. NEWNHAM COLLEGE IN IDEA. 1871-1880 1 II. NEWNHAM COLLEGE IN ADOLESCENCE. 1880-1881 33 III. NEWNHAM COLLEGE IN PROGRESS. 1881-1892 57 IV. NEWNHAM COLLEGE IN PROGRESS. 1892-1900. PRINCIPALSHIP OF MRS. SIDGWICK 84 V. NEWNHAM COLLEGE IN PROGRESS. 1900-1914 109 EPILOGUE. 1914 AND AFTER 135 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PROFESSOR HENRY SIDGWICK. (Photogravure Plate.) _Frontispiece_ From a photograph by Mrs. F. W. H. Myers. FACING PAGE MISS ANNE J. CLOUGH AND THE FIRST FIVE STUDENTS 2 MISS MARION KENNEDY 16 MERTON HALL, 1872-1874 26 MISS ANNE J. CLOUGH. (Photogravure Plate.) 54 From a photograph by Mrs. F. W. H. Myers. MRS. HENRY SIDGWICK 72 From the portrait by J. J. Shannon, R.A. NEWNHAM COLLEGE 86 The Entrance Gates. NEWNHAM COLLEGE, 1920 100 General View of the Building and Grounds. MISS KATHARINE STEPHEN 112 MISS B. A. CLOUGH 138 For permission to reproduce the two illustrations of Professor Henry Sidgwick and Miss A. J. Clough thanks are due to Mrs. F. W. H. Myers; also to Messrs. Bassano for the use of their photographs of Miss B. A. Clough, Miss Katharine Stephen and the general view of the College. A SHORT HISTORY OF NEWNHAM COLLEGE CHAPTER I INTRODUCTORY. NEWNHAM COLLEGE IN IDEA In tracing the history of educational institutions and of other foundations existing for the public good, we find it necessary to distinguish those that had and those that had not a definite beginning. Some of our colleges and great schools have--so to speak--sprung, adult and armed, from the brain of their founder--or possibly from the conjoint thoughts and efforts of a few generous and like-minded patrons. Their birthdays are easily determined. Their continuity can be traced both in material persistence and progress and in moral and intellectual development and adaptation to changing conditions. Others--and prominent among them the subject of this sketch--came into being so gradually that their length of days may be variously calculated. To the past students of Newnham College, the beginning seems to be most naturally and fittingly associated with the day when a comparatively small dwelling house was first opened, in Cambridge, by Professor Sidgwick and a small group of friends, and placed under the wise and devoted care of Miss Clough, for the accommodation of a few young women who wished to give their time to serious study under the tuition of such University professors, lecturers, and private teachers as might be willing to further their desire for higher education. Incorporation as a College was not to come for nine years, nor any measure of distinct recognition by the University for ten years. But no Newnham woman would reckon our beginnings from 1880 or 1881. An antiquarian spirit might fancy that the germs were in the room in Mr. Clay's garden, where lectures were first delivered to women students and others. But student life and university instruction had for us its first embodiment in the little community of five, and their teachers and helpers, whose relations with Cambridge began in 1871. This settlement of Miss Clough and the five students was the small beginning out of which grew an institution which many hundreds of women now regard with passionate loyalty, and which no opponents or doubters can venture to despise. To understand its origin we need to go back a little and consider how and why the movement towards higher education for women was then beginning to take form, and why it came to be specially associated with Cambridge. [Illustration: MISS ANNE J. CLOUGH AND THE FIRST FIVE STUDENTS.] It would be partly true and partly false to regard the objects of those who practically founded Newnham College as identical with those of the leading champions of the political and legal rights of women. Of course, as might naturally be expected, many of those who, through breadth of sympathy and hatred of injustice, gave the greater part of their lives and energies to the removal of female disabilities, public and private, were very ready to respond to the demand for higher education for girls and women. One need only think (looking at the leaders of thought in the middle of last century) of John Stuart Mill (a benefactor to the Cambridge Lectures Association and to similar enterprises) with the philosophic school which he represented and led. The advocates of political liberty and those of higher education for women used to a large extent the same arguments, and the securing of one end favoured the prospects of the other. Those who held that women were on the eve of obtaining greater rights and responsibilities were bound to show sympathy with the cause of education; they could quote the words of Samson Agonistes: "What were strength without a double share of wisdom? Vast, unwieldy, burdensome." And on the other hand every movement made in the direction of sound education for women told in favour of opening spheres of usefulness and conceding rights as to property and personal liberty which uneducated women might possibly have abused. Among the earlier friends of Newnham, probably by far the larger number were warmly attached to the franchise movement, especially when it came within the range of practical politics. At the same time, advocates of higher education were unlikely to be possessed--as were a few excellent and high-minded women--by the idea of the suffrage as a panacea for all women's grievances or a necessary condition of any step towards social betterment. Necessity and common sense prescribed caution to the pioneers who were directing their efforts to obtain some measure of university education for women able to profit thereby. And indeed there was nothing revolutionary in the movement towards higher education for women. True, the education of girls and women had not till then been considered an object to be sought on a large scale. But there had been educated and even learned women in England, in the days of the Renaissance and Reformation, though there can be little doubt that--in the higher circles, at least--a check came with the frivolities of the later Stuart court. But without going into uncertain historical details, it is noticeable that in the early part of the nineteenth century, such different persons as Sydney Smith and Mrs. Hannah More became eloquent advocates of more serious education for girls than they commonly received. The arguments of these and like-minded reformers were not thrown away. It is beyond question that in many parts of England, in early and middle Victorian days, there were high-minded, intellectual, and accomplished women conducting girls' schools on reasonable principles and with good mental and moral results; and a good deal of the highest education in girls' schools was given by men--sometimes of considerable standing and ability. The position of a private governess was not remarkably dignified or lucrative (_vide_ the experiences of the Brontes); but there were some such private teachers who did excellent and much appreciated work. Still the course of a girl who had inward longings for intellectual culture was often hard; and harder still was that of young women who had a liking for literature and art, combined with a distaste for unvaried domestic interests or social routine. The happiest were those who had sympathetic elder brothers at College, who could talk over their difficulties with them and recommend books. Such was eminently the position of Miss Clough herself. Her education--discursive and not without lacunae--had been a home education, her chief mentor an Oxford brother, whose mind and tone of character it is superfluous here to describe. It was in great part to help those who, like herself, had had aspirations after knowledge and culture, and who, unlike herself, had not always had sympathetic homes, that she and other pioneers in Cambridge desired to secure facilities of continuous study under the direction of capable and inspiring teachers. It may be advisable to indicate briefly the different ways in which efforts were made to meet the existing wants, some of which led up to the goal of university education for women.[1] [Footnote 1: In this part of the subject, and indeed throughout my task, I am constantly indebted to the _Memoir of Anne J. Clough by her Niece, B. A. Clough_. This book ought to be familiar to all interested in educational movements, since Miss Clough, while most closely associated with the University side of the movement, was throughout her life collaborating with great sympathy and insight with those at work in other departments.] (1) The first step was the establishment of larger and better schools, and provision for more advanced teaching. Queen's College, Harley Street, first presided over by F. D. Maurice, was founded in 1848 and is still at work; Bedford College (now a College of London University) was founded in 1849; the North London Collegiate School and Cheltenham College (which both maintain their position as schools of first-rate standing) in 1850 and 1858. There were started, besides, some colleges expressly for women intending to become teachers (the Maria Grey, Home and Colonial, etc.). At present the need of some serious training in the art of teaching is widely recognised. In the early days of the Women's Education Movement, a young woman had often practically to choose between gaining more knowledge, and learning to make the most of the little which she had. This difficulty is now much diminished, if not entirely removed. (2) But almost more important than the new foundations, started generally by private effort, was the successful attempt to secure some kind of government inspection of girls' schools and the synchronizing responsibility undertaken by the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge in admitting girls to the Local Examinations. In 1864, the Schools Inquiry Commission were requested to include in their task the inspection of Girls' Schools. The result was a revelation of superficiality, narrowness, and general inefficiency which awoke a portion at least of the educated public to the need of reform. The result of the new experiment (1865) of admitting girls to the Cambridge Senior and Junior examinations showed similar defects. Many generations of Newnham students have been amused to hear among the recollections revived at the annual Commemoration, how it was once seriously proposed to lower the standard of arithmetic to suit the capacity of the girls. Happily the suggestion was not followed. The notion that women cannot do hard sums was one of the "hasty generalizations" as to the constitution of the female mind, "with the wrecks of which," it was afterwards said, "the whole shore has been strewn." The deficiencies of the schools were largely due to the fact that no opportunities of education were available for intending teachers. The more enlightened schoolmistresses had to struggle against masses of prejudice, indifference and materialism in the minds of parents and of the public, and many of them were eager for improvement. In 1866, the Society of London Schoolmistresses was formed for mutual help and encouragement, and similar societies were established in various localities, which lent support to the efforts of well-wishers in the Universities and elsewhere. (3) Then again there were early schemes for lectures to women in different parts of the country, and these have branched out and become more effectual than any measure for educational improvement among persons for whom residence at a university was impossible. Here, as in many regions, Miss Clough was a pioneer, and this branch of work brought about the connection of Cambridge with one side of the movement and led directly to the starting of what grew into Newnham College. The body which accomplished the chief initial work in the matter of local lectures for women was "The North of England Council for improving the Education of Women." To the organization of this society, Miss Clough gave much thought and attention, especially in 1867 and the following years. It was formed from an amalgamation of societies having the same object, in Liverpool, Manchester, Sheffield, Leeds and Newcastle. Among Miss Clough's colleagues on this Council were Mr. (afterwards Canon) and Mrs. Butler, Mr. (now Lord) Bryce, Mr. F. W. H. Myers, and Mr. (afterwards Professor) James Stuart. It was Mr. Stuart who, after his experience in the North of England, proposed and brought about in 1873 the organization of local lectures by the Universities. It is needless to go into the history of the subsequent development of University Extension. Begun primarily in the interests of women, it was extended to meet the needs of busy men with free evenings, working people, and all who wished in their leisure to prolong their education and gain culture. (4) The work of the North of England Council led to a further step in the early development of what I have called "Newnham College in Idea," viz. the founding of the Cambridge Higher Local Examination. The request for an examination for women over eighteen came from the Council and was supported on the ground that it was desirable to have a definite and intelligible test for teachers, with some means of giving system to the lecture movement as far as it affected women, and of directing the reading of girls who had left school. It had originally features which became modified with changing principles of education. There was at first a group of subjects considered essential as the foundation of liberal education and optional groups, some of which candidates had to take in order to secure a certificate. In course of time the groups were increased in number and larger choice allowed while the necessary preliminaries were diminished. The examination was first held in 1869, when thirty-six candidates were examined in two centres.[2] As this examination was from the first supposed to be one the reading for which would prove interesting and profitable to adult women, it is not surprising that it should have been eagerly used by the advocates of university education for intending teachers as a test of fitness for real university study. Later it became one of the school examinations taken by girls in the upper forms, and when the Tripos examinations were opened to women certain portions were accepted in lieu of the Previous Examination. The connection between Newnham and the Higher Local Examination was maintained for many years, certain scholarships being always awarded on its results, though the multiplication of other facilities for university qualification has now loosened the tie. In the early days Newnham College owed much to the Syndicate for Local Lectures and Examinations, and to the courtesy and devotion of the successive Secretaries (Rev. G. F. (Bishop) Browne and Dr. Keynes) and to the fostering care which they bestowed on the young movement. [Footnote 2: _Memoir of A. J. Clough_, p. 130.] Here an auxiliary agency may be mentioned which was of real service to young women desirous either of passing the new examination or simply of understanding how and what to read for their own benefit: the scheme of instruction by correspondence, started and kept vigorous for many years by the late Mrs. Peile, wife of the highly respected tutor and afterwards Master of Christ's College. Among the instructors by correspondence were many distinguished members of the University. The curricula were designed with a view to the requirements of the Higher Local Examination, but subjects were handled freely and suitable books were recommended. This last necessity was partly met by a loan library for women. These steps were gradually leading up to a possible university education for women. At first sight, our beginnings may seem to have a non-academic and amateurish air. And part of what was accomplished in these early days would meet with scant approval from modern advocates of equal chances for women with men in learning and the learned professions. Inspection of schools by government is now by many regarded as a necessary evil. Popular courses of lectures without regular sequence or adaptation to the previous attainments of those who attend them suggest superficiality and lack of scientific method. Instruction by correspondence is by many associated with cram of the lowest sort. But to those who read the correspondence of the founders of these institutions, or whose memory carries them back to the days when they were not only novel but a very godsend to labourers at self-education, the whole movement wears a different aspect. All methods of imparting knowledge are apt to degenerate into tricks for hiding ignorance; even respect for universities and learned men may become mere toadyism. But the early forms, though now a little outworn, did indicate and partly supply a genuine need, and led on to even better things--especially to academic training and advanced study for women. (5) The general movement towards university education, on the other hand, begins with the inauguration of a series of lectures in Cambridge itself, somewhat like that already started in the north, but wider in scope and capable of being continued for the instruction of women far beyond the educational standard prescribed by the Local Examinations. This had its beginning in a drawing-room meeting held in Prof. and Mrs. Fawcett's house, late in 1869. If these beginnings seem less dignified than those of Colleges erected for students and organized from the first on University lines, it may be remarked that, after all, the beginnings of Newnham bear some analogy to those of the early European universities, including the English. Perhaps in all the greatest centres of learning there has been first the great teacher--then the scholars who flock to sit at his feet. Colleges and social student life and hostels and regulated grades of teachers and taught are an aftergrowth. So, we may say, the first Newnham students came to Cambridge because great teachers were there; it was not that suitable teachers came because the students had shown a demand for them or for collegiate houses and collegiate life. The university extension lecturers might be useful and stimulating missionaries of culture, but their greatest service was to kindle a desire to go and drink at the fountain-heads. The mountain could not come to Mahomet, but many touched by prophetic zeal might make all efforts to come to the mountain. The first step taken as a result of the historic meeting referred to in Prof. and Mrs. Fawcett's house, was the formation of a society to be called _the Association for promoting the Higher Education of Women in Cambridge_. The first executive consisted of Mr. (afterwards Dr.) Bonney, Mr. (Dr.) Peile, Prof. F. D. Maurice, Mrs. Adams, Mrs. Bateson, Mrs. Fawcett, Mrs. Venn; the Secretaries were Mr. Markby and Mr. (afterwards Professor) Henry Sidgwick; the Treasurer Mrs. Bateson. Early in 1870, a list of lectures was brought out. Although these lectures were supposed to be for women reading for the Higher (then called the Women's) examination, they were given by men generally of the highest standing in the University, such as the university members of the Executive just mentioned, besides Professor Skeat, Prof. J. E. B. Mayor, Dr. Peile, Prof. Cayley, Dr. Venn, Mr. Marshall and other eminent persons. It may be that some of these lecturers were decidedly "over the heads" of such of the students as had had an indifferent schooling and were only just commencing adult study. But the fault--if such we should call it--was a good one. As a rule, the partly self-taught are more ready to grapple with difficulties than such as have hitherto had the paths of progress made gradual and easy; and the very fact of being more or less in contact with a master mind was rather stimulating than depressing. These lectures were originally given in a building kindly lent by Mr. Clay, standing in the garden of his house a little off Trumpington Street. Besides the lectures specially arranged in connection with the new scheme, a large number of lectures given by Professors of the University were, by their special permission, opened to women. In those days the professorial lectures formed, generally speaking, a less important part in the teaching of the University than they do at present. This was not, of course, due to any inferiority in such lectures, but to the want of correlation in the instruction provided by the several colleges and by the University. As this correlation became more effectual, the privilege given to women students of attending professorial lectures became more and more advantageous to them. Twenty-eight professors acceded to the request of the Association, as well as two lecturers who delivered their lectures in University buildings. University Professors and Lecturers were, generally speaking, bound to admit all members of the University to their lectures without fee, but were allowed to charge fees to non-members. Women students came, of course, under the second head, but as a rule the Professors admitted them without fee, as if they were of undergraduate status. The gradual opening up of lectures given on the Intercollegiate system in the halls or lecture-rooms of the various colleges began, as will be seen, a little later. But besides the special lectures to women and the professorial lectures provided for members of the University, a very necessary element in Cambridge teaching consists in private tuition--of students taken individually or in small groups. In Classics and Mathematics, especially, such "coaching" is necessary both for backward and for advanced students. Among the earlier supporters of the Women's Education movement were a good many brilliant teachers who, in their generous belief in the cause, were ready to give instruction to women students often in a far more elementary stage than the men they ordinarily taught. Fees were naturally paid to the private teachers, but in many cases, while the cause was yet poor and struggling, these fees were returned to the Treasurer. The students who required the more advanced lectures and tuition were generally those who, having passed the Women's Examination, aimed at a real University course. Tripos students were among the very first generation of Cambridge women--though those who read with a view to triposes could never feel quite sure, till near the end of their three years, whether the examiners would think it consistent with their functions to admit women and declare what class they attained. This great object had already been approached on independent lines by the founders of Girton College. Miss Davies had conceived hopes of founding an actual college in which the Cambridge degree examinations, pass and honour, might be taken by women, and in 1869 such a college was started at Hitchin. The intellectual ideals and standards of the two wings--so to speak--of the movement were not identical. Time and with it changes in the demands of the degree examinations at Cambridge--indeed at both Universities--have brought them pretty close together. The very good reasons at the bottom of both programmes are easy to recognise. Miss Davies considered that any requirements made from women different from those demanded from men would certainly be lower. If women avoided Greek and the other subjects of which boys were supposed to learn something at school, an impression would be created that women were allowed graduate or quasi-graduate status on easier terms than those imposed on men. On the other side there was, in the minds of Sidgwick and others who became the founders of Newnham, a great contempt of the "Poll" as well as of the "Little-go" as marking a very low standard of intellectual achievement. At the same time, a more concrete mind like Miss Clough's deplored the inconvenience and waste of time which might keep an adult woman who had not learned classics or much mathematics at school, studying the beginnings of these subjects in school-boy fashion when her mind was more adapted to other studies. Again there was the fear--groundless enough as experience has proved--lest the girls' schools should be "classicized" and modern studies in them discouraged. In point of fact, Cambridge University now demands of candidates for the Previous Examinations only the very minimum of ancient languages, and the boys' schools have been de-classicized to a further extent than might have then seemed possible. In the long run, the different schemes proved to be very similar in results. The Little-go Greek did no harm to those who took it. Honestly taught (as, unfortunately, is not always the case with a compulsory subject), it has often given to the learner sufficient knowledge to be of real service in later studies. A small amount of rivalry at the outset has not hindered the progress of the two Colleges side by side in co-operation and mutual goodwill. [Illustration: MISS MARION KENNEDY.] But before the first tripos student had definitely entered on her career, another great step had been taken: the opening of a house for the residence of women who had been attracted by the educational facilities of Cambridge and desired to devote themselves there to some course of serious study. The securing of a house for students had become necessary in the eyes of Mr. Henry Sidgwick, and foremost among the many and great services which he rendered to the College (then hardly existing even in idea) was that he persuaded Miss Clough to come and take charge of the resident students. A house was found in Regent Street, and in the autumn of 1871 Miss Clough and five students began their common life there, and initiated a new stage in the movement. Long years afterwards, when Newnham was large and flourishing, with four Halls of residence, a large party up for Commemoration met to explore the cradle of this College, which was the more easily done as the house had become a hotel (The Bird Bolt Temperance Hotel). Two of the original five (Mrs. Marshall and Miss Larner) pointed out to the students of that day the one room which served as dining-room and as common study for these pioneer students; the other sitting-room used in the afternoon for lectures, overlooking Parker's Piece, where they, without a scrap of garden, could envy the boys playing on the Piece; the small rooms which were their bedrooms. The first generation had little elbow-room, no games, a scanty library, a non-luxurious _ménage_, and very little of what is now considered necessary freedom in work and play. Yet they seem to have been exceedingly happy. They felt, and the feeling remained for at least a dozen years, that they were pioneers. The lectures given by greater men than any they had ever seen before; the pleasures of intercourse, especially for those who had found little intellectual sympathy at home; the long walks over the Gogs or along the Cam, more enjoyed in pre-hockey, pre-bicycling, even pre-tennis days than now; the associations of an ancient and beautiful town; the sympathy shown by the generous men and women who had adopted their cause: all these things must far have outweighed the passing inconvenience of straitened accommodation and even the painful consciousness that the eye of the world and yet more of his wife was upon them, for better and for worse. But perhaps above all, in later days, these pioneer students felt most thankful to think that in that house they had enjoyed the constant presence of Miss Clough and frequent intercourse with the leaders of the movement, particularly of Mr. Henry Sidgwick. It may seem superfluous as well as presumptuous for the present writer to dwell on the characteristics of the two leading persons in the early days of the College (or the college-embryo) seeing that their lives and characters have, as already said, been portrayed in biographies which are never likely to be surpassed. Perhaps, however, a little space may be given to those peculiarities which, in both characters, left a permanent impression on the College as a whole, especially since they exhibit traits of an almost opposite description, yet united to produce a great result. In one respect they were alike: in what may be called fundamental sincerity and whole-heartedness, along with wide ranges of interest. Readers of Sidgwick's life and writings cannot but be impressed with his absolute fidelity to any course which had shown itself worthy of approval, his careful attention to every opinion and principle which had any reasonable justification, his loyalty to personal convictions in avoiding any possible compromise with mental tergiversation. He had lately given up his fellowship from conscientious motives. He abstained from identifying himself with any form of institutional Christianity, while fully acknowledging how such Christianity had worked for good, and tolerating the attitude of those who were able for the sake of true religion to accept religious formulae with reservations of their own. In politics, he generally went with the more progressive Liberals, though fully able and always ready to grasp the situation of those who took different standpoints. The efforts and the personal sacrifices which he made in the cause of women's education were not inspired by any one-sided attachment to the cause either on a personal or on a theoretical side. He held no fixed theory as to the equality and similarity of the sexes in mental powers, but was in favour of assisting legitimate efforts, removing unreasonable limitations, and postponing the decision as to whether women _can_ do this or that by giving them the opportunity and awaiting the result. When the result proved favourable to his reasoned expectations, he was naturally pleased, but on all subjects he ever kept an open mind. For persons handicapped in the race of life, by sex, nationality, or poverty, he was always ready to discover new prospects of successful effort. His family life had made him acquainted with women of exceptional gifts even before his marriage with Miss Eleanor Mildred Balfour in 1876, a happy event for Newnham as well as for himself. The frequent presence of a man of his calibre in the incipient college was of inestimable benefit to the early students. He was to them a champion of their cause and a model of sincerity and reasonableness, and to many a very helpful teacher. A larger proportion of students in the early days than later took up some branch of Moral Science--in which he directed their work. And to others he was helpful on the educational side by his encouragement of good literature--which may at times have tended to retreat into the background in favour of severely scientific study. Beyond all this there were traditions among the early students of his extraordinary power in bringing home to them the necessity of maintaining a high standard of order, patience and power of suspending judgment. It has been said that in some respects Miss Clough presented a marked contrast to Dr. Sidgwick. This contrast may be partly described by saying that he saw things more in the abstract, she in the concrete. Not that he looked only at general principles and she at isolated instances (for both took large views without neglecting the single examples), but still the distinction was evident. Both had risen by a painful process of mental and moral self-culture above conventional views as to the world and man's place in it, but in Sidgwick the search was chiefly inspired by a passion for truth, in Miss Clough by a desire to promote individual happiness. She naturally referred questions to present cases. Thus--if certain subjects were said to be necessary as preliminaries to a University course, she would at once think whether _A._ or _B._ would be the better for having studied Latin or Mathematics. She allowed for diversity of all kinds among students and other persons with whom she had to do. A rule was important to her as touching actual cases, not the cases as exemplifying the rule. She was strong physically and indifferent to discomfort and hardship in all that she undertook. Yet she had no belief in asceticism, and exhorted her students to "take the little pleasures of life." It was her own idea to begin hockey at Newnham, then a most novel suggestion, which brought at first some ridicule and even disapprobation from select circles. She naturally understood and liked some of her students better than others--but even those who had less than others of her special intimacy were at times pleased and stimulated by finding how much of her goodwill they possessed and how she had plans for their future. If her character broadened and mellowed with years, it was not that she was ever intolerant or unsympathetic, but that she responded to the affection and respect of those who knew and appreciated her. She, too, had a sense of humour which enlivened the community from the beginning, and the respect with which both her name and her character were held in the highest University circles more than counteracted an occasional innocent unconventionality in her social intercourse. It may seem almost invidious to choose some and omit others among the earliest friends of Newnham, in awarding due meed of praise and gratitude, but certainly the two who have been lightly sketched here were undoubtedly the foremost of Newnham's benefactors. Early students will remember others who have passed away: the Miss Kennedys, with their kind and gracious hospitality, and care for the rather homeless persons who ranked among "out-students"; Mr. Coutts Trotter, who was Chairman of the Council, and left his library to the College; Mr. W. H. H. Hudson, who was financial adviser and auditor for 33 years; Mr. Archer-Hind, who placed his refined scholarship at the disposal of mere beginners in Greek, was always willing to make one lesson swell out into two--and took no fees; Mr. Main, the standby of the earliest students of Natural Science; Mr. Marshall, who created and directed an enthusiastic devotion to the study of Economics; Mrs. Bateson, who originally dispensed the lecture tickets to students entering their course, and whose parties at St. John's Lodge were highly appreciated;--and many more. The students who were first attracted to the opportunities for women in Cambridge were, as a rule, somewhat more mature, though less well instructed, than those of later times. There were exceptions in this latter respect, as in the case of the late Miss Edith Creak, well known in the educational world, who was the daughter of a schoolmaster, and who passed successfully both the mathematical and the classical triposes at the age of nineteen. Another of the original five was Mrs. Armitage (_née_ Bulley), who has written much on early English antiquities and is an authority on Barrows. Among the first to take Triposes were Miss Paley (now Mrs. A. Marshall) and Miss Amy Bulley, who were successful in the Moral Sciences Tripos in 1874, Miss Mary Kennedy, afterwards Mrs. R. T. Wright, in the same Tripos in 1875, and Miss Felicia Larner who took the Historical Tripos in 1875. These ladies were all examined by private favour of the examiners, the greatest care being taken that all formalities should be duly observed. Only, they were admitted after passing certain Groups of the Women's Examinations instead of the Previous Examination, and, in one or two cases, were allowed a longer time of preparation than the University regulations prescribed. The exaggerated dread of triposes and admiration for those who achieved them makes an amusing feature in early Newnham days. It would now seem absurd for a college to exult over second class honours. But every successful student helped to destroy some of the "hasty generalizations" repeated outside as to women in triposes, the first being that they would fail or else break down in health. When they succeeded and remained vigorous, it was said that they might get through but would not get first classes. When they obtained first classes in the newer triposes, it was declared that they would never get a first class in classics or mathematics. The death-blow to all these hypotheses came in 1890, when Miss Philippa Fawcett's name was read in the Senate House as "above the Senior Wrangler." There was a kind of poetic justice in this event, as Miss Fawcett's parents had been earnest and effectual helpers of the movement from the very beginning. [Illustration: MERTON HALL, 1872-1874.] This, however, is to anticipate events. During the early days in Regent Street, good work was being done, and the students had a happy life, but they were cooped in a small space, and the friends of the movement had to seek both a larger home and more funds to sustain it. From 1872-1874, Miss Clough and the students found a congenial house of residence behind St. John's College. This was Merton Hall, an old manor house with a very pleasant garden and other attractions. Here something like collegiate life was first begun--with a debating society, games (with limitations) and various collective interests. Another house in Trumpington Street was hired to accommodate the overflow of students. A few who had been attracted by the lectures, but for some reason were unable or unwilling to enter a hall of residence, formed a kind of outer circle. These "out-students" were made to feel less of outsiders by the kind and hospitable attention bestowed on them by Miss Marion Kennedy. Their number tended to diminish, as membership of a college or hall came to be desirable on social and disciplinary grounds. When the College was more definitely constituted, all who wished to become regular students were obliged to reside either in a Hall of Newnham or with parents and guardians, exceptions only being allowed in the case of women above the undergraduate age.[3] [Footnote 3: Here it may be noted that a different arrangement obtains at Oxford, where there is a Society of Home Students who are not attached to any College or Hall.] Meantime arrangements were being made to secure a more permanent place of residence. To meet what had become a necessity, it was proposed to form a Company, which, after the choice of a site near the village of Newnham, was called the Newnham Hall Company. There was, however, a singular absence of commercial acquisitiveness or speculation in the Society which bore this financial designation. A good deal of the money subscribed came from benefactors who so far from seeking profit from their investments continued their gifts for many years. Mention may be made of Miss Ewart, Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Winkworth, Miss Bonham Carter among other munificent benefactors.[4] A good many well-wishers who could not give princely contributions were ready to make the venture of faith and to subscribe for shares. The result was that in 1875 Newnham Hall was opened and Miss Clough with the students entered into residence. They had during 1874-75 occupied a dwelling in Bateman Street where Miss Clough had ingeniously secured the use of a house-and-a-half which she made into one. Newnham Hall was a Queen Anne building, of red brick, which has mellowed after its forty years. The architect, Mr. Basil Champneys, took a strong personal interest in its original plan and subsequent extension. Those who knew it when it was simply Newnham Hall (later called the _South_, now the _Old Hall_) must feel a little regret that its imposing south front--intended to be the actual front--is only seen by a minority of casual visitors. In fact, no one knew in '75 in what direction, if in any, it might have to expand, and there is a story current that in the plans, the possibility was considered of transforming it--if a hall for women students proved a failure--into two ordinary dwelling-houses. [Footnote 4: A list of Benefactors is in preparation.] The College, formally so-called, came into existence by the amalgamation of the two societies, "The Association for the promotion of the Higher Education of Women in Cambridge" (more briefly called the "Lectures Association") and the "Newnham Hall Company, Limited," in 1880. The new title adopted was "The Newnham College Association for advancing Education and Learning among Women in Cambridge." Before this time, the "College" only existed in idea, but that existence, as we have seen, was a very real one. Even when it attained its first permanent habitation, it was--for a college--small, as in 1876 there were only about thirty students besides the out-students. But it had a respectable, academic-looking exterior, and life within was vigorous. Among the residents was Miss Paley, now Mrs. Marshall, whom the students with pride regarded as their earliest don, one of the first five, and one of the earliest to take a tripos. She proved a very successful teacher of Political Economy, a popular subject among the early students, many of whom were ambitious of some career of social activity. Classical students were few, but very eager. Miss J. E. Harrison and Miss K. Corfe took their tripos in 1879. Natural Sciences were pursued with ardour and success, partly through the liberality of St. John's College in admitting Newnham students to their laboratory before the Newnham laboratory was built. The first student to obtain a first class was Miss Ogle, afterwards Mrs. Koppel, in 1876. It is gratifying that her daughter afterwards became a Newnham student, and has made herself educationally useful in South Africa. Mathematics held its own. The Historical Tripos, when separated from the Law, attracted several students. Those who took Moral Sciences, as already said, enjoyed the special attention of Mr. Sidgwick. These candidates were all, of course, examined informally, _i.e._ by special favour of individual examiners. It was from the first desired by Mr. Sidgwick that any student who showed, by marked success in the Women's Examination or in any other way, that she had real aptitude for intellectual culture, should be encouraged to proceed to a Tripos. But in the early days the Tripos students were not the only ones who were capable of good intellectual work. Some, as has been said, for one reason or another, did not follow the lines then laid down for Triposes, and the variety was--socially and intellectually--an excellent thing for the students. Specialization in study is often bound to have a narrowing effect. But by student friendships, young people learn to care for things in heaven and earth that will never lie within their special province. It is a good thing for Cambridge, and consequently for Newnham, that there is no such iron bar fixed there between Sciences and Arts, as often, in other educational institutions, tends to prejudice and narrowness. There may be, before definite lines are fixed, tendencies to too much diffusion; this, however, was prevented by the general system of tuition. As yet, in 1879, there were not many resident tutors to settle the work of students in their several departments. But competent University men were always ready to put their knowledge and experience at the service of a student choosing her University course. Indeed the helpfulness of men on whom the students had no claim, is one of the brightest features, even of the bright days of Newnham's beginnings. Newnham Hall had from the first a fairly large garden, not very minutely laid out,[5] but large enough for tennis, for which game an ash court was made. A gymnasium, in the pre-games period, seemed a necessity, and was erected and opened in 1877. Before that time, students had been allowed to go at stated times to the gymnasium in the town, and strange now to relate, some did so with great enthusiasm. But the interest in indoor gymnastics declined with the greater facility for out-door sport, of which more later on. [Footnote 5: The present writer enjoyed one evening the privilege of being deputed, with some other students, by Miss Clough, to drive out some cows who had strayed into the garden.] Newnham Hall was more in the country then than the College is at present. It must be remembered that married dons with their families were a comparatively new institution, the residential quarter to the west did not exist at this time in Cambridge, and certainly Newnham was in the pleasantest part of Cambridge for country walks. "Constitutionals" are now out of favour, but the early students enjoyed the "Grantchester Grind,"--especially when the marsh-marigolds were out, and the Madingley Woods with their blue-bells, and the Roman Road in blue flax season; and the Backs were very near; there were nightingales too whose nocturnal songs were by some found almost too penetrating. There was an atmosphere, in town and country, favourable to cheerfulness, to the formation of friendships, to the development of intellectual and social activity, to the enlargement of opportunities for women in forwarding the betterment of the world. It was a time of hope for youth, seen not only in the pioneer students, but in those champions of their cause, some themselves young, some older, whose efforts for the next generation were ever strenuous and cheerful, none the less so for the experience of resistance from old-world inertia and the dead weight of prejudice which only patience and wisdom could ever prevail to lift. CHAPTER II NEWNHAM COLLEGE IN ADOLESCENCE The early part of the eighties was full of events for the women students of Newnham and their supporters. In these years they obtained (1) a fixed legal constitution; (2) a second hall of residence, and other much needed buildings; (3) gradual increase of facilities for study, especially in the opening of Cambridge College lectures to women; (4) more important still, a large measure of University recognition, and (5) greater opportunities of educational and social work for past students. These several lines of progress may here be taken in order, except the fifth, which I reserve for the next chapter. (1) It has been mentioned that when the necessity arose of increasing accommodation for women students, an amalgamation was in 1879 discussed of the _Association for the Higher Education of Women in Cambridge_ with the _Newnham Hall Company_. The Memorandum and Articles of Association were drawn up before long, and Newnham College came into existence and was registered in the spring of 1880. The constitution was not entirely according to the character of an Academic institution, being under the financial control of the Board of Trade. There was a provision that no profits should accrue to members of the College in the legal sense of the word _members_, though members might receive remuneration for work done for the College. The Ordinary Members consisted of the first promoters of the College, with large subscribers to its funds afterwards; Associate Members (helpers and benefactors, not to be confounded with the present Associates); and Honorary Members, mostly teachers and helpers of the students. The government rested with a Council, to be elected at a general meeting of Members of the College, four going out annually in rotation, but re-eligible. The executive officers were to be a President, Vice-President, and Secretary. The President and the Principal were to be _ex officio_ members. There was as yet no systematic representation of quasi-graduate students, but the resident lecturers were as a rule entitled to vote as ordinary or as honorary members. We shall see later on in what respects this Memorandum of Association came to be regarded as inadequate. In point of fact, it marked progress in stability, and worked very well for many years. The Council generally consisted of persons enthusiastically devoted to the interests of the College, and many of them able, by their experience on educational bodies or by their social influence, to assist in its development along the best lines. (2) Materially, the great event of 1880-81 was the completion and opening of the second Hall of Residence, the North Hall, as it was called, the name South Hall being given to the earlier Newnham Hall. The ground on which it was built was on the other side of a narrow road. In the daytime, when gates could be kept open, passage from one Hall to the other was easy, but at night, for privacy's sake, it was necessary that they should be closed. This, of course, was a check to late evening parties for cocoa, chat, or dancing, among the students belonging to separate Halls, and the concession of one open evening a week hardly met the difficulty. There seemed to be a danger lest _Hall_ feeling might endanger devotion to the College as a whole, and one might expect that the fact of the Principal residing in the older building and only a Vice-Principal in the newer might seem to imply some kind of inferiority. Any danger of the kind was avoided by an act of generous devotion on the part of two promoters of the College which could hardly have been foretold. The great services of Dr. Sidgwick to the incipient College have been alluded to, though they are far too wide and various to be severally recorded.[6] His wife, formerly Miss Eleanor Balfour, had for some years been a very able treasurer and member of council. She had given a scholarship to Newnham in Mathematics, her own chief subject of study at that time. They lived a quiet, scholarly, but sociable life in their house at Hillside, at the beginning of the Chesterton Road. At this moment, when anyone of less standing in the University and the world generally could hardly have met the emergency, Mrs. Sidgwick agreed to come and preside in the new Hall, with the title of Vice-Principal, and Mr. Sidgwick came to live there also, thus giving up his privacy and the company of most of his books. The arrangement was the more successful in that Miss Gladstone also took up residence in the North Hall as her secretary. The name of Gladstone brought distinction with it. Miss Helen Gladstone had resided as a student of English and Political Economy for one year with the Sidgwicks and for two years in Newnham Hall, and was deservedly popular both with the students and in the University world outside. Students who entered the College, and were taken into the new Hall, cherished ever after the memory of these two years as a halcyon time--in which they enjoyed listening to good talk and associating with interesting persons more than during any other period of their lives. At the end of two years, Miss Gladstone became Vice-Principal, resident in the North Hall, a post which she held for many years, and in which her well-known geniality, cheerfulness, and whole-hearted devotion to her task and to the students under her care found abundant scope and recognition. [Footnote 6: Including financial help. Miss B. A. Clough (in the life of A. J. C.) mentions how when treasurer, Mr. Sidgwick used to fail to present the coal and gas bills. There was a legend in Newnham Hall that once when Miss Clough wanted a new frying-pan, she had to apply to Mr. Sidgwick for the money. On one occasion when furnishing the house in Regent Street, he gave up a continental holiday for the sake of the cause.] It was under the same roof as the North Hall that the much needed lecture rooms were raised. There were at first three. Later when a large number of small rooms for private teaching were made in the Pfeiffer Building, two of the lecture rooms proper were knocked into one, thereby giving the College one room large enough to accommodate (if desks were removed) about a hundred people. It was chiefly by pressure from Miss Gladstone that an infirmary or hospital was built, adjoining the North Hall, but with its separate entrance. This has often proved useful in checking the spread of infectious ailments among the students or the servants. A chemical laboratory had already been erected in the garden at a respectful distance from the original Hall. Its equipment was mainly the task of Miss Penelope Lawrence, afterwards headmistress of Roedean School, Brighton. A laboratory for the study of Biological subjects was provided in the town in 1884, a disused Congregational chapel being adapted to the purpose. Mrs. Sidgwick and her sister, Miss Alice Balfour, were the principal donors, and the laboratory was appropriately named after their brother, Francis Maitland Balfour, whose promising and already distinguished career had been cut short by an accident in the Alps. For many years, these two laboratories formed the training ground of a large number of students, who did much to supply the demand for improved science teaching in schools and colleges for girls. In the Chemical Laboratory Miss Freund and in the Balfour Laboratory Miss Greenwood (now Mrs. Bidder) and Miss Saunders presided for many years, carrying on both teaching and research. (Both Miss Freund and Mrs. Bidder were former students of Girton.) In course of time, the opening of the University laboratories to women students rendered these buildings less necessary, and they are at present let for University purposes. With the increase in the number of students, further buildings became necessary. The South Hall (formerly Newnham Hall) had been designed with a view to possible extension, and in 1882, a west wing was built, containing rooms for about twelve more students. The ground floor of this building was devoted to a well-planned Library, at that time a great desideratum. The equipment of the College as to books had originally been scanty. Perhaps the need of books was, for a time, not altogether to be deplored, as the early generation of students realized the necessity of procuring their own books or of inducing generous friends to assist them in that direction; and many gave books as a parting present to the College. A moderate-sized common-room in the Old Hall (since divided into two rooms for students) was the first library, but was soon outgrown. But when something larger was required, the new Library (now the Reading Room of the Old Hall) both served its purpose till the books again outran the accommodation, and afforded a delightful morning room for study, as well as space for occasional social parties. (3) During the late 'seventies and the early 'eighties, women students were informally admitted to privileges which greatly facilitated their work, and in particular many College lectures were opened to them. Their own lectures--before the building of Sidgwick Hall--were given in the rooms belonging to the Young Men's Christian Association, near the old Post Office, a central but somewhat noisy situation. The larger rooms in this building were of good size and convenient, but the class-rooms were less so, and to many students their first introduction to Greek Tragedy or to English Law will always be associated with the striking of a hammer on the blacksmith's anvil. The new lecture rooms at Newnham had not this drawback. The professorial lectures were generally given in rooms now absorbed in the University Library. In some, women were allowed to come into the gallery, where their presence was not easily discerned. But meantime, as already mentioned, some of the Colleges were ready to accept suggestions as to admitting women to the Inter-collegiate Lectures. The first of the Colleges to admit women to lectures in its own hall was Christ's. In the summer term of 1876, eight students of Newnham College (some working at classics, others at history) were admitted to a course of lectures on the Punic Wars given by Mr. (now Professor) J. S. Reid in the temporary dining-hall of Christ's. Great efforts were made to meet the somewhat exacting demands--in those days--of social propriety. Thus these students were obliged always to be chaperoned by a responsible lady, and as Miss Clough had in the early days few colleagues to lighten her responsibilities, the task usually fell on her. Needless to say, she never represented this as a grievance, though the lectures were three times a week, the hour inconvenient, and the weather generally wet. She was only too glad to help in a new departure, and, as she said (with reminiscences of her brother and Dr. Arnold), she always found Roman History interesting. King's was the next College to admit women. Trinity not till a little later. It may be noticed, without any disparagement of the lecturers who obtained these concessions, that in the case of those already lecturing to women according to the previous arrangements, it was more convenient to have seats assigned to the women in the College lecture rooms or halls than to give the same lecture to their men pupils in College in the morning and to the women in a room belonging to the Young Men's Christian Association, or even in Newnham College, in the afternoon. Nevertheless Newnham owes gratitude to the Lecturers and to the Fellows of Colleges who showed, in many cases, both zeal and courtesy in meeting the women students' needs. With regard to the undergraduates, it may be remarked that though at first some showed a curious amazement mixed with bashfulness at their strange visitors, they soon accustomed themselves to the change, and showed almost always a spirit of courtesy and good sense. As more accommodation came to be provided by the University--irrespective of College distinctions--in the New Divinity Schools and the New Lecture Rooms, access to lectures became easier for women, as for other non-members of the University. Another great advantage which the students obtained in these years was permission to read in the University Library. They could not be admitted without referees, such as were demanded from non-university persons, but the Principal was always accepted as one referee, so that the student candidate had to find one only. Fees--very moderate--were paid by the College when a student had been specially advised to read in the Library. Formal admission was granted for the morning only, but a student who for any special reason wished to read in the afternoon as well could easily obtain permission. Another privilege gradually obtained without any special effort was that of being examined in the Inter-collegiate Examinations popularly called _Mays_. As all Cambridge men and women know, examinations of students in their first and second years are held in most subjects at the end of the summer term, to test their knowledge and power of expressing it. These are not directly under any University board, but are given by the lecturers on the subjects they have been teaching, in various Colleges, during the past year. The "Mays," in spite of drawbacks, have often been of great value, in giving confidence to industrious but despondent students, and in warning those whose progress was unsatisfactory. The fact of having been through a certain course, examined on the subject, and marked with the undergraduates, emphasised the fact to the women students, the undergraduates, and the world at large, that the work done at Newnham and Girton was really of University standing. (4) All these steps led towards what was necessary in order that the work of the College should be solid and permanent--the recognition by the University of the existence of women students and women of what I have called quasi-graduate status. It may be said--it was said, and still is said when further demands are made--that women had the real thing, why trouble about the artificial trappings? Women could become well-educated, even learned; those who had studied at Cambridge were the better esteemed in educational circles, and they were free from many tiresome responsibilities that weigh on full members of the University. But to this was answered: that the path to good education and sound learning is still more thorny than it need be; that the world, which often has to distribute educational posts and distinctions, does not care for education without a degree; that the position of the women, held only by courtesy, was insecure. A scrupulous examiner might at any time decline to examine a tripos-candidate whom he was not bound to examine, and any University lecturer might refuse to allow women at his lectures. At the same time, women who "brushed the flounce of all the sciences," and flitted about like bees for intellectual honey, might easily pose as University women and bring real students into disrepute. Finally: if there _were_ duties as well as privileges exacted from the children of Alma Mater, women would hardly be found unwilling to accept them. Matters came to a crisis at the end of the year 1880. In the winter 1879-1880 (the triposes came, then, at various periods of the year), Newnham and Girton obtained first classes in three triposes, the most conspicuous case being that of Miss C. A. Scott of Girton, who in the Mathematical Tripos had obtained (by the usual informal examination) a place equal to that of the eighth wrangler. These successes seemed to give a _reductio ad absurdum_ to the common arguments about the inferiority of the "female mind," to set the mark of success on the methods followed at both Colleges, and to suggest the inexpediency--if not injustice--of withholding from women the title which should give them status and improve their prospects in the academic world. It may be mentioned that, in 1878, London University had obtained a supplement to its Charter empowering it to admit women to its degrees, a step which marked both a recognition of the claims of educated women and an abandonment of London's first tentative measures in providing examinations for women. It had for some time admitted women to a "General Examination," closely resembling the Matriculation, but allowing more option as to subjects. This might be followed by examinations for certificates of Higher Proficiency, which could be taken, without further fee, with the General, or in any subsequent year. It was a very useful examination for girls who had left school and in continuing their studies at home wished to take up one subject or another, together or at intervals, according to convenience. The weak points were that the syllabus did not sufficiently correspond to the men's to give any guarantee as to standard demanded and attained--and far worse: that there was nothing progressive about the "Special" examinations, there being only one examination held in each subject. When the degree examinations were thrown open, a good many Cambridge women took the London B.A. or M.A. _after_ their triposes in order to have some title to present to the academic world. But--as London degrees examinations were then arranged--such work generally involved the consumption of much time on other than specially chosen lines on the part of any Cambridge Tripos student. The fact that it was desired and achieved gave proof--if fresh proof were needed--of the actual market value to educated women of the letters denoting a certain standard of mental equipment. London University was then, it may be added, a University only in name. The teaching tested in its examinations had been obtained by solitary students reading privately, by residents in various provincial Colleges, and by members of those Colleges in London--University, King's, Bedford, and Westfield, which were ready to take their place as Colleges of an actual teaching as well as degree-granting University--as London became in 1900. The provincial Universities (Manchester, Birmingham, Bristol, etc.) all admitted women to their degrees early, if not at their first opening. But to return to Cambridge. The movement of 1880 was taken up in various quarters, notably in the North of England. Petitions were drawn up and sent to the Senate of the University praying for degrees for women. That originated by Mr. and Mrs. Aldis of Newcastle declared: "That the present plan of informal examination is unsatisfactory, and that consequently the undersigned persons interested in the Higher Education of Women pray the Senate of the University to give women the right of admission to the degree examination and to degrees." Three other memorials were presented. The Executive Committee of Girton College, after pointing to the satisfactory results of several years' experience, desired the University to "take their case (that of the Students) into serious consideration, with a view to their formal admission to the B.A. degree." This was, of course, different from the Newcastle petition in being of the nature of a compromise, since it did not ask for the M.A. which would have involved a share in the government of the University. A similar half-way measure had previously been adopted with regard to Nonconformists, to whom the B.A. had been allowed some time before they were admitted to the M.A. The third petition is that which specially interests us in the history of Newnham College, as it was that of the Lectures Committee, out of which--as already related--Newnham College took its beginning. This document, like that of Girton, appeals to the result of experience, though not to experience of exactly the same kind. It expresses a desire that a stable form may be given to the plan of instruction and examination already being carried on, and also a preference that some option should be allowed as to the Previous Examination; and unwillingness (not refusal) to prepare women for the Ordinary Degree. A fourth memorial, much to the same general purpose as the last, was signed by a hundred and twenty-three members of the University. The result of the Memorials was that a Syndicate was appointed, a memorable discussion on its proposals held in the Art Schools, and the "Graces" drawn up to be submitted to the whole Senate. Among the staunchest supporters of the proposals were the venerable, whole-hearted helper of the cause, Prof. Benjamin Hall Kennedy, Dr. (later Bishop) Browne, Prof. Cayley, Dr. (now Prof.) H. Jackson, Prof. J. E. B. Mayor, Dr. Peile, and Mr. Coutts Trotter. These names sufficiently refute any accusation of youthful flightiness or overstrained liberalism in the character of the movement. As the _Graces_ have formed from that time the basis of Newnham College as an institution sanctioned by the University, and as their purport is not always clearly apprehended, it may be as well to transcribe them in full, excepting only such as relate to financial and subordinate regulations: 1. Female students who have fulfilled the conditions respecting length of residence and standing which Members of the University are required to fulfil may be admitted to the Previous Examination, and the Tripos Examinations. 2. Such residence shall be kept (_a_) at Girton College or (_b_) at Newnham College, or (_c_) within the precincts of the University under the regulations of one or other of these Colleges, or (_d_) in any similar Institution within the precincts of the University, which may be recognised hereafter by the University by Grace of the Senate. 3. Certificates of residence shall be given by the authorities of Girton College or Newnham College or other similar institution hereafter recognised by the University in the same form as that which is customary in the case of Members of the University. 4. Except as provided in Regulation 5, female students shall before admission to a Tripos Examination have passed the Previous Examination (including the Additional Subjects) or one of the examinations which excuse Members of the University from the Previous Examination. 5. Female students who have obtained an Honour Certificate in the Higher Local Examination may be admitted to a Tripos Examination, though such certificate does not cover the special portions of the Higher Local Examinations which are accepted by the University in lieu of parts or the whole of the Previous Examination; provided that such students have passed in Group B (Languages) and Group C (Mathematics). 6. No female student shall be admitted to any part of any of the Examinations of the University who is not recommended for admission by the authorities of the College or other institution to which she has been admitted. 7. After each examination, a Class List of the female students who have satisfied the Examiners shall be published by the Examiners at the same time with the Class List of Members of the University, the standard for each Class and the method of arrangement in each Class being the same in the two Class Lists. 8. In each class of female students in which the names are arranged in order of merit, the place which each of such students would have occupied in the corresponding Class of Members of the University shall be indicated. 9. The Examiners for a Tripos shall be at liberty to state, if the case be so, that a female candidate shall have failed to satisfy them or has in their opinion reached a standard equivalent to that required from Members of the University for the Ordinary B.A. degree. 10. To each female student who has satisfied the Examiners in a Tripos Examination, a Certificate shall be given by the University stating the conditions under which she was admitted to the examinations of the University, the Examinations in which she has satisfied the Examiner, and the Class and place in the Class, if indicated, to which she has attained, in each of such examinations. It was further provided that these arrangements should hold, in the first instance, for five years. Rules were laid down as to the conditions under which any future Hall of residence might be recognised by the admission of its students to Triposes. The result of the voting on the Graces was looked forward to by both sides with hope and fear. The result was a triumphant majority for the women's cause, 331 to 32. The small number who actually voted against the Graces does not, of course, imply that the number of objectors was insignificant, for, in fact, a good many opponents withdrew early as from a lost cause. From that time, Feb. 24th, 1881, counted as the great day of the College to be remembered by all succeeding generations of students, who have been annually reminded at Commemoration how well their friends had fought for them, how a special train had been run from London to accommodate favourable members of Parliament, and with what joy and thankfulness the news had been received in the College and telegraphed to friends at a distance. The cause for congratulation was very real. If things had gone otherwise, it is difficult to see what the future of women's education in England would have been. Oxford was temporarily behind Cambridge in the movement, and a set-back at Cambridge would certainly have damaged prospects in the sister University, and, in fact, throughout England. Women would have been debarred from sharing in the best that University education in England can give, and would have been cut off from the historic sources of sound learning and of moral and intellectual inspiration. A perusal of the Graces will show that though they gave all that was immediately needed, they did not satisfy all the actual or possible desires of the promoters of women's colleges. Outsiders, as before mentioned, already wished for full membership to be granted. To many this seemed a premature project. Yet those were right who foresaw that a desire for more complete membership was certain to come by and by. In 1881 there were few, if any, of the women quasi-graduates able to take an active part in University work. Some apprenticeship, under the wing of Alma Mater, might seem at least desirable. Again, the views held by Girton, that conditions of examinations such as those relating to preliminary qualifications and the Pass degree, ought from the first to have been the same for women as for members of the University, might be urged with some force. As already shown, the objection to compulsory Classics and Mathematics, even up to the standard of the Previous Examination, on the part of some of the founders and supporters of Newnham College was due, not to a preference for easier conditions, but from a fear of a detrimental effect on schools. In point of fact, so many other alternatives than those of the Previous Examination and the Higher Local are now offered that neither of these examinations is much favoured in the best schools that send girls up to the Universities. As to the Pass Degree: the suspicion with which it was regarded by the Newnham pioneers has already been noticed. The objection to it is not that it is bad in itself: many attempts have been made to render a pass course interesting and profitable to men who have not physical strength or intellectual persistency to embark on an honours curriculum, or who wish to reduce their academic duties in order to follow some social or intellectual hobbies. But there has always been the danger of demanding a very small amount of intellectual work and tolerating men who have no leaning towards academic pursuits, and to whom the University is chiefly attractive by reason of its scope for athletics and for genial life in comradeship. There was as yet, and it is to be hoped there will be permanently, no place in the women's colleges for the society woman without intellectual aspirations. Such an element would have been difficult to deal with, and would not have been successful from any point of view. True, Newnham never wished to discourage either students of discursive mind and original ideas and plans, or those who--through defective early education or delicate health--shrunk from a tripos course. In fact, some students whose presence and work in the College have proved eminently beneficial to themselves and to Newnham, have preferred to take a mixed course of study. For the rank and file, it is now supposed that the numerous triposes afford sufficient choice. If, at the end of her second year, a student is judged to be unable to proceed further on tripos lines, she is expected to go down, unless her studies are judged to be sufficiently serious and profitable for giving special leave to continue them. The equivalent of a pass degree is, as already stated, and as set forth in No. 9 of the Graces, only awarded to a student who has narrowly escaped failure. It may also be noticed that a failure, for a woman, leaves no chance of a second trial. The Graces gave a real and substantial benefit to women students and--indirectly--to those who had been, informally, through a tripos course at Newnham. These latter did not obtain University recognition of any sort, but their names and tripos places were recorded in the Girton and Newnham Calendars, and this served as evidence of their standing to the educational world. When Trinity College, Dublin, for a few years (as will be hereafter related) granted an _ad eundem_ B.A. or M.A. to Oxford and Cambridge women who had taken final honours examinations, those who had done so previous to the Graces (as will be hereafter noticed)[7] were admitted with the others. For some reason, those who many years later drew up the Representation of the People Act of 1918 felt obliged to draw the line more strictly and to limit the vote to those women who had obtained the equivalent of a degree since 1881. [Footnote 7: See page 110 seq.] There were no heart-burnings caused by the comparatively narrow range of the privileges given by the Graces, partly because it was always felt that more would come quietly as time and occasion should dictate. The resident staff, as such, obtained no recognition. No woman could sit on a board of studies, nor lecture formally in an academic building. Privately, the opinion of Newnham lecturers was sometimes asked on a question as to curricula, and women of distinction occasionally lectured and sometimes drew large audiences, while--in course of time--some undergraduates were advised by their tutors to seek admission to the lectures of a Newnham specialist. For some years there was no ground for formal extensions of privilege. And it was believed, and was to be proved again afterwards, that in the situation in which Newnham found itself, it was unwise to demand privileges that were not almost certain to be granted. [Illustration: MISS ANNE J. CLOUGH.] In fact, the crowning triumph of the Graces marks the success of the policy of Miss Clough, Dr. and Mrs. Sidgwick, Miss Kennedy, and the other founders of the College: a policy of winning great things by not standing out for lesser ones, of pertinacity in following a large if at first vague programme, and of conciliation and "sweet reasonableness" towards those who looked askance on the whole movement. It must be observed that all the Founders were deeply imbued with love and reverence for the University, and that the students were brought up to regard it as almost an Alma Mater--at any rate, as a noble and worthy corporation, to which they owed a deep debt for its past doings, and for what it had always stood for in the nation and in the world, a debt increased by the privilege granted to them of living within its precincts and learning wisdom from its most distinguished sons. There was no "battering at the gates." The pioneers of the Women's Colleges, so far from tolerating any notion that the University would suffer from granting their requests, would have felt it a thing worth much labour and many struggles if they could in any way add to the great repute and dignity which Cambridge had, among Universities, enjoyed from far-back times. CHAPTER III NEWNHAM COLLEGE IN PROGRESS The time between the recognition of Newnham College by the University of Cambridge, in 1881, and the deeply mourned death of its chief founder and first Principal, in February 1892, is one of expansion and progress, both as regards the actual College buildings and the various activities of past and present students, especially in educational and social work. The building of the North Hall has been mentioned, and also the increase in size of the South Hall, with the building of a library, not adequate to the subsequent needs of the College, but sufficient for the number of students then in residence, and afterwards very useful as a reading room and a supplementary library for duplicate books. In 1885 a fives court was erected on the north side of the College buildings. Meantime, a third Hall was projected, and, owing to the munificence of various benefactors, constructed on a liberal scale, and was ready for opening in 1888. It may be mentioned that one benefactor, Mr. Stephen Winkworth, earned the gratitude of subsequent students by granting a special sum to provide for the building of students' rooms of somewhat larger dimensions than the smaller ones in the other two Halls. Mr. and Mrs. Winkworth, old friends of Miss Clough, had taken interest in Newnham from the beginning, and their only daughter had been a student there. As we are thus brought to the consideration of students' rooms, I might mention a line of progress initiated by the students themselves, and afterwards followed up by the authorities. In early days a separate study for each student had not been contemplated. This is another difference between Newnham and Girton, since, in the latter College, the collegiate idea had been more prominent from the first, and each Girton student had her bedroom and sitting-room, however small. In the first abode of Miss Clough and her five students all slept in _bona fide_ bedrooms and worked sitting round a common table. In the early Newnham Hall more arrangement was made for privacy in study. Each student had her little writing table and sufficient book-shelves in her room. But the common sitting-rooms were used for most of the day, and not many rooms occupied by individual students were suitable for receiving company. Even little tea-parties among the students were of a very picnicky character. But when the ambition of the students was set on making a study-bedroom into a study first and a bedroom in a very secondary place, ingenuity provided facilities. Although the matter may seem _infiniment petit_, I consider that among Newnham pioneers the two students who accomplished this revolution should hold a place. One of them bought a large piece of chintz, and undisturbed by the jests of some of her comrades and the amused criticism of Miss Clough, devised a covering for bedstead, chest of drawers and other pieces of bedroom furniture. The other, of more definitely artistic taste (it was in the days of "Patience" and of the so-called _aesthetic_ movement for soft colours and flowing lines) procured a piece of sage-green cloth or cretonne, and effected a similar revolution. Already in the large corner rooms something like a cubicle arrangement had been devised. The evident preference of the students for harmoniously, if simply, furnished rooms and for the preponderance of the idea of study over that of mere rest was followed out in furnishing new rooms as they were required. Old oak hutches, bureaux, the drawers of which might hold clothes, bed-coverings of a character suitable to that of the room, also pretty wall-papers of the kind Morris had lately invented, were procured for the students generally. Thus students came to take more pleasure in their rooms, into which they could invite one another, and sometimes friends from outside, though the common sitting-rooms were still the usual place for receiving guests. I think I am not wrong in saying that Newnham here started a practice subsequently followed in almost all houses of residence for women students. Certainly the first head of Somerville, when visiting Miss Clough, showed interest in the study-bedroom system. The desire to make the one room assert its diurnal rather than its nocturnal character was not new. Dickens had already ridiculed it in describing the "rooms" of Dick Swiveller. But the solution of the problem on principles of both convenience and beauty was, perhaps, first found in Newnham Hall during the early days. I would pass to another--far more important--subject touching the relation of the students to the building in which they resided: it has puzzled some people how it has come about that with all the building, a chapel has never formed part of Newnham College. The subject is a delicate one, and I only take it up here because of the very erroneous and sometimes damaging explanations that have been assigned for the omission. Worst of all to those familiar with the leaders of the movement is the supposition that to them religion was a matter of indifference. For those who really knew Miss Clough, and others whom, while they still live, it seems indecent to mention--any such accusation is not only false but absurd. Miss Clough's religion was one that illuminated all her work and gave her strength and patience to carry it on. She was, besides, sincerely attached to the Church of England. At the same time, having lived in America, and mixed with persons of very varied religious opinions, she had early become very widely tolerant of the manifold ways in which a religious spirit manifests itself in different circles and different types of character. She had also seen the bad results of any attempt to force young people into religious observances which had become for them unmeaning or distasteful. Again: she had known vicariously, if not personally, the ferment of the Tractarian movement at Oxford, and the wave of scepticism that seemed to follow or even to accompany it. Also any disposition in her to avoid whatever might suggest the taking up of a distinctly denominational or even interdenominational attitude in the government of the College was strengthened by the distinctly anti-sectarian principles of vigorous and powerful supporters. Possibly at that time, more than at the present, any definite recognition of religion or provision of religious services seemed impossible apart from some denominational bias. The well-meant attempt of one founder of another women's college to provide chapel services on undenominational lines had foundered on the quicksands of theological controversy, and well-nigh wrecked the College--till it was saved by the singular tact and sympathetic insight of its new Principal. When Miss Clough first came to Cambridge, she began, as we have seen, not with a College, but with a moderate-sized household, and her arrangements were those of an ordinary Christian house, including family prayers. There was no need in Cambridge, as in a country district, to provide Sunday services. A rule was laid down, at first, that students were expected to inform the Principal of the place of worship they chose to attend, but this proviso was intended rather to give the Principal the right to make such inquiry than to impose any restrictions on the students. Miss Clough always regarded religious teaching and observance as belonging to the family rather than to any educational establishment, and she thought it essential to allow students to keep up their ties with any church to which they or their parents might belong. In some ways the absence of a religious centre to the College may have been a disadvantage, but if so, the fault was rather in the times than in any persons. In point of fact, there has never been wanting a strong religious element in Newnham life. At the same time the atmosphere has been favourable to interchange of religious ideas among persons of various types and experiences. No student was made unpopular by her religious views unless she asserted them in an aggressive way. Most religious movements in Cambridge (and there have been many) since the beginnings of the College have made their influence felt within its precincts, and a large number of past students have devoted their lives to distinctly religious work, especially in distant lands, and such always look to the staff and students of their College for sympathy and encouragement. This digression seemed necessary to correct prevalent misconceptions. To return to the general growth of the College in the eighties: attached to the new Hall of residence as its dining-hall was a beautiful College Hall, much larger than either of the other dining-rooms, and suggestions were made that the Staff with the students in all three Halls should dine together. This arrangement was, however, not easily compatible with the plan of division for tutorial purposes into three Halls. One desirable addition was a well-equipped kitchen. For a time the two Halls on the north side were supplied from the new kitchen; but much later, when the new Hall to the west, Peile Hall, was built, a large central kitchen was constructed, and all four Halls were provided from it, the food being wheeled to each in covered trolleys and received on hot tables in the several Halls. The opening of Clough Hall, as the new and largest Hall was named, was a great occasion for Newnham. It was a pleasant summer day (June 9th, 1888), and many friends came from a distance. On the same day a degree was to be granted to the son of the Prince of Wales (Prince Albert Victor), and the Prince of Wales (Edward VII.) with the Princess and the three young Princesses paid a visit to the College. The students welcomed them with song in the new dining-hall, a ballot having first been taken among them as to who were the best representative students to present bouquets. This is probably the first and last occasion on which, in Newnham, a critical decision had to be made as to beauty, physical vigour and becoming dress. The royal party walked across the garden from the new Hall to the Principal's own rooms. Next followed a delightful ceremony which betokened both the respect and affection felt for one of the most assiduous helpers of the College and the beginnings of a new vista for Newnham in the endowment of Research--the presentation to Miss Marion Kennedy of a sum, which her friends had raised, to found a Studentship bearing her name, as an endowment for post-graduate work. There had been since 1882, by the generosity of the Hon. Selina Bathurst, a fund for encouraging advanced work in Natural Science, and it seemed eminently fitting that the possibility of promoting learning of any kind should be associated with the revered name of Kennedy. But perhaps the most moving event of that day was almost unpremeditated. The old students who had come from a distance, with those in residence, had a social supper in the large new Hall, after which Miss Clough, overcoming the reticence with which she habitually covered her deepest feelings, allowed all present to see more of her ideals and hopes, with her trust in their realization, than some of them had as yet known to be part of her character. The new buildings necessitated a new nomenclature. The points of the compass were rejected in favour of the names of the founders. North Hall, which had been inaugurated by Mrs. Sidgwick's Vice-Principalship, became Sidgwick Hall, the new Hall was named Clough Hall, the South Hall--not being connected with any founder so intimately as with Miss Clough herself--retained a portion of its prestige in the title of the Old Hall. Other names of founders and benefactors were reserved for later additions to the College. Miss Clough herself took up residence in the Hall which bore her name. Miss Gladstone was still Vice-Principal in Sidgwick Hall; Miss Jane Lee, a very earnest scholar of Italian literature, entirely devoted to the best interests of the College, became head of the Old Hall, also with the title of Vice-Principal. This title for the person presiding over one particular Hall, and giving special attention to the needs of the students in that Hall, became somewhat misleading, and has since been replaced by that of Tutor, to which (in the Cambridge Colleges) it roughly corresponds. The Vice-Principal in each Hall had much more to do with house-keeping arrangements than later on, when more unity in this respect had been achieved and a regular Steward appointed. The Vice-Principals presided at table in their several Halls, corresponded with the parents of students, arranged, within the limits of a few simple laws, rules for the discipline of the students, read prayers in the morning; in fact, were generally responsible for the social, physical and moral requirements of the students. As, when there were only two Halls, Miss Gladstone held the office in Sidgwick Hall for many years, she imparted to it a certain character, and for a long time _the_ V.-P. was a title regarded as almost individual to her. The separation into Halls, inevitable for a time, had, in Miss Clough's estimation and perhaps in reality, a very decided advantage. Students in one Hall naturally saw more of one another than of those in other Halls; Old Hall especially was somewhat cut off from the two others, so long as the public road ran between. And for games, clubs, and other social purposes, it was often a help to have a natural division into the three Halls. The larger societies--such as the Debating Society, the Musical Society, and some others, as well as the more regular of the Games Clubs--belonged to the College as a whole. The teaching arrangements were, of course, always made for the whole College and not separately for each Hall. From about this time the social activities of the students, both those resident in College and those who had gone back to their own homes or taken up definite work, showed themselves in many ways. In 1880 an effort was made to keep up in those who had gone down the College spirit and College interests. The result was a society called the Newnham College Club, rather an unfortunate name, since it was not a club properly so-called, having no local habitation; it sometimes became confounded with the Ladies' University Club, and students were debarred from entering by the fear of expense. The "Club" prepared students' minds for the official College Roll which superseded it in 1919. The founders and officers of the Club (among whom those especially active in its initiation and development were Miss Julia Sharpe, Miss Olive Macmillan (Mrs. MacLehose), Mrs. Corrie Grant (_née_ Adams)), deserve the gratitude of the College for having, by means of an annual _Newnham Letter_, with information as to College developments, births, marriages, deaths among old students, fresh appointments, etc., and by regular meetings in London, kept alive in a large and growing number of former students the memory of their Alma Mater and her interest in the doings of her children. In after times it was interesting to see how, when a member of the Club who had gone to live in Central Africa or New Zealand visited her old haunts, she was found to be far better informed as to the lines of recent progress than some who had never left England. In another direction Newnham took the lead, this time on the direct initiation of Miss Clough, in the formation of a teachers' agency for qualified women who had taken a College course. The governesses' agencies of those days opened their doors to stronger and to feebler applicants. Heads of schools and families desiring well-educated teachers were constantly writing to Miss Clough, and it seemed time to start a registry on collegiate lines. She communicated the project to a few former students engaged or interested in education, and they at once formed a committee, invited the co-operation of Girton, the Oxford Colleges, and the graduated women of London University, and started what became the Association of University Women Teachers. From ten or a dozen members it has increased to over 2800. The idea of this Society, as compared with the ordinary registry, was that the Secretary, a University woman and in close touch with Universities, should keep herself personally informed as to the credentials and careers of applicants; that she should make sure of the eligibility of the posts offered; and that she should be able to offer advice to young teachers as to applying for posts and making changes when, but not before, it seemed expedient; and that the expenses should, as far as possible, be defrayed from the ordinary subscriptions of members. Further, and this was a point of much importance, it was intended that the Association should watch over the interests of women teachers, and should interest itself in educational questions generally. The secretaryship has been held by various University women--for many years by Miss Alice Gruner, whose experience and untiring devotion to the work made her a most valuable adviser both to those who offered and those who were seeking educational posts. It is now filled by Mrs. Brough (_née_ Lloyd), and has offices at 108 Victoria Street, Westminster. Miss Clough never lost her interest in school teaching and teachers, of any and all types. At one time she arranged for parties of Newnham students to visit some of the elementary schools in Cambridge and give amateur lessons--chiefly that they might know what the inside of an elementary schoolroom was like--partly because, as she entirely believed, education and mutual acquaintance are the great factors for breaking down class distinctions. Meantime, a body of energetic Newnham students (led by Miss E. P. Hughes, Miss A. M. Adams and others) were eager to help in the education of working men. For many years a school was kept up in St. Matthew's Schoolroom, Barnwell, for men who were known not to go to church on Sunday mornings, but who wished, during those hours, to learn some of the elements which--in those days--many adults had never acquired. Miss Clough was much interested in the scheme, and once or twice came down to speak to the men, though she was anxious that no student should, in taking part in the work, give up time that she required for Sunday rest. The school was for some years vigorously carried on by the late Principal, Miss Stephen. While it lasted, it certainly did good work on both sides. The classes were conversational, and many students learned at least something of working men's life and ambitions. It died down partly owing to the irregularity necessitated by the alternation of terms and vacations, partly to the activities of a new clergyman, who was not without hope of inducing men to go to church on Sunday mornings. The interest which Miss Clough always felt, and which she imparted to a good many students, in elementary teachers and their work was shown in certain experiments, novel as they seemed then, though precursive of greater things. She was anxious that those teachers who had a hard and often a dull life, and whom she knew to be often most conscientious and zealous in their profession, should see something of a different life, and especially of University life, and in particular that they should enjoy some rambles among the old Colleges of Cambridge, and hear lectures from Cambridge teachers. The Summer Meeting of the Extension Scheme was not as yet, unless one counts it as beginning in these Newnham gatherings. Certainly it originated in the circle of educational pioneers to which Miss Clough belonged, and some of the earliest "Extension Students" were successors to those who had come up under the early scheme. In the summer of 1885 two men and two women from the northern counties (the women being both elementary teachers) received bursaries from the Lectures Association in the north that they might come for three or four weeks' study in Cambridge. The women were accommodated in Newnham, and though their teaching had been otherwise provided for, Miss Clough commended them to the care of some of the younger lecturers, who did the chaperoning required in those more exacting days, and gave what social and friendly help was required. In 1887 Miss Clough undertook a similar experiment on her own account. A party of about fourteen women teachers in elementary schools were accommodated for three weeks in the Red Houses which formed the interim abode of students while Clough Hall was in process of building and were not required during the Long Vacation. In 1889 and 1891 the experiment was repeated, the teachers being received into the Old Hall. Certain of the younger lecturers gave them lectures in History and Literature, and in some of the subjects (Latin, Logic, etc.) with which they were struggling for their examinations, while the Natural Science lecturers took several of them into the laboratories and for botanical excursions. The lecturers and students of Newnham acted up to the College reputation for hospitality, and Miss Clough herself visited them and invited them to see her in her private room. The grievances of teaching in the days of half-time pupils and dearth of money and books for teachers were poured into sympathetic ears. After the Annual Summer Meeting of University Extension Students had been fairly set on foot these sectional meetings became merged in the general one, and there was no need for such special gatherings at Newnham, but the College, when the Meeting was in Cambridge, has always received a number of Extension Students as paying guests, and lecturers and other Newnham officials have taken pains to make the visit profitable, so that many came year after year and always cherished an affection for Newnham above and beyond that which they felt for Cambridge. [Illustration: MRS. HENRY SIDGWICK.] This movement was one from above--originated by the Principal and worked mainly by the Staff. But the one which brought Newnham generally most closely into contact with what one may call socio-educational work was the Women's University Settlement in Southwark. The idea of "settlements" is familiar nowadays, and the original character and object of such institutions has much changed and developed since the first experiment was begun by the inspiration and intense activity of Arnold Toynbee. The primary notion of a _settlement_ was of an abode in the poorer districts of a town where men of culture, engaged in various occupations, might make their home, devoting their leisure to the society and to the amusement or assistance of poorer neighbours. While this ideal is more or less preserved in the numerous settlements--some connected with particular churches or colleges, others quite independent--to be found in London and in others of our big towns, perhaps the possibility of uniting outside professional duties in the daytime with attention to social evils and their remedies in the evenings has not been permanently realized in any. Certainly in Settlements of women, the self-regarding part of the work has become chiefly educational: the training of the worker by instruction in the principles of economics and the history of social legislation. The Settlement in Southwark was throughout of this description. Though it has been carried on by women from other Universities as well as Cambridge women, the first thought of such an enterprise arose in Cambridge after an interesting meeting of the Society for Discussing Social Questions. This society of Cambridge ladies, including Girton and Newnham students (founded chiefly by the efforts of Mrs. Marshall), held, Feb. 4th, 1887, an interesting meeting at which Mrs. Samuel Barnett, wife of the Warden of Toynbee Hall, and Miss Alice Gruner--lately a historical student of Newnham College--read interesting papers on _Settlements_. Miss Gruner had already begun work of the kind in London and was anxious to find helpers. Several students were inspired to initiate a Settlement; Miss Gruner consented to allow her undertaking to be taken over as the nucleus and became the first Warden. Girton was appealed to and also the Oxford Halls. The result was the formation of a Committee and the acquiring of a house in Nelson Square, London, S.E., Miss Gruner having laid her finger on the very spot afterwards marked most darkly in Sir C. Booth's _Life and Labour of the People_. The history of the Settlement, the development of its various activities, the links which it formed with other agencies, religious and secular, in combining for the betterment of conditions among the London poor, the schemes adopted by its residents and afterwards taken up by public authorities, do not belong, except indirectly, to the history of Newnham College, yet the Settlement has certainly been a factor in the life of many students, and it is not too much to say that what was first discussed within the walls of Newnham has been successfully worked out in many parts of England and, indeed, in some distant lands. Many University women besides Newnham students have worked there, and one may suppose that in a sense the movement was "in the air" and would in any case have come into active existence. Yet Newnham may enjoy some of the credit of the work done in Southwark and of the excellent Wardens provided in the persons of Miss Gruner, Miss Sewell, Miss Gladstone, and the present head, Miss M. M. Sharpley. Workers and officers of much devotion and ability have been supplied by Oxford and the London University, and Settlements of a somewhat similar kind form adjuncts to other Universities, such as Bristol, Leeds and Birmingham. If Newnham was making its way, as learner, as teacher, and as worker, in the field of social enterprise, the same is even more true in that of education. A large proportion of the students during the time now under consideration adopted the teaching profession. Technical training was not insisted on by head mistresses, nor by the Government, and most young women plunged into educational life to sink or swim--some of those who might have sunk emerging after a term or two to take a course of training. The head for many years of the Maria Grey Training College was a University woman (Miss Alice Woods of Girton) and the first head of the Cambridge Training College was from Newnham--Miss E. P. Hughes. Meantime, the standard of attainment in girls' schools was rapidly rising, as women who had received a University education took up posts in them and imbued their pupils with a desire to come up some day to Cambridge. At first, former students had often to work as assistants under Heads of a different and older type, but this was not always a disadvantage, as the older, partly self-taught, mistresses, both of public and private schools, sometimes showed an admirable power of blending the new life which young University teachers brought into the schools with the good traditions of the last generation. In course of time head mistresses were generally appointed from assistants who had a good "degree or its equivalent," and the bonds between schools and the University thus became stronger. In 1890 the College had again a festive occasion--on the attainment by Miss Philippa Fawcett of a place in the Mathematical Tripos above the Senior Wrangler. The scene in the Senate-house is one that will live in the memory of all who were present. It is pleasant to be able to say that no discordant note was struck. As Miss Fawcett passed out, with Miss Clough leaning on her arm, the undergraduates formed a line on either side and gave a hearty cheer. The event was celebrated at Newnham by a dinner in Hall, at which Mrs. Fawcett was present, and also Dr. Hobson, Miss Fawcett's tutor in mathematics. In the evening her student friends decorated the doorway with lamps, and as there was just then a piece of waste ground at the west-end of the College grounds, it was possible to make a bonfire, and to carry the Senior Wrangler round it, and in the light of the fire to call on Dr. Hobson for a speech. Miss Clough was quietly happy, and all present felt that there was something of poetical justice in the occurrence. Professor and Mrs. Fawcett had been, as we have seen, pioneers in the movement for women's education; they had also been warmly attached to Miss Clough, as, in a more filial way, their daughter had been for many years. Miss Fawcett herself, besides being one to whose brilliant mathematical powers the highest academic honours were due, was a singularly suitable person for this high distinction, in that she exemplified so many of the qualities popularly supposed to be absent from the character of a University woman. She was modest and retiring, almost to a fault--trying though not always successfully, to counteract the impression made by her personality, so as to appear like a very ordinary person--not known to many, but loved as well as admired by her intimate friends. As the subsequent career of Miss Fawcett is not well known, it may be stated here that after the second and more advanced part of the Mathematical Tripos (in which she obtained the highest honours) she held for a year the Marion Kennedy Studentship already referred to, and wrote on a problem involving advanced mathematical research. She subsequently acted as Mathematical Lecturer at Newnham, but feeling, as her father had felt before her, the call of national service above all inducement to academic pursuits, she accepted a Government appointment and went out to help organize education in the Transvaal. After a period of assiduous work in Johannesburg, she returned to England and was appointed a Principal Assistant in the Education Department of the London County Council, a post of much importance and responsibility. Miss Fawcett served for some years on the Council of Newnham College, and has maintained a constant interest in its welfare. To return to the history of the College: in February 1892 it had to sustain a loss which was hardly less a blow from having come in the ordinary course of nature. Miss Clough was 72 years old in the January of that year. She had to most people looked about the same age for many years, as her hair had whitened early, and the vivid look in her eyes never suggested old age. The portrait of her by Shannon, painted in 1890, gives a better impression of her than Richmond's portrait of 1882.[8] The latter shows, perhaps, more strength, the former more sweetness. But neither can possibly give an adequate interpretation to a face so speaking and changeful. Shannon's is a sympathetic study of calm, benevolent, but alert old age, suggestive of ripe experience and of a patient outlook on life. It hangs in the College Hall with the portraits of Prof. and Mrs. Sidgwick and Miss Kennedy, all of them pleasing and profitable reminders to the students, at their meals, debates, and dancing, of the character as well as the appearance of those to whom they owe their present happy opportunities. [Footnote 8: Now hanging in the Old Hall Library. The expression is stern, and it was caricatured in _Punch_ as "The very ready letter-writer; won't I give it him?" She remarked to a former student that she wished she could have had some young friends to talk to whilst it was being painted. "But didn't the artist talk to you, Miss Clough?" "Yes, on subjects as to which we did not agree."] During the later part of her life Miss Clough had been obliged to let some of her work be lightened, and to give the management of Clough Hall to Miss Katharine Stephen, who had formerly been Miss Gladstone's secretary; but she still kept an eye on everything that happened in the College, and many things far beyond. Miss Clough had always felt a deep interest in the colonies, and she kept up a correspondence with past students who had made educational ventures in many distant parts. As one of them said, "her interest in us seemed to vary directly as the squares of the distances," though certainly those nearer to Cambridge would not have accepted such a formula. Such schemes as the mixed education for blacks and whites in Jamaica, the starting of a loan library in tropical Australia, the opening of a boarding-school for aristocratic girls in Siam, aroused her warm interest and often called forth wholesome advice as well as sympathy. She was always able to enjoy a quiet country holiday in vacation time. The pleasures of friendship brought her comfort and enjoyment all her life, during the latter part of which she had the companionship of her niece--daughter of the brother to whom she had owed so much in her early intellectual development--and much care and solicitude from some of the lecturers and of the elder students. She may be said to have died in harness. The last time that she appeared at a meeting for students was to interest them in Mr. Morant's educational efforts in Siam. One of the last visitors from abroad whom she received, lying on a sitting-room couch, was a lady from Australia who could bring tidings of a University hostel managed by a former student. Miss Clough was not sure that this student was working on the best lines, and was anxious to hear about her and to send her a message of kindly warning. The end came quietly on February 27th, 1892. To very many it seemed as if the world could never be quite the same without her. Certainly the College, however wisely and generously conducted, was bound to follow new courses. Yet in a sense Miss Clough was _felix opportunitate mortis_. She had lived to see her work set on a stable footing; she might safely leave it in the hands of those like-minded with herself; and she was spared the pain of friction and later of bitter opposition which the College and its promoters had to suffer in seeking a permanent place within University borders. Miss Clough's kinsfolk showed great breadth of mind, generosity, and appreciation of her own desires and feelings, in arranging that the funeral should be rather of a collegiate than of a family character. She had expressed a wish that her remains should rest in a churchyard rather than a cemetery, and as she possessed a little property in the parish of Grantchester, the burial was in the pleasant ground attached to the church there. A simple slab was afterwards erected with name, date, and the words: "After she had served her generation by the will of God, she fell on sleep." The first part of the service was, by the kind offer of the Provost and Fellows of King's College, read in the beautiful chapel of that College, the services of which had been to her, for many years, a perpetual solace and aid. The Staff of Newnham walked behind the coffin. The Chapel was crowded with members of the University and a great number of former students from all parts of England. The following Sunday (the First in Lent) it fell to Dr. Ryle (now Dean of Westminster) to preach a sermon, and the subject suited to the season and also to Miss Clough's character and work suggested his text: "Endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ." His reference was very appreciative and delicate. Perhaps it might have struck some hearers that though Miss Clough would have thoroughly appreciated the idea of service in the Christian army, she might not have considered that she had "endured hardness" as much as many others. Her strenuous efforts and personal restrictions were so entirely dictated by the needs of her cause and of the individuals in her charge, that there was no place for asceticism in her life, though much for plain living and high thinking. The figure of Miss Clough must necessarily look large in the history of Newnham College, since she was both its principal founder and its first head. But it would be useless labour to compare her with other founders and heads. Her objects and her way of obtaining them were peculiar to herself in her particular _milieu_. When she was removed, others who had supported her were ready to follow up her work, perhaps on more consistently stated principles, with somewhat more of theory in the background. But there were some ideas at the basis of the College recognised only by those who had caught her spirit, either by working under her in life or by imbibing the moral and intellectual atmosphere which for a long time has kept the College sound and wholesome. The mental and moral debt of the present College to her, and to those one may call her disciples, has been more or less manifest already, and will appear more evident in the sequel. CHAPTER IV NEWNHAM COLLEGE IN PROGRESS, 1892-1911--PRINCIPALSHIP OF MRS. SIDGWICK. The loss of Miss Clough seemed to remove the College from its early--one might say heroic--period to the regions of ordinary history. Yet there was something uncommon in the circumstances under which her successor was appointed. At the Council Meeting after Miss Clough's death, a strong wish was expressed that Mrs. Sidgwick, who had already once given up, with her husband, the privacy of home life, might be induced to become the second Principal. Newnham wanted them, and they came; making, as one would expect, the very least of any personal inconvenience involved in once more giving up their house. As Sidgwick said to a friend,[9] "What we feel most strongly is that after Miss Clough's death it is the duty of all who have given their minds to Newnham to 'close ranks,' and take the place that others assign to one. We hope it will be for the good of the College." [Footnote 9: _Life_, p. 515.] For a short time Mrs. Sidgwick was obliged to live a divided life, part at Hillside, part at Newnham. But in December 1893 the Principal's new quarters were ready, and she and her husband moved into them. These new quarters had been partly provided by a very timely bequest. A short time before, Mrs. Emily Pfeiffer, the poetess, and her husband, visited Cambridge, and were much pleased with what they saw of Newnham and with the hospitality of Miss Clough. Mrs. Pfeiffer died soon after, and her husband did not long survive her. Their money was left in great part to societies and buildings for the benefit of women, and of this the sum of £5000 was adjudged to Newnham College. There were some legal difficulties, soon overcome, but a hindrance remained in the fact already mentioned, that a public pathway divided Sidgwick Hall with Clough Hall from the Old Hall. What was desired was to connect the two parts of the College by a block of buildings containing students' rooms, and, as finally arranged, a suite of rooms for the Principal, a set of small lecture or "coaching" rooms, a large room for the Staff, to serve as a kind of Combination Room, and a Porter's Lodge. This could not be done without closing the public foot-path. Fortunately, a new carriage road parallel to the former foot-path was greatly needed for communication between the town and the country beyond the College. Such a road, if made, would compensate the public for the loss of the foot-path. Newnham College was naturally willing enough to give up a strip along the north side of its grounds as a contribution to the road. But others were less willing to give up portions of their ground, without which the scheme could not have been carried through. After much discussion, a very satisfactory solution was reached. A broad road, now called _Sidgwick Avenue_, was made, largely at the expense of Professor and Mrs. Sidgwick, with some help from other friends, and the path was closed. There was a curious interregnum, after the dividing fences of the Hall gardens had been removed and before the path had become private, during which tradesmen's boys used to loiter, basket on head, as they passed through to the Grange Road, and watch the students' games at hockey or tennis. When Sidgwick Avenue was complete and the path closed, this anomaly naturally ceased. In the archway under Pfeiffer Building, forming the main entrance to the College, were placed a pair of beautiful bronze gates. These were presented by past and present students, in memory of Miss Clough. They bear the Clough Arms, and the decoration is a combination of floral and foliate. The designer was the architect of all the College buildings, Mr. Basil Champneys. It was said at the preliminary meeting that in future every student would have Miss Clough brought to her mind on her first entry into the College and her departure from it. Unfortunately this cannot be carried out in practice, for though the Gates are the only means of ingress or egress after dark and form the principal entrance to the College as a whole, there are other entrances to three of the Halls which are used by day. [Illustration: NEWNHAM COLLEGE--THE ENTRANCE GATES.] Thus the suite of rooms above the Memorial Gates formed the dwelling-house of Professor and Mrs. Sidgwick, a somewhat inadequate "Master's Lodge" for a large and rising College, but pleasant in outlook and sufficient in size for all immediate requirements. Needless to say, the hospitable traditions of Hillside were maintained at Newnham, and members of the Staff had opportunities of occasionally meeting very interesting guests who came from far and near. The Principal's life was a full one. Besides being Principal of the College she was its Bursar--an office which she only resigned at the end of 1919, to the regret of those who realized how much the financial success of the College has owed to her care and thought. Careful and even abstemious in all personal expenditure, she was always ready to entertain suggestions of new ventures. But besides this, she kept an eye on everything that happened in the College. She took all opportunities of coming to know the students personally, by frequently dining in hall, inviting students to her drawing-room and to breakfast, attending debates and little entertainments, and by making the College, both during her husband's lifetime and afterwards, an evidently large factor in her life. His presence, while he lived in the background, was always a help and a stimulus. If he made sacrifices in giving up his private house, he made many more in the time he devoted to the College at large and to students in particular. But with him and his wife, as with the first Principal, such sacrifices were so much the order of the day as hardly to be recognized as such, and were only fully appreciated in later years. One sacrifice made by Mrs. Sidgwick for the good of the College was the restriction of the time she could now give to the work of the Society for Psychical Research. She maintained the interest she and her husband had long felt in the Society, and took part in its meetings and various proceedings. But she never encouraged such interest among the students, since she knew how many unsteady heads have been turned by a superstitious dabbling in the occult. It would be difficult to over-estimate the advantage to the Society of having persons of such complete sanity and scrupulous balance of mind as the Sidgwicks among the investigators. We have noticed as one of the additions to the College in connection with the Pfeiffer Building a Combination Room for the Staff, including all women Lecturers and resident Fellows. Later on its functions were transferred to its present quarters, the room next the College Dining Hall--a pleasant room with two fireplaces and a door opening on the garden--the original Combination Room being made use of partly as a committee room, partly as a reading and coaching room for students. Work among both students and past students had meantime been facilitated by the gift in 1898 of a well-designed library building, for which the College has to thank the liberality of Mr. and Mrs. Yates Thompson. The Library is admirably adapted to its purpose, with section recesses divided off by bookcases and conveniently arranged tables, while beauty of proportion, the excellence of the woodwork, and the elaborate mouldings on the ceiling (of the principal Printers' Arms of the sixteenth century) give it an artistic as well as academic character. When (1907) nearly ten years after its opening, its space proved insufficient for the books belonging to the College, the same benefactors most generously doubled it in size, providing staircases and a fine east window. The supply of library books grew and prospered at least in proportion to the general progress of the College. Many of the original promoters were literary men and book-lovers, and their gifts and bequests, besides the money annually spent out of the College income, made the necessary extension just noticed necessary, and tended to make the College a more desirable place for old students--especially such as were engaged in educational or literary work--in which to spend part of the summer vacation. Some friends were anxious that the Library should have interesting books of a non-special character. Mrs. Stephen Winkworth, already mentioned, whenever she had enjoyed some new work of biography or general literature, used to send a copy of it for the Newnham Library. Mr. Coutts Trotter, Miss Clough's kind adviser in the early days, bequeathed the bulk of his books to Newnham College. The same was done by Mary Bateson, of whom we shall have more to say presently. There never was a time when there was not an influx of books of various kinds. Provision was made for a steady supply by the assignment to the Library Committee every year of a sum proportional to the number of students. Most books, on conditions, might be taken out for parts of the vacations. The Library Committee consists of representatives on the Staff of all the principal subjects studied and other lecturers, whose duty it is to submit the names of books required by the students whom they direct. The Library has thus been kept up to date, and has also continually been enriched by special gifts. Thus a Dante Library was formed in memory of Miss Jane Lee, already mentioned; a clock was given by a generation of students going down, the case being designed by one of them; guests gave books on their departure. The catalogues were carefully kept, and if any slackness in returning books was observed, great vigilance was used to recall them. The care of the Library was for many years in the hands of Miss Katharine Stephen. It had been the wish of early friends--especially of Miss Kennedy--to attach permanently to the College as many as possible of the past students. This had been done to a certain extent, as already shown, by the Newnham College Club. Another plan, still adhered to, is to invite all students who belonged to specified periods, to come up to Commemoration Dinner on or about February 24th--a practice more or less observed in the Colleges of the University. But in addition it was the aim of the founders to bring the old students into the Constitution, so that the responsibility for the College should eventually be to a greater extent in their hands. With this object in view, the Constitution was revised, and in 1893 a new body of members was created chosen from the old students and called Associates (not Associate Members, who were a separate class of members qualified by subscriptions). In this year all past students were requested to send in the names of those twenty among their College contemporaries or friends whom they considered most fitted to aid the causes of "Education, learning, and research." To the first twenty who obtained the greatest number of votes the Council added ten, and the number was increased by annual election of three till it reached 48, after which time three were to resign every year and three others to be chosen by co-optation. The Associates were full members of the College, and as such took part in the election of the Council, and still, under the later Constitution, elect members of the Governing Body. They meet in Cambridge every year, and coming as they do from various centres, contribute new ideas and points of view. At first, as might naturally be expected, most of the resident Staff were placed on the list. It includes many women who have reached some degree of eminence in their several lines of activity and also usually some research fellows. There was in these years a growing desire to provide opportunities for what may be called post-graduate work, though the term is not strictly applicable. There had been, as we have seen, students doing advanced work before the foundation of any research fellowships. The studentship connected with the name of Miss Marion Kennedy had given opportunity for a successful Tripos student to look about her, try some manageable piece of work, and either find some fresh line to follow up in the field of science or letters, or else enter the teaching profession with a wider view of her functions than could generally be found in one who had never advanced in her studies beyond the undergraduate stage. Studentships in the Natural Sciences were, from 1881, awarded from time to time to students of post-graduate status from the Bathurst Fund already mentioned. But something involving a longer period of independent study was clearly desirable. Critics of the women's education movement were wont to assert that women might do fairly well in Triposes and in educational work afterwards, but that they contributed nothing of any significance to the advancement of knowledge. This "hasty generalization" needed removing. It was, however, no mere spirit of feminine rivalry, but a generous impetus to labour in intellectual fields, to satisfy one's own thirst for truth, and to help in the building up of the sciences--whether natural or human--that inspired the promoters and labourers in this new field of College activity. The most eager and influential in this movement was a member of the College eminently marked by a keen delight in research for its own sake, and by a desire that Newnham should be able to hold its own in the highest kind of University work among all the Colleges of the world--Mary Bateson. Under her influence the first research fellowship was given by Mrs. Herringham, and was thrown open to public application in 1900. Friends of the College and the students themselves were stirred up to raise funds for more research fellowships. The number is now four, and they are awarded by a special committee and tenable for three years. The stipend was originally sufficient to pay the expenses of a woman resident in the College, though a small amount of lecturing or tuition was held to be compatible with the duties of the fellow.[10] The first Newnham students to hold a research fellowship were Miss J. E. Harrison and Miss G. L. Elles (1900). The former had already acquired celebrity by her archaeological works--especially her _Myths and Monuments of Ancient Athens_--and had been invited to occupy rooms in Newnham, where she speedily created a keen interest among students and many of the Staff, first in classical archaeology and later in anthropology. Miss Elles is well known as a geologist, and had already been teaching at the Sedgwick Museum under Professor Hughes. [Footnote 10: But owing to the depreciation of money these stipends have become inadequate, and unless the endowment can be increased the number of research fellows will have to be diminished.] With the research fellowships it has been possible to retain at Newnham advanced students whose researches have made a solid contribution to knowledge. Though it may seem invidious to make a selection, mention may be made of the researches of Miss E. R. Saunders (partly in co-operation with Mr. Bateson) into the laws of Variation; the study of floral pigments by Miss Wheldale (Mrs. Onslow); that of animal psychology by Miss E. M. Smith (Mrs. Bartlett); and in widely different fields, Miss Maud Sellers' valuable work in rescuing and making public the records of the Merchant Adventurers of York; that of Miss Paues, in unearthing a Middle-English Bible; Mrs. Temperley's (_née_ Bradford) studies in Tudor Proclamations and other legal antiquities; and, not least, the wide range of Miss Mary Bateson's work in Mediaeval History, chiefly monastic and municipal. Mary Bateson was so much the prime mover in the development of Newnham work for the advancement of learning, and some of the teachers who stimulated and directed her efforts were so evidently epoch-making in the lives of Newnham students; also her tragically sudden death in 1906 cut short such a remarkably promising career and evoked so much sympathy with Newnham throughout the University, that a few more words may be devoted to keeping her memory fresh. Her father (Master of St. John's College) and her mother--much distinguished in her zealous efforts for the betterment of women--were old friends of Miss Clough and the College; her elder brother, Mr. William Bateson, is well known for his remarkable work on heredity. Mary Bateson began independent research in the Monastic Civilisation of the Fens, even before she took the Historical tripos, in which she naturally obtained a good first class. Her literary activity in the production of articles for learned periodicals, and later very substantial books, was immense. At the same time, her zeal in the cause of her own College never faltered. For many years she was ready to do what teaching was offered to her on her own lines, and she did it exceedingly well. But her great task in the College was to produce a noble discontent. She cared far less that the students should take good places in their examinations than that they should come to understand what sound learning really means, and should share her own delight in the search for undiscovered truth. Broad in her sympathies with all honest workers, genial in her manners, remarkably constant and helpful in her friendships, and withal scholarly to the backbone in her tastes and ambitions, she stands out as one of the leading figures of our College. Two main influences determined her course: first, that of Professor Creighton, afterwards Bishop of Peterborough and subsequently Bishop of London, who came to Cambridge in 1885, and began a new departure in History of the kind that appealed to Mary Bateson's mind and character. She became attached to his family, and he inspired her with the ambition which he felt for himself when he prescribed for his epitaph the words, "He tried to write true history." After Dr. Creighton's departure from Cambridge, the teacher from whom she derived most inspiration and with whom she sometimes collaborated was the distinguished writer, Professor F. W. Maitland--also a most effective teacher and helper of historical students at Newnham and in the University generally. Miss Bateson's researches into _Borough Customs_, as well as her previous volumes on the _Records of the History of Leicester_, earned her an honourable place among standard historians of mediaeval institutions, while her small book on _Mediaeval England_, and her admirable account of the "Colonization of Canada" in the seventh volume of the _Cambridge Modern History_, may always be recommended confidently to the general reader. Mary Bateson was deeply interested in politics and a strong advocate for women's suffrage, on behalf of which, in a deputation to the then Prime Minister (Sir H. Campbell-Bannerman), she made an exceedingly able and trenchant speech. But she cared far more that women should progress in knowledge and capacity than in political power. The great esteem in which she had been held was shown in the large attendance of University men and former students at the funeral service in St, John's Chapel, and in the readiness with which the proposal was received, at a meeting in St. John's in the following May, of a memorial to her in Cambridge, which took the appropriate form of an additional Research Fellowship. This fellowship bears her name, and is generally--_ceteris paribus_--given to a former student engaged in some branch of historical research. An earlier loss--happily not so permanent--was sustained in 1896 when Miss Gladstone, owing to the rapidly declining health of her father, felt bound to resign her College post for family duties. Miss Gladstone had not only, as already shown, become a most valuable element in the life of the College by her geniality and devotion to the duties she had undertaken. She also, in the eyes of the world, raised the reputation of the College, since an institution must be of _some_ significance if the daughter of one of the most eminent men in the country, having access to the most brilliant and interesting society, thought it worth while to give up--for most of the year--the delights of such an attractive home for the service of a College for women.[11] Miss Gladstone had of late been not only Vice-Principal (Tutor) in Sidgwick Hall, but Secretary to the Education Committee, a position which brought her into constant communication with most of the resident lecturers. In a sense, the loss could not be entirely repaired, though Miss Stephen succeeded her as head of Sidgwick Hall. Miss Stephen had originally come to Newnham as Secretary to Miss Gladstone, and had become very popular with the students, especially in helping in their political debates. She had also, as we have already said, the charge of the Library, in which she seemed to know the exact place of every important book. As she was a daughter of Sir James Fitzjames Stephen, the distinguished judge, and a niece of Leslie Stephen (who was induced more than once to come and give a delightful lecture to the students), she helped to continue the traditions of public and intellectual eminence which the students have always found in the records of their benefactors. In memory of Miss Gladstone's vice-principalship, the students raised money to build an annexe to the dining hall of Sidgwick Hall which, since the opening of a new wing in 1884, had proved insufficient for peace and comfort. Another and important addition to the College was the block named after others of the founders, Kennedy Buildings. Now that there were resident fellows and several research students, it was desirable that in some part of the College buildings there should be suites of two rooms, allowing more accommodation for books and more opportunities for entertaining than could be easily had in any of the three Halls. In 1899, through the remarkable generosity of several friends, the freehold of the land on which the College stands was bought. [Footnote 11: Mr. Gladstone twice visited his daughter in Newnham College: once while he was out of office but intensely popular--on which occasion he was entertained at a genuine students' tea-party; the second time when she was Vice-Principal in Sidgwick Hall.] But meantime, during a period of prosperity, Newnham had to experience its first serious set-back, a set-back only paralleled in the week during which these lines are being written: the Senate of the University of Cambridge refused a petition to grant to Girton and Newnham students who had been successful in the triposes the title of degrees. The movement had mainly arisen in 1897 to meet a difficulty springing from the inability of the world to understand that a certificate stating that a woman had attained the standard required for a degree in honours is really as good a guarantee of attainments as the letters B.A. to which every poll man is entitled. The handicapping was serious. At the same time, more definite status was earnestly desired. The first suggestion of a granting of degrees was at once dropped. Various compromises were made by friends and opponents: in those of the former there was the suggestion of a titular B.A. and a real M.A. for women--too moderate and well reasoned to find many supporters. Another--widely taken up, but naturally unacceptable to all who were intimately and sympathetically concerned with higher education for women--was of a degree-granting University for women only, called in advance "The Queen's University," and styled by Professor Maitland in a brilliant speech on the other side as "Bletchley Junction Academy." This would have been even less of a real University than the original non-teaching University of London, since that at least had programmes of study and fixed standards, whereas the new one was to accept the standards of existing Universities. It is not certain, however, whether this impracticable scheme ever came into anything like definite form. [Illustration: NEWNHAM COLLEGE, 1920--GENERAL VIEW.] The Grace finally proposed by the second Syndicate appointed for the purpose was as follows: "The University shall have power to grant by Diploma, Titles of Degrees in Arts, Law, Science, Letters, and Music to women who, either before or after the confirmation of this Statute, have fulfilled the conditions which shall be required of them for this purpose by the Ordinances of the University, and also shall have power to grant by diploma the same titles _honoris causa_ to women who have not fulfilled the ordinary conditions, but have been recommended for such Titles by the Council of the Senate: provided always that a title granted under this section shall not involve membership of the University." It was seen by many opponents and by some supporters that this Grace, if passed, would not have been a final settlement. But it would have removed an undoubted grievance. And in course of time, when the world had become accustomed to women vigorously and successfully engaged in the administration of colonial and provincial universities, full membership might have come in later without much controversy. The most striking speeches on the women's side were made by the late master of Trinity (Dr. Butler), Professor Maitland, Mr. (afterwards Professor) Bateson, and Professor Sidgwick. The speeches on the other side generally insisted, without much relevance, on the limitations of the female mind and the female physique, the impossibility of women's desire for University life and learning existing apart from a wish to copy and rival the other sex, and the like.[12] What the mind of Newnham, at its best, thought on the matter is ably expressed in a flysheet written by our Secretary, Miss Marion Kennedy, on the eve of the voting. I quote the later portion: "One appeal I should like to make to those whom we still regard as our friends, though for the moment they are opposed to us. It is that they may not be led to think that a separate University for women can be the true solution of the difficulty. [Footnote 12: For the recommendations of the Syndicate and the chief speeches see _Cambridge University Reporter_ for March 1st, 1897, and for March 26th, 1897.] "Can we imagine what the position of such an institution would really be? If it were merely a body for conferring degrees without holding examinations, its degrees must be given alike on the examinations of Cambridge, Oxford, and Durham; all the other Universities having opened their degrees. For the two latter I cannot judge, but I venture to ask any Cambridge man if he would care to bear a title which was given indiscriminately on the examination of his own University and on those of Oxford and Durham.[13]... If, on the other hand, a Women's University held its own examinations, its standard could not possibly command the same respect as those of the older universities, nor could it give the inspiration which comes only of ancient tradition. As the Master of Trinity so well put it in his speech in the Senate House, generation after generation must be trained before any such comparison could be possible, and I fear the time must be measured not only by generations but by centuries. I think there is no doubt that if an attempt was made to found a Women's University, disappointment would be in store for any who would expect it to lay down a separate course or courses of study adapted to the supposed requirements of women. It would on the contrary be driven to follow the lines of the old University course even more closely than women are now required to do, as the only chance of giving its degrees any practical value. This leads to another point on which I think that a few of our opponents have not treated us quite fairly. It has been said that women wish to take the Cambridge course merely because they aim at imitating men. Surely this assumption is hardly justified by the facts. May it not be believed that women honestly seek to share what long experience has decided to be the best training for the mind? [Footnote 13: Of course now that Oxford and Durham admit women to degrees this argument cannot be transferred to the present crisis. (Dec. 1920.)] "It seems to me we are far more likely to allow fair play to whatever mental differences exist between men and women by giving them impartially the best training and affording them every opportunity to develop their separate powers afterwards, than if we falsify the result through a diversity of training which must tend to obscure natural differences by overlaying them with artificial ones. I am well aware, however, that when all is said, differences of opinion will remain, and I only wish to express, once more, a hope that difference of opinion need not become intolerance; that however this question is settled, we shall all be true to the noble and hitherto unbroken traditions of Cambridge that by-gones are by-gones, and that the morrow of a conflict here always finds victors and vanquished ready to join hands without any lessening of mutual regard and respect. Nothing would grieve me more than to have had any share in so carrying on the discussion as to render this more difficult. MARION GRACE KENNEDY." But for the time the voice of "sweet reasonableness" was drowned in angry clamour. Some opponents of the College used their influence with the undergraduates, and especially the athletic element. Ridiculous stories were set about that the women intended to press on to admission into the Colleges. Aged and often very worthy men who had long been out of touch with the University but retained the right to vote in its proceedings flocked up to "save the University" from the dreaded feminine invasion. Friends of Newnham and Girton mustered likewise, but the result was obvious from the beginning. The motion was defeated by 1713 to 662. The set-back was felt severely, not so much by reason of the weight of the adverse vote, as because of the hostility that had unexpectedly come to the surface, and the unmannerly way in which, led by undergraduates' love of a "rag," it was manifested. Happily, the feelings described by Miss Kennedy were still characteristic of Cambridge, except in its worse moments. Next term, when the Newnham authorities came to discuss the wisdom of asking lecturers who had taken the opposite part to continue their permission to women pupils, it was found that some at least would have been indignant if not asked to do so. One good result of the unfortunate conflict was that it brought the two women's Colleges, Newnham and Girton, nearer together. There was generosity in the yielding by Miss Davies, Dr. Cunningham, and other notable supporters of Girton, of points which their Colleges had generally held with some tenacity. Newnham and Girton worked hand-in-hand during the conflict and in the steps by which the mischief done was gradually repaired. Happily, since the generations of undergraduates and women students are short-lived, the episode became to many as if it had never been. This, however, was impossible in the case of the members of the resident staffs. It made, or should have made, each of them "a sadder and a wiser man" in future dealings with the University. Before long Newnham had to suffer a greater loss, by the death of its protagonist in this and many other conflicts, as well as its ever-generous benefactor and friend: Professor Henry Sidgwick. Something has already been said both as to what he did and what he resigned for the good of the College, and yet more might be dwelt on as to the importance to students and staff of having him amongst them. Even those who were unable to appreciate the character of his mind, felt that he possessed a distinction they had known, if at all, in very few others. To those who attended his lectures, read his books, or listened to his talk, he was felt to excel all others in absolute devotion to truth and duty, in breadth of view, in moral and intellectual patience and forbearance, while this lofty character was always consistent with a keen sense of humour, and a human interest in all his surroundings. He had led an active life, though always liable to be troubled with insomnia. In May 1900, his doctor discovered an internal complaint which required an early operation. The operation was supposed to be successful, and after a short time he was able to go for drives and to enjoy the society of friends. But he was never deceived as to the nearness of the end, which came when he was staying with his brother-in-law, Lord Rayleigh, on August 28th, 1900. As it was mid vacation there was no funeral service in Trinity or elsewhere in Cambridge, but one attended by the family and a few friends in the church at Terling, in which churchyard he was buried. It is, as already said, possible for all students to realize at once the benefits which the College owes to Sidgwick, and the greatness of his mind and character, by reading the life written by his wife and his brother Arthur. Very soon after the funeral Mrs. Sidgwick returned to Newnham, and the members of the Staff still in residence realized that this terrible loss to her did not involve the loss of her to the College, but that she would be to it at least all that she had been before. A meeting was held soon after to decide how Professor Sidgwick should be commemorated in Cambridge. A University lectureship was founded with the proceeds of a general appeal, and a contribution to this was made from a special fund contributed by former students of Newnham; this fund also provided for an annual Sidgwick Memorial Lecture at the College. The lecturer has in each case been appointed by Mrs. Sidgwick, and has generally so far been some man personally known to Dr. Sidgwick or interested in some of his own lines of thought. The first lecture was given by Professor (now Lord) Bryce in November 1902. His subject was "Philosophic Life among the Ancients," and many hearers felt--as did the lecturer himself--that the kind of life he was portraying had in no person been better exemplified than in Sidgwick himself. A visitor to Newnham afterwards, standing in the middle of the garden, quoted as appropriate to him the epitaph of Wren in St Paul's: _Si monumentum requiris, circumspice_. But even that monument would be insufficient for those who had known something of his mind and profited by his labours. CHAPTER V PROGRESS, 1900-1914 The years which elapsed between the death of Professor Sidgwick and the retirement of Mrs. Sidgwick from the principalship at the end of 1910 were marked by progress on various lines. The increase of demand for accommodation led to the building of a new Hall, with connecting passages, at right angles to Clough Hall and Kennedy Buildings, and facing the Grange Road. This is on much the same plan as the other Halls, with some very pleasant common rooms, and accommodation for another Vice-Principal (Tutor) and two lecturers, besides about fifty-six students. The central kitchen, which--as already stated--helped greatly to simplify and otherwise improve the domestic arrangements, dates from the same time. Peile Hall was named after Dr. and Mrs. Peile, whose portraits hang in the dining-hall. Dr. Peile died on the very day on which the Hall was opened. It would be difficult to exaggerate the value of the service rendered to the College by Dr. Peile from its first beginnings till the day of his death. He was constant in attending the Council, and was President for many years. His wisdom in giving advice in difficulties was equalled by his courage in defending the College in aspersions and attacks. He had been an intimate friend of Professor Sidgwick and an eager promoter of University reform. Mrs. Peile was intensely interested in everything connected with the College till the loss of her eyesight and her enfeebled health withdrew her from her former activities. Another external addition to the College is the sunk garden, with fountain, in the lawn immediately opposite the Memorial Gates. It was paid for as part of the memorial above mentioned by subscriptions of students past and present, and the stone margin has for legend: "The daughters of this house to those that shall come after commend the filial remembrance of Henry Sidgwick." No further steps towards a request for degrees was made for many years after the rebuff in 1897, but in the spring of 1904 a recognition of the status of Tripos students came from an unexpected quarter--the University of Dublin. There had been a party favourable to women graduates in Dublin, and the Royal University of Ireland already granted degrees to those women who had passed its examinations, among whom were the students of Alexandra College, the head of which had herself been a Newnham student. After the death of a very highly respected but also very conservative Provost the authorities of Trinity College admitted women to their degrees, and at the same time offered an _ad eundem_ degree to all women who had passed examinations qualifying for a degree at Oxford or Cambridge. Trinity College already granted the _ad eundem_ degree to graduates of Oxford and Cambridge, and this new step amounted to the recognition of the Tripos certificate granted to women at Cambridge as the equivalent of a degree. The result was perhaps surprising to its originators, but not to those who really understood one of the reasons why women students at Oxford and Cambridge had asked for degrees. Numbers of young women trooped over as soon as possible after the results of their tripos were known, to take the B.A. degree. Many others who if degrees at Cambridge had been open to them would have been of M.A. standing took B.A. and M.A. both at Dublin. A few, whose literary or scientific work had made them worthy of a doctorate, were admitted to the higher degree. The Dublin officials were apparently somewhat surprised and puzzled. They generously applied most of the money raised by fees to the establishment of a Hall of residence for women students in Dublin. This privilege was open to Oxford and Cambridge women for a few years only, since the object which the authorities of Trinity College, Dublin, had in view was to provide for those women who had begun or completed their courses elsewhere and could therefore not make use of the opportunities which the College now offered to women. One great advantage, however, had been derived by the general cause from the temporary grant of Dublin: it had been made clear that the degree of a respected University was, for women, really worth having. Busy women of moderate means do not take long journeys and pay considerable fees (£10 for the B.A. and £20 for the M.A.) for a merely fanciful advantage. Nor would the City Companies, which had granted certain scholarships to Newnham students, have been willing to pay, as they did, the fees for their scholars' Dublin degrees unless they felt sure that these would be to such scholars' advantage. A good many head mistresses felt it an advantage to be able to wear gown and hood, especially when some of their assistants could already wear the academic dress of London or of a Scotch or Welsh University. London did not grant its degrees to Cambridge women without some further test, though it admitted those who had taken Triposes to send in theses for a research M.A. degree without the actual B.A. degree required in men students. The only women who might have taken the Dublin degree, and had not much reason or inclination to do so, were members of the Newnham Staff, whose position was well understood by those around them. If, however, they migrated during the time that the Dublin _ad eundem_ was open to them, they sometimes found it desirable to take it. [Illustration: MISS KATHARINE STEPHEN.] Mrs. Sidgwick's principalship came to an end in December 1910. Though Staff and students very deeply deplored her withdrawal, it was felt that she was more than entitled to more leisure for scientific pursuits, family enjoyments, and greater liberty generally. She was not lost altogether to Newnham, since she retained for several years the post of Treasurer (afterwards called _Bursar_), and after Dr. Peile's death she consented to become President of the Newnham College Council. The principalship was offered to Miss Katharine Stephen, who accepted it and held it for nearly ten years. Mrs. Sidgwick moved into a house separated from Peile Hall by the Grange Road only, and thus was easily in touch with College affairs. One more improvement--and a very important one--was made before Mrs. Sidgwick's retirement: the determination of a fixed age for retirement for the Staff and of a pension to follow. The salaries of all the lecturers were raised and standardized. In the early days the pay had been low, even according to the standard of that time, simply because Newnham had not the funds at its disposal that better endowed Colleges possessed. Still, as we have seen, a great deal had been done for the promotion of learning and research, and some of the lecturers had from time to time benefited by the endowments for this purpose. But by the arrangements which came into force in 1910 the whole status and earnings of the Staff were revised, and a contributory pension scheme initiated, with a liberal provision for making the advantages of the scheme retrospective in the case of lecturers of some years' standing. Shortly after these reforms, others on a larger scale were projected, and in a few years successfully accomplished. It was considered by some past students that the Constitution of the College, though it had worked well, was more fitted for the infancy of such an institution than for its adult life. The subject was naturally one taken up and discussed by the Associates at their annual meeting. Some Associates who were connected with one or other of the provincial Universities were anxious to introduce changes which would more or less assimilate Newnham to such Universities. Others held that whatever changes were made ought to be rather on a College than a University plan, and that the wisest course would be to make Newnham, in general government and arrangements, sufficiently like the Cambridge Colleges for it to be able, if ever the happy day arose of its full recognition by the University, to fall into line and take its place with the other Colleges. The Associates chose a committee from among themselves to draft a scheme, and to them were joined representatives of the Council, including experienced members of the University, who gave invaluable help, and the results they came to were successful in meeting with a unanimous acceptance. The models chosen were chiefly the smaller Colleges, but none were followed slavishly, and the scheme when it emerged was found acceptable to the whole body of Associates. The Council on this, as on similar occasions, was not above taking suggestions from the past students and working on the lines thrown out. The result was a petition for a Charter which, with the Statutes of the College, became operative in the year 1917. The main object of the Charter was to constitute "one body politic and corporate by the name and style of 'the Principal and Fellows of Newnham College'" with perpetual succession, a common seal, power to sue and be sued in court, to hold and dispose of property and the like. Its chief objects were defined as: "(_b_) to establish and maintain at or near Cambridge a house or residence or houses or residences in which female students may reside and study; (_c_) to provide a liberal education for women by carrying on the work of the old Association with such modifications as may from time to time appear desirable either in its present situation or elsewhere in the town of Cambridge or County of Cambridge; (_f_) to do all such other things as are incidental or conducive to advancing education and learning among women in Cambridge and elsewhere." One point with regard to the new Charter and Statutes requires notice, viz. the use of the name Fellow as applied to a member of "the one body politic and corporate." Hitherto the title of Fellow had been attached to the endowment for research for which funds had been collected as already mentioned. The word Fellow in the Cambridge Colleges had always connoted membership of a corporate body, but as Fellows of Colleges were in general chosen for academic eminence or promise the name was associated with the expectation of services in the advancement of learning and research. This association with the title had influenced the first champions of research for women, and in addition they desired that these endowments should be used by women of high standing and proved capacity in the sphere of learning to whom the status of Fellow rather than that of Research Student was due. But when under the new Charter the constitution of Newnham was to some extent assimilated to those of the older Colleges, it seemed desirable that members of the new Governing Body should have the name which in Cambridge is associated with these functions. Therefore the name Fellow was given to members of the Governing Body, and that of Research Fellow to those who hold one of the special endowments for research. By the provisions of the Charter some of the Research Fellows must always be members of the Governing Body and therefore also Fellows. To return to the government of the College as revised and established by the Charter: The ultimate authority in the affairs of the College is the Governing Body. This comprises all full members of the Staff, a fixed number of Research Fellows chosen by the Governing Body; representatives of the Associates,[14] and certain "Founders and Benefactors" living at the date of the Charter. The Council is a smaller body, and comprises besides the Principal, the Vice-Principal, the Bursar, and one of the Tutors, three members of the Senate of the University, elected by the Governing Body, seven additional members of the Governing Body, and three Founders and Benefactors alive in 1917. [Footnote 14: See p. 91.] Several points in the Charter will attract the attention of any student of former times who may be reading this history. The changes in nomenclature are, at first sight, puzzling. The use of the term _Fellow_ has, as the most important, already been dwelt upon: that of _Tutor_ as supplanting _Vice-Principal_ has also been noticed. There is now but _one_ Vice-Principal, the numerous and important duties associated with the former vice-principalship being discharged by the Tutors superintending each Hall respectively. The Vice-Principal has now the functions properly assigned to the title, since she is bound to take the place of the Principal on necessary occasions, and especially to be in residence in the College when the Principal is absent (except in vacations). The term _Bursar_ replaces that of _Treasurer_. There is something of the nature of representative government in the election of Associate members on the Governing Body. The general body of past students has recognition in that the Statutes provide for the maintenance of a Newnham College Roll. The compiling and keeping up of this Roll has involved considerable labour on the part of the first registrar chosen to that office, Miss Edith Sharpley. It has, as already said, succeeded to the "Newnham College Club," but has recognised status. It now numbers a large proportion of former students, and the College may confidently look to them to further its interests and usefulness in all parts of the world. Like the other Colleges, Newnham now has a Visitor, and the first Visitors have been two successive Chancellors of the University of Cambridge, Lord Rayleigh and the Rt. Hon. A. J. Balfour, respectively brother-in-law and brother of Mrs. Sidgwick. Another feature in the new Constitution that will strike past students is the smaller proportion than formerly of members of the University compared to the Newnham College officials. It must not, however, be for a moment supposed that the College is not and will not continue to be in many ways dependent on the changes and general progress of the University. It will still be practically unable to take any important steps without the advice of some members of the University who are friendly to the College and its Staff. There will always be members of the Senate on the Council of Newnham College, and for some years, it is hoped, on the Governing Body. But beyond actual membership in any body concerned in the government of the College, Newnham must always hope to retain and even to increase the number of Cambridge dons and teachers interested both in its students, who may be their pupils, and in its lecturers, whom they regard as colleagues. In considerations of this kind, law can only create and maintain possible relations. The actual relations will, we trust, become modified as time goes on, and this, even in spite of temporary drawbacks, in the direction of closer co-operation and mutual respect between the men's and the women's Colleges in work and in other helpful intercourse. From some provisions in the Charter, and from the general progress which has been traced, it must appear that the body of residents of graduate standing in Newnham, including administrative officials, lecturers, and Research Students and Fellows, had for years been growing in importance and developing a corporate life. Junior to the Staff and Research Fellows, but of post-graduate standing, are those who hold the two or three research studentships which have been mentioned, and of late years others who have completed the degree courses have been enabled to stay on in Cambridge and carry on work in the laboratories by grants from the Medical Research Council and the Industrial Research Board. Of late, too, students with degrees from overseas and from other British Universities have come to Cambridge in increasing numbers to work for the recently established Research Certificates of the University. These students, with their wider interests and experience doing specialized advanced work in various subjects literary and scientific, some of them resident in the College, others living outside but connected with it, add a valuable element and form a link between the generations. Old students are encouraged to come up to read in the Long Vacation, and thus keep up their old friendships and renew their old interests. Sometimes, it is true, Newnham is almost too full, with visitors from outside, to afford the peaceful time for uninterrupted and independent work characteristic of the "Longs" of former days. Yet the visits of distant friends is often stimulating as well as pleasant. Almost every other year, since the University Extension Summer Meetings began--we may almost say at Newnham's initiative[15]--some of the students have been accommodated in Newnham. This is true, too, of the Vacation Terms for Biblical Study; since those were inaugurated by Mrs. Sidgwick's niece, Miss Margaret Benson, and intended chiefly as a help to school teachers, the promoters naturally looked to Newnham for hospitality, and many old students attend the courses. Learned societies of mathematicians, historians and others have often come to England from all over the world, and Newnham has been glad to entertain both learned ladies and the wives of learned men staying in the Colleges. Another kind of gathering may be mentioned, as somewhat original in idea and very useful in practice. Several of the students of Natural Science who, after taking their Tripos, had gone to teach in schools, complained of the scarcity and inferiority of the apparatus at their disposal. The lecturer in Chemical Science, Miss Ida Freund, arranged that a company of them should come to Cambridge for a part of the Long Vacation to learn how to construct the simpler kind of instruments for themselves. The result was very satisfactory, and the teachers learned not only how to make the best of the conditions under which they might have to teach, but also how to keep abreast of the progress of the Natural Sciences and of the methods of teaching them. It seemed natural that on Miss Freund's lamented death in 1914 the Memorial to her should take the form of a brief course of lectures by an experienced teacher on the teaching of Physics. The summer meetings, at which these lectures were delivered, helped to keep teachers from falling behind in the general progress of knowledge and also to guide them in the practical work of education. [Footnote 15: See p. 71.] One very large part of the story of Newnham has been as yet little or incidentally treated in this history; the development of student life and interests. At the beginning that was practically the whole life of the community: there were no dons, and the Principal (without losing separate and family interests) merged her life in that of the young people who were under her care. Things were bound to develop in both expected and unexpected ways. As more and more students came to College, variety increased, and at the same time College was likely to become more like a continuation of school. It would perhaps be impossible to trace quite accurately any particular tone or character or even standard of ability rising and falling in the annals of the Newnham students. At first, as already suggested, there was sure to be something of originality and enterprise. Girls were never sent to College as a matter of course, and in many cases they had had hard work in persuading their parents to let them come even for a slight taste of College life. Certainly some came for a short spell and remained for many years, though the fact of coming up without any definite intentions often worked havoc with chances of academic success. There were generally cultivated adult women grappling with subjects which they ought to have mastered in childhood; and also very young students striving after knowledge of a kind beyond their present reach. Possibly these aberrations made student life more interesting. But they could not fail to be diminished--though not even now eliminated--with the growth of a more uniform standard in the curriculum of girls' schools. The oldest student society was the Debating Society. It is said to have had its first meetings under the medlar tree in Merton Hall garden. Its rules were reduced to writing in the late seventies, though subjected later to much revision. Its history--like all histories--would, if written, show great fluctuations in energy, popularity, and capacity. In the early days there was quite enough earnestness and desire to convince the world--the Newnham world that is--of the truth or falsity of certain propositions, political, moral or social. I believe that the good rule against reading speeches was generally adhered to, but it was sometimes avoided by the speech having been learned by heart, and having thereby lost spontaneity without acquiring the possible merits of a careful essay. The early generations of students were very kind and tolerant to wearisome speakers, though the time rule was strictly adhered to. The fatal fault of most debating societies--the desire to be humorous rather than convincing--threatened at times to destroy both qualities. But from time to time, capable speakers who really had something to say arose to retrieve the character of the Society. In 1884 it suffered somewhat by the creation of another society, which became almost co-extensive with the College, for discussing political questions. The original Debating Society did not preclude itself from politics, but it naturally left them to the other society, and was apt to descend to what was somewhat trivial or else took refuge in the paradoxical. Its temporary declines, however, were, as just said, generally followed by reinvigoration. Meantime the Political Debating Society, which met weekly (for the space of one hour only), kept up a very lively interest in public affairs, and also gave more practice in ready impromptu speaking than was possible in the general College debates. It adopted all the forms of an imitation House of Commons, with Speaker, Government, Opposition, and the like. Some older critics were only in part sympathetic, considering that the association of public interests with party disputes was detrimental to the formation of unprejudiced opinions. On the whole, however, the great advantage was secured of keeping a large number of students _au fait_ with the chief political questions of the day. Additional instructiveness and liveliness were imparted by the fact that students whose fathers or friends were in Parliament occasionally "coached them up" in arguments and prognostications. The society became slack after many years, owing, I think, to the excessive burden thrown on a few students who were responsible for preparing the weekly business, and was reorganized with the forms of an ordinary debating society. It was suspended during the War, but revived--as society, not as amateur parliament--after the Armistice. It has since resumed the parliamentary form. Besides the debating societies, each subject or group of subjects has for many years had its meetings for reading and discussing papers on Classical, Scientific, Historical, and many other subjects. Not infrequently some distinguished man or woman from outside has been invited to deliver a lecture. The Choral Society began in the earlier days of Newnham, and long enjoyed the devoted and very able direction of Dr. Mann, Organist of King's College, and gave very successful concerts. The display of musical talent in the College is anything but uniform. One year we had a good orchestra of stringed instruments, and the same may occur again from time to time. Meanwhile, a musical society, started in a much humbler way by an industrious student who was desirous of "keeping up her practice" and inducing fellow students to do the same and be ready to play some piece to one another on Saturdays, has developed into a considerable College club called after its foundress, The Raleigh Musical Society. A good many students, too, have been members of the Cambridge University Musical Society. Astronomical interests have been cultivated in non-mathematical students since the valuable gift of a telescope and small observatory by Mrs. Boreham (daughter-in-law of the astronomer) in 1891. It was at first placed on a mound to the south of Clough Hall, but when the view from it was obstructed by the building of Peile Hall it was removed to an open space at the far end of the College grounds. It was placed under the curatorship of a mathematical scholar who had not only been a high wrangler, but had had the advantage of having been brought up in an astronomical atmosphere, Miss E. A. Stoney. Students with no knowledge of astronomy were invited on certain evenings to see Saturn's rings and Jupiter's moons. Their interest was attracted even to things of the heavens which are visible to the naked eye. There was an enthusiasm for "learning the constellations," instruction being given by the expert to the ignorant. One night, when one of the mathematical lecturers informed the students that the phenomenon was about to take place described as "the Moon swallowing Jupiter," a large number of students assembled on the lawn to watch the event. Happily it occurred about 9 p.m. on a clear night. The act of swallowing was greeted by a cheer--though whether the object cheered was Jupiter, the Moon, or the lecturer who had given warning was not very clear. This little event is mentioned as one of the many cases in which the common life of students engaged in heterogeneous subjects has advantages of an educational as well as of a social kind. We have already mentioned the lectures on Literature which were at one time given by first-rate men of letters to students of all faculties four or five times a year. Attendance at them was never compulsory, but the interest of the subject and distinction of the lecturer attracted many, and this continued to be the case with the Sidgwick Memorial Lecture. A student of natural science has expressed her deep debt to the attraction to good literature which these lectures afforded. Latterly the lectures given by holders of the new professorship of English (Dr. Verrall and Sir A. Quiller Couch), which are open to other than special students of the subject, amply provided for the objects aimed at in the earlier Newnham lectures. Naturally the societies or clubs that loom largest in the life of present and the memories of past students are those connected with games. Hockey, as already said, was started by the first Principal herself, and it has remained for a long time one of the most prominent of the games societies. The several Halls have their teams, and play against one another; the College team plays against Girton and more distant colleges and schools as well as other clubs; also matches are played between past and present students. Fives is provided for by good courts. Cricket is played in the summer term. Tennis had been with us from the beginning of Lawn Tennis itself, and ash courts made the game possible all the year round. Lacrosse was introduced a good deal later. The introduction of bicycling during the middle nineties furnished a new mode of exercise and stimulated exploration of the country. There have been, of course, many smaller societies: Sharp Practice, to make students ready in debate; boating, which has recently arrived at having an eight of its own; others of names incomprehensible to any but the initiated. In connection with the Women's Settlement in Southwark, there has from its beginning been a society following its progress and contributing to its funds. The visits of Residents in the Settlement to explain to the students their work or some branch of it have been very interesting occasions--especially in the days when Miss Gladstone was Warden, and came to give a humorous account of her experiences, professedly to the first-year students, practically to as many of the students and staff as could crowd into the room. Although there has not been till lately a formal dramatic society, any dramatic talent among the students has generally revealed itself fairly soon. The excuse of some worthy object to be served by threepenny tickets has been made the occasion of extremely lively impromptu performances. Especially the gift for melodrama has been displayed with success and has often caused intense amusement. More serious plays, or scenes from plays, have been exhibited from time to time, but those have been most successful which had the least elaborate preparation. It may be mentioned that Newnham students have taken part in serious dramatic performances organized by members of the University; as in the _Comus_, acted on the occasion of the Miltonic Tercentenary. In other fields there has been collective activity among Newnham students. There have been various religious societies, in most of which Newnham students are combined with those of Girton and other Colleges. In Newnham itself there have been societies for reading and discussing religious and moral questions on Sunday evenings, the subjects being sometimes theoretical, sometimes practical. There has been a branch of a Church Society called "The Society of the Annunciation," which had corporate Communion with Girton and some religious addresses in a Cambridge church. But far the largest and most influential is the _Student Christian Movement_, which has arisen from small beginnings and now has vigorous branches all over the world. Connected with this there has always been a collective and particular effort towards missionary work. A good many Newnham students became Student Volunteers, and some are doing excellent work abroad, especially in schools and Colleges of a new type, requiring higher education, and in medical practice. But the operation of the whole movement is too well known to need description here. It has branched out into new departments, and has changed both its qualifications for membership and its relations to religious bodies at home and abroad, so as to become a far more potent agency than formerly in all Colleges and among varied types of student. Some of its leaders are frequently in Cambridge, and are cordially received at Newnham as well as in the Cambridge Colleges generally. With regard to students and the political world. There had been a Suffrage Society in the College from comparatively early times. It has already been noticed how there had been among the early promoters of higher education for women a good many who set great hopes on the improvement of the position of women as citizens, and especially on their acquisition of the parliamentary vote. There were, however, among Staff and students of Newnham, several who felt much disgusted with the lawlessness and general want of reason and sobriety with which, in some quarters, the political cause of women was associated. A few, on the other hand, though not among those in authority, were inclined to go great lengths against the injustice and levity with which the whole question was treated by Parliament and by the Government. Those who desired and believed in the suffrage, but strongly disapproved of the violent and illegal actions of the extreme wing, took an active part in the orderly demonstrations organised by the law-abiding section of the movement. Thus members of the Staff and of the student body walked in the London processions and took part in the "Pilgrimage" of June 1912. A very small number of former students carried their principles to the extreme and suffered in consequence. But the attitude in general of Newnham in the whole matter was one of decided conviction, combined with patience and moderation. Perhaps a few words should be said here as to the changes which were made, or gradually came about, in the necessary rules for student life and behaviour. It must always be remembered that fifty years ago, both unreasoned etiquette and the opinions of reasonable men and women recognised much severer rules for the general conduct of young women than are in force to-day; also that in Cambridge, so much a city of men, the standard of conventional propriety for women was stricter than in most other places. Miss Clough and her fellow workers in the early times were sometimes obliged, for the sake of security against prejudice and gossip, to walk very warily, always, however, avoiding the imposition of such restraints as would have impeded either good work or the enjoyment of good health. It has been seen how Miss Clough herself undertook the sometimes weary duty of chaperoning and minimized its inconvenience, and in little restrictions of a social kind she tried to impress on the early students that they were guests of the University and also pioneers who might by their own behaviour improve or spoil the chances of more liberty for those who should come after. As time went on, many rules were relaxed, and those that now have to be observed are laid down with the utmost care by the authorities, special regard being paid to the opinions and counsel of those who have to maintain order and discipline in the University and the Colleges. The students themselves have never been discouraged from presenting to the heads of their separate Halls or to the Principal any suggestions as to possible modifications in domestic arrangement or in general regulations. Machinery for this purpose has been devised and modified from time to time. The students in residence choose (since 1911) a Senior Student, and it is one of her duties to communicate their views to the authorities. A joint committee of staff and students deliberates upon proposed alterations. There is also a Hall senior student elected by each Hall separately. It is generally recognised that great care is still required in forbidding or sanctioning matters which to a newcomer seem much more simple than they really are. The past prosperity of the College has been in very great part due to a good understanding between governors and governed, and this is still, in a sense, to be regarded as the sheet anchor of the College in Cambridge. It seems to be recognised in the Colleges of the University that the only way to avoid excessive ebullitions of youthful spirit is to enlist on the side of law and order some popular and leading spirits among the undergraduates themselves. The same principle applies in women's Colleges, where the students, as a rule (like public schoolboys), have learned, in pre-college days, the necessity of rules and regularity. If Newnham ever becomes a College of the University, the students will, of course, be subjected to proctorial discipline, but the process would probably be found not to involve any conspicuous changes in College life. EPILOGUE 1914 AND AFTER The outbreak of the Great War marks an epoch in the history of Newnham as of other institutions at home and abroad. Its experience confirms also the commonly repeated statement that in many things the results of the war have proved very different from those anticipated either in the event of success or of failure. One consequence confidently anticipated was at least temporary decline. We were bound to suffer restrictions and something of poverty, for the first item in which the so-called practical man and woman economize is education. Yet we all see at this moment that in spite of fiscal difficulties in public and losses in private affairs, all our schools and colleges are full to overflowing. Newnham participates in this experience, and is compelled to refuse promise of admission to many qualified and promising students. The reasons for this surprising fact are to be found partly in government policy, partly in economic causes still awaiting elucidation; possibly also in a genuine belief in education as a good thing for women as for men. One danger is to be apprehended: the lack of really well-prepared students, owing to the comparative scarcity of able University women who enter the teaching profession. Yet while these words are being written, the course of events may take an opposite trend. The salaries of mistresses in schools are raised to an unprecedented height, if perhaps hardly more than is required to cover increased cost of living. And the young women who have been serving the country in administrative work or directing their energies to the land or to domestic productiveness may, in course of time, find their way back to the task of teaching, which, after all, has inspired a genuine enthusiasm in many of our leaders. Early in the War, when some students were feeling doubts whether patriotic duty might not bid them give up their academic course for labour of a directly useful kind, the Right Hon. H. A. L. Fisher gave in Cambridge a convincing address as to the necessity of keeping up educational and academic work with a view to the requirements of the future. Any even slight account of what Newnham students of past days did during the War would seem to be out of place here in that they did it as individuals, not as a College.[16] Collectively, however, they furnished, along with Girton, a hospital unit which did excellent work in Belgium, France and Serbia, and later in Salonika. This unit was organized under Scottish management by the Union of Suffrage Societies, but there was, of course, no political aim in its operations. [Footnote 16: A list of the various war work of Newnham students in 1914-19 is in process of preparation.] Past students of Newnham were engaged in War Hospitals in many places. At the same time some of the most competent Newnham mathematicians were employed in making calculations to assist in the construction of aeroplanes. A multitude undertook work in helping soldiers' families, providing necessaries for hospitals, and housing refugees; while others went in companies to gather in fruit and do other work on the land. In London so many were engaged in government offices that a past student in London in the summer of 1917, meeting College friends at every turn, would salute each fresh face with: "What department are you in?" Many took temporary posts in Universities and boys' schools. Those who remained in Cambridge had much to do in teaching English to Belgians, Serbians and other refugees, and in visiting wounded soldiers in the First Eastern and other Hospitals. The result of all this activity along unexpectedly opened lines cannot yet be estimated. Certainly proof was given of the efficiency of educated women in carrying on work that had never been open to them before. In some regions (_e.g._ that of police work) it has been agreed upon that even in normal times it is highly desirable that some women should be employed. The issue must be awaited in patience. It would, of course, be unworthy of the College to suppose that in their activities these women were moved by a wish to better their position and that of their College. Common humanity and genuine patriotism were at the bottom of their efforts. But doubtless the capacity and energy which they displayed helped indirectly towards the grant of the Suffrage. It is a very notable thing that when the Suffrage came, past students of Newnham and Girton of the qualified age, who had the "equivalent of a degree," were adjudged capable of using the parliamentary vote for the University of Cambridge. Parliament was, however, not so liberal as Dublin had been, as it did not recognise as "equivalent" the Tripos Certificates given before the Graces of 1881. One more change awaited the College at the end of the last academic year, in the retirement of the Principal, Miss Katharine Stephen, a loss much deplored, though Miss Stephen retains her seat on the Council. Her devotion to the work she had undertaken, and the ability with which she discharged it need no eulogies here. Happily, her place has been filled by the niece and biographer of the First Principal. Miss B. A. Clough has not only spent many years within the College precincts and watched its continuous progress, with occasional drawbacks, from comparatively early days; she has also been intimately associated with its pioneers and has acquired an unrivalled knowledge of the aspirations and the needs of student life. As, in old times, the rule of a Foundress Abbess seemed sometimes to be best carried on by a niece who had lived much in her environment, so we may hope good things in future from the fact that our Principal is in more than name the honoured successor of Anne Jemima Clough. [Illustration: MISS B. A. CLOUGH.] As these chapters were being written, the struggle was again begun for membership in the University of Cambridge, and--as we know only too well--the result was a failure, though not so crushing a failure as the attempt in 1897 when the demands were far more modest. It is not desirable to dwell on this event, but we hope we may accept the assurance of many friends that it cannot be long before we obtain what we are asking. Meanwhile we may console ourselves by thinking that the Women's Colleges have earned the respect even of opponents, and that there is no probability of their being deprived of the privileges which they still enjoy. It would be unwise to pretend indifference to our defeat. Yet we have full reason to celebrate our Jubilee in joy and hope. For, after all, the treasure to seek which our pioneers came to Cambridge fifty years ago, is in our possession and likely to remain with us permanently. That treasure is Education: the opportunity of learning from the best teachers; of co-operation with like-minded learners; the opening up of opportunities of learning more of nature and of man; fitness for doing whatever tasks the future may offer to those who seek, like our first benefactors, a life of active and intelligent service. That was their ideal and it may well continue to be ours. INDEX Adams, Mrs., 13. Adams, Miss A. M. (Mrs. Corrie Grant), 67, 69. Albert Victor, Prince, Duke of Clarence, 64. Aldis, Mrs., of Newcastle, 46. Alexandra, Princess of Wales (Queen Alexandra), 64. Archer-Hind, Mr. R. D., 24. Armitage, Mrs. E. (_née_ Bulley), 25. Associates of Newnham College, 91. Association for Promoting the Higher Education of Women in Cambridge, founded, 13; amalgamated with Newnham Hall Company, 33. Balfour, Miss Alice, 38. Balfour, Rt. Hon. A. J., 118. Balfour, Prof. Francis Maitland (_see_ Laboratories: biological), 38. Bateson, Mrs. Anna, 13, 14, 24. Bateson, Miss Mary, 93 _seq._ Bateson, Dr. William, 95, 102. Bathurst, Hon. Selina, 64, 93. Bedford College, London, 6. Birmingham University, 46. Bonney, Rev. Dr. T. G., 13. Boreham, Mrs., gives telescope to Newnham, 126. Bristol University, 46. Brough, Mrs. (_née_ Lloyd), 69. Browne, Bishop G. F., Sec. to Syndicate for local lectures, etc., 11, 47. Bryce, Lord, on North of England Council, 9; first Sidgwick Memorial Lecture, 108. Bulley, Miss Amy (Mrs. Brooke), 25. Bursar, title of, 118. Butler, Canon Geo., 9. Butler, Mrs. Josephine, 9. Butler, Rev. Dr. H. M., Master of Trinity, 102, 103. Campbell-Bannerman, Sir Henry, 97. Cayley, Professor A., 14, 47. Champneys, Mr. Basil, 28, 87. Chapel, why none in Newnham College, 60 _seq._ Charter of 1917, 115 _seq._ Clay, Mr. C. J., lends room for first lectures to women in Cambridge, 14. Clough, Miss Anne Jemima, starts Newnham, 2; early education and experience, 5; helps in work of Northern Council, 13; comes to Cambridge, 18; her character and ideas, 22 _seq._; removes into Merton Hall, 26; into Bateman Street, 28; into Newnham Hall, 28; chaperones to lectures, 40; life in Newnham, 58, 59, 60, 64, 68 _seq._; success of her policy, 55, 76; last illness and death, 81; funeral service in King's College Chapel, 81; Dr. Ryle's sermon, 82; portraits, 78; debt of Newnham to her, 83. Clough, Miss B. A., Fourth Principal of the College, 80, 138. Clough Hall, Newnham College, 57, 64. Club, the Newnham College, 67, 118. College Hall (dining-hall), 63. Combination Room, 85, 89. Constitution of the College revised, 114. Corfe, Miss K., 29. Creak, Miss Edith, 25. Creighton, Prof. M. (afterwards Bishop of Peterboro' and later of London), 96. Davies, Miss Emily, her aims, 15 _seq._; Head of College at Hitchin and Girton, 16; working with Newnham for titles of degrees, 106. Debating Society, 123 _seq._ Debating Society, Political, 124 _seq._ Degrees, titles of, movement for, 100; defeated, 105. Discipline, 132. Dublin University (_see_ Trinity College). Edward, Prince of Wales (King Edward VII.), 64. Elementary Education, Newnham's interest in, 69 _seq._ Elles, Miss G. L., 94. Ewart, Miss M. A., 28. Extension Students, beginnings in Newnham, 71 _seq._ Fawcett, Prof. Henry, 12, 13. Fawcett, Mrs. Millicent Garrett, 12, 13, 76. Fawcett, Miss Philippa, 26, 76 _seq._ Fellow, changes in meaning of term, 116 _seq._ Fisher, Rt. Hon. H. A. L., 136. Fountain in memory of Henry Sidgwick, 110. Freund, Miss Ida, 38, 121 _seq._ Games and recreation, 128 _seq._ Gates, Memorial, 86, 87. Girton College, 16, 46, 48, 51. Gladstone, Miss Helen, 36 _seq._, 65, 66; retirement, 98. Governing body, 92, 117. Graces admitting women to Tripos examinations, 48 _seq._ Greenwood, Miss Marion (Mrs. Bidder), 38. Gruner, Miss Alice, 74 _seq._ Harrison, Miss J. E., 29, 94. Hitchin, College at, 16. Hobson, Dr. E. W., 77. Hudson, Prof. W. H. H., 24. Hughes, Miss E. P., 69, 76. Inter-collegiate lectures opened to women, 15, 40 _seq._ Jackson, Prof. H., 47. Kennedy, Rev. Prof. B. H., 47. Kennedy, Miss Marion G., 24, 27; Studentship in memory of, 64, 92; appeal to the University, 103 _seq._; portrait, 79. Kennedy Buildings, 99. Keynes, Dr. J. N., Sec. to Cambridge Local Examinations syndicate, 11. Kitchen, 63. Laboratories: biological, 38; chemical, 37. Larner, Miss F., 25. Lee, Miss Jane, 65. Library in the Old Hall, 38 _seq._; in New Hall, 89 _seq._ Little Go--_see_ Previous Examinations. Local Examinations, 7, 9 _seq._, 11. Local Lectures in Cambridge, 12. London University admits women to degrees, 44 _seq._ Macmillan, Miss O. (Mrs. MacLehose), 67. Maitland, Prof. F. W., 97. Manchester University, 46. Markby, Mr., 13. Marshall, Prof. A., 14, 24. Marshall, Mrs. A. (_née_ Paley), 19, 29, 74. Maurice, Rev. Prof. F. D., 6. Mayor, Rev. Prof. J. E. B., 14, 47. Mays (Inter-collegiate Examinations), 42. Merton Hall, 26. Mill, John Stuart, a benefactor to women's education, 3. Morant, Sir R. L., Educational Minister in Siam, 80. More, Mrs. Hannah, advocates educational reform, 5. Maria Grey Training College, 75. Myers, F. W. H., on Northern Council, 9. Newnham College, its beginnings, 1 _seq._; built, 28; Miss Clough and students move into it, situation, early life, 31 _seq._; Articles of Association, 33; Growth of buildings, 35 _seq._ Newnham Hall Company formed, 27; Amalgamation of Company with Association, 33. Newnham Letter, 67. North Hall, 35, 37; _see also_ Sidgwick Hall. North of England Council for Improving the Education of Women, 8. Ogle, Miss Amy (Mrs. Koppel), 29. Old Hall, 39, 65; _see also_ South Hall. Paues, Miss Anna, 95. Peile, Mrs. Annette, starts correspondence scheme, portrait in Peile Hall, 11, 109. Peile, Dr. John, Master of Christ's College, 13, 14, 47, 109. Peile Hall, 63, 108 _seq._ Pensions to superannuated members of Staff, 118. Pfeiffer, Mr. and Mrs., 85. Pfeiffer Building, 37, 85. Previous Examination (Little Go), 10, 17, 25, 47 _seq._ Queen's College, Harley Street, 6. Rayleigh, Lord, 118. Red House, the, 71. Reid, Prof. J. S., 40. Roll of the College, 118. Ryle, Bishop H. E., 82. Saunders, Miss E. R., 38, 95. Schools, for girls formed, 6 _seq._ Schools Inquiry Commission, 7. Scott, Miss C. A., of Girton, 44. Sellers, Miss Maud, 95. Senior Student, 133. Settlement, University, in Southwark, 73 _seq._ Sewell, Miss M. A., 75. Sharpe, Miss Julia, 67. Sharpley, Miss E. M., Registrar, 118. Sharpley, Miss M. M., 78. Sidgwick, Arthur, collaborates in Life of Henry Sidgwick, 106. Sidgwick, Prof. Henry, connection with Newnham, 2; on Association, 14; finds a house for Students, 18; his character and influence, 20 _seq._, 30, 35, 55; in Principal's rooms in Newnham, 84; illness and death, 106-7; Lectureship founded in his memory, 108, 127. Sidgwick, Mrs. Henry (_née_ E. M. Balfour), 21; becomes Vice-Principal, 36, 55; Principal, 84; life in Newnham, 87 _seq._; portrait, 79; writes life of Prof. Sidgwick, 109; retires from Principalship, 113; President of Council, 113. Sidgwick Avenue, 86. Sidgwick Hall, 39, 65, 99; _see also_ Old Hall. Skeat, Rev. Prof. W. W., 14. Smith, Miss E. M. (Mrs. Bartlett), 95. Smith, Sydney, a friend to women's education, 4. Society of London Schoolmistresses, 8. Societies of students, 66, 123 _seq._ South Hall, 35, 38, 57; _see also_ Old Hall. Stephen, Miss Katharine, 70, 79; Vice-Principal, 99; Principal, 113; retirement, 138. Stephen, Sir Leslie, lectures on literature, 99. Stoney, Miss E. A., 127. Students' rooms, changes in, 58 _seq._ Suffrage, Women's, 3 _seq._, 131 _seq._, 138. Syndicate (Cambridge) for Local Lectures and Examinations, 11. Temperley, Mrs. (_née_ Bradford), 95. Thompson, Mr. and Mrs. Yates, 89. Training College (Cambridge), 76. Trinity College, Dublin, grants degrees to qualified Cambridge women for a few years, 54, 111, 112. Tripos Examinations--_see_ Graces. Trotter, Rev. Coutts, 24, 47, 90. Tutor, change of term, 118. University Association of Women Teachers started by Miss A. J. Clough, 68. University Library, women students admitted into, 41. Venn, Dr. J., 14. Visitor of the College, 118. War work done by Newnham students, 137. Winkworth, Mr. Stephen, 28, 58. Winkworth, Mrs. Stephen, 28, 90. Working men, school for, 69. Young Men's Christian Association, lecture rooms in, 39. GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. LTD. 
57059	----	+-------------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's note: | | | |Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | | | +-------------------------------------------------+ A DOMINIE DISMISSED WHAT THIS BOOK IS ABOUT. In consequence of the Dominie's go-as-you-please methods of educating village children, the inevitable happens--he is dismissed, giving place to an approved disciplinarian. The unhappy Dominie, forced to leave his bairns, seeks to enlist--but the doctor discovers that his lungs are affected, and he is ordered an open-air life. He returns as a cattleman to the village where he has previously been a schoolmaster. Incidentally, he watches the effect of his successor's teaching, the triumph of his own methods and the discomfiture of his rival at the hands of the children, in whom the Dominie cultivated personality and the rights of bairns. _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ A DOMINIE ABROAD 7s. 6d. net. A DOMINIE'S LOG 2s. 6d. net. A DOMINIE IN DOUBT 2s. 6d. net. THE BOOMING OF BUNKIE 2s. 6d. net. CARROTY BROON 2s. 6d. net. A DOMINIE DISMISSED BY A. S. NEILL HERBERT JENKINS LIMITED YORK STREET ST. JAMES'S S.W.1. [Illustration: A HERBERT JENKINS' BOOK] _Printed in Great Britain at the Athenæum Printing Works, Redhill_ TO THE ORIGINAL OF MARGARET A DOMINIE DISMISSED I. I have packed all my belongings. My trunk and two big boxes of books stand in the middle of a floor littered with papers and straw. I had my typewriter carefully packed too, but I took it from out its wrappings, and I sit amidst the ruins of my room with my wee machine before me. It is one of those little folding ones weighing about six pounds. The London train goes at seven, and it is half-past five now. It was just ten minutes ago that I suddenly resolved to keep a diary ... only a dominie can keep a Log, and I am a dominie no longer. I hear Janet Brown's voice outside. She is singing "Keep the Home Fires Burning" ... and she was in tears this afternoon. The limmer ought to be at home weeping her dominie's departure. Yet ... what is Janet doing at my window? Her home is a good two miles along the road. I wonder if she has come to see me off. Yes, she has; I hear her cry to Ellen Smith: "He's packit, Ellen, and Aw hear him addressin' the labels on his typewriter." The besom! Well, well, children have short memories. When Macdonald enters the room on Monday morning they will forget all about me. I know Macdonald. He is a decent sort to meet in a house, but in school he is a stern one. His chief drawback is his lack of humour. I could swear that he will whack Jim Jackson for impudence before he is half an hour in the school. I met Jim one night last week wheeling a box up from the station. "I say, boy," I called with a pronounced Piccadilly Johnny accent, "heah, boy! Can you direct me to the--er--village post-office?" He scratched his head and looked round him dubiously. "Blowed if Aw ken," he said at last. "Aw'm a stranger here." Yes, Macdonald will whack him. I sent Jim out yesterday to measure the rainfall (there had been a fortnight's drought) and he went out to the playground. In ten minutes he returned looking puzzled. He came to my desk and lifted an Algebra book, then he went to his seat and seemed to sweat over some huge calculation. At length he came to me and announced that the rainfall was ·3578994 of an inch. I went out to the playground ... he had watered it with the watering-can. "There are no flies on you, my lad," I said. "No, sir," he smiled, "the flies don't come out in the rain." Yes, Macdonald is sure to whack him. I shall miss Jim. I shall miss them all ... but Jim most of all. What about Janet? And Gladys? And Ellen? And Jean?... Well, then, I'll miss Jim most of all the boys. I tried to avoid being melodramatic to-day. It has been a queer day, an expectant day. They followed me with their eyes all day; if an inspector had arrived I swear that he would have put me down as a good disciplinarian. I never got so much attention from my bairns in my life. I blew the "Fall in!" for the last time at the three o'clock interval. Janet and Ellen were late. When they arrived they carried a wee parcel each. They came forward to my desk and laid their parcels before me. "A present from your scholars," said Janet awkwardly. I slowly took off the tissue paper and held up a bonny pipe and a crocodile tobacco-pouch. I didn't feel like speaking, so I took out my old pouch and emptied its contents into the new one; then I filled the new pipe and placed it between my teeth. A wee lassie giggled, but the others looked on in painful silence. I cleared my throat to speak, but the words refused to come ... so I lit the pipe. "That's better," I said with forced cheerfulness, and I puffed away for a little. "Well, bairns," I began, "I am----" Then Barbara Watson began to weep. I frowned at Barbara; then I blew my nose. Confound Barbara! "Bairns," I began again, "I am going away now." Janet's eyes began to look dim, and I had to frown at her very hard; then I had to turn my frown on Jean ... and Janet, the besom, took advantage of my divided attention. I blew my nose again; then I coughed just to show that I really did have a cold. "I don't suppose any of you understand why I am going away, but I'll try to tell you. I have been dismissed by your fathers and mothers. I haven't been a good teacher, they say; I have allowed you too much freedom. I have taken you out sketching and fishing and playing; I have let you read what you liked, let you do what you liked. I haven't taught you enough. How many of you know the capital of Bolivia? You see, not one of you knows." "Please, sir, what is it?" asked Jim Jackson. "I don't know myself, Jim." My pipe had gone out and I lit it again. "Bairns, I don't want to leave you all; you are mine, you know, and the school is ours. You and I made the gardens and rockeries; we dug the pond and we caught the trout and minnows and planted the water-plants. We built the pigeon-loft and the rabbit-hutch. We fed our pets together. We----" I don't know what happened after that. I took out my handkerchief, but not to blow my nose. "The bugle," I managed to say, and someone shoved it into my hand. Then I played "There's No Parade To-day," but I don't think I played it very well. Only a few went outside; most of them sat and looked at me. "I must get Jim to save the situation," I said to myself, and I shouted his name. "P-please, sir," lisped Maggie Clark, "Jim's standin' oot in the porch." "Tell him to come in," I commanded. Maggie went out; then she returned slowly. "P-please, sir, he's standin' greetin' and he winna come." "Damnation!" I cried, and I bustled them from the room. A quarter-past six! It's time Jim came for these boxes. * * * I am back in my old rooms in a small street off Hammersmith Broadway. My landlady, Mrs. Lewis, is a lady of delightful garrulity, and her comments on things to-day have served to cheer me up. She is intensely interested in the fact that I have come from Scotland, and anxious to give me all the news of events that have happened during my sojourn in the wilds. "Did you 'ear much abaht the war in Scotland?" she said. I looked my surprise. "War! What war?" Then she explained that Britain and France and Russia and the Allies were fighting against Germany. "Now that I come to think of it," I said reflectively, "I _did_ see a lot of khaki about to-day." "Down't you get the pypers in Scotland?" she asked. "Thousands of them, Mrs. Lewis; why, every Scot plays the pipes." "I mean the pypers, not the pypers," she explained. "Oh, I see! We do get a few; English travellers leave them in the trains, you know." She thought for a little. "It must be nice livin' in a plyce w'ere everyone knows everyone else. My sister Sally's married to a pynter in Dundee, Peter Macnab; do you know 'im?" I explained that Peter and I were almost bosom friends. Then she asked me whether I knew what his wage was. I explained that I did not know. She then told me how much he gave Sally to keep house with, and I began to regret my temerity in claiming a close acquaintance with the erring Peter. Mrs. Lewis at once began to recount the family history of the Macnabs, and I blushed for the company I kept. I decided to disown Peter. "Perhaps he'll behave better now that he has gone to Glasgow," I remarked. "But he ain't gone to Glasgow!" she exclaimed. I looked thoughtful. "Ah!" I cried, "I've been thinking of the other Peter Macnab, the painter in Lochee." "Sally's 'usband lives in a plyce called Magdalen Green." "Ah! I understand now, Mrs. Lewis. I've met that one too; you're quite right about his character." If I ever write a book of aphorisms I shall certainly include this one: Never claim an acquaintance with a lady's relations by marriage. I wandered along Fleet Street to-day, the most fascinating street in London ... and the most disappointing. To understand Fleet Street you must walk along the Strand at midday. The Londoner is the most childish creature on earth. If a workman opens a drain cap the traffic is held up by the crowds who push forward to glimpse the pipes below. If a black man walks along the Strand half a hundred people will follow him on the off chance that he may be Jack Johnson. London is the most provincial place in Britain. I have eaten cookies in Princes Street in Edinburgh, and I have eaten buns in Piccadilly. The London audience was the greater. Audience! the word derives from the Latin _audio_: I hear. That won't do to describe my eating; spectators is the word. I wandered about all day, and the interests of the streets kept my thoughts away from that little station in the north. Now it is evening, and my thoughts are free to wander. A few of them would see Macdonald arrive to-day, and I think that in wondering at him they will have forgotten me. Children live for the hour; their griefs are as ephemeral as their joys, and the ephemeralism of their emotion is as wonderful as its intensity. A boy will bury his brother in the afternoon, and scream at Charlie Chaplin in the evening. He will forget Charlie again, though, when he lies alone in the big double bed at night. Jim and Janet and Jean and the rest have loved me well, but I have no illusions about their love. Children are painfully docile. In two weeks they will accept Macdonald's iron rule without question, just as they accepted my absence of rule without question. Yet I wonder ...! Perhaps the love of freedom that I gave them will make them critical now. I know that they gradually developed a keen sense of justice. It was just a fortnight ago that Peter Shaw was reported to me as a slayer of young birds. I formed a jury with Jim Jackson as foreman, and they called for witnesses. "Gentlemen of the jury, your verdict?" I said. Jim stood up. "Accused is acquitted ... only one witness!" I used to see them weigh my actions critically, and I had to be very particular not to show any sign of favouritism--a difficult task, for a dominie is bound to like some bairns better than others. Will they apply this method to Macdonald? I rather think he will beat it out of them. He is the type of dominie that stands for Authority with the capital A. His whole bearing shouts: "I am the Law. What I say is right and not to be questioned." My poor bairns! II. I went to Richmond to-day, hired a skiff, and rowed up to Teddington. I tied the painter to a tuft of grass on the bank and lazed in the sunshine. For a time I watched the boats go by, and I smiled at the windmill rowing of a boatload of young Italians. Then a gilded youth went by feathering beautifully ... and I smiled again, for the Italians seemed to be getting ever so much more fun out of their rowing than this artist got. By and by the passers-by wearied me, and I thought of my village up north. The kirk would be in. Macdonald would probably be there, and the bairns would be glancing at him sidelong, while I, the failure, lay in a boat among strangers. I began to indulge in the luxury of self-pity; feeling oneself a martyr is not altogether an unpleasant sensation. I turned my face to the bank and thought of what had taken place. The villagers accused me of wasting their children's time, but when I asked them what they would have me make their children do they were unable to answer clearly. "Goad!" said Peter Steel the roadman, "a laddie needs to ken hoo to read and write and add up a bit sum." "Just so," I said. "When you go home to-night just try to help your Jim with his algebra, will you? I'll give you five pounds if you can beat him at arithmetic." "Aw'm no sayin' that he doesna ken his work," he protested, "but Aw want to ken what's the use o' a' this waste o' time pluckin' flowers and drawin' hooses. You just let the bairns play themsells." "That's what childhood is for," I explained, "for playing and playing again. In most schools the children work until they tire, and then they play. My system is the reverse; they play until they are tired of play and then they work ... ask for work." I know that the villagers will never understand what I was trying to do. My neighbour, Lawson of Rinsley School, had a glimmering of my ideal. "I see your point," he said, "but the fault of the system is this: you are not preparing these children to meet the difficulties of life. In your school they choose their pet subjects, but in a factory or an office they've got to do work that they may hate. I say that your kids will fail." "You aren't teaching them character," he added. Lawson's criticism has made me think hard. I grant that I am not an efficient producer of wage-slaves. The first attribute of a slave is submission; he must never question. Macdonald is the true wage-slave producer. He sets up authority to destroy criticism, and the children naturally accept their later slavery without question. Macdonald is the ideal teacher for the reactionists and the profiteers. Will my bairns shirk the difficulties of life? There is Dan MacInch. He shirked algebra; he told me frankly that he didn't like it. I said nothing, and I allowed him to read while the others were working algebraical problems. In less than a week he came to me. "Please, sir, give me some algebra for home," he said, and in three weeks he was as good as any of them. I hold that freedom does not encourage the shirking of difficulties. I found that my bairns loved them. Some of them delighted in making them. Jim Jackson would invent the most formidable sums and spend hours trying to solve them. Of course there were aversions. Jim hated singing and grammar. Why should I force him to take an interest in them? No one forces me to take an interest in card-playing ... my pet aversion, or in horse-racing. Freedom allows a child to develop its own personality. If Jim Jackson, after being with me for two years, goes into an office and shirks all unpleasant duties, I hold that Jim is naturally devoid of grit. I allowed him to develop his own personality and if he fails in life his personality is manifestly weak. If Macdonald can turn out a better worker than I can ... and I deny that there is any evidence that he can ... I contend that he has done so at the expense of a boy's individuality. He has forced something from without on the boy. That's not education. The word derives from the Latin "to lead forth." Macdonald would have made Jim Jackson a warped youth; he would have Macdonaldised him. I took the other way. I said to myself: "This chap has something bright in him. What is it?" I offered him freedom and he showed me what he was--a good-natured clever laddie with a delightful sense of the comic. I think that his line is humour; more than once have I told him that he has the makings of a great comedian in him. I said this to Lawson and he scoffed. "Good Lord!" he cried, "what a mission to have in life!" "Better an excellent Little Tich," I replied, "than an average coal-heaver. To amuse humanity is a great mission, Lawson." There was wee Doris Slater, the daughter of people who lived in a caravan. That child moved like a goddess. I think that if Pavlova saw Doris she would beg her mother to allow the child to become a dancer. Macdonald would try to make Doris a typist, I fancy, and pride himself on the fact that he had improved her social position. I would have Doris a dancer, for she looks like being fit to become a very great artist. Music moves her to unconscious ecstatic grace in movement. I want education to guide a child into finding out what best it can do. At present our schools provide for the average child ... and heaven only knows how many geniuses have been destroyed by stupid coercion. I want education to set out deliberately to catch genius in the bud. And what discovers genius cannot be bad for the children who have no genius. I want education to produce the best that is in a child. That is the only way to improve the world. The naked truth is that we grown-ups have failed to make the world better than the gigantic slum it is, and when we pretend to know how a child should be brought up we are being merely fatuous. We must hand on what we have learned to the children, but we must do it without comment. We must not say: "This is right," because we don't know what is right: we must not say: "This is wrong," because we don't know what is wrong. The most we should do is to tell a child our experience. When I caught my boys smoking I did not say: "This is wrong"; I merely said: "Doctors say that cigarettes are bad for a boy's health. They are the specialists in health; you and I don't know anything about it." When I tell a boy that a light should not be taken near to petrol I am handing on bitter experience of my own, but when I say that he must know the chief dates of history by Monday morning I am doing an absolutely defenceless thing, for no one can prove by experience that a knowledge of dates is a good thing. Macdonald would say: "Quite so, but could you prove that it is a bad thing?" I would reply that I could prove it is a senseless thing; moreover education should not aim at giving children things that do not do them harm. I don't suppose that it would do me any harm to learn up the proper names in the Bible beginning with Adam. The point is would it do me any good? I once had a discussion with Macdonald on Socialism. He accused me of attempting to force humanity to be of a pattern. "Socialism kills individualism," he said. I smile to think that the Conservative Macdonald is trying to mould children to a pattern, while I, a Socialist, insist on each child's being allowed to develop its own separate individuality. The Socialist would appear to be the keenest individualist in the world, for it is from the heretical section of society that the demand for freedom in education is coming. * * * To-day I visited Watterson, an old college friend of mine. He is now in Harley Street, and is fast becoming famous as a specialist in nervous disorders. "Your nerves are all to pot," he said; "what have you been doing with yourself?" I told him my recent history. "But, Good Lord!" he cried, "how did you manage to find any worry in a village?" I tried to explain. Living in a village narrows one; the outside world is gradually forgotten, and the opinions of ignoramuses gradually come to matter. I found myself beginning to worry over the adverse criticisms of villagers who could not read nor write. "You've got neurasthenia," said Watterson; "what you want to do is to settle down on a farm for six months; live in the open air and do nothing strenuous. Don't try to think, and for God's sake don't worry. Read _John Bull_ and _The Pink 'Un_, and chuck all the weekly intellectual reviews. And ... most important of all, fall in love with a rosy-cheeked daughter of the soil." I have written to Frank Thomson, the farmer of Eagleshowe, asking if he still wants a cattleman. His last man was conscripted, and if the job is still vacant Frank will give it to me. To-night I sit chuckling. The idea of a dismissed dominie's returning to a village to feed cattle is rich. The village will extract much amusement out of it. I imagine Peter Mitchell looking over the dyke and crying: "Weel, dominie, and how is the experiment in eddication gettin' on?" * * * I sit at a bright peat fire in Frank Thomson's bothy. I arrived at three o'clock and no bairn was about the station. I was glad, for I did not want to meet anyone. There was a queer feeling of shame in returning; I feared to meet anyone's glance. To return a few days after an affecting farewell is the last word in anticlimax; it is so horribly undramatic a thing to do. I wish that Lazarus had kept a diary after his resurrection; I fancy that quite a few people resented his return. I cannot write more to-night; I am tired out. The most tiring thing in the world is to rise in one place and go to bed in another. * * * I was going out to fetch the cows this afternoon when I espied three girls in white pinafores at the top of the field. They waved their hands and ran down to meet me. "We'll help you to take in the cows," cried Janet. They accepted my return without even the slightest curiosity, and I was glad. "Righto!" I said, "but wait a bit. I want to sketch the farm first." I sat down on the bank and the three settled themselves round me. "Please, sir," said Ellen, "Mr. Macdonald's a nice man." I did not want to discuss Macdonald with my bairns, and I sketched in silence. I think they forgot all about my presence after that; in the old days they used to talk to each other as if I weren't there. Once they discussed likely sweethearts in the village for me, and I am sure they forgot that I was there. "He's nice to the lassies, Ellen," said Jean, "but not to the boys." "What did he strap Jim Jackson for?" asked Ellen. "Aw dinna ken," said Janet, "but he was needin' the strap. Jim Jackson's a cheeky wee thing." "Eh!" said Jean, "haven't we to sit awful quiet, Jan?" "Weel," said Janet nodding her head sagely, "and so ye shud sit quiet in the schule. Ye'll no be learning yer lessons if ye speak." I went on sketching. Janet is already being Macdonaldised. She accepts his authority without question. Ellen and Jean are critical as yet, but in a week both will have adapted themselves to the machine. They wandered off to pluck flowers. I finished my sketch and hailed them. Then they came to me and took my arms and we took the cows home. In the evening I was mucking out the byre when Jim Jackson came for his milk. "Good morrow, sir," I called from the byre door, "you didn't happen to see Mr. Thomson's elephant as you came up the road?" He looked interested. "Elephant?" he asked brightly. "Yes. The white one; strayed away this afternoon from the chicken coop. Have you seen it?" "No," he said, "not the white one, but the grey one and the tiger are sitting at the dyke-side down at the second gate. I gave the tiger a turnip when I passed it." "Good!" I cried, "always be kind to animals." "Yes, sir," he said, and he glanced down to the second gate. I think that he wouldn't have been very much surprised if he had seen a tiger there. Jim has the power of make-believe developed strongly. A few weeks ago he found a dead sparrow in the playground. He came to me and asked for a coffin. I gave him a match-box and he lined the class up in twos and led them with bared heads towards the grave he had dug. The four foremost boys carried the coffin shoulder high. Jim laid ropes over the grave and the coffin was lowered reverently. A boy was just about to fill in the grave when Jim cried: "Hold on!" Then he took a handful of earth and sprinkled it over the coffin saying: "Dust to dust, and ashes to ashes." I blew the Last Post over the grave afterwards. Jim was as serious as could be; for the moment he seemed to think that he was burying his brother. When he had got his milk he came to the byre door and watched me work for a little. "Please, sir," he asked, "do you like that better than teaching?" I told him that I didn't. "I wish Mester Macdonald wud be a cattleman," he said fervently. "Some folk might say that he is," I remarked. "He gave me my licks the first mornin' he cam," he continued. "We got an essay 'How I spent my holidays,' and I said that I was in France and helped the Crown Prince to loot places. We quarrelled about how much we should get each and I shot him. The Mester gave me three scuds for tellin' lies." "He would," I said grimly. "But you used to tell me to tell lies!" he cried. "I did, Jim. And you see the result.... I muck out a byre." When Jim went away I came to a sudden resolution: I would fight for Jim. I'll do all in my power to help the lad to preserve his own personality.... Frank Thomson is his uncle and I'll try to get Jim to see me often. Professional etiquette! Professional etiquette be damned! I'm not in the profession now anyhow, and all the professional etiquette in the world is as nothing to the saving of a soul. * * * I find that I enjoy my food now. Formerly I looked on a meal as an appetiser for a smoke; now I look on a meal as an event. I feel healthier than I ever did in my life before. The land dulls one, however. The old cry "Back to the Land" means "Back to Elemental Mental Stagnation." I spent this forenoon cutting turnips, and I know that I thought of nothing all the time. I have a theory that great thoughts are the product of disease. Possibly this is only another way of saying that genius is allied to madness. Shelley was a physical weakling; Ibsen and Nietzsche went mad. Yes, geniuses are diseased folk, but the converse does not hold. Macdonald came up to see me to-night; he wanted to ask a few things about the school. We lay on a bank and lit our pipes. "I can't find your 'Record of Work,'" he said. "I never kept one." "But ... the Code demands one!" "I know ... but I didn't keep one. My record of work is my pupils in after life." "Yes," he said drily, "I know all about that, but you are supposed to keep a record that will show an inspector what you are doing to produce this after life record." "Macdonald," I said impatiently, "if you mean to tell me that any man can tell what I am doing to prepare children for after life by squinting at a crowd of entries of the Took-the-History-of-the-Great-Rebellion-this-week order ... well, I don't understand your attitude to life in general." "That's all very well," he protested, "but we aren't there to make the rules; we're paid servants who have to administer the laws of wiser men." "How do you know that they are wiser?" I asked. "They're wiser than I am anyway," he said with a smile. "I'm not so sure of it, Macdonald; they are more unscrupulous than you are. They know what they want, definitely and finally; they want efficient wage-slaves." "That's merely a Socialistic cry." "It may be, but it's true. Who rule us? A definite governing class of trained aristocrats." "H'm! I shouldn't call Lloyd George and that Labour man Hodge trained aristocrats." "They aren't born aristocrats I admit, but they are aristocratised democrats. They've adapted themselves to the aristocratic tradition. They are on the side of aristocracy; you won't find them alienating the good opinion of the moneyed classes. We are governed from above; do you admit that?" "In the main ... yes," he said grudgingly. "Very good! Well, then, our rulers believe in two kinds of education. They send their sons to the public schools where boys are trained to be governors, but they send the rest of the sons of the community to State schools where they are trained to be disciplined and content with their lot." "That's nonsense." "Possibly, but I suppose you know that the members of the House of Lords and the Cabinet don't send their sons to L.C.C. schools." "You are simply preaching class war," he said. "I am. There is a class war--there has been for generations--but it is a one-sided war." "It is," said Macdonald grimly. "The upper class took the offensive long ago, and it keeps it yet. Look at the squire down in the village. He won't ride in the same railway compartment with you or me; he won't sit beside us in the theatre ... why, he won't lie beside us in the kirkyard: he's got that railed-off corner for his family. I don't blame him; he has been educated up in his belief, just as you and I have been educated up in the belief that we are his inferiors. When I was down in the school I lectured the whole class one day because I saw a boy doff his cap to the squire and nod to his mother three seconds afterwards. "Don't you see that this village is a little British Empire? Here there are only two classes--the big house and the village ... the ruling class and the ruled. The school trains the ruled to be ruled, and the kirk takes up the training on the Seventh Day. The minister talks a lot of prosy platitudes about Faith and Love and Charity, but he never thinks of saying a thing that the squire might take umbrage at." I broke off and refilled my pipe. "How are you getting on?" I asked. "Well enough. The bairns are nice." "A little bit noisy," he added, "but, of course, I was prepared for that. I heard about your experiment months ago. By the way, what sort of a teacher is Miss Watson?" "Excellent," I replied. "How often did you examine her classes?" "I never examined her classes, not formally, but her bairns spoke to me, and I judged her work from their conversation." "I examined their work yesterday; her spelling is weak and her geography atrocious." "Shouldn't wonder," I said carelessly. "I never bothered about those things; I judged her work by what her bairns were, not by what they knew. They're a bright lot when you ask them to think out things." "No wonder they fired you out," he laughed; "you're impossible as a dominie, you know." I smiled. "How do you like Jim Jackson?" I asked suddenly. "Cheeky devil!" "He's clever," I said. "You may call it cleverness, but I have another name for it. He is a fellow that requires to be sat on." "And you'll sit on him?" "I certainly shall ... heavily too." I tried to show Macdonald that he was making a criminal blunder, but he got impatient. "I can't stand cheek," he kept saying, and I had to give up all hope of convincing him that I was right. Macdonald is essentially a stupid man. I don't say that merely because he disagrees with me; I say it because he refuses to think out his own attitude. He cries that Jim is cheeky, but he won't go into the other question as to whether humour is impudence. Had he argued that humour is a drawback in life I should have pitied his taste, but I should have admired his ability to make out a good case. III. I have spent a hard day forking hay along with Margaret Thomson. Margaret is twenty and bonny, but she is very, very shy. She attended my Evening class last winter, and she appears to be afraid to speak to me. I tried to get her to converse again and again to-day, but it was of no use. I think that she fears to make a mistake in grammar or to mispronounce a word. I hear her voice outside at the horse-trough. She is bantering old Peter Wilson, and talking thirteen to the dozen. Her laugh is a most delightful thing. I wonder did Touchstone like Audrey's laugh! The Thomsons are carrying out in farming the principles I set myself to carry out in education. They treat their beasts with the greatest kindness. There isn't a wild animal in the place. Spot the collie is a most lovable creature; the sheep are all tame, and the cows are quiet beasts; the bull has a bold eye, but he is as gentle as a lamb. The horses come to the kitchen door from the water-trough, and little Nancy Thomson feeds them with bread. Every member of the family comes into personal immediate contact with the animals, and the animals seem to love the family. There is no fear in this farmyard. Mrs. Thomson is a kind-hearted soul. She never goes down to the village unless to the kirk on Sunday. She works hard all day, but she is always cheerful. "I like to see them comin' in aboot," she says, and she seems to find the greatest pleasure in preparing the family's meals. On a Saturday bairns come up from the village, and she gives them "pieces" spread thick with fresh butter and strawberry jam. "I'm never happy unless there's a squad o' bairns roond me," she said to me to-day. Frank Thomson is what the village would call a funny sort o' a billie. His eyes are always twinkling, and he tries to see the funny side of life. He hasn't much humour, but he has a strong sense of fun, and he loves to chaff the youngsters. "Weel, Wullie," is his invariable greeting when his boy returns from school in the evening, "Weel, Wullie, and did ye get yer licks the day?" On a Saturday Frank always has a troop of girls hanging on to his coat tails, and he is always playing practical jokes on them--locking them in the stable or covering them with straw. "Goad!" he will cry, "ye're an awfu' pack o' tormentors; just wait er Aw tell the dominie aboot ye!" and they yell at him. Mrs. Thomson tells me that he is inordinately proud of having me for a cattleman, and at the cattle mart he boasts about having an M.A. as feeder. I took two stots into the mart yesterday, and when they entered the ring a wag cried: "Are they weel up in the Greek, think ye, Frank?" and the farmers roared. "Oh, aye," shouted Frank, "they're weel crammed up wi' a'thing that's guid!" I think that the Scotch Education Department should insist on every teacher's going farming every three years. Inside the profession you lose perspective. The educational papers are full of articles about geography and history and drawing, but teachers seldom show that they are looking beyond the mere curriculum. The training colleges supply the young teacher with what they call Mental Philosophy or Psychology, but it is quite possible for an honours graduate in mental philosophy to have no philosophy at all. The question for the teacher is: What am I aiming at? Macdonald is aiming at what he calls a bright show before the inspector. To be just to the man I admit that he is honestly trying to educate these bairns according to his lights. He wants to produce good scholars, but when I ask him what he considers the goal of humanity he is at sea. He tells me that education should not be made to produce little Socialists as I seemed to try to do. But I deny that I ever tried to make my bairns Socialists. I told them the elemental truth that a parasite is an enemy of society; I told them that the world was out of joint. And I gave them freedom to develop their personalities in the hope that, freed from discipline and fear and lies, they might become a better generation than mine has been. The Macdonalds of life have failed to produce thinking that is free; I merely say: Let the children have a say now; stop thrusting your stupid barbaric Authority down their little throats; let the bairns be free to breathe. Give up all the snobbish nonsense about manners and respect and servility you ram into the child; if he refuses to lift his hat to you, who the devil are you that you should coerce him into doing it? I think that some of the more important villagers were annoyed at the bairns' obvious lack of respect, or at least the semblance of respect. But they looked for faults. They told me of escapades after school hours, of complaints of bosses against boys who had been with me. I asked George Wilson, the mason, whether he would expand his criticism to include the minister. "Do you blame Mr. Gordon for every drunk and every theft in the village? He has been here for thirty years, and, on your reasoning, he has been a failure." "Aw dinna pay rates for keepin' up the kirk," he replied, "but I pay rates to keep up the schule, and Aw have a claim to creeticise the wye ye teach the bairns." I see now that I never had a chance against the enemy. They could point to what they called faults ... Johnnie didn't know his History, Lizzie did too much sketching, Peter wasn't deferential. I could point to nothing. I had abolished fear, I had made the school a place of joy, I had encouraged each child's natural bent ... and the village smiled scornfully and said: "We ken nae difference." I found myself worrying over the opinions of small men who are of no importance in the world of ideas; stupid fools led me into taking up an eternal position of defence. And I fumed inwardly, for I am not always a ready talker. But now I am able to smile at the men who baited me a few weeks ago. They don't count. In the great world beyond the hills there are people who take the large broad view of education, and some day education will really be a "leading forth" not a "putting in." * * * I met Macdonald to-night, and I asked him how things were doing. "I'm in the middle of prizes," he said wearily, "and if there's one thing I detest it's prizes." I began to think that I had misjudged Macdonald. "Excellent!" I cried, "we agree for once! What's your objection to prizes?" "They're such a confounded nuisance." "Granted," I said. "That's all I have against them. You never know how you are to distribute the things." "Why do you object to them?" he asked. I sat down on Wilkie's dyke and lit my pipe. "I object to them on principle, Macdonald. They're tips, that's what they are." "Tips?" "Yes. I give a porter tuppence for seeing my bicycle into the van; I give Mary Ritchie a book for beating the others at reading. I tip both." "I don't see it." "The porter shouldn't get a tip; his job is to look after luggage. Mary's job is to read to improve her mind." "But," said Macdonald, "life is full of rewards." "I know." Here Peter Mitchell strolled up. "We're talking about prizes," I explained. "Life is full of rewards of all kinds, but the only reward that matters is the joy in doing a thing well. If I write a poem or paint a picture I'm not writing or painting with one eye on royalties or the auction room. I sell my poem or picture in order to live ... in a decent civilisation I wouldn't require to sell it to live, but that's by the way. My point is that prizes are artificial rewards, just as strapping is an artificial punishment." "Goad!" said Peter Mitchell, "do ye mean to tell me that Aw wasna thinkin' o' the reward when I selt my powney last Saturday?" "Competition is a good thing," said Macdonald. "Look at running and sports and all that sort of thing." "I admit it," I said, "you like to beat your partner at golf. But my contention is that the prize at the end is vulgar; the joy is in being the best sprinter in the country. After all you don't glory in the fact that Simpson took seven at the tenth hole; your glory lies in the thought that you did it in three. "Prizes in school are not only vulgar: they are cruel. Take Ellen Smith. Ellen has always been a first-rate arithmetician; she has the talent. For the past four years she has carried off the first prize for arithmetic. Sarah Nelson is very good, but work as she likes she can't beat Ellen. Sarah becomes despondent every year at prize-giving time. Bairns aren't philosophical; they don't see that the vulgar little book they get isn't worth thinking about. The ignorant noodles who sit on School Boards (Peter Mitchell had moved on by this time) stand up at the school exhibition and talk much cant about prizes. 'Them that don't get them this year must just make a spurt and get them next year.' And the poor bairns imagine that a prize is the golden fruit of life." I notice that the men who are keenest on school prizes are firm believers in school punishments. And they are generally religious. Their god is a petty tyrant who rewards the good and punishes the wicked. They try to act up to the attitude of their god ... hence, I fancy the term "tin god." * * * I see that many eminent people are making speeches about "Education After the War." I can detect but little difference between their attitude and that of the commercial men who keep shouting "Capture Germany's Trade!" "Let us have more technical instruction," cries the educationist, "more discipline; let us beat Germany at her own game!" The commercial man chuckles. "Excellent!" he cries, "first-rate ... but of course we must have Protection also!" And the educationist and the commercial man will have their way. Education will aim frankly at turning out highly efficient wage-slaves. The New Education has commenced; its first act was to abolish freedom. Free speech is dead; a free press is merely a name; the workers were wheedled into giving up their freedom to sell their commodity labour to the highest bidder, while the profiteer retains his right to sell his goods at the highest price he can get. Every restriction on liberty is alleged to be necessary to win the war. The alarming feature of the present Prussianisation of Britain lies in the circumstance that the signing of peace will be but the beginning of a new war. If the plans of the Paris Economic Conference are carried out true education is interned for a century. Millions have lost their lives in the military war: millions will lose their souls in the trade war. Just as we have sullenly obeyed the dictates of the war government, we shall sullenly obey the dictates of the trade government. "We must win the trade war," our rulers will cry, and, if the profiteers say that men must work sixteen hours a day if we are to beat Germany, the Press and the Church and the School will persuade the public that the man who strikes for a fifteen hours day is a traitor to his country. Will anyone try to save education? The commercial men will use it to further their own plans; the educationists will unconsciously play into the profiteers' hands; the women ... only the other day the suffrage band was marching through the streets of London displaying a huge banner bearing the words "We Want Hughes." Hughes is the Premier of Australia, a Labour man dear to the hearts of all the capitalist newspapers. His one text is "Trade after the War." Who is there to save education? The teaching profession could save it, but teachers are merely servants. They will continue to argue about Compulsory Greek and, no doubt, Compulsory Russian will come up for discussion in the educational papers soon. The commercially-minded gentlemen of Westminster will draw up the new scheme of education, and the teachers will humbly adapt themselves to the new method. I don't think that anyone will save education. IV. I lay on a bank this afternoon smoking. Janet and Jean and Annie came along the road, and they sat down beside me. "I'm tired of the school," said Annie wearily; "Aw wish Aw was fourteen!" "What's wrong now?" I asked. "Oh, we never get any fun now, the new mester's always so strict, and we get an awful lot o' home lessons now." "Annie got the strap on Friday," explained Jean. "Mester Macdonald's braces broke Aw think, at least something broke when he was bending doon and he took an awful red face ... and he had to keep his hands in his pouches till night time to keep his breeks up." "Did Annie pull them down?" I asked. Jean tittered. "No, but she laughed and he gave her the strap." "Aye," cried Annie in delight, "and they nearly cam doon when he was strappin' me!" "Why do awkward incidents occur to dignity?" I said, more to myself than to the bairns, "my braces wouldn't break in fifty years of teaching." Then I laughed. Margaret Thomson came down the road on her way to Evening Service, and she reddened as she passed. "Eh!" laughed Janet, looking up into my face, "did ye see yon? Maggie blushed! Aw wudna wonder if she has a notion o' the Mester!" "How could she help it, Jan?" I said. "Why, you'll be hopelessly in love with me yourself in a couple of years, you besom!" She stared before her vacantly for a little. "Aw did have a notion o' you when ye cam first," she said slowly. I put my arm round her neck. "You dear kid!" I said. She smiled up in my face. "Ye had that bonny striped tie on then," she said artlessly. I pulled her hair. "Ye shud marry Maggie Tamson," she said after a pause. "Aye," added Jean, "and syne ye'll get the farm when her father dies. He's troubled wi' the rheumatics and he'll no live very long. And she wud be a gran worker too." "Dinna haver, Jean," said Annie scornfully, "the Mester will want a gran lady for his wife, one that can play the piano and have ham and egg to her breakfast ilka morning." "No extravagant wife like that for me!" I protested. "Aweel, an egg ilka day and ham and egg on Sundays onywye," compromised Annie. "An egg every second morning, Annie," I said firmly, "and ham and egg every second Sunday." "Ladies dinna mak good wives," said Janet. "Willie Macintosh along at Rinsley married a lassie that was a piano teacher, and she gets her breakfast in her bed and has a wumman to wash up. Aye, and she's ay dressed and oot after dinnertime. Aye, and she sends a' his collars to the laundry ... and he only wears a clean dicky on Sawbath." "Ah!" I said, "I'm glad you told me that, Janet; I won't risk marrying a lady. But tell me, Janet, how am I to know what sort of woman I am marrying?" "It's quite easy," she said slowly, "you just have to tear a button off your waistcoat and if she doesna offer to mend it ye shouldna tak her." "And speer at her what time she gets up in the mornin'," she added; "Maggie Tamson rises at five ilka mornin'." "Why are you so anxious that it should be Margaret?" I asked with real curiosity. Janet shook her head. "Aw just think she's in love wi' ye," she said simply; "she blushed." * * * I went out with my bugle to-night, and I sounded all the old calls. I finished up with "Come for Orders," and I walked slowly down the brae to the farm. Jim Jackson and Dickie Gibson came running up to me. "Ye played 'Come for Orders!'" panted Jim as he wiped his sweating face with his bonnet. "We'll soon remedy matters," I laughed, and I played the "Dismiss." Jim perched himself on a gate. "We'll hae to fall oot, Dick," he said with mock resignation, "come on and we'll sit here till we get oor wind back." And Dick climbed up beside him. "How are the lies getting on, Jim?" I asked. He shook his head dolefully. "We got an essay the day on The Discovery of America ... and ye canna tell mony lies aboot that. Aw just said that Columbus discovered America, and wrote aboot his ships. The new Mester says we must stick to the truth." "It is difficult to associate the truth with America," I said. "But there is a true side to this discovery business. To say that Columbus discovered America is a half-truth; the whole truth is that America isn't quite discovered yet. Andrew Carnegie was fairly successful, and Charlie Chaplin is another discoverer of note, but--" Jim clearly did not understand; he thought that I was pulling his leg. "How's the pond?" I asked, and was grieved to find that neither of the boys had any interest in it. "The Mester taks us oot and gies us object lessons on the minnows," said Dickie, and I groaned. "And the pigeons?" "Object lessons too," said Jim with evident disgust. "What family did he say doos belonged to, Dick?" Dick had no idea. "The word dove comes from the Latin _columba_," I said sententiously. "Hence the name Columbus who was named after the dove that was sent out of the Ark. When he learned this as a boy he resolved to live up to his name ... hence the American Eagle, which of course has transformed itself into a dove during Woodrow Wilson's reign." Dick listened open-mouthed, but Jim's eyes twinkled. "The Mester gives us derivations ilka day. He telt us the derivation of pond when he was giein' us the object lesson, but I canna mind what it was." "A weight!" cried Dickie suddenly, and I complimented him on his industry. "Aye," giggled Jim, "he _shud_ mind it, for he had to write it oot a hunder times." I made a cryptic remark about ponds and ponderosity, and then I told them of the boy who had to stay in and write the phrase "I have gone" many times in order that he might grasp the correct idiom. He filled five pages; then he wrote something at the bottom of the last page, a message to his teacher. The message read "Please, sir, I have went home." Dickie immediately asked whether the boy got a lamming next morning, and Jim looked at him scornfully. Dickie has not got an alert mind. To-night I am doubting whether I was wise to return to the village. I seem to become sadder every day. My heart is down in the old ugly school, and I am jealous of Macdonald. I know that he is an inferior, but he has my bairns in his control. I confess to a sneaking delight in the knowledge that he is not liked by the bairns. In this respect I think I am inferior to him; I don't think he is jealous of my popularity but of course he may be after all. Jim's answering my bugle call makes me want to cry. I can sit out the most pathetic drama unemotionally; when the hero says farewell for ever to the heroine I sit up cheerfully. It is sweetness that affects me; when the hero clasps his love in his arms I snivel. In the cinema when little Willie is dying to slow music and the mother is wringing her hands I smile, but if Willie recovers and sits up in bed to hug his teddy bear I blow my nose. I am unaffected when Peter Pan returns to find his mother's window shut against him, but when the fairies build a house over the sleeping lost girl I have to light my pipe and cough sternly. I wish I hadn't gone out with my bugle to-night. * * * Macdonald is an ass. He came to me this afternoon. "Look here," he began, "I wonder if you've any objection to my making a few alterations in the school live stock?" "Want to introduce a cow?" I asked. "You believe in utilitarianism in education I fancy." "It's the pigeons and rabbits," he went on; "I was wondering if you would object to my getting rid of one or two." "What's wrong?" "It's the sex matter," he said hurriedly. "I don't like the thing; I don't so much mind the infants asking awkward questions, but why the deuce should they keep them till I am speaking to the infant mistress?" "Refer them to the lady," I said with a chuckle. He looked troubled. "I must get rid of one sex," he said. "Macdonald," I said severely, "I don't know that you can do that without the permission of the children. The rabbits and doos are their's; they bought them with their own money." "That's no great difficulty," he said lightly. "Possibly not ... not for you, Macdonald. If you use authority the bairns will hardly question it. But I don't see that you have the right to be an autocrat in this affair." "It is my duty to protect the children," he said with dignity. "Protect yourself, you mean!" I cried; "you have just confessed that your one aim is to get rid of awkward questions." "But what can I do?" he stammered. "Do! Do nothing, just as I did. Let the creatures breed as much as they darned well please; that's what they are there for. You can't very well make sex an object lesson; the logical thing to do is to give a lesson on pollination of plants and then go on to fertilisation of the bird's egg, but if you do that you'll get the sack at once. But there's quite enough of prudery in the world already without your turning a rabbit-hutch into a sultanless harem." "There are things that children shouldn't know," he said with a touch of aggression. "And there are things that grown-ups should know and don't," I said. "They ought to know that the sex conspiracy of silence is idiotic and criminal." "Anyway," he said sullenly, "I'll tell them to-morrow that there are too many in the house and that I mean to get rid of a few." "All right," I said resignedly, "you can lie to them if you want to." Then I added: "Although, mind you, Macdonald, I feel like telling the bairns the real reason for your action." He looked startled. "Don't be alarmed," I said with a smile, "I won't do it," and he looked relieved. "Why not look in at the school some afternoon?" he said amiably when we parted, "but perhaps you feel that you've shaken off the dust from your feet down there?" "I'll be delighted to come down," I said; "I didn't shake off the dust from my feet when I left ... there was quite enough dust there already." I think I'll go down to-morrow afternoon; it was decent of Macdonald to ask me after all that I have said to him. * * * A man spends his life wishing he had done certain things and wishing that he had not done certain things. I half wish that I had not accepted Macdonald's invitation; I feel lonely up here now: on the other hand I am glad that I went. I think now that Macdonald's real idea was to show me how he has improved the school. From his point of view he has improved it. He showed me exercise books that were models of neatness and care; he showed me classes swotting up subjects laboriously; the rooms were as silent as the grave. When I went in Macdonald shook hands with me formally, and I noticed that his school voice and manner were prim and professional. I turned to the bairns and said: "Hullo, kids!" and they rose in a body and said: "Good afternoon, sir!" "Ah!" I whispered to Macdonald, "I see I ought to have said: 'Good afternoon, children!' eh?" and he smiled professionally. The higher classes were drawing. The model was a vase. I walked round the class ... and swore silently. I had spent two years persuading these bairns that there is no boundary line in nature; a white vase appears to have lines as boundaries simply because it usually stands in front of a dark background. I made them work in the background to show up the model, although I never gave them vases or pails; my drawing was all outside sketching of trees and houses. He was making them "line in" the drawing. "I am not much good at drawing," he explained apologetically, "as a matter of fact I know nothing about it." "In that case," I said, "why not let them go on with the methods I gave them? I know something about the subject." He asked what my methods were and I explained them in a few minutes. He expressed his gratitude and seemed honestly glad to learn something about the subject. "I won't take them out drawing though," he said; "an inspector might come to the school in my absence." "You conscientious devil!" I said, "let's have a squint at their exercise books." As he moved to the cupboard a boy whispered to his neighbour and Macdonald turned like a flash; the lad visibly quailed before his fixing eye. I fancied that the next inspector's report would commence with the words: "The discipline of this school is excellent." The books were much neater than mine had been. I began to look for blots, but the search was hopeless. "Oh! for God's sake, Macdonald, show me Peter Mackay's book; surely a good healthy blot will be found there!" But Peter's book was scrupulously clean. "I had to deal with that boy with a stern hand," said Macdonald grimly, and as I stood looking at the book I saddened. "On the outside of this book you should write the words: 'Peter Mackay ... a Tragedy, by William Macdonald,'" I said, but I don't think the man understood me. The three o'clock interval came. "Stand!" commanded Macdonald, and the class rose as one child. "Front seat ... quick march!" The boys saluted him as they passed out, and the girls curtsied. I tried not to laugh at the fatuous fellow's inculcation of "respect." Poor devil, I think they will hate him in after years; he is of the brand of dominie that is responsible for the post-schooldays habit of shying divots and opprobrious epithets at teachers passing along the road. On the way out Janet touched my arm playfully, but the eagle-eyed disciplinarian saw the action and he glared at her. "Had you any trouble with swearing?" he asked when the last boy had gone out. "Not particularly. Have you?" "I've put it down with a very firm hand." "I never bothered about it," I said carelessly. "I very seldom heard it; if I did happen to hear a boy string together a few strong words I ridiculed him, told him they didn't mean anything. Once I was trying to unscrew a stiff nut from my motor-bike and I addressed it audibly. I heard a snigger and on looking round found that Jim Jackson had come up to watch my efforts." Macdonald raised his eyebrows and whistled. "Pretty awkward, eh?" "Not in the least, Macdonald; I merely said: 'Jim, never waste good bad language; one day you may be a motor-cyclist and you'll need it all then.' Jim nodded approvingly." "You would have persuaded Jim that he never heard your words," I added. I find that I cannot dislike Macdonald. He is essentially a decent fellow with a kindly nature; sometimes I feel that I am quite fond of him. His equanimity is charming; he seldom shows the least trace of irritation when I talk to him. But his mental laziness riles me; he is so cock-sure about his methods of education, and I know that I never can induce him to think the matter out for himself. The tragedy is that there are a thousand Macdonalds in Scots schools to-day. Of course they are hopelessly wrong. I don't know whether I am right, but I know that they are wrong. They stick to a narrow code; they force youth to follow their silly behests regarding respect; they kill the individuality of each child. Why in all the earth does civilisation allow such asses to warp the children? Who is Macdonald that any human being should quail before his awful eye? Is he so righteous that he shall punish a boy for swearing? He spent a whole morning lately cross-examining the bairns to discover who wrote the words: "Mr. Macdonald is daft" on the pigeon-house door. At last one wee chap was intimidated into confessing, and Macdonald whacked him and then harangued the whole school. The bairns were convinced that the lad had committed the sin against the Holy Ghost. What a mind the man has! I discovered an obscene writing about myself three weeks after I had come to the school. The bairns held their breath while I read it. I sent for a cloth and erased the words. "What's the use of scribbling silly rot like that?" I said, and lit my pipe. There never was any more writing on the wall in my time. How the devil are bairns to gain any perspective in life if a fool like Macdonald spends half a day investigating nothing? Education should aim at giving a child a philosophy, and philosophy simply means the contemplation of the important things in life. If teachers emphasise the importance of things like silence and manners and dignity and respect, we cannot expect our children to rise higher in later years than the cheap gossipy lying press and the absurd system we call party politics. The Macdonalds start out with the assumption that human nature is bad; I start out with the realisation that human nature is good. That is the real distinction between the disciplinarian and the believer in freedom. When my boys stole turnips, wrote swear words on walls, talked and ate sweets as they sat in class I attached little or no importance to their actions; all I tried to do was to bring out the best that was in a lad's nature ... and I succeeded. Every child improved ... no, I was forgetting one boy! He came from a city school, and his face was full of impudence. He looked round my free school and marvelled; he had come from a Macdonaldised school and he naturally concluded that I was a soft mark. One day I said to him very mildly: "My gentle youth, this school is Liberty Hall, not because I am weak but because I happen to be rather strong.... I could whack you effectively if I started to you." But I never managed to fit that boy into my scheme of things. He left after a few months, and after he had gone he bounced to other boys that he had shoved many pens and ink-pots down a hole in the floor. I found that he was telling the truth. What would have happened if the boy had remained at school I don't know, but I think that he would have gradually adapted himself to his environment. He had been reared in the schools where physical force reigned, and he understood no other system. Yes, I fancy I could have converted that youth. I think of Homer T. Lane and his Little Commonwealth in Dorset, where so called criminal children from the police courts are given self-government and become excellent citizens, and I know that the Macdonalds are wrong. Not long ago Edinburgh School Board passed a motion asking the local magistrates to make their birch-rod sentences severe enough to be effective. Once upon a time people thought that lunatics were criminals and they lashed them with whips. A time came when people realised that a lunatic was a diseased person and they at once began to care for him tenderly. Nowadays the enlightened members of society realise that a criminal is a diseased person ... usually the victim of a diseased society ... and they passionately advocate his being treated as a sick man is treated. And the School Board of the capital of Scotland recommend that extra stripes with the rod be given to poor laddies who steal a few pence. I feel quite sure that no minister in the country mentioned the fact from his pulpit. I expect they were all too busy anathematising the "Hun" to consider what the attitude of Jesus Christ was to men and women taken in sin. I should like to preach to that School Board from the text "Suffer little children to come unto Me." There are two ways in education: Macdonalds with Authority in the shape of School Boards and magistrates and prisons to support him; and mine with the Christlike experiment of Homer Lane to encourage me. I wonder why there are two sides to this question of education? No one but a fool will contend that the birch rod is better than the Little Commonwealth. I think that ninety per cent. of the Macdonalds of Scotland would believe in the Little Commonwealth. Why then would they argue that their system of teaching is better than mine? Obviously coercion and authority make a child less individual than he might be. Ah! it all turns on our respective attitudes to life. "Boys are innately bad," they say, "whack 'em!" "Boys are innately good," I say, "I'll light my pipe and ask them how their rabbits are getting on." * * * Macdonald came hurrying up to me to-night. "I quite forgot to ask you when you came down what you used to do about your desk. The lock's broken; how long has it been like that?" "Since my first week in school," I said. "Good gracious! Mean to tell me your desk was open for two years?" I nodded, and smiled at his consternation. "I've sent down to the joiner. The situation is intolerable. Why, do you know what I found in it to-day?" "A packet of sweets," I hazarded ... "chocolates if you were lucky." "How did you guess?" he cried in amazement. "My dear fellow, my desk was a sweety shop some days; they used to hide their packets in every corner of it, then they would come to me and say: 'Please, sir, my pockie is in the wee corner on the right; dinna let onybody touch it.' Who put them in?" I asked. "Gladys Miller." "You have all the luck," I said. "Gladys always buys liquorice rolls, you know them ... little yellow sweets with the sugarelly inside. Man, I love yon sweets ... and Gladys knew it, the besom!" "Oh! It's all very well for you to make a joke of it," he said with annoyance, "but I tell you I don't like it, and after to-day I guess it'll be a long time till anybody opens my desk again. I talked to Gladys to some tune I can tell you." I sighed wearily and filled my pipe. "Two years!" said Macdonald musingly, "two years! What about all your private books? Anybody might have read your Log Book, or destroyed it even!" and the thought almost made him turn pale. "And what about it? Nobody will ever read it anyway." "Eh?" His mouth gaped at this latest heresy. "What about it?" I continued, "what about the whole damned lot of registers and log books and Form 9 b's? I didn't care a rap who saw the inside of my desk or my log book. As a matter of fact no one saw what was in the log; never a child opened it. Why? Because there was no prohibition. You lock up all the blamed things and put the fear of God on any kid that dares touch your desk ... result! they look on all your belongings as forbidden fruit, and if they can handle your log book when you are safely out of the way you bet your boots that they'll do it. Can't you see that children are really decent kindly creatures with their own philosophy, that is, their own idea of the importance of things? What is important to them is a toy or a dogfight or a quarrel or a love affair. They don't want to touch stodgy official books. But when you say to them: 'This desk is holy ground' why, every self-respecting kid has but one ambition in life ... to poke his nose into your desk and hide your registers." "Well," he said with a grim smile, "what about those tools in the woodwork room? If children are the saints you make them out to be, how did your boys come to spoil good tools?" "I admit that I made a mistake," I said cheerfully. "I set out on the assumption that a boy can be trusted with tools. I dropped the belief. Wood was scarce and often I couldn't get enough to keep the boys working. Result!... they took to hammering nails into benches and walls. I see now that much of a boy is destructiveness. I might have known it, for as a boy I tore the inside out of everything to see how it worked. If I had a small class I could have kept them interested in making an article. Yet I remember seeing Tom Watson, the best worker in the school, make a good rabbit-trough; then when he had finished he deliberately chipped a chunk off a plane with a hammer." "What did you do?" "I simply chucked him out of woodwork; told him he wasn't beyond the infant-room stage, and gave him lessons with a class two grades below his own." "Did you chuck him out forcibly?" "I suppose I did." "Ah!" Macdonald looked triumphant. "In other words you forgot your principles and punished?" "Human nature is weak," I said sadly. "If I saw a boy sticking a pen-knife into the tyre of my bicycle I should kick him ... kick him hard and then kick him again. There is such a thing as elemental rage in every man--even Christ used a whip in the temple. There are times when you cannot reason: you act impulsively. Principle can't touch this, but it comes in when rage is gone. If I am a magistrate and a boy comes before me charged with destroying a bicycle I personally have no rage against the boy, and if I punish him I'm merely serving out juridical vengeance. If I order him to be birched the jailor has no grudge against the boy. The main point is that the owner of the cycle acts before reasoning, while the magistrate acts after reasoning. And his reason cannot prompt him to behave any better than the injured owner did. The owner is primitive man for the time being: the magistrate stands for reasoning civilisation. In other words reasoning civilisation is no better than the barbarian. That's why I object to juridical punishment." "Ha! Ha!" he laughed with a sneer, "when it touches yourself you let all your principles slide, just as the most extreme Socialist turns Tory if he happens to get money!" "Macdonald," I said slowly, "I'm sorry you said that, for it means that you'll reject everything I bring forward. You'll grasp the idea that my views are useless because I tell you I can smite when I am angry, and you'll consequently reject everything I say. You're like the man who cries to a Socialist orator: 'Why don't you sell your watch and divide the proceeds among this crowd?' or like the man who tells a member of the no-hat brigade that he should go naked to be consistent. If I were to adopt your tactics I might ask why you don't get the School Boards to provide muzzles for the children on the plea that so much of your energy is taken up in keeping them silent. If you make them salute you I see no logical reason why you shouldn't carry respect to its extreme and force them to kneel down and kiss your boots. If you insist on perfect truthfulness why do you try to hide the truth about the sex of pigeons? You pretend to be a believer in perfect obedience to authority, and yet I saw you ride a bicycle without a light the other night. I am quite willing to prove that every man is inconsistent. Bernard Shaw would no doubt find some difficulty in explaining how his humanitarian vegetarianism blends with his wearing of leather boots; for I don't suppose that he has boots made from the hides of animals that died of old age. I gave up shooting and fishing because I saw that both were cruel, yet I will kill a wasp or a rat on occasion. If a tiger got loose down in the village I should at once borrow Frank Thomson's gun, but I should refuse to go tiger-hunting in Bengal. My dear chap, I am as full of inconsistencies as an egg's full of meat. So are you; so is every man. The best of us are but poor weaklings, for we are each carrying the instincts of millions of our tree- and cave-dwelling ancestors on our backs. My point, however, is that in spite of our weaknesses and animalisms we are predominantly good. I am a caveman once in five years; I am a reasoning humanitarian the rest of the time. You fasten on my elemental side and refuse to think that there can be any good in my humanitarian side. "You see, I quite earnestly believe that your respect for law and authority is genuine, almost religious, and the fact that I saw you break the law by riding without a light doesn't make me doubt your respect for law." "I had had a puncture," he explained. "Exactly! Extenuating circumstances. That's what I might plead when I kick the boy who deliberately punctures my machine ... but you would laugh. Why, I think I should start in to lecture _you_ on your inconsistencies!" I find that the worst man to answer is the fundamental antagonist. I used to be stumped by the anti-socialist cry: Socialism will destroy enterprise!... until I discovered that the best answer to this was: If enterprise has made modern capitalism and industrialism, by all means let it be destroyed. Macdonald will crow over what he considers my failure to be consistent, but it will never once strike him that my frank self-analysis is a thing that he will never practise himself. Confound Macdonald! He has led me into defending myself; he never defends himself when I attack him; he is far too cocksure to have any doubts about himself. V. I am losing Jim Jackson. The battle for his soul is unequal. Macdonald has him all the day, while I only see him at intervals. He came up to the farm to-night, and he was morose in manner. His face is gradually assuming a sneering expression, and his repartee is less spontaneous and more biting. I managed to bring back his better self to-night, but I fear that a day will soon come when he will sink his better self for ever. His father and mother are people after Macdonald's own heart. They are typical village folk, stupid and aggressive. Oh, I loathe the village; it reminds me of George Douglas's Barbie in _The House with the Green Shutters_; it is full of envy and malice and smallness. There are too many "friends" in the village. Mrs. Bell is Mrs. Webster's sister, and they have lived next door to each other for twenty-five years, during which time they have not exchanged a single word. They quarrelled over the division of their mother's goods. When the father dies they will meet and weep together over his coffin; they will be inseparable for a few days ... then they will have a row over the old grandfather clock, and they won't speak to each other again. Peter Jackson is a loud-mouthed fool, and his wife is a warrior. She has the jaw of a prize-fighter. Jim was dissecting the front wheel of his old bicycle the other night at the door, and I stopped to give him a hand with the balls. His mother came to the door. "Jim!" she rasped, "come away to yer bed!" "Wait till Aw get thae balls in, mother," he pleaded. "Come away to yer bed this meenute!" she bawled, "or Aw'll gie ye the biggest thrashin' ye ever got in yer life!" And the poor boy had to leave his cycle and obey. "What about this?" I said to the mother, and I pointed to the cycle. "He'd no business takin' it to bits," she shouted and she slammed the door. Poor lad! Between Macdonald and a mother like that he will live hardly. Each will break his will; each will insist on perfect obedience to arbitrary orders. I am honestly amazed at the small success I had with Jim. He was leaving my free school every night to go home to an atmosphere of anger and brutal stupidity. Now he is leaving his poor home every morning to go to the prison of Macdonald. No wonder the lad is lapsing. In a few years he will be a typical villager; he will stand at the brig of an evening and make caustic comments on the passers-by; he will sneer at everything and everybody. Macdonald is thinking about the answering Jim will do when the inspector comes; I was thinking of the Jim that would one day stand at the brig among his acquaintances. I didn't care a brass farthing what he learned or how much he attended; all I tried to do was to help him to be a fine man, a kindly man, a free man. I recollect a young teacher who visited my school one morning. "I should like to see you give a lesson," he said. "With pleasure," I replied. "What sort of lesson will it be?" he asked, "geography or history?" "I don't know," I said, and I turned to my bairns. "Why do rabbits have white tails?" I asked, and from that we wandered on through protective coloration and heredity to wolves and their fear of fire. We finished up with poetry, but I don't recollect how we got to it. When I had finished he pondered for a little. "It's all wrong," he said. "That boy in the corner was half asleep; four of these girls weren't really attending to you, and two girls left the room." "My fault," I said. "I took them to subjects they weren't interested in." "No," he said decidedly, "it was only your fault in not forcing them to sit up and attend." "But why should I?" I asked wearily. "Schooling is the beginning of the education we call life, and I want to make it as true to life as possible. In after life no one compels my attention or yours. We can sleep in church and we can sleep at a political meeting. We learn lots of things but we are interested in them. Tell me, what boy in this room answered best?" He pointed to a boy of twelve. "I agree," I said, and I called the boy to my desk. "Hugh," I said, "kindly tell this gentleman how long you have been at school." "A week, sir," he replied. "What school did you come from?" asked the visitor. "I never was at any school in my life," he said, "my father lives in a caravan and I never was long enough in a place to go to school." I explained that Hugh had come voluntarily to me saying: "My father can't read or write, and I can't either, but I want to be able to read about the war and things like that." "I don't know what to make of it," said my visitor. "It is a great lesson on education," I said. "He feels that he wants to read ... and he comes to school seeking knowledge. And that's what I want to supersede compulsion. If I had my way no boy would learn to read a word until he desired to read; no boy would do anything unless he wanted to do it." Then he brought forward the old argument that freedom like that was handicapping them for after life; they would not face difficulties. "Hugh was up against a greater difficulty than most boys ever come up against," I said, "and he faced it bravely and confidently. When you are free from authority you have a will of your own; you know exactly what you want and you set your teeth and get it. You are on your own, you have acquired responsibility. Given a dictating teacher or parent a boy will do the minimum on his own responsibility. Good lord! if I make all these youngsters sit up and attend strenuously to my speaking I am not training them to face difficulties; I am simply bullying them, making them a subject race." "You are training character." "I would be training children to obey, and the first thing a child should learn is to be a rebel. If a man isn't a rebel by the time he is twenty-five, God help him! Character simply means a man's nature, and I refuse to change a man's nature by force; I leave the experiment to the judges and prison warders." I want to ask every dominie who believes in coercion what he thinks of the results of many years' coercion. Obviously present-day civilisation with its criminal division of humanity into parasites and slaves is all wrong. "But," a dominie might cry, "can you definitely blame elementary education for that?" I answer: "Yes, yes, yes!" The manhood of Britain to-day has passed through the schools; they have been lulled to sleep; they have never learned to face the awful truth about civilisation. And I blame the coercion of the teachers. Train a boy to obey his teacher and he will naturally obey every dirty politician who has the faculty of rhetoric; he will naturally believe the lies of every dirty newspaper proprietor that is playing his own dirty game. * * * I have been spending the week-end with a man I used to dig with in London. He is a great raconteur and we sat late swopping yarns. "Did you ever hear a good yarn without a point?" he asked. I said that I hadn't. "Well, I'll tell you one," he said, and he trotted out the following. In a small seaside town on the east coast an ancient mariner sits on the beach and yarns to visitors. When the Balkan War was going on my friend asked him if he had ever been to Turkey. My friend assured me that the man had never been farther than Newcastle in his life. "Man," said the mariner reflectively, "Aw mind when an order cam from the Sultan o' Turkey to the sweetie works here for peppermints. The manager cam doon to me and he says to me, says he: 'Man, Jock, Aw wonder if ye would care to tak oot a cargo o' peppermints to the Sultan o' Turkey?'" "Aweel, the 'Daisy' was lyin' in the harbour at the time, so Aw says that Aw wud tak them oot. "Weel, we got them aboard, and awa we sailed, and a damned rough passage we had too; man, the Bay o' Biscay was as bad as Aw've ever seen it. "Weel, we got to Constantinople, and here was the Sultan stannin' on the pier wi' his hands in his breek pooches. He cam aboard and said he wud like to hae a look o' the peppermints. He had a look o' them, and syne he comes up to me and he says: 'Look here, captain, Aw've been haein' a look o' yer crew, and ... weel, to tell the truth, Aw dinna like the look o' them; there's not wan that Aw wud like to trust up at the harem. So, captain, Aw was just thinkin' that Aw wud like ye to carry up thae peppermints yersel ... ye're a married man, are ye no?' "Aw telt him that Aw was, and Aw started to carry up thae peppermints, and a damned hard job it was, man. They werena the ordinary pepperies, ye ken; they were great muckle things like curlin' stanes. Weelaweel, Aw got them a' carried up, and Aw was standin' wipin' the sweat frae my face when the Sultan comes anower to me. "'Aye, captain,' says he, 'that'll be dry wark?' "'Yes, sir,' says I, 'gey dry.' "'Are ye a 'totaller?' says he. "'No,' says I, and he taks me by the arm and says: 'C'wa and hae a nip!' "Weel, we gaed into a pub, and he ordered twa nips ... aye, and damned guid whiskey it was too. We had another twa nips, and Aw'm standin' wi' the Sultan at the door, just aboot to shak hands wi' him, ye ken, and he says to me, says he: 'Captain, wud ye like to see the harem?' and Aw said Aw wud verra much. So he taks haud o' my arm and we goes up the brae. We cam to a great muckle hoose, and he taks a gold key oot o' his pooch, and opens the door. "Man, Aw never saw the likes o' yon! The floor was a' gold, and the window-blinds was gold. And the wemen! (The mariner conveyed his admiration by a long whistle.) "Weel, Aw was standin' just inside the door wi' my bonnet in my hand, when a bonny bit lassie comes up to me and threw hersell at my feet and took haud o' my knees and sang: 'Far awa to bonny Scotland!' "Man, the tears cam into my een as she was singin'. "Syne the Sultan turns to me. "'Aye, man,' he says, says he, 'speakin' aboot Scotland: Scotland's the finest country on earth; but there's wan thing Aw canna stand aboot Scotland, and that's yer dawmed green kail. There's no a continental stammick will haud it doon.'" My friend informed me that he never met an Englishman who appreciated that yarn. * * * I begin to wonder whether I am falling in love. Ever since Margaret blushed when she passed me on the brae I have been extremely conscious of her existence. I find that I am beginning to look for her, and I go to the dairy on the flimsiest of pretences. I was there three times this afternoon. "What do you want this time?" she asked with a laugh at my third appearance. "I hardly know," I said slowly, "but I think I wanted to see your bare arms again." She hastily drew down her sleeves and reddened; then to cover her confusion she made a show of putting me out forcibly. How I managed to refrain from kissing her tempting lips I don't know. I nearly fell ... but it suddenly came to me that a kiss might mean so very much to her and so little to me and ... I resisted the temptation. She is fast losing her shyness, and she talks to me with growing frankness. She has begun to read much lately, and she devours penny novelettes with avidity. She has a romantic mind, and my realism sometimes shocks her. I happened to meet her in town last Saturday, and I took her to the pictures. She was intensely moved by a romantic film story, and when I explained that the stuff was rank sentimentalism and rhetoric she seemed to be offended. "You criticise everything," she cried angrily, "don't you believe that there is any good in the world?" "You will never be happy," she added seriously, "you criticise too much." "Surely," I cried, "you don't imagine that I criticise you!" "I do," she said bitterly. "You criticise yourself and me and everybody. I am always in terror that I make a slip in grammar before you." "Margaret!" I cried with real sorrow, "I hate to think that I have given you that impression." I was silent for a long time. "Kid," I said, "you are quite right. I do criticise everything and everybody, but a better word is analyse; I analyse myself and then I try to analyse you." "As a boy," I added, "my chief pastime was buying sixpenny watches and tearing their insides out to see how they worked ... but I never saw how they worked." "Yes," she said, "and that's what you would do if you had a wife; you would tear her to bits just to see how she worked ... and you would never find out how she worked either." "Perhaps I might," I said with a smile. "When I dissected watches I was inexperienced; nowadays I could take a watch to pieces and find out how it worked. Perhaps I might manage to put my wife together again, Margaret." "There would be one or two wheels left over," she laughed. "I should like her better without them," said I. "Oh!" she cried impatiently, "why can't you be like other men? What's the use of looking into the inside of everything? Look at father; he never bothered about what mother was; he just thought her perfect and look how happy he is!" "Ah!" I said teasingly, "I understand! You don't want a man to analyse you in case he discovers that you aren't perfect!" She looked at me frankly. "I wouldn't like to be thought perfect," she said slowly. "I sometimes think that mother would think far more of father if he saw some faults in her." "I am quite puzzled," I said; "you grumble because I analyse people and now you grumble because your father doesn't. What do you mean, child?" But she shook her head helplessly. "Oh, I don't know," she cried, and she sat for a long time in deep thought. As I sat by her side in the picture-house tea-room I recollected a saying of her's one day last week. I was sitting at the bothy door reading _The New Age_, and at my feet lay _The Nation_ and _The New Statesman_. She picked up _The Nation_ and glanced at its pages. "I don't know why you waste your money on papers like that," she said petulantly. "You spend eighteenpence a week on papers, and father only gets _John Bull_ and _The People's Journal_." It suddenly came to me that Margaret was not thinking of the money side of the question at all; what annoyed her was the thought that these papers were a symbol of a world that she did not know. And now I wonder whether woman is not always jealous of a man's work. It is a long time since I read _Antony and Cleopatra_, but I half fancy that Cleopatra was much more jealous of Antony's work than of his wife. VI. Dickie Gibson cut me dead to-night, and I think that Jim Jackson will one day look the other way when I pass. It is very sad, and I feel to-night that all my work was in vain. I cannot, however, blame Macdonald this time, for Dickie has left the school. I feel somewhat grieved at not being able to lay the fault at Macdonald's door. I should blame myself if I honestly could, but I cannot, for Dickie was a lad who loved the school. I recollect the morning when we arrived to find a huge stone cast in the middle of the pond. "It's been some of the big lads," said Dickie. "But why?" I asked. "Why should they do a dirty trick like that? Would you do a thing like that, Dickie, after you had left the school?" He thought for a minute. "Aye," he said slowly, "if Aw was with bigger lads and they did it Aw wud do it too." I suppose that if I had been a really great man I might have conquered the spirit of the village. I was only a poor pioneer striving to make these bairns happier and better. Dickie's cutting me proves that I was not good enough to lead him away from the atmosphere of the village. I used to forget about the homes; I used to forget that many a child had to listen to harsh criticisms of my methods. I marvel now that they were so nice at school. I wonder whether we could not form a Board to enquire into the upbringing of children. We might call it the Board of Parental Control. It would bring parents before it and examine them. Parents convicted of stupidity would be ordered to hand over their children to a Playyard School, and each child would be so taught that it could take in hand the education of its parents when it was seventeen. My idea was to produce a generation that would be better than the present one, and I thought that I could successfully fight the environment of home. I failed.... Dickie has cut me. The fight was unequal; the village won. After all I had Dickie for two short years, and the village has had him for fourteen. Poor boy, he has much good in him, much innate kindliness. But the village is stupid and spiteful. I am absolutely sure that Dickie cut me because he wanted to follow the public opinion of the village. Am I magnifying a merely personal matter? Am I merely piqued because I was cut? No one likes to be cut; it isn't a compliment at any time. No, I am not piqued: I am intensely angry, not at poor Dickie, but at the dirty environment that makes him a cad. Lucky is the dominie who teaches bairns from good homes. Last summer when I spent half a day in the King Alfred School in Hampstead I envied John Russell his pupils. They were all children of parents who were intellectual enough to seek a free education for their children in a land where the schools are barracks. "If I only had children like these!" I said to him, but a moment later I thought of my little school up north and I said: "No! Mine need freedom more than these." The King Alfred School is a delightful place. There is co-education ... a marvellous thing to an Englishman, but not noticeable by a Scot who has never known any other kind. There is no reward and no punishment, no marks, no competition. A child looks on each task as a work of art, and his one desire is to please himself rather than please his teacher. The tone of the school is excellent; the pupils are frankly critical and delightfully self-possessed. And since parents choose this school voluntarily I presume that the education we call home-life is ideal. How easy it must be for John Russell! If my Dickie had been going home each night to a father and mother who were as eager for truth and freedom as I was, I don't think that Dickie would have cut me to-night. * * * Dickie came up for his milk to-night, and I hailed him as he went down the brae. "Here, Dickie!" I called, "why have you given up looking at me?" He grew very red, and he stood kicking a stone with his heel. "I don't want you to touch your cap, Dickie, but you might at least say Hullo to me in the passing. Some of the big lads who left school before I came look at me impudently, and I know that their look means: 'Bah! I've left the school and I don't care a button for you or any other dominie!' But, Dickie, you know me well; you never were afraid of me, and I know that you don't think me your enemy. Why in all the earth should you pretend that you do?" I held out my hand. "Dickie," I said, "are you and I to be friends or not?" He hesitated for a moment, then he took my hand. "Friends," he said weakly, and his eyes filled with tears. Then I knew that I had not been mistaken in thinking that there was much good in the boy. Having made it up with Dickie I set off with a light heart to attend a meeting of the Gifts for Local Soldiers Committee. The chairman was absent and I was invited to take the chair. Bill Watson brought forward a motion that the Committee should get up a concert to provide funds. "Mr. Watson's proposal is that we arrange a concert," I said. "Is there any seconder?" "Aweel," said Andrew Findlay, "Aw think that a concert wud be a verra guid thing. The nichts is beginnin' to draw in, and it wud be best to hae it as soon as possible. The tatties will be on in twa three days." "The proposal is seconded. Any amendment, gentlemen?" "Man," said Peter MacMannish the cobbler, "man, Aw was just lookin' at Lappiedub's tatties the nicht. Man, yon's a dawmed guid crap." "Them that's in the wast field is better," said Andrew. "But the best crap o' wheat Aw seen the year," said Dauvid Peters, "was Torrydyke's." "Any amendment, gentlemen?" "Torrydyke ay has graund wheat," said Peter. "D'ye mind yon year--ninety-sax ... or was it ninety-seeven?--man, they tell me that he made a pile o' siller that year." "Ninety-sax," growled William Mackenzie the farmer of Brigend, "it was ninety-sax, for Aw mind that my broon coo dee'd that summer." "Aw mind o' her," nodded Andrew, "grass disease, wasn't it?" "Aye," said Mackenzie. "Aw sent to Lochars for the vet but he was awa frae hame. Syne Aw sent a telegram to the Wanners vet, and when he cam he says to me, says he--" "Any amendment, gentlemen?" I said. "Goad, lads," said Andrew sitting up in his chair, "we'll hae to get on wi' the business." "No amendment," I said. "Are we all agreed about this concert?" and they grunted their assent. "And now we'll settle the date," I said briskly. Peter MacMannish looked over at Mackenzie. "When are ye thinkin' o' killin' that black swine o' yours, John?" he asked. Mackenzie growled and shook his head. "She's no fattenin' up as Aw cud wish to see her, Peter," he replied. There followed an animated discussion of the merits and demerits of various feeding-stuffs. After a two hours' sitting the Committee unanimously appointed me secretary and organiser of the concert. I was given authority to fix a date and arrange a programme. Attendance at many democratic meetings of this kind has led me to a complete understanding of Parliament. * * * It is Sunday to-day. I sat reading in the afternoon and a knock came at my bothy door. "Come in!" I shouted, and Annie walked in. "Me and Janet and Ellen are going for a walk over the hill, and we thocht you might like to come too." "Certainly!" I cried, and I threw Shaw's latest volume of plays into the bed. "Margaret's wi' us too," said Annie as if it were an afterthought. There was a fight for my arms. "Annie was first," I said, "and we'll toss up for the other arm." "Let Margaret get it," said Janet mischievously, and Margaret's nose went almost imperceptibly higher in the air. "Excellent!" I said, and I took her arm and placed it through mine. Janet and Ellen walked behind, and they sniggered a good deal. "Just fancy the mester noo!" said Janet, "linkit wi' Maggie! He'll hae to marry her noo, Ellen!" And poor Margaret became very red and began to talk at a great rate. "G'wa, Jan," I heard Ellen say, "he's far ower auld. Maggie's only twenty next month, and he's--he could be her faither." "He's no very auld, Ellen; he hasna a mootache yet!" "Aw wudna like a man wi' a mootache, Jan; Liz Macqueen says that she gave up Jock Wilson cos his mootache was ower kittly." "Weel, she was tellin' a big lee," said Janet firmly. "If she loved him she wud ha' telt him to shave it off." We lay down in the wood at the top of the hill. Annie was in a reminiscent mood. "D'ye mind the letters we used to write to one another?" she asked. I pretended that I had forgotten them. "Do ye no mind? One day when I wasna attendin' to the lesson ye wrote 'Annie Miller is sacked' on a bit paper and gave it to me?" "Ah, yes, I remember, Annie, now that you come to mention it. But I can't remember your reply." "Aw took another bit o' paper, and Aw wrote: 'Mr. Neill is sacked for not making me attend.'" "Yes, you besom, I remember now. I'll sack you!" and I rolled her over in the grass. "There was another letter, Annie," I said, "do you remember it?" and she said "No!" so quickly that I knew she did remember it. I turned to Margaret. "Annie came to school one day with her hair most beautifully done in ringlets," I explained, "and of course I fell in love with her at once. I wrote her a letter.... 'My Dear Annie, do you think yourself bonny to-day?' and the wee besom replied: 'No, I don't!' Then I wrote her again.... 'Do you ever tell lies?' and to this she answered: 'No, never!' Then I calmly handed her the _Life of George Washington_." "But Aw never read it!" she cried with a gay laugh. "I know ... and that's why you have never reformed, my dear kid," I said. "Ellen," said Janet, "d'ye mind that day when you and me got up and walked oot o' the room?" "What day was that?" I asked; "you two went out of the room so often that I gave up trying to see you." "It was the day when a man cam to the schule and stood in the room when ye was teachin' us. There was a new boy, the caravan boy that had never been to schule in his life, and ye said that he was better than any o' us." "So Jan and me took the tig," said Ellen, "and we went oot and sat on the dike." Janet hee-heed. "D'ye mind what we said, Ellen? We said we werena to go back to the schule; we were to go up to Rinsley schule to Mester Lawson." "Aye," said Ellen, "and we said we wudna gie ye another sweetie ... no, never!" "And I suppose you gave me sweeties next day?" I suggested. "We gave ye a whole ha'penny worth o' chocolate caramels," said Janet. Her head rested on my knee and she smiled up in my face. "Ye were far ower easy wi' us," she said seriously, "we never did half the lessons ye gave us to do." "I know, Jan, but I didn't particularly want you to do lessons; all I wanted was that you should be Janet Brown and no one else. I wanted you to be a good kind lassie ... and of course, as you know, I failed." And she pulled my nose at this. "I didn't like the school when I was there," said Margaret; "I never was so glad in my life as when I was fourteen." "Poor Margaret," I said, "your schooling should be the pleasantest memory of your life. What you learned from books doesn't matter at all; what matters is what you were. And it seems that memory will bring to you a picture of an unhappy Margaret longing to leave school. What a tragedy!" "Is being happy the best thing in life?" asked Margaret. "Not the best," I answered; "the best thing in life is making other people happy ... and that's what the books mean by 'service.'" * * * Margaret came over to my bothy to-night to ask if I would help Nancy with her home lessons. "She's crying like anything," said Margaret. I went over to the farmhouse. Nancy sat at the kitchen table with her books spread out before her. She was wiping her eyes and looked like beginning to weep again. "It's her pottery," explained Frank, "she canna get it up at all." Macdonald had ordered the class to learn the first six verses of Gray's _Elegy_, and threatened dire penalties if each scholar wasn't word perfect. "I'm afraid I can't help you much, Nancy," I said. "You'll just have to set your teeth and get it up. Don't repeat it line by line; read the six verses over, then read them again, then again. Read them twenty times, then shut the book and imagine the page is before you, and see how much of the stuff you can say." I used to find this method very effectual when I got up long recitations in my younger days. Macdonald gives his higher classes long poems. They have learned up pages of _Marmion_ and pages of _The Lady of the Lake_; and now he is giving them the long and difficult _Elegy_. I must ask him some day what his idea is. I made learning poetry optional when I was in the school. I eschewed all long poems, and I never asked a child to stand up and "say" a piece. My view was that school poetry should be school folk-song; I used to write short pieces on the board and the classes recited them in unison. I gave no hint of expression, for expression should always be a natural thing. I have been timid of expression ever since the day I heard, or rather saw, a youth recite _The Dream of Eugene Aram_. When he came to the climax ... "And lo! the faithless stream was dry!" I suddenly discovered that I was dry too, and I did not wait until Eugene was led away with "gyves upon his wrists." I once saw Sir Henry Irving in _The Bells_. I was a schoolboy at the time and I straightway spent all my pocket money on books dealing with elocution; I also would tear my hair before the footlights! Looking back now I wonder why Irving bothered with stuff of that sort; why his sense of humour allowed him to grope about the stage for the axe to kill the Polish Jew I don't understand. All that melodramatic romantic business is simply theatrical gush. It appeals to the classes that devour the _Police News_. Expression when taught is gush. When I gave my bairns a bit of _The Ancient Mariner_ the whole crowd brightened up and shouted when they came to the verse:-- I bit my arm, I sucked the blood And cried: "A sail! A sail!" They understood that part, but they put no special expression into the stanza:-- All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody sun at noon Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the moon. The boys used to emphasise the adjective in the second line, but that was perhaps natural in a community where strong language is the prerogative of grown-ups. I suppose that a teacher of expression would have pointed out that the right arm must be raised gracefully at the third line, and the voice lowered awfully to show the marvellous significance of the fact that the crudoric sun was no bigger than the moon. All I tried to give my bairns was an appreciation of rhythm. They loved the trochaic rhythm of a poem, _Marsh Marigolds_, by G. F. Bradby, that I discovered in a school anthology:-- Slaty skies and a whistling wind and a grim grey land, April here with a sullen mind and a frozen hand, Hardly a bird with the heart to sing, or a bud that dares to pry, Only the plovers hovering, On the lonely marsh, with a heavy wing And a sad slow cry. And it used to make me joyful to hear them gallop through Stevenson's delightful _My Ship and I_:-- Oh! it's I that am the captain of a tidy little ship, Of a ship that goes a-sailing on the pond, And my ship it keeps a-turning all around and all about, But when I'm a little older I shall find the secret out How to send my vessel sailing on beyond! I never gave them a poem that needed any explanation. I picture Macdonald painfully explaining the _Elegy_.... "Yes, children, the phrase 'incense-breathing morn' means...." I'm gravelled; I haven't the faintest notion of what the phrase means. Gray annoys me; he is far too perfect for me. I fancy that he rewrote each line about a score of times in his mania for the correct word. Gray is Milton with a dictionary. I once read that Stevenson studied the dictionary often, used to spend a rainy day reading the thing, and his prose does give me the impression that he cared more for how he said a thing than for the thing itself. I think George Douglas a greater writer; indeed I should call him the greatest novelist Scotland has produced. His style is inevitable; his whole attention seems to be riveted on the matter of his story, and his arresting phrases seem to come from him naturally and thoughtlessly. When you read of Gourlay's agony in Barbie market on the day that his son's disgrace is known to everyone, you see the great hulk of a man, you hear his great breaths ... you are one of the villagers who peep at him fearfully. Every word is inevitable; the picture is perfect. I should be surprised if anyone told me that Douglas altered a single word after he had written it. When I want to feel humble I take up _The House with the Green Shutters_. I have read it a score of times, and I hope to read it a score of times again. VII. Margaret looked up from the novelette she was reading. "Are the aristocracy really like what they are in this story?" she asked. "I don't know," I replied; "I'm not acquainted with the aristocracy, but I should say that they aren't like the aristocracy in that yarn. You see, Margaret, I happen to know some of the men who write these novelettes. Murray is a don at them; he'll turn one out between breakfast and dinner. To the best of my knowledge Murray has never dined in any restaurant more expensive than an A.B.C. shop ... and his characters always dine at the Ritz." "But have you never met anybody with a title?" "I once collided with a man at the British Museum door," I said. "He was a Scot.... I know that because neither of us apologised; we merely jerked out 'Oh!' I am almost sure that the man was Sir J. M. Barrie. And I shook hands with two dukes and three lords at a university dinner, but they possibly have forgotten the incident." No. I don't know the aristocracy well. I met a titled lady last summer. I was staying at a country house near London, and this lady had the neighbouring house. She came over on the Sunday afternoon. My host informed me that she had lost two sons in the war. After she had gone I was asked what I thought of the English aristocracy, and I gave my opinion in these words:--"To the English aristocracy property alone is sacred. That woman has given the lives of her two sons willingly for her country, but if she were asked to give half an acre of her estate to help pay for the war she would go mad with rage and disgust." When I heard that lady grumble about the wickedness of the munition-workers.... "And, my dear, women in shawls are buying pianos and seal-skin jackets!" ... I realised how hopeless was the cry of _The New Age_ for the Conscription of Wealth. The powerful classes will resist Conscription of Wealth as strenuously as they resist the Germans. Yet the Conscription of Men was in very many cases a Conscription of Wealth. One had only to read the Tribunal cases to discover that thousands of men had to deliver up all their wealth when they joined the army. There was Wrangler the actor; his property was his talent to portray character, and from that he drew his income. His property was conscripted along with him. It was fitting that he should give up all when the State required him to give it up. But the State requires all the wealth of the moneyed classes, and because economic power controls political power the State will not conscript the wealth of its real governors. I see now that our education is founded on the unpleasant fact that property is more sacred than life. Teachers are encouraged to make their pupils patriotic; every boy must be brought up in the belief that it is great and glorious to die for one's country. A real patriotism would lead a boy to realise that it is a great and glorious thing to live for one's country; the true patriot would teach his lads to make their country a great and glorious country to die for. Somehow our schools for the most part ignore this branch of patriotism; it does not seem so important as the flag-waving and standing to attention that passes for patriotism. Macdonald is decorating the walls of the school with coloured prints of our warships. "To make them realise how much the navy means to them," he explained to me as I looked at them. "Excellent!" I said. "The navy deserves all the respect we can give it. But, Macdonald, in your position I should give a further lesson on patriotism; I should point out to these bairns that while the glorious navy is defending our shores from a foreign enemy the enemy within is plundering the nation. I should tell them that under the protection of the navy the profiteers are raising the prices of necessaries hand over fist. All the patriotic flag-waving in the world won't help these bairns to understand that the patriotism of the masses is being exploited by the self-seeking of the dirty few." Patriotism! We have popular weeklies that endeavour to make the people patriotic. They lash themselves into a fury over momentous questions: The Ich Dien on the crest of the Prince of Wales Must Go; The Duke of So-and-So must have his Garter taken from him; Who was the Spy who sent Kitchener to his doom? The only way to encourage children to be patriotic is to tell them the sober truth about the important things of life. The invention of the word "shirker" managed to effect that the most timid of men should fight for his country; public opinion will always look after the patriotism necessary for war. But my complaint is that public opinion will not look after the patriotism necessary for peace. If we were all true patriots there would be no slums, no exploitation, no profiteering. And the "patriotic" lesson in school should deal with economics instead of jingo ballads of victories won. * * * I cycled twelve miles to-night, and I raised a comfortable thirst. When I came to the village I dropped into the Glamis Arms and had a bottle of lager. As I came out I ran into Macdonald. "Lucky fellow!" he laughed, "you have no position to maintain now and you can afford to quench a thirst!" "Position be blowed!" I said, "I drink when I'm dry, and I always did. When I was dominie here I dropped in here more than once in the hot weather." "And they sacked you!" "Not because of that," I said, "but in spite of it. Believe me it was the one thing that made one or two villagers more amiable to me." The Scot's attitude to the public-house is entertaining. If you have any position to keep up you must not enter a public-house ... you must get it in by the dozen. When I first went to London and entered a saloon bar in the Strand I was amazed to find women sitting with their husbands; I was also amazed to find no drunks about. In a Scots bar the most apparent phenomenon is wrangling. I never heard an argument in a London bar, and I have been in many: I never saw a drunk man in London, and I was there for two years. The public-house in Scotland is not respectable: in England it is. Why this should be I can only guess. The Scot may be a bigger hypocrite than the Englishman; what is more probable is that he may be a harder drinker. In Scotland entering a public-house is synonymous with getting drunk. Yet there are what you might call alcoholic gradations. A respectable farmer may enter a bar without comment, but a teacher must not enter it. He is the guide of the young, and he must be an example. Teachers seldom enter village bars ... and yet Scotland is notorious for drinking. If the teachers determined to become regular bar customers I conclude that Scotland would drink herself off the face of the map. I have a theory that the Calvinistic attitude to the public-house is the chief cause of Scots drunkenness. When a Scot enters a bar he knows that he won't have the courage to be seen coming out again ... and he very naturally says to himself: "Ach, to hell! Aw'll hae another just to fortify mysel' for gaein' oot!" The public-house isn't a public-house at all; it is the most private of houses. Peter Soutar the leading elder in the kirk here always carries a bundle of church magazines in his hand when he enters the Glamis Arms; when the date is past magazine time he enters by the back door. Jeemes Walker the leading Free Kirk elder goes in to read the gospel to old Mrs. Melville the invalid mother of the landlord, and the village is uncharitable enough to remark in his hearing that he really goes to interview his brother "Johnny." I think that it was the doctor who originated that joke. A public-house is no place for a public man in Scotland. * * * The opening of the coal mines has brought to the neighbourhood a new type of person. He is usually an engineer who has spent a good few years abroad, and he is usually married ... very much married. His wife is always a grade above the wife of the engineer next door, and the men appear to spend most of their leisure time in mending quarrels that their wives began. Most of the men are amiable fellows with the minimum of ideas and the maximum of knowledge of fishing and card-playing. They have a certain dignity, and they instantly freeze if you casually ask where such-and-such a light railway is to run. The wives seem to have no interest other than in servants and their manifold wickedness and cussedness. They hold their noses high when they pass through the village, and they bully the local shopkeepers. When I was a dominie these women patronised me delightfully, but now that I am a cattleman they are quite frank with me. I puzzled over this for some time, and the solution came to me suddenly. They are all English women, and in the English village the dominie is on very much the same social level as the vicar's gardener. Mrs. Martinlake likes to chat to me now. She is a middle-aged lady who loves to reminisce about duchesses she has known. She once complained to me because the boys did not touch their caps to her, and on my suggesting that they hadn't been introduced she became very indignant. She called to me this morning as she passed the field I was working in. "Ah! Good morning! I've been looking for you for a long time. I wanted to tell you how much the children have improved; every village boy touches his cap to me now!" and she laughed gaily. "Good!" I cried. "If this sort of thing goes on they will be touching their caps to their mothers next." "And why not?" she demanded with a slight touch of aggression. I shrugged my shoulders. "As you say--why not? I think that you ought to persuade your little boy to touch his cap to all the mothers in the village. I notice that he doesn't do it. You take my tip and send him down to Macdonald's school; he'll soon pick it up." She went off without a word, and I realised that I had been distinctly rude to her. Somehow I felt glad that I had been rude to her. I told Margaret about the incident afterwards. "I hate manners, Margaret," I said. "But," she said wonderingly, "you are very mannerly." "To you I believe I am, Margaret," I laughed. "But that is because you don't look for manners. Mrs. Martinlake is eternally looking for manners, and to her manners mean respect, deference, boot-licking. She doesn't want the boys to doff their caps to her because she is a woman; no, she wants them to recognise the fact that she is Mrs. Martinlake, self-alleged friend of duchesses. She doesn't care a tupenny damn for the boys and their lives; she is thinking of Mrs. Martinlake all the time. She once talked to me of the respect due to motherhood ... and you know that she sacked Liz Smith when she discovered that Liz had had an illegitimate child. "Women of that type get my back up," I went on. "They are stupid, low-minded, arrogant. They are poor imitations of the Parisian ladies who curled their lips contemptuously at the plebeian rabble that led them to the guillotine. The Parisian ladies had a fine pride of race to redeem their arrogance, but these women have nothing but pride of class. Margaret, if a teacher failed to teach a boy anything except the truth that deference is one of the Seven Deadly Virtues, I should say that that teacher was a successful teacher." * * * The concert was a success to-night. The singing was good, but the speech of the chairman, Peter MacMannish, was great. "Ladies and Gentlemen, "We're a' verra weel pleased to see sik a big turn-oot the nicht. Aw need hardly say onything aboot the object o' this concert, but it's to get a puckle bawbees to send oot a clean pair o' socks and maybe a clean sark to oor local sojers oot in France.--(Cheers). "Weel, ladies and gentlemen, Aw've made mony a speech on this platform in the days when Aw fought for the Conservative Candidate, Mester Fletcher (cheers, and a voice: 'Gie it a drink, cobbler!')" The light of battle leapt to Peter's eyes. "Aw ken that wheezin' Radical's voice!" he cried, "and Aw wud just like to tell that voice that there's no room for Radicals in this war. What was the attitude o' that man's party to Protection? When Mester Chamberlain stood up in Glesga Toon Hall what did he say?" I gently touched Peter on the arm and reminded him of the concert and its object. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we'll no touch on thae topics here, for ye cam here for another object than to listen to me (several voices: 'Hear, hear!') Afore we begin to the programme Aw wud just like to say that we have to thank oor late dominie for gettin' up this concert. Some o' us had no love for him as a dominie, but Aw say let bygones be bygones. We a' ken that he's no a teacher (laughter), but he's a clever fellow for a' that, and we'll maybe see him in Parliament yet. That hoose has muckle need o' new blood. When Aw think o' Lloyd George and that man Churchill; when Aw see the condeetion they've brocht the country till; when Aw think o' the slack wye they've let the Trade Unions rob the country; when Aw see--" I coughed here, and Peter drew up. "Weel, Ladies and Gentlemen, this is no a poleetical meetin', and Aw've muckle pleasure in callin' upon Miss Jean Black for a sang," he peered at his programme, "a sang enteeled: A Moonlight Sonnita." Miss Jean Black forthwith sat down at the piano. During the interval Peter digged me in the ribs. "What d'ye think o' my suggestion, dominie, eh?" "What suggestion?" "Aboot standin' for Parliament. It's a payin' game noo-a-days ... fower hunner a year and yer tea when the hoose is sittin'. Goad, dominie, think o' sittin' takkin' yer tea wi' Airthur Balfoor!" and he sighed wistfully as a child sighs when it dreams of fairyland and wakes to reality. "Aye," he said after a long pause, "Aw wance shook hands wi' Joe Chamberlain. His lawware says to him: 'This is Mester MacMannish, wan o' yer chief supporters in the county,' and Aw just taks my hand oot o' my breek pooch. 'Verra pleased to meet ye,' says Aw ... 'and hoo is yer missis and the bairns?' Man, he lauched at that. Goad he lauched!" Peter forgot the crowded hall; he stared at the ceiling unseeingly, and he lived over again the greatest day of his life. It was fitting that a Scot should have originated the title "Heroes and Hero-Worship." VIII. Macdonald came up to-night. I hadn't seen him for weeks. "I am making out a scheme of work for the Evening School," he said. "What line did you take?" "My scheme was simple," I replied, "and luckily I had an inspector who appreciated what I was trying to do. I made the history lessons lessons in elementary political economy. Arithmetic and Algebra were the usual thing." "What about Reading and Grammar?" he asked. "We read David Copperfield, and I meant to read a play of Shakespeare and Ibsen's _An Enemy of the People_, but I never found time for them. The class became a sort of debating society. I gave out subjects. We discussed Votes for Women, Should Women Smoke? Is Money the Reward of Ability? I told them about the theory of evolution; I began to trace the history of mankind, or rather tried to make out a likely history, but at the end of the session we hadn't arrived at the dawn of written history." "Did you find any pupil improving?" "Macdonald, you are a demon for tangible results. The only tangible result of my heresies I can think of is the fact that Margaret Thomson smokes my cigarettes now." "Have a look at this scheme," he said, and he handed me a lengthy manuscript. The arithmetic was a detailed list of utilitarian sums ... how to measure ricks of hay and fields, how to calculate the price of papering walls and so on. My own attitude to utilitarian sums is this: if you know the principles of pure mathematics all these things come easily to you, hence teach pure mathematics and let the utilitarian part take care of itself. His English part dealt minutely with grammar; he was to give much parsing and analysis; compound sentences were to be broken up into their component parts. In History he was to do the Stuart Period, and Geography was to cover the whole world "special attention being paid to the agricultural produce of the British Colonies." "It is a 'correct' scheme," I said. "Give me your candid opinion of it." "Well, Macdonald, your ways are not my ways, and candidly I wouldn't teach quite a lot of the stuff you mean to teach. Grammar for instance. What's the use of knowing the parts of a sentence? I don't suppose that Shakespeare knew them. If education is meant to make people think, your Evening School would be much better employed reading books. If you read a lot your grammar takes care of itself. "The Stuart Period is all right if you don't emphasise the importance of battles and plots. I haven't the faintest notion whether Cromwell won the battle of Marston Moor or lost it, but I have a fair idea of what the constitutional battle meant to England. The political war was over before the first shot was fired; the Civil War was a religious war. If I were you I should take the broad principles of the whole thing and skip all the battles and plots and executions. "As for the British Colonies and their agriculture you can turn emigration officer if you fancy the job. The idea is good enough. My own personal predilection in geography is the problem of race. I used to tell my pupils about the different 'niggers' I met at the university, and of the detestable attitude of the colonials to these men." Macdonald shook his head. "No, no," he said, "a black man isn't as good as a white man." So we went off at a tangent. I told him that personally I had not enough knowledge of black men to lay down the law about them, but I handed him a very suggestive article in this week's _New Age_ on the subject. The writer's theory is that in India black men are ostracised merely because they are a subject race, and he points out that in Germany and France the coloured man is treated as an equal. When I was told by a friend that the natives of India despised Keir Hardie because he carried his own bag off the vessel when he arrived in India I realised that the colour question was too complicated for me to settle. I have a sneaking suspicion that the coloured man is maligned; the average Anglo-Indian is so stupid in his attitude to most things that I can scarcely suspect him of being wise in his attitude to the native. I regret very much that I had not the moral courage to chum up with the coloured man at the university: prejudices leave one after one has left the university. I wish I knew what Modern Geography means. A few years ago the geography lesson was placed in the hands of the science teacher in our higher grade schools, and the educational papers commenced to talk of isotherms. I have never discovered what an isotherm is; I came very near to discovering once; I asked Dickson, a man of science, what they were, but a girl smiled to me before he got well into the subject (we were in a café), and I never discovered what an isotherm was. The old-fashioned geography wasn't a bad thing in its way. You got to know where places were, and your newspaper became intelligible. It is true that you wasted many an hour memorising stuff that was of no great importance. I recollect learning that Hexham was noted for hats and gloves. I stopped there once when I was motor-cycling. I asked an aged inhabitant what his town was noted for. "When I coom to think of it," he said as he scratched his head, "the North Eastern Railway passes through it." But the old geography familiarised you with the look of the map. Where it failed was in the appeal to the imagination. You learned a lot of facts but you never asked why. I should imagine that the new geography may deal with reasons why; it may enquire into racial differences; it may ask why London is situated where it is, why New York grew so big. For weeks before I left my school my geography lesson consisted of readings from Foster Fraser's _The Real Siberia_. I began to feel at home in Siberia, and what had been a large ugly chunk of pink on the map of Asia became a real place. There is a scarcity of books of this kind. Every school should have a book on every country written in Fraser's manner. I don't say that Fraser sees very deeply into the life of the Russian. I am quite content with his delightful stories of wayside stations and dirty peasants. He paints the place as it is; if I want to know what the philosophy of the Russian is I can take up Tolstoy or Dostoeivsky or Maxim Gorki. To return to isotherms ... well, no, I think I'll get to bed instead. * * * I was down in the village this morning. A motor-car came up, and two ladies and a gentleman alighted. "Where is the village school?" asked the gentleman, and I pointed to the ugly pile. "We are Americans," he drawled in unrequired explanation, "and we've come all the way from Leeds to see the great experiment." "Yes," said one of the ladies--the pretty one--"we are dying to see the paradise of _A Dominie's Log_. Is it so very wonderful?" "Marvellous!" I cried. "But the Dominie is a funny sort of chap, sensitive and very shy. You mustn't give him a hint that you know anything about his book; simply say that you want to see a Scots school at work." They thanked me, and set off for the school. I loafed about until they returned. "Well?" I said, "what do you think of it?" "The fellow is an impostor!" said the man indignantly. "I expected to see them all out of doors chewing gum and sweets, and--" "There wasn't a chin moving in the whole crowd!" cried the young lady. "The book was a parcel of lies," said the other lady, "and when I next want a dollar's worth of fiction I reckon I'll plump for Hall Caine or Robert Chambers. The man wouldn't speak." "I mentioned Dewey's _Schools of To-Day_," said the man, "and he stared at me as if I were talking Greek." I directed them to the village inn for lunch, and I walked up the brae chuckling. I had had my dinner, and was having a smoke in the bothy when I heard the American's voice: "We want to see the dominie!" Margaret came to the door, and I walked out into the yard. The trio gasped when they saw me; then the man placed his arms akimbo and looked at me. "Well I'm damned!" he said with vehemence. "Not so bad as that," I said with a grin, "_had_ is a better word." Then they all began to talk at once. He explained that he was a lawyer from Baltimore: I told him that his concern about the absence of chewing-gum had led me to conjecture that he manufactured that substance. This seemed to tickle him and he made a note of it. "Be careful!" smiled the pretty lady--his daughter--, "he'll hand over his notes to the newspaper man when he goes back home." The lawyer knew something about education, and he told me many things about the new education of America; he was one of the directors of a modern school in his own county. "Come over to the States," he said with eagerness; "we want men of your ideas over there. I reckon that you and the new schools there don't differ at all." I gave him my impressions of the American schools described by Dewey in his book. "It seems to me," I said, "that these schools over-emphasise the 'learn by doing' business. Almost every modern reformer in education talks of 'child processes'; the kindergarten idea is carried all the way. Children are encouraged to shape things with their hands." "Sure," he said, "but that's only a preliminary to shaping things with their heads." "I'm not so sure that the one naturally leads to the other," I went on. "Learning by doing is a fine thing, but when little Willie asks why rabbits have white tails the learning by doing business breaks down. In America you have workshops where boys mould metal; you have school farms. But I hold that a child can have all that for years and yet be badly educated." He looked amazed. "But I thought that was your line," he said with puzzled expression, "Montessori, and all that kind of thing!" "I don't know what Montessorianism is," I said; "I have forgotten everything I ever read about Froebel and Pestalozzi. All I know is that reformers want the child to follow its own processes--whatever that phrase may mean. I heartily agree with them when they say that the child should choose its own line, and should discover knowledge for itself. But my point is that a boy may act every incident in history, for instance, and never realise what history means. I can't see the educational value of children acting the incident of Alfred and the burnt cakes." "Ah! but isn't self-expression a great thing?" "It is," I answered, "but the actor doesn't express himself. Irving expressed himself ... and the result was that Shakespeare was Irvingised. A school pageant of the accession of Henry IV. may be a fine spectacle, but it is emphasising all the stuff that doesn't matter a damn in history." "But," he protested, "it is the stuff that matters to children. You forget that a child isn't a little adult." "This brings us to the vexed question of the coming in of the adult," I said. "You and I agree that the adult should interfere as little as possible; but the adult will come in in spite of us. Leave children to themselves and they express their personalities the livelong day. Every game is an expression of individuality. The adult steps in and says 'We must guide these children,' and he takes their attention from playing houses to playing scenes from history. And I want to know the educational value of it all." "It is like travel," he said. "When you travel places become real to you, and when you travel back into mediæval times the whole thing becomes real to you." "I see your point," I said, "and in a manner I agree with you. But why select pageants? You will agree with me when I say that the condition of the people in feudal times is of far greater importance than the display of a Henry." "Certainly, I do." "And the things of real importance in history are incapable of being dramatised. You can make a modern school act the Signing of Magna Charta, but the children won't understand the meaning of Magna Charta any the better. You can't dramatise the Enclosure of the Public Lands in Tudor Times; you can't dramatise the John Ball insurrection; all the acting in the world won't help you to understand the Puritan Revolution." "You are thinking of children as little adults," he said. "But they _are_ little adults! Every game is an imitation of adult processes; the ring games down at the school there nearly all deal with love and matrimony; the girls make houses and take in lodgers. And if you persuade them to act the part of King Alfred you are encouraging them to be little adults. They are children when they cry and run and jump; whenever they reason they reason as adults. They are very often in the company of adults ... and that's one of the reasons why you cannot trust what are called child processes. Child processes naturally induce a child to make a row ... and daddy won't put up with a row. The child cannot escape being a little adult. It's all very well for a Rousseau to deal abstractly with child psychology. I am not Rousseau, and I tackle the lesser problem of adult psychology. The problem before me is--or rather was--painfully concrete. I set out to counteract the adult influence of the home. I saw Peter MacMannish shy divots at the Radical candidate because Peter's father was a Tory; I saw Lizzie Peters put out her tongue at the local Christabel Pankhurst because Lizzie's mother had said forcibly that woman's place is the home." "I see," said the American thoughtfully, "you used your adult personality on the ground that it was the lesser of two evils? But don't you think that that was a mistake? Was the freedom of behaviour and criticism you allowed them not the best antidote to home prejudices?" "If the children had not been going to homes at night I should have trusted to freedom alone. As it was the poor bairns were between two fires. I gave them freedom ... and their parents cursed me. One woman sent a verbal message to me to the effect that I was an idiot; one bright little lassie came to me one day with the words of the woman next door, 'It's just waste o' time attendin' that schule.' Do you imagine that all the child processes in the world could save a child from an environment like that?" When the American departed he held out his hand. "I came to see a reformer of child education," he said with a smile, "and I discover that you aren't a reformer of child education at all; your job in life is to run a school for parents." IX. The school is closed for the Autumn Holiday ... commonly called the Tattie Holiday here. Macdonald has gone off to Glasgow. The bigger boys and girls are gathering potatoes in the fields here, and I am driving the tattie digger. At dinnertime they come to the bothy and eat their bread; Mrs. Thomson gives them soup and coffee in the kitchen, but they bring their bowls over to my bothy. Much of the fun has gone out of them; the constant bending makes them very tired, and they drop off to sleep very easily. Janet and Ellen lay in my bed all dinnertime yesterday and slept. Occasionally a boy will sing a song that always crops up at tattie time:-- O! I'm blyde I'm at the tatties, I'm blyde I'm at the tatties, I'm blyde I'm at the tatties, Wi' auchteenpence a day! Blyde means glad, but there is but little gladness in the band that trudges up the rigs in the morning twilight. Jim Jackson is sometimes in good form. He has taken on the swaying gait of the young ploughman; he hasn't got the pockets that are situated in the front of the trousers, but he shoves his hands down the inside instead, and he says: "Ma Goad, you lads, hurry up afore the Boss comes roond wi' the digger again!" They call me the Boss now; Macdonald is the Mester. They seldom mention the school at all; if they do it is to recall some incident that happened in my time. But already the memory of our happy days is becoming hazy; life is too interesting for children to recall memories. To-day Jim sat and gazed absently at my bothy fire. "Now, bairns," I said, "Jim's got an idea. Cough it up, Jim." "Aw was thinkin' o' the tattie-digger," he said slowly; "it seems an awfu' roondaboot wye o' liftin' tatties. Could we no invent a digger that wud hoal the tatties and gaither them at the same time?" "Laziness is the mother of invention," I remarked. "But ... cud a machine no be invented?" he asked. "You could have a sort o' basket," he went on, "that ceppit a' the tatties as they were thrown oot." "Dinna haver!" interjected Janet, "it wud cep a' the stanes at the same time." "If spuds were made o' steel," said Jim, "ye cud draw them oot wi' a magnet." "And if the sky fell you would catch larks," said I. "If the sea dried up!" said Ellen, and Jim instantly forgot his patent tattie-digger. "Crivens! What a fine essay that wud mak! Why did ye no gie us that for an essay?" "Take it on now," I suggested, but he ignored the suggestion. "The Mester gae me a book to read in the holidays," he said irrelevantly, "and it's called _Self Help_; it's a' aboot laddies that got on weel." I ceased to listen to their talk. I thought of Samuel Smiles and his Victorian ideals. The book is iniquitous nowadays; it is the Bible of the individualist. Get on! I'm afraid that Smiles' idea of getting on is still popular in Scotland; the country might well adapt the popular song "Get Out and Get Under," changing it to "Get On or Get Under" and making it the national anthem of Scotland. I once compared _Self Help_ with Lorimer's _Letters of a Self-made Merchant to his Son_, and was struck by the similarity of the ideals. Lorimer's book is an Americanised _Self-help_. Smiles is slightly better. With him getting on means more than the amassing of wealth; it means gaining position, which being interpreted means returning to your native village with prosperous rotundity and a gold chain. Lorimer has no special interest in gold chains and symbols of wealth; he doesn't care a button for position. He preaches efficiency and power; to him the greatest achievement in life appears to be the packing of the maximum of pig into the minimum of tin in the minimum of time. A business friend of mine tells me that it is the greatest book America has produced. Evidently it didn't require the Lusitania incident to prove that America is a long-suffering nation. Jim was back to the subject of inventions again. "Aw read in a paper that there's a fortune waitin' for the man that can invent something to haud breeks up instead o' gallis's." "Ye cud hae buttons on the foot o' yer sark," suggested Janet. "Aye," said Jim scornfully, "and if a button cam off what wud haud up yer breeks?" "Public opinion ... in this righteous village," I murmured; "it's almost strong enough to hold up any pair of breeks, Jim," but no one understood me. "Ye cud hae sticks up the side," said Ellen, "and yer breeks wud stand up like fisherman's boots." "And if ye wanted to bend?" demanded Jim. Ellen shoved out her tongue at him. "Ye never said onything aboot bendin', and ye dinna need to bend onywye." "What aboot when ye're gaitherin' tatties?" crowed Jim. Ellen tossed her head. "Aw wasna thinkin' o' the sort o' man that gaithers tatties; Aw was thinkin' o' gentlemen's breeks ... the kind o' breeks ye'll never hae, Jim Jackson." Jim sighed and gave me a look which I took to mean: "Women are impossible when it comes to arguing." He thought for a time; then he looked up with twinkling eyes. "Aw've got it!" "Well?" "Do away wi' breeks a'-the-gether, and wear kilts." "And what will ye do wi' yer hands?" put in Fred Findlay; "there's nae pooches in a kilt." "Goad, Fred," said Jim, "Aw never thocht o' that; we'll just hae to wrastle on wi' oor breeks and oor gallis's." "Ye cud wear a belt," suggested Janet. "And gie mysel' pewmonia! No likely!" "It's no pewmonia that ye get wearin' a belt," said Janet, "it's a pendicitis." "G'wa, lassie, what do you ken aboot breeks onywye?" "Aw ken mair than you do, Jim Jackson. For wan thing Aw ken that it's no a subject ye shud speak aboot afore lassies. Come on, Ellen, we'll go ootside; the conversation's no proper." Jim glanced at me doubtfully. "It was her that said that breeks cud be buttoned to yer sark!" he exclaimed. He jumped up and hastened to the door. "Janet Broon," I heard him cry, "dinna you speak aboot sarks to me again; sarks is no a proper subject o' conversation for young laddies." I think it was Fletcher of Saltoun who said that he didn't care who made a nation's laws if he made its ballads. To-night I feel that I don't care if Macdonald hears the bairns' opinion of Charles I. so long as I hear their opinion of sarks and breeks. * * * A Trade Union official delivered a lecture on Labour Aspirations in the village hall to-night. I was sadly disappointed. The man tried to make out that the interests of Capital and Labour are similar. "We are not out to abolish the capitalist," he said; "all we want is a say in the workshop management. We have nothing to do with the way the employer conducts his business; we want to mind our own business. We want to see men paid a living wage; we want to see...." I ceased to be interested in what the man wanted to see. I fancy that he requires to see a devil of a lot before he is capable of guiding the Trade Unions. Why are these so-called leaders so poor in intellect? Why are they so fearful of alienating the good opinion of the capitalist? If the Trade Union has any goal at all it surely is the abolition of the capitalist. The leaders crawl to the feet of capital and cry: "For the Lord's sake listen to us! We won't ask much; we won't offend you in the least. We merely want to ask very deferentially that you will see that there is no unemployment after the war. We beseech you to let our stewards have a little say ... a very little say ... in the management of the shops. Take your Rent and Interest and Profit as usual; as usual we'll be quite content with what is left over." If a bull had intelligence he would not allow himself to be led to the shambles. If the Trade Unions had intelligence they would not allow their paid leaders to lead them to the altar. The lecturer had evidently been told that I was the only Socialist in the village, and he called upon me to say a few words. I have no doubt that later he regretted calling upon me. "The speaker is modest in his demands," I said. "He has told you what Labour is asking for, and now I'll tell you what I think Labour _should_ ask for. Labour's chief aim should be to make the Trade Unions blackleg proof. When they have roped in all the workers they will be able to command anything they like. They should then go to the State and say: 'We want to join forces with the State. Capitalism is un-Christlike, and wasteful, and we must destroy it. We propose to take over the whole concern ourselves; we propose to abolish Rent, Interest, and Profit ... and Wagery. At present we are selling our labour to the highest bidder, and in the process we are selling our souls along with our bodies. Each industry will conduct its own business, not for profit but for social service; no shareholders will live on our labour; we shall give our members pay instead of wages.' "Gentlemen, I call an organisation of this kind a Guild, but you can call it what you like. It is the only organisation that will abolish wagery, that is, will prohibit labour from being a commodity obeying the Laws of Supply and Demand." "What about nationalisation of land and mines and railways?" said the official. "These are on our programme, and they will revolutionise industry." "Hand over the mines and the railways to the State," I said, "and you have State capitalism. You won't abolish wages; you'll buy the mines and railways, and you'll draw your wages from what is left over after the interest due to the late shareholders is paid." "Ah!" he interrupted, "you want to confiscate?" "If necessary, certainly. We have conscripted life because the State required men to give their lives; why not conscript wealth in the same way? The State requires the wealth of the rich, not only for the purpose of paying for the war; it requires it to pay for the peace to come." "Control of industry by producers has always failed," he said. "_The New Statesman_ Supplement on the Control of Industry proved this conclusively." "Of course it has always failed," I said. "Flying always failed, but the aeroplane experimenters did not sit down and wail: 'It's absolutely no good; men have always failed to fly.' If the Railway Trade Union got the offer of the whole railway system to-morrow to run as it pleased it would make a bonny hash of it. Why? Because management is a skilled business. But if the salaried railway officials had the vision to see that their interests lay with the men instead of with the masters, then you would find a difference. The Trade Unions without the salaried officials are useless. "I read the Supplement you mention. One of the causes of failure given was that the producers had an interest in the plant and they were always unwilling to scrap machinery in order to introduce better machines." "That's quite true," he nodded. "Is it? Why does Bruce the linen manufacturer in the neighbouring town here scrap comparatively new machinery when better inventions come out? He has an interest in the plant, hasn't he? Why then does he not stick to the old methods?" "He knows that he will gain in the end." "Exactly. And a society of workers running their own business would not have the gumption to see that the new methods would be a gain in the end?" "The fact remains that they have tried and failed," he said. "That merely proves that the workers without their managers are hopeless," I said. "What can you expect from a section of the community that has never been educated? You can't make a man slave ten hours a day for a living wage and then expect him to have the organising ability of Martin the cigar merchant, or the vision of Gamage the universal provider. A rich merchant in London said to me when I asked him point blank if he always thought of his profits: 'Profits be blowed! The great thing is the game of business!' I don't see any reason in the world why the manager of say The Enfield Cycle Company should not be as energetic and as capable if he were managing a factory for the Cycle Guild." "The workers would interfere with him," said the official; "every workman who had a grudge against him would try to get him put off the managership." "Lord!" I cried, "for a representative of Labour you seem to have a poor opinion of the democracy you speak for! If that is your attitude to your fellow-workmen I quite understand your modest demands for Labour. If the rank and file of the Trade Unions can't rise higher than squabbling about whether a manager should be sacked or not, the Trade Unions had better content themselves with the programme their leaders have arranged for them. They had better concentrate their attention on trifles like a Minimum Wage or an Old Age Pension." A disturbing thought comes to me to-night. Democracy means rule by the majority ... and the majority is always wrong. The only comfort I can find lies in the thought that the majority of to-day represents the opinions of the minority of yesterday. Democracy will always be twenty years behind its time. * * * To-day has been a very wet Sunday. I did not get up till one o'clock. Margaret came over about tea-time and invited me to sample some drop scones she had been making. She was in a skittish mood, and she began to turn my bothy upside down on the allegation that it was time for autumn cleaning. I ordered her to the door, and she sat down on my bed and laughed at me. I said that I would throw a drop scone at her head if it were not for the danger of shying weights about indiscriminately, and she threw my pillow at me. I rose from my chair and went to her. "Out you come, you besom!" I cried and I seized her by the shoulders. We struggled ... and I suddenly realised that as we paused for breath her face was very near mine. I threw my arms around her and kissed her straight on the lips. Then slowly we parted and we stood looking at each other. Her face had become very serious. "You--you shouldn't have done that!" she gasped. "Why not?" I asked lamely. She gazed at me wildly for a long moment; then she rushed from the room. It happened ... and I don't believe in crying over spilt milk. If I had been a strong man it wouldn't have happened; if Margaret had not been in that skittish mood it wouldn't have happened. Carlyle says somewhere: "Mighty events turn on a straw; the crossing of a brook decides the conquest of the world." Mighty events! Is this a mighty event? I have kissed many a girl. To me, no; but to Margaret I fear that it is. It was most likely her first kiss since she became a woman. I feel very like Alec D'Urberville, the seducer of Tess, to-night ... only I don't think I'll take religion as he did and try to lead Margaret to salvation as he did Tess. It suddenly strikes me that I am more like Angel Clare. He was an educated man learning farming; I am an educated man tending cattle. He fell in love with the dairymaid Tess; I.... But have I fallen in love with anyone? In general I should say that when a man asks himself whether he is in love or not he is not in love. Love over-rules the head; every marriage means a victory of heart over head. Presumably the men who have no heads make the best lovers. Hamlet could not love Ophelia because he had a head; Romeo loved Juliet because he hadn't a head. The whole problem of H. G. Wells' later novels lies in the fact that his men have heads. They are all analytical ... and the man who analyses himself always appears before the public as a selfish brute. The analytical man cannot make a martyr of himself; he is a weakling; he has his fun ... and he pays for it, but he makes a woman pay for it also. I suppose that in ancient times love was a simple thing. You desired a woman, and you hit her father on the head with a stone axe and carried her off to your cave. In the majority of cases it is a simple business yet; you don't knock your prospective father-in-law on the head with a hatchet; you take a filial interest in your prospective mother-in-law's rheumatics instead. When Smith the shopwalker falls in love with Nancy of the hat department his chief concern is to know how he is going to keep house on his salary. He never sits down of an evening saying to himself: "Now, is Nancy my soul-mate? Is her sense of humour something like my own? May we not be absolutely incompatible in temperament?" Smith hasn't the faintest idea what sort of man he is himself, and if you aren't disturbed by doubts about yourself you won't be disturbed with doubts about your future wife. I should guess that Mr. and Mrs. Smith will live happily together ... if she is a passable cook. I fear greatly that the introspective man is doomed to connubial misery. Margaret likes to read penny novelettes, and she will probably take a fancy to Charles Garvice some day soon. She knows nothing about music or painting or literature. Unless we are ragging each other we have not a single topic of common interest; we should certainly bore each other during the first-class honeymoon journey south. Then why in the name of thunder did I kiss her? I suppose that I kissed her because kissing is more elemental than thinking. When she had rushed out I was joyous in the realisation that her lips were sweet, that her neck was gloriously graceful, that her eyes were deep and wonderful. But now her physical charms have gone with her, and doubts crowd in upon me. I wonder what she is thinking of! I know that she has no doubts about herself, but I fancy that she has her doubts about me. Poor lassie ... and well she might! * * * She was milking to-night. I went over and stood beside her. She looked up, and her eyes shone with a new brightness. She could not meet my gaze, and she flushed and looked the other way. "Margaret," I said softly, "I love you!" She held up her lips to me ... and then I walked out of the byre. And, you know, I intended to say something very different. I intended to say: "Margaret, I was a fool last night. Try to forget all about it." I kissed her instead. I'm afraid I was a fool last night, and a fool to-night, and a fool all the time. However, I am a happy fool to-night. X. Macdonald has returned. He has brought a man Macduff with him, a college friend of his, and now the headmaster of a big school in Perthshire. He has mentioned Macduff to me more than once. Macduff is his ideal schoolmaster, a stern disciplinarian and a great producer of "results." When they came up to see me to-night Macdonald's face glowed with anticipation; it was evident that he had come to my funeral. Macduff was to slay me, bury me, and write my epitaph. I thought of agreeing with Macduff as much as possible, so as to rob Macdonald of his triumph, but I found it impossible to find more than a few points of agreement. I managed, however, to carry the war into the enemy's camp, and Macduff found himself acting on the defensive more than once. "I read your _Log_," he said agreeably, "and I must congratulate you on it. I laughed at many of the yarns you have in it." "The worst of being called a humorist," said I, "is that everybody seizes on your light bits, and ignores your serious bits." "I didn't ignore your serious bits," he said, "I read them carefully ... and, to be frank, thought them damned nonsense. You don't mind my saying so, do you?" "Certainly not, my dear fellow! When you've read the evening paper critics' opinion of yourself you can stand anything. I am all for a free criticism; it lets you know where you stand at once." We both became very amiable after that, and I offered him a fill of Macdonald's baccy. Then I brought out a bottle of whiskey, and we sat round the bothy fire like brothers. "And now," I said, "tell me all about the damned nonsensical parts." "Well," he laughed, "it seems a dirty trick to drink a chap's whiskey and slate his ideas at the same time, doesn't it?" "It might be worse," I said with a smile; "you might slate his whiskey and drink in his ideas at the same time; and I've never met a man who could stand being accused of keeping bad whiskey, although I know dozens of men who will sit with a grin on their faces while you tear their philosophy of life to pieces." "They grin at your ignorance, eh?" "Exactly!" Macdonald held up his glass to the light and eyed it thoughtfully. "Macduff's theory is that if you spare the rod you spoil the child," he said. "Yes," said Macduff, "I agree with old Solomon. You know, it's all very well to be a heretic, but you are up against the wisdom of the ages. All the way from Solomon downwards parents have agreed that youngsters must be trained strictly. You can't smash up the wisdom of the ages as you try to do." "The wisdom of the ages!" I mused.... "When I come to think of it the wisdom of the ages taught men that the earth was flat, that the sun went round the earth, that the touch of a king cured King's Evil. Do you mean to say that because a thing has a tradition behind it it must be believed for ever? Because Solomon said a thing is it eternally true? The wisdom of the ages must be made to give place to the wisdom of the age." "Then you would have each generation ignore all that had been said by men of previous generations?" "I don't mean that. By all means find out what wise men of old have said, but don't worship them; be ready all the time to reject their wisdom if you feel you can't agree with it. This using the rod business is a tradition because men found it the easiest method for themselves. A child was weak and he was noisy; the easiest thing to do was to whack the little chap. Do you allow conversation in your school?" "I do not!" he said grimly. "And why?" "They can't work if they are talking." "And that's your sole reason?" "Yes." "If an inspector stood at your desk chatting to you about the war, would you have a silent room?" "Certainly." "But why?" "Oh," he said impatiently, "for various reasons. They aren't there to talk; and they've got to be disciplined, to understand that they are not free to do as they like whenever they like." "Also," I suggested, "the inspector might be annoyed?" "There's that in it," he confessed with a little confusion. "The wisdom of the ages agrees with you," I said, "and I think that in this case the wisdom of the ages is wrong. In the first place I want to know what you're trying to produce." "Educated citizens," he replied. "And since the Solomon tradition has been in vogue for quite a long time, do you consider that it has produced educated citizens as yet?" "More or less," he answered. "I can't see it," I said. "When nine-tenths of the population of these isles live on the border line of starvation you can't surely argue that they are educated citizens. They are bullied citizens ... and the first step in the bullying of them was the refusal of authority in the shape of the parent and the pedagogue to spare the rod." "But look here," he interrupted, "come back to the school. Do you think it wrong for a teacher to compel a boy to attend to a lesson?" "I do. If he has to be compelled the lesson clearly fails to interest him. I would have childhood a garden in which one could wander wherever one pleased; I would abolish fear and punishment." "And do you mean to tell me," he demanded, "that a boy will offer to learn his history and geography and arithmetic and grammar of his own free will?" "It depends on the boy. Here, again, we come up against the wisdom of the ages. The wisdom of the ages has decreed that these subjects are the chief things in education. But are they? I should imagine that it is more important for a boy to know something about feminine psychology than about Henry the Eighth. He will one day be called on to choose a wife, but he'll never be called on to choose a king. Again why should geography be of more importance than anatomy? A man never wants to know where Timbuctoo is, but he very often wants to know whether the pain in his tummy is appendicitis or heartburn." "Go on!" he laughed, "find a substitute for arithmetic now!" "Arithmetic," I said, "is the trump card of the man who wants a utilitarian education. I can do lots of sums--Simple Interest, Profit and Loss, Ratio and Proportion, Train Sums, Stream Sums.... I could almost do a Cube Root. So far as I can remember I have never had occasion to use arithmetic for any purpose other than adding up money or multiplying a few figures by a few figures. Your utilitarianism somehow leads in the wrong direction most of the time. I was brought up under the wisdom of the ages curriculum, and I'll just give you an idea of some of the things I don't know. I don't know the difference between a mushroom and a toadstool; I haven't the faintest idea of how they make glass or soap or paint or wine or whiskey or beer or paper or candles or matches; I know nothing about the process of law; I don't know what steps one takes to get married or divorced or cremated or naturalised; I don't know the starboard side of a ship; I don't know how a vacuum brake works. I could fill a book with a list of the things I don't know ... a book as big as the Encyclopædia Britannica. "What I want to know is this: How are we to determine what things are important to know? From a utilitarian point of view it is more important to know how to get married than how to find the latitude and longitude of Naples. As an exercise of thinking it is quite as important to inquire into the working of a Westinghouse brake as to inquire into the working of a Profit and Loss sum." "Then what curriculum would you have?" "I wouldn't have any curriculum. I would allow a boy to learn what he wanted to learn. If he prefers kite-making to sentence-making I want him to choose kite-making. If he wants to catch minnows instead of reading about Napoleon, I say let him do it; he is learning what he wants to learn, and that's exactly what we all do when we leave the compulsion of the schoolroom." "It won't do!" cried Macduff. "Look at it in this way," I said. "Suppose I am three stone heavier than you. And suppose that I think it would benefit you if you knew all about--let us say Evolution. I come to you, take you by the back of the neck and say: 'Macduff, you get up the Darwinian Theory word perfect by Monday morning. If you don't I'll bash your head for you.' I reckon that you would call in the police ... and they would naturally call in the local prison doctor to inquire into my sanity. That is exactly what you are doing in your school ... only, unfortunately, the police and the prison doctor are on your side. Personally I could make out a strong case for your being certified as a dangerous lunatic with homicidal tendencies." "Ah!" he said, "but the two cases are different. Your arbitrary insistence on my learning all about Darwin has no right on its side; it's merely your opinion that I should know all about Evolution. But when I make a boy learn his history and grammar I am not acting on my own opinion. Personally I confess that I teach lots of things and don't see the use of them." "You obey the--er--the wisdom of the ages?" "I suppose I do." "Education," I said, "should lead a boy to think for himself, but if teachers refuse to think for themselves in case they disagree with the wisdom of the ages I don't see that they are the men to lead children to think for themselves." Later we discussed motor-cycles, and I learned many tips from Macduff. He is a mine of information on the subject. When they had gone I thought out the problem of the curriculum. To abolish the curriculum involves abolishing large classes. I would have classes of not more than a dozen pupils. In the free school I picture, classes would not in fact exist; if there were a hundred and twenty scholars there would be ten teachers. They would act as guides to be consulted when necessary. Each teacher would learn with his or her pupils. A teacher is not an encyclopædia of facts; he is an enquirer. When we tarred the pigeon-house I did not say: "Now, boys, listen to me, and learn how to put on tar." The boys brought chunks of pitch in their pockets (pretty certainly sneaked from the heaps used for tar-spraying the roads). We got an old pail and melted the solid stuff, then we tried to put it on. The trial was a complete failure; the tar would not run. We sat down to consider the matter. "Tell you what, boys," said Cheery Smith, "we'll thin it wi' some paraffin." We thinned it with some paraffin and the stuff ran quite easily. When I told Macdonald of the incident he cried: "Yes, but think of the time you wasted!" What's wrong with Macdonald and Macduff is that they know too much to be good teachers. They have nothing to learn. They know all the facts about curriculum subjects; they know exactly what is right and what is wrong; they know that their authority is infallible; they know that swearing is bad, that cap-lifting is good; they know that obedience is a great virtue, that disobedience to their authority is an unforgivable sin. They are the Supermen of education; their attitude to the school is exactly the attitude of Charles I. to his Parliament. They believe in the Divine Right of Dominies. The dominie can do no wrong. Macdonald's bairns consider him something beyond a human being; he knows everything; he is above temptation. He has no weaknesses; his pipe goes into his pocket when he meets a child; he wouldn't allow a child to see him kiss his wife for all the gold in the Bank of England. But there are expectations down at the schoolhouse. And I would almost sell my soul to be in the classroom on the morning when Macdonald enters it with the word paternity writ large on his prim face. I bet my boots that, without saying a single word, he will manage to give the bairns the impression that he had nothing to do with the affair at all. * * * A friend of mine, a Londoner, came to stay the week-end with me. To-day we rambled over the hills, and a pair of new boots began to make my friend's feet take on a separate existence. We were about three miles from home, and the prospect of walking that distance painfully was rather disheartening to him. Luckily Moss-side milk cart came along, and the boy asked us if we wanted a lift to the village; he was taking the day's milk to the station. When we left the cart my friend turned to me in amazement. "Here," he cried, "didn't you give him something?" "Good Lord, no!" I laughed. "Oh, you blooming Scotchman!" he said with fervour. "If I had known I'd have given the chap a tip myself." "I never thought of tipping him," I said, "and if I had I wouldn't have tipped him all the same. You blessed Englishmen can never rise above your stupid feudal idea of rewarding the lower classes. In your south country a countryman is a Lickspittle; he touches his cap to anything with a collar on. We don't breed that kind of specimen in Scotland. That young lad is a stranger to me, but he and you and I were equals; there was no servility about him; he chatted to us as an equal. He expected nothing, and if you had offered him a shilling you would have patronised him, posed as his superior." "But, damn it all, the chap earned a bob!" "He didn't; all he earned was your gratitude. The boy was doing a decent kindly thing for its own sake, and you want to shove a vulgar tip into his hand. If I had come along in a Rolls-Royce car and given you a lift, would you have offered to reward me? What's wrong with you southerners is that you always think in classes; your tipping isn't kindness; you tip to save your self-respect; you are afraid that any man of the lower orders should think you mean. The Scot is not as a rule hampered by class distinctions, and he often refuses to tip because he hates to insult a man. You Londoners put it down to meanness, but I would have felt myself the meanest of low cads if I had tipped that ploughboy. Scotland is comparatively free from the rotten tipping habit. A few gamekeepers get tips from English sporting gentlemen, and a few porters get tips from English travellers." "You have spoilt that boy for the next unfortunate pedestrian," he said; "the next time he sees a man limping along the road he will say to himself: 'Never again!'" I knew then that he had not been listening to my argument. If tipping is degrading to the man who tips and the man who holds out his palm, I cannot see that school prize-giving is any better. The kindly School Board members who are anxious to encourage the bairns to work for prizes have essentially the same outlook as my friend from town. I fancy that the modern interpretation of Christianity has something to do with this national desire for reward and punishment. To me the whole attitude is distasteful. Obviously I am what I am; I was born with a certain nature, and I was brought up in a certain environment. The making of my ego was a thing outside my direction altogether. To reward me in an after life for being a religious man is as unfair as to punish me for being a thief. We don't award a gold medal to an actress for being beautiful; we don't offer Shaw a peerage because he is Christlike enough to hate killing animals for sport. Shaw can no more help being humanitarian than Gladys Cooper can help being bonny. Down in the school there Ellen Smith can no more help being the best arithmetician than Dave Ramsay can help being the biggest coward. Speaking of Dave ... when Macdonald was worrying over the allocation of prizes the other week, he asked me if Dave was good at anything. "Well," I said, "he holds the record for spitting farther than any boy in the school; I think he deserves a prize for that. Believe me, Macdonald, every boy in the class would rather hold that record than carry off the prize for arithmetic ... and I don't blame them either." The subject of Scots and tipping puts me in mind of what is probably the best "Scot in London" yarn. A Scot, followed by his five children, entered the Ritz Hotel, and sat down in the lounge. "Waiter! A bottle o' leemonade and sax tumblers!" he cried. The waiter was too dumbfounded to do anything but bring the liquor. He stood in open-mouthed amazement as the Scot divided the bottle among the six glasses, but, when the Scot took a bag of buns from his pocket and proceeded to distribute them, the waiter set off blindly to find the manager. The manager approached. He tapped the Scot on the shoulder, and in a stern voice he said: "Excuse me, but I'm the manager of this establishment." The Scot looked up at him sharply. "O, ye're the manager, are ye? Weel, why the hell's the band's no playin'?" XI. Macdonald had a sort of cookie shine to-night, and I was invited. The other guests were Mitchell, the assistant-manager of the railway construction department, and Willis, the head of the water department. We played Bridge, and I spent four hours of misery. I hate cards; I can't concentrate at all, and I never have the faintest idea what the man on my left has discarded. Willis and I won. I always look upon cards as a veiled insult to guests. I want to know what a man is thinking when I meet him; on the few occasions on which I have brought out a pack of cards to entertain guests I have done so on the frank realisation that their conversation wasn't worth listening to. Later when we sat round the fire to chat I grudged the time lost over the game. Mitchell had been for many years in India, and his stories of life there were of great interest to me. He did not theorise about India; he accepted without thought the attitude of the average Anglo-Indian ... the nigger is a beast that has to be knocked into shape; the Anglo-Indian mode of government was tip-top, couldn't be beat; asses like Keir Hardie ought never to be allowed to put their foot in India; what's wrong with India is what's wrong with the working classes here--we give 'em too much education, make 'em discontented. Willis was of a more intelligent type. He had been all over the world, and, although a Conservative to the backbone, he had made some study of modern problems. He had studied Socialism, thought it a fine thing, but.... "You've got to change human nature first," he said. * * * If I were writing a novel I should now head a chapter thus:--Chapter XXIV., in Which Macdonald and I become Brothers in Affliction. He came up to see me to-night. "You've put your foot in it this time," he began. "What is it?" I cried in alarm. "Old Brown--Violet's father--wants to slay you. His wife heard from Mrs. Wylie that you said to Wylie that he, Brown, had the intellect of a boiled rabbit." "That's bad," I said in dismay. "The old fool was talking puerile rubbish about the wickedness of the working-classes. Wylie was there, and after Brown had gone I did make the impatient remark that he had the intellect of a boiled rabbit. But, Good Lord! I didn't want the thing to go back to his ears. How I can ever look the man in the face again I don't know." "You should have thought of that before you spoke," said Macdonald with a smile. "Oh," I replied, "I don't regret saying it in the least; at the time I felt it was the only thing to say. What I regret is the meanness of Wylie or his wife. Brown is a decent old chap, and I'm rather fond of him. Why the devil are people so dirty in mind, Macdonald? We all say things that we don't want carried to the person we are speaking about. I say things about you that I would hate you to hear, and I guess that you are in a similar position with regard to me. But the unpardonable social crime is to tell one man what another has said about him. It's the lowest down trick I know." "What'll you do about it?" "I'll go straight down to Brown and apologise for Wylie's bad taste." "And your own!" "Not at all. I'll tell him I've said worse things than that about him, but I'll implore him not to let them make any difference in our friendship." "I've got a nasty little problem myself," said Macdonald. "You know that confounded committee of villagers that has charge of the Soup Kitchen Fund?" "I do," I cried fervently. "Well, I called a meeting for last night ... and I forgot to post Mrs. Wylie's invitation." "Call that a nasty problem?" I cried; "my dear chap, you've raised a whirlwind and tempest combined ... and there won't be any still small voice at the end of 'em either. You've committed the Unforgivable Sin this time." "She's in an awful wax," he continued; "says that she never was insulted like this before. She came up to-night and gave me beans ... told me that you were a perfect gentleman!" "I took care never to omit her when I called the committee," I said modestly. "She'll never forgive me," said Macdonald dolefully. "Oh, yes she will ... if you play your cards well. Your game is to send a notice of the meeting to the local paper. Then commence a new paragraph thus:--The Convener, Mr. Macdonald, intimated that Mrs. Wylie's invitation to the meeting had been unintentionally overlooked, and he expressed his very earnest regret that his mistake had deprived the meeting of the always helpful advice of the injured lady. "Publicity salves all wounds in the village, Macdonald. Do as I suggest and Mrs. W. will support you for all eternity." "They are so small-minded," he said. "They are hyper-sensitive," said I. "Mrs. Wylie is quite sure that you made a mistake. She can forgive you for that, but the thing that she will find it hard to forgive is the fact that you did not pay special attention to her letter, send it by registered post as it were. No one who knows me would accuse me of self-depreciation, but I tell you, Macdonald, every villager down there has more self-appreciation in his little finger than I have in my whole body. Old Jake Baffers never had a bath in his life, and he would be secretly proud of his record if an urchin were to shout at him: 'G'wa and tak a wash!' Yet if the secretary forgot to send him a notice of the Parish Council Meeting Jake would hate the man for all eternity." "What does it all mean?" asked Macdonald. "The innate love of publicity lies at the root of all the village hate and narrowness. They spend their little lives looking for trouble, and the trouble they look for specially is a personal slight. The village is always full of this kind of trouble. They like to have a finger in every pie. You don't want them to run your Soup Kitchen; you could do it fifty times better yourself." "Perhaps they think I'd sneak the cash, eh?" "No! No, to give them their due, they don't think that. You may rob the Committee of all their cash if you like (think of the fine talk they would have over it!); what you mustn't do is to rob them of their publicity. Some of them will always hate you because you wear a linen collar and don't talk dialect. Also, you are an incomer. I once attended a public meeting in a Fife village. A man stood up to give his opinion about a public matter, and they shouted him down with the cry: 'Sit doon! Ye're an incomer!' The man had been resident in that village for twenty-three years, but he had come from Forfarshire originally." "And this is democracy!" exclaimed Macdonald. "This is education," said I. "All the history and geography and grammar in the world won't produce a better generation in this village. What is really wrong is narrow vision due to lack of wide interest. Obviously the village thinks of small things, things that don't count to us. The villager left school at fourteen and he never had any training in thinking." "Well, and what's the remedy?" "Remedy be blowed!" I cried. "Come on, I'm going down with you and I'll have it out with old Brown." * * * Brown was in no mood to be friendly. Indeed he was quite nasty. He told me frankly that our friendship was at an end, and I felt pained about the matter. Suddenly a brilliant inspiration came to me. As I stood at the door I turned to him sharply. "You've had your say, Mr. Brown," I said sternly, "and now it's my innings. I didn't mean to mention it, but you've forced me to do it." I paused to note his sudden look of alarm. "Yes," I went on, "I want to know what the devil you meant by saying that I suffered from swelled head?" "When did I say that?" he stammered. I shrugged my shoulders. "I refuse to give away the man who told me," I said stiffly. He was now in great excitement. He wiped his brow with his hand. "Graham is a liar!" he cried passionately, "it was _him_ that said it to _me_!" "But you agreed with him?" I insinuated. Brown drew himself up stiffly. "Well, damn you, I did!" "Quits!" I cried, and I held out my hand. Later as we sat together over a hot whiskey I tried hard to persuade him that Graham had never said a word to me; I told him again and again that I had made a lucky guess, and at last I managed to persuade him to believe me. Yet somehow I feel that he'll look askance at poor Graham the next time he meets him. * * * We were threshing to-day. During the dinner interval Margaret and I chanced to meet in the barn. I threw my arms round her and kissed her. A chuckle came from the straw. I looked up to find the eyes of Jim Jackson upon us. "Aw'll no tell!" he cried, and Margaret fled blushing from the barn. "Right, Jim! We'll trust you with the secret. Margaret and I are in love with each other." "When is it to be?" he asked eagerly. "You are thinking of the wedding feast I presume, my lad, what?" He did not answer; he seemed to be thinking. "Bob Scott has a' the luck," he said dolefully; "when he was ten his mither was married, when he was eleven his sister Bets dee'd, and syne when he was twel his father was married. Aw've only had a marriage and a daith. Aw like marriages better gyn daiths; ye get mair to eat, and ye dinna hae to look solemn. A christenin' doesna coont; ye jest get a wee bit o' cake, and the minister prays." "Jim," I said suddenly, "will you be my best man?" He gaped. "Will Aw be yer--?" He was too much surprised to complete the sentence. "Yes, and carry the ring," I said. His eyes danced. "And kiss the bridesmaids," I continued. His face fell. "No," he said slowly, "Aw'm ower young to be a best man." He considered for a while. "But Geordie Tamson wud kiss them for a hank o' candy," he said half aloud. "No," I said, "you can't delegate your powers to another in a case of this sort. But of course if you think Geordie would be the better man to sit on the dickey of the carriage, and lead the bride to the wedding feast, and throw out the sweeties and pennies to the children, and--" "Aw'll be yer best man!" he roared. XII. To-night I made up my mind to speak to Frank Thomson and his wife. I knew that Jim would be miserable as long as he carried so weighty a secret on him; I knew that he was itching to rush through the village shouting: "The Mester's gaein' to be married to Maggie Tamson ... and Aw'm to be his best man!" I went over about eight o'clock. The children were in bed, and Margaret sat in the kitchen with her father and mother. "I want to marry Margaret," I said when I entered. Frank was reading _The People's Journal_. The paper fluttered slightly, and that was the only sign of surprise that came from him. "Yea, Mester?" he said slowly. "Man, d'ye tell me that na? Aw see that the Roosians are makin' some progress again." He buried his head in his paper after throwing a look to his wife. The look clearly meant: "This is a matter for you to tak up, Lizzie." Mrs. Thomson laid down her knitting carefully; then she rubbed her glasses with her apron. She glanced at Margaret, and Margaret rose and left the room quietly. I knew that she left the door half-closed so that she might hear from the stair-foot. Her mother looked at me over her glasses. "She's gey young," she said. "A year older than you were when you married," I said with a smile. She sat in deep thought for a long time. Then she turned to her husband. "Frank," she said in a matter-of-fact voice, "ye'll better bring oot the whiskey." That was all. Neither of them asked a question about my financial position, or my hopes. Mrs. Thomson went to the door and called Margaret's name, and when she entered the kitchen her mother simply said: "Maggie, ye micht bring a few coals like a lassie." A stranger from a foreign land looking on would have wondered at the unconcern of the whole thing. The family talked about everything but the subject of the moment, but I knew by the way in which they made conversation that they were striving to hide their real feelings. When I rose to leave I turned to Frank. "I don't know what plans I have," I said, "but the chances are that I'll go to live in London some day soon." Frank waved a protesting hand. "Never mind that ee'noo," he cried. "Maggie!... ye'll better see the Mester to the door, lassie!" "They're awfu' pleased!" whispered Margaret at the door. "Are they, Margaret?" I said tenderly. "Yes! But it isn't because you are so clever, you know!" "Rather because I am so handsome?" "No. They're pleased because you are an M.A." Then she laughed at my look of chagrin. * * * This morning I met Jim. "Jim," I said, "you are free to speak now." He made no reply; he sprang over a gate and flew towards the village. The girls came up in a body at four o'clock. "Is't true?" cried Janet as she ran up breathlessly. "What? Is what true?" "That you and Maggie are to be married?" "The answer is in the affirmative," I said pompously. Janet's face fell. "Eh, if Aw had that Jim Jackson! He telt us that he was to be yer best man!" "He was aye a big leer!" cried Ellen, then she saw that I was smiling. "It's true after a'!" she cried. "Yes," I said, "it's true, bairns," but to my surprise they rushed off and left me. I understood their action when I turned to look; they had seen Margaret emerge from the kitchen door. Poor Margaret! The whole crowd of them insisted on pinching her arms for luck. They seemed to have forgotten my existence; then suddenly they all came running towards me. "Let me tell 'im, Jan!" I heard Annie cry, but Jan tore herself from restraining arms and was first to come up. "The Mester's gotten a little baby!" cried Janet. "Janet's wrang!" cried Annie; "it's no the Mester: it's his wife!" I tried to look my surprise. "And did you congratulate him, Jan?" I asked. Janet tittered. "He took an awfu' reid face when he cam in this mornin', did'n he, Jean?" "Aye, and he was grumpy a' day. He was ay frownin' at a' body. We cudna help his wife haein' a bairn!" "He looked as if he was angry at his wife haein' the bairn," said Barbara. I recalled my conjecture that he would try to give the bairns the impression that he had nothing whatever to do with the affair, and I laughed uproariously. I suddenly realised that Gladys was asking me a question. "Eh? What's that, Gladys?" "I was speerin' if you and Maggie are to hae a bairn?" Janet gasped and cried: "Oh, Gladys!" and Jean cried: "Look at Maggie blushin'!" "Certainly!" I said with a laugh, "a dozen of them, won't we, Margaret?" "Bairns is just a scunner," said Sarah. "Ye'll hae to stop yer typewriter or ye'll waken them." "That's awkward, Sarah," I said, "for if I stop my typewriter I'll starve them." "The Mester'll hae a big hoose," said Jean, "and he'll type his letters in the parlour and Maggie'll rock the cradle in the kitchen, winna ye, Maggie?" "Perhaps," I suggested, "Jim Jackson will be able to invent a patent that will enable me to rock the cradle as I strike the keys." "Aye," said Janet with scorn, "and kill the bairn! Aw wudna trust Jim Jackson wi' ony bairn o' mine ... him and his inventions!" "Ye'll mak a nice father," said Gladys, and she put her arm round my neck. "Ye'll spoil yer bairns," said Ellen. She turned to Margaret. "Maggie, dinna let him tak chairge o' them, or he'll mak them catch minnows a' day instead o' learnin' their lessons." "G'wa, Ellen," cried Sarah, "they're no married yet! And ye dinna get bairns till ye're married a gey lang time." "Some fowk has them afore they get married," said Barbara thoughtfully, and I chuckled when I saw how the others looked at her. Disapproval was writ large on their faces. "Ye shudna mention sic things afore Maggie!" said Janet in a stage whisper, and I had to hold my sides. Margaret could not keep her gravity either, and she laughed immoderately. Later they pleaded with me to tell them when the wedding was to take place. I told them that I did not know, but that it would be soon, and I promised to invite them all. "But no Mester Macdonald!" said Jean. "Aw wudna feel so free wi' him there." I told them of the widower whose friends tried to persuade him to take his mother-in-law with him in the front funeral coach. After some persuasion he said resignedly: "Verra weel, then; but it'll spoil my day." Then I sent them home. * * * The story I told the girls set me thinking of funeral stories. I have heard dozens of them, but the only other one I can remember is the one about the farmer whose wife was to be buried. As the men carried the coffin along the passage they stumbled, and the coffin came into violent contact with the corner. The lid flew off, and the wife sat up and rubbed her eyes. She had been in a trance. Twenty years later the wife died again. The men were carrying the coffin through the passage when the farmer rushed forward. "Canny, lads!" he cried, "canny wi' that corner!" * * * "Look here," said Macdonald to me to-night, "the School Board election is coming off soon; why don't you stand?" "I thought that I would be the last man on earth you would want on the School Board," I replied. "Not at all," he said with a smile. "You and I differ about education, but our difference isn't so great as the difference between me and men like Peter Mitchell." I thought to myself that the difference between his idea and mine was infinitely greater than the difference between his idea and Peter Mitchell's, but I said: "It's very decent of you to suggest it, old chap, but I'm not standing." "But why not?" "Possibly for the same reason that H. G. Wells and A. R. Orage and Bernard Shaw and G. K. Chesterton don't stand for Parliament." "You place yourself in good company!" he laughed. "I'm not claiming kindred, Macdonald; what I mean to suggest is that I stand to Peter Mitchell and Co. very much in the same relationship as Shaw and Orage stand to Lloyd George and Co. Roughly there are two types of mind, the thinkers and the doers. Orage has better ideas than Lloyd George, but I fancy that Lloyd George is the better man to run a Ministry of Munitions. I've got better ideas than Peter Mitchell (I think you'll grant that), yet Peter is probably the better man to arrange for the gravelling of the playground." I smoked for a while in silence. "The best men don't enter public life," I continued. "No man with a real passion for ideas could tolerate the jobbery and gabble of the House of Commons. Public life is for the most part concerned with small things. The Cabinet settles mighty things like war and peace, but if you read Hansard you'll find that ninety-nine per cent. of the members' speeches deal with little things like Old Age Pensions or the working of the Insurance Act. So in the School Board you have to deal with the incidental things. The Scotch Education Department settles the broad lines of education, and the local School Boards simply administer the Education Act of 1908. What could I do on the Board anyway?... arrange for the closing of the school at the tattie holidays, discuss your application for a rise in screw, grant a certain amount of money for prizes. I couldn't persuade the Board to convert your school into a Neo-Montessorian Play-Garden; if I did persuade them the Department would very likely step in and protest. Besides I haven't the type of mind. I hate all the formalism of public meetings; I had enough of it at the 'varsity to last me a life time; the debating societies spent most of their time reading minutes and moving 'the previous question.' I'm not a practical man, Macdonald. In art I like pure black and white work, and I think in black and white; I see the broad effect without noting the detail. Detail gives me a headache, and the public man must have something like a passion for detail. Look at the Scotch Education Department; it is full of splendid officials who will spend a week nosing out an error of ten attendances in an unfortunate dominie's registers. That's what should be; the official should have the mind of a ready-reckoner ... rather, he must have, else he would drown himself after a day in Whitehall." Macdonald has a passion for detail, and I smiled to note a growing look of aggression on his face. "Somebody's got to do the detail work," he growled. "Most of it could very well be left undone," I suggested. "You have to calculate laboriously all the attendances for the year, how many have left school, how many are of such and such an age, and so on. What for? Simply to allow the busy officials of Whitehall to settle what grant should be paid." "How could they settle it otherwise?" he asked. "In fifty ways. The obvious way is to find out how much the school requires to run it each year. I would go the length of abolishing the daily register. You don't call the roll in a cinema house or a kirk or a political meeting. Why, man, in the big schools in the cities the headmaster is a junior clerk; his whole time is spent in making up statistical returns for the Department." "You couldn't get on without the returns," said Macdonald. "Possibly not at present," I said, "seeing that the system of grants obtains, but if an Education Guild of Teachers controlled the education of Scotland most of the returns could be scrapped. All the returns needed for your school would be a list of expenditure on salaries, books, etc.; main headquarters would control the broad policy and pay the bills." "And attendance wouldn't count?" "Not if I had any say in the matter. To have an average attendance of 96 per cent. is about the lowest ideal a dominie can aim at. The teachers and the school boards aim at a high average because of the higher grant; the Department, with an eye on Blue Book statistics, encourages them to aim at a high average because a high average means a country with the minimum of illiteracy." "Would you abolish compulsory attendance?" "Certainly--so far as the children are concerned. Make their schools playgrounds instead of prisons, and you'll have no truancy. But I would have compulsion for parents. The State should have the power to say to parents: 'You are only the guardians of these children, and we can't allow you to keep them from education to do your work for you.'" "You aren't consistent," he said, "here you are advocating Authority!" "Macdonald," I said wearily, "you must have authority and law of a kind. You must have a law that you take the left side of the road when you are cycling for instance. You must give the community power to overpower a man like that lunatic who assaulted Mary Ramsay the other day, and if the community feels that it must protect children from assaults on their bodies, surely to goodness it must step in and protect little children when parents try to commit assaults on their souls. Compulsion should step in to destroy compulsion." "Now, what in all the earth do you mean by that?" "A man compels his son to stay from school; the compulsion of the State overrules the compulsion of the father. So with compulsion of men for military purposes; in theory at least the Military Service Act compels men to fight in order that they may overrule the compulsion that Germany is trying to force on Europe. The Fatherland and the father are interfering with human souls, but if a boy does not want to go to school he is a free agent choosing as he wills, and interfering with the soul of no one." "What about his children coming after him?" "A good point," I cried; "in other words you mean that no man liveth unto himself and no man dieth unto himself, eh? Yes, that's quite true, but we don't know what the boy is to turn out. Given a home of comfort and food ... as every boy would have in a well-ordered community ... I think that the lad who could resist the attraction of a play-garden school with its charms of social intercourse with other children would be either a lunatic or a genius. Besides we have given up the idea in other departments. I expect that the community is of opinion that the teachings of Christianity are good for a man to hand on to his children, yet I don't think that the community would pass a law that every parent must send his family to a Sunday School. The whole trend of society is to recognise and provide for the conscientious objector, and society should certainly recognise the conscientious objector to school-going." "A boy doesn't know his own mind." "Neither do I," I sighed. "I can't make up my mind about anything; rather, I make up my mind to-day and change it to-morrow. And I don't want it to be otherwise; when my opinions become definite and fixed I shall be dead spiritually. The boy doesn't know his own mind! Well, how the deuce can I claim to help him to make it up when I can't make up my own? It's his mind, not mine. I don't mind telling him what I think of a subject, but I wouldn't compel him to do a blamed thing." "You have a queer idea of education," he said with a dry laugh. "Macdonald," I said, with real modesty, "I don't know that I have any idea of education. I am simply groping. I don't exactly know what I want, but I have a pretty definite notion of what I don't want ... and that is finality. I begin to think that what I want education to do is to train men not to make up their minds about anything." Macdonald rose to go. "Matrimony does that, old chap," he said with a chuckle, "and you'll soon discover that you won't get the chance of making up your mind ever." XIII. I feared that I was losing Jim and Janet and the others, but I have not lost them. They conform to Macdonald's reign of authority when they are in school, but they do it with their tongues in their cheeks. But only the select few have followed my banner. Jim is the only boy, and the only girls are Janet, Jean, Ellen, Annie, and Gladys. Barbara is of divided allegiance. The others are Macdonaldised. I find it a very difficult thing to define Macdonaldisation. Possibly its most distinguishing characteristic is what I might call a dour pertness. The bairns have lost their standard of values; they don't know limits. I pinched Mary's cheek when I met her this morning on her way to school, and she tossed her head in the air and looked at me with a cheeky expression which meant: "What do you think you're doing?" If I rag Eva she answers with brazen impudence. I have given up speaking facetiously to the boys, for they also were impudent. They were not like that when I had them; I could play with them, joke with them, rag them and they took it all with the best good humour; they teased me and played jokes on me, but they did it in the right spirit. I have seen it again and again. Strict discipline destroys a child's values of good taste and bad taste. Naturally when freedom is denied them they do not know what freedom means. The atrocities committed by the super-disciplined German army are quite understandable to me; like Macdonaldised bairns they did not understand the freedom they suddenly found themselves enjoying, and they converted it into licence. I can tell the character of a village dominie when I stop to ask a group of boys the way to the next village when I am cycling. Jimmy Young slouches past me now with a stare of hostility, and it isn't six months ago since he came running to me on the road one night for protection from the policeman who was after him for stealing a turnip from Peter Mitchell's field. The policeman came up and in a loud voice accused the laddie, while at the same time he threw in a hint or two that my lax discipline had something to do with the case. "If they got a little mair o' the leather, things wud be different," he growled. I do not like policemen; their little brief authority somehow manages to get my back up. "What's the row?" I asked mildly. "This young devil has been stealin' neeps," he roared, "and Mitchell's gaein' to mak a pollis court case o't." I said nothing; I took Jimmy by the arm and walked towards the gate of Mitchell's field. I vaulted it and deliberately pulled up a turnip and peeled it and ate it, while the constable stood writing down notes voluminously. "Understand," I said to him, "that I am not primarily encouraging Jimmy to steal turnips; my one aim is to appear in the police court with him if he is charged. I would rather a thousand times be with him in the dock than with you and your farmer in the witness-box." Peter Mitchell did not prosecute. In these days Jimmy realised that he and I were friends; we understood each other. Now he does not think of trying to understand me; I am an ex-dominie, and that's enough for him. Macdonald is the real dominie; Jimmy must be circumspect when he is about else there will be ructions. I don't count: I have no authority. I should like to hear Macdonald's remarks to Jimmy if the constable came to the school to tell of one of the laddie's escapades. I have lost Jimmy and a hundred others, but I thank heaven for the bairns left to me. They come up nearly every night, and they spend Saturdays and Sundays with me. Last Saturday Macdonald came into the field where we were playing. Janet and the other girls froze at once; all the fun went out of them, and they looked at him timidly. He tried to show that he also could be playful and he tried to romp with them for a while. The romp wasn't a success; they were acting all the time, and when a girl "tigged" him she did so with a woefully apologetic air as if she would say: "Excuse my touching you, sir, but it's only a game, you know. I'll take care not to presume when we meet on Monday morning." Luckily he did not stay long, and the girls resumed their attempt to tie my legs together with grass ropes, their motive being to stuff my mouth with brambles. I invited them down to the bothy for tea, and they rushed off to lay the table. "And we'll look into a' yer drawers and places," cried Jean, "and read a' yer love-letters." "If you could read I believe you _would_ read them," I shouted after her. "Eh! What an insult!" she cried. "Aw'll just go straucht doon to Maggie and tell her no to hae ye!" After tea Gladys suddenly said: "Come on, we'll play at schules, eh?" The idea was hailed with delight, and Annie requisitioned the services of my new braces for a strap, and ranged us round the fire. "Now," she said, "this is playtime and you are all outside, and when I blow the whistle you'll all come in." "Blaw yer bugle," said Jean, "just to mak it like it was when ye were at the schule." So I played the "Fall In" and went out to play. I came in late. "Why are you late?" demanded Annie. I looked round the room vacantly. "Yes!" I said with a nod of enlightenment. The girls giggled, and Annie had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "Where have you been, sir?" "Oh, no!" I cried, "at least I don't think so!" Annie had to sit down and laugh. "That's no fair," she said, "there shud be nae funnin' in the schule." I sat down on the fender and pulled a face that Alfred Lester might have envied. Annie went into fits of laughter. "Tell ye what, Annie," said Ellen, "we'll put the Mester oot, and we'll play oorsells," and I was dismissed the school. After deliberation they agreed to allow me to be an inspector provided I did not say anything. When bairns play school they always put on the fine English. The teacher's main duty is to call erring pupils out and punish them. "Now, Ellen Smith, what is two and two?" "Four." "Very good. Now we'll have an object lesson. What animal do we get milk from, Janet?" "The cow." "Very good. Now we'll have some geography. Where is the town of--?" "Give us spellin' instead," cried Gladys. "Come out, girl!" and Gladys was punished severely. Then Jean was punished for laughing. "It's my chance o' bein' teacher noo," cried Ellen and Janet at the same time, and a treble scuffle for the strap followed. Janet got it. "Now," she began, "I'll be Mister Macdonald. Put yer hands behind yer backs, and the first one that moves will hear about it!" They sat up like statues. "Now, Jean Broon, you stand up and recite the _Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard_!" And Jean stood up and recited the first verse dramatically. "That'll do. Sit down. Ellen Smith, I want you to say the first verse of Wordsworth's _Ode to the Imitations of Immorality_." "P-Please, sir," tittered Gladys, "the inspector's laughin' like onything!" I laughed immoderately, but it wasn't at Janet's malapropism that I laughed so much. I thought of Mrs. Wilks, the charwoman, who looked after the flat another man and I shared in Croydon. One morning she did not arrive to make the breakfast, and I went out to look for her. I found the old woman--she was sixty-three--standing at the foot of the stairs weeping. "Great Scot!" I cried, "what's the matter?" "My 'usband ain't goin' to allow me to char for you young gentlemen again." "What for?" I asked in amazement. "He ... he accuses me of 'avin' immortal relations wiv you," she sobbed. I hasten to add that her relations with us were not immortal: we sacked her a week later for pinching the cream. "Sorry, Janet," I said at length, "proceed with your Imitations of Immorality, although personally I don't see the need for them; the real thing's good enough for me." "Now," she said, "I'll be Mister Neill now." Annie at once began to sing "Tipperary"; Ellen began to pull Gladys's hair; Jean pretended that she was biting a huge apple ... and the teacher Janet took a cigarette from the box on the table and lit it. "You gross libellers!" I cried, and I chased them out of the bothy. * * * To-night I had a long walk with Margaret. I tried to make her talk, for I want so much to know her views on things. "You talk," she said; "I like to listen." "But," I protested, "I'm always talking to you, and you listen all the time. I want to know what is in that wee head of yours ... although I suppose that I ought to be satisfied with its exterior." "You see," she said slowly and somewhat sadly, "I am not clever; I am only an ordinary farmer's daughter working in the dairy and the fields. If I told you what I was thinking you would not be interested." We walked many yards in silence. "It is all a mistake!" she suddenly burst out passionately. "I am not good enough for you, and when my bonny face is gone you will hate me. We have nothing in common, and if you met me in London you wouldn't be interested in me at all. You will bring clever women to the house and I--I will sit in a corner and say nothing, for I won't understand the things that you talk about. I am afraid to go to London with you." "We'll stay here then," I said quietly. "No!" she cried, "not that! I will stay here, but you must go to your work and your clever friends. O! it's all been a mistake!" She sat down on a fallen tree and wept silently. I sat down beside her and placed my arm round her shoulders. "Margaret," I said softly, "we'll have a soul to soul talk about it. I'll tell you very very frankly what I think about the whole matter, and I'll try to deceive neither you nor myself. "Intellectually you are not a soul-mate to me. That can't be possible seeing that you have never had the chance to develop your intellect. I know girls whose intellect is brilliant and whose sense of humour is delicious ... but I don't love them. I like them; I love a witty conversation with them, but ... I don't want to touch them. The touch of your hand sends a thrill through me, and there is no other hand in the world that can do that. I want to caress you, to hug you, to kiss your lips, to kiss your lovely neck. Margaret, I want you ... and you are not my soul-mate. Margaret, I must have you. "You see, dear, love is a thing that cannot be reasoned with. I once wrote down on paper a list of the qualities I wanted in the woman who should be my wife. She was to have blue eyes, a Grecian nose, auburn hair; she was to be tall and imperious; she was to be a fine pianist. Dear, your eyes are grey; your nose isn't Grecian; you aren't tall, and your limit as a pianist is _I'm a Little Pilgrim_ played with one finger. You're hopeless, madam, but, dash it all!... I'll buy an auto-piano! "According to all the rules I oughtn't to find any interest in you at all. Do you know that popular song _You Made Me Love You_? That's the only popular song I ever struck that has any philosophy in it. It has more real pathos in it than _The Rosary_ and Tosti's _Goodbye_ rolled into one. "'You made me love you; I didn't want to do it,' ... Margaret, that's the true story of love. Love is blind they say, but the truth is that love is mad. I didn't want to love you; my mind kept telling me that you were not the right woman ... and here I sit in paradise because your head is on my shoulder. The whole thing's absurd and irrational. I almost believe that there is a real Cupid who fires his arrows broadcast; of course the little fellow is blind and he hits the wrong people." I turned her face towards mine. "Margaret, do you love me?" "I love you," she whispered and she nestled more closely into my shoulder. "And I love you," I replied, and kissed her brow. "It may be all a mistake, darling, but you and I are going to be man and wife." "Anyway," I added, "we have no illusions about it. We've looked at the thing frankly and openly. We are blind, but we are going into it with our eyes open." "You are getting silly again," laughed Margaret, and we forgot all our doubts and fears, and became two children playing with the toy we call love. * * * Margaret came to me to-night. "Mr. Macdonald's evening school opens to-night. Do you think I should join it?" "Why should you?" I asked. "Oh, I have no education, and I want to learn things." "Well," I said consideringly, "you'll learn things all right down there. You'll learn how to measure a field, and how to analyse a sentence; you'll learn a few things about the Stuart kings, and a few things about the British colonies. But, my dear, do you specially want to learn things like that?" "I don't know what things I want to learn," she said sadly. "I think I want to know about the things you used to speak about at your evening school. Things that I don't agree with when you say them." She laughed shortly. "You know," she continued, "you used to make me angry sometimes. When you said that you didn't object to girls smoking I was wild with you. And I remember how shocked I was when you said that swearing navvies were no worse than we were. When you said that the text 'Children, obey your parents' gave bad advice I nearly got up and left the room." "I expect that I _was_ a sort of bombshell," I laughed. "You made me think about things that I had never thought about before." "That was what I was paid for, Margaret; I was educating you." "What is education?" she asked. "Education is thinking, Margaret. Most people take things for granted; they won't face truth. You don't like your sister Edith; she is catty and jealous. But you won't confess to yourself that you dislike Edith. All your training tells you that brotherly love is the accepted thing, and if you confessed to yourself that you are fonder of Jean Mackay than you are of Edith, you would think yourself a sinner of the worst type. If you want to be educated you must be ready to question everything; you must doubt everything. You must be very chary of making up your mind. Do you believe in ghosts?" I asked suddenly. "Of course not!" she said with a smile. "Do you?" "I don't know," I answered. "Lots of people claim to have seen them, and for that reason I leave the question open. There may not be ghosts, but I don't know enough about the subject to deny that they exist. I am quite ready to believe you if you tell me that you saw a ghost in the granary. I asked the question just to use it as an illustration. Popular opinion laughs at the idea of a ghost, but the thinking person won't accept the conventional view. Keep an open mind, Margaret, and believe when you are convinced. "Education never stops; we are being educated every day of our lives. Why, only yesterday, I was up in the top field, and I heard a great squealing. I hurried to the place and was just in time to rescue a tiny rabbit from a weasel. I had seen a weasel kill a rabbit many a time before that, and I had never thought anything about it. But yesterday a sudden thought came to me. I remembered the words 'God is good,' and I began to think about them. Then I suddenly said to myself that the words were not true. The world is full of pain and terror; the great law of nature is: Eat or be eaten. I realised for the first time that every hedgerow is a horrid den of suffering and fear. Cruelty is Nature's name, Margaret." "But," she cried in perplexity, "isn't there much good in the world too?" "Yes, dear, there is much good in the world, but cruelty is much more powerful. You and I are cruel unthinkingly. We kill wasps before they sting us; we aren't good enough to give the poor brutes the benefit of the doubt. Your father is a very kind-hearted man, yet he never once thinks of the cruelty he perpetrates when he rears sheep and cattle and lambs for the butcher's knife. You and I dined on roast lamb often this summer, and we never thought of the poor wee creature's agony when the butcher cut its throat. Your mother is kind, yet she will kill a mouse without a thought, and the mouse is to me the bonniest creature that lives. Its great big glorious eyes fascinate me. Think of the kindly people who chase a poor half-starved fox with hounds and horses; sport is the cruellest thing in the world. Shooting, fishing, hunting ... men are as cruel and as devilish as the tiger or the hawk, Margaret." "Animals maybe don't feel the same as we do," she said. "Don't you lay that flattering unction to your soul," I cried. "I used to believe that comforting tale of the scientist that the lower animals do not feel. I ceased to believe it when I tried to put a worm on a fish-hook. When I saw it wriggle about I said to myself: 'This is pain, or rather it is agony.' Think of the pain that your mares and cows suffer when they are having their young. You and I heard the screams of Polly when that dead foal was born this year. "When you think of it, Margaret, man's chief end is not to glorify God as the Catechism says; his chief end is to eliminate pain ... human pain. You have heard of vivisection? Performing operations on animals, often without chloroform. What's it all for? Not cruelty, as Bernard Shaw suggests; it's all done with the kindly purpose of finding out new ways to abolish human pain. Rabbits and guinea-pigs are dosed with all sorts of microbes so that scientists might discover how to protect human beings from the pain of disease. The doctors sometimes do manage to discover a new way to abolish a certain pain, and the pathetic thing is that while they torture animals to find a way to abolish pain a thousand scientists are busily engaged inventing weapons that will bring more pain into the world. It is an alarming thought that our doctors and nurses spend their lives trying to keep the unfit alive, while our armament makers spend their lives planning means to send the fit to their death. Lots of people have said that this war shows the failure of Christianity; what it really shows is the failure of Medicine. Medicine's primary aim is to keep people alive as long as possible; War's primary aim is to kill as many people as possible. War is really a battle between two branches of science, between shells and senna. The shell scientist won ... and the medicine man buckled on a Sam Browne belt and went out to help his rival's victims. If the doctors of the world had realised that war was a defeat of their principles they would have gone on strike, and would no doubt have stopped the war by doing so. Every doctor should be a pacifist, but as a matter of fact very few doctors are pacifists." "What is a pacifist?" asked Margaret. "A pacifist is a man who loves peace so much that people look up almanacs to see whether his name was Schmidt a generation back, Margaret. He is usually a nervous man with the physical courage of a hen, but he has more moral courage than three army corps. He is usually a Conscientious Objector, and it takes the moral courage of a god to be that." "They are just a lot of cowards!" cried Margaret with indignation. "No," I said, "I can't agree with you. No coward will face the scorn of women and the contempt of men as these men do. Think of the life that lies in front of a Conscientious Objector. Nobody will ever understand him; he will be an outcast for ever. Dear, it takes stupendous courage to put yourself in that position, and I can't think that any man could do it unless he were following principles that were dearer to him than the judgment of his fellow men. You see, Margaret, ordinary courage and moral courage are totally different things. I know a man who won the V.C. for a very brave deed, and that chap wouldn't wear a made-up tie for all the decorations in the world; he wouldn't have the moral courage to be seen walking down the street with a Bengali. The more imagination you have the higher is your moral courage, but imagination is fatal to physical courage. Moral courage belongs to the thinker; physical courage to the doer. And I can't help thinking that moral courage goes with unhealthiness. I am quite sure that physical courage is primarily dependent on physical health. If my liver is out of order I tremble to open a letter; I can't walk ten yards in the dark; and the arrival of a telegram would give me a fainting fit. Nerves are always unhealthy, and as thinkers are always highly strung people I conclude that thinking is unhealthy. Thinkers are mad, Margaret, mad as hatters." "Mad!" "Yes. The lunatic is merely the man whose brain is different from the brain of the average man. The average man does not imagine himself to be Jesus Christ, and when a man does imagine himself to be Christ we say that he is mad, and we shut him up. He may be a Christ for all we know. I don't know why the community didn't shut up Shaw when he first preached that obedience was one of the Seven Deadly Virtues. The average man didn't agree with him, and we can say that Shaw is therefore mad. You see, dear, man is firstly an animal; Joe Smith the butcher down in the village is an animal, a fine healthy animal. He is primitive man, and thinking is the last thing he could attempt. Thinking is an acquired characteristic; it isn't a natural thing, and anything unnatural is diseased. A thinker is as much a freak as a man born with two heads. And that's why I say that thinkers are unhealthy. Blake the great poet was mad; Ibsen the great Norwegian dramatist died in the mad-house; Shelley was diseased; Milton was blind, Keats a consumptive; nearly every great composer of music who ever lived was mad." "But," laughed Margaret, "you said that education was thinking, and now you say that thinkers are all mad." "Yes, but madness is what the world needs. All these villagers down there are absolutely sane, but the world won't be a scrap the better for their existence. I prefer a world of Shelleys and Ibsens to a world of Jack Johnsons and Sandows ... and Joe Smiths. A great German philosopher called Nietzsche preached the gospel of Superman. He wanted a fine race of powerful men who would rule the world. Some people say that Napoleon and Cæsar and Cromwell were Supermen, but the real Supermen were men like Christ and Ibsen and Darwin and Shelley; a fighter is a nobody, but a man with a message is a Superman." "I don't understand," said Margaret dully; "what do you mean by having a message?" "A messenger is a man who forces people to consider things that they wouldn't consider without being prompted. Christ's message was love; He encouraged men to act according to the good that was in them; the kindliness, the charity, the love. And the fact that shooting and hunting and lamb eating still persist shows that we pay but little attention to Christ's message. Shelley's message was freedom, freedom to think and to live one's own life. You'll find that there are only the two kinds of message ... love and freedom." "The evangelists who were holding meetings in the school last winter used to speak about their 'message,'" said Margaret. "Would you say that they were Supermen?" "They were Superwomen," I said hastily. "They depended on emotionalism. They said nothing new, and they would refuse to consider anything new if you asked them to. They had no power to think; they quoted all the time. Consequently their message evaporated; when the magnetism of their appeal went away the converts lapsed into their old sinful ways. They didn't understand the message they tried to deliver; they had never really thought out Christ's philosophy. They had got hold of a catch phrase or two, and they kept shouting: 'Though your sins be as scarlet they shall be made whiter than snow.' But I am quite sure that they did not know what they meant by sin. Christ's chief message was: 'Love one another,' but they made it out to be: 'Love yourself so well that you may cry for salvation from the wrath to come.'" Margaret looked at the clock on my mantelpiece. "O!" she cried, "it's eight o'clock ... and the class began at seven! I can't go now." At the door she paused for a moment; then she came back slowly. "I won't attend his class," she said thoughtfully; "I think I'll just come over to see you every night, and you'll talk to me and educate me." "Well," I smiled, "I will give you a wider education than Macdonald can give you. For example ... this!" "I could get any amount of teaching in kissing," she tittered. "Possibly, darling ... but there is no teacher hereabouts with my knowledge and experience of the art." "You horrid pig!" she laughed, and she pulled my hair. XIV. Janet and Annie came up to me to-night. "Hullo!" I cried, "what's become of Ellen and Gladys and Jean?" "We're no speakin' to them," said Annie loftily. "Cheeky things!" said Janet with scorn. I became interested at once. "Rivals in a love affair?" I asked. They sniffed, and ignored the query. "It was Jean," said Annie bitterly. "She went and telt the Mester that Aw spoke when he was oot o' the room." "Aye," said Janet, "she put doon my name tae. Wait er I get her at hame the nicht!" I understood. Macdonald evidently favours the obnoxious practice of setting a bairn to spy on the others ... a silly thing to do. "Aye," went on Annie, "and she called us navvies' lasses!" "And you replied?" "Aw telt her to g'wa hame and darn the hole in her stockin'. 'Aye,' Aw said, 'and ye can wash yer neck at the same time, Jean Broon!'" "But," I said, "Jean never has a dirty neck, Annie." "Weel, what did she say that Aw was a navvy's lass for then?" she demanded indignantly. "I'm afraid that she has seen you speaking to navvies, Annie." Annie became excited. She clutched Janet by the sleeve. "Eh! What an insult!" she cried. "Janet Broon, div Aw speak to navvies?" "Never in a' yer life," said Janet firmly, "never wance ... unless yon day that the twa o' them speered at ye the wye to the huts." "But Aw didna answer," said Annie quickly; "Aw just pointed." "Are you sure?" I asked. "Sure as daith," she declared solemnly, and she cut her breath. "Aw maybe wud ha' spoken," she admitted, "but Aw had a muckle lump o' jaw-stickin' toffee in my mooth, and Aw cudna speak supposin' Aw had wanted to." "Pointing was as bad as speaking," I said. "If it was," said Annie tensely, "Jean never washes her neck. So there!" They departed, and in half-an-hour the enemy came up. They sat in the bothy in silence for a time. "Well," I said cheerily, "what's the news to-night?" "We're fechtin'," said Gladys, "fechtin' wi' Annie and Janet." "What's it all about, eh?" "The Mester gar me write doon the names o' them that was speakin'," blurted out Jean, "and Aw put doon their names." "Yes," chimed in Ellen, "and syne they ca'ed Jean a tramp, and said that the Mester gae her the job o' writin' doon the names cos she was sic a bad writer and needed practice." "Aye," said Gladys, "and they telt me my mither got my pink frock dyed black when my faither deed." "And it wasna her pink frock," cried Ellen; "it was her green ane." "This is alarming," I said with concern. "But tell me, Jean, did you say anything to them?" "Aw never said a word!" "Not one word?" "They cried to us that we was navvies' dochters, and Aw just said: 'Aw wud rather be a navvy's dochter than the dochter o' Annie Miller's faither onywye.'" "They telt Jean to wash her neck," said Gladys. Jean smiled grimly. "Aye, but they got mair than they bargained for! I just says to them, Aw says: 'Annie Miller, gang hame and tell yer faither to redd up his farm-yaird. Aye, and tell yer mither to wash yer heid ilka week instead o' twice a year!'" "But," I protested, "Annie gets her hair washed every Saturday night!" "And Aw get my neck washen ilka mornin'!" "All right, Jean, but you haven't told me what you said to Janet." "Jan! I soon settled her! I just says to her says Aw: 'Wha stailt the plums that mither brocht hame on Saturday nicht?'" "And did Jan steal the plums?" I asked. "She did that!" "And you never touched them?" "No the plums," she said frankly; "Aw wasna sic a thief as that. Aw only took a wee corner o' the fig toffee." I scratched my head thoughtfully. "This is a bonny racket, girls. I don't know what to make of it. I think you'll better make it up." "Never!" cried Jean stoutly. "Ellen and Gladys and me's never to speak to them again; are'n we no, Ellen?" "Never!" cried Ellen. "No if they were to gang doon on their bended knees!" declared Gladys. "That's awkward for you, Jean," I said. "Do you mean to tell me that you won't speak to Jan when you are sleeping together?" "Aw'll just gie her a dig in the ribs wi' my elbow to mak her lie ower, but Aw'll no open my mooth." "And what if your mother says to you: 'Jean, tell Janet to feed the hens?'" "Aw'll just hand her the corn-dish and point to the henhoose." "And put oot my tongue at her," she added. "Jean," I said suddenly, "I'll bet you a shilling that you are speaking to Jan and Annie by to-morrow night at four." "Aw dinna hae a shillin'," she said ruefully, "but Aw bet ye a hapenny Aw'm no!" * * * To-night Jean came running up to me when school was dismissed. "Gie's my hapenny!" she cried; "Aw didna speak to Annie and Janet a' day!" "Honest?" "It's true," said Ellen, "isn't it Gladys?" "Then I'll pay up my debt of honour," I said, and I held out a ha'penny. Jean took it, and then she set off round the steading in great haste. She returned with her arms round Janet and Annie. "Aw got Bets Burnett to tell them aboot the ha'penny," she confessed, "and to speer them no to speak to me a' day and Aw wud gie them a bit o' sugarelly." "You scheming besom!" I cried and I laid her on my bothy table and sat on her. "Eh! Jean!" said Gladys, "if only ye had said ye wud bet a shillin'!" "Dear me," I said hastily, "when I come to think of it I did bet a shilling. Jean bet a hapenny, but I distinctly remember saying that I was betting a shilling. Here you are, Jean!" but Jean refused it with indignation. Not one of them would touch it. "Right!" I cried. "I'm going down to get cigarettes. Who's coming?" I spent a shilling on sweets and chocolate. No one would accept a single sweetie. "I'll give myself toothache if I eat them," I said. They paid no heed. "I won't invite one of you to my marriage if you don't take them." They wavered, but did not give way. "All right," I said with an air of great determination, "here goes!" and I tossed the bag into the field. They made no sign of interest, and we walked up the brae. Jim Jackson was coming down with his milk. "Jim," I began, "if you go down to that first gate, and look over the hedge you'll find--" I got no farther. "Come on!" cried Janet, "Aw dinna want them, but Jim Jackson's no to get them onywye!" I was glad to note that they gave Jim a handful as he passed. * * * To-day was fair day, and the bairns all went to town. I cycled in in the afternoon, and took the girls on the hobby-horses. I also stood Jim Jackson and Dickie Gibson into the stirring drama entitled: "The Moaning Spirit of the Moat ... a Drama of the Supernatural." I had a few shies at the hairy-dolls, and won two cocoanuts and a gold tie-pin. Then I stood fascinated by the style of the gentleman who kept the ring stall. Several articles were hung from hooks, and you tried to throw a ring on to a hook. His invariable comment on a ploughman's attempt was: "Hard luck for the alarum-clock! Give the gentleman a collar-stud." About five o'clock Jim came up to me. "How now, duke," I said breezily, "how much money have you left?" I was astonished to hear that he had half-a-crown. "Why!" I cried, "you told me at three o'clock that you had only ninepence left!" He smiled enigmatically. "Aw've been speculatin'," he said proudly. "Have ye seen the mannie that's sellin' watches and things at the Cross? Aw was standin' there wi' Geordie Steel this mornin', and the mannie speered if onybody wud gie him a penny for a shillin', and naebody wud dae it at first. Syne a ploughman gae him a penny and he got the shillin'. Syne the mannie speers again, and Geordie got a shillin' for a ha'penny. Syne he began to sell watches, and the first man that bocht a watch got his money back. Syne he held up a gold chain, and the man that bocht that he got his money back. Syne he held up anither gold chain and said he wud sell it for half-a-crown. So Geordie ups and hauds oot his half-croon, and it was a' the money he had. Weel, he gets the chain, but no his money back. 'Don't go away,' says the mannie; 'each and every man as buys an article of jewellery will have his reward.' "Weel, Aw waited for half-an-hoor, but Geordie hadna got onything by that time, so Aw goes and sees the boxin' show. After that Aw had a shot o' the shoagin' boats, and syne Aw went back to the Cross. Geordie was ay waitin' for his reward. So Aw says to him: 'He's likely forgot a' aboot it, Geordie; tell him!' So Geordie hauds up his gold chain and says: 'Hi, mannie, ye said Aw was to get a reward!' 'O, yes,' says the mannie, 'and so you shall! I want you to keep these eighteen carat gold sleeve-links as a memento of this occasion,' and he shoved a pair o' links into Geordie's hands. After that he shut his box and said he wud hae anither sale at four punctual. "Weel, Aw began to think aboot the thing, and when he began again he did the same thing. 'Will anyone oblige me by giving me a penny for half-a-crown?' he says, and Aw was just puttin' up my hand when a man held up his penny. 'Hi!' I cried, 'Aw'll gie ye tuppence if ye like!' and the mannie that was selling the things he lauched and handed me the half-croon. 'You're the kind of lad I'm looking for for an apprentice,' he says, but whenever Aw got the money Aw turned and ran awa, and he cries after me: 'Yes, you are the lad I want, but I see you are too clever for me.'" I asked Jim to show me the half-crown, and I examined it. It was quite genuine, but I said to Jim: "Men like that usually give away bad money." He was off like a flash, and when he came back he carried twenty-five pennies and ten hapennies. "If he starts to sell again," he announced, "Aw'll get Geordie to hand up the penny, but Aw'll no stand aside him." The girls each brought my "market" to me to-night ... a packet of rock. I asked about their spendings. Janet had bought three lucky-bags and nine lucky eggs. She had had no luck, and was somewhat grieved at the fact that Jean had bought only one lucky-egg and had got a new hapenny in it. Janet would have bought another egg with the hapenny, but I was not surprised to hear that Jean had bought sugarelly. Ellen had bought a tupenny note-book and a copying-ink pencil, a rubber and a card of assorted pen-nibs. Gladys had spent her all on lemon-kailie, the heavenly powder you get in oval boxes, with two wee tin spoons to sup it with. Jim came up later. His pockets contained three trumps, or Jewish harps as they are called in catalogues, three copying-ink pencils, a pencil that wrote red at one end and blue at the other, two mouth-organs, a wire puzzle, and ... Geordie's gold chain. The latter he had bought for tuppence and a double-stringed trump. "Aw spent three and fowerpence," he said, "but dinna tell the Mester!" "Why not, Jim?" "Cos he'll be angry. He told us yesterday no to spend oor money at the market, but to bring it and put it in the Savin's Bank." I wonder what becomes of the money that children put into the Savings Bank. I think that their parents usually collar it at some time or another. I half suspect that quite a number of cottage pianos owe their appearance to the children's bank-books. I stopped the saving business when I was down in the school. Bairns seldom get money, and sugarelly is like Robinson Crusoe: you must tackle it when you are young, or you never enjoy it thoroughly. I think it cruel to make a bairn bank the penny it gets for running a message. Spending is always a pleasant thing, but a bairn gets more delirious joy out of buying a hapenny lucky-bag than an adult gets out of buying a thousand guinea Rolls Royce motor. Some parents are foolish enough to give their bairns too much to spend. Little Mary Wallace has a penny every day of the year. I think that foolish of her mother. Spending must be a very rare thing if it is to yield the highest pleasure. I would advise bairns to save when they have a definite object in view. To lay up treasure in the Post Office Savings Bank is, for a bairn, about as tempting as laying up treasure in heaven. Bairns can't entertain remote possibilities. You can tell a boy that a sum in the bank will help him to buy clothes or a bicycle when he is a man, and the prospect does not thrill him. You can't persuade a boy to cast his eyes on the years to come when his eyes are rivetted on a cake of chewing-gum in the village shop window. If he saves it should be for a direct tangible object. He takes up a Gamage catalogue (the most delightful of books to a boy), and he sees an illustration of a water-pistol costing a shilling. If he is a boy of spirit he will deny himself sweeties for a month in order to get that pistol. The self-discipline necessary to enable a village boy to buy a water-pistol will do him infinitely more good than all the discipline of all the Macdonalds in Scotland. I would have all children poor in money, but I would give them the opportunity of earning enough money to buy their toys. A little poverty is good for anybody; I would recommend a young man to live on twelve shillings a week for a year or two; he would begin to see things in proportion. A friend of mine bases his antipathy to Socialism on this view of poverty. He argues that poverty brings out self-reliance, pluck, grit. When I ask him why he doesn't support Socialism as a means of bringing all these advantages to the poor wealthy folk, he is at a loss. In a manner I agree with him; poverty will often give a race splendid characteristics. But Socialism recognises that the wealth of the world is divided most unequally. At one end you have luxury that makes men degenerate; at the other end you have poverty that makes men swine. If Shaw's idea of equal incomes could be carried out each person would be in the position of a member of the present lower middle class; he would be rich enough to be well-fed and happy, and he would be poor enough to discipline himself to make sacrifices to attain an object. I don't think that any man should satisfy more than one desire at a time. If Andrew Carnegie wants a motor-car and a four manual organ he has simply to tell his secretary to write out two cheques. But if I want a motor-cycle and an Angelus player-piano I've got to give up one desire. I know that I'll tire of either, and all I have to do is to sit down and wonder which novelty will last the longer. I want both very much. A 2¾-h.p. Douglas would be delightful, and an Angelus with lots of rolls would charm the long nights away. But ... there is Margaret. I begin to think of blankets and sheets and pots and pans. I don't want any of these plebeian articles, but I want Margaret very much, and I know that along with her I must take the whole bunch of kitchen utensils. I begin to feel sorry for millionaires. One of the finer pleasures of life is the desiring of a thing you can't buy. The sorriest man in story is the millionaire who arrived at a big hotel very late, so late that he couldn't be served with supper. He straightway sent for the proprietor and asked the price of the hotel. He wrote out a cheque on the spot ... and called for his sausage and mashed--or whatever the dish was. No wonder that millionaires complain of indigestion. That story contains a fine moral. I don't exactly know what the moral is, but I hazard the opinion that the moral is this:--Never buy a hotel in order to get a plate of sausage and mashed. Millionaires might be defined as men who buy hotels in order to get sausage and mashed ... and they can't digest the sausage when they have got it. When a Carnegie builds a great organ in a great hall he is really buying the whole hotel. He is taking an unfair advantage of his fellow music-lovers. A plate of sausage and mashed would be of far greater moment to G. K. Chesterton than to the millionaire, but G. K. couldn't buy the whole hotel; he would merely swear volubly and tighten the belt of his waistcoat ... if that were possible. The millionaire should not have this advantage over Chesterton. So a millionaire should not have any advantage over a music-lover. Collinson, the Edinburgh University organist, has no doubt a greater appreciation of organ music than a Carnegie, but he has to go down to his church organ on a winter night if he wants to play a Bach fugue. Money is power, they say, but money is worse than power; it is tyranny. A successful pork-merchant whose one talent is his ability to tell at a glance how much pig it takes to fill a thousand tins of lamb cutlet, may buy up half the treasures of the world if he likes. Priceless pictures and violins lie in millionaires' halls, while students of genius study prints and practise on two guinea fiddles. At first sight this seems a problem that Horatio Bottomley would handle eagerly and popularly, but the problem is really a deep one. When humanity abolishes the power to amass millions who is to have the priceless treasures? In the case of art the community of course. (I see in to-day's paper that Rodin has bequeathed all his works to France.) But what of the Stradivarius violins? I would have them lent to the geniuses. Who is to decide who the geniuses are? That is a question of fundamentals, and if I had left the question to Mr. Bottomley I think he would have recommended his readers to "write to John Bull about it." I begin to feel that I am talking through my hat as the vulgar phrase has it. My baccy's finished, and I can't concentrate my attention on any subject. What I meant to do was to show that a millionaire is a man to be pitied. To buy a Titian painting when your tastes lie in the direction of Heath Robinson's _Frightful War Pictures_ is as pathetic a thing to do as to sit out a classical concert when your tastes lead you to a passionate love for ragtime. And buying a Titian is a simple case of buying the hotel in order to get the sausage and mashed that you can't eat. Millionaires ... no, it's no good; I'll have to fold up my typewriter till I get some more baccy. XV. Margaret was reading a few pages of my diary to-night. "Why," she said, "it's all about yourself!" "Not all," I said hastily, "some of it is about you ... but I won't let you read that part until you are my wife. If you knew the terrible things I have written about you you would go off straightway and marry Joe Smith." "You think quite a lot of yourself," she said with a laugh. "Everybody thinks a lot of himself, Margaret. If I died to-night you would probably have forgotten the shape of my nose by the time you were sixty, but you'll never forget that I told you your neck was the loveliest neck in the county. My old grandmother used to tell me again and again of the man who stopped her on the road when she was seven and told her that her eyes were like blue stars. His name was Donald Gunn ... but she could never recollect the names of the girls she played with. "The people who don't think much of themselves are people who have no personality to be proud of ... personally I haven't yet met any of the brand. We all have something that we're conceited about, dear. You are conceited about your eyes and your neck and your hair. Jean Hardie is about the plainest girl in the village, but I could bet that she thinks her hair the most glorious in the place ... and it is too. "Very often we are conceited about the things that we can do worst. I can draw pretty well, but I'm not conceited about it. I can't sing for nuts ... and if anyone left the room when I was warbling I should hate him to all eternity. I like a man to be an egotist ... if he has got an ego of any value. Peter MacMannish is a type of egotist that should be put into a lethal chamber. He has no ego to talk about, but he imagines that his stomach is his ego, and he will talk to you for an hour about the 'yirkin'' of the organ in question." "What is an ego?" asked Margaret. "I never heard the word before." "It is the Latin word for 'I,' and a person who uses the pronoun 'I' very often is called an egotist. The other word egoist has a different meaning; it means a person who thinks of himself all the time, a selfish person. You can be an egotist without being an egoist, and vice versa. Peter Mitchell never talks about himself; while you talk about yourself he is thinking out a method of selling you something at double its value. "There are two kinds of egotist ... the man who talks about what he does, and the man who talks about what he thinks. When I get letters from my friends they are full of "I's." Dorothy Westbrook, a college friend of mine, a medallist in half-a-dozen classes, fills eight pages with small talk.... 'I went to see Tree in the Darling of the Gods last night,' and so on. I generally skip the eight pages and look at the post-script. May Baxter, another college friend, a girl who wouldn't recognise a medal if you showed her one, writes ten pages, and she usually commences with something like this:--'I was re-reading _The New Machiavelli_ last night, and I think that I begin to despise Wells now.' I read her letter a dozen times. When she does take a fancy for the other kind of egotism she is delightful: she doesn't tell me what she does; she tells me what she is. "I have half a mind to leave you for a year, Margaret, just to give you a chance of writing about yourself. I won't be able to write to you in the same strain: I wrote myself out when I fell in love at twenty-two. You can only be a good letter-writer once, and that is when you are discovering yourself for the first time, and ramming it down on paper as fast as you can. I used to write letters of twenty foolscap pages, but now I never write a letter if I can help it. Life has lost most of its glamour when you realise that you have discovered yourself. It's a sad business discovering yourself, dear. You set out to persuade yourself that you are a genius or a saint, and, after a long examination of yourself you discover that you are a sorry creature. You set out with Faith and Hope at your elbow, and at the end you find that they have long since left you, but you find that Charity has taken their place. Charity begins at home says the proverb, and I take this to mean that Charity comes to you when you find yourself at home, when you discover yourself. I used to be the most uncharitable of mortals, but now I seldom judge a man or woman. Peter MacMannish gets drunk; I do not condemn him, for I have looked on the wine when it was red. Mary MacWinnie has had two illegitimate children; I am a theoretical Don Juan. Shepherd, the rabbit-catcher, has an atrocious temper; I do not judge him, because, although my own temper is pretty equable, I can realise that the man can no more help his temper than I can the size of my feet. Charity comes to you when you have discovered how weak you are, and that's what kept me from being a good code teacher. I was such a poor weak devil that I couldn't bring myself to make the boys salute me or fear me." "You say that, but you don't believe it." "I believe it, Margaret. My whole theory of education is built on my abject humility. My chief objection to Macdonald is that he ignores his own weaknesses. He has never analysed himself to see what manner of man he is. If he could look into his heart and discover all the little meanesses and follies and hypocrisies he would not have the courage to make a boy salute him; he would not have the impudence to strap a boy for swearing. One of the worst things about Macdonald and a thousand other dominies is that they have forgotten their childhood. A dominie should never grow up. I would take away from all students their text-books on School Management and Psychology, and put into their hands Barrie's _Peter Pan_ and Stevenson's _A Child's Garden of Verses_. "Margaret, why can't people see that the Macdonald system is all wrong? What in all the world is the use of dominies and ministers and parents posing before children? What is respect but a pose? What is Macdonald's sternness but a pose? He is a kindly decent fellow outside his school. The bairns meet with pose the first thing in the morning when they enter the school. They stand up and repeat the Lord's Prayer monotonously, and without the faintest realisation of what they are saying. The dominie closes his eyes and clasps his hands in front of him, and I don't believe there is a single dominie in Scotland who really prays each morning. For that matter I don't believe that there are half-a-dozen ministers who repeat the prayer on Sundays with any thought of its meaning. The morning prayer is a gigantic sham. When I said to Macdonald that I would have it abolished in schools he almost had a fit. The bigger the sham is the louder is the screaming in its defence if you attack it. "Think of all the shams that parents practise. They pretend that babies come in the doctor's pocket; they pretend that a lie is as much an abomination to them as it is to the Lord; they imply by their actions that they never stole apples in their lives; they hint that they don't know what bad language means. They live a life that is one continuous lie." "I don't understand that," said Margaret with a puzzled look. "A mother lies to her child when she tells it that it is wicked when it makes a noise; a father lies to his son when he tells him that he will come to a bad end if he smokes any more cigarettes. Worse than that they lie by negation. The father changes his 'Hell!' into 'Hades!' when he hits his thumb with a hammer; the mother says 'Tut Tut!' when she means 'Damnation!' Both go to church as an example to their offspring ... and going to church is in most cases a lie. Nearly every father of a family says grace before meat, and he generally delays the practice until his first-born is old enough to take notice. Then there is the lie about relationship. A child never discovers that its father has about as much love for its mother's aunt as he has for the King of Siam. "Convention is one huge lie, Margaret. You lift your hat when a coffin goes by; you beg my pardon when I ask you to pass the marmalade; you stand bare-headed when a band plays the National Anthem. It's all a lie, dear, a pretty lie perhaps, but a lie all the same. But after all, the manners business is a minor affair; you can't abolish it, and if you try you will only make yourself ridiculous. But the other lies, the hypocritical lies that are told to children ... these are dangerous. An ardent republican will doff his hat when the band plays _God Save the King_, and be none the worse; the unpleasantness that might follow his keeping his hat on his head wouldn't be worth it. But if I pretend to a child that I am above human frailty I am doing a hellish thing that may have devilish consequences." "Your language is awful!" cried Margaret in feigned protest. "I was quoting _The Ancient Mariner_, dear; you read it at my evening class, and you have evidently forgotten it. Since the beginning of humanity children have been warped by the attitudinising of their elders. A child is imitative always; he hasn't the power to think out biggish things for himself. He is tremendously docile; he will believe almost anything you tell him, and he will accept an older person's pose without question. If one of the village boys were to see Macdonald stotting home drunk he would be like the countryman who, when he saw a giraffe for the first time, cried: 'Hell!... I don't believe it!' And the sad thing is that they never are able to distinguish between pose and truth. The villagers who used to tell my bairns that I was daft don't realise what pose is; they have never found the right values. When they criticise the minister or the dominie they invariably fasten on the wrong things. They are beginning to criticise Macdonald because he insists on a bairn's bringing a written excuse when he has been absent, but they believe in all his poses--his love for respect, his authority, his whackings, his hiding of his pipe when a child is near, his passion for sex morality, his dignity, his ... his frayed frock coat that he wears in school." "The poor man's only wearing out his old Sunday coat!" protested Margaret. "I never thought of that, Margaret; I'll cut out the coat. But he shouldn't have a frock coat anyway. When we get married I shall insist on dressing in an old golfing jacket, flannel bags, and a soft collar. The only danger is that men of my stamp are apt to make unconvention conventional. It's a very difficult thing to keep from posing when you are protesting against pose." "Oh! I don't understand the half of what you say," said Margaret wearily. "That means that you think my lips might be better employed, you schemer!" and I ... well, I don't think I need write everything down after all. * * * "There was a venter locust at the schule the day," remarked Annie. I was brushing my boots at the bothy door, and the girls sat on the step and watched me. "A what?" I asked. "A venter locust. Ye paid a penny to get in, and Jim Jackson gaithered the pennies in the mannie's hat and got in for nothing, for he didna put his ain penny in." "What sort of show was it, Annie?" "He had a muckle doll wi' an awfu' ugly face, and he asked it questions." "Did it answer them?" "Aye. It opened its great big mooth." "There maybe was a gramaphone inside," suggested Gladys. "Jim Jackson said that it was the mannie that was speakin' a' the time," said Janet. "Jim Jackson was bletherin'," said Annie with scorn. "Aw watched 'im, and his mooth never moved a' the time." "Perhaps he was talking through his hat, Annie," I said. "He wasna," she cried, "for his hat was on the Mester's desk fu' o' pennies!" "Well," I ventured, "the proverb says that money talks, you know." "Weel," tittered Annie, "there wasna much money to talk, for the pennies was nearly a' hapennies!" "Aw dinna understand how that doll managed to speak," said Ellen, and I proceeded to explain the mysteries of ventriloquism to them. Then I told them my one ventriloquist yarn. A broken-down ventriloquist stopped at a village inn one hot day, and stared longingly through the bar door. He hadn't a cent in his pocket. He sat down on the bench and gazed wearily at a stray mongrel dog that had followed him for days. Suddenly inspiration came to him. He rose and walked into the bar. "A pint of beer, mister!" he cried, and pretended to fumble for his money, when the landlord placed the tankard on the bar counter. The dog looked up into his face. "Here, mister," said the dog, "ain't I going to get one?" The landlord started. "That's a remarkable animal," he said with staring eyes. "Pretty smart," said the ventriloquist indifferently. "I'll--I'll buy that dog," said the landlord eagerly; "I'll give you five pounds for him." The ventriloquist considered for a while. "All right," he said at length, "I hate to part with an old friend like him, but I must live, and I have no money." The landlord counted out the five sovereigns, and the ventriloquist drank up his beer and made for the door. "Better come round and take hold of the dog," he said, "or he'll follow me." The landlord lifted the bar-flap and took hold of the dog by the collar. At the door the ventriloquist looked back. The dog gazed at him. "You brute," it cried, "you've sold me for vulgar gold. I swear that I'll never speak again." I paused. "And, you know, girls, he never did." "Eh," cried Janet, "what a shame! The public-hoose mannie wud leather the puir beast to mak' it speak." "That's the real point of the story, Jan. A story is no good unless it leaves something to the imagination." "The Mester gae us a story to write for composition the day," said Annie. "It was aboot a boy that was after a job and a' the boys were lined up and they had to go in to see the man, and he had a Bible lyin' on the floor, and a' the lads steppit over it, but this laddie he pickit it up and got the job." "That's what you call a story with a moral, Annie. It is meant to teach you a lesson. The best stories have no morals ... neither have the people who listen to them." "We had to write the story," said Ellen, "and syne we had to tell why the boy got the job. Aw said it was becos he was a guid boy and went to the Sunday Schule." "Aw said it was becos he was a pernikity sort o' laddie that liked things to be tidy," said Gladys. Annie laughed. "Aw said the man was maybe a fat man that cudna bend doon to pick it up. What did you say, Jan?" "Aw dinna mind," said Janet ruefully, "but when the Mester cried me oot for speakin', Aw picked up a geography book on the floor, just to mak the Mester think that Aw had learned a lesson frae his story, but he gae me a slap on the lug for wastin' time comin' oot." "Jim Jackson got three scuds wi' the strap for his story," said Annie. "Ah!" I cried, "what did he write?" "He said that the laddie maybe hadna a hankie, and his nose was needin' dichted and he didna like to let the man see him dichtin' it wi' the sleeve o' his jaicket, so he bent doon to pick up the Bible and dicht his nose on the sly at the same time." "Yes," I said sadly, "that's Jim Jacksonese, pure and simple. Poor lad!" "The Mester said he was a vulgar fellow," said Janet. "A low-minded something or other, he ca'ed him," said Gladys. "But he didna greet when he got the strap," said Annie, "he just sniffed thro' his nose and--and dichted it wi' his sleeve." I knew then that all the Macdonalds in creation couldn't conquer my Jim. XVI. Macdonald and I were comparing notes to-night. "I found that Monday was always a noisy day in school," I said; "the bairns were always unsettled." "I don't find that," he said; "Friday is their worst day. I don't understand that." "Friday was my free day," I said. "What do you mean by free day?" "Every bairn did what it liked." "Good Lord!" exclaimed Macdonald. "That's nothing," I laughed, "why, I gave them a free week once." "What was your idea. Laziness?" "Laziness! My dear boy, I never put in such a hard week in my life. A boy would come out and ask for a certain kind of sum, then a girl would bring out a writing book and ask for a setting; by the time I had attended to these, a dozen were waiting." "Did they all work?" "They were all active. Dickie Gibson spent the week in sketching; Geordie Steel read five penny dreadfuls; Janet Brown played at anagrams; Annie Miller read _The Weekly Welcome_; Ellen Smith worked arithmetic all week and Jock Miller wrote a novel. Jock spent half his dinner-hour writing." "That's what a school should be," I added. "Ah! So you think that reading penny dreadfuls is education?" "Everything you do is education." "So you say, but I want to know the exact educational value of penny dreadfuls. My idea is that they do boys harm." "That's what the magistrates say, Macdonald. They trace all juvenile crime to penny dreadfuls and the cinema. The British have a passion for scapegoats. We have war with Germany. 'Who did this?' demand the public indignantly. 'Who's going to be whopped for this?' They look round and Haldane's rotund figure catches their eye. Haldane becomes the scapegoat. So with poor Birrell when the Sinn Fein rebellion occurred. So the magistrates fasten on the poor penny dreadful and the picture-film. Obviously they do so because they are too stupid to think out the problem of crime. Picture-houses have about as much to do with crime as Birrell had to do with the dissatisfaction in Ireland." "Come, come," said Macdonald impatiently, "keep to the point: what educational value has the penny dreadful?" "The educational value that any reading matter has. It doesn't give you many ideas, but you can say the same thing about Barrie's novels or Kipling's. It gives a boy a vocabulary and it exercises his imagination." "Wouldn't he be better reading good literature? Dickens for instance?" "I don't see it," I said; "he isn't ripe enough to understand Dickens's humour, and for a boy I should say Dickens is bad. His style is grandiose and stilted, his periphrasis is the most delightful in the world to an educated person, but it is bad for a child. About half of _David Copperfield_ is circumlocution, but a boy should learn to speak and write boldly. The penny dreadful goes straight to the point. 'Harold looked straight into the blue barrel of a Colt automatic.' Translate that into Dickensese (an ugly word to coin, I admit) and you have something like this:--'Harold contemplated with extreme apprehension the circular muzzle of a Cerulean blue automatic pistol of the kind specifically manufactured by the celebrated world-famous American firm of Colt.'" "Poor Dickens," laughed Macdonald. "But you see my point?" I persisted. "Circumlocution is a Victorian nuisance. Any man who has anything to say says it simply and without trappings. And, mind you, Macdonald, people who use circumlocution in style use it in thought. The average man loves flowery literature, and he loves flowery thoughts. The contest between the plain style and the aureate style is really the old contest between realism and romance. The romantic way to look at crime is to fix your attention on drink and penny dreadfuls and cinema shows; the realistic way is to look bravely at the economic division of wealth that causes poverty and disease, the father and mother of crime." "You're away from the point again," said Macdonald with a smile. "How do you defend Janet Brown's week of anagrams?" "It doesn't need any defence; it was Janet's fancy to play herself and I fail to see that she was wasting time. You really never waste time unless you are under coercion." "Another rotten paradox," he laughed, "go on!" "When I allow convention to force me to play cards I feel that I am wasting time, for I hate the blamed things. But if I spend a day pottering with the wheels of an old clock I am not wasting time: I am extremely interested all the time." "No, no! It won't do! Janet was wasting time, and you know it, in spite of your arguing!" "I'll tell you what's wrong with you and all your fellow educationists, Macdonald," I said. "You've got utilitarian commercial minds. You worship work and duty, and you have your eyes on monetary success all the time. You look upon bairns as a foreman mechanic looks upon workmen, and your idea of wasted time is the same as his. If I were Bruce, the linen merchant, I should certainly accuse a girl of wasting time if I caught her reading a novelette during working hours. Bruce has one definite aim--production of linen. He knows exactly what he wants to produce. You don't, and I don't. We don't know what effect puzzling out anagrams will have on Janet's mentality. We have no right to accuse her of wasting time." "Don't tell me," he cried; "there is a difference between work and play. Janet has no more right to play during school hours than a mill-girl has to read novelettes during working hours." "The mill-girl is a wage-slave, and I don't think that dominies should apply the ethics of wage-slavery to education. Her master, Bruce, goes golfing and fishing on working days, only, he is economically free, and he can do what he likes. And I don't suppose you will contend that tending a loom is the goal of humanity. If you want to make Janet an efficient mill-girl by all means coerce her to work in school. But, Macdonald, I have argued a score of times that education should not aim at turning out wage-slaves. If Janet is to be a mill-girl all your history and grammar won't make her tend a loom any better; so far as the loom is concerned the composing of anagrams will help her quite as much as grammar will." When Macdonald had gone I made up my mind that I wouldn't argue about education with him again. I'll bring out my pack of cards when he next visits me. * * * I have had a sharp attack of influenza, and have been in bed for a week. When my temperature fell I commenced to read a book on political philosophy, but I had to give it up. I asked Margaret to borrow a few novels from Macdonald's school library, and I found content. I read _The Forest Lovers_, _King Solomon's Mines_, and one of Guy Boothby's Dr. Nikola stories, and was entranced. When you are ill you become primitive; the emotional part of you is uppermost, and you weep over mawkish drivel that you would laugh at when you are well. Any snivelling parson could have persuaded me to believe that I was a sinner, had he come to my bed-side three days ago. Luckily no snivelling parson came, but the girls came every night. "Aw hope ye dinna dee," said Annie. "Ye wud need an awfu' lang coffin," said Janet as she measured me with her eye. "You've got a cheerful sort of bed-side manner, Jan," I said. "Wud ye hae an oak coffin?" she asked. "Couldn't afford it, Jan. You see I'm saving up for my marriage." "But if ye need a coffin ye'll no need a wife." "The wedding-cake will do for the funeral feast," I said hopefully. "I've ordered it." Janet laughed. "Eh! It wud be awfu' funny to eat weddin' cake at a burial!" she cried. "Wud'n it?" "I don't think I would be in a position to appreciate the fun of the thing, Janet." "Maggie wudna see muckle fun in it either," said Gladys. "Wud Jim Jackson be yer chief mourner?" asked Ellen. "Possibly," I said, "but don't mention the fact to him. He'll become unsettled. He's an ambitious youth, Jim, and his position as best man at my marriage will merely make him long for other worlds to conquer." "Ye wud hae a big funeral," said Janet thoughtfully. "We wud get a holiday that day," she added brightly. "Ah!" I said, "that settles it, Jan. Leave me to die in peace. Let me see--this is Tuesday; if I die now that will mean Saturday for the funeral. That's no good. What do you say to my putting off the evil day till Friday? That will mean a holiday on Tuesday." "But ye canna dee when ye want to!" she laughed. "I can easily borrow some of Mrs. Thomson's rat poison." "Syne ye wud be committin' sooicide," cried Annie, "and they wud bury ye at nicht, and we wudna get oor holiday." "Ah! Annie! You've raised a difficulty. I hear Jim whistling outside. Bring him in and we'll see if he can solve the problem." They brought Jim to my bedside. I explained the difficulty, and Jim scratched his head. "If ye was murdered they wudna bury ye at nicht," he said after some deliberation. "A brilliant idea, Jim, but who is to murder me?" "Joe Simpson wud dae it ... quick," he answered. "He has a notion o' Maggie." "Aw wud get another holiday," he added, "when Joe was tried. Aw wud be a witness." "So wud Aw," said Annie. "And me too," said Janet. "Ye wudna," said Jim with scorn, "lassies canna swear, and ye have to put yer hand on the Bible and swear when ye are a witness." "We'll have to give up the murder idea," I said firmly: "it's unfair; I can't have Jim getting two holidays while the girls get only one." "We micht get another holiday when Joe was buried," suggested Ellen. "No," said Jim, "they bury a hanged man in the jile." "Ye'll just need to get better again," said Janet. "You'll lose your holiday in that case, Jan." She put her arm round my neck. "Aw was just funnin'," she said kindly, "Aw dinna want ye to dee. Aw wud greet." "You would forget me in a week, Jan." "Na Aw wudna," she protested. "Aw wud put flowers on yer grave ilka Sabbath, and Aw wud cut oot the verse o' pottery in the paper. Aw cut oot the verse aboot my auntie Liz." "What was it?" "Aw dinna mind, but it was something like this:-- "We think, when we look at yer vacant chair, Of yer dear old face and yer grey hair, But ye are away to the land of above Where ye'll never more have care." "Very nice, Jan. Now you'll better set about composing a verse for me." "A' richt," she laughed, "we'll mak a line each, and here's the first one:-- "'He was goin' to be marrit, but he dee'd afore his time "You mak the next line, Annie." "'And Jim Jackson ate so muckle at the funeral that he got a sair wime.'" "Nane o' yer lip," growled Jim. "Come on, Gladys," I said, "third line." "'He dee'd o' effielinza, and he'll no hae ony mair pain." "Last line, Ellen!" "'But in the Better Land we'll maybe meet him again.'" "There shud be something aboot 'gone but not forgotten,'" said Jim. "When auld Rab Smith dee'd his wife had 'gone but not forgotten' in the papers ... and the corp wasna oot o' the hoose." "Aw've got a new frock," said Janet, and the conversation took a cheerier direction. On the following evening Margaret came in when they were with me. "Come on!" cried Janet, "we'll mak Maggie kiss him!" and they seized her. "No," I said, "influenza is catching, and I don't want Margaret to be ill." "Eh!" cried Annie, "d'ye think we believe that? Aw believe she's kissed ye a hunder times since ye was badly." "Not a hundred, Annie," I said; "the truth is that she kissed me once; I had just taken my dose of Gregory's Mixture, and she vowed that she would never kiss me again." "Aw wud chuck him up if Aw was you, Maggie," said Jean, "he tells far ower many lees." "Should I?" laughed Margaret. "Aye," cried Jean with delight, "gie him back his ring!" Margaret drew off her ring and handed it to me, and the girls clapped their hands gleefully. "Very good," I said resignedly, "you girls will better cancel the orders for wedding frocks. And, Jean, just look in and tell Jim Jackson not to buy a new dickie, will you?" The girls looked at each other doubtfully. "Ye're just funnin'," said Jean with a forced laugh. "Funning? My dear Jean, when a girl hands back the engagement ring, do you mean to tell me she is funning?" Children live in two lands--the land of reality and the land of make-believe. A serious look will make them jump from the one to the other. They looked at my serious face and believed that Margaret had really given me up. Then they glanced at Margaret; she laughed, and their clouded faces cleared. I knew that they would try to make me believe that they still considered I was in earnest. "Aw'll cry in and tell Jim aboot the dickie," said Jean. "It's a pity ye ordered the weddin' cake," said Annie. "Ye can gie it to the Mester to christen his bairn," suggested Janet. "It'll be ower big," said Gladys. "Aweel," retorted Janet, "he can gie the half o't to the Mester, and maybe the other half will do for Peter Mitchell's funeral." "What!" I cried, "is Peter dead?" "No exactly," said Janet hopefully, "but he's badly wi' the chronic, and he'll maybe dee." "That settles the question of the cake," I said, "but you have still to settle the question of Margaret." "She can marry Joe Simpson," suggested Ellen. "Aye," said Jean, "and she'll hae to work oot, and feed the three black swine. She wud be better to tak Dave Young, for he has only twa swine to feed." "Be an auld maid, Maggie," said Janet, "and keep a cat. A man's just a fair scutter onywve ... especially a delicate man that taks effielinza and lies in his bed. Ye'll be far better as an auld maid, Maggie. Ye'll no hae ony bairns, but bairns is just a nuisance." "I'll be an old maid then," said Margaret. "Now you've disposed of the cake and the lady," I said, "what is to become of me?" "You!" said Janet. "You can be an auld bachelor and live next door to Maggie, and she'll send a laddie ower wi' a bowl o' soup when she has soup to her dinner." "Aye," said Gladys, "and she'll wash yer sarks and mend yer socks for you." "Sounds as if I am to have all the joys of matrimony without its sorrows," I said. "I'm afraid, Margaret, that we'll have to get married after all. The other way is too expensive: we should require to pay the rent of two houses." "But," cried Annie, "if ye get married ye'll hae bairns to keep, and they'll cost mair than the rent o' two hooses!" "Then in Heaven's name what am I to do?" I cried in feigned perplexity. Janet took Margaret's hand and placed it in mine. "Just tak Maggie," she said sweetly; "and by the time ye hae bairns Aw'll maybe be marrit mysell, and Aw'll mak my man send ye a ham when he kills the swine." So I placed the ring on Margaret's finger and kissed her. Then I drew Janet's head down and kissed her too. "Eh!" cried Annie, "that's no fair!" "What do you mean?" I asked. "Ye've kissed Jan," she laughed, "and she'll maybe tak effielinza and--and get a holiday." Then I kissed Annie and the others three times, and they all went out laughing. The tears came into my eyes ... but then I was weak and ill. XVII. I object to the type of man who practises practical jokes. Young Mackenzie and Jim Brown have just played a nasty one on Willie Baffers, the village lunatic. Poor Willie invented a new aeroplane; he took an old solid-tyred boneshaker bicycle and fixed feathers to the spokes. Mackenzie and Brown inspected the invention, and told Willie that his fortune was as good as made. Next morning the post brought a letter to Willie from the Munitions Ministry, offering him four million pounds and threepence hapenny for the patent rights, and asking Willie to meet a representative at the Royal Hotel in the town. Willie rode the old bike into town, and feathered it in the hotel yard. Mackenzie with a false beard on, handed him a cheque for the four millions, and Willie ran nearly all the eight miles home to tell of his good fortune. Macdonald told me the yarn to-night as a rich joke, but I failed to find any humour in it. It was a low-down trick. "Good Lord!" I cried, "neither of them is much more intelligent than Willie. Any man of average ability could take them in as easily as they took in poor Baffers." "All the same," tittered Macdonald, "the joke is funny." "There always is something funny in idiotic things, Macdonald. If I had seen Willie's invention I should probably have roared; but the glimpse would have satisfied me. I roar at Charlie Chaplin's idiotic actions, but I wouldn't be so ready to roar at them if Charlie were really an idiot. Any fool could spend a lifetime playing jokes on village lunatics. I could write Willie a letter offering him the command on the Western front, and signing it 'Lloyd George,' but that sort of fun doesn't appeal to me." "I'm different," said Macdonald. "I would think that a good joke. You think Jim Jackson funny, on the other hand, and I think there's nothing funny about him." "What has he been doing now?" "I gave them an essay on their favourite pets yesterday, and he wrote one about his pet bee and elephant." "What did he say about them?" "Oh, the thing was just a piece of nonsense. He said the bee's name was Polly, and--I have the thing in my desk," he said, "you can read it for yourself." I copied the essay out to-night. Here it is:-- POLLY AND PETER. Polly is the name of my pet bee, and Peter is my elephant. They are very friendly, Polly often sits on Peter's ear but Peter never sits on Polly's. They eat out of the same dish. Peter ate Polly by mistake one day, but she stung him on the tongue and when he opened his mouth to roar she flew out. Polly used to sleep in Peter's trunk. One night he sneezed and Polly was lying a mile away next morning. In the summer time Polly lives in a wood house in the garden and it is called a hive and that is where she keeps the honey. I take it away when she is not looking and she thinks it is Peter that does it, at least she kicks him for it. I have told her to watch for Zeps. She sits on the roof all night watching, she is to sting the Kaiser on the nose if he comes. She is an old maid. She had a lad called Archibald, but father sat on him one night and then he swore when he tried to sit down for weeks after. Archibald died. Peter is a nice animal and he has a thousand teeth, but Polly only has twenty. Peter looks like he has two tails he wags them both but the front one is a trunk for eating. He is an awful big eater. He says his prayers every night and I hope he will go to heaven when he dies. He had pewmonia and Polly had pendisitis, and the doctor made an operation and put in nineteen stitches. Peter works all day, the road-roller man is at the war and Peter has to roll about on the road to bruise the metal. He fills his trunk with water and wets the road first. Polly tells him when the moters are coming. "I don't see anything funny in that," said Macdonald. "Possibly not," I said, "but Jim's idea of fun isn't the same as yours or mine. A bairn laughs at ludicrous things: I'm sure Jim laughed when he imagined the scene where his father sat on Archibald. The essay is full of promise." Macdonald handed me Alec Henry's book. "That's a better essay," he said. I read the essay. "Its English is better," I said, "the sentences are correctly formed, but there isn't an idea in the whole essay. Anybody can describe a pet rabbit." "That's so, but composition is meant to teach a boy to write good English." "What's the good of writing good English if you haven't any ideas to write about?" I cried. "Every member of Parliament can write good English, but there aren't half-a-dozen men of ideas in the House. Personally, I don't care a damn how a boy writes if he shows he is not an average boy. Jim Jackson has talent: Alec Henry is a mere unimaginative cram. You encourage Henry and you sit on Jim.... I wish he had Archibald's power to sting you!" "But what is his nonsense to lead to?" he said. "We don't know. As dominies our job is to encourage Jim in his natural bent. It is enough for us that he is different from the scholarly Henry. We have a good idea of what Alec will come to; we know nothing about Jim. You have tried to fit Jim into the Alec mould, and you have failed." "Jim knew that you were on his side," growled Macdonald. "I suppose he did, Macdonald. But you have got all the others; surely you don't grudge me Jim and the five girls?" "That's all right," he said with a short laugh, "I've given up wooing them. I allow Jim to choose his own line now ... but I'll never like the laddie." * * * I have always disliked all the pomp and circumstance of weddings. Margaret wanted a quiet wedding before a registrar but her father was eager to make a fete of the occasion, and we allowed him to have his way. Besides Jim and the girls were expecting a great day. I can't say that I enjoyed my wedding. The bairns seemed to have lost their identity when they donned their wedding garments. Jim sat on the dickey beside the driver; there was pride in his face but his smile was gone. The occasion was too great for him. The girls stood about the dining-room in awkward attitudes, and I noted the fine English of their speech. And Jim failed at the wedding-feast. Part of his duty was to propose the health of the bridesmaids, and when the minister called upon him for his speech he fled from the room. Peter MacMannish proposed the toast instead. Margaret and I set off in a hired motor in the afternoon. We were going to London. When we reached the station Margaret suddenly said: "If only we could have stayed for the dance to-night!" "Yes," I said, "the bairns will be in form to-night." "We should really be there," continued Margaret sadly, "it's our dance you know." "And here we are going off to a hotel among strangers, Margaret!" Margaret clutched my arm. "Let's go back," she said eagerly, "we'll spend the first bit of our honeymoon in the dear old bothy!" I beckoned to a taxi-driver. As we drove up the brae to the farm Margaret laughed. "Do you know what I am laughing at?" she said. "I was thinking about you coming back. It's a sort of habit of yours coming back, isn't it? You don't care for me one bit; you are in love with Janet and Annie." "Who proposed coming back, madam?" "I did," she cried in great glee: "I noticed that you didn't seem keen on buying the tickets, and I knew you didn't want to go." When we walked into the dining-room there was consternation. Margaret's mother went very white. "What's wrong?" she stammered. "Goad! They've quarrelled already!" exclaimed Peter MacMannish in a hoarse whisper. "Did ye miss the train?" asked Janet. "No, Jan, we missed the supper, and we made up our minds that it was too good to miss. We're going to do an original thing; we're going to dance at our own wedding." The blacksmith struck up a waltz, and my wife and I waltzed round the room. I don't think that a wedding party was ever so jolly as ours. The bairns escorted us to our bothy at two in the morning, and Margaret insisted on giving them a cup of tea before they went home. Janet looked round the wee room. "Eh, Maggie, what an awfu' place to spend yer honeymoon in!" "Yes," said Margaret, "that's what comes of marrying a mean man. It's disgraceful, isn't it, Jan?" "What do ye ca' it when ye stop bein' married?" asked Annie. "A divorce," I said. "And is there a feed at a divorce?" asked Jim with an interested expression. "No, Jim; you are fed up before the divorce proceedings." "Aw wud divorce him, Maggie," said Annie. "It's difficult," laughed Margaret. "Ye cud say he wudna gie ye a proper honeymoon," put in Gladys. Annie sat down on my knee. "Why did ye come back?" she asked. "I came back to find out how you performed your duties, Annie. I'll begin with the best man. Jim Jackson, give an account of your stewardship." "Aw had three helpin's o' the plum-duff, twa o' the apple-pie, three o' the--" "I'm not taking an inventory of your interior furnishings," I said severely; "what I want to know is whether you performed your duties. Did you kiss the bridesmaids?" "Eh!" gasped Janet, "he'd better try!" "Do you mean to tell me he didn't?" I demanded. "Aw had a broken-oot lip," said Jim apologetically, "and Aw didna want to smit onybody." "And the bairn next door to oor hoose has the measles," he added hastily. "And Aw lookit at a book aboot etikquette and it didna say onything aboot kissin' the bridesmaids." "The bridesmaids didna want to kiss yer dirty moo, onywye, Jim Jackson," said Janet. "Aw've got a better moo than Tam Rigg, onywye," said Jim cheerfully. Janet gazed at his mouth curiously. "Your's is bigger, onywye." "Now, now," I said, "don't you set a newly married couple a bad example by quarrelling." I turned to Jean. "What did you think of the wedding, Jean?" "Jean grat," said Gladys, "and so did Jan. What was ye greetin' aboot?" "Aw dinna ken," said Jean simply. "Aw saw Maggie's mother greetin' so Aw just began to greet too. What was yer mother greetin' for, Maggie?" "I don't know, Jean." "Aw think she had the teethache," said Jim, "cos Aw heard the minister say to her to try a drap o' whiskey." "It wasna the teethache," said Annie scornfully, "but Aw ken why she grat." "To mak fowk think she was so fond o' Maggie that she didna want her to ging awa," suggested Gladys. "Na it wasna," said Annie, "she maybe was thinkin' o' Maggie's auldest sister Jean that dee'd when she was saxteen." "G'wa," cried Jim, "it's the fashion to greet at a marriage and a burial, but ye dinna greet at a christenin'." "Why no?" asked Jean. "Cos ye wudna be heard: the bairn greets a' the time." Janet glanced at Margaret. "That'll be the next party," she said brightly, "the christenin'. Did ye keep the top storey o' the cake, Maggie?" Margaret blushed at this. Janet seized her by the shoulders. "Ye needna tak a reid face, for Aw ken fine that ye did keep a bit o' the cake for the christenin'. Ye'll no need to keep it long or it'll get hard!" "Jan," cried Jean, reprovingly "ye shud na say sic things!" "Why no? The minister said something aboot a family when he was marryin' them." "Aye," said Jean, "but a minister's no like other fowk. If Mester Gordon says 'Hell' or 'damnation' in the pulpit it's religion, but if you say it it's just a swear." "Aw was at the manse when the minister fell over my barrow," said Jim, "and he said 'Hell!' Was that religion or a swear?" "Aw wud ca' it a lee," said Jean with a sniff; "only ministers and married fowk shud speak aboot bairns, and ye shud ken better, Jan." Janet looked at me timidly. "Did Aw do any wrong?" "Of course you didn't, you dear silly! Jean is a wee prude. Why shouldn't you talk about bairns if you want to? The subject of bairns is the only important subject in the world, Jan, and if you find anyone who thinks the subject improper you can bet your boots that they've got a dirty mind. Jean is simply trying to follow the conventions of all the stupid grown-ups in the village." These bairns are all innocent. When I looked at Jim's composition book the other day I read an essay with the title "The Church." Jim did not describe the church: he described an event in the church--his own marriage. He was an officer on short leave from the Front. He described the ceremony, then he went on:--"I spent my honeymoon in Edinburgh and a wire came telling me to go back to the trenches. Three weeks later I was wounded and sent home and found that my wife had had a baby." I wrote at the end of the essay "The speeding-up methods of America are bad enough when applied to industry, but...." They are innocent souls, and already Jean is affected by the damnable conspiracy of silence. And the amusing thing is that there is nothing to be silent about. * * * The Educational Institute has sent a deputation to London to confer with the Secretary for Scotland on educational reform. The deputies dwelt on larger areas, the raising of the school age, and the raising of the salaries of the profession. Mr. Tennant answered them at length in guarded language. Part of _The Scotsman_ report runs thus:-- "Asked by Mr. MacGillivray for his views on the suggestion that the school age should be raised to fifteen, the Secretary for Scotland said that, however desirable that might be in the interests of the child, it was a highly controversial proposal, upon which employers and in many cases parents, and even the State, would have a great deal to say. The expenditure involved would, he was afraid, make such a proposal prohibitive at present." It is significant to note that he places the employers first, just as in his previous remarks on education he places trade first.... "People realised that if we were going to compete in the great markets of the world, in ideas, in the progress of invention, and in the general progress of mankind and civilisation, we must improve our machinery for the training and equipment of the human being." The Educational Institute of Scotland, like the Trade Unions, is very humble in its demands. Why, in the name of heaven, ask for larger areas? Mr. Tennant rightly replied that it was news to him that the County Council is a more progressive body than the small School Board. Introduce larger areas and your village pig-dealer and shoemaker give place to your county colonel and manufacturer ... the men who are interested in the maintenance of discipline and of wage-slavery. What the Institute should really do is to give up thinking and talking of education for this generation. The leading members come from our large city schools, and if they haven't yet realised that their damned schools are factories for turning out slaves they ought to be jolly well ashamed of themselves. I visited a large city school a few days ago. It had nine hundred pupils, and it was four stories high. The playground was a small concrete corner; the discipline was like prison discipline; the rooms were dingy soul-destroying cages. How dare the teachers of Scotland ask that the school age be raised to fifteen when our city schools are barracks like that? I would have the age lowered to six if these prisons are to continue. One of the delegates, Mr. Cowan, showed that he was looking at education in a broad light. "Education," he said, "if it is to be real, is bound up with the questions of housing, public health, medical treatment, and the like; ... hence education should be in the hands of some body that would view the matter as a whole ... viz., the County Council." He might have added that education is primarily bound up with profiteering. Our city schools are necessarily adjuncts to our factories and our slums; the dominie is clearly the servant of the capitalist ... and the poor devil doesn't know it. It's absolutely useless to talk of larger areas and larger salaries and larger children; the fundamental fact is that capital calls the tune, and larger areas will do as much for education as tinkering with the saddle spring of a motor-bike will do for a seized engine bearing. Larger salaries will attract better men and women to the profession, says the Institute representative, and I ask wearily: "What difference will that make? You'll merely get honours graduates to do the profiteer's dirty work more effectively. You can't reform the schools from within. The prisons are built, and you will merely tempt your highly specialised teacher into a soul-destroying hell. The slums and the sweating will go on as usual next door; your city children will be starved and ragged and diseased as of yore." I think it a pity that this deputation ever went to the Scots Secretary at all. Why should the teaching profession go begging favours from the State? The wise business men who rule us will smile grimly and say:--"The blighters gave themselves away when they asked for larger salaries." They won't appreciate the fact that the deputies were honest men with a real desire for a better education. I should like to suggest to the Institute that it might have written a nice letter to Mr. Tennant. Why, bless me, I'll have a shot at composing one myself! Here goes! "Dear Mr. Tennant, "We aren't asking any favours this time; we are simply writing you a friendly letter telling you what we are going to do. "Firstly, we are now beginning to make a determined attempt to take over the control of Scots Education ... and we'll succeed even if we have to go on strike for our rights. Our Educational Institute will become the Scots Guild of Teachers ... a sort of polite Trade Union, you know, just like the Medicine Union and the Law Union--only more so. Is that quite clear? "Well, our Guild, when it is strong enough, will come up to town one fine morning to see the Cabinet. Our words will be something like these: 'We are the Teachers' Guild of Scotland, old dears, and we've come to tell you that we're going to run the show now.' "Of course the Cabinet will get a shock at first. Then they will laugh and say: 'We wish you luck! By the way how do you propose to get the money?' And when we answer that we expect to get it from the State they will roar with mirth. We shall wait politely till the laugh is over, and then we shall calmly tell them our proposal ... rather, our demand. We shall demand money from the State to carry on the whole thing. Education isn't a profiteering affair, and we must draw every penny from the people ... just as the State does now. "Then a member (Lloyd George in all probability) will remark: 'Yes, yes, gentlemen, but don't you see that all your demand amounts to is a change of management? You want to abolish the Education Department and substitute your President for my friend Sir John Struthers.' "We shall shout 'No!' very very viciously at this ... you've heard them shout 'No' when they sing 'For he's a jolly good fellow?' Well, then, we'll shout it just like that, and then we'll explain thus:-- "We aren't going in for a change of management: we are going to build a new house. We are done with grants and Form 9 B's and inspectors and Supplementary Classes for ever. We are going to spend.... Oh! such a lot of money. You'll be surprised when you know what we are going to do. You know Dundee? Mr. Churchill there made it famous.... well, Dundee, is one of the dirtiest slums in creation. At present it has lots of big grey schools. We are going to knock 'em down. After that we are going to build bonny wee schools out in the country; schools that won't hold more than a hundred pupils. There will be lovely gardens and ponds and rabbit-houses; there will be food and--.' At this stage the Cabinet will telephone for the lunacy experts. "Do we make ourselves clear, Mr. Tennant? As you know well the State will be terribly unwilling to give us more money. If we make our schools decent places the poor profiteers will be in the soup, won't they? Our present schools do no harm; the discipline of the classroom prepares a bright lad for the discipline of the wagery shop, and, of course, a girl accustomed to the atmosphere of a city school won't object to the ventilation obtaining in the factory. When we insist on taking the kiddies to bonny wee schools the profiteer will realise with dismay that his factory and his slum-hovels will have to adapt themselves to the new attitude of the kids. "Mind you, we quite admit that we're going to have a hell of a fight. We even go the length of saying that we may be beaten at first; for we have no economic power, and the men with the economic power will crush us if they can. Our only weapon will be the strike, but even the strike will, in a manner, be playing into the profiteers' hands; 'Geewhiz!' they'll cry, 'the teachers are on strike ... now for cheap child labour!' Our only hope is that the citizens will realise the importance of a dominies' rebellion. "Now, we don't want you to take this letter as a personal insult, or even as a vote of censure. You may be of opinion that Scots education is quite safe in the hands of the Secretary for Scotland, and you may imagine that we've got profiteering on the brain. We have. But we can't agree with you that education is safe in the hands of the Secretary for Scotland. Why, you might get another post to-morrow, and your colleague Runciman might step into your job. And it was only the other day that he was defending war-profits on the ground that they were forming a fund to compete with neutral trade after the war. The worst of you political fellows is that you've all got profiteering on the brain, just like us ... only, it's a natural healthy growth in your case, while in our case it is a malignant tumour. We've got profiteering thrust upon us, so to speak; you fellows were born with it. "Well, well, isn't this rotten weather, what? "Best wishes to Mrs. Tennant. "Yours sincerely, "The Educational Institute of Scotland." * * * Jim came to the bothy last night, and his face was troubled. "What's the matter?" I asked. "Aw--Aw didna gie ye a marriage present," he stammered, "Aw didna hae ony money." "The present Margaret and I want from you doesn't cost money," I said; "we want you to write a description of the wedding." He brightened at once. "Can Aw tell lees?" he asked eagerly. "Please yourself," I said, and he went away cheerful. This morning the description came by post. I think I shall make it the last entry in my diary. * * * THE MARRIAGE OF MR. NEILL AND MAGGIE THOMSON. By JAMES JACKSON, Esq., B.M. (Best Man). They were married on Friday and I was the best man. Janet and Annie and Jean and Gladys and Ellen were the bridesmaids, but they were too many to kiss. They got a present each, a ring with diamonds in it, but I don't think the diamonds were real ones. I got a knife with four blades and a corkscrew and a file and a thing for taking things out of horses' feet, and I had a fight with Geordie Brown for saying it didn't have a pair of scissors in it and I licked him, but there was no scissors in it. Their was a lot of people their and some of the women was crying and we got apple-pie and plum-duff for our dinner. Maggie had a white dress on and Mr. Neill had a black soot on with tails on the coat and a big wide waistcoat but you couldn't see the end of his dickey for I looked. He had cuffs on too. I liked the plum-duff, but I liked the wedding cake best but you only got a little bit of it. The girls kept their bit to sleep on and have nice dreams but I ate mine and had dreams too but they were not nice dreams. I dreamt that an elephant was sitting on my head. I had a ride on the dickey to fetch the people and there was a white ribbon on the whip and the horses was gray. I had to scatter the pennies and sweeties and Tommy Sword threw a bit of earth at me and I would have fought him but I didn't want to clorty my clean dickey. The marriage seramany was not very interesting and I had to carry the ring and it was in my waistcoat pooch but I pretended to look first in my breek pooches and had to empty them on the table. I just wanted them to see my new knife. I made a speech about the bridesmaids and I said they were all very nice girls but they are not for Janet is always fighting with me, she will make an awful wife when she is married. The happy cupel went away in a moter for there honeymoon but they came back again at night and Geordie Brown says that it was a tinker's marriage because he did not have enough money to go in the train. Martha Findlay said that they came back because he was ashamed to take Maggie to London because she is just a farmer's daughter and I told her she was wrong because they came back because he gets a sixpenny paper sent by the post every Saturday morning and he would have had to buy one to read in the train, but I don't think she believed me, she is a jelus cat and she is just wild because Maggie has got a man. There was a party at night and I drank seven bottles of lemonade and Frank Thomson sang a song and Peter MacMannish tried to sing a song at the same time and Mrs. Thomson told me to put the bottle at the other end of the table, they were not very good singers, Peter sang five songs after one another so Mrs. Thomson told me to put the bottle beside him again and he stopped singing. He did not sing again but he went round telling everybody that he was not drunk though nobody said he was. I always thought that he was a very stern man but I liked him at the dance. Mr. Macdonald was there but he did not sing and he did not get a drink out of the bottle but Mrs. Thomson took him into the parlour and then she came back for the bottle. After that he was a nice man not like he is in the school, he was laughing and dancing like anything. He was in the parlour four times. Then we sang Auld Lang Syne and Peter McMannish said he would sing it by himself just to show us that he was not drunk but he fell asleep before he got started to the first verse. After it was finished the happy cupel went over to the bothy to there honeymoon and Martha Findlay said it made the marriage common and that anybody could have a bothy for a honeymoon, so I just said to her "Oh, aye, Martha, ye'll likely spend your own honeymoon in a bothy but you won't get an M.A. with a dickey that you canna see the end of for a man, but Margaret deserved him for she is so bonny." Martha was awful wild at me. Geordie Brown says that the best man at the marriage has to hold the baby at the christnin but it does not say anything in the etikquette book, and I telt him he was a liar. He said it would maybe be twins and I got a black eye but he lost three teeth. I hop it will not be twins because I said I would give Geordie my knife if it was twins. P.S.--Please do not have the twins. THE END. ADVERTISEMENTS _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ 1 A DOMINIE ABROAD Always original, A. S. Neill, the author of _A Dominie's Log_, decided to found at Hellerau a school which should embody the educational best of all nations. He bought a dictionary to learn the language, and a notebook to record his impressions. He remains a rebel; but he is now a constructive rebel. Crown 8vo. Price 5s. net. 2 A DOMINIE'S LOG The Experiences of An Unconventional Schoolmaster. By A. S. Neill, M.A. Crown 8vo. Price 2s. 6d. net. TIMES:--"It is to be hoped that we have not heard the last of this author." BOOKMAN:--"A book that is delightful as well as profitable to read." 3 A DOMINIE IN DOUBT By A. S. Neill, M.A. 2s. 6d. net. BYSTANDER.--"_A Dominie in Doubt_ is one of the most delightful books I have read for some time." 4 THE BOOMING OF BUNKIE A novel of laughter. By A. S. Neill. Popular Edition. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. net. SCOTSMAN.--"A richly amusing skit." BOOKMAN.--"A thoroughly amusing and farcical story." 5 CARROTY BROON A novel full of dry Scotch humour and wit. By A. S. Neill, M.A. 2s. 6d. net. PALL MALL GAZETTE.--"A really first-rate story." TRUTH.--"A racy little book, hard to beat." HERBERT JENKINS, LTD., 3, YORK ST., ST. JAMES'S, S.W.1 _A NEW HUMORIST_ A DOMINIE'S LOG THE EXPERIENCES OF AN UNCONVENTIONAL SCHOOLMASTER. By A. S. NEILL, M.A. Crown 8vo. Price 2s. 6d. net. Postage 4d. extra. SOME EARLY REVIEWS. EVENING NEWS.--"Most decidedly a book to buy." EVERYMAN.--"A delightfully unconventional schoolmaster." 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It also contains many good stories and interesting personalities--in the best sense of the term. ¶ There are facts about authors and fictions about publishers. Above all there is _real_ information about books, not just press-opinions and other people's opinions, but what a book is about. ¶ One enthusiastic reader of The Herbert Jenkins' Wireless writes that it has enabled him to discontinue his subscriptions to Punch and The Times Literary Supplement! ¶ The Star in big headlines refers to The H. J. Wireless as "Gingering up the Book Trade," and goes on to say that "nothing so ingenious has yet been issued in this country." Are you going to send for it to Herbert Jenkins Ltd., 3, York Street, St. James's, London, S.W.1? 
57028	----	A DOMINIE'S LOG WHAT THIS BOOK IS ABOUT. "A Dominie's Log" was directly due to the Scottish code of Education, by which it is forbidden to enter general reflections or opinions in the official log-book. Requiring a safety-valve, a young Dominie decides to keep a private log-book. In it he jots down the troubles and comedies of the day's work. Sometimes he startles even his own bairns by his unconventionality. There is a lot in Education that he does not understand. The one thing, however, that he does comprehend is the Child Mind, and he possesses the saving quality of humour. _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ A DOMINIE ABROAD 7s. 6d. net. A DOMINIE DISMISSED 2s. 6d. net. A DOMINIE IN DOUBT 2s. 6d. net. THE BOOMING OF BUNKIE 2s. 6d. net. CARROTY BROON 2s. 6d. net. A DOMINIE'S LOG BY A. S. NEILL HERBERT JENKINS LIMITED YORK STREET ST. JAMES'S S.W.1. [Illustration: A HERBERT JENKINS' BOOK] _Printed in Great Britain at the Athenæum Printing Works, Redhill._ AS A BOY I ATTENDED A VILLAGE SCHOOL WHERE THE BAIRNS CHATTERED AND WERE HAPPY. I TRACE MY LOVE OF FREEDOM TO MY FREE LIFE THERE, AND I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO MY FORMER DOMINIE, MY FATHER. PREFACE. The first four installments of this Log were published in the _Educational News_, under the acting editorship of Mr. Alexander Sivewright, who was very anxious to publish the Log in full, but apparently public opinion on the subject of the indiscriminate kissing of girls forced him to hold up the remainder. Then teachers began to write me letters. Some of them were very complimentary; others weren't. These letters worried me, for I couldn't quite determine whether I was a lunatic or a genius. Then an unknown lady sent me a tract. The title of the tract was: "The Sin That Found Him Out." The hero was a boy called Willie. He never told a lie, and when other boys smote him he turned the other cheek and prayed for them. "Life to him was one long prayer," said the tract. Then troubles came. He grew up and his father took to drink. His elder brother had a disagreement with the local police about his whereabouts on the night of a certain robbery, and was decidedly unconvincing. Willie stepped in and took all the blame. The next chapter takes Willie as a private to the fields of Flanders, and the penultimate chapter sees him a major-general. The last chapter contains the moral, but what the moral is I cannot well make out. In fact I don't know whether the title refers to Willie or his transgressing brother, but I feel that somewhere in that pamphlet there is a lesson for me. Before the tract arrived I thought of publishing the Log as a brilliant treatise on education. Its arrival altered all my values. I then knew that I was the educational equivalent of the "awful example" who sits on the platform at temperance meetings, and with great humility I besought Mr. Herbert Jenkins to publish my Log as a terrible warning to my fellow sinners. A. S. N. 1915. A DOMINIE'S LOG I. "No reflections or opinions of a general character are to be entered in the log-book."--Thus the Scotch Code. I have resolved to keep a private log of my own. In the regulation volume I shall write down all the futile never-to-be-seen piffle about Mary Brown's being laid up with the measles, and about my anxiety lest it should spread. (Incidentally, my anxiety is real; I do not want the school to be closed; I want a summer holiday undocked of any days.) In my private log I shall write down my thoughts on education. I think they will be mostly original; there has been no real authority on education, and I do not know of any book from which I can crib. To-night after my bairns had gone away, I sat down on a desk and thought. What does it all mean? What am I trying to do? These boys are going out to the fields to plough; these girls are going to farms as servants. If I live long enough the new generation will be bringing notes of the plese-excuss-james-as-I-was-washing type ... and the parents who will write them went out at that door five minutes ago. I can teach them to read, and they will read serials in the drivelling weeklies; I can teach them to write, and they will write pathetic notes to me by and bye; I can teach them to count, and they will never count more than the miserable sum they receive as a weekly wage. The "Three R's" spell futility. But what of the rest? Can I teach them drawing? I cannot. I can help a boy with a natural talent to improve his work, but of what avail is it? In their future homes they will hang up the same old prints--vile things given away with a pound of tea. I can teach them to sing, but what will they sing?... the _Tipperary_ of their day. My work is hopeless, for education should aim at bringing up a new generation that will be better than the old. The present system is to produce the same kind of man as we see to-day. And how hopeless he is. When first I saw Houndsditch, I said aloud: "We have had education for generations ... and yet we have this." Yes, my work is hopeless. What is the use of the Three R's, of Woodwork, of Drawing, of Geography, if Houndsditch is to remain? What is the use of anything? * * * I smile as I re-read the words I wrote yesterday, for to-day I feel that hope has not left me. But I am not any more hopeful about the three R's and the others. I am hopeful because I have found a solution. I shall henceforth try to make my bairns realise. Yes, realise is the word. Realise what? To tell the truth, I have some difficulty in saying. I think I want to make them realise what life means. Yes, I want to give them, or rather help them to find an attitude. Most of the stuff I teach them will be forgotten in a year or two, but an attitude remains with one throughout life. I want these boys and girls to acquire the habit of looking honestly at life. Ah! I wonder if I look honestly at life myself! Am I not a very one-sided man? Am I not a Socialist, a doubter, a heretic? Am I not biassed when I judge men like the Cecils and the Harmsworths? I admit it. I am a partisan, and yet I try to look at life honestly. I try ... and that is the main point. I do not think that I have any of the current superstitions about morality and religion and art. I try to forget names; I try to get at essentials, at truth. The fathers of my bairns are, I think, interested in names. I wonder how many of them have sat down saying: "I must examine myself, so that I may find out what manner of man I am." I hold that self-knowledge must come before all things. When one has stripped off all the conventions, and superstitions, and hypocrisies, then one is educated. * * * These bairns of mine will never know how to find truth; they will merely read the newspapers when they grow up. They will wave their hats to the King, but kingship will be but a word to them; they will shout when a lawyer from the south wins the local seat, but they will not understand the meaning of economics; they will dust their old silk hats and march to the sacrament, but they will not realise what religion means. I find that I am becoming pessimistic again, and I did feel hopeful when I began to write. I _should_ feel hopeful, for I am resolved to find another meaning in education. What was it?... Ah, yes, I am to help them to find an attitude. * * * I have been thinking about discipline overnight. I have seen a headmaster who insisted on what he called perfect discipline. His bairns sat still all day. A movement foreshadowed the strap. Every child jumped up at the word of command. He had a very quiet life. I must confess that I am an atrociously bad disciplinarian. To-day Violet Brown began to sing _Tipperary_ to herself when I was marking the registers. I looked up and said: "Why the happiness this morning, Violet?" and she blushed and grinned. I am a poor disciplinarian. I find that normally I am very, very slack; I don't mind if they talk or not. Indeed, if the hum of conversation stops, I feel that something has happened and I invariably look towards the door to see whether an Inspector has arrived. I find that I am almost a good disciplinarian when my liver is bad; I demand silence then ... but I fear I do not get it, and I generally laugh. The only discipline I ask for usually is the discipline that interest draws. If a boy whets his pencil while I am describing the events that led to the Great Rebellion, I sidetrack him on the topic of rabbits ... and I generally make him sit up. I know that I am teaching badly if the class is loafing, and I am honest enough in my saner moments not to blame the bairns. I do not like strict discipline, for I do believe that a child should have as much freedom as possible. I want a bairn to be human, and I try to be human myself. I walk to school each morning with my briar between my lips, and if the fill is not smoked, I stand and watch the boys play. I would kiss my wife in my classroom, but ... I do not have a wife. A wee lassie stopped me on the way to school this morning, and she pushed a very sticky sweetie into my hand. I took my pipe from my mouth and ate the sweetie--and I asked for another; she was highly delighted. Discipline, to me, means a pose on the part of the teacher. It makes him very remote; it lends him dignity. Dignity is a thing I abominate. I suppose the bishop is dignified because he wants to show that there is a real difference between his salaried self and the underpaid curate. Why should I be dignified before my bairns? Will they scorn me if I slide with them? (There was a dandy slide on the road to-day. I gave them half-an-hour's extra play this morning, and I slid all the time. My assistants are adepts at the game.) But discipline is necessary; there are men known as Inspectors. And Johnny must be flogged if he does not attend to the lesson. He must know the rivers of Russia. After all, why should he? I don't know them, and I don't miss the knowledge. I couldn't tell you the capital of New Zealand ... is it Wellington? or Auckland? I don't know; all I know is that I could find out if I wanted to. I do not blame Inspectors. Some of them are men with what I would call a vision. I had the Chief Inspector of the district in the other day, and I enjoyed his visit. He has a fine taste in poetry, and a sense of humour. The Scotch Education Department is iniquitous because it is a department; a department cannot have a sense of humour. And it is humour that makes a man decent and kind and human. If the Scotch Education Department were to die suddenly I should suddenly become a worse disciplinarian than I am now. If Willie did not like Woodwork, I should say to him: "All right, Willie. Go and do what you do like, but take my advice and do some work; you will enjoy your football all the better for it." I believe in discipline, but it is self-discipline that I believe in. I think I can say that I never learned anything by being forced to learn it, but I may be wrong. I was forced to learn the Shorter Catechism, and to-day I hate the sight of it. I read the other day in Barrie's _Sentimental Tommy_ that its meaning comes to one long afterwards and at a time when one is most in need of it. I confess that the time has not come for me; it will never come, for I don't remember two lines of the Catechism. It is a fallacy that the nastiest medicines are the most efficacious; Epsom Salts are not more beneficial than Syrup of Figs. A thought!... If I believe in self-discipline, why not persuade Willie that Woodwork is good for him as a self-discipline? Because it isn't my job. If Willie dislikes chisels he will always dislike them. What I might do is this: tell him to persevere with his chisels so that he might cut himself badly. Then he might discover that his true vocation is bandaging, and straightway go in for medicine. Would Willie run away and play at horses if I told him to do what he liked best? I do not think so. He likes school, and I think he likes me. I think he would try to please me if he could. * * * When I speak kindly to a bairn I sometimes ask myself what I mean (for I try to find out my motives). Do I want the child to think kindly of me? Do I try to be popular? Am I after the delightful joy of being loved? Am I merely being humanly brotherly and kind? I have tried to analyse my motives, and I really think that there is little of each motive. I want to be loved; I want the bairn to think kindly of me. But in the main I think that my chief desire is to make the bairn happy. No man, no woman, has the right to make the skies cloudy for a bairn; it is the sin against the Holy Ghost. I once had an experience in teaching. A boy was dour and unlovable and rebellious and disobedient. I tried all ways--I regret to say I tried the tawse. I was inexperienced at the time yet I hit upon the right way. One day I found he had a decided talent for drawing. I brought down some of my pen-and-ink sketches and showed him them. I gave him pictures to copy, and his interest in art grew. I won him over by interesting myself in him. He discovered that I was only human after all. Only human!... when our scholars discover that we are only human, then they like us, and then they listen to us. I see the fingers of my tawse hanging out of my desk. They seem to be two accusing fingers. My ideals are all right, but.... I whacked Tom Wilkie to-night. At three o'clock he bled Dave Tosh's nose, and because Dave was the smaller, I whacked Tom. Yet I did not feel angry; I regret to say that I whacked Tom because I could see that Dave expected me to do it, and I hate to disappoint a bairn. If Dave had been his size, I know that I should have ignored their battle. * * * I have not used the strap all this week, and if my liver keeps well, I hope to abolish it altogether. To-day I have been thinking about punishment. What is the idea of punishment? A few months ago a poor devil of an engine-driver ran his express into a goods, and half-a-dozen people were killed. He got nine months. Why? Is his punishment meant to act as a deterrent? Will another driver say to himself: "By Jove, I'll better not wreck my train or I'll get nine months." Nine months is not punishment, but the lifelong thought: "I did it," is hell. I am trying to think why I punished Lizzie Smith for talking last Friday. Bad habit, I expect. Yet it acted as a deterrent; it showed that I was in earnest about what I was saying--I was reading the war news from the _Scotsman_. I am sorry that I punished her; it was weakness on my part, weakness and irritation. If she had no interest in the war, why should she pretend that she had? But no, I cannot have this. I must inculcate the idea of a community; the bairn must be told that others have rights. I often want to rise up and contradict the minister in kirk, but I don't; the people have rights; they do not come out to listen to me. If I offend against the community, the community will punish me with ostracism or bitterness. We have all a right to live our own lives, but in living them we must live in harmony with the community. Lizzie must be told that all the others like the war news, and that in talking she is annoying them. Yes, I must remember to emphasise continually the idea of a corporate life. * * * I see that it is only the weak man who requires a strap. Lord Kitchener could rule my school without a strap, but I am not Kitchener. Moreover, I am glad I'm not. I do not want to be what is called a strong man. John Gourlay, in _The House with the Green Shutters_ was strong enough to rule every school in Scotland with Sir John Struthers superadded; yet I do not want to be Gourlay. His son would have been a better teacher, for he was more human. Possibly Kitchener is very human; I do not know. II. I heard a blackie this morning as I went to school, and when I came near to the playground I heard the girls singing. And I realised that Lenten was come with love to Town. The game was a jingaring, and Violet Brown was in the centre. The wind and the wind and the wind blows high, The rain comes pattering from the sky. Violet Brown says she'll die For the lad with the rolling eye. She is handsome, she is pretty, She is the girl of the golden city; She is counted one, two, three, Oh! I wonder who he'll be. Willie Craig says he loves her.... My own early experiences told me that Willie wasn't far off. Yes, there he was at the same old game. When Vi entered the ring Willie began to hammer Geordie Steel with his bonnet. But I could see Violet watch him with a corner of her eye, and I am quite sure that she was aware that the exertion of hammering Geordie did not account for Willie's burning cheeks. Then Katie Farmer entered the ring ... and Tom Dixon at once became the hammerer of Geordie. Poor wee Geordie! I know that he loves Katie himself, and I know that between blows he is listening for the fatal "Tom Dixon says he loves her." I re-arranged seats this morning, and Willie is now sitting behind his Vi, but Tom Dixon is not behind Katie. Poor despised Geordie is there, but I shall shift him to-morrow if he does not make the most of his chances. * * * This morning Geordie passed a note over to Katie, then he sat all in a tremble. I saw Katie read it ... and I saw her blush. I blew my nose violently, for I knew what was written on that sacred sheet; at least I thought I knew.... "Dear Katie, will you be my lass? I will have you if you will have me--Geordie." At minutes I listened for the name when Katie went into the ring. It was "Tom Dixon" again. I blew my whistle and stopped the game. At dinner-time I looked out at the window, and rejoiced to see poor Geordie hammering Tom Dixon. I opened the window and listened. Katie was in the ring again, and I almost shouted "Hurrah!" when I heard the words, "Geordie Steel says he loves her." But I placed Tom Dixon behind Katie in the afternoon; I felt that I had treated poor Tom with injustice. To-night I tried to tackle Form 9b, but I could not concentrate. But it wasn't Violet and Katie that I was thinking of; I was thinking of the Violets and Katies I wrote "noties" to many years ago. I fear I am a bit of a sentimentalist, yet ... why the devil shouldn't I be? * * * I have discovered a girl with a sense of humour. I asked my Qualifying Class to draw a graph of the attendance at a village kirk. "And you must explain away any rise or fall," I said. Margaret Steel had a huge drop one Sunday, and her explanation was "Special Collection for Missions." Next Sunday the congregation was abnormally large; Margaret wrote "Change of Minister." Few bairns have a sense of humour; their's is a sense of fun. Make a noise like a duck and they will scream, but tell them your best joke and they will be bored to tears. I try hard to cultivate their sense of humour and their imagination. In their composition I give them many autobiographies ... a tile hat, a penny, an old boot, a nose, a tooth. To-day I asked them to describe in the first person a snail's journey to the end of the road. Margaret Steel talked of her hundred mile crawl, and she noted the tall forests on each side of the road. "The grass would be trees to a snail," she explained. Poor Margaret! When she is fourteen she will go out to the fields, and in three years she will be an ignorant country bumpkin. Our education system is futile because it does not go far enough. The State should see to it that each child has the best of chances. Margaret should be sent to a Secondary School and to a University free of charge. Her food and clothes and books and train fares should be free by right. The lassie has brains ... and that is argument enough. Our rulers do realize to a slight extent the responsibility of the community to the child. It sends a doctor round to look at Margaret's teeth; it may feed her at school if she is starving; it compels her to go to school till she is fourteen. At the age of fourteen she is free to go to the devil--the factory or the herding. But suppose she did go to a Secondary School. What then? Possibly she would become a Junior Student or a University Student. She would learn much, but would she think? I found that thinking was not encouraged at the university. * * * To-day I asked Senior I. to write up "A hen in the Kirk," and one or two attempts showed imagination. Is it possible that I am overdoing the imagination business? Shall I produce men and women with more imagination than intellect? No, I do not think there is danger. The nation suffers from lack of imagination; few of us can imagine a better state of society, a fuller life. Who are the men with great imagination?... Shelley, Blake, Browning, Nietzsche, Ibsen, Tolstoy. These men were not content with life as it was; they had ideals, and ideals are creatures of the imagination. I once saw a book by, I think, Arnold Forster; a book that was meant to teach children the meaning of citizenship. If I remember aright it dealt with parliament and law, and local government. Who was Arnold Forster? Why cannot our bairns have the best? Why tell them all the stale lies about democracy, the freedom of the individual, the justice of our laws? Are Forster's ideas of citizenship as great as the ideas of Plato, of More, of Morris, of Wells? I intend to make an abridgement of Plato's _Republic_, More's _Utopia_, William Morris's _News from Nowhere_, Bacon's _A New Atlantis_, H. G. Wells' _A Modern Utopia_, and _New Worlds for Old_. Arnold Forster was with the majority. Nearly every day I quote to my bairns Ibsen's words from _An Enemy of the People_.... "The Majority _never_ has right on its side. _Never_ I say." Every lesson book shouts aloud the words: "The majority is always right." Do I teach my bairns Socialism? I do not think so. Socialism means the owning of a State by the people of that State, and this State is not fit to own anything. For at present the State means the majority in Parliament, and that is composed of mediocre men. A State that takes up Home Rule while the slums of the East End exist is a State run by office boys for office boys ... to adapt Salisbury's description of a London daily. We could not have Socialism to-day; the nation is not ripe for it. The Germans used to drink to "The Day"; every teacher in Britain should drink daily to "The Day" when there shall be no poor, when factory lasses will not rise at five and work till six. I know that I shall never see the day, but I shall tell my bairns that it is coming. I know that most of the seed will fall on stony ground, but a sower can but sow. * * * I have been image-breaking to-day, and I feel happy. It began with patent medicines, but how I got to them I cannot recollect. I remember commencing a lesson on George Washington. The word hatchet led naturally to Women's Suffrage; then ducks came up.... Heaven only knows how, and the word quack brought me to Beans for Bibulous Britons. I told how most of these medicines cost half a farthing to make, and I explained that the manufacturer was spending a good part of the shilling profit in advertising. Then I told of the utter waste of material and energy in advertising, and went on to thunder against the hideous yellow tyre signs on the roadside. At dinner-time I read in my paper that some knight had received his knighthood because of his interest in the Territorial Movement. "Much more likely that he gave a few thousands to the party funds," I said to my wondering bairns. Then I cursed the cash values that attach to almost everything. I am determined to tear all the rags of hypocrisy from the facts of life; I shall lead my bairns to doubt everything. Yet I want them to believe in Peter Pan, or is it that I want them to believe in the beauty of beautiful stories? I want them to love the alluring lady Romance, but I think I want them to love her in the knowledge that she is only a Dream Child. Romance means more to the realist than to the romancist. * * * I wish I were a musician. If I could play the piano I should spend each Friday afternoon playing to my bairns. I should give them Alexander's Ragtime Band and Hitchy Coo; then I should play them a Liszt Rhapsody and a Chopin waltz. Would they understand and appreciate? Who knows what raptures great music might bring to a country child? The village blacksmith was fiddling at a dance in the Hall last night. "Aw learnt the fiddle in a week," he told me. I believed him. What effect would Ysaye have on a village audience? The divine melody would make them sit up startled at first, and, I think, some of them might begin to see pictures. If only I could bring Ysaye and Pachmann to this village! What an experiment! I think that if I were a Melba or a Ysaye I should say to myself:--"I have had enough of money and admiration; I shall go round the villages on an errand of mercy." The great, they say, begin in the village hall and end in the Albert Hall. The really great would begin and end in the village hall. III. A very young calf had managed to get into the playground this morning, and when I arrived I found Peter Smith hitting it viciously over the nose with a stick. I said nothing. I read the war news as usual. Then I addressed the bairns. "What would you do to the Germans who committed atrocities in Belgium?" I asked. Peter's hand went up with the others. "Well, Peter?" "Please sir, shoot them." "Cruelty should be punished, eh?" I said. "Yes, sir." "Then come here, you dirty dog!" I cried, and I whacked Peter with a fierce joy. I have often wondered at the strain of cruelty that is so often found in boys. The evolutionists must be right: the young always tend to resemble their remote ancestors. In a boy there is much of the brute. I have seen a boy cut off the heads of a nest of young sparrows; I wanted to hit him ... but he was bigger than I. This morning I was bigger than Peter; hence I do not take any credit to myself for welting him. I can see that cruelty does not disappear with youth. I confess to a feeling of unholy joy in leathering Peter, but I think that it was caused by a real indignation. What made Peter hurt the poor wee thing I cannot tell. I am inclined to think that he acted subconsciously; he was being the elemental hunter, and he did not realise that he was giving pain. I ought to have talked to him, to have made him realise. But I became elemental also; I punished with no definite motive ... and I would do it again. * * * We have had a return of wintry weather, and the bairns had a glorious slide made on the road this morning. At dinner-time I found them loafing round the door. "Why aren't you sliding," I asked. They explained that the village policeman had salted the slide. After marking the registers I took up the theme. "Why did he salt the slide?" I asked. "Because the farmers do not want their horses to fall," said one. Then I took them to laws and their makers. "Children have no votes," I said, "farmers have; hence the law is with the farmers. Women have no votes and the law gives them half the salary of a man." "But," said Margaret Steel, "would you have horses break their legs?" I smiled. "No," I said, "and I would not object to the policeman's salting the slide if the law was thinking of animals' pain. The law and the farmers are thinking of property. "Property in Britain comes before everything. I may steal the life and soul from a woman if I employ her at a penny an hour, and I may get a title for doing so. But if I steal Mr. Thomson's turnips I merely get ten days' hard." "You bairns should draw up a Declaration of Rights," I added, and I think that a few understood my meaning. * * * I find that my bairns have a genuine love for poetry. To-day I read them Tennyson's _Lady of Shalott_; then I read them _The May Queen_. I asked them which was the better, and most of them preferred, _The Lady of Shalott_. I asked for reasons, and Margaret Steel said that the one was strange and mysterious, while the other told of an ordinary death-bed. The whole class seemed to be delighted when I called _The May Queen_ a silly mawkish piece of sentimentality. I have made them learn many pieces from Stevenson's _A Child's Garden of Verses_, and they love the rhythm of such pieces as _The Shadow March_. Another poem that they love is _Helen of Kirkconnell_; I asked which stanza was the best, and they all agreed on this beautifully simple one:-- O Helen fair, beyond compare, I'll mak a garland o' thy hair; Shall bind my heart for evermair, Until the day I dee, I believe in reading out a long poem and then asking them to memorise a few verses. I did this with _The Ancient Mariner_. Long poems are an abomination to children; to ask them to commit to memory a piece like Gray's _Elegy_ is unkind. I have given them the first verse of Francis Thompson's _The Hound of Heaven_. I did not expect them to understand a word of it; my idea was to test their power of appreciating sound. Great music might convey something to rustics, but great poetry cannot convey much. Still, I try to lead them to the greater poetry. I wrote on the board a verse of _Little Jim_ and a verse of _La Belle Dame sans Merci_, and I think I managed to give them an inkling of what is good and what is bad verse. I begin to think that country children should learn ballads. There is a beauty about the old ballads that even children can catch; it is the beauty of a sweet simplicity. When I think of the orchestration of Swinburne, I think of the music of the ballads as of a flute playing. And I know that orchestration would be lost on country folk. I hate the poems that crowd the average school-book ... _Little Jim_, _We are Seven_, _Lucy Gray_, _The Wreck of the Hesperus_, _The Boy stood on the Burning Deck_, and all the rest of them. I want to select the best of the Cavalier lyrists' works, the songs from the old collections like Davison's _Poetical Rhapsody_ and England's _Helicon_, the lyrics from the Elizabethan dramatists. I want to look through moderns like William Watson, Robert Bridges, George Meredith, Thomas Hardy, Henley, Dowson, Abercrombie, William Wilfred Gibson ... there must be many charming pieces that bairns would enjoy. I read out the old _Tale of Gamelyn_ the other day, and the queer rhythm and language seemed to interest the class. * * * I think that the teaching of history in schools is all wrong. I look through a school-history, and I find that emphasis is laid on incident. Of what earthly use is the information given about Henry VIII.'s matrimonial vagaries? Does it matter a rap to anyone whether Henry I.--or was it Henry II.?--ever smiled again or not? By all means let us tell the younger children tales of wicked dukes, but older children ought to be led to think out the meaning of history. The usual school-history is a piece of snobbery; it can't keep away from the topic of kings and queens. They don't matter; history should tell the story of the people and their gradual progress from serfdom to ... sweating. I believe that a boy of eleven can grasp cause and effect. With a little effort he can understand the non-sentimental side of the Mary Stewart-Elizabeth story, the result to Scotland of the Franco-Scottish alliance. He can understand why Philip of Spain, a Roman Catholic, preferred that the Protestant Elizabeth should be Queen of England rather than the Catholic Mary Stewart. The histories never make bairns think. I have not seen one that mentioned that Magna Charta was signed because all classes in the country happened to be united for the moment. I have not seen one that points out that the main feature in Scots history is the lack of a strong central government. Hume Brown's school _History of Scotland_ is undoubtedly a very good book, but I want to see a history that will leave out all the detail that Brown gives. All that stuff about the Ruthven Raid and the Black Dinner of the Douglases might be left out of the books that the upper classes read. My history would tell the story of how the different parts were united to form the present Scotland, without mentioning more than half-a-dozen names of men and dates. Then it would go on to tell of the struggles to form a central government. Possibly Hume Brown does this. I don't know; I am met with so much detail about Perth Articles and murders that I lose the thread of the story. Again, the school-histories almost always give a wrong impression of men and events. Every Scots schoolboy thinks that Edward I. of England was a sort of thief and bully rolled into one, and that the carpet-bagger, Robert Bruce, was a saint from heaven. Edward's greatness as a lawgiver is ignored; at least we ought to give him credit for his statesmanship in making an attempt to unite England, Scotland, and Wales. And Cromwell's Drogheda and Wexford affair is generally mentioned with due emphasis, while Charles I.'s proverbial reputation as "a bad king but a good father" is seldom omitted. I expect that the school-histories of the future will talk of the "scrap of paper" aspect of the present war, and they will anathematise the Kaiser. But the real historians will be searching for deeper causes; they will be analysing the national characteristics, the economical needs, the diplomatic methods, of the nations. The school-histories will say: "The war came about because the Kaiser wanted to be master of Europe, and the German people had no say in the matter at all." The historians will say ... well, I'm afraid I don't know; but I think they will relegate the Kaiser to a foot-note. * * * The theorist is a lazy man. MacMurray down the road at Markiton School is a hard worker; he never theorises about education. He grinds away at his history and geography, and I don't suppose he likes geography any more than I do. I expect that he gives a thorough lesson on Canada, its exports and so on. I do not; I am too lazy to read up the subject. My theory says to me: "You are able to think fairly well, and a knowledge of the amount of square miles in Manitoba would not help you to think as brightly as H. G. Wells. So, why learn up stuff that you can get in a dictionary any day?" And I teach on this principle. At the same time I am aware that facts must precede theories in education. You cannot have a theory on, say, the Marriage Laws, unless you know what these laws are. However, I do try to distinguish between facts and facts. To a child (as to me), the fact that Canada grows wheat is of less importance than the fact that if you walk down the street in Winnipeg in mid winter, you may have your ears frost-bitten. The only information I know about Japan consists of a few interesting facts I got from a lecture by Arthur Diosy. I don't know what things are manufactured in Tokio, but I know that a Jap almost boils himself when he takes a bath in the morning. I find that I am much more interested in humanity than in materials, and I know that the bairns are like me in this. A West African came to the school the other day, and asked me to allow him to tell (for a consideration) the story of his home life. When I discovered that he did not mean his own private home life I gladly gave him permission. He talked for half-an-hour about the habits of his home, the native schools, the dress of the children (I almost blushed at this part, but I was relieved to find that they do dress after all); then he sang the native version of 'Mary had a little Lamb' (great applause). The lecture was first-rate; and, in my lazy--I mean my theoretical moments, I squint down the road in hopes that an itinerant Chinaman will come along. I would have a coloured band of geographers employed by the Department. * * * I am chuckling at myself to-night. A day or two ago I lectured about the policeman's action in salting the slide, and I certainly did not think of the farmer's position. To-day I wore a new pair of very light spats ... and Lizzie Adam has a horrid habit of shaking her pen after dipping. "Look what you've done!" I cried in vexation, "can't you stop that silly habit of chucking ink all over the school?" Then I laughed. "Lizzie," I said sadly, "you won't understand, but I am the farmer who wants the slide salted. The farmer does not want to have his horse ruined, and I do object to having my new spats ruined." The truth is that the interests of the young and of the old are directly antagonistical. I can argue with delightful sophistry that I am better than the farmer. I can say that throwing ink is a silly habit, with no benefit to Lizzie, while sliding brings joy to a schoolful of bairns; hence the joy of these bairns is of greater importance than the loss of a horse. But I know what I should think if it were my horse, yes, I know. I find it the most difficult thing in the world to be a theorist ... and an honest man at the same time. IV. A Junior Inspector called to-day. His subject was handwriting, and he had theories on the subject. So have I. We had an interesting talk. His view is that handwriting is a practical science; hence we must teach a child to write in such a way as to carry off the job he applies for when he is fourteen. My view is that handwriting is an art, like sketching. My view is the better, for it includes his. I am a superior penman to him, and in a contest I could easily beat him. I really failed to see what he was worrying his head about. What does the style matter. It is the art that one puts into a style that makes writing good. I can teach the average bairn to write well in two hours; it is simply a matter of writing slowly. I like the old-schoolmaster hand, the round easy writing with its thick downstrokes and thin upstrokes. I like to see the m's with the joinings in the middle. The _Times_ copy-book is the ideal one--to me. But why write down any more. The topic isn't worth the ink wasted. * * * I picked up a copy of a Popular Educator to-day. Much of the stuff seems to be well written, but I cannot help thinking that the words "low ideals" are written over the whole set of volumes. Its aim is evidently to enable boys and girls to gain success ... as the world considers success. "Study hard," it blares forth, "and you will become a Whiteley or a Gamage. Study if you want wealth and position." What an ideal! Let us have our Shorthand Classes, our Cookery Classes, our Typewriting Classes, but for any sake don't let us call them education. Education is thinking; it should deal with great thoughts, with the æsthetic things in life, with life itself. Commerce is the profiteer's god, but it is not mine. I want to teach my bairns how to live; the Popular Educator wants to teach them how to make a living. There is a distinction between the two ideals. The Scotch Education Department would seem to have some of the Educator's aspirations. It demands Gardening, Woodwork, Cookery; in short, it is aiming at turning out practical men and women. My objection to men and women is that they are too practical. I used to see a notice in Edinburgh: "John Brown, Practical Chimney Sweep." I often used to wonder what a theoretical chimney sweep might be, and I often wished I could meet one. My view is that a teacher should turn out theoretical sweeps, railwaymen, ploughmen, servants. Heaven knows they will get the practical part knocked into them soon enough. * * * I have been experimenting with Drawing. I have been a passable black-and-white artist for many years, and the subject fascinates me. I see that drawing is of less importance than taste, and I find that I can get infants who cannot draw a line to make artistic pictures. I commence with far-away objects--a clump of trees on the horizon. The child takes a BB pencil and blocks in the mass of trees. The result is a better picture than the calendar prints the bairns see at home. Gradually I take nearer objects, and at length I reach what is called drawing. I ignore all vases and cubes and ellipses; my model is a school-bag or a cloak. The drawing does not matter very much; but I want to see the shadows stand out. I find that only a few in a class ever improve in sketching; one is born with the gift. Designing fascinates many bairns. I asked them to design a kirk window on squared paper to-day. Some of the attempts were good. I got the boys to finish off with red ink, and then I pasted up the designs on the wall. I seem to recollect an Inspector who told me to give up design a good few years ago. I wouldn't give it up now for anyone. It is a delightful study, and it will bring out an inherent good taste better than any branch of drawing I know. Drawing (or rather, Sketching) to me means an art, not a means to cultivating observation. It belongs solely to Aesthetics. Sketching, Music, and Poetry are surely intended to make a bairn realise the fuller life that must have beauty always with it. I showed my bairns two sketches of my own to-day ... the Tolbooth and the Whitehorse Close in Edinburgh. A few claimed that the Whitehorse Close was the better, because it left more out. "It leaves something to the imagination," said Tom Dixon. * * * When will some original publisher give us a decent school Reader? I have not seen one that is worth using. Some of them give excerpts from Dickens and Fielding and Borrow (that horrid bore) and Hawthorne (another). I cannot find any interest in these excerpts; they have no beginning and no end. Moreover, a bairn does like the dramatic; prosiness deadens its wee soul at once. I want to see a Reader especially written for bairns. I want to see many complete stories, filled with bright dialogue. Every yarn should commence with dialogue. I always think kindly of the late Guy Boothby, because he usually began with, "Hands up, or I fire!" or a kindred sentence. I wish I could lay hands on a Century Reader I used as a boy. It was full of the dramatic. The first story was one about the Burning of Moscow, then came the tale of Captain Dodds and the pirate (from Reade's novel, _Hard Cash_, I admit. An excerpt need not be uninteresting), then a long passage from _The Deerslayer_ ... with a picture of Indians throwing tomahawks at the hero. I loved that book. I think that dramatic reading should precede prosy reading. It is life that a child wants, not prosy descriptions of sunsets and travels; life, and romance. I have scrapped my Readers; I don't use them even for Spelling. I do not teach Spelling; the teaching of it does not fit into my scheme of education. Teaching depends on logic. Now Spelling throws logic to the winds. I tell a child that "cough" is "coff," and logic leads him to suppose that rough is "roff" and "through" is "throff." If I tell him that spelling is important because it shows whence a word is derived, I am bound in honesty to tell him that a matinee is not a "morning performance," that manufactured goods are not "made by hand." Hence I leave Spelling alone. At school I "learned" Spelling, and I could not spell a word until I commenced to read much. Spelling is of the eye mainly. Every boy can spell "truly" and "obliged" when he leaves school, but ten years later he will probably write "truely" and "oblidged." Why? I think that the explanation lies in the fact that he does not read as a growing youth. Anyway, dictionaries are cheap. * * * To-night I sat down on a desk and lit my pipe. Margaret Steel and Lizzie Buchan were tidying up the room. Margaret looked at me thoughtfully for a second. "Please, sir, why do you smoke?" she said. "I really don't know, Margaret," I said. "Bad habit, I suppose ... just like writing notes to boys." She suddenly became feverishly anxious to pick up the stray papers. "I wonder," I mused, "whether they do it in the same old way. How do they do it, Margaret?" She dived after a piece of paper. "I used to write them myself," I said. Margaret looked up quickly. "You!" she gasped. "I am not so old," I said hastily. "Please, sir, I didn't mean that," she explained in confusion. "You did, you wee bissom," I chuckled. "Please, sir," she said awkwardly, "why--why are you not--not-m-married?" I rose and took up my hat. "I once kissed a girl behind the school door, Margaret," I said absently. She did not understand ... and when I come to think of it I am not surprised. * * * To-day was prize-giving day. Old Mr. Simpson made a speech. "Boys," he said, "study hard and you'll maybe be a minister like Mr. Gordon there." He paused. "Or," he continued, "if you don't manage that, you may become a teacher like Mr. Neill here." Otherwise the affair was very pathetic: the medallist, a girl, had already left school and was hired as a servant on a farm. And old Mr. Simpson did not know it; I thought it better not to tell the kindly soul. He spoke earnestly on success in life. I hate prizes. To-day, Violet Brown and Margaret Steel, usually the best of friends, are looking daggers at each other. To-morrow I shall read them the story of the Judgment of Paris. And what rubbish these books are! There isn't a decent piece of literature in the bunch--_Matty's Present_, _The Girl Who Came to School_. Jerusalem! V. The more I see of it the more I admire the co-education system. To me it is delightful to see boys and girls playing together. Segregate boys and you destroy their perspective. I used to find at the university that it was generally the English Public School Boy who set up one standard of morals for his sisters and another for the shop-girls. Co-education is the greatest thing in our State educational system. The bairns early learn the interdependence of the sexes; boys and girls early begin to understand each other. All danger of putting women on a pedestal is taken away; the boys find that the girls are ordinary humans with many failings ("Aw'll tell the mester!"), and many virtues. The girls find that boys ... well, I don't exactly know what the girls find. Seldom is there any over-familiarity. The girls have a natural protective aloofness that awes the boys; the boys generally have strenuous interests that lead them to ignore the girls for long periods. At present the sexes are very friendly, for love-making (always a holy thing with bairns), has come with spring; but in a few weeks the boys will be playing football or "bools," and they will not be seen in the girls' playground. I can detect no striving after what is called chivalry (thank heaven!) If Maggie and Willie both lay hands on a ruler, they fight it out, but Maggie generally gets it; she can say more. Mr. Henpeck begins life as a chick. I hate the popular idea of chivalry, and I want my boys to hate it. Chivalry to me means rising in the Tube to offer a typist your seat, and then going off to the city to boss a score of waitresses who are paid 6s. a week. As a nation we have no chivalry; we have only etiquette. We hold doors open for nice women, and we tamely suffer or forget about a society that condemns poor women to slave for sixteen hours a day sewing shirts at a penny an hour. We say "Thank you" when the lady of the house stops playing, and we banish the prostitutes of Piccadilly from our minds. Chivalry has been dead for a long time now. I want to substitute kindness for the word chivalry. I want to tell my bairns that the only sin in the world is cruelty. I do not preach morality for I hardly know what morality is. I have no morals, I am an a-moralist, or should it be a non-moralist? I judge not, and I mean to school my bairns into judging not. Yet I am not being quite consistent. I do judge cruelty and uncharitableness; but I judge not those who do not act up to the accustomed code of morals. A code is always a temptation to a healthy person; it is like a window by a railway siding: it cries out: "Chuck a chunk of coal through me." Codes never make people moral; they merely make them hypocritical. I include the Scotch code. * * * Until lately I thought that drill was unnecessary for rural bairns. It was the chief inspector of the district who converted me. He pointed out that country children are clumsy and slack. "A countryman can heave a sack of potatoes on his back," he said, "but he has no agility, no grace of movement." I agree with him now. I find that drill makes my bairns more graceful. But I am far from being pleased with any system that I know. I don't really care tuppence whether they are physically alert or not, but I want them to be graceful, if only from an artistic point of view. The system I really want to know is Eurhythmics. I recently read an illustrated article by (or on?) Jacques Dalcroze, the inventor of the method, and the founder of the Eurhythmics School near Dresden. The system is drill combined with music. The pupils walk and dance, and I expect, sit to music. The photographs were beautiful studies in grace; the school appears to be full of Pavlovas. I think I shall try to found a Eurhythmics system on the photographs. I cannot surely invent anything more graceless than "'Shun!" Grace is almost totally absent from rural dances. The ploughman takes off his jacket, and sweats his roaring way through "The Flowers o' Edinburgh"; but the waltz has no attraction for him. Waltzing is a necessity in a rural scheme of education ... and, incidentally, in a Mayfair scheme of education, now that the "Bunny Hug" and the "Turkey Trot" and the "Tango" have come to these isles. * * * Robert Campbell left the school to-day. He had reached the age limit. He begins work tomorrow morning as a ploughman. And yesterday I wrote about introducing Eurhythmics! Robert's leaving brings me to earth with a flop. I am forced to look a grim fact in the face. Truly it is like a death; I stand by a new made grave, and I have no hope of a resurrection. Robert is dead. Pessimism has hold of me to-night. I have tried to point the way to what I think best in life, tried to give Robert an ideal. Tomorrow he will be gathered to his fathers. He will take up the attitude of his neighbours: he will go to church, he will vote Radical or Tory, he will elect a farmer to the School Board, he will marry and live in a hovel. His master said to me recently: "Bairns are gettin' ower muckle eddication noo-a-days. What eddication does a laddie need to herd kye?" Yes, I am as pessimistic as any Schopenhauer to-night, I cannot see the sun. * * * My pessimism has remained with me all day. I feel that I am merely pouring water into a sieve. I almost feel that to meddle with education is to begin at the wrong end. I may have an ideal, but I cannot carry it out because I am up against all the forces of society. Robert Campbell is damned, not because education is so very wrong, but because education is trying to adapt itself to commerce and economics and convention. I think I am right in holding that our Individualist, as opposed to a Socialist, system is to blame. "Every man for himself" is the most cursed saying that was ever said. If we are to allow an idle rich to waste millions yearly, if we are to allow profiteers to amass thousands at the expense of the slaving majority, what chance has poor Robert Campbell? I complete the saying--"and the Deil tak the henmost." Robert is the henmost. O! the people are poor things. Democracy is the last futility. Yet I should not blame the people; they never get a chance. Our rulers are on the side of the profiteers, and the latter take very good care that Robert Campbell shall leave school when he is fourteen. It isn't that they want more cheap labour; they are afraid that if he is educated until he is nineteen he will be wise enough to say: "Why should I, a man made in the image of God, be forced to slave for gains that you will steal?" Yet, the only way is to labour on, to strive to convey some idea of my ideal to my bairns. If every teacher in Scotland had the same ideal as I have I think that the fight would not be a long one. But how do I know that my ideal is the right one? I cannot say; I just _know_. Which, I admit, is a woman's reason. * * * I was re-reading _An Enemy of the People_ last night, and the thought suddenly came to me: "Would my bairns understand it?" This morning I cut out Bible instruction and read them the first act. I then questioned them, and found to my delight that they had grasped the theme. It was peculiarly satisfying to me to find that they recognized Dr. Stockmann as a better man than his grovelling brother Peter. If my bairns could realise the full significance of Ibsen's play, "The Day" would not be so far off as I am in the habit of thinking it is. I must re-read Shaw's _Widowers' Houses_; I fancy that children might find much thought in it. It is one of his "Unpleasant Plays," but I see no reason for keeping the unlovely things from bairns. I do not believe in frightening them with tales of murder and ghosts. Every human being has something of the gruesome in his composition; the murder cases are the most popular readings in our press. I want to direct this innate desire for gruesome things to the realising of the most gruesome things in the world--the grinding of soul and body in order to gain profits, the misery of poverty and cold, the weariness of toil. If our press really wants to make its readers shudder, why does it not publish long accounts of infant mortality in the slums, of gin fed bairns, of back-doors used as fuel, of phthisical girls straining their eyes over seams? I know why the press ignores these things, the public does not want to think of them. If the public wanted such stories every capitalist owner of a newspaper would supply them, grudgingly, but with a stern resolve to get dividends. To-day the papers are mostly run for the rich and their parasites. The only way in which 'Enery Smith can get his photograph into the papers is by jumping on Mrs. 'Enery Smith until she expires. I wonder that no criminologist has tried to prove that publicity is the greatest incentive to crime. When I read the daily papers to my bairns I try to tell them what is left out. "Humour at Bow Street," a heading will run. Ye Gods! Humour! I have as much humour as most men, but if anyone can find humour in the stupid remarks of a law-giver he must be a W. W. Jacobs, a Mark Twain, a George A. Birmingham, and a Stephen Leacock rolled into one ... with the Devil thrown in. Humour at Bow Street. I have been there. I have seen the poor Magdalenes and the pitiable Lazaruses shuffle in with terror in their eyes. I have seen the inflexible mighty law condemn them to the cells, I have heard their piteous cries for mercy. And the newspapers talk of the humour of the courts. I once read that law's primary object is to protect the rich from the poor. The appalling truth of that saying dawned on me in Bow Street. Humour! Yes, there is humour in Bow Street. The grimmest, ugliest joke in the world is this.... Covent Garden Opera House stands across the street from the court. * * * To-day I told Senior II. to write up the following story, I advised them to add graces to it if they could. "A farmer went to Edinburgh for the day. He was walking down the High Street with open mouth when the fire engine came swinging round the corner. The farmer gave chase down the North Bridge and Leith Street, and owing to the heavy traffic the engine's rate was so slow that he could easily keep up with it. But it turned down London Road, and in the long silent street soon outdistanced him. He ran until he saw that it was hopeless. Then he stopped and held up a clenched fist. "Ye can keep yer dawmed tattie-chips," he cried, "Aw'll get them some other place." Mary Peters began thus:-- "Mr. Peter Mitchell went to Edinburgh for the day...." Mr. Peter Mitchell is Chairman of the School Board. * * * Why did I substitute "auld" for "dawmed" tattie-chips when I told the bairns the story. Art demands the "dawmed." I think I substituted the "auld" because I like a quiet life. I have no time to persuade indignant parents that "damn" is not a sin. But it was weakness on my part; I compromised, and compromise is always a lie. VI. This morning I had a note from a farmer in the neighbourhood. "DEAR SIR,--I send my son Andrew to get education at the school not Radical politics. I am, Yours respectfully, Andrew Smith." I called Andrew out. "Andrew," I said, with a smile, "when you go home to-night tell your father that I hate Radicalism possibly more than he does." The father came down to-night to apologise. "Aw thocht ye was ane o' they wheezin' Radicals," he explained. Then he added, "And what micht yer politics be?" "I am a Utopian," I said modestly. He scratched his head for a moment, then he gave it up and asked my opinion of the weather. We discussed turnips for half-an-hour, at the end of which time I am sure he was wondering how an M.A. could be such an ignoramus. We parted on friendly terms. * * * I do not think that I have any definite views on the teaching of religion to bairns; indeed, I have the vaguest notion of what religion means. I am just enough of a Nietzschean to protest against teaching children to be meek and lowly. I once shocked a dear old lady by saying that the part of the Bible that appealed to me most was that in which the Pharisee said: "I thank God that I am not as other men." I was young then, I have not the courage to say it now. I do, however, hold strongly that teaching religion is not my job. The parish minister and the U.F. minister get good stipends for tending their flocks, and I do not see any reason in the world why I should have to look after the lambs. For one thing I am not capable. All I aim at is teaching bairns how to live ... possibly that is the true religion; my early training prevents my getting rid of the idea that religion is intended to teach people how to die. To-day I was talking about the probable formation of the earth, how it was a ball of flaming gas like the sun, how it cooled gradually, how life came. A girl looked up and said: "Please, sir, what about the Bible?" I explained that in my opinion the creation story was a story told to children, to a people who were children in understanding. I pointed out a strange feature, discovered to me by the parish minister, that the first chapter of Genesis follows the order of scientific evolution ... the earth is without form, life rises from the sea, then come the birds, then the mammals. But I am forced to give religious instruction. I confine my efforts to the four gospels; the bairns read them aloud. I seldom make any comment on the passages. In geography lessons I often take occasion to emphasise the fact that Muhammudans and Buddhists are not necessarily stupid folk who know no better. I cannot lead bairns to a religion, but I can prevent their being stupidly narrow. No, I fear I have no definite opinions on religion. I set out to enter the church, but I think that I could not have stayed in it. I fancy that one fine Sunday morning I would have stood up in the pulpit and said: "Friends, I am no follower of Christ. I like fine linen and tobacco, books and comfort. I should be in the slums, but I am not Christlike enough to go there. Goodbye." I wonder! Why then do I not stand up and say to the School Board: "I do not believe in this system of education at all. I am a hypocrite when I teach subjects that I abominate. Give me my month's screw. Goodbye." I sigh ... yet I like to fancy that I could not have stayed in the kirk. One thing I am sure of: a big stipend would not have tempted me to stay. I have no wish for money; at least, I wouldn't go out of my way to get it. I wouldn't edit a popular newspaper for ten thousand a year. Of that I am sure. Quite sure. Quite. Yet I once applied for a job on a Tory daily. I was hungry then. What if I were hungry now? The flesh is weak ... but, I could always go out on tramp. I more than half long for the temptation. Then I should discover whether I am an idealist or a talker. Possibly I am a little of both. I began to write about religion, and I find myself talking about myself. Can it be that my god is my ego? * * * I began these log-notes in order to discover my philosophy of education, and I find that I am discovering myself. This discovery of self must come first. Personality goes far in teaching. May it go too far? Is it possible that I am a danger to these bairns? May I not be influencing them too much? I do not think so. Anything I may say will surely be negatived at home; my word, unfortunately, is not so weighty as father's. In what is called Spelling Reform we cannot have a revolution; all we can hope for is a reform within Spelling, a reform that will abolish existing anomalies. So in education we cannot have a revolution. All we can hope for is a reform wrought within education by the teacher. If every teacher were a sort of Wellsian-Shavian-Nietzschean-Webbian fellow, the children would be directly under two potent influences--the parents and teachers. "What is Truth?" millions of Pilates have asked. It is because we have no standard of Truth that our education is a failure. Each of us gets hold of a corner of the page of Truth, but the trouble is that so many grasp the same corner. It is a corner dirty with thumb-marks ... "Humour in Bow Street," "Knighthood for Tooting Philanthropist," "Dastardly Act by Leeds Strikers," "Special Service of Praise in the Parish Kirk" ... marks do not obliterate the page. My corner is free from thumbmarks, and anyone can read the clear type of "Christlessness in Bow Street," "Jobbery in the Sale of Honours," "Murder of Starving Strikers," "Thanksgiving Service for the Blessing of Whitechapel" ... but few will read this corner's story; the majority likes the filthy corner with the beautiful news. I have discovered my mission. I am the apostle of the clean corner with the dirty news written on it. * * * I began to read the second act of _An Enemy of the People_ this morning, but I had to give it up; the bairns had lost interest. I closed the book. "Suppose," I said, "suppose that this village suddenly became famous as a health-resort. People would build houses and hotels, your fathers would grow richer; and suppose that the doctor discovered that the water supply was poisonous, that the pipes lay through a swamp where fever germs were. What would the men who had built hotels and houses say about the doctor? What would they do about the water supply?" The unanimous opinion was that the water-pipes would be relaid; the people would not want visitors to come and take fever. This opinion leads me to conclude that bairns are idealists; childhood takes the Christian view. Barrie says that genius is the power of being a boy again at will; I agree, but Barrie and I are possibly thinking of different aspects. Ibsen was a genius because he became as a little child. Dr. Stockmann (Ibsen) is a simple child; he cannot realise that self-interest can make his own brother a criminal to society. I told my bairns what the men in the play did. "But," said one in amazement, "they would not do that in real life?" "They are doing it every day," I said. "This school is old, badly ventilated, overcrowded. It is a danger to your health and mine. Yet, if I asked for a new school, the whole village would rise up against me. 'More money on the rates!' they would cry, and they would treat me very much as the people in the play treated Dr. Stockmann." * * * I find it difficult to discuss the causes of the war with the bairns. I refuse to accept the usual tags about going to the assistance of a weak neighbour whom we agreed to protect. We all want to think that we are fighting for Belgium but are we? I look to Mexico and I find it has been bathed in blood because the American Oil Kings and the British Oil Kings were at war. President Diaz was pro-English, Madero was pro-American, Huerta was pro-English ... and the United States supported the notorious Villa. Villa's rival, Carranzo, was pro-English. It is an accepted belief that the American Oil Kings financed the first risings in order to drive the British oil interests out of the country. Hence, widows and orphans in Mexico are the victims of a dollar massacre. Can we trace the present war to the financiers? It is said that the Triple Entente is the result of Russia's receiving loans from France and Britain. I cannot find a solution. I am inclined to attach little value to what is called national feeling. The workers are the masses, and I cannot imagine a German navvy's having any hatred of a British navvy. A world of workers would not fight, but at present the workers are so badly organised that they fight at the bidding of kings and diplomatists and financiers. War comes from the classes above, and by means of their press the upper classes convert the proletariat to their way of thinking. A more important subject is that of the ending of wars. The idealistic vapourings of the I.L.P. with its silly talk of internationalism will do nothing to stop war. Norman Angell's cry that war doesn't pay will not stop war. But a true democracy in each country will stop it. I think of Russia with all its darkness and cruelty, and I am appalled; a true democracy there will be centuries in coming. For Germany I do not fear; out of her militarism will surely arise a great democratic nation. And out of our own great trial a true democracy is arising. Capitalism has failed; the State now sees that it must control the railways and engineering shops in a crisis. The men who struck work on the Clyde are of the same class as the men who are dying in Flanders. Why should one lot be heroes and the other lot be cursed as traitors? The answer is simple. The soldiers are fighting for the nation; the engineers are working primarily for the profiteers, and only secondarily for the nation. Profiteering has not stood the test, and the workers are beginning to realise the significance of its failure. VII. To-day I have scrapped somebody's Rural Arithmetic. It is full of sums of the How-much-will-it-take-to-paper a-room? type. This cursed utilitarianism in education riles me. Who wants to know what it will take to paper a room? Personally I should call in the painter, and take my meals on the parlour piano for a day or two. Anyway, why this suspicion of the poor painter? Is he worse than other tradesmen? If we must have a utilitarian arithmetic then I want to see a book that will tell me if the watchmaker is a liar when he tells me that the mainspring of my watch is broken. I want to see sums like this:--How long will a plumber take to lay a ten foot pipe if father can do it at the rate of a yard in three minutes? (Ans., three days). To me Arithmetic is an art not a science. I do not know a single rule; I must always go back to first principles. I love catch questions, questions that will make a bairn think all the time. Inspectors' Tests give but little scope for the Art of Arithmetic; they are usually poor peddling things that smell strongly of materialism. In other words, they appeal to the mechanical part of a bairn's brain instead of to the imagination. I want to see a test that will include a sum like this:--23.4 × .065 × 54.678 × 0. The cram will start in to multiply out; the imaginative bairn will glance along and see the nought, and will at once spot that the answer is zero. * * * I have just discovered an excellent song-book--Curwen's _Approved Songs_. It includes all the lovely songs of Cavalier and Puritan times, tunes like _Polly Oliver_ and _Golden Slumbers_. At present my bairns are singing a Christmas Carol by Bridge, _Sweeter than Songs of Summer_. They sing treble, alto, and tenor, while I supply the bass. The time is long past Christmas, but details like that don't worry me. This carol is the sweetest piece of harmonising I have heard for a long time. * * * I have been re-reading Shaw's remarks on Sex in Education. I cannot see that he has anything very illuminating to say on the subject; for that matter no one has. Most of us realise that something is wrong with our views on sex. The present attitude of education is to ignore sex, and the result is that sex remains a conspiracy of silence. The ideal some of us have is to raise sex to its proper position as a wondrous beautiful thing. To-day we try to convey to bairns that birth is a disgrace to humanity. The problem before me comes to this: How can I bring my bairns to take a rational elemental view of sex instead of a conventional hypocritical one? How can I convey to them the realisation that our virtue is mostly cowardice, that our sex morality is founded on mere respectability? (It is the easiest thing in the world to be virtuous in Padanarum; it is not so easy to be a saint in Oxford Street. Not because Oxford Street has more temptation, but because nobody knows you there.) In reality I can do nothing. If I mentioned sex in school I should be dismissed at once. But if a philanthropist would come along and offer me a private school to run as I pleased, then I should introduce sex into my scheme of education. Bairns would be encouraged to believe in the stork theory of birth until they reached the age of nine. At that age they would get the naked truth. A friend of mine, one of the cleverest men I know, and his wife, a wise woman, resolved to tell their children anything they asked. The eldest, a girl of four, asked one day where she came from. They told her, and she showed no surprise. But I would begin at nine chiefly because the stork story is so delightful that it would be cruel to deprive a bairn of it altogether. Yet, after all, the stork story is all the more charming when you know the bald truth. Well, at the age of nine my bairns would be taken in hand by a doctor. They would learn that modesty is mainly an accidental result of the invention of clothes. They would gradually come to look upon sex as a normal fact of life; in short, they would recognise it as a healthy thing. Shaw is right in saying that children must get the truth from a teacher, because parents find a natural shyness in mentioning sex to their children. But I think that the next generation of parents will have a better perspective; shyness will almost disappear. The bairns must be told; of that there is no doubt. The present evasion and deceit lead to the dirtiness which constitutes the sex education of boys and girls. The great drawback to a frank education on sex matters is the disgusting fact that most grown-up people persist in associating sex with sin. The phrase "born in sin" is still applied to an illegitimate child. When I think of the damnable cruelty of virtuous married women to a girl who has had a child I want to change the phrase into "born into sin." * * * I have just discovered a section of the Code that deals with the subject of Temperance. I smile sadly when I think that my bairns will never have more than a pound a week to be intemperate on. I suspect that if I had to slave for a week for a pound I should trek for the nearest pub on pay night; I should seek oblivion in some way. Temperance! Why waste time telling poor bairns to be temperate? When they are fourteen they will learn that to be intemperate means the sack. If we must teach temperance let us begin at Oxford and Cambridge; at Westminster (I really forget how much wine and beer was consumed there last year; the amount raised a thirst in me at any rate). Temperance! The profiteers see to it that the poor cannot afford to be intemperate. Coals are up now, the men who draw a royalty on each ton as it leaves the pit do not know the meaning of temperance. I want to cry to my bairns: "Be intemperate! Demand more of the fine things of life. Don't waste time in the beershops, spend your leisure hours persuading your neighbour to help you to impose temperance on your masters." The Code talks about food. But it does not do so honestly. I would insert the following in the Code:-- "Teachers in slum districts should point out to the children that most of their food is adulterated. Most of their boots are made of paper. Most of their clothes are made of shoddy." * * * The best thing I have found in the Code is the section on the teaching of English. I fancy it is the work of J. C. Smith, the Editor of the Oxford _Spenser_. I used to have him round at my classes; he was a first-rate examiner. If a class had any originality in it he drew it out. But I never forgave J. C. Smith for editing _Much Ado About Nothing_. He made no effort to remark on the absurdity of the plot and motives. To me the play is as silly as _Diplomacy_ or _Our Boys_. "No grammar," says the Code, "should be taught until written composition begins." I like that, but I should re-write it thus: "No grammar should be taught this side the Styx." Grammar is always changing, and the grammar of yesterday is scrapped to-day. A child requires to know how to speak and how to write correctly. I can write passably well, and when I write I do not need to know whether a word is an adjective or an adverb, whether a clause is a noun clause or an adverbial clause of time modifying a certain verb ... or is it a noun? Society ladies speak grammatically (I am told), and I'm quite sure that not three people in the Row could tell me whether a word is a verb or an adverb (I shouldn't care to ask). The fact that I really could tell what each word is makes absolutely no difference to me. A middle-class boy of five will know that the sentence "I and nurse is going to the Pictures" is wrong. But I must confess that grammar has influenced me in one way. I know I should say "Whom did you see?" but I always say "Who did you see?" And I used to try not to split my infinitives until I found out that you can't split an infinitive; "to" has nothing to do with the infinitive anyway. I want to abolish the terms Subject, Predicate, Object, Extension, Noun, Verb, &c. I fancy we could get along very well without them. Difficulties might arise in learning a foreign tongue. I don't know anything about foreign tongues; all I know is the Greek alphabet and a line of Homer, and the fact that all Gaul is divided into three parts. Yet I imagine that one could learn French or German as a child learns a language. Good speaking and writing mean the correct use of idiom, and idiom is the best phrasing of the best people--best according to our standards at the present time. I have heard Parsing and Analysis defended on the ground of their being an exercise in reasoning. I admit that they do require reasoning, but I hold that the time would be better spent in Mathematics. I hope to take my senior pupils through the first and third books of Euclid this summer. Personally, I can find much pleasure in a stiff deduction, but I find nothing but intense weariness in an analysis of sentences. My theories on education are purely personal; if _I_ don't like a thing I presume that my bairns dislike it. And the strange thing is that my presumptions are nearly always right. * * * Folklore fascinates me. I find that the children of Forfarshire and Dumfriesshire have the same ring song, _The Wind and the Wind and the Wind Blows High_. I once discovered in the British Museum a book on English Folksongs, and in it I found the same song obtaining in Staffordshire. Naturally, variations occur. Did these songs all spring from a common stock? Or did incomers bring them to a district? When I am sacked ... and I half expect to be some day soon ... I shall wander round the schools of Scotland collecting the folk-songs. I shall take a Punch and Judy show with me, for I know that this is a long felt want in the country. That reminds me:--a broken-down fellow came to me to-day and told pathetically how he had lost his school ... "wrongous dismissal" he called it. I wept and gave him sixpence. To-night I visited the minister. "I had a sad case in to-day," he began, "a poor fellow who had a kirk in Ross-shire. Poor chap, his wife took to drink, and he lost his kirk." "Chap with a reddish moustache?" I asked. "Yes, did you see him?" I ignored the question. "Charity," I said, "is foolish. I don't believe in charity of that kind. You gave him something?" "Er--a shilling." "You have too much heart," I said, and I took my departure. If I have to go on tramp I shall try to live by selling sermons after school-hours. VIII. To-day I discussed the Women's Movement with my class. They were all agreed that women should not have votes. I asked for reasons. "They can't fight like men," said a boy. I pointed out that they risk their lives more than men do. A woman risks her life so that life may come into the world; a soldier risks his life so that death may come into the world. "Women speak too much," said Margaret Steel. "Read the Parliamentary debates," said I. "Women have not the brains," said a boy. I made no reply, I lifted his last exam. paper, and showed the class his 21 per cent, then I showed him Violet Brown's 93 per cent. But I was careful to add that the illustration was not conclusive. I went on to tell them that the vote was of little use to men, and that I did not consider it worth striving for. But I tried to show them that the Women's Movement was a much bigger thing than a fight for political power. It was a protest against the system that made sons doctors and ministers, and daughters typists and shopgirls, that made girls black their idle brothers' boots, that offered £60 to a lady teacher who was doing as good work as the man in the next room with his £130. I did not take them to the deeper topics of Marriage, Inheritance, the economic dependence of women on men that makes so many marry for a home. But I tried to show that owing to woman's being voteless the laws are on the man's side, and I instanced the Corporation Baths in the neighbouring city. There only one day a week is set aside for women. Then it struck me that perhaps the women of the city have municipal votes, and I suggested that if this were the case, women are less interested in cold water than men, a circumstance that goes to show that women have a greater need of freedom than I thought they had. On the whole it was a disappointing discussion. * * * I went up to see Lawson of Rinsley School to-night. I talked away gaily about having scrapped my Readers and Rural Arithmetic. He was amused; I know that he considers me a cheerful idiot. But he grew serious when I talked about my Socialism. "You blooming Socialists," he said, with a dry laugh, "are the most cocky people I have yet struck. You think you are the salt of the earth and that all the others are fatheads." "Quite right, Lawson," I said with a laugh. And I added seriously: "You see, my boy, that if you have a theory, you've simply _got_ to think the other fellow an idiot. I believe in Socialism--the Guild Socialism of _The New Age_, and naturally I think that Lloyd George and Bonar Law and the Cecils, and all that lot are hopelessly wrong." "Do you mean to tell me that you are a greater thinker than Arthur James Balfour?" Lawson sat back in his chair and watched the effect of this shot. I considered for a minute. "It's like this," I said slowly, "you really cannot compare a duck with a rabbit. You can't say that Shakespeare is greater than Napoleon or Burns than Titian. Balfour is a good man in his own line, and--" "And you?" "I sometimes think of great things," I replied modestly. "Balfour has an ideal; he believes, as Lord Roberts believed, in the Public Schools, in Oxford and Cambridge, in the type of Englishman who becomes an Imperialist Cromer. He believes in the aristocracy, in land, in heredity of succession. His ideal, so far as I can make out, is to have an aristocracy that behaves kindly and charitably to a deserving working-class--which, after all, is Nietzsche's ideal. I believe in few of these things. I detest charity of that kind; I hate the type of youth that our Public Schools and Oxfords turn out. I want to see the land belong to the people, I want to see every unit of the State working for the delight that work, as opposed to toil, can bring. The aristocracy has merits that I appreciate. Along with the poor they cheerfully die for their country ... it is the profiteering class with its "Business as Usual" cant that I want to slay. I want to see all the excellent material that exists in our aristocracy turned to nobler uses than bossing niggers in India so that millionaires at home may be multi-millionaires, than wasting time and wealth in the social rounds of London." "Are you a greater thinker than Balfour?" I sighed. "I think I have a greater ideal," I said. "And," I added, "I am sure that if Balfour were asked about it he would reply: 'I wish I could have got out of my aristocratic environment at your age.'" "Lawson," I continued, "I gathered tatties behind the digger once. That is the chief difference between me and Balfour. When first I went through Eton on a motor-bus and saw the boys on the playing grounds, I said to myself, 'Thank God I wasn't sent to Eton!'" "Class prejudice and jealousy," said Lawson. "Will the Rangers get into the Final?" * * * I met Wilkie the mason, on the road to-night. He cannot write his name, and he is the richest man in the village. "What's this Aw hear aboot you bein' are o' they Socialists?" he demanded. "Aw didna ken that when Aw voted for ye." "If you had?" "Not a vote wud ye hae gotten frae me. Ye'll be layin' yer bombs a' ower the place," he said half jocularly. "Ye manna put ony o' they ideas in the bairns' heids," he continued anxiously. "Politics have no place in a schule." I did not pursue the subject; I sidetracked him on to turnips, and by using what I had picked up from Andrew Smith I made a fairly good effort. When we parted Wilkie grasped my hand. "Ye're no dozzent," he said kindly, "but, tak ma advice, and leave they politics alone. It's a dangerous game for a schulemester to play." * * * I find that I am becoming obsessed by my creed. I see that I place politics before everything else in education. But I feel that I am doing the best I can for true education. After all it isn't Socialism I am teaching, it is heresy. I am trying to form minds that will question and destroy and rebuild. Morris's _News from Nowhere_ appeals to me most as a Utopia. Like him I want to see an artistic world. I travelled to Newcastle on Saturday, and the brick squalor that stretches for miles out Elswick and Blaydon way sickened me. Dirty bairns were playing on muddy patches, dirty women were gossiping at doors, miners were wandering off in twos and threes with whippets at their heels. And smoke was over all. Britain is the workshop of the world. Good old Merrie England! These are strange entries for a Dominie's Log. I must bring my mind back to Vulgar Fractions and Composition. * * * There was a Cinema Show in the village hall to-night. My bairns turned out in force. Most of the pictures were drivel ... the typist wrongly accused, the seducing employer; the weeping parents at home. The average cinema plot is of the same brand as the plots in a washerwoman's weekly. Then we had the inevitable Indian chase on horseback, and the hero pardoned after the rope was round his neck. I enjoyed the comic films. To see the comic go down in diver's dress to wreck a German submarine was delightfully ludicrous. He took off his helmet under water and wiped the sweat from his brow. Excellent fun! I have often thought about the cinema as an aid to education. At the present time it is a drag on education, for its chief attraction is its piffling melodrama. Yet I have seen good plays and playlets filmed ... that is good melodramatic and incident plays. I have seen _Hamlet_ filmed, and then I understood what Tolstoi (or was it Shaw?) meant when he said that Shakespeare without his word music is nowhere. Yet I must be just; philosophy had to go along with music when the cinema took up _Hamlet_. The cinema may have a future as an educational force, but it will deal with what I consider the subsidiary part of education--the facts of life. Pictures of foreign countries are undoubtedly of great use. The cinema can never give us theories and philosophy. So with its lighter side. _Charley's Aunt_ might make a good film; _The Importance of Being Earnest_ could not. The cinema can give us humour but not wit. What will happen when the cinema and the phonograph are made to work together perfectly I do not know. I may yet be able to take my bairns to a performance of _Nan_ or _The Wild Duck_ or _The Doctor's Dilemma_. * * * "Please, sir, Willie Smith was swearing." Thus little Maggie Shepherd to me to-day. I always fear this complaint, for what can I do? I can't very well ask Maggie what he said, and if he says he wasn't swearing ... well, his word is as good as Maggie's. I can summon witnesses, but bairns have but the haziest notion of what swearing is. (For that matter so do I.) If a boy shoves his fingers to his nose.... "Please, sir, he swore!" I try to be a just man, and ... well, I was bunkered at the ninth hole on Saturday, and I dismissed Willie Smith--without an admonition. But I am worried to-night, for I can't recollect whether Willie has ever caddied for me; I have a shrewd suspicion that he has. IX. The word "republican" came up to-day in a lesson, and I asked what it meant. Four girls told me that their fathers were republicans, but they had no idea of the meaning of the word. One lassie thought that it meant "a man who is always quarrelling with the Tories" ... a fairly penetrating definition. I explained the meaning of the word, and said that a republican in this country was wasting his time and energy. I pointed to America with its Oil Kings, Steel Kings, Meat Kings, and called it a country worse than Russia. I told of the corruption of politics in France. Then I rambled on to Kings and Kingship. It is a difficult subject to tackle even with children, but I tried to walk warily. I said that the notion of a king was for people in an elementary stage of development. Intellectual folk have no use for all the pomp and pageantry of kingship. Royalty as it exists to-day is bad for us and for the royal family. The poor princes and princesses are reared in an atmosphere of make-believe. Their individuality and their loves are crushed by a system. And it is really a system of lies. "In the King's name!" Why make all this pretence when everyone knows that it is "In the Cabinet's name"? It is not fair to the king. I am no republican; I do not want to see monarchy abolished in this land. I recognise that monarchy is necessary to the masses. But I want to bring my bairns to see monarchy stripped of its robes, its pageantry, its remoteness, its circumstance. Loyalty is a name to most of us. People sing the National Anthem in very much the same way as they say Grace before Meat. The Grace-sayer is thinking of his dinner; the singer is wondering if he'll manage to get out in time to collar a taxi. I do not blame the kings; I blame their advisers. We are kept in the dark by them. We hear of a monarch's good deeds, but we never hear the truth about him. The unwritten law demands that the truth shall be kept secret until a few generations have passed. I know nothing about the king. I don't know what he thinks of Republicanism (in his shoes I should be a red-hot Republican), Socialism, Religion, Morals; and I want to know whether he likes Locke's novels or Galsworthy's drama. In short, I want to know the man that must of necessity be greater than the king. I am tired of processions and functions. I became a loyalist when first I went to Windsor Castle. Three massed bands were playing in the quadrangle; thousands of visitors wandered around. The King came to the window and bowed. I wanted to go up and take him by the arm and say: "Poor King, you are not allowed to enjoy the sensation of being in a crowd, you are an abstraction, you are behind a barrier of nobility through which no commoner can pass. Come down and have a smoke with me amongst all these typists and clerks." And I expect that every man and woman in that crowd was thinking: "How nice it must be to be a king!" Yet if a king were to come down from the pedestal on which the courtiers have placed him, I fear that the people would scorn him. They would cry: "He is only a man!" I am forced to the conclusion that pomp and circumstance are necessary after all. The people are to blame. The King is all right; he looks a decent, kindly soul with a good heart. But the people are not interested in good hearts; the fools want gilt coaches and crimson carpets and all the rubbish of show. * * * A lady asked me to-day whether I taught my children manners. I told her that I did not. She asked why. I replied that manners were sham, and my chief duty was to get rid of sham. Then she asked me why I lifted my hat to her ... and naturally I collapsed incontinently. Once again I write the words, "It is a difficult thing to be a theorist ... and an honest man at the same time." On reflection I think that it is a case of personality _versus_ the whole community. No man can be consistent. Were I to carry my convictions to their natural conclusion I should be an outcast ... and an outcast is of no value to the community. I lift my hat to a lady not because I respect her (I occasionally do. I always doff my hat to the school charwoman, but I am rather afraid of her), but because it is not worth while to protest against the little things of life. Incidentally, the whole case against hat-lifting is this:--In the lower and lower middle classes the son does not lift his hat to his mother though he does to the minister's wife. No, I do not teach manners. If a boy "Sirs" me, he does it of his own free will. I believe that you cannot teach manners; taught manners are always forced, always overdone. My model of a true gentleman is a man with an innate good taste and artistry. My idea of a lady ... well, one of the truest ladies I have yet known kept a dairy in the Canongate of Edinburgh. I try to get my bairns to do to others as they would like others to do to them. Shaw says "No: their tastes may not be the same as yours." Good old G. B. S.! I once was in a school where manners were taught religiously. I whacked a boy one day. He said, "Thank you, sir." * * * I wonder how much influence on observation the so-called Nature Study has. At one time I attended a Saturday class. We went botanising. I learned nothing about Botany, but that was because Margaret was there. I observed much ... her eyes were grey and her eyelashes long. We generally managed to lose the class in less than no time. Yet we did pretend. She was pretending to show me the something or other marks on a horse-chestnut twig when I first kissed her. She is married now. I don't believe in Saturday excursions. I got up my scanty Nature Study from Grant Allen's little shilling book on plants. It was a delightful book full of an almost Yankee imagination. It theorised all the way ... grass developed a long narrow blade so that it might edge its way to the sun; wild tobacco has a broad blade because it doesn't need to care tuppence for the competition of other plants, it can grow on wet clay of railway bankings. I think now that Grant Allen was a romancer not a scientist. I do not see the point in asking bairns to count the stamens of a buttercup (Dr. Johnson hated the poets who "count the streaks of the tulip"). But I do want to make them Grant Allens; I want them to make a theory. Nature Study has but little result unless bairns get a lead. No boy will guess that the lines on a petal are intended to lead bees to the honey; at least, I know I would never have guessed it. I should never have guessed that flowers are beautiful or perfumed in order to attract insects. But I am really no criterion. I could not tell at this moment the colour of my bedroom wallpaper; I can't tell whether my father wears a moustache or side-whiskers. Until I began to teach Woodwork I never observed a mortise, or if I did, I never wondered how it was made. I never noticed that the tops of houses sloped downward until I took up Perspective. Anyway, observation is a poor attainment unless it is combined with genius as in Darwin's case. Sherlock Holmes is a nobody. Observation should follow fancy. The average youth has successive hobbies. He takes up photography, and is led (sometimes) to enquire into the action of silver salts; he takes up wood-carving, and begins to find untold discoveries in the easy-chair. I would advocate the keeping of animals at school. I would have a rabbit run, a pigeon loft, one or two dogs, and a few cats for the girls. Let a boy keep homers and fly them, and he will observe much. Apart from the observation side of the question I would advocate a live stock school-farm on humanitarian grounds; every child would acquire a sense of duty to animals. I am sure all my bairns would turn out on a Sunday to feed their pets. And what a delightful reward for kindness ... make a boy or girl "Feeder-in-Chief" for the week! Incidentally, the study of pigeons and rabbits would conduce to a frank realisation of sex. * * * I have just bought the new shilling edition of H. G. Wells's _New Worlds for Old_, and I have come upon this passage ... " ... Socialists turn to the most creative profession of all, to that great calling which, with each generation, renews the world's 'circle of ideas,' the Teachers!" But why he puts the mark of exclamation at the end I do not know. On the same page he says: "The constructive Socialist logically declares the teacher master of the situation." If the Teachers are masters of the situation I wish every teacher in Scotland would get _The New Age_ each week. Orage's _Notes of the Week_ are easily the best commentary on the war I have seen. _The New Age_ is so very amusing, too; its band of "warm young men" are the kind who "can't stand Nietzsche because of his damnable philanthropy" as a journalist friend of mine once phrased it. They despise Shaw and Wells and Webb ... the old back-numbers. The magazine is pulsating with life and youth. Every contributor is so cock-sure of himself. It is the only fearless journal I know; it has no advertisements, and with advertisements a journal is muzzled. * * * One or two bairns are going to try the bursary competition of the neighbouring Secondary School, and I have just got hold of the last year's papers. "Name an important event in British History for each of any eight of the following years:--1314, 1688, 1759, &c." ... and Wells says that teaching is the most creative profession of all! "Write an essay of twenty lines or so on any one of these subjects:--School, Holidays, Examinations, Bursaries, Books." The examiners might have added a few other bright interesting topics such as Truth, Morals, Faith, Courage. "Name the poem to which each of the following lines belongs, and add, if you can, the next line in each case, &c." There are ten lines, and I can only spot six of them. And I am, theoretically, an English scholar; I took an Honours English Degree under Saintsbury. But my degree is only a second class one; that no doubt accounts for my lack of knowledge. That the compilers of the paper are not fools is shown by the fact that they ask a question like this:--"A man loses a dog, you find it; write and tell him that you have found it." The Arithmetic paper is quite good. My bairns are to fail; I simply cannot teach them to answer papers like these. X. I tried an experiment to-day. I gave an exam. in History, and each pupil was allowed to use a text-book. The best one was first, she knew what to select. I deprecate the usual exam. system of allotting a prescribed time to each paper. Blyth Webster, the racy young lecturer in English in Edinburgh University, used to allow us an indefinite time for our Old English papers. I generally required a half hour to give him all I knew about Old English, but I believe that some students sat for five hours. Students write and think at different rates, and the time limit is always unjust. I wish the Department would allow me to set the Higher Grade Leavings English papers for once. My paper would certainly include the following:-- "If Shakespeare came back to earth what do you think would be his opinion of Women's Suffrage (refer to _The Taming of the Shrew_) Home Rule, Sweated Labour, the Kaiser?" "Have you read any Utopia? If not, it doesn't matter; write one of your own. (Note ... a Utopia is an ideal country--this side the grave.)" "Discuss Spenser's idea of chivalry, and state what you think would be his opinion on table manners, Soho, or any slum you know, "the Present State of Ireland." "What would Burns have thought of the prevalence of the kilt among the Semitic inhabitants of Scotland? Is Burns greater than Harry Lauder? Tell me why you think he isn't or is." "Discuss the following humorists and alleged humorists:--Dickens, Jacobs, Lauder, Jerome, Leacock, Storer Clouston, Wells (in _Kipps_, and _Mr. Polly_), Locke (in _Septimus_), Bennett (in _The Card_), Mark Twain, your class teacher, the average magistrate." "If you have not read any humour at all, write a humorous dialogue between a brick and the mongrel dog it came in contact with." I hold that my exam. paper would discover any genius knocking about in ignorance of his or her powers. I intend to offer it to the Department ... when I am out of the profession. * * * It is extremely difficult for any teacher to keep from getting into a rut. The continual effort to make things simple and elementary for children is apt to deaden the intellect. To-night I felt dull; I simply couldn't think. So I took up a volume of Nietzsche, and I now know the remedy for dullness. Nietzsche is a genius; he dazzles one ... and he almost persuades. To-night I am doubting. Is my belief in a great democracy all wrong? Is it true that there is a slave class that can never be anything else? Is our Christian morality a slave morality which is evolving the wrong type of human? I think of the pity and kindness which is making us keep alive the lunatic and the incurable; I am persuaded to believe that our hospitals are in the long run conducing to an unfit race. Unfit physically; but unfit mentally? Is Sandow the Superman? Will Nietzsche's type of Master man with his physical energy and warlikeness prove to be the best? I think that the journalists who are anathematising Nietzsche are wrong; I don't believe the Kaiser ever read a line of his. But I think that every German is subconsciously a believer in energy and "Master Morality"; Nietzsche was merely one who realised his nature. The German religion is undoubtedly the religion of the Old Testament; to them "good" is all that pertains to power; their God is the tyrant of the Old Testament. Nietzsche holds that the New Testament code of morals was invented by a conquered race; the poor were meek and servile, and they looked forward to a time when they would be in glory while the rich man frizzled down below. No man can scorn Nietzsche; you are forced to listen to him. Only fools can dismiss him with the epithet "Madman!" But I cannot follow him; I believe that if pity and kindness are wrong, then wrong is right. Yet I see that Nietzsche is wise in saying that there must always be one stone at the top of the pyramid. The question is this:--Will a democracy always be sure to choose the right man? I wonder. I found one arresting statement in the book:--"If we have a degenerate mean environment, the fittest will be the man who is best adapted to degeneracy and meanness; he will survive." That is what is happening now. I believe that the people will one day be capable of altering this basis of society; Nietzsche believed that the people are mostly of the slave variety, and that a better state of affairs could only come about through the breeding of Supermen ... masters. "The best shall rule," says he. Who are the best? I ask, and I really cannot answer myself. * * * As I go forward with these notes I find that I become more and more impelled to write down thoughts that can only have a remote connection with the education of children. I think the explanation lies in the fact that every day I realise more and more the futility of my school-work. Indeed, I find myself losing interest sometimes; I go through a lesson on Geography mechanically; in short, I drudge occasionally. But I always awake at Composition time. I find it useless to do home correction; a bairn won't read the blue pencil marks. I must sit down beside him while I correct; and this takes too much time ... from a timetable point of view. But the mistakes in spelling and grammar are minor matters, what I look for are ideas. I never set a dull subject of the How-I-spent-my-holidays type; every essay must appeal to the imagination. "Suppose you go to sleep for a thousand years," I said, "and tell the story of your awaking." I asked my Qualifying to become invisible; most of them took to thieving and spying. I gave them Wells's _The Invisible Man_ and _When the Sleeper Wakes_ to read later. "Go to Mrs. Rabbit's Garden Party, and describe it." One boy went as a wolf, and returned with the party inside. A girl went as a weasel and left early because she could not eat the lettuce and cabbage on the table. One boy went as an elephant and could not get in. "Write a child of seven's account of washing day," I said to my Qualifying, and I got some delightful baby-talk from Margaret Steel and Violet Brown. "Imagine that you are the last man left alive on earth." This essay produced some good work; most of the girls were concerned about the fact that there was no one to bury them when they died. The best results of all came from this subject:--"Die at the age of ninety, and write the paragraph about yourself to the local paper." Most of them made the present minister make a few pious remarks from the pulpit; one girl was clever enough to name a strange minister. A newspaper correspondence interests a class. "Make a Mr. James Smith write a letter to _The Scotsman_ saying that he saw a cow smoking a cigar one night; then write the replies." One boy made a William Thomson suggest that a man must have been standing beside the cow in the darkness. Smith replied that this was impossible, for any man standing beside a cow would be a farmer or a cattleman, and "neither of them can afford to smoke cigars." * * * I notice that many School Boards insist on having Trained Teachers. Is it possible to "train" a teacher? Are teachers not born like poets? I think they are. I have seen untrained teachers at work, and I have seen trained teachers; I never observed a scrap of difference. All I would say to a young teacher is: "Ask questions. Ask why there is a fence round the field, ask why there is a fence round that tree in the field, then ask whether any plant or tree has a natural fence of its own." And I think I should say this: "A good teacher will begin a lesson on Cromwell, touch, in passing, Jack Johnson, Charlie Chaplin, Votes for Women, guinea pigs, ghosts, and finish up with an enquiry into Protective Coloration of Animals." The Code seems to be founded on the assumption that the teachers of Scotland don't know their business. Why specify that Nature Study will be taught? Any good teacher will refer to Nature every five minutes of the day. To me teaching is a ramble through every subject the teacher knows. No, I don't think a teacher can be trained, but I am prejudiced; I took the Acting Teachers' Certificate Exam ... and passed Third Class. In the King's Scholarship I was ninety-ninth in the list of a hundred and one. Luckily, the Acting Teachers' list was given in alphabetical order. I had a friend at the university, Anderson was his name, a medical. He had passed in Physics, and naturally his name was near the beginning of the list. His local paper had it "A Brilliant Student." Anderson got through at the ninth shot. * * * To-day I talked about crime and punishment. I told my bairns that a criminal cannot help himself; heredity and environment make a man good or bad. I spoke of the environment that makes millions of children diseased morally and physically, and of the law that punishes a man for the sins of the community. I told them that there should be no prisons; if a man is a murderer he is not responsible for his actions, and he must be confined ... but not in prison. Our present system is not justice; it is vengeance. I once saw a poor waif sent to prison for stealing a pair of boots, sent to the care of warders, sent to acquire a hatred of his fellowmen. Justice would have asked: "Why did he steal? Why had he no boots? What sort of life has he been forced to lead?" and I know that the waif would have been acquitted. I told my bairns that to cure any evil you must get at the root of it, and I incidentally pointed to the Insurance Act, and said that it was like treating a man with a suppurating appendix for the headache that was one of the symptoms. I told them that their fathers have not tried to get at the root of evil, that their prisons and cats and oakum are cowardly expedients. The evil is that the great majority of people are poor slaves, while the minority live on their earnings. That isn't politics; it is truth. I told them that if I had been born in the Cowgate of Edinburgh I should have been a thief and a drunkard ... and society would have added to my curse of heredity and environment the pains and brutishness of a prison. And yet men accuse me of attaching too much importance to material reforms. * * * I have not used the strap for many weeks now. I hope that I shall never use it again. I found a boy smoking a cigarette to-day. Four years ago I should have run him into the school and welted him. To-day I spoke to him. "Joseph," I said, "I smoke myself, and at your age I smoked an occasional Woodbine. But it isn't really good for a boy, and I hope you won't get into the habit of buying cigs. with your pocket money." He smiled and told me that he didn't really like it; he just smoked for fun. And he tossed the cigarette over a wall. A very clever friend of mine talks about the "Hamlet cramp." I've got it. Other men have a definite standard of right and wrong; I have none. The only original sin that I believe in is the cruelty that has come to man from the remote tree-dweller. XI. A villager stopped me on my way to school this morning. "Look at that," he cried, pointing to a broken branch on a tree in his garden, "that's what comes o' yer nae discipline ideas. That's ane o' yer laddies that put his kite into ma gairden. Dawm it, A'll no stand that! Ye'll jest go doon to the school and gie that boy the biggest leathering that he's ever had in his life." I explained patiently that I was not the village constable, and I told him that the broken branch had nothing to do with me. He became angry, but he became speechless when I said, "I sympathise with you. Had it been my garden I should have sworn possibly harder than you have done. On the other hand, had it been twenty years ago and my kite, well, I should have done exactly what the boy did. Good morning." Although it was no concern of mine I called the boy out, and advised him to try to think of other people. Then I addressed the bairns. "You might convey to your parents," I said, "that I am not the policeman in this village; I'm a schoolmaster." I think that many parents are annoyed at my giving up punishment. They feel that I am not doing their work for them; they think that the dominie should do the training of children ... other people's children, not their own. I find that I am trying to do a very difficult thing. The home influence is bad in many cases; the children hear their parents slight the teacher, and they do not know what to think. The average parent looks upon the teacher as an enemy. If I hit a boy the parents side with him, if I don't hit the boy who hit their boy, they indignantly ask what education is coming to. Many a night I feel disheartened. I find that I am on the side of the bairns. I am against law and discipline; I am all for freedom of action. * * * At last I have attained my ambition. As a boy my great ambition was to possess a cavalry trumpet and bugle. I have just bought both. I call the bairns to school with "Stables" or the "Fall In," and I gleefully look forward to playtime so that I may have another tootle. The bairns love to hear the calls, but I think I enjoy them most. I try hard to share the bairns' joys. At present I am out with them every day flying kites, and I never tire of this. The boys bring me their comic papers, but I find that I cannot laugh at them as I used to do. Yet, I like to see _Chips_; Weary Willie and Tired Tim are still figuring on the front page, but their pristine glory is gone. When I first knew them they were the creation of Tom Browne, and no artist can follow Tom in his own line. I miss the old "bloods"; I used to glory in the exploits of Frank Reade and Deadwood Dick. I have sat on a Sunday with _Deadwood Dick_ in the covers of a family Bible, and my old grandmother patted my head and told me I was a promising lad. Then there was Buffalo Bill--tuppence coloured; I never see his name now. I wonder why so many parents and teachers cuff boys' heads when they find them reading comic papers and "bloods." I see no harm in either. I wish that people would get out of the absurd habit of taking it for granted that whatever a boy does is wrong. I hold that a boy is nearly always right. I see in to-day's _Scotsman_ that a Sheriff substitute in Edinburgh has sentenced two brothers of nine and ten to twelve stripes with the birch rod for stealing tuppence ha'penny. The account remarked that the brothers had previously had a few stripes for a similar theft. That punishment is no prevention is proved in this case. The Sheriff Substitute must have a very definite idea of righteousness; I envy him his conscience free from all remembrance of shortcomings in the past. For my part had I been sitting in judgment on the poor laddies I should have recollected the various times I have travelled first with a third ticket, sneaked into circuses by lifting the tent cover, laid farthings on the railway so that they might become ha'pennies, or, with a special piece of luck--a goods train--pennies. Then I should have invited the boys to tea, and sent them home with _Comic Cuts_, two oranges, and a considerable bit of chewing gum. Anyhow, my method would have brought out any good in the boys. The method of the judge will bring out no good; it may make the boys feel that they are enemies of society. And I should like to ask the gentleman what he would do if his young son stole the jam. I'm sure he would not send for the birch rod. The damnable thing about the whole affair is that he is probably a very nice kindly man who would not whip a dog with his own hand. His misfortune is his being part of a system. * * * I have just added a few volumes to my school library. I tried to recollect the books that I liked as a youth; then I wrote for catalogues of "sevenpennies." The new books include these:--_The Prisoner of Zenda_ and its sequel, _Rupert of Hentzau_, _King Solomon's Mines_, _Montezuma's Daughter_, _The Four Feathers_, _A Gentleman of France_, _White Fang_, _The Call of the Wild_, _The Invisible Man_, _The War of the Worlds_, _The War in the Air_, _Dr. Nikola_, _A Bid for Fortune_, _Micah Clarke_. I find that the average bairn of thirteen cannot appreciate these stories. Margaret Steel was the only one who read _The Scarlet Pimpernel_ and asked for the sequel. Most of them stuck half way with _Zenda_. Guy Boothby's novels, the worst of the lot possibly, appealed to them strongly. The love element bores the boys, but the girls rather like it. One boy sat and yawned over _King Solomon's Mines_; then he took out a coloured comic and turned to the serial. I took the book away and told him to read the serial. Violet Brown prefers a book about giants from the infant room to all the romantic stories extant. After all, they are but children. * * * I am delighted with my sketching results. We go out every Wednesday and Friday afternoon, and many bairns are giving me good work. We usually end up with races or wading in the sea. There was much wonder when first they saw my bare feet, but now they take my feet for granted. Modesty is strong here. The other day the big girls came to me and asked if they could come to school slipshod. "You can come in your nighties for all I care," I said, and they gasped. We sit outside all day now. My classes take books and wander away down the road and lie on the banks. When I want them I call with the bugle. Each class has a "regimental call," and they come promptly. They most of them sit down separately, but the chatterers like to sit together. I force no bairn to learn in my school. The few who dislike books and lessons sit up when I talk to the class. The slackers are not always the most ignorant. I am beginning to compliment myself on having a good temper. For the past six weeks I have left the manual room open at playtime and the boys have made many toys. But they have made a woeful mess of the cutting tools. It is trying to find that your favourite plane has been cracked by a boy who has extreme theories on the fixing of plane irons. But it is very comforting to know that the School Board will have to pay for the damage. Yes, my temper is excellent. * * * On Saturday I went to a Bazaar, and various members of the aristocracy talked to me. They talked very much in the manner they talk to their gardeners, and I was led to muse upon the social status of a dominie. What struck me most was the fact that they imitate royalty in the broaching of topics of conversation; I knew that I presumed when I entered new ground of conversation. The ladies were very polite and very regal, and very well pleased with themselves. One of them said: "I hope that you do your best to make these children realise that there are classes in society; so many of their parents refuse to see the good in other classes!" "For my part," I answered, "I acknowledge one aristocracy--the aristocracy of intellect. I teach my children to have respect for thinking." She stared at me, and went away. I am not prejudiced against the county people, but any superiority of manner annoys me. I simply have no use for ladies who live drifting lives. The lady-bountifuls, or should it be the ladies-bountiful? of Britain would be much better as typists; in these days of alleged scarcity of labour they might come down and mix with the lower orders. Their grace and breeding would do much to improve us, and we might be able to help them in some ways. I am not being cynical, I have a genuine admiration for the breeding and beauty of some society women. The doctor and the minister are seldom patronised. I cannot for the life of me see why it is more lowly to cure a child of ignorance than measles. I have heard it said that the real reason of the teacher's low social status is the fact that very often he is the son of a humble labourer. There is some truth in this. At the Training College and the University the student meets men of his own class only; he never learns the little tricks of deportment that make up society's criterion of a gentleman. But for my part I blame the circumstances under which a dominie works. In Scotland he is the servant of a School Board, and a School Board is generally composed of men who have but the haziest notion of the meaning of education. That is bad enough, but very often there is a feud between one or two members and the teacher. Perhaps the teacher does not get his coals from Mr. Brown the Chairman, perhaps Mr. Brown voted for another man when the appointment was made. It is difficult for a man who is ruled by a few low-idealed semi-illiterate farmers and pig-dealers to emphasise his social position. Larger areas have been spoken of by politicians. Personally, I don't want larger areas; I want to see the profession run by the members, just as Law and Medicine are. It is significant that the medical profession has dropped considerably in the social scale since it allowed itself to work under the Insurance Act. My ideal is an Education Guild which will replace the Scotch Education Department. It will draw up its own scheme of instruction, fix the salaries of its members, appoint its own inspectors, build its own schools. It will be directly responsible to the State which will remain the supreme authority. I blame the teachers for their low social status. To-day they have no idea of corporate action. They pay their subscriptions to their Institute, and for the most part talk of stopping them on the ground that it is money wasted. The authorities of the Institute try to work for a better union, but they try clumsily and stodgily. They never write or talk forcibly; they resemble the Labour Members of Parliament in their having an eager desire to be respectable at any price. I don't know why it is, but when a professional man tries to put his thoughts on paper he almost always succeeds in saving nothing in many fine phrases. What is really wrong with the Educational Institute of Scotland is hoary-headedness. It is run by old men and old wives. A big man in the Institute is usually a teacher with thirty years' experience as a headmaster. Well ... if a man can teach under the present system for thirty years and retain any originality or imagination at the end of that time he must be a genius. I object to age and experience; I am all for youth and empiricism. After all, what is the use of experience in teaching? I could bet my boots that ninety-nine out of a hundred teachers use the methods they learned as pupil-teachers. Experience! I have heard dominies expatiate on innovations like Kindergarten and Blackboard Drawing. I still have to meet a dominie of experience who has any name but "fad" for anything in education later than 1880. I have never tried to define the word "fad." I should put it thus:--A fad is a half-formed idea that a sub-inspector has borrowed from a bad translation of a distinguished foreigner's treatise on Education, and handed on to a deferential dominie. * * * An inspector called to-day; a middle-aged kindly gentleman with a sharp eye. His chief interest in life was tables. "How many pence in fifty-seven farthings?" he fired at my highest class. When he found that they had to divide mentally by four, he became annoyed. "They ought to know their tables," he said to me. "What tables?" I asked. "O, they should learn up that; why I can tell you at once what sixty-nine farthings are." I explained humbly that I couldn't, and should never acquire the skill. I did not like his manner of talking _at_ the teacher through the class. When an inspector says, "You ought to know this," the scholars glance at the teacher, for they are shrewd enough to see that the teacher is being condemned. He fired his parting shot as he went out. "You must learn not to talk in school," he said. I am a peaceful man, and I hate a scene. I said nothing, but I shall do nothing. If he returns he will find no difference in the school. The bairns did talk to each other when the inspector talked to me, but when he asked for attention he got it. I am surprised to find that his visit does not worry me; I have at last lost my fear of the terror of teaching--H.M.I.S. XII. I went "drumming" last night. I like the American word "drummer," it is so much more expressive than our "commercial traveller." I made a series of postcards, and I went round the shops trying to place them. One man refused to take them up because the profits would not be large enough. As the profits work out at 41½ per cent I begin to wonder what he usually makes. To-day I talked to the bairns about commerce, and I pointed out that much in commerce was thieving. "This is commerce," I said: "Suppose I am a pig-dealer. I hear one day from a friend that pigs will rise in price in a few days. I at once set out on a tour of neighbouring farms, and by nightfall I have bought twenty pigs at the market price. Next morning pigs have doubled in price, and these farmers naturally want to shoot me. Why don't they shoot me?" "They would be hanged," said Violet Brown. "Because they would buy pigs in the same way if they had the chance," said Margaret Steel. I went on to say that buying pigs like that is stealing, and I said that the successful business man is usually the man who is most unscrupulous. I told them of the murderous system that allows a big firm to place a shop next door to a small merchant and undersell him till his business dies. It is all done under the name of competition, but of course there is no more competition about the affair than there is about the relationship between a wolf and a lamb. I try very very hard to keep my bairns from low ideals. Some one, Oscar Wilde or Shaw, I think, says that love of money is the root of all good. That is the sort of paradox that isn't true, and not even funny. I see farmers growing rich on child labour: fifteen pence a day for spreading manure. I meet the poor little boys of thirteen and fourteen on the road, and the smile has gone from their faces; their bodies are bent and racked. When I was thirteen I went to the potato-gathering at a farm. Even now, when I pass a field where potatoes are being lifted, the peculiar smell of potato earth brings back to me those ten days of misery. I seldom had time to straighten my back. I had but one thought all day: When will that sun get down to the west? My neighbour, Jock Tamson, always seemed fresh and cheerful, but, unfortunately, I did not discover the cause of his optimism until the last day. "Foo are you feenished so quick, Jock?" I asked. Jock winked and nodded his head in the direction of the farmer. "Look!" he said, and he skilfully tramped a big potato into the earth with his right foot; then he surreptitiously happed it over with his left. I have never forgiven Jock for being so tardy in spreading his gospel. * * * To-day I received from the Clerk the Report on my school. "Discipline," it says, "which is kindly, might be firmer, especially in the Senior Division, so as to prevent a tendency to talk on the part of the pupils whenever opportunity occurs." An earlier part runs thus: "The pupils in the Senior Division are intelligent and bright under oral examination, and make an exceedingly good appearance in the class subjects." I scratch my head thoughtfully. If the inspector finds the bairns intelligent and bright, why does he want them to be silent in school? I cannot tell; I suspect that talking children annoy him. I fancy that stern disciplinarians are men who hate to be irritated. "More attention, however, should be paid to neatness of method and penmanship in copybooks and jotters." I wonder. I freely admit to myself that the jotters are not neat, but I want to know why they should be. I can beat most men at marring a page with hasty figures; on the other hand I can make a page look like copperplate if I want to. I find that my bairns do neat work on an examination paper. The truth is that I am incapable of teaching neatness. My desk is a jumble; my sitting-room is generally littered with books and papers. Some men are born tidy: some have tidiness thrust upon them. I am of the latter crowd. Between the school charwoman and my landlady I live strenuously. I object to my report. I hate to be the victim of a man I can't reply to, even when he says nice things. But the main objection I have to the report is this: the School Board gets not a single word of criticism. If I were not almost proud of my lack of neatness, I might argue that no man could be neat in an ugly school. It is always filthy because the ashed playground is undrained. Broken windows stand for months; the plaster of the ceiling came down months ago, and the lathes are still showing. The School Board does not worry; its avowed object is to keep down the rates at any price in meanness (some members are big ratepayers). The sanitary arrangements are a disgrace to a long-suffering nation. Nothing is done. * * * It would be a good plan to make teachers forward reports of inspectors' visits to the Scotch Education Department. I should love to write one. "Mr. Silas K. Beans, H.M.I.S., paid a visit to this school to-day, and he made quite a passable appearance before the pupils. "It was perhaps unfortunate that Mr. Beans laboured under the delusion that Mrs. Hemans wrote _Come into the Garden, Maud_, but on the whole the subject was adequately treated. "The geography lesson showed Mr. Beans at his best, but it might be advisable for him to consider whether the precise whereabouts of Seville possesses the importance in the scheme of things that he attributes to it. And it might be suggested that children of twelve find some difficulty in spelling Prsym--Prysem--Pryems----anyway, the name of the town that has kept the alleged comic weeklies alive during a trying period. "The school staff would have liked Mr. Beans to have stayed long enough to discover that a few of the scholars possessed imagination, and it hoped that he will be able to make his visit longer than four hours next time. "Mr. Beans's knowledge of dates is wonderful, and his parsing has all the glory of Early Victorian furniture." XIII. To-night MacMurray invited me down to meet his former head, Simpson, a big man in the Educational Institute, and a likely President next year. Mac introduced me as "a chap with theories on education; doesn't care a rap for inspectors and abominates discipline." Simpson looked me over; then he grunted. "You'll grow out of that, young man," he said sagely. I laughed. "That's what I'm afraid of," I said, "I fear that the continual holding of my nose to the grindstone will destroy my perspective." "You'll find that experience doesn't destroy perspective." "Experience," I cried, "is, or at least, should be one of Oscar Wilde's Seven Deadly Virtues. The experienced man is the chap who funks doing a thing because he's had his fingers burnt. 'Tis experience that makes cowards of us all." "Of course," said Simpson, "you're joking. It stands to reason that I, for instance, with a thirty-four years' experience of teaching know more about education than you do, if you don't mind my saying so." "Man, I was teaching laddies before your father and mother met," he added. "If you saw a lad and a lass making love would you arrange that he should sit near her?" "Good gracious, no!" he cried. "What has that got to do with the subject." "But why not give them chances to spoon?" I asked. "Why not? If a teacher encouraged that sort of thing, why, it might lead to anything!" "Exactly," I said, "experience tells you that you have to do all you can to preserve the morals of the bairns?" "I could give you instances--" "I don't want them particularly," I interrupted. "My main point is that experience has made you a funk. Pass the baccy, Mac." "Mean to tell me that's how you teach?" cried Simpson. "How in all the world do you do for discipline?" "I do without it." "My goodness! that's the limit! May I ask why you do without it?" "It is a purely personal matter," I answered. "I don't want anyone to lay down definite rules for me, and I refuse to lay down definite rules of conduct for my bairns." "But how in all the earth do you get any work done?" "Work," I said, "is an over-rated thing, just as knowledge is overrated." "Nonsense," said Simpson. "All right," I remarked mildly, "if knowledge is so important, why is a university professor usually a talker of platitudes? Why is the average medallist at a university a man of tenth-rate ideas?" "Then our Scotch education is all in vain?" "Speaking generally, it is." I think it was at this stage that Simpson began to doubt my sanity. "Young man," he said severely, "one day you will realise that work and knowledge and discipline are of supreme importance. Look at the Germans!" He waved his hand in the direction of the sideboard, and I looked round hastily. "Look what Germany has done with work and knowledge and discipline!" "Then why all this bother to crush a State that has all the virtues?" I asked diffidently. "It isn't the discipline we are trying to crush; it is the militarism." "Good!" I cried, "I'm glad to hear it. That's what I want to do in Scotland; I want to crush the militarism in our schools, and, as most teachers call their militarism discipline, I curse discipline." "That's all rubbish, you know," he said shortly. "No it isn't. If I leather a boy for making a mistake in a sum, I am no better than the Prussian officer who shoots a Belgian civilian for crossing the street. I am equally stupid and a bully." "Then you allow carelessness to go unpunished?" he sneered. "I do. You see I am a very careless devil myself. I'll swear that I left your garden gate open when I came in, Mac, and your hens will be all over the road." Mac looked out at the window. "They are!" he chuckled, and I laughed. "You seem to think that slovenliness is a virtue," said Simpson with a faint smile. "I don't, really, but I hold that it is a natural human quality." "Are your pupils slovenly?" he asked. "Lots of 'em are. You're born tidy or you aren't." "When these boys go out to the workshop, what then? Will a joiner keep an apprentice who makes a slovenly job?" "Ah!" I said, "you're talking about trade now. You evidently want our schools to turn out practical workmen. I don't. Mind you I'm quite willing to admit that a shoemaker who theorises about leather is a public nuisance. Neatness and skill are necessary in practical manufacture, but I refuse to reduce education to the level of cobbling or coffin-making. I don't care how slovenly a boy is if he thinks." "If he is slovenly he won't think," said Simpson. I smiled. "I think you are wrong. Personally, I am a very lazy man; I have my library all over the floor as a rule. Yet, though I am lazy physically I am not lazy mentally. I hold that the really lazy teacher is your "ring the bell at nine sharp" man; he hustles so much that he hasn't time to think. If you work hard all day you never have time to think." Simpson laughed. "Man, I'd like to see your school!" "Why not? Come up tomorrow morning," I said. "First rate!" he cried, "I'll be there at nine." "Better not," I said with a smile, "or you'll have to wait for ten minutes." * * * He arrived as I blew the "Fall in" on my bugle. "You don't line them up and march them in?" he said. "I used to, but I've given it up," I confessed. "To tell the truth I'm not enamoured of straight lines." We entered my classroom. Simpson stood looking sternly at my chattering family while I marked the registers. "I couldn't tolerate this row," he said. "It isn't so noisy as your golf club on a Saturday night, is it?" He smiled slightly. Jim Burnett came out to my desk and lifted _The Glasgow Herald_, then he went out to the playground humming _On the Mississippi_. "What's the idea?" asked Simpson. "He's the only boy who is keen on the war news," I explained. Then Margaret Steel came out. "Please, sir, I took _The Four Feathers_ home and my mother began to read them; she thinks she'll finish them by Sunday. Is anybody reading _The Invisible Man_?" I gave her the book and she went out. Then Tom Macintosh came out and asked for the Manual Room key; he wanted to finish a boat he was making. "Do you let them do as they like?" asked Simpson. "In the upper classes," I replied. Soon all the Supplementary and Qualifying pupils had found a novel and had gone out to the roadside. I turned to give the other classes arithmetic. Mary Wilson in the front seat held out a bag of sweets to me. I took one. "Please, sir, would the gentleman like one, too?" Simpson took one with the air of a man on holiday who doesn't care what sins he commits. "I say," he whispered, "do you let them eat in school? There's a boy in the back seat eating nuts." I fixed Ralph Ritchie with my eye. "Ralph! If you throw any nutshells on that floor Mrs. Findlay will eat you." "I'm putting them in my pooch," he said. "Good! Write down this sum." "What are the others doing?" asked Simpson after a time. "Margaret Steel and Violet Brown are reading," I said promptly. "Annie Dixon is playing fivies on the sand, Jack White and Bob Tosh are most likely arguing about horses, but the other boys are reading, we'll go and see." And together we walked down the road. Annie was playing fivies all right, but Jack and Bob weren't discussing horses; they were reading _Chips_. "And the scamps haven't the decency to hide it when you appear!" cried Simpson. "Haven't the fear," I corrected. On the way back to the school he said: "It's all very pleasant and picnicy, but eating nuts and sweets in class!" "Makes your right arm itch?" I suggested pleasantly. "It does," he said with a short laugh, "Man, do you never get irritated?" "Sometimes." "Ah!" He looked relieved. "So the system isn't perfect?" "Good heavens!" I cried, "What do you think I am? A saint from heaven? You surely don't imagine that a man with nerves and a temperament is always able to enter into the moods of bairns! I get ratty occasionally, but I generally blame myself." I sent a girl for my bugle and sounded the "Dismiss." "What do you do now?" I pulled out my pipe and baccy. "Have a fill," I said, "it's John Cotton." * * * To-night I have been thinking about Simpson. He is really a kindly man; in the golf-house he is voted a good fellow. Yet MacMurray tells me that he is a very strict disciplinarian; he saw him give a boy six scuds with the tawse one day for drawing a man's face on the inside cover of his drawing book. I suppose that Simpson considers that he is an eminently just man. I think that the foundation of true justice is self-analysis. It is mental laziness that is at the root of the militarism in our schools. Simpson is as lazy mentally as the proverbial mother who cried: "See what Willie's doing and tell him he musn't." I wonder what he would have replied if the boy had said: "Why is it wrong to draw a man's face in a drawing book?" Very likely he would have given him another six for impertinence. It is strange that our boasted democracy uses its power to set up bullies. The law bullies the poor and gives them the cat if they trespass; the police bully everyone who hasn't a clean collar; the dominie bullies the young; and the School Board bullies the dominie. Yet, in theory, the judge, the constable, the dominie, and the School Board are the servants of democracy. Heaven protect us from the bureaucratic Socialism of people like the Webbs! It is significant that Germany, the country of the super-official is the country of the super-bully. Paradoxically, I, as a Socialist, believe that the one thing that will save the people is individualism. No democracy can control a stupid teacher or a stupid judge. If our universities produce teachers who leather a boy for drawing a face, and judges who give boys the cat for stealing tuppence ha'penny, then our universities are all wrong. Or human nature is all wrong. If I admit the latter I must fall back on pessimism. But I don't admit it. Our cruel teachers and magistrates are good fellows in their clubs and homes; they are bad fellows in their schools and courts because they have never come to think, to examine themselves. In my Utopia self-examination will be the only examination that will matter. H. G. Wells in _The New Machiavelli_ talks of "Love and Fine Thinking" as the salvation of the world. I like the phrase, but I prefer the word Realisation. I want men like Simpson to realise that their arbitrary rules are unjust and cowardly and inhuman. * * * I saw a good fight to-night. At four o'clock I noticed a general move towards Murray's Corner, and I knew that blood was about to be shed. Moreover I knew that Jim Steel was to tackle the new boy Welsh, for I had seen Jim put his fist to his nose significantly in the afternoon. I followed the crowd. "I want to see fair play," I said. Welsh kept shouting that he could "fecht the hale schule wi' wan hand tied ahent 'is back." In this district school fights have an etiquette of their own. One boy touches the other on the arm saying: "There's the dunt!" The other returns the touch with the same remark. If he fails to return it he receives a harder dunt on the arm with the words, "And there's the coordly!" If he fails to return that also he is accounted the loser, and the small boys throw divots at him. Steel began in the usual way with his: "There's the dunt!" Welsh promptly hit him in the teeth and knocked him down. The boys appealed to me. "No," I said, "Welsh didn't know the rules. After this you should shake hands as you do in boxing." Welsh never had a chance. He had no science; he came on with his arms swinging in windmill fashion. Jim stepped aside and drove a straight left to the jaw, and before Welsh knew what was happening Jim landed him on the nose with his right. Welsh began to weep, and I stopped the fight. I told him that Steel had the advantage because I had taught my boys the value of a straight left, but that I would give him a few lessons with the gloves later on. Then I asked how the quarrel had arisen. As I had conjectured Steel and Welsh had no real quarrel. Welsh had cuffed little Geordie Burnett's ears, and Geordie had cried, "Ye wudna hit Jim Steel!" Welsh had no alternative but to reply: "Wud Aw no!" Straightway Geordie had run off to Steel saying: "Hi! Jim! Peter Welsh says he'll fecht ye!" So far as I can remember all my own battles at school were arranged by disobliging little boys in this manner. If Jock Tamson said to me: "Bob Young cud aisy fecht ye and ca' yer nose up among yer hair!" I, as a man of honour, had to reply: "Aw'll try Bob Young ony day he likes!" And even if Bob were my bosom friend, I would have to face him at the brig at four o'clock. I noticed that the girls were all on Steel's side before the fight began, and obviously on Welsh's side when he was beaten, the bissoms! XIV. I gave a lecture in the village hall on Friday night, and many parents came out to hear what I had to say on the subject of _Children and their Parents_. After the lecture I invited questions. "What wud ye hae a man do if his laddie wudna do what he was bidden?" asked Brown the joiner. "I would have the man think very seriously whether he had any right to give the order that was disobeyed. For instance, if you ordered your Jim to stop singing while you were reading, you would be taking an unfair advantage of your years and size. From what I know of Jim he would certainly stop singing if you asked him to do so as a favour." "Aw dinna believe in askin' favours o' ma laddies," he said. I smiled. "Yet you ask them of other laddies. You don't collar Fred Thomson and shout: 'Post that letter at once!' You say very nicely: 'You might post that letter like a good laddie,' and Fred enjoys posting your letter more than posting a ton of letters for his own father." The audience laughed, and Fred's father cried: "Goad! Ye're quite richt, dominie!" "As a boy," I continued, "I hated being set to weed the garden, though I spent hours helping to weed the garden next door. A boy likes to grant favours." "Aye," said Brown, "when there's a penny at the tail end o' them!" "Yes," I said after the laughter had died, "but your Jim would rather have Mr. Thomson's penny than your sixpence. The real reason is that you boss your son, and nobody likes to be bossed." "Believe me, ladies and gentlemen, I think that the father is the curse of the home. (Laughter.) The father never talks to his son as man to man. As a result a boy suppresses much of his nature, and if he is left alone with his father for five minutes he feels awkward, though not quite so awkward as the father does. You find among the lower animals that the father is of no importance; indeed, he is looked on as a danger. Have you ever seen a bitch flare up when the father comes too near her puppies? Female spiders, I am told, solve the problem of the father by eating him." (Great laughter.) "What aboot the mothers?" said a voice, and the men cackled. "Mothers are worse," I said. "Fathers usually imagine that they have a sense of justice, but mothers have absolutely no sense of justice. It is the mother who cries, 'Liz, ye lazy slut, run and clean your brother's boots, the poor laddie! Lod, I dinna ken what would happen to you, my poor laddie, if your mother wasna here to look after you.' You mothers make your girls work at nights and on Saturdays, and you allow your boys to play outside. That is most unjust. Your boys should clean their own boots and mend their own clothes. They should help in the washing of dishes and the sweeping of floors." "Wud ye say that the mother is the curse o' the hame, too?" asked Brown. "No," I said, "she is a necessity, and in spite of her lack of justice, she is nearer to the children than the father is. She is less aloof and less stern. You'll find that a boy will tell his mother much more than he will tell his father. Speaking generally, a stupid mother is more dangerous than a stupid father, but a mother of average intelligence is better for a child than a father of average intelligence. "This is a problem that cannot be solved. The mother must remain with her children, and I cannot see how we are to chuck the father out of the house. As a matter of fact he is usually so henpecked that he is prevented from being too much of an evil to the bairns. "The truth is that the parents of to-day are not fit to be parents, and the parents of the next generation will be no better. The mothers of the next generation are now in my school. They will leave at the age of fourteen--some of them will be exempted and leave at thirteen--and they will slave in the fields or the factory for five or six years. Then society will accept them as legitimate guardians of the morals and spiritual welfare of children. I say that this is a damnable system. A mother who has never learned to think has absolute control of a growing young mind, and an almost absolute control of a growing young body. She can beat her child; she can starve it. She can poison its mind with malice, just as she can poison its body with gin and bitters. "What can we do? The home is the Englishman's castle! Anyway, in these days of high explosives, castles are out of date, and it is high time that the castle called home had some airing." * * * I cannot flatter myself that I made a single parent think on Friday night. Most of the villagers treated the affair as a huge joke. I have just decided to hold an Evening School next winter. I see that the Code offers _The Life and Duties of a Citizen_ as a subject. I shall have the lads and lasses of sixteen to nineteen in my classroom twice a week, and I guess I'll tell them things about citizenship they won't forget. It occurs to me that married people are not easily persuaded to think. The village girl considers marriage the end of all things. She dons the bridal white, and at once she rises meteorically in the social scale. Yesterday she was Mag Broon, an outworker at Millside; to-day she is Mrs. Smith with a house of her own. Her mental horizon is widened. She can talk about anything now; the topic of childbirth can now be discussed openly with other married wives. Aggressiveness and mental arrogance follow naturally, and with these come a respect for church-going and an abhorrence of Atheism. I refuse to believe those who prate about marriage as an emancipation for a woman. Marriage is a prison. It shuts a woman up within her four walls, and she hugs all her prejudices and hypocrisies to her bosom. The men who shout "Women's place is the home!" at Suffragette meetings are fools. The home isn't good enough for women. A girl once said to me: "I always think that marriage makes a girl a 'has been.'" What she meant was that marriage ended flirtation, poor innocent that she was! Yet her remark is true in a wider sense. The average married woman is a "has been" in thought, while not a few are "never wasers." Hence I have more hope of my evening school lasses than of their mothers. They have not become smug, nor have they concluded that they are past enlightenment. They are not too omniscient to resent the offering of new ideas. A man's marriage makes no great change in his life. His wife replaces his mother in such matters as cooking and washing and "feeding the brute." He finds that he is allowed to spend less, and he has to keep elders' hours. But in essentials his life is unchanged. He still has his pint on a Saturday night, and his evening crack at the Brig. He has gained no additional authority, and he is extremely blessed of the gods if he has not lost part of the authority he had. The revolution in his mental outfit comes later when he becomes a father. He thinks that his education is complete when the midwife whispers: "Hi, Jock, it's a lassie!" He immediately realises that he is a man of importance, a guide and preacher rolled into one; and he talks dictatorially to the dominie about education. Then he discovers that precept must be accompanied by example, and he aspires to be a deacon or an elder. Now I want to get at Jock before the midwife gets at him. I don't care tuppence whether he is married or not ... but he mustn't be a father. * * * To-day I began to read Mary Johnston's _By Order of the Company_ to my bairns. I love the story, and I love the style. It reminds me of Malory's style; she has his trick of running on in a breathless string of "ands." When I think of style I am forced to recollect the stylists I had to read at the university. There was Sir Thomas Browne and his _Urn Burial_. What the devil is the use of people like Browne I don't know. He gives us word music and imagery I admit, but I don't want word music and imagery from prose, I want ideas or a story. I can't think of one idea I got from Browne or Fisher or Ruskin, or any of the stylists, yet I have found many ideas in translations of Nietzsche and Ibsen. Style is the curse of English literature. When I read Mary Johnston I forget all about words. I vaguely realise that she is using the right words all the time, but the story is the thing. When I read Browne I fail to scrape together the faintest interest in burials; the organ music of his _Dead March_ drowns everything else. When a man writes too musically and ornately I always suspect him of having a paucity of ideas. If you have anything important to say you use plain language. The man who writes to the local paper complaining of "those itinerant denizens of the underworld yclept hawkers, who make the day hideous with raucous cries," is a pompous ass. Yet he is no worse than the average stylist in writing. I think it was G. K. Chesterton who said that a certain popular authoress said nothing because she believed in words. He might have applied the phrase to 90 per cent of English writers. Poetry cannot be changed. Substitute a word for "felicity" in the line: "Absent thee from felicity awhile" and you destroy the poetry. But I hold that prose should be able to stand translation. The prose that cannot stand it is the empty stuff produced by our Ruskins and our Brownes. Empty barrels always have made the most sound. * * * There must be something in style after all. I had this note from a mother this morning. "DEAR SIR, Please change Jane's seat for she brings home more than belongs to her." I refuse to comment on this work of art. * * * I must get a cornet. Eurhythmics with an artillery bugle is too much for my wind and my dignity. Just when the graceful bend is coming forward my wind gives out, and I make a vain attempt to whistle the rest. Perhaps a concertina would be better than a cornet. I tried Willie Hunter with his mouth-organ, but the attempt was stale and unprofitable, and incidentally flat. Then Tom Macintosh brought a comb to the school and offered to perform on it. After that I gave Eurhythmics a rest. When the war is over I hope that the Government will retain Lloyd George as Minister of Munitions ... for Schools. I haven't got a tenth of the munitions I should have; I want a player-piano, a gramophone, a cinematograph with comic films, a library with magazines and pictures. I want swings and see-saws in the playground, I want rabbits and white mice; I want instruments for a school brass and wood band. I like building castles in Spain. The truth is that if the School Board would yield to my importunities and lay a few loads of gravel on the muddy patch commonly known as the playground I should almost die of surprise and joy. One learns to be content with small mercies when one is serving those ratepayers who control the rates. XV. Margaret Steel has left school, and to-morrow morning she goes off at five o'clock to the factory. To-day Margaret is a bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked lassie; in three years she will be hollow-eyed and pale-faced. Never again will she know what it is to waken naturally after sleep; the factory syren will haunt her dreams always. She will rise at half-past four summer and winter; she will tramp the two mile road to the factory, and when six comes at night she will wearily tramp home again. Possibly she will marry a factory worker and continue working in the factory, for his wage will not keep up a home. In the neighbouring town hundreds of homes are locked all day ... and Bruce the manufacturer's daughters are in county society. Heigh ho! It is a queer thing civilisation! I wonder when the people will begin to realise what wagery means. When they do begin to realise they will commence the revolution by driving women out of industry. To-day the women are used by the profiteer as instruments to exploit the men. Surely a factory worker has the right to earn enough to support a family on. The profiteer says "No! You must marry one of my hands, and then your combined wages will set up a home for you." I spoke of this to the manager of Bruce's factory once. "But," he said, "if we did away with female labour we'd have to close down. We couldn't compete with other firms." "Not if they abolished female labour too?" "I was thinking of the Calcutta mills where labour is dirt cheap," he said. "I see," I said, "so the Scotch lassie is to compete with the native?" "It comes to that," he admitted. I think I see a very pretty problem awaiting Labour in the near future. As the Trade Unions become more powerful and show their determination to take the mines and factories into their own hands, capitalists will turn to Asia and Africa. The exploitation of the native is just beginning. At a time when Britain is a Socialistic State all the evils of capitalism will be reproduced with ten-fold intensity in India and China and Africa. I see an Asia ruled by lash and revolver; the profiteer has a short way with the striker in Eastern climes. The recent history of South Africa is sinister. A few years ago our brothers died presumably that white men should have the rights of citizenship in the Transvaal. What they seemed to have died for was the right of profiteers to shoot white strikers from the windows of the Rand Club. If white men are treated thus I tremble for the fate of the black man who strikes. Yes, the present profiteering system is a preparation for an exploited East. Margaret Steel and her fellows are slaving so that a Persia may be "opened up," a Mexico robbed of its oil wells. * * * To-day I gave a lesson on Capital. "If," I said, "I have a factory I have to pay out wages and money for machinery and raw material. When I sell my cloth I get more money than I paid out. This money is called profit, and with this money I can set up a new factory. "Now what I want you to understand is this:--Unless work is done by someone there is no wealth. If I make a fortune out of linen I make it by using the labour of your fathers, and the machinery that was invented by clever men. Of course, I have to work hard myself, but I am repaid for my work fully. Margaret Steel at this moment standing at a loom, is working hard too, but she is getting a wage that is miserable. "Note that the owner of the factory is getting an income of, say, ten thousand pounds a year. Now, what does he do with the money?" "Spends it on motor cars," said a boy. "Buys cigarettes," said a girl. "Please, sir, Mr. Bruce gives money to the infirmary," said another girl. "He keeps it in a box beneath the bed," said another, and I found that the majority in the room favoured this theory. This suggestion reminded me of the limitations of childhood, and I tried to talk more simply. I told them of banks and stocks, I talked of luxuries, and pointed out that a man who lived by selling expensive dresses to women was doing unnecessary labour. Tom Macintosh showed signs of thinking deeply. "Please, sir, what would all the dressmakers and footmen do if there was no money to pay them?" "They would do useful work, Tom," I said. "Your father works from six to six every day, but if all the footmen and chauffeurs and grooms and gamekeepers were doing useful work, your father would only need to work maybe seven hours a day. See? In Britain there are forty millions of people, and the annual income of the country is twenty-four hundred million pounds. One million of people take half this sum, and the other thirty-nine millions have to take the other half." "Please, sir," said Tom, "what half are you in?" "Tom," I said, "I am with the majority. For once the majority has right on its side." * * * Bruce the manufacturer had an advertisement in to-day's local paper. "No encumbrances," says the ad. Bruce has a family of at least a dozen, and he possibly thinks that he has earned the right to talk of "encumbrances." I sympathise with the old chap. But I want to know why gardeners and chauffeurs must have no encumbrances. If the manorial system spreads, a day will come when the only children at this school will be the offspring of the parish minister. Then, I suppose, dominies and ministers will be compelled to be polygamists by Act of Parliament. I like the Lord of the Manor's damned impudence. He breeds cattle for showing, he breeds pheasants for slaughtering, he breeds children to heir his estates. Then he sits down and pens an advertisement for a slave without "encumbrances." Why he doesn't import a few harem attendants from Turkey I don't know; possibly he is waiting till the Dardanelles are opened up. * * * I have just been reading a few schoolboy howlers. I fancy that most of these howlers are manufactured. I cannot be persuaded that any boy ever defined a lie as "An abomination unto the Lord but a very present help in time of trouble." Howlers bore me; so do most school yarns. The only one worth remembering is the one about the inspector who was ratty. "Here, boy," he fired at a sleepy youth, "who wrote _Hamlet_?" The boy started violently. "P--please, sir, it wasna me," he stammered. That evening the inspector was dining with the local squire. "Very funny thing happened to-day," he said, as they lit their cigars. "I was a little bit irritated, and I shouted at a boy, 'Who wrote _Hamlet_?' The little chap was flustered. 'P--please, sir, it wasna me!' he stuttered." The squire guffawed loudly. "And I suppose the little devil had done it after all!" he roared. * * * Lawson came down to see me to-night, and as usual we talked shop. "It's all very well," he said, "for you to talk about education being all wrong. Any idiot can burn down a house that took many men to build. Have you got a definite scheme to put in its place?" The question was familiar to me. I had had it fired at me scores of times in the days when I talked Socialism from a soap-box in Hyde Park. "I think I have a scheme," I said modestly. Lawson lay back in his chair. "Good! Cough it up, my son!" I smoked hard for a minute. "Well, Lawson, it's like this, my scheme could only be a success if the economic basis of society were altered. So long as one million people take half the national yearly income you can't have any decent scheme of education." "Right O!" said Lawson cheerfully, "for the sake of argument, or rather peace, we'll give you a Utopia where there are no idle rich. Fire away!" "Good! I'll talk about the present day education first. "Twenty years ago education had one aim--to abolish illiteracy. In consequence the Three R.'s were of supreme importance. Nowadays they are held to be quite as important, but a dozen other things have been placed beside them on the pedestal. Gradually education has come to aim at turning out a man or a woman capable of earning a living. Cookery, Woodwork, Typing, Bookkeeping, Shorthand ... all these were introduced so that we should have better wives and joiners and clerks. "Lawson, I would chuck the whole blamed lot out of the elementary school. I don't want children to be trained to make pea-soup and picture frames, I want them to be trained to think. I would cut out History and Geography as subjects." "Eh?" said Lawson. "They'd come in incidentally. For instance, I could teach for a week on the text of a newspaper report of a fire in New York." "The fire would light up the whole world, so to speak," said Lawson with a smile. "Under the present system the teacher never gets under way. He is just getting to the interesting part of his subject when Maggie Brown ups and says, 'Please, sir, it's Cookery now.' The chap who makes a religion of his teaching says 'Damn!' very forcibly, and the girls troop out. "I would keep Composition and Reading and Arithmetic in the curriculum. Drill and Music would come into the play hours, and Sketching would be an outside hobby for warm days." "Where would you bring in the technical subjects?" "Each school would have a workshop where boys could repair their bikes or make kites and arrows, but there would not be any formal instruction in woodwork or engineering. Technical education would begin at the age of sixteen." "Six what?" "Sixteen. You see my pupils are to stay at school till they are twenty. You are providing the cash you know. Well, at sixteen the child would be allowed to select any subject he liked. Suppose he is keen on mechanics. He spends a good part of the day in the engineering shop and the drawing room--mechanical drawing I mean. But the thinking side of his education is still going on. He is studying political economy, eugenics, evolution, philosophy. By the time he is eighteen he has read Nietzsche, Ibsen, Bjornson, Shaw, Galsworthy, Wells, Strindberg, Tolstoi, that is if ideas appeal to him." "Ah!" "Of course, I don't say that one man in a hundred will read Ibsen. You will always have the majority who are averse to thinking if they can get out of it. These will be good mechanics and typists and joiners in many cases. My point is that every boy or girl has the chance to absorb ideas during their teens." "Would you make it compulsory? For instance, that boy Willie Smith in your school; do you think that he would learn much more if he had to stay at school till he was twenty?" "No," I said, "I wouldn't force anyone to stay at school, but to-day boys quite as stupid naturally as Smith stay at the university and love it. A few years' rubbing shoulders with other men is bound to make a man more alert. Take away, as you have done for argument's sake, the necessity of a boy's leaving school at fourteen to earn a living and you simply make every school a university." "And it isn't three weeks since I heard you curse universities!" said Lawson with a grin. "I'm thinking of the social side of a university," I explained. "That is good. The educational side of our universities is bad because it is mostly cram. I crammed Botany and Zoo for my degree and I know nothing about either; I was too busy trying to remember words like Caryophylacia, or whatever it is, to ask why flowers droop their heads at night. So in English I had to cram up what Hazlitt and Coleridge said about Shakespeare when I should have been reading _Othello_. The university fails because it refuses to connect education with contemporary life. You go there and you learn a lot of rot about syllogisms and pentameters, and nothing is done to explain to you the meaning of the life in the streets outside. No wonder that Oxford and Cambridge dons write to the papers saying that life has no opening for a university man." "But I thought that you didn't want education to produce a practical man. You wanted a theoretical chimney-sweep, didn't you?" said Lawson smiling. "The present university turns out men who are neither practical nor theoretical. I want a university that will turn out thinkers. The men who have done most to stimulate thought these past few years are men like Wells and Shaw and Chesterton; and I don't think that one of them is a 'varsity man.'" "You can't run a world on thought," said he. "I don't know," I said, "we seem to run this old State of ours _without_ thought. The truth is that there will always be more workers than thinkers. While one chap is planning a new heaven on earth, the other ninety-nine are working hard at motors and benches. "H. G. Wells is always asking for better technical schools, more research, more invention. All these are absolutely necessary, but I want more than that; along with science and art I want the thinking part of education to go on." "It goes on now." "No," I said, "it doesn't. Your so-called educated man is often a stupid fellow. Doctors have a good specialist education, yet I know a score of doctors who think that Socialism means 'The Great Divide.' When Osteopathy came over from America a few years ago thousands of medical men pronounced it 'damned quackery' at once; only a few were wide enough to study the thing to see what it was worth. So with inoculation; the doctors follow the antitoxin authority like sheep. At the university I once saw a raid on an Anti-Vivisection shop, and I'm sure that not one medical student in the crowd had ever thought about vivisection. Mention Women's Freedom to the average lawyer, and he will think you a madman. "Don't you see what I am driving at? I want first-class doctors and engineers and chemists, but I want them to think also, to think about things outside their immediate interests. This is the age of the specialist. That's what's wrong with it. Somebody, Matthew Arnold, I think, wanted a man who knew everything of something and something of everything. It's a jolly good definition of education." "That is the idea of the Scotch Code," said Lawson. "Yes, perhaps it is. They want our bairns to learn tons of somethings about everything that doesn't matter a damn in life." * * * My talk with Lawson last night makes me realise again how hopeless it is to plan a system of education when the economic system is all out of joint. I believe that this nation has the wealth to educate its children properly. I wonder what the Conscriptionists would say if I hinted to them that if a State can afford to take its youth away from industry to do unprofitable labour in the army and navy it can afford to educate its youth till the age of twenty is reached. The stuff we teach in school leads nowhere; the Code subjects simply lull a child to sleep. How the devil is a lad to build a Utopia on Geography and Nature Study and Woodwork? Education should prove that the world is out of joint, and it should point a Kitchener finger at each child and say, "Your Country Needs _You_ ... to set it Right." XVI. This has been a delightful day. About eleven o'clock a rap came at the door, and a young lady entered my classroom. "Jerusalem!" I gasped. "Dorothy! Where did you drop from?" "I'm motoring to Edinburgh," she explained, "on tour, you know, old thing!" Dorothy is an actress in a musical comedy touring company, and she is a very old friend of mine. She is a delightful child, full of fun and mischief, yet she can be a most serious lady on occasion. She looked at my bairns, then she clasped her hands. "O, Sandy! Fancy you teaching all these kiddies! Won't you teach me, too?" And she sat down beside Violet Brown. I thanked my stars that I had never been dignified in that room. "Dorothy," I said severely, "you're talking to Violet Brown and I must give you the strap." The bairns simply howled, and when Dorothy took out her wee handkerchief and pretended to cry, laughter was dissolved in tears. It was minutes time, and she insisted on blowing the "Dismiss" on the bugle. Her efforts brought the house down. The girls refused to dismiss, they crowded round Dorothy and touched her furs. She was in high spirits. "You know, girls, I'm an actress and this big bad teacher of yours is a very old pal of mine. He isn't such a bad sort really, you know," and she put her arm round my shoulders. "See her little game, girls?" I said. "Do you notice that this woman from a disreputable profession is making advances to me? She really wants me to kiss her, you know. She--" But Dorothy shoved a piece of chalk into my mouth. What a day we had! Dorothy stayed all day, and by four o'clock she knew all the big girls by their Christian names. She insisted on their calling her Dorothy. She even tried to talk their dialect, and they screamed at her attempt to say "Guid nicht the noo." In the afternoon I got her to sing and play; then she danced a ragtime, and in a few minutes she had the whole crowd ragging up and down the floor. She stayed to tea, and we reminisced about London. Dear old Dorothy! What a joy it was to see her again, but how dull will school be tomorrow! Ah, well, it is a workaday world, and the butterflies do not come out every day. If Dorothy could read that sentence she would purse up her pretty lips and say, "Butterfly, indeed, you old bluebottle!" The dear child! * * * The school to-day was like a ballroom the "morning after." The bairns sat and talked about Dorothy, and they talked in hushed tones as about one who is dead. "Please, sir," asked Violet, "will she come back again?" "I'm afraid not," I answered. "Please, sir, you should marry her, and then she'll always be here." "She loves another man, Vi," I said ruefully, and when Vi whispered to Katie Farmer, "What a shame!" I felt very sad. For the moment I loved Dorothy, but it was mere sentimentalism, Dorothy and I could never love, we are too much of the pal to each other for emotion to enter. "She is very pretty," said Peggy Smith. "Very," I assented. "P--please, sir, you--you could marry her if you really tried?" said Violet. She had been thinking hard for a bit. "And break the other man's heart!" I laughed. Violet wrinkled her brows. "Please, sir, it wouldn't matter for him, we don't know him." "Why!" I cried, "he is a very old friend of mine!" "Oh!" Violet gasped. "Please, sir," she said after a while, "do you know any more actresses?" I seized her by the shoulders and shook her. "You wee bissom! You don't care a rap about me; all you want is that I should marry an actress. You want my wife to come and teach you ragtimes and tangoes!" And she blushed guiltily. * * * Lawson came down to see me again to-night; he wanted to tell me of an inspector's visit to-day. "Why don't you apply for an inspectorship?" he asked. I lit my pipe. "Various reasons, old fellow," I said. "For one thing I don't happen to know a fellow who knows a chap who lives next door to a woman whose husband works in the Scotch Education Department. "Again, I'm not qualified; I never took the Education Class at Oxford." "Finally, I don't want the job." "I suppose," said Lawson, "that lots of 'em get in by wire-pulling." "Very probably, but some of them probably get in straight. Naturally, you cannot get geniuses by wire-pulling; the chap who uses influence to get a job is a third-rater always." Lawson reddened. "I pulled wires to get into my job," he said. "That's all right," I said cheerfully, "I've pulled wires all my days." "But," I added, "I wouldn't do it again." "Caught religion?" "Not quite. The truth is that I have at last realised that you never get anything worth having if you've got to beg for it." "It's about the softest job I know, whether you have to beg for it or not. The only job that beats it for softness is the kirk," he said. "I wouldn't exactly call it a soft job, Lawson; a rotten job, yes, but a soft job, no. Inspecting schools is half spying and half policing. It isn't supposed to be you know, but it is. You know as well as I do that every teacher starts guiltily whenever the inspector shoves his nose into the room. Nosing, that's what it is." "You would make a fairly decent inspector," said Lawson. "Thanks," I said, "the insinuation being that I could nose well, eh?" "I didn't mean that. Suppose you had to examine my school how would you do it?" "I would come in and sit down on a bench and say: 'Just imagine I am a new boy, and give me an idea of the ways of the school. I warn you that my attention may wander. Fire away! But, I say, I hope you don't mind my finishing this pie; I had a rotten breakfast this morning.'" "Go on," said Lawson laughing. "I wouldn't examine the kids at all. When you let them out for minutes I would have a crack with you. I would say something like this: 'I've got a dirty job, but I must earn my screw in some way. I want to have a wee lecture all to myself. In the first place I don't like your discipline. It's inhuman to make kids attend the way you do. The natural desire of each boy in this room was to watch me put myself outside that pie, and not one looked at me. "'Then you are far too strenuous. You went from Arithmetic to Reading without a break. You should give them a five minutes chat between each lesson. And I think you have too much dignity. You would never think of dancing a ragtime on this floor, would you? I thought not. Try it, old chap. Apart from its merits as an antidote to dignity it is a first-rate liver stimulator.' Hello! Where are you going? Time to take 'em in again? "'O, I say, I'm your guest, uninvited guest, I admit, but that's no reason why you should take advantage of me. Man, my pipe isn't half smoked, and I have a cigarette to smoke yet. Come out and watch me play footer with the boys.'" "You think you would do all that," said Lawson slowly, "but you wouldn't you know. I remember a young inspector who came into my school with a blush on his face. 'I'm a new inspector,' he said very gingerly, 'and I don't know what I am supposed to do.' A year later that chap came in like whirlwind, and called me 'young man.' Man, you can't escape becoming smug and dignified if you are an inspector." "I'd have a darned good try, anyway," I said. "Getting any eggs just now?" * * * To-night I have been glancing at _The Educational News_. There is a letter in it about inspectors, it is signed "Disgusted." That pseudonym damns the teaching profession utterly and irretrievably. Again and again letters appear, and very seldom does a teacher sign his own name. Naturally, a letter signed with a pseudonym isn't worth reading, for a moral coward is no authority on inspectors or anything else. It sickens me to see the abject cringing cowardice of my fellow teachers. "Disgusted" would no doubt defend himself by saying, "I have a wife and family depending on me and I simply can't afford to offend the inspector." I grant that there is no point in making an inspector ratty, or for that matter making anyone ratty. I don't advise a man to seize every opportunity for a scrap. There is little use in arguing with an inspector who has methods of arithmetic different to your methods; it is easier to think over his advice and reject it if you are a better arithmetician than he. But if a man feels strongly enough on a subject to write to the papers about it, he ought to write as a man not as a slave. Incidentally, the habit of using a pseudonym damns the inspectorate at the same time. For this habit is universal, and teachers must have heard tales of the victimising of bold writers. Most educational papers suggest by their contributed articles that the teachers of Britain are like a crowd of Public School boys who fear to send their erotic verses to the school magazine lest the Head flays them. No wonder the social status of teachers is low; a profession that consists of "Disgusted" and "Rural School" and "Vindex" and their kind is a profession of nonentities. * * * Once in my palmy days I told a patient audience of Londoners that the Post Office was a Socialist concern. "Any profits go to the State," I said. A postman in the crowd stepped forward and told me what his weekly wage was, and I hastily withdrew my statement. To-day I should define it as a State Concern run on the principles of Private Profiteering, _i.e._, it considers labour a commodity to be bought. The School Board here is theoretically a Socialistic body. Its members are chosen by the people to spend the public money on education. No member can make a profit out of a Board deal. Yet this board perpetrates all the evils of the private profiteer. Mrs. Findlay gets ten pounds a year for cleaning the school. To the best of my knowledge she works four or five hours a day, and she spends the whole of each Saturday morning cleaning out the lavatories. This sum works out at about sixpence a day or three ha'pence an hour. Most of her work consists of carrying out the very considerable part of the playground that the bairns carry in on their boots. Yet all my requests for a few loads of gravel are ignored. The members do not think that they are using sweated labour; they say that if Mrs. Findlay doesn't do it for the money half a dozen widows in the village will apply for the job. They believe in competition and the market value of labour. A few Saturdays ago I rehearsed a cantata in the school, and I offered Mrs. Findlay half a crown for her extra trouble in sweeping the room twice. She refused it with dignity, she didn't mind obliging me, she said. And this kindly soul is merely a "hand" to be bought at the lowest price necessary for subsistence. Sometimes I curse the Board as a crowd of exploiters, but in my more rational moments I see that they could not do much better if they tried. If Mrs. Findlay had a pound a week the employees of the farmers on the Board would naturally object to a woman's getting a pound a week out of the public funds for working four hours a day while they slaved from sunrise to sunset for less than a pound. A public conscience can never be better than the conscience of the public's representatives. Hence I have no faith in Socialism by Act of Parliament; I have no faith in municipalisation of trams and gas and water. Private profit disappears when the town council takes over the trams, but the greater evil--exploitation of labour remains. Ah! I suddenly recollect that Mrs. Findlay has her old age pension each Friday. She thus has eight and six a week. I wonder did Lloyd George realise that his pension scheme would one day prevent fat farmers from having conscience qualms when they gave a widow sixpence a day? * * * As I came along the road this morning I saw half a dozen carts disgorging bricks on one of Lappiedub's fields. Lappiedub himself was standing by, and I asked him what was happening. "Man," he cried lustily, "they've fund coal here and they're to sink pits a' ower the countryside." When I reached the school the bairns were waiting to tell me the news. "Please, sir," said Willie Ramsay, "they're going to build a town here bigger than London." "Bigger than Glasgow even," said Peter Smith. A few navvies went past the school. "They're going to build huts for thousands of navvies," said a lassie. "Please, sir, they'll maybe knock down the school and have a mine here," suggested Violet Brown. "They won't," I said firmly, "this ugly school will stand until the countryside becomes as ugly as itself. Poor bairns! You don't know what you're coming to. In three years this bonny village will be a smoky blot on God's earth like Newcastle. Dirty women will gossip at dirty doors. You, Willie, will become a miner, and you will walk up that road with a black face. You, Lizzie, will be a trollop of a wife living in a brick hovel. You can hardly escape." "Mr. Macnab of Lappiedub will lose all his land," said a boy. "He didn't seem sad when I saw him this morning," I remarked. "Maybe he's tired of farming," suggested a girl. "Perhaps," I said, "if he is he doesn't need to worry about farming. He will be a millionaire in a few years. He will get a royalty on every ton of coals that comes up from the pit, and he will sit at home and wait for his money. Simply because he is lucky he will be kept by the people who buy the coals. If he gets sixpence a ton your fathers will pay sixpence more on every ton. I want you to realise that this is sheer waste. The men who own the mines will take big profits and keep up big houses with servants and idle daughters. Then Mr. Macnab will have his share. Then a man called a middleman will buy the coals and sell them to coal merchants in the towns, and he will have his share. And these men will sell them to the householders. When your father buys his ton of coals he is paying for these things:--the coalowner's income, Mr. Macnab's royalty, the middleman's profit, the town coal merchant's profit, and the miners' wages. If the miners want more wages and strike, they will get them, but these men won't lose their profits; they will increase the price of coals and the householders will pay for the increase. "Don't run away with the idea that I am calling Mr. Macnab a scoundrel. He is a decent, honest, good-natured man who wouldn't steal a penny from anyone. It isn't his fault or merit that he is to be rich, it is the system that is bad." Thomas Hardy somewhere talks about "the ache of modernism." I adapt the phrase and talk about the ache of industrialism. I look out at my wee window and I see the town that will be. There will be gin palaces and picture houses and music-halls--none of them bad things in themselves, but in a filthy atmosphere they will be hideous tawdry things with horrid glaring lights. I see rows of brick houses and acres of clay land littered with bricks and stones thrown down any way. Stores will sell cheap boots and frozen meat and patent pills, packmen will lug round their parcels of shoddy and sheen. And education! They will erect a new school with a Higher Grade department, and the Board will talk of turning out the type of scholar the needs of the community require. They will have for Rector a B.Sc., and technical instruction will be of first importance. When that happens I shall trek inland and shall seek some rural spot where I can be of some service to the community. I might be able to stand the smoke and filth, but before long there would be a labour candidate for the burgh, and I couldn't stand hearing him spout. XVII. I have been considering the subject of school magazines, and I wonder whether it would be possible to run a school magazine here. I have had no experience with a school magazine, but I edited a university weekly for a year. It wasn't a success. I wrote yellow editorials and placarded the quadrangles with flaring bills which screamed "Liars!" "Are School Teachers Socially Impossible?" "The Peril and the Pity of the Princes Street Parade," at the undergraduates passing by. It was of no use. No one bothered to reply to my philippics, and I had to sit down and write scathing replies to my own articles. I could never bring my circulation up to the watermark of a previous editor who had written editorials on such bright topics as "The Medical Congress" and "The Work of the International Academic Committee." In Edinburgh the students are indifferent to their 'varsity magazine, but in St. Andrews the publication of _College Echoes_ is the event of the week. The reason is that the St. Andrew's students form a small happy family; if a reference is made to Bejant Smith everyone understands it. If you mentioned Bejant Smith in the Edinburgh _Student_ no one would know whom you were referring to. The success of _College Echoes_ gives me the idea of a school magazine that would succeed. A magazine for my hundred and fifty bairns would be useless; what I want is a magazine for parents and children. It would be issued weekly, and would mingle school gossip with advice. If Willie Wilson knew that Friday's edition might contain a paragraph to the effect that he had been discovered murdering two young robins, I fancy that he would think twice before he cut their heads off. I imagine entries like the following:-- "Peter Thomson said on Thursday that it was Lloyd George who said 'Father, I cannot tell a lie,' and he was caned by the master who, by the way, has just been appointed President of the Conservative Association." "Mary Brown was late every morning this week." "John Mackenzie is at present gathering potatoes at Mr. Skinnem's farm, and is being paid a shilling a day of ten hours. Mr. Skinnem has been made an elder of the Parish Kirk." Someone has said that the most arresting piece of literature is your own name in print. That is true, although I suppose that the thrill wears off when you become as public as Winston Churchill or Charlie Chaplin. Why shouldn't the bairns experience this thrill? When I write the report of a local concert for the local papers I always give prominence to the children who performed. Incidentally, when I have sung at a concert I omit all reference to my part; I hate to remind the audience that I sang. I am a true altruist in both cases. Publicity is the most pleasing thing in life, and that's why patent medicines retain their popularity. At present the village cobbler is figuring in the local paper as a "Cured by Bunkum's Bilious Backache Bunion Beans" example, and beneath his photograph (taken at the age of nineteen; he is fifty-four now) is a glowing testimonial which begins with these words:--"For over a decade I have suffered from an excess of Uric Acid, from Neurotic Dyspepsia, and from Optical Derangements. Until I discovered that marvellous panacea...." I marvel at his improved literary style; it is only a month since he wrote me as follows:--"Sir, i will be oblidged if you will let peter away at three oclock tonight hoping that you are well as this leaves me i am your obidt servent peter Macannish." The magazine would also contain interesting editorials for the parents. Art would have a prominent place; if a bairn made a good sketch or a bonny design it would be reproduced. Of course, the idea cannot be carried out for lack of funds. Yet I fancy that the money now spent on hounds and pet dogs would easily run a magazine for every school in Scotland. The technical difficulties could easily be overcome. The bigger bairns could read the proofs and paste up the magazine, and the teachers would revise it before sending it to the printers. I must get estimates from the printers, and if they are moderate I shall try to raise funds by giving a school concert. * * * I see that the Educational Institute is advertising for a man who will combine the post of Editor of _The Educational News_ with the office of Secretary to the Institute. The salary is £450 per annum. This combining of the offices seems to me a great mistake. For an editor should be a literary man with ideas on education, while a good secretary should be an organizer. Because a man can write columns on education, that is no proof that he is the best man to write to the office washerwoman telling her not to come on Monday because it is a holiday. I could edit the paper (I would take on the job for a hundred a year and the sport of telling the other fellow that his notions of education were all wrong), but I couldn't organise a party of boys scouts. Kitchener is a great organiser, but I shouldn't care for the editorials of _The New Statesman_ if he were editor. I think that the Institute does not want a man with ideas. It wants a man who will mirror the opinions of the Institute. To do this is a work of genius, for the Institute has no opinions. No man can represent a body of men. Suppose the Institute decides by a majority that it will support the introduction of "Love" as a subject of the curriculum. The editor may be a misogynist, or he may have been married eight times, yet the poor devil has to sit down and write an editorial beginning: "Love has too long been absent from our schools. Who does not remember with holy tenderness his first kiss?..." A paper can be a force only when it is edited by a man of force and personality. A man who writes at the dictation of another is a tenth-rater. That, of course, is why our press says nothing. * * * Little Mary Brown was stung by a wasp the other day as she sat in the class. "Henceforward," I said, "the wasp that enters this room is to be slain. Tom Macintosh I appoint you commander in chief." I begin to think that I prefer the wasp to the campaign against it. To-day I was in the midst of a dissertation on Trusts when Tom started up. "Come on lads, there's a wasp!" They broke a window and two pens; then they slew the wasp. The less studious boys keep one eye on the window all day, and I found Dave Thomson chasing an imaginary wasp all round the room at Arithmetic time. Dave detests Arithmetic. But when I found that Tom Macintosh was smearing the inside window-sill with black currant jam, I disbanded the anti-wasp army. * * * The Inspectors refuse to allow teachers to use slates nowadays on the ground that they are insanitary. To-day I reintroduced slates to all classes. My one reason was that my bairns were missing one of the most delightful pastimes of youth--the joy of making a spittle run down the slate and back again. I always look back with tenderness to my old slate. It was such a serviceable article. By running my slate-pencil up it I got all the beats of a drum; its wooden sides were the acknowledged tests for a new knife, as a hammer it had few rivals. Then you could play at X-es and O-ies with impunity; you simply licked your palm and rubbed the whole game out when the teacher approached. In the afternoon half a dozen bairns brought sponges, and I sighed for the good old days when sanitary authorities were plumbers on promotion. * * * I have given my bairns two songs--_Screw-Guns_ and _Follow Me Home_, both by Kipling. I prefer them to the usual "patriotic" song that is published for school use. I don't see the force of teaching children to be patriotic; the man who imagines that a dominie can teach a bairn to love his neighbour or his country is fatuous. Flag-waving is the last futility of noble minds. The queer thing is that all these titled men who spout about Imperialism and Patriotism, and "Make the Foreigner Pay" are enemies of the worker. They don't particularly want to see a State where slums and slavery will be no more; they are so busy thinking out a scheme to extend the Empire abroad that they haven't time to think about the Empire at home. What is the use of an India or a South Africa if East Ham is to remain? No, I refuse to teach my bairns to sing, "Britons never, never, never shall be slaves." My sense of humour won't allow me to introduce that song. Although I like Kipling's verses I abominate Kipling's philosophy and politics. He is always to be found on the same platform with the Curzons and Milners and Roosevelts. He believes in "the big stick"; to him Britain is great because of her financiers, her viceroys, her engineers. He glories in enterprise and big ships. He believes with the late Lord Roberts that the Englishman is the salt of the earth. I should define Kipling as a Grown-up Public School Boy. I always think that the "Patriot's" main contention is that a man ought to be ready to die for his country. I freely grant that it is a great thing to die for your country, but I contend that it is still greater to live for your country; and the man who tries to live for his country usually earns the epithet "Traitor." "What do they know of England who only England know?" Kipling says this, or words to this effect. That's the worst of these travelled Johnnies; they go out to India or Africa, and two months after their arrival they pity the narrow vision of the people at home. After having talked much to travelled men I have come to the conclusion that travel is the most narrowing thing on earth. "If I went out to India," I remarked one day to an Anglo-Indian friend at College, "and if I started to talk about Socialism in a drawing-room, what would happen?" "Oh," he said with a smile, "they would listen to you very politely, but, of course, you wouldn't be asked again." When I went down to Tilbury to see this friend off to India I looked at the crowd on the first-class deck. "Dick," I said, "these people are awful. Look at their smugness, their eagerness to be correct at any expense. They are saying good-bye to wives and mothers and sweethearts, and the whole blessed crowd of 'em haven't an obvious emotion among 'em. I'll bet my hat that they won't even wave their hands when the tender goes off." As I left the boat the first-class passengers stood like statues, but one fat woman, with a delightfully plebeian face cried: "So long, old sport!" to a man beside me. "Good!" cried Dick to me with a laugh. "Lovely!" I called, and waved my hat frantically to the fat woman. Poor soul, I fear that society out East will be making her suffer for her lapse into bad form. Travel is like a school-history reader; it forces you to study mere incident. The travelled man is an encyclopædia of information; but I don't want to know what a man has seen; I want to know what he has thought. I am certain that if I went to live in Calcutta I should cease to think. I should marvel at the colour and life of the streets; I should find great pleasure in learning the lore of the native. But in a year I should very probably be talking of "damned niggers," and cursing the India Office as a crowd of asses who know nothing about India and its problems. I once lent _Ann Veronica_ to a clever young lady. Her father, an engineer who had been all over the world, picked up the book. Two days later he returned it with a final note dismissing me as a dangerous character for his daughter to know. The lady was clever, and had mentality enough to read anything with impunity. No, travel doesn't broaden a man's outlook. My writing is like my teaching, it is an irresponsible ramble. I meant to write about songs all the time to-night. I curse my luck in not being a pianist. I want to give my bairns that loveliest of tenor solos--the _Preislied_ from _The Meistersingers_. I want to give them Lawrence Hope's _Slave's Song_ from her _Indian Love Lyrics_--"_Less than the Dust beneath thy Chariot Wheel_." And there are one or two catchy bits in _Gipsy Love_ and _The Quaker Girl_ that I should like them to know. I am sure that they would enjoy _Mr. Jeremiah, Esquire_, and _The Gipsy's Song_. XVIII. The essay I set to-day was this:--"Imagine that you are an old lady who ordered a duck from Gamage's, and imagine that they sent you an aeroplane in a crate by mistake. Then describe in the first person the feelings of the aviator who found the duck awaiting him at breakfast time." One girl wrote:--"Dear Mr. Gamage, I have not opened the basket, but it seems to be an ostrich that you have sent. What will I feed it on?" A boy, as the aviator, wrote: "If you think I am going to risk my life on the machine you sent you are wrong. It hasn't got a petrol tank." The theme was too difficult for the bairns; they could not see the ludicrous side. I don't think one of them visualised the poor old woman gazing in dismay on the workmen unloading the crate. H. M. Bateman would have made an excellent drawing of the incident. I tried another theme. "A few days ago I gave you a ha'penny each," I said. "Write a description of how you spent it, and I'll give sixpence to the one who tells the biggest lie." I got some tall yarns. One chap bought an aeroplane and torpedoed a Zeppelin with it; one girl bought a thousand motor-cars. But Jack Hood, the dunce of the class, wrote these words: "I took it to the church on Sunday and put it in the clecshun bag." I gave him the tanner, although I knew that he had won it by accident. I don't think that Jack will ever get so great a surprise again in this life. * * * We rambled out to sketch this afternoon. It was very hot, and we lay down under a tree and slept for half-an-hour. Suddenly Violet Brown started up. "Here's Antonio!" she cried, and the Italian drew his van to the side of the road. "A slider for each of us," I said, and he began to hustle. My turn came last. "You like a glass, zir, instead of a zlider?" said Antonio. "Yes," I replied, "a jolly good suggestion; I haven't had the joy of licking an ice-cream glass dry for many a long day." It was glorious. On the way back a girl bought sweets at the village shop. She gave me one. "Please, sir, it's one of them changing kind," she said. "Eh?" I hastily took it out and looked at it. "By George, so it is, Katie!" I cried, "I thought they were dead long since." It was white at first but it changed to blue, then red, then green, then purple. Unfortunately, I bit it unthinkingly, and I never discovered its complete spectrum. I call this a lucky day; ice cream and changing balls in one afternoon are the quintessence of luck. But man is insatiable; to-night I have a great craving for a stick of twisted sugarelly--the polite call it liquorice. * * * A couple of Revivalists came to the village a week ago, and they have made a few converts. One of them stopped me on the road to-night and asked if I were saved. "I am, or, at least, was, a journalist," I said, and walked on chuckling. Of course he gaped, for he did not know why I chuckled. I was thinking of the reporter sitting in the back seat at a Salvationist Meeting. A Salvation lass bent over him. "Are you saved, my friend?" she whispered. He looked up in alarm. "I'm a journalist," he said hastily. "O! I beg your pardon," she said, and moved on. I don't like Revivalism. A couple of preachers came to our village when I was a lad, and for a month I thought of nothing but hell. "Only believe!" one of them used to say when he met you on the road; the other one had a shorter salutation: "Glory!" he shouted at you fiercely. Incidentally, the village was a hotbed of petty strife when they departed. And the young women who had stood up to give their "Testimony" were back to the glad-eye phase again within three weeks. Lizzie Jane Gunn was a typical convert. Lizzie Jane used to describe the night of her testimony-giving thus:--"Mind you, Aw was gaein' alang the road, and Aw had just been gieing ma testimony, and it was gye dark and Aw was by ma leensome. Weel, a' at eence something fell into ma hand, and Aw thocht that it was a message frae the Loard; so Aw just grippit ma hand ticht, an' Aw didna look to see fat it wuz. Fan Aw got hame Aw lookit to see fat wuz in ma hand, an' d'ye ken fat it wus?... a button aff ma jaicket!" I have no sympathy with all this "saving" business. It's a cowardly selfish religion that makes people so anxious about their tuppence-ha'penny souls. When I think of all the illiterate lay preachers I have listened to I feel like little Willie at the Sunday School. "Hands up all those who would like to go to Heaven!" said the teacher. Willie alone did not put his hand up. "What! Mean to tell me, Willie, that you don't want to go to Heaven?" Willie jerked a contemptuous thumb towards the others. "No bloomin' fear," he muttered, "not if that crowd's goin'." Shelley says that "most wretched men are cradled into poetry through wrong." I think that most wretched preachers are cradled into preaching through conceit. It is thrilling to have an audience hang upon your words; we all like the limelight. Usually we have to master a stiff part before we can face the audience. Preaching needs no preparation, no thinking, no merit; all you do is to stand up and say: "Deara friendsa, when I was in the jimmynasium at Peebles, a fellow lodger of mine blasphemeda. From that daya, deara friendsa, that son of the devila nevera prospereda. O, friendsa! If you could only looka into your evila heartsa...." I note that when Revivalists come to a village the so-called village lunatic is always among the first to give his testimony. Willie Baffers has been whistling _Life, Life, Eternal Life_ all the week, but I was glad to note that he was back to _Stop yer Ticklin', Jock_, to-night. * * * I have introduced two new text-books--_Secret Remedies_, and _More Secret Remedies_. These books are published by the British Medical Association at a shilling each, and they give the ingredients and cost of popular patent medicines. These books should be in every school. Everyone should know the truth about these medicines, and unless our schools tell the truth, the public will never know it. No daily newspaper would think of giving the truth, for the average daily is kept alive by patent medicine advertisements. I marvel at the mentality of the man who can sell a farthing's worth of drugs for three and sixpence. I don't blame the man; I merely marvel at him. What is his standard of truth? What does he imagine the purpose of life to be? Poor fellow! I fancy he is a man born with a silver knife in his mouth, as Chesterton says in another context; either that, or he is born poor in worldly goods and in spirit. He is dumped down in an out-of-joint world where money and power are honoured, where honesty is never the best policy; the poor, miserable little grub realises that he has not the ability to earn money or power honestly; but he knows that people are fools, and that a knave always gets the better of a fool. Our laws are really funny. I can swindle thousands by selling a nostrum, but if I sign Andrew Carnegie's name on a cheque I am sent to Peterhead Prison. Britain is individualistic to the backbone. The individual must be protected, but the crowd can look after itself. If I steal a pair of boots and run for it, I am a base thief; if I turn bookie and become a welsher I have entered the higher realms of sport, and I get a certain amount of admiration ... from those who didn't plunge at my corner. I have seen a cheap-jack swindle a crowd of Forfarshire ploughmen out of a month's earnings, but not one of them thought of dusting the street with him. Honesty must be a relative thing. Personally I will "swick" a railway company by travelling without a ticket on any possible occasion; yet, when a cycle agent puts a new nut on my motor-bike and charges a shilling I call him a vulgar thief. Of course he is; there is no romance in making a broken-down motor-cyclist pay through the nose, but a ten mile journey without a ticket is the only romantic experience left in a drab world. I once saw an article on _Railway Criminals_ in, I think, _Tit-Bits_. It pointed out that the men who are convicted of swindling the railway companies have well marked facial characteristics. I recollect going to the mirror at the time and saying "Tu quoque!" In these days I had a firm belief in physiognomy; I believed that you had only to gaze into a person's eyes to see whether he was telling the truth or not. I am wiser now that I know Peter Young. Pete is ten, and he has a clear, honest countenance. To-night I found him tinkering with the valve of my back tyre. "Who loosened that valve?" I demanded. "Please, sir, it was Jim Steel," he said unblushingly, and he looked me straight in the eyes. "All right, George Washington," I remarked. "There's a seat in the Cabinet, waiting for you, my lad." And I meant it too. I believe in the survival of the fittest, and I know that Peter is the best adapted to survive in a modern civilisation. It is said of his father that he bought an old woman's ill-grown pig, a white one, and promised her a fine piebald pig in a week's time. He brought her the piebald. Then rain came.... I often condemn the press for not seeking truth, yet no man has a greater admiration for a good liar than I have. When I hear a fellow break in on a conversation with the words: "Talking of Lloyd George, when I was in the Argentine last winter...." I grapple him to my soul with hoops of steel. I can't stand the common or garden liar with his trite expressions.... "So the missis is keeping better, old man? Glad to hear it." "Your singing has improved wonderfully, my dear." "I was kept late at the office," and all that sort of lie. All the same I recognise that we are all liars, and few of us can evade the trite manner of lying. I met a man on the road to-night, and he stopped to talk. I hate the fellow; he is one of those mean men who would plant potatoes on his mother's grave if the cemetery authorities would allow it. Yet I shook his greasy hand when he held it out. If I had had the tense honesty of Ibsen's _Brand_ I should have refused to see his hand. But we all lie in this way; indeed, life would be intolerable if we were all _Brands_ and cried "All or Nothing!" We all compromise, and compromise is the worst lie of all. Compromise I can pardon, but not gush. I know men who could say to old greasy-fist: "Man, I'm glad to see you looking so well!" men who would cut his throat if they had the pluck. Nevertheless gush is not one of the Scot's chief characteristics. There is a shepherd's hut up north, and George Broon lives there alone. Once another shepherd came up that way, and he thought he would settle down with George for a time. The newcomer, Tam Kennedy, came in after his day's work, and the two smoked in silence for two hours. Then Tam remarked: "Aw saw a bull doon the road the nicht." Next morning George Broon said: "It wasna a bull; it was a coo." Tam at once set about packing his bag. "Are ye gaein' awa?" asked George in surprise. "Yus," said Tam savagely, "there's far ower much argy-bargying here." * * * Summer holidays at last! Many a day I have longed for them, but now that they are here I feel very very sad. For to-day some of these bairns of mine sat on these benches for the last time. When I blow my bugle again I shall miss familiar faces. I shall miss Violet with her bonny smile; I shall miss Tom Macintosh with his cheery face. Vi is going to the Secondary School, and Tom is going to the railway station. They are sweethearts just now, and I know that both are sad at leaving. "Never mind, Tam," I heard her say, "Aw'll aye see ye at the station, ilka mornin' and nicht." "We'll get merried when Aw'm station mester, Vi," said Tom hopefully, and she smiled and blushed. Poor Tom! I'm sorry for you my lad. In three years you will be carrying her luggage, and she won't take any notice of you, for she is a lawyer's daughter. Confound realism! Once I felt as Tom feels. I loved a farmer's daughter, and I suffered untold agony when she told me that her father's lease expired in seventeen years. "Then we're flittin' to Glesga," she said, and I was wretched for a week. She was ten then; now she is the mother of four. Annie and her seventeen years reminds me of the professor who was lecturing on Astronomy to a village audience. "In seven hundred million years, my friends," he said solemnly, "the sun will be a cold body like the moon. There will be no warmth on earth, no light, no life ... nothing." A chair was pushed back noisily at the back of the hall, and a big farmer got up in great agitation. "Excuse me, mister, but hoo lang did ye say it wud be till that happened?" "Seven hundred million years, my friend." The farmer sank into his chair with a great sigh of relief. "Thank Goad!" he gasped, "Aw thocht ye said seven million." They say that when a man dies after a long life he looks back and mourns the things that he's left undone. I suppose that some teachers look back over a year's work and regret their sins of omission. I do not. I know that I have had many lazy days this session; I know that there were exercises that I failed to correct, subjects that I failed to teach. I regret none of these things, for they do not count. Rachel Smith is leaving the district, and to-day Mary Wilson shook her hand. "Weel, by bye, Rachel, ye'll have to gang to anither schule, and ye'll maybe have to work there," she said. "Eh?" I cried, "do you mean to say, Mary Wilson, that Rachel hadn't to work in this school?" "No very much," said Mary, "ma father says that we just play ourselves at this school." Mary's father is right; I have converted a hard-working school into a playground. And I rejoice. These bairns have had a year of happiness and liberty. They have done what they liked; they have sung their songs while they were working at graphs, they have eaten their sweets while they read their books. They have hung on to my arms as we rambled along in search of artistic corners. It was only yesterday that Jim Jackson marched up the road to meet me at dinner-time with his gun team and gun, a log of wood mounted on a pair of perambulator wheels. As I approached I heard his command: "Men, lay the gun!" and when I was twenty yards off he shouted "Fire!" "Please, sir," he cried, "you're killed now, but we'll take you prisoner instead." And the team lined up in two columns and escorted me back to the school to the strains of _Alexander's Ragtime Band_ played on the mouth-organ. "Is it usual, Colonel," I asked, "for the commander of the gun team to act as the band?" Jim scratched his head. "The band was all killed at Mons," he said, "and the privates aren't musical." Then he struck up _Sister Susie's Sewing Shirts for Soldiers_. I know that I have brought out all the innate goodness of these bairns. When Jim Jackson came to the school he had a bad look; if a girl happened to push him he turned on her with a murderous scowl. Now that I think of it I realise that Jim is always a bright cheery boy now. When I knew him first I could see that he looked upon me as a natural enemy, and if I had thrashed him I might have made him fear me, but the bad look would never have left his face. If I told anyone that I had made these bairns better I should be met with the contemptuous glance that usually greets the man who blows his own horn. Stupid people can never understand the man who indulges in introspection; they cannot realise that a man can be honest with himself. If I make a pretty sketch I never hesitate to praise it. On the other hand I am readier than anyone else to declare one of my inferior sketches bad. Humility is nine-tenths hypocrisy. I do have a certain amount of honesty, and I close my log with a solemn declaration of my belief that I have done my work well. As for the work that the Scotch Education Department expected me to do ... well, I think the last entry in my official Log Book is a fair sample of that. "The school was closed to-day for the summer holidays. I have received Form 9b from the Clerk." ADVERTISEMENTS _HERBERT JENKINS'_ New Popular Novels 2/6 net 1 McPHEE A football story by Sydney Horler. 2 GENTLEMAN BILL A boxing story by Philip MacDonald, telling how Bill Tressider's left made boxing history. Published in the first instance at 2 6 net. 3 A DOMINIE'S LOG The frank confessions of a Scottish schoolmaster, by A. S. Neill, which created a sensation when originally published. Popular edition. 4 A DOMINIE DISMISSED Some further leaves from the note-book of a Scottish schoolmaster, dismissed for his educational indiscretions. By A. S. Neill. Popular edition. 5 A DOMINIE IN DOUBT Still franker confessions of a Scottish schoolmaster that, after all, he may have been wrong in his previous conclusions. By A. S. Neill. 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30168	----	A History of Giggleswick School FIRST EDITION, JULY, 1912. [Illustration: REV. GEORGE STYLE, M.A.] A HISTORY OF GIGGLESWICK SCHOOL FROM ITS FOUNDATION 1499 TO 1912 BY EDWARD ALLEN BELL, M.A., _Sometime Scholar of Christ Church, Oxford_ [Illustration: School Seal] LEEDS: RICHARD JACKSON, 16 & 17, COMMERCIAL STREET. 1912. PREFACE The history of Giggleswick School has just two difficulties about it which need to be unravelled. The date of the foundation of the School or of the Chantry of the Rood and the origin of the Seal alone are of interest to the antiquary and I have failed to discover either. The remainder is the story of a school, which has always had a reputation in the educational world and at the same time has left only the most meagre records of itself. The gentry of the neighbourhood were its scholars, but few have made their fame in the world without. Headmasters and Ushers have passed their lives here, but few were ambitious. Giggleswick was their haven of old age. Customs grew up, the same customs died and only seldom is it possible to conjecture their character. A nation without a history is considered to have had the most blessed existence and the same is true of a school. Giggleswick has but once been the prey of the brigand and then it was fortunate enough to have a friend at court. It lost its original endowment and its private character. It gained a larger revenue and a Royal Charter. The placidity of its life was undisturbed by financial deficits. Its income expanded steadily. The close corporation of Governors were never ambitious to display their wealth, they never excited the greed of the statesman; even Cromwell's army passed through the district unmentioned by the Minute-Book. It did not grow, it made no history, but continued on the even tenour of its path. Some years it was effective as a school of instruction, some years it was not, but never did it meet with the inquisitorial landlord, never but once did it suffer from the Crown. With the nineteenth century came its first crisis for three hundred years and it passed through unhurt. A new school with the old endowments, a better education with a wider horizon, a new power with which to meet the coming needs were all engrafted on the old foundation. If romance involves moments of startling excitement, Giggleswick has no romance. But if romance lies in an unrecorded, unenvied continuity, in the affection of pupils that age after age causes men to send their sons and their sons' sons to the same school, then the history of Giggleswick is shot through with romance. No school can continue for more than a generation, if this supreme test of its hold upon the hearts of men should fail. The school that nurtured the father must do its duty by the son and the golden link of affection is forged afresh. It would have been impossible to complete the task of writing the history of the School, if I had not received invaluable help from many sources. Two men in particular must accept my deepest gratitude--Mr. A. F. Leach and Mr. Thomas Brayshaw. Mr. Leach is the foremost authority in England on English Grammar Schools and he has never stinted his help. Mr. Brayshaw probably knows more than any other man of the history of the School during the last eighty years and he has supplied me generously with pamphlets and information. In addition he has been most assiduous in helping me to choose and decipher documents belonging to the School, which the Governors of the School were kind enough to allow me to use. The Rev. G. Style, the Rev. J. R. Wynne Edwards and many others have helped me materially with Chapters X and XI, while Mr. J. Greaves, of Christ's College, Cambridge, sent me his own copy of Volume I of the Christ's Admission Book and an advance proof copy of Volume II. The photographs are taken from originals in the possession of Mr. A. Horner, of Settle, Mr. P. Spencer Smith and Mr. E. D. Clark. Mr. Spencer Smith in particular has gone to endless trouble in procuring photographs of every kind for the special purpose of this book. These names by no means include all those who have helped me with advice on many occasions. I thank them all and in particular I would thank the present Headmaster, Mr. R. N. Douglas, who has put every convenience in my way and without whose co-operation the book could never have been written. E. A. B. GIGGLESWICK, _June, 1912._ CONTENTS. CHAPTER I.--THE FOUNDATION. [13-24. James Carr, capellanus, earliest date 1499--Rood Chantry of Giggleswick Parish Church--The Earliest Records of the Carr Family--Private Adventure School--Lease of Ground for a School-house--Terms of the Lease--Description of the first School--James Smith, a Boarder, 1516--Death of James Carr--Endowment of Chantry--Chantry Commission, 1547--Edward VI, Injunctions--Chantry Commissioners, 1548--Chaunterie of our Ladye--Tempest Chantry--Chaunterie of the Rode--Richard Carr--Thomas Iveson--Song-school. CHAPTER II.--RE-FOUNDATION, 1553-1599. [25-38. John Nowell--Edward VI Charter--"Free" School--Position of the Vicar--Master and Usher--New Endowment from S. Andrew's College, Acaster--School Seal--Statutes of 1592--Archbishop of York--Election of Governors--The Master--"Strangers"--Vacations --Subjects of Instruction--The Usher--Hours of School--The Scholars--Præpositors. CHAPTER III.--SCHOOLS AND THEIR TEACHING IN THE SIXTEENTH AND SEVENTEENTH CENTURIES. [39-46. Trevisa--Ecclesiastical Control Curriculum--Trivium--Quadrivium--Lily's Latin Grammar--Custos--Hebrew--Teaching of English--The Primer--The Bible--Prayers and Thanksgivings--Scriveners--Music--Puritanism. CHAPTER IV.--CHRISTOPHER SHUTE AND ROBERT DOCKRAY. [47-64. Shute Minute-Book--Clapham Bequests--Scholarships at the University--Potations--Tennant's Gift--Tennant's Bequest--Josias Shute--Burton Rent-charge--Election of Scholars--Purchase of the School Building--Richard Carr--Scholarships and Fellowships at Christ's--Tempest Thornton--Thomas Atherton--Carr Exhibitions at the Present Day--Resignation of Shute--Appreciation of his Work--Josias Shute's Bequest--Robert Dockray--Henry Claphamson, Usher--Rev. Rowland Lucas. CHAPTER V.--THE CLOSE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. [65-76. Rev. Rowland Lucas, Head Scoulmaster--Giggleswick and Cambridge-- Anthony Lister, Vicar--Abraham de la Prynne--Richard Frankland--Founder of Nonconformity--Rathmell Academy--Samuel Watson, a Quaker Governor--William Walker, Master--William Brigge, Master--Shute Exhibitions--Increased Rents from School Estates--Governors lend out Money--Extract from Account Book--Thomas Wildeman--John Armitstead, Master--Richard Ellershaw, Vicar--Poor Fund--Joshua Whitaker--Character of Armitstead-- Successes at Cambridge. CHAPTER VI.--THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. [77-109. John Carr, A.B.--A Family Circle--Richard Thornton--Conditions of Mastership--Collection of Rent and Masters' Stipends--John Cookson, "probe edoctus"--William Paley, Master--The Paleys of Langcliffe--William Paley, the Younger--Career at Cambridge--Charles Nowell in Lancaster Gaol--Dispute over his Successor as Governor--Paley and John Moore, Usher, and their Stipends--The Archbishop's Judicious Letter--Enclosures--Mortgage of North Cave Estate--Teaching of Writing--Elementary Education--Increase of Revenue--A Third Master--Purchase of Books--Burton Exhibitions--Re-building of School--New Statutes--Attitude of the Vicar--Rev. John Clapham--Bishop Watson of Llandaff on Classical Teaching--Educational Status of Giggleswick--Applicant's Letter for post of Writing Master--Robert Kidd--Distribution of Prizes to Scholars--Re-adjustment of Salaries--Nicholas Wood, Usher--Obadiah Clayton, Classical Assistant--Numbers of the School--Vacations--Miss Elizabeth Paley--Death of William Paley--Estimate of his Work--Old Boys--Letter from T. Kidd on Life at Cambridge. CHAPTER VII.--THE REV. ROWLAND INGRAM. [110-125. Appointment of a New Master--Suggested Examiners--Qualifications Necessary--Strong Field of Candidates--Appointment of Ingram--Elementary Education--William Stackhouse, Writing Master--Clayton's Insanity--Increased Numbers--Increased Revenues--Commissioners of 1825--Rev. John Howson--Craven Bank--Usher's House--Letter from John Carr--John Saul Howson--Character of Ingram's Rule--Potation. CHAPTER VIII.--DR. GEORGE ASH BUTTERTON, 1845-1858. [126-148. Attitude of the Governors--Aim of Education--Scheme of 1844--Its Defects--Bishop of Ripon--Appointment of Butterton--New School Built--Description--Prize Poems--Hastings' Exhibition--Bishop of Ripon's Examiner's Report--Giggleswick Pupils Prize--Howson Prize--Modern Language Master--Curriculum of the School Examination 1855--Admittance of Pupils--Difficulties of Butterton--Illness of Howson--Fig Day--Payments by Scholars--Glazier's Bills--Efficiency of the School. CHAPTER IX.--THE REV. JOHN RICHARD BLAKISTON, 1858-1866. [149-168. Blakiston appointed Master--Matthew Wood, Usher--John Langhorne--Arthur Brewin--Examiner's Report--Decrease of Numbers--Difficulties of the Scheme of 1844--Blakiston and Wood--Master's House Unfit for Boarders--Pronunciation of Greek and Latin--Mr. James Foster--Charity Commissioners--New Scheme 1864--New Governing Body--Sir James Kay Shuttleworth--Walter Morrison--Fig Day--School Clock--Ingram Prize--Resignation of Usher--Preliminaries for a New Scheme--Suspension of Usher's Office--Inspector's Report 1863--Free Education--Inspector's Report 1865--Development of New Scheme--Resignation of Mr. Blakiston--Purchase of Football Field--Proposals for Hostel. CHAPTER X.--A NEW ERA. [169-197. Temporary Headmaster--Thomas Bramley--Michael Forster--Hostel--Rev. George Style--Private Boarding House--Endowed Schools Act 1869--New Scheme of Management 1872--Free Education--Shute Exhibitions-- Increase of Numbers--Natural Science--Dr W. Marshall Watts--Purchase of Holywell Toft--Additions to the Hostel--New Class-rooms--Gymnasium--Success at the Universities--Death of Sir James Kay Shuttleworth--Lord Frederick Cavendish--Mr. Hector Christie--Giggleswick Church Restoration--Athletics--Giggleswick _v._ Sedbergh--Music--Charles Frederick Hyde--School Library--G. B. Mannock--Bankwell--Arthur Brewin--Fire in the Laboratory-- Educational Exhibition--Museum--Old Boys' Club--Numbers in the School--Craven Bank--Hollybank--_Giggleswick Chronicle_--Boer War. CHAPTER XI.--THE CHAPEL. [198-215. Mr. Morrison's offer--Aim of Architecture--The Purpose of a Dome--Value of a School Chapel--Foundation Stone laid--Interior of the Chapel--Organ--Dome--Windows--Cricket Pavilion--Gate-house--Mr. Morrison's Portrait--Mr. Style's Resignation--His Work--Praepostors --Fagging--Schoolboys' Tower--Mr. Style's Enthusiasm--Ascension Day--Secret of his power. CHAPTER XII.--THE LAST DECADE. [216-229. W. W. Vaughan--Changes made--Importance of English--Higher Certificate--Resignation of Dr. Watts--Style Mathematical Prizes--Waugh Prize--Dormitories Re-named--Gate-house--Giggleswick Boys' Club--Sub-target Rifle Machine--Quater-Centenary--Fives Courts--Inspection--Carr Exhibitions--Death of Mr. Mannock--O.T.C. --Improvement of Cricket Ground--Athletics--Scar-Rigg Cup--Headmaster and Wellington--Mr. Vaughan's Work--R. N. Douglas--Death of Mr. Bearcroft--Sergeant-Major Cansdale-- Quater-Centenary. APPENDIX. [230-284. INDEX. [285-294. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Rev. George Style, M.A. Frontispiece Facing Page The Charter 12 First School, 1512 18 Rev. Josias Shute, B.D. 60 Richard Frankland, M.A. 68 Archdeacon Paley 82 Second School, 1790 90 Rev. Rowland Ingram, M.A. 110 Usher's House 120 Craven Bank 120 Rev. G. A. Butterton, D.D. 126 The Old School 132 Porch of the Old School 134 Rev. John Howson, M.A. 146 Sir James Kay Shuttleworth 146 Rev. John Richard Blakiston, M.A. 150 Hector Christie, Esq. 156 Cricket Ground 164 The Hostel, 1869 170 A Class-room 174 A Hostel Study 174 Hostel 176 The Library 178 Class-rooms and Laboratory 180 Chemistry Laboratory 182 The Museum 182 Big School 184 The Fives Courts 186 Lord Frederick Cavendish 188 The School Buildings 190 Bankwell 194 Walter Morrison, M.A., Esq. 198 The Chapel Exterior 200 The Chapel Dome 204 James Carr 204 The Chapel, East, Interior 208 The Chapel, West, Interior 210 The Gate House 212 W. W. Vaughan, M.A., Esq. 216 Joiner's Shop 218 Athletic Shop 218 G. B. Mannock, Esq. 220 Officers Training Corps 224 R. N. Douglas, M.A., Esq. 228 [Illustration: School Charter] [Illustration: Decoration] CHAPTER I. The Foundation. Giggleswick School for over four hundred years has lived a life apart, unconscious of the world outside: but its life has not therefore been a placid one. Real dangers have continually assailed it, real crises have been faced. Most schools have been founded with a preliminary grant of an endowment, with which to afford a proper maintenance to Master and Scholars. But Giggleswick was not one of these. Its actual origin is obscure but this at least is sure, it existed before it was endowed. It was the private enterprise of one man, James Carr, who in 1518 "nuper decessit." Nineteen years before, the same James Carr was a capellanus in charge of the Rood Chantry, which he himself had founded. The date of its foundation has not reached us, but the fact of its existence, and consequently the probable existence of the Grammar School, is certain in 1499. In that year two-and-a-half acres of arable land in Settle and a meadow called Howbeck ynge were let to one William Hulle by the indenture of the cantarist. The cantarist or chantry priest was James Carr. Six years later, Hugh Wren, William Preston and James Carr, capellani, were made joint owners of "unum messuagium et unam bovatam terræ et prati." These two possessions conclusively prove the existence of the Rood Chantry and the presence of James Carr during the last year of the fifteenth century, and from that year Giggleswick School may date its birth. The name Carr is variously spelt. Skarr, Car, Carre, Karr, Ker, all appear, but no importance is to be attached thereto. Spelling as part of the equipment of an educated man is one of the less notable inventions of the nineteenth century. As a family the Carrs come from Stackhouse, a village quite close to Giggleswick, but their recorded history begins with this generation. The father of James is nameless, but his eldest brother Stephen was living at Stackhouse in the year 1483, when he leased a plot of land from the Prior and Convent of Finchale. It was therefore not unnatural that James should found a chantry in the neighbourhood of his family home. The purpose of a chantry was the offering up of prayers for the souls either of the founder or of such as he might direct. We do not know the original cause of James Carr's Chantry or for whose soul he prayed. But in 1509 he received a legacy from his brother Thomas, who was vicar of Sancton. The gift consisted of "unam calicem argenteam" and with it there was a request "ut oretur pro anima mea et parentum meorum diebus Dominicis." Henceforth this was his duty. But a weekly service of prayer on Sundays would be a poor occupation for a man, even though he had clearly another Mass to say as well. And he endeavoured to dispel the monotony of his chantry by teaching. He followed a common practice of chantry priests, but he had some additional qualifications for the work. He belonged to a local family of some importance, he had a certain income of his own, and he was prepared to take boarders as well as to teach the boys in the village. The unique character of his enterprise declares itself very soon. He was so successful a teacher that he could no longer find it possible to carry on his work in his own house or possibly "like a pedant that keeps a school in a church," he required a building larger and more convenient. In other words he was prepared to take a risk and to invest his own capital in buildings. It is the only instance that has been recorded of what Mr. A. F. Leach calls a Private Adventure School. It was not endowed from an outside source before 1553, but until the year 1518 was the private property of James Carr. He endowed the Rood Chantry with lands producing six pounds one shilling a year, and the successive chantry priests carried on the teaching that he had begun. On November 12, 1507, a lease had been entered into between "the Right Reverende ffader in Gode, Thomas, Prior of Duresme and Convent of the same on the one partie and James Karr, preste, on the other partie" by which the said James was given a seventy-nine year lease of "half one acre of lande with the appertenance, laitlye in the haldyng of Richarde lemyng, lyeng neir the church garth of Gyllyswyke in Crawen within the countie of york." He and his successors contracted to pay a full or rack-rent of xij_d._ of lawful English money every year and an additional vj_s._ viij_d._ as often as it might be desired to extend the lease. It was also provided that "whensoever the same James Karr shall change his naturall lyfe that then it shalbe lawful, as ofte tymes as it shalbe nedful, to the vicar of ye churche afforsaid for the tyme beyng and kyrkmasters of the same, heires, executors, and assignes to the said James Karr, jontlie, to elect one person beyng within holye orders, to be scole master of the gramer scole afforsaid." Such Schoolmaster had not only to be within "holye orders" but also to receive a license to teach from the Prior of Durham. Not till the nineteenth century was teaching a grammar or classical school regarded as a profession independent of the Church. The half acre that he thus obtained was ordered to be enclosed and James Carr agrees that he will keep or cause to be kept there "one gramer scole" building it "at hys awne propyr charges and costes." The _Gentleman's Magazine_ in 1786 contains a letter from a correspondent describing the school that Carr built. It was low, small and irregular and consisted of two stages, whereof at that period the upper one was used for writing, etc., that is to say for elementary education, probably reading, writing and arithmetic; the lower stage on the other hand was used for advanced teaching. This would include the elaborate classical curriculum common to almost every school and to which we shall return later. On the North side there was a small projecting building, which before 1786 had contained a tolerable collection of books but at that time they had been dispersed. The date of the completion of the building is fixed by an inscription on a stone which was placed almost above one of the doors and is still preserved in the modern Big School. Alma dei mater, defende malis Jacobum Car: Presbiteris, quoque clericulis domus hec fit in anno Mil' quin' cen' duoden'. Jesu nostri miserere: Senes cum junioribus laudent nomen Domini. Kindly Mother of God, defend James Car from ill. For priests and young clerks this house is made in 1512. Jesus, have mercy upon us. Old men and children praise the name of the Lord. The inscription is an ingenious but not altogether happy example of Carr's ability as a writer of Latin Hexameters. Above this stone slab was an ornamented niche, which at one time contained an image but of which no knowledge can be obtained. It may have held a statue of the Virgin and Child and be the origin of the school seal, as a writer in the _Giggleswick Chronicle_, March 1907, suggests, but the chantry was not dedicated to the Virgin, it was the "Chaunterie of the Rode" and as such we should expect to find a crucifix with the Virgin standing by it. [Illustration: FIRST SCHOOL, 1512.] There is only one other record of the School during the next thirty years but it is a very important one, for it shows that the School was not restricted to the village but encouraged boarders from distant villages and towns. About the year 1516 William Malhame writes to his brother John: "Brother, I will Sir W. Martyndale to be Parish Priest at Marton, and to have like wages that Sir W. Hodgson had: and I will Sir W. Hodgson to have vj markes yearly during his life, to tarry at Marton and pray for mee and my father and mother's sawles. They both begin their service at Midsomer next coming. I am content that James Smith go to Sir James Carr to scoule at Michelmas next comyng, and also I am content ye paye for his bord, which shall be allowed ye ageane. From London ye second day of Aprill. "By your Brother Wm. Malhame. "To his Brother John Malhame." In September 1518, the Craven with Ripon Act Book describes James Carr as one who "nuper decessit" and his will was proved. No trace of it has been found but we know from the Chantry Commissioners' Report in 1546 that he had endowed the Chantry School with a rental of £vi xij_d._ The Commission had been appointed to ascertain the chantry property which might be vested in the King. There were two excellent reasons for the change. Many avaricious men had already on various pretexts "expulsed" the priests or incumbents and taken the emoluments for themselves. Such private spoliation could not be allowed. And in the second place Henry VIII had involved himself in "great and inestimable charges" in the maintenance of his wars in France and Scotland. He needed money and he saw an easy way to getting it. The Chantry Commissioners made their report, but before many chantries were taken by the King, he died. At once the Chantries Act, which was only for Henry's life, is dissolved naturally. Edward VI, "monstrificus puellus," was a precocious child of nine years old when he succeeded to the throne. The first "Injunctions" issued in his name gave distinct promise for educational bodies, as they comprised an order, compelling all chantry priests to teach the children reading and writing. Thus at one stroke of the pen he converted a body of men, who had insufficient work to do, into National Schoolmasters. Such a measure would tend to improve the quality of the chantry priests, who would no longer run "unto London, unto St. Poules" seeking for a chantry of souls, seeing that the toil of a Schoolmaster would be their lot. But within a year a fresh Chantries Act was passed and a new Commission appointed by the Protector and his Council. The Act contained a prefatory statement which maintained that "a great part of superstition and errors in Christian religion has been brought into the minds and estimations of men" and this "doctrine and vain opinion by nothing is more maintained and upholden than by the abuse of trentals, chantries, and other provisions made for the continuance of the said blindness and ignorance." They therefore determined to dissolve the chantries and at the same time continue Grammar Schools, where they existed. The results belied the early promise. The clauses relating to the endowment of Grammar Schools have gained Edward VI a widespread fame as a founder of most of the schools in England. But that fame has been wholly fictitious. Henry VIII had wrought great damage to elementary education, although he had professed "I love not learning so ill, that I will impaire the revenues of anie one house by a penie, whereby it may be upholden." But it has been calculated that in 1546 there was probably one school for every eight thousand people, whereas three hundred years later, the proportion was thrice as small. Yet Edward VI did not found one school in Yorkshire, and many, which had previously existed, he deprived of all revenue. So diminished were the means of education in 1562 that Thomas Williams, on his election as Speaker of the House of Commons, took occasion to call Queen Elizabeth's notice to the great dearth of schools "that at least one hundred were wanting, which before this time had been." In other words in a period of less than thirty years the number had decreased by a third. And this was in spite of a six years' reign of Edward VI., the supposed progenitor of schools. In the report of the Commissioners of 1548 Giggleswick is recorded as having three chantries. There was the Chantry of Our Lady, the incumbent of which, Richard Somerskayle, is described as "lx yeres of age, somewhat learned" and enjoying the annual rent of £4. The Tempest Chantry with Thomas Thomson as incumbent 70 yeres old and "unlearned." The Chantry of the Rode, "Richard Carr, Incombent, 32 yeres of age, well learned and teacheth a gramer schole there, lycensed to preach, hath none other lyving than the proffitts of the said chauntrie." The net value of the chantry was £5 15_s._ Richard Carr was a nephew of the founder and from the description of his two fellow chaplains he was evidently superior to the ordinary chantry priest. They were "unlearned," "somewhat learned," he was "well learned" and "lycensed to preach." For all that the chantry lands were taken from him, but the School was not dissolved: he was maintained as a Schoolmaster by a stipend of the annual value of £5 6_s._ 8_d._ charged on the crown revenues of York "for the good educacyon of the abbondaunt yought in those rewde parties." The population of Giggleswick, which as a parish included Settle, Rathmell, Langcliffe and Stainforth, was roughly 2,400 and at the beginning of the nineteenth century was unaltered. Such a population was too "abbondaunt" for one man to teach, particularly if he took boarders, and it is not surprising to find in the report of 1548 the following paragraph: "A some of money geven for the meyntenance of scholemaster there. The said John Malhome and one Thomas Husteler, disseased, dyd gyve ... the some of £24 13_s._ 4_d._ towards the meyntenance of a Scholemaister there for certen yeres, whereupon one Thomas Iveson, preist, was procured to be Scholemaister there, which hath kept a Scole theis three yeres last past and hath receyved every yere for his stypend after the rate of £4, which is in the holle, £12." "And so remayneth £12 13_s._ 4_d._" John Malhome was probably the brother of William, who in 1516 had sent James Smith to be a boarder at the School, and, as he was a resident in the neighbourhood and was a "preist," perhaps a chantry priest at Giggleswick, his interest in the School is not unnatural. Thomas Husteler had an even more adequate reason for leaving money to pay the stipend of a Schoolmaster, for he had been priest of the Chantry of the Rood, and had been wont to "pray for the sowle of the founder (James Carr) and all Cristen sowles and to synge Mass every Friday of the name of Jhesu and of the Saterday of our Lady." He had also to be "sufficientlie sene in playnsonge and gramer and to helpe dyvyne service in the church." Thus in addition to his chantry duties he had to perform the double office of Grammer and Song Schoolmaster, and the work proving too heavy for him he left money to provide the maintenance of a second Master. Thomas Iveson received this money and probably acted either as an Usher or as Song Schoolmaster. Many schools in England employed a Master to teach music but during the sixteenth century a change was gradually taking place. Many Song Schools ceased to exist and everywhere the song master became of less importance. In 1520 Horman had written "No man can be a grammarian without a knowledge of music;" Roger Ascham, although he quoted with approval Galen's maxim "Much music marreth man's manners" considered that its study within certain limits was useful; and in 1561 Mulcaster declared that all elementary schools should teach Reading, Writing, Drawing and Music. Music then was no longer a part of the general curriculum, but was chiefly restricted to the Cathedral Choir Schools, where the young chorister had a career opened up for him either in the church or as a member of a troupe of boy-actors. It is therefore of some interest to find that in 1548 the Master at Giggleswick had a knowledge of plainsong as well as grammar. [Illustration: Decoration] CHAPTER II. 1553-1592. Giggleswick Church had been given to the Priory of Finchale by Henry de Puteaco about 1200, and Finchale was a cell of the Prior and Convent of Durham. So from that date till the Dissolution of the Monasteries the Priors continued to appoint the Vicar. When however in 1548 the church became vacant the rights of the convent were vested in Edward VI and he appointed to the office one of his chaplains John Nowell. Nothing is known of him. He may have been the brother of Alexander Nowell, a prominent divine both under Mary and her successor, and for a time Head Master of Westminster, Principal of Brasenose College, Oxford, and for over forty years Dean of S. Paul's. This Alexander was a leader of education; he wrote a Catechism that became a school text-book and he assisted to re-found a free school at Middleton. It is not a wholly unsound conjecture, if we suppose that the John Nowell, who assisted to re-found Giggleswick was, if not a brother, at least a member of the same family as Alexander whose home was at Whalley. We know at least that he was Vicar of Giggleswick till 1558. During his first five years Richard Carr, assisted for a time by Thomas Iveson, was continuing to teach in the small and irregular building of James, his uncle; and as a stipend he was receiving annually £5 6_s._ 8_d._ This money ceased to be paid after 1553, in which year on May 26 Edward VI "of happy memory" was pleased to grant a Charter to the School and to endow it with property. This he did at the humble petition of John Nowell, vicar, Henry Tennant, gentleman, and other inhabitants of the town and parish of Giggleswick in Craven. Quite forgetful of the School's previous existence for over half a century, he ordains that "from henceforth there may and shall be one Grammar School ... which shall be called the Free Grammar School of King Edward the Sixth of Giggleswick, and the same School for ever to continue of one Schoolmaster or Headmaster and of one Under Master or Usher." This limitation of the teaching staff to one Headmaster and one Usher led to serious qualms of conscience among the Governors in the last decade of the eighteenth century, when the revenues and numbers of the School had been very greatly increased. They then added to the number of the staff and discovered that they had contravened the Charter of Edward VI, and this difficulty was one of those that led to the application in 1795 for new Statutes. It was to be a "free" school, not in any restricted, unusual sense of the word, not free from ecclesiastical interference, that did not come till the nineteenth century, not free from temporal interference, that has never come, but free from fees, giving gratuitous teaching. The Charter was an English document translated into Latin. Hence it is not a question whether the word "libera" can ever be understood in the sense of gratuitous. The Latin word is used as being not the exact, but the nearest equivalent of the English. The Free Grammar School undoubtedly meant exemption from fees and all other meanings are heresies of the nineteenth century, fostered only too willingly by those guardians of Grammar Schools, who were not eager to fill their class-rooms with boys from the locality free of charge and so to exclude the sons of "strangers" who were ready to pay for the privilege. The Charter then named eight men of the more discreet and honest inhabitants of the Town and Parish of Giggleswick to be Governors of the said School. They were: JOHN NOWELL, Vicar. WILLIAM CATTERALL, of Newhall. HENRY TENNANT, Gentleman. THOMAS PROCTER, of Cletehop. HUGH NEWHOUSE, of Giggleswick. WILLIAM BROWNE, of Settle. ROGER ARMISTED, of Knight Stayneforde. WILLIAM BANK of Fesar. The Vicar, for the time being, must always be a Governor and with one other he had the sole power of summoning the rest to a meeting. Collectively they could appoint the Headmaster and Usher, make elections to their own body, when any other than the Vicar died or left the neighbourhood, and make statutes and ordinances for the government of the School with the advice of the Bishop of the Diocese. If the Vicar should infringe the said statutes they could for the time being elect another of the inhabitants into his place. They were a corporate body and could have a common seal. An endowment was provided for them out of the confiscated property of S. Andrewes College, Acaster, in the parishe of Styllingflete in the Countie and Citie of York. Acaster had been founded about 1470 and consisted of three distinct schools, Grammar, Song and Writing, the last intended to "teach all such things as belonged to Scrivener Craft." The property included land in North Cave, South and North Kelthorpe and Brampton. A further grant was made of land in Edderwick, Rise and Aldburgh which had formed part of the endowment of the Chantry of the Blessed Virgin Mary in the parish of Rise and Aldburgh. These lands were situated in the East Riding and their whole value amounted annually to £23 3_s._ of which they had to pay an annual rent to the King of sixty-three shillings. The Trustees were further allowed to purchase or receive gifts of land, etc., for the maintenance of the School, provided that such additional endowment did not exceed the clear yearly value of £30. The grant does not sound over-generous, but it is necessary to multiply money to twenty times its value, in order to obtain a clear estimate of it in this century. On such a computation it would amount to £400 a year after paying the King's rent, and in addition, it would be possible to acquire by gifts or legacies another £600, making a possible income of £1,000. The Common Seal that the Governors used is of an origin altogether obscure. It represents presumably the Virgin and Child while below is the figure of a man praying. Round the rim are the words: Sigillum Prebendarii de Bulidon It may be that Bulidon has in course of time been corrupted and that some modernized form of it exists, with records of a collegiate church. It is quite clearly the seal of a canon or prebendary, but as yet no one has discovered his church or his name. Perhaps Nowell was a prebendary and this was his seal, which he transferred to the Governors for their corporate use. The Governors were empowered to make "de tempore in tempus" fit and wholesome Statutes and Ordinances in writing concerning the Governors ... how they shall behave and bear themselves in their office ... and for what causes they may be removed; and touching the manner and form of choosing and nominating of the chief master and undermaster, and touching the ordering, government and direction of the chief master and undermaster and of the scholars of the said School, which said Statutes were to be inviolately observed from time to time for ever. No record remains of Statutes made in accordance with this royal permission until thirty-nine years later. Custom no doubt played a great part in the government of the School and it continued steadily on the lines first laid down by James Carr. But towards the close of the century the country was awakening from the materialism which had girt it round. The danger of invasion had passed away. The seeds of religious fervour were bearing fruit. A militant, assertive Puritanism was vigorously putting forward its feelers throughout the length and breadth of England, nor was education the last to be affected. Throughout history it has been the aim of the enthusiast to make education conform to a single standard. Sometimes it has been the value of the disputation, sometimes of the sense of Original Sin, sometimes of the classics. At the close of the sixteenth century Original Sin had become an important factor in the theories of the expert, and its presence is marked in the Giggleswick Ancient Statutes of 1592. On Sunday the 2nd of July, 1592, between the hours of three and five in the afternoon, Christopher Foster, public notary and one of the Proctors of the Consistory Court at York, appeared personally before John, Archbishop of York, in the great chamber of the Palace at Bishopthorp. He there presented his letters mandatory, sealed with the common seal, for Christopher Shute, Clerk, Bachelor of Divinity, Vicar of the Parish Church of Giggleswick, Henry Tenant, Antony Watson, Richard Chewe, gentlemen, Thos. Banckes, and Roger Carre, yeomen. He had brought with him "Letters Patent wrote on vellum of the late King Edward the Sixth of happy memory concerning the foundacion of the said ffree Grammar School and sealed with the great seal of England." These he shewed to the Archbishop together with certain wholesome Statutes and Ordinances, which they had determined upon. The Archbishop consented to deliberate concerning the matter and consulted with counsel learned in the law in that behalf. Later on the 3rd day of October after mature deliberation, he was pleased to transmit the said Statutes to be registered in the Chancellor's Court at York by the hands of John Benet, Doctor of Laws and Vicar General. The Statutes were accordingly confirmed and remained valid for over two hundred years. The Governors bound themselves to choose from time to time men of true and sound religion, fearing God and of honest conversation. In spite of these somewhat grandiose qualifications it was found necessary to make a second regulation by which each Governor on his election should protest and swear before the Vicar of Giggleswick and the rest of the Governors to be true and faithful towards the School and its emoluments and profits and not to purloin or take away any of the commodities of the same, whereby it might be impoverished or impaired in any respect. The third paragraph provided for the election of a new governor in case of a vacancy occurring through removal from the district or "if any of them be convicted of any notorious cryme:" in his place was to be chosen a godly, discreet, and sober person. Once, at least, every half-year they were to visit the School and examine the labours of the Master and Usher and also the proceedings of the Scholars in good literature. If any fault was to be found in the observation of the Statutes on the part of the Master or Usher or Scholars, the Governors had the right, of admonishing the offenders and if after admonition twice given amendment was not made, they could remove them. On the other hand the control of the Master over the Scholars was not absolute, but was shared with the Governors. Finally they were to see to the revenues of the School, and to pay stipends to the Master and Usher, "neither shall they make any wilful waste of the profits but be content with a moderate allowance, when they are occupied about the business of the said School." THE MASTER. The Master was to be a man fearing God, of true religion and godly conversation, not given to dicing, carding, or any other unlawful games. These Statutes were the outcome of custom and it is not unreasonable to suppose that while such general expressions as true religion and godly conversation represented the national feeling of the time, particular prohibitions of dicing and carding had reference to special weaknesses of the contemporary Master. Thus at Dronfield in 1579 the Master was particularly enjoined not to curse or revile his scholars. The three following clauses refer to the instruction of the Scholars in godly Authors for Christian Religion, and other meet and honest Authors for more Knowledge of the Liberal Sciences. He shall once every week catechize his Scholars in the Knowledge of the Christian Religion and other godly Duties to the end their Obedience in Life may answer to their proceedings in godly Literature. He shall not teach them any unsavoury or Popish doctrines or infect their young wits with heresies. He shall not use in the School any language to his Scholars which be of riper years and proceedings but only the Latin, Greek or Hebrew, nor shall he willingly permit the use of the English Tongue to them which are or shall be able to speak Latin. These are regulations typical of the century and we shall return to them more fully on a later page. Giggleswick was a free school but it was clearly not intended to be only a local school, for the Master was to teach indifferently, that is to say, impartially, the Poor as well as the Rich, and the Parishioner as well as the Stranger, and, as they shall profit in learning, so he shall prefer them, without respect of persons. Vacations were to consist of two weeks at Easter, three weeks at Christmas, and three weeks to be by the said Master appointed when he thinketh it most convenient for his Scholars to be exercised in writing under a Scrivener for their better exercise in that faculty; provided that he could also upon any convenient occasion grant an intermission from study, in any afternoon, whensoever he seeth the same expedient or necessary. He himself could not be absent at any other time above six days, in any one quarter without the special license of the Governors. For these pains and labours he was to receive as recompense the yearly stipend of twenty marks or £13 6_s._ 8_d._ of lawful English money, to be paid twice in the year in equal portions at the feast of S. Peter Advincula and at the feast of the Purification of Our Lady. Lastly he was not to "begyne to teache or dismiss the schoole without convenient prayers and thankesgyveing in that behalfe publiquely to be used." THE USHER. The Usher likewise was to be a man "of sounde religion and sober lyfe and able to train up the youth in godliness and vertue:" obedient to the Master and directed by him in his teaching. Every year he was to prefer one whole form or "seedge" to the Master's erudition and if they failed, he would stand subject to censure from the Master and Governors. He was not to absent himself more than four days in any quarter without license from the Master and Governors and in the absence of the Master was to supply his office. For this he received just half the former's yearly stipend, or £6 13_s._ 4_d._, to be paid in equal portions twice in the year. Together they had to begin work every morning at 6-30, "if they shall see it expedient," and continue till 11-0 a.m. Then they had a rest till 1-0 o'clock, after which they worked till 5-0 p.m.; except during the winter season when the times of beginning of the school and dismissing of the same shall be left to the discretion of the Master. They could with the assent of the Archbishop of York and upon admonition twice given be expelled from their office or upon one admonition or two be fined or censured according to the quality of their offence. THE SCHOLARS. The Governors alone, with the consent of the Master, could expulse a Scholar for rebelliously and obstinately withstanding the Master or Usher; but if any scholar, upon proof first had, should be found altogether negligent or incapable of learning, at the discretion of the Master he could be returned to his friends to be brought up in some other honest trade and exercise of life. They could not be absent without leave: and if they did not obey the two Prepositors, by the Master to be appointed for order and quietness in the School they were to be subject to the severe censure of the Master or Usher. Lastly if they behaved themselves irreverently at home or abroad towards their parents, friends, or any others whatsoever, or complained of correction moderately given them by the Master or Usher, they were to be severely corrected for the same. The stipends of the Master and Usher were not wholly ungenerous. Mulcaster, who had founded Merchant Taylors' School and had two hundred and fifty boys under his charge received only £10: at Rotherham the Grammar Master received £10 15_s._ 4_d._; this was in 1483 but it was extremely good pay for the period. Even Eton College which had a revenue of over £1,000 at the time of Edward VI's Chantry Commissioners' Report was only paying its Schoolmaster £10. It is true that these Schools had also a varying number of boys paying small fees, but such additional income was not part of the foundation. For Giggleswick with a revenue of £20 (exclusive of the King's rent of £3 3_s._) and a further possible revenue of £30, to pay the whole of its £20 as a stipend to the Headmaster and Usher was a distinctly liberal proceeding. The discretionary power of the Master with regard to the discipline of the School appears to be greatly limited. He is bidden appoint two prepositors, he is even advised as to some particular occasions on which he shall correct the scholars. But these regulations probably only codify existing custom, and in practice, no doubt, the Master would find himself almost entirely free from control. Nevertheless such regulations were not without their danger. [Illustration: Decoration] [Illustration: Decoration] CHAPTER III. Schools and their Teaching in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. From the fifteenth century at least the local Grammar School was the normal place of education for all classes but the highest. In 1410 an action for trespass was brought by two masters of Gloucester Grammar School against a third master, who had set up an unlicensed school in the town and "whereas they used to take forty pence or two shillings a quarter, they now only took twelve pence," and therefore they claimed damages. In the course of the argument the Chief Justice declared that "if a man retains a Master in his house to teach his children, he damages the common Master of the town, but yet he will have no action." Instances such as this tend to shew that it was the exception for boys to be taught either at home by a private tutor or under a man other than the Public Schoolmaster. In England, Schools, from the first, that is from their introduction together with Christianity, had been exclusively ecclesiastical institutions and were under ecclesiastical authority and regulation. In 1215 the Fourth Lateran Council had said that there should be a Schoolmaster in every Cathedral, and that he should be licensed by the Bishop. In 1290 at Canterbury the Master had even the power of excommunicating his Scholars. At a later date many chantry priests by the founder's direction, a few voluntarily undertook the task of teaching. In 1547 they were compelled to do so by a law, which after a year was rendered nugatory by the confiscation of Chantries. In 1558 Elizabeth ordained that every Schoolmaster and Teacher should take the oath, not only of Supremacy but also of Allegiance. Even after the Reformation they had still to get the Bishop's license and this continued till the reign of Victoria, save for a brief period during the Commonwealth, when County Committees and Major-Generals took the responsibility. The curriculum in Schools at the beginning of the sixteenth century consisted of what was called the Trivium, Grammar, Dialectic, and Rhetoric. The Quadrivium or Music, Arithmetic, Geometry and Astronomy, was relegated to the Universities and only pursued by very few. In 1535 Henry VIII wished "laten, greken, and hebrewe to be by my people applied and larned." Latin was not in those days a mere method of training the youthful mind, it was much more a practically useful piece of knowledge. It was a standard of communication and a storehouse of phrases. It was taught in the most approved fashion, as a language to be spoken to fit them, as Brinsley says, "if they shall go beyond the seas, as gentlemen who go to travel. Factors for merchants and the like." Almost every boy learned his Latin out of the same book. Lily's Grammar was ordered to supplant all others in 1540. The smallest local Grammar Schools had much the same text-books and probably as good scholars as Eton or Winchester or Westminster. The Master and Scholars must not talk any language other than Latin, Greek or Hebrew according to the Giggleswick Statutes, and at Eton and Westminster the same rule applied; at those Schools any boy discovered talking English was punished with the name of Custos, a title which involved various unpleasant duties. Greek and Hebrew are both in the Giggleswick curriculum. Hallam says that in 1500 not more than three or four persons could be mentioned, who had any tincture of Greek. Colet, in his re-foundation Statutes of S. Paul's School ordained that future Headmasters "must be learned in good and clean Latin Literature" and also "in Greek, if such may be gotten." But towards the close of the century Greek had become well-established. Durham introduced it in 1593, the Giggleswick Statutes imply its use in 1592, and Camden, Headmaster of Westminster, in 1597 brought out a Greek Grammar, which became as universal as Lily's Latin Grammar. Of Hebrew there are few records, and none at Giggleswick, it was probably allotted very little time, and certainly at the Universities, it was for long at a very low ebb. With regard to English very little was done. Erasmus was responsible for a slightly wider outlook and he encouraged History in Latin books and in a less degree Geography as a method of illustration. Mulcaster who published his book "Positions" in 1561 deplored the fact that education still began with Latin, although religion was no longer "restrained to Latin." The Giggleswick Statutes set it forth that the Master shall instruct his scholars--for more knowledge of the Liberal Sciences and catechize them every week in the knowledge of Christian Religion. If the Liberal Sciences were the appointed task, and, if in addition, he must speak Latin or Greek or Hebrew, the boy of 1592, long as his school hours undoubtedly were, would be well occupied. We have no evidence on the point, but we can conjecture from other sources the nature of the knowledge of Christian Religion that they were expected to have. The Primer was the layman's service-book, and consisted largely of matter taken from the Horæ or Hours of the Blessed Virgin Mary: This litel child his litel book lerninge, As he sat in the scole at his prymer. In 1545 Henry VIII had issued a new edition in consequence of the Reformation and he now set it forth as the only edition to be used, and emphasized the importance of learning in the vernacular, the Pater Noster--Ave Maria--Creed--and Ten Commandments. The Primer was a book of devotion, the Catechism was rather a summary of doctrines. Alexander Nowell, Dean of S. Paul's and possibly a brother of the Giggleswick John Nowell had published a Catechism in 1570, which supplanted all others even those "sett fourth by the Kinges majesties' authoritie for all scolemaisters to teache," and it was Nowell's Catechism that the School Statutes expected to be used. The Bible was not definitely a school subject till 1604, and although it was in earlier use in some places of education, there is no mention of it at Giggleswick. There is however one more religious aspect of school life that was very general and is mentioned in these particular Statutes. The Master shall not begin to teache or dismiss the School without convenient Prayers and Thanksgivings. The Prayers would probably consist of the Ten Commandments, the Lord's Prayer, and the Creed. Of Grace there is no mention, but in 1547 Edward VI had issued injunctions that "All Graces to be said at dinner and supper shall be always said in the English Tongue." Every year the Master was allowed to appoint three weeks for the boys to be exercised in writing under a Scrivener. There were in Yorkshire peripatetic Scriveners, who used to wander from school to school and teach them for a few weeks in the year, after which the writing in the school would be neglected. At Durham School the writing had to be encouraged by a system of prizes, by which the best writer in the class would receive every Saturday all the pens and paper of his fellows in the form. St. Bees Grammar School in 1583 tried a similar system from another point of view, they paid the Usher 4_d._ yearly for every boy "that he shall teach to write, so long as he takes pains with them." But paper was a very great expense; for by the year 1600 there were only two paper factories in England and the price for small folio size was nearly 4_d._ a quire. Writing indeed was only beginning to be common in the schools, it had long been looked upon merely as a fine art and for ordinary purposes children had been taught by means of sand spread over a board. Henceforward steps are taken all over England to ensure its teaching; at first the expert, the Scrivener, goes round from school to school, but later the ability of the Ushers improves and no longer need they fear the competition of a rival, they begin to teach the boys themselves and writing becomes a part of the ordinary curriculum. It will be recognized that there is a central motive of religion pervading the teaching and conduct of schools towards the close of the sixteenth century, and in the seventeenth, as there always had been. "We have filled our children's bones with sin" says Hezekiah Woodward, "and it is our engagement to do all we can to root out that which we have been a means to root in so fast." A more serious spirit was abroad. The young man was to abstain from singing or humming a tune in company "especially if he has an unmusical or rough voice." Schoolmasters were to abstain from "dicing and carding," scholars from misdemeanour and irreverent behaviour towards others. Latin, Greek and Hebrew, became the "holy languages" because they were so closely allied with the Sacred Scriptures. Throughout education a deeper sense of the value of religious teaching, a deeper conviction that sin was detestable, a greater respect for outward sobriety fastened upon the minds of those who were responsible for education, and the children whom they trained grew up to be the fathers and mothers of the intense enthusiasts, who enforced religious freedom by the execution of their King. CHAPTER IV. Christopher Shute and Robert Dockray, 1599-1642. Christopher Shute was appointed Vicar of Giggleswick in 1576. He had been a Sizar of Pembroke Hall, Cambridge, in 1561 and graduated B.A. in 1564, M.A. 1568, and B.D. in 1580. He was a writer on religious subjects and published "A Compendious Forme and Summe of Christian Doctrine, meete for well-disposed Families" and among other writings "A verie Godlie and necessary Sermon preached before the young Countess of Cumberland in the North, the 24th of November, 1577." After he had been appointed Vicar of Giggleswick by Queen Elizabeth, he took a very sincere interest in the fortunes of the School, and at his suggestion and Henry Tennant's the Statutes of 1592 were set forth. In 1599 he began a Minute-Book to record "all constitutions, orders, eleccions, decrees, statutes, ordinances, graunts, accounts, reckenninges and rents for the free Grammar Schoole of Giggleswick of the donacion and grant of the most famous king of late memorie, Edward the Sixt by the grace of God, King of England, Fraunce, Ireland, etc. Beginning the five and twentieth daie of March, Anno Domini, 1599. Annoque regni Reginæ Elizabethæ etc. quadragesimo primo." These being Governors: CHRISTOPHER SHUTE, Vicar. JOHN CATTERALL. HENRIE TENNANT. ANTHONY WATSONNE. RICHARD CHEWE. THOMAS BANKES. HENRIE SOMERSCALES. RICHARD FRANCLAUND. He did not give the book definitely until 1604 "ad usum legum, decretorum, electionum, compitorum," and there are no entries in it between the years 1599 and 1603. The period during which Christopher Shute was a Governor was marked by great prosperity in the fortunes of the School. During the first twenty years of the new century, many rich gifts were received. The first of these that is recorded is in 1603 when John Catterall, Esquire, of Newhall, leased to his fellow Governors a meadow in Rathmell for "their only use and behoof" for twenty-one years; the Governors leased it in their turn for an annual rent of 33_s._ 4_d._ and eventually, though the exact date is not mentioned, John Catterall bought it back for a fixed sum of £13 6_s._ 8_d._ and an annual rent of 33_s._ 4_d._ as the former lessee had not paid his rent. In 1603 also, William Clapham, Vicar of "Runtoun in the county of Northfolke by his last will and testament bearing daite the fyft day of July, 1603," bequeathed to the schoole the patronage, free gift and advowson of the Churches and Rectories of Fulmodestone, Croxton and Rolleston in the county of Norfolk, "And the yearlie pension or porcionn paiable out of them of iiij_li._ viij_s._ viij_d._ I will that iiij_li._ thereof be yearlie for ever imploied towards the maytaynance or fynding of a poore scholer of the said schoole of Gigleswick, being of the said parish of Gigleswicke or Clapham, to be kept to Learning in somme Colledge in Cambridge: Provided alwaies and my will is that he shall be one of the Claphams or Claphamsons, if there shall be anie of those names meete and fitte theirfore, and to have the said yearly allowance of iiij_li._ for the space of seaven yeares, if he continue and abide in Cambridge so long." ... "And the other viij_s._ viij_d._ I will that the one half theirof shall be bestowed yearlie toward a potacionn amongst the poore schollers of the same schoole, for the tyme being one Saincte Gregories daie, and the other half distributed amongst the poore of the said parish of Gigleswick yearlie on Easter daie for ever, to be ordered, governed and distributed from tyme to tyme by the Feoffees, overseers, governors, and rulers of the said Schoole for the tyme being, whereof one to be a Clapham if their be anie of the name in the same parish meet for that office." Potations, thus provided for by William Clapham, were common to many schools and were gifts of food and beer by the Master to the Scholars, who in their turn were expected to bring gifts of money and thus enable the Master of a Free School to get an addition to his pay. At Nottingham Dame Mellers in 1512 did "straitlye enjoyne that the Scholemaister, and Usshers, nor any of them, have, make, nor use any potacions, cock-fighte or drinking with his or their wiffe at wiffes' hoost or hoostices, but only twice in the yeare nor take any other giftes or avayles, whereby the Schollers or their Frendes should be charged, but at the playsure of the frends of the Scholers, save the wages to be payde by the sayde Gardyans." On the other hand in the Hartlebury School Statutes, 1565, it is written "the said Schoolmaster shall ... take the profitts of all such Cocke-fights and potations as be comonlie used in Scholes." At Cambridge "they have a potation of Figgs, Reasons and Almons, Bonnes and Beer at the charge of the sayed Determiners." Such was the custom and William Clapham evidently intended by his gift of 4_s._ 4_d._ to relieve the Master from the expense and allow the gifts to be pure profit. Unfortunately no record has been traced of any gifts though there are entries in the Minute-Books of payment of expenses on March 12, 1626, "charges this day vi_s._ vi_d._," which probably refer to the expenditure upon the scholars. Such mention is quite exceptional up till the close of the seventeenth century. The usual accounts are much briefer, giving no details of expenditure but mentioning the balance only _e.g._ "their remaineth in the hands of John Banks fifty-eight pounds eighteen shillings sixpence." In time Clapham's bequest increased in value and was reckoned in the Exhibition Account. Certainly from 1767 the Exhibition Account gave something towards the cost of the Potation. In 1767 it was £1 7_s._ 0_d._, in 1770, 11_s._ 3_d._ In 1782 it becomes a fixed sum of £1 10_s._ 4_d._ and the Governors make up the rest from another account. In one year 1769 it was regarded as a joint expenditure by the Governors and Masters. During the last twenty years of the eighteenth century the expenditure averaged £2 10_s._ 0_d._ In 1814 it was £8 1_s._ 2_d._, thus proving independently that the numbers of the School must have increased considerably. In 1839 figs and bread are mentioned as having been bought and the Charity Commissioners' Report of 1825 says that beer had ceased to be provided. The figs and bread continued to be distributed till 1861, after which the practice ceased. The Scholarship to "some colledge in Cambridge" was gradually merged with other gifts in a general Exhibition Account and it is only rarely possible to distinguish a holder of the Clapham Exhibition. Indeed £4 was not a luxurious sum as time went on. On June 29th, 1604 Henry Tennant of Cleatopp, who had already shewn himself eager for the welfare of the School by supporting the petition of Christopher Shute for the confirmation of the Statutes, gave £100 to the Governors of the School. With this money they were to buy lands or rent charges "to and for such use, purpose and intent that the yearly revenues, yssues, and profittes ... shall and maie be by them ... emploied first for and towardes the better mantaynance of Josias Shute, one of the sonnes of the said Christopher Shute, in Cambridge, until such tyme as he shall be admitted to be Master of Arts in the said Universitie, and from yeare to yeare for ever for and towards the releiving and mantayninge of such schollers within the Universitie of Cambridge, one after another successivelie, as shall be naturallie borne within the said parish of Giggleswick and instructed and brought upp to learning at the said free Grammer Schoole, and as shall be elected and chosen out of the said Schoole by the Master and Governors ... to be fitt for that purpose." Each one was to receive the money until he became Master of Arts, so long as he did not defer the time beyond the customary limit nor remove nor discontinue his place. This gift Tennant confirmed in his will of July 5 in the same year with a further gift of all his lands and hereditaments in Settle and the "ancient yearlie rent of five shillings be it more or lesse." This was to "go towards the procuringe and obtayninge of an Exhibicioun for a poore scholler or seizer in somme one Colledge in Cambridge until ... he shall or may be Bachelor of Arts.... The same poore scholler to be borne within the parish of Giggleswick and brought upp at the schoole their att learninge and to be elected ... by the Maister and Governors." Clapham's advowsons and rent-charge were sold by the Governors on June 20, 1604, to "one Symon Paycock, of Barney, and Robart Claphamson, of Hamworth, in the countie of Northfolk, clarke" in consideration of the payment of one hundred marks and the lands in Settle left by Henry Tennant were sold to Antonie Procter, of Cleatopp, on January 14, 1604 for £40. These two sums together with Henry Tennant's former gift of £100 helped to make up £240, with which the Governors on January 19, 1609, bought a rent-charge of £14 13_s._ 4_d._, which has been paid them ever since. Being a rent-charge, it is not liable to fluctuation. The first elections were made on February 14, 1604. Josias Shute did not take his B.A. degree till 1605 nor his M.A. till 1609, so that the clause in Henry Tennant's will referring to him still held and he was receiving the interest on £100, but there is also the interest on the lands in Settle which had been sold for £40 and were bringing in £4 yearlie. Thomas, one of the sons of Christopher Shute, and Alexander Bankes, of Austwick, in the parish of Clapham (also a relative of one of the Governors) were elected to the two Exhibitions. But as Clapham's money continued for seven yeares, they were each to receive £4 a year for four years and to divide the Clapham Exhibition during the next three years, if both continued in the University. This was done "for their better mantaynance and to take awaie emulation." Thereafter elections were frequently made, until the merging of the funds in the general foundation of the School by the scheme of 1872. In 1507, the half-acre of land on which James Carr, capellanus, had built his school had been leased for seventy-nine years for a yearly rent of "xij_d._ of good and lawfull moneye of England," and when the seventy-nine years were up, the lease was to be renewable on a payment of 6_s._ 8_d._ Clearly it had been renewed in 1586 but no record remains. In 1610 "on the ffourteenth daie of December, Sir Gervysse Helwysse and Sir Richard Williamson were owners in ffee farme of the Rectorie and Parsonage of Giglesweke." Durham had ceased to possess it, on the Confiscation of Finchale Priory, and in 1601 Robert Somerskayles had bought it of the Crown. Sir Gervysse Helwysse and Sir Richard Williamson "in consideracion of a certeyne somme of money to them in hand paid, but especially at the request and mediacion of the said Christofer Shutt" sold "all that house comonly called the Schoolehouse in Giglesweke afforesaid and that close adioyneing therto, called the Schoolehouse garth, parcell of the said Rectorye." The amount of the "certeyne somme of monye" is not declared. The land now belonged to the School, but the xij_d._ yearly had still to be paid as part of the fee farm rent, payable for the Rectory to the King's majesty. The next important bequest comes from Richard Carr, Vicar of Hockleigh in Essex, who died in 1616. He was a great-grandson of the brother of James, the founder of the School. The family interest was maintained and at his death he left a house in Maldon, called Seely House Grove, with all its appurtenances to his wife Joan and after her death to the "Societye, Companie and Corporation of Christe Colledge in Cambridge." He also bequeathed direct to the College "a tenement at Hackwell alias Hawkwell in the Countie of Essex called Mount Bovers or Munde Bovers." These lands "during the naturall life of my foresaid wife, Joane" were to be used for the provision of five Scholarships at £5 apiece and after the death of Joane the whole estate was to provide eight Scholarships at £5, and two Fellowships at twenty marks (£13 6_s._ 8_d._) apiece. The Scholarships were to continue until the holder had time to "commence Master of Arts," if he abode so long, and the Fellowships until they had time to "commence Bachelor of Divinitie." The Scholars had to be born in the parish of Giggleswick or be children "lawfullie begotten of my brother-in-law, Robert Thornton and my sister Jeanet, his wife, in the parish of Clapham and of their children's posteritie for ever." They must have been brought up in the free School of Giggleswick and were to be "chosen from the poorer sort though they be not altogether so learned, as other scholars, who have richer friends." If any of the founder's kin were not immediately ready for the Scholarship, it could be held over for one year and the amount for that year distributed among the Sizars of the College. Never more than four of his kin might hold the Scholarship at one time. The Fellowships were to be offered to his two nephews "Richard Carr, now of Peterhouse, and Robert Thornton, of Jesus Colledge in Cambridge." If they should be unable to accept them the "Maister and Fellowes of Christe Colledge" shall elect fellows from the number only of those "who have or at least have had some of the aforesaid scholarships and none other to be capable of them." The College Authorities were asked to provide convenient chambers and studies for both Fellows and Scholars and to account them as Fellows and Scholars of the College. In consequence of the provision that the Scholars were to be elected from "the poorer sort" an agreement was made in 1635 by which those elected were allowed to receive the £5 and yet go to another College. For £5 was quite inadequate and at Christ's "by reason of the poverty of the holders, no Fellow is found willing to undertake for them as a Tutor in respect of the hazard thereof." Tempest Thornton is the only name recorded as a Giggleswick Fellow and he held office in 1625. The reason why no other was ever elected is given in a letter from Thomas Atherton, Fellow of Christ's, written May 29, 1718, to Richard Ellershaw, Vicar of Giggleswick, in which he says that it was "owing to our having lost that part of the Estate thus bequeathed us called Seely House Grove, which was sued for and recovered a great while ago by some or other that laid claim to it." The farms in Hockley and Maldon are still in their possession and one of them retains its name, Munde Bowers. Never more than six Scholarships a year had been given and in 1718 the income was £31 a year. In 1890 there were apparently two Carr Exhibitions of £50 a year each, while at the present day there is one of £50 tenable for three years, but it is possible that in a few years another Exhibition may be given occasionally. In 1619 the term of Christopher Shute's Headmastership drew to a close. He resigned and his place was taken by the Rev. Robert Dockray. It cannot be ascertained how long Shute had been Master, for the earliest expenditure which is entered in the Minute-Book was in 1615 and therein: Item: to Mr. Shute and Mr. Claphamson for monie that was behind of their wages £1 17 4 This entry establishes the fact that one Christopher Shute was Master in 1615 and the receipts continue in his name for four years until 1619. Tradition says that the Vicar and Master were one and the same person, but there are certain difficulties in the way. In the first place the Vicar was over seventy years of age, secondly there is no Grace Book or extant contemporary writing or extract from the Parish Registers, in which he is called both Vicar and Master. Thirdly, the Vicar's son, Josias, is said to have been educated by his father, until he was of an age to go to the Grammar School. On the other hand Shute may have undertaken the work of the Master for a few years only and owing to some especial necessity, which has not been recorded. Secondly there is no record of any Christopher Shute, other than the Vicar, who in 1615 could have acted as Master. Nathaniel Shute had a son Christopher, who was later a Fellow of Christ's, Cambridge, but at this date he was still a boy. Thirdly the signatures in the Minute-Book of both Master and Vicar are very similar. The year 1619 is the latest date at which the Vicar took any active part in the advancement of the School and his work may be briefly summarised. With Henry Tennant, he had petitioned Archbishop Piers for his assent to the Statutes, which they had drawn up. In 1599 he had procured a parchment-covered book, which he called "Liber Christopheri Shute et amicorum" and in 1604 he presented it to the School. The book contains elections of Scholars, elections of Governors, Accounts, Receipts, etc.; it is not full of important matter, but is rather a bare record of certain facts. In 1610 he was responsible with Robert Bankes and John Robinson for the purchase of the land on which the School stood, and during his mastership the Clapham, Tennant and Carr bequests were made. Such benefactions in themselves denote the fame of the School, and the result of its teaching is seen in the pupils it sent forth. Nathaniel Shute was born at Giggleswick "his father, Christopher Shute being the painful Vicar thereof." He was educated at the School and went thence to Christ's College, Cambridge; he became a most excellent scholar and solid preacher, though nothing of his work remains save the Corona Caritatis, a sermon preached at the funeral of Master Fishbourn. He died in 1638. Josias Shute, born in 1588, was the brother of Nathaniel and from Giggleswick went on to Trinity College, Cambridge. In 1611 he became Rector of S. Mary Wolnoth, Lombard Street, and remained there over thirty years. He was "the most precious jewell ever seen in Lombard Street," but suffered much during the civil disturbances of the reign. Charles I made him Archdeacon of Colchester in 1642, and he died on June 14, 1643. His funeral sermon was preached by Ephraim Udall. [Illustration: REV. JOSIAS SHUTE, B.D.] He was a skilled Hebrew scholar a language which he had probably begun to study at Giggleswick, and he left many manuscripts which were posthumously published by his brother Timothy. While he was still at Cambridge, he had enjoyed the interest on £100 given by Henry Tennant and in gratitude therefor and for other benefits received at the School he left to the Governors by a will dated June 30, 1642, certain parcels of land in the parish of Giggleswick, called Eshton Close, Cappleriggs Close and Huntwait Fields. The rent of these fields was to be apportioned in two ways. Five pounds was to be given yearly to the maintaining of a poor Scholar of the parish, who had been educated in the School, at either University until he became Master of Arts. The remainder of the rent was to be distributed amongst the poor of Giggleswick, who were most pious and had most need. The land increased in value greatly. In 1683 the rent amounted to £6 8_s._ 0_d._, and in 1697 £7 5_s._ 10_d._ Seventy years later it had almost doubled and in 1806 it was £34 6_s._ 0_d._ In the latter year the Governors effected an exchange. Huntwait was given up for Tarn Brow and the rent rose five pounds. In spite of this gradual increase in value, the Governors only allotted the five pounds to the Exhibition Fund, the rest went to the poor of Giggleswick, to be distributed on the day of the Purification of the Virgin Mary. The five pounds was as a rule paid as an extra Exhibition in addition to the sum received from the Burton rent-charge, which had been bought with the money left by William Clapham and Henry Tennant, and the recipients were often especially mentioned as poor, notably in 1652 and again in 1673. On December 13, 1872, Tarn Brow was sold for £1,000 and apportioned to pay part of the cost of the buildings which were then being erected. The Governors were directed to pay three-and-a-half per cent. interest on the sum expended. Cappleriggs was let for £20 a year and Eshton for £11. The whole income now arising from these sources is applied in providing certain boys with total exemptions from payment of tuition fees and the costs of books and stationery: they are called Shute Exhibitions and are offered in the first instance to boys who are in attendance at a Public Elementary School in the ancient parish of Giggleswick. Christopher Shute had three other sons who were all ministers of the Church and were "all great (though not equal) Lights, set up in fair Candlesticks." He had done his duty as a Father, he had more than done his duty as Vicar and Governor. It is unfortunate that there is no portrait of him, for it would then be possible to discern the scholarly and courtly grace of the man under whom the School more than it had ever done before or was to do again until the nineteenth century flourished and prospered and grew notable. He died, still Vicar and Governor, in 1626. "Happy a father who had his quiver full with five such sons." The Rev. Robert Dockray succeeded in 1619 as Master, and Henry Claphamson, who had been Usher certainly since 1615, possibly earlier though no records exist, continued in the office. The pay of both had increased since 1592. The Ancient Statutes of that date give the stipend of the Master as twenty marks (£13 6_s._ 8_d._), and of the Usher as £6 13_s._ 4_d._, with power to the Governors to increase it. It cannot be ascertained when a change was made but in the half-year Accounts for 1617 there occurs the entry: Item: to the Maister and Usher, xv_li._ Robert Dockray and Henry Claphamson never received less than £20 and £10 yearly apiece after 1619. In 1629 they received an additional gratuity, the Master, of twenty nobles, _i.e._ £6 13_s._ 4_d._ and the Usher, of £3 6_s._ 8_d._ The School went on its uneventful way. Dockray, the Master, became Vicar and made his protestation as an ex-officio Governor in 1632. In August, 1635, Christopher Lascelles, of Ripon, gentleman, received £20 in consideration of some request he made concerning troubles which he had been put to but which he does not specify. For the rest Governors succeeded Governors, Scholars were sent to the University with aid from the Exhibition money, Master and Usher receipted their wages each half year. The year 1640, is the last in which Robert Dockray appears as a Governor and his last receipt for his wages is dated March of the same year. Henry Claphamson succeeded to his work temporarily for eighteen weeks, receiving 10_s._ 3_d._ a week, but himself died before August 1642. Anthony Lister, the Vicar, taught for just over six months at the same rate, and on August 25, 1642, the Rev. Rowland Lucas had earned £9 12_s._ 0_d._ as "head scoulmaster." The Usher's place was taken by William son of Thomas Wilsonne, "Agricolæ" in Giggleswick. He had been at the School for ten years under Mr. Dockray and at the age of eighteen had gone up to S. John's, Cambridge, as a Sizar in 1639. Thence he went back to his old School in 1642 and remained there for twenty-four years. CHAPTER V. 1642--1712. The Rev. Rowland Lucas was a native of Westmorland and had been educated at Kirkby under Mr. Leake. In 1626 he was admitted to Christ's College, Cambridge, as a Sizar and took his B.A. in three years and his M.A. in 1633. Before he came to Giggleswick he had been Headmaster of Heversham. In 1643 his salary was increased to forty marks and in 1645 to £40, and during his six years many scholars went to Cambridge and won distinction in the world, such as Thomas Dockray and John Carr. At his death in 1648, William Wilsonne, the Usher, supplied his place for a few weeks and later William Walker was elected. He was a native of Giggleswick and had been a boy at the School under Mr. Lucas. In 1643 at the age of eighteen he was admitted as a Sizar at Christ's and commenced B.A. 1646-7 and later M.A. The numbers of the School at this period are quite uncertain. The accommodation was slight and the teaching staff limited to the Master and Usher, but the boys were probably packed very close. During the nine years of his mastership, boys were steadily sent to Cambridge. Christ's alone admitted twenty-five and in one single year (1652) three others entered S. John's. These boys were sons of really poor men. John Cockett in 1651 was the first recorded receiver of the Shute Exhibition of £5, and in the next year it was given to Josias Dockray, son of the late Master, "whom we conceive to be a poore scoller of our parish." Both these boys became ordained and in time were appointed to one or more livings. For a century and a half Giggleswick fed Christ's with a steady stream of boys who almost without exception entered the service of the Church. Seventeenth century Giggleswick took no heed of the progress of the School and records do not abound. It was a disturbed period in English history and political and religious troubles occupied men's minds to the exclusion of lesser matters. Giggleswick was nevertheless well-known, for in 1697 Abraham de la Prynne records in his diary an anecdote of a Mr. Hollins who thirty years before had lived at Giggleswick "as I remember in Yorkshire where the great school is." Apparently Anthony Lister, who was then Vicar had roused the resentment of a particular Quaker, who found himself anxious to go to the Parish Church to rebuke Lister publicly, when he began to preach. On his way thither he met a friend and told him of his intention. The man tried to dissuade him but finding argument of no avail, he asked him what induced him to choose this particular Sunday. Whereupon the Quaker replied that "the Spirit" had sent him. The rejoinder came quickly "why did the Spirit not also tell thee that one Roger and not the Vicar is preaching to-day?" There was at this period one particularly distinguished son of Giggleswick, Richard Frankland born at "Rothmelæ" (Rathmell) in 1631 who came to the School when he was nine and at the age of seventeen went as a Burton Exhibitioner to Christ's College, Cambridge. The Shute Minute-Book of 1651 has the following entry: xxj_st_ January, 1651. Received the day and yeare abovesaid from Robt. Claphamson the some of eight pounds which he received of James Smith, of Burton, for one year's rent, the which is disbursed by us as follows (to witt) to Jane ffrankland for her son, viz. xl_s._ His father John Frankland is said on his tombstone in Giggleswick Church to be one of the Franklands of "Thartilbe" (Thirkleby, near Thirsk) and he was admitted to Christ's in 1626. Richard became B.A. in 1651 and M.A. four years later. In 1653 he was "set apart" and received Presbyterian ordination. He was immediately appointed Vicar of Auckland S. Andrew by Sir Arthur Haselrig but was ejected nine years later. He was not an extreme man but he refused to be re-ordained by Bishop Cosen. After the second Conventicle Act of 1670 he made a personal appeal to Charles II, "to reform your life, your family, your kingdom and the Church." The King was much moved and replied "I thank you, Sir," and twice looking back before he went into the Council Chamber said "I thank you, Sir; I thank you." Returning to Rathmell his native place, Frankland opened an Academy, where he gave an University training in Divinity, Law or Medicine. Aristotle was taught and one tutor was a Ramist. The lectures were delivered in Latin. His pupils were not confined to any one denomination, but included Puritans, Presbyterians and Independents. [Illustration: RICHARD FRANKLAND, M.A.] Fortune smiled very grimly upon him and he was compelled to change his place of instruction on many occasions. His pupils always followed him. One Archbishop excommunicated him, another--Archbishop Sharpe--also a Christ's man, discussed the matter with the help of tobacco and a bottle of wine. Sharpe's main objection was that a second school was not required so close to Giggleswick, and an Academy for public instruction in University Learning could not lawfully receive a Bishop's license. In the main he was undisturbed during his last years and when he died in 1698 over three hundred pupils had passed through his hands and his Academy was later transferred to Manchester and in 1889 to Oxford, where it became known as the Manchester New College. During the period of Frankland's struggles with the dignitaries of the Church, one Samuel Watson, of Stainforth, who had been a Governor of Giggleswick School was in 1661 "willing being a Quaker that another should be elected in his place." Eight years later he interrupted a service in the Parish Church, and the people "brok his head upon ye seates." In 1656 William Walker resigned the mastership and for three months his place was taken by William Bradley, who had been a pensioner at S. John's, Cambridge, at the same time as the Usher, William Wilsonne. William Brigge was then elected. He was an University man and almost certainly at Cambridge, but his college is doubtful. In 1659 the Shute Scholarship was to be given "to Tho. Green's son of Stainforth, when a certificate comes of his admittance" into the University. This was a precaution that was not unnecessary. It is only rarely that the money is entered as being paid to the scholar himself: far more often is it paid to the father or mother and sometimes to the boy's college Tutor. On March 12, 1660, it is agreed "that the £5 is to be paid to Tho. Gibson, his Tutor, upon his admittance into the Collidge." In 1673, Hugh, son of Oliver Stackhouse, "being ye poorest scoller" was awarded the money. The North Cave Estate, which had been given to the School as part of its endowment in 1553, had very greatly increased in value during the hundred years to 1671, when the rents amounted to over £80. The stipends of the Masters were raised by means of a gratuity and William Brigge received £30. No reason appears why after fifteen years' service and an increased gratuity he should still be receiving £10 a year less than one of his predecessors, Rowland Lucas, in 1644. Thomas Wildeman, the Usher, received £15. Wilson had died in 1666 and one William Cowgill, of whom we know nothing, succeeded him for four years. In 1671 Wildeman took his place. One Thomas Wildeman had been at Giggleswick as a boy and had entered Magdalene, Cambridge, in 1670, and then migrated to Christ's. The dates make it possible that they are the same person, in which case he would be continuing to keep his terms at Cambridge and be acting as Usher at the same time. The Accounts of the School at this period shew the Governors in a different light. Their expenditure not having increased proportionately to their income, the surplus money was lent out at interest to the people in the village. Hugh Stackhouse, who had gone up to Christ's with school money on account of his great poverty, was at this time acting as Treasurer or Clerk and was one of the earliest to take advantage of the Governors' enterprize. He borrowed £10 at five per cent. and the debt continues to be mentioned for many years. He would appear to be a privileged debtor. The following is a typical entry in the Account Book: On March 12, 1686. Interest and Bonds for ye Schoole £ _s._ _d._ Antho. Armitstead 00 10 00 Tho. Brayshay 00 05 00 Antho. Barrows 00 05 00 Tho. Stackhouse 00 08 09 Robte. Cookson 00 10 00 Tho. Carr, of Settle, at ½ year for £20 00 10 00 Nathaniel More at £20 01 00 00 Robte. Cookson at £100 05 00 00 Hugh Stackhouse at £10 00 10 00 Mr. Wildman at £20 01 00 00 The Mr. Wildman here referred to may have been the Usher, who belonged to a Giggleswick family but had given up the post of Usher, which at this date was held by John Sparke formerly of Christ's and possibly the same as the John Sparke who was Vicar of Long Preston in 1703. William Brigge had also left in 1684 and for six months his work was taken by a former Usher, John Parkinson, who had matriculated as a Sizar at Christ's in 1676 and after taking his degree came for two years as Usher in place of Wildeman. On Brigge's death he acted as Headmaster, but whether he was definitely appointed such or was intended to be in charge for a short time only is doubtful, as he died in six months. June 12, 1685. "Mr John Armittsteade entred to ye Schole." John Armitstead was born at Long Preston in 1660, and after being at Giggleswick as a boy, he went up to Cambridge at the age of nineteen with a Burton Exhibition. He was entered as a Sizar at Christ's, and commenced B.A. in 1682-3 and M.A. 1688. The name of Armitstead has been very closely connected with the School even to the present day. Henry Roome was Usher for one quarter in 1688 and then gave place to Richard Atkinson or Akinson, whose salary varied from year to year, but never exceeded a certain limit, viz.: just half the Master's, which consisted of "ye ancient Master's Stipend" of twenty marks and a gratuity which brought it between £40 and £50. There are also small entries in places, such as: October 1, 1687. Paid to Mr. Armitstead for repairs about ye schoole loft and garden that he had laid out, as particulars may appeare, which noate of particulars he delivered to ye summe of £4 17_s._ 06_d._ In which noate theire was a Presse that stands in ye schoole chamber, it is theire to remaine to belonge to ye schoole. Richard Ellershaw, the Vicar, took a very great interest in the School, and in 1718 he wrote to Christ's College, Cambridge, seeking information about the Carr Scholarships. It was probably due to him that in 1693 two shillings was laid down for transcribing part of Carr's Will, which money "the schollars that receive Burton Exhibitions must then (i.e. 1694) allow to the school stock." One point of interest remains connected with this period: it is a curious slip of paper without date, which contains an invitation to the reader, whoever he may have been, to visit the writer J.N. in the country. It is written on the back of some of Armitstead's accounts, with an alternative version by its side, which was no doubt a revised copy of the theme after correction by the Master: Ex animo rogo ut rus venias quod cupio tuo frui sodalitio tum quia tua frequentia haud parvam ferat consolationem parentibus natu grandioribus, persuasum habeto alii qui potentiores sunt et pluribus abundant divitiis plura in te conferant beneficia sed nemo libentiori et promptiori est animo tuum promovere honorem quam humillimus servus. J.N. Permultum cupio rus venias et quod vehemens est desiderium tuo frui comercio, tum quod tua frequentia admodum esset consolabilis parentibus senilibus, certum habeto alii tum potentiores tum divitiores plura tibi faciant beneficia sed nemo et libentior et promtior est tuam ornare dignitatem quam servus humillimus. J.N. The money left to the School by Josias Shute was in part intended to be paid to the poor of the parish, together with two further sums of five shillings left by William Clapham and nine shillings by Mr. Thornton for the same purpose. It is difficult to note the payment of these sums, for they were as a rule added together and entered as "For the Poor Fund," but in 1695 there was paid to: £ _s._ _d._ John Grime Wilkinson 00 02 00 Wm. Nelson 00 01 00 Bryan Cookson 00 07 00 J Robinson 00 01 00 Mary Pert 00 01 00 Thos. Cocket 00 01 00 Ric. Harrison 00 01 00 £00 14 00 Shute's surplus was certainly given to the poor in some years but there is no consistent record and by the scheme made under the Endowed Schools Acts it ceased. In 1692 "Arthur, son of Joshua Whitaker, of Settle, appearing to us to be ye poorest schollar that stood candidate for ye said gift" was allowed the Shute Exhibition of £5. He also received £7 of the Burton Rents, and in May, 1698, as much as £9 10_s._ 0_d._ With these sums he was enabled to go to Christ's College, Cambridge, where he gained a Scholarship and by the year 1698 in March, which under the new style would be March 1699, he had returned to the School as Usher, in succession to Richard Akinson. He taught for fifteen years and received as usual, just half the Headmaster's stipend, the amount varying between £23 and £27. On March 12, 1712, the following entry occurs: "Recd of ye Governors of ye free Gramar School of Gigleswick ye sum of two pounds eighteen shillings and sixpence for ye use of my brother Wm. Foster, now Curate of Horsefield," but it turns out to be a payment of that part of the Exhibition to which he was entitled, up till the time he had left Cambridge, presumably in the previous June. John Armitstead's receipts end in 1704, and he died in 1712. It is impossible to determine the worth of a Master, when so few documents remain to judge him, but the Governors of 1768 thought fit to refer to "the artful and imperious temper of Mr. Armitstead." Their particular grievance was that in 1704 the Governors had a balance of £230 with which they purchased a farm called Keasden. This they let and its profits went to the Master and Usher, and in 1712 the "easy, complying disposition of the Governors" was persuaded to allow the Master to collect the rents of all the lands belonging to the School and simply enter a receipt "of the wages now due to us." Consequently no accounts were kept from 1704 till 1765, and because there was no reserve fund presumably no repairs were done. The Master collected the rents and with his Usher divided the spoil. He even seized the £15 which remained over from the purchase money of the Keasden farm. Nor was this all. Up to the year 1705 the Master paid for the expenses of the Governors' Meetings but in that year the Governors were persuaded to deduct sixpence in the pound from the Exhibitions given to the boys going up to the Universities. This deduction continued till the nineteenth century. Judging then from the opinions of the Governors fifty years later, John Armitstead was not wholly an altruist. It is still more unfortunate that his evil lived after him. The number of Scholars, who went up to Cambridge in his time though less than it had been, was still considerable. During his twenty-eight years, as many as twenty-seven went to Christ's alone, including the first Paley who is known to have been educated at the School. The greater proportion always went to Christ's until the last decade of the eighteenth century, but other Colleges received them also, notably at certain periods S. John's. CHAPTER VI. The Eighteenth Century. John Armitstead ceased to acknowledge the receipt of his wages in 1704 and died in 1712. Just as he had belonged to a local family and had been educated at the School and Christ's College, Cambridge, so was his successor. John Carr, A.B., late of Stackhouse, was a descendant of the original James and Richard Carr and was thus the third member of the family to hold the Mastership. He had been elected to the combined Exhibitions from the School in 1707, and after taking his degree he was ordained Deacon at York in 1713 and Priest in 1720. On June 18, 1712, as a layman and at the age of twenty-three he entered upon his duties as Master. Seven days later a relative, of what degree is uncertain, William Carr, of Langcliffe, was elected a Governor, and eight years later another William Carr, of Stackhouse, and hence probably a closer connexion, possibly his father, was also made a Governor. In 1726 George Carr was made Usher. The family circle was complete. After 1704 the position of Usher had been successively filled by Anthony Weatherhead, a former pupil of Armitstead's and a B.A. of Christ's, by Thos. Rathmell from whom there are no receipts but who died in 1712, and by Richard Thornton, who held it for fourteen years. There is no record that he was ever a member of the School as a boy, but it is a legitimate conjecture, when it is remembered that the Thorntons were an old family in the neighbourhood, and one of them figures in the Minute-Book, 1692, as having left nine shillings to the Giggleswick poor. On the day on which John Carr was elected Master he had to sign an agreement in the following terms: June 18, 1712. Conditions on which a master shall be chosen. 1. He shall observe all the statutes of the schoole. 2. And particularly the writing master shall hereafter be chosen by ye Governours at the usuall day of meeting in March and ye time to be appointed by the Master, as has been formerly practic'd. 3. That the masters shall, upon receipt of any moneys from Northcave, Rise, etc., acquaint at least one of ye Governours, when such moneys are paid to them, give the said Governour or Governours an acquittance under their hands, and ye moneys receiv'd to be entred into the schoole booke and the private acquittance given to be delivered back to the masters on the day of meeting in march aforesaid. 4. That ye masters shall take the rents of the Keasden lands, when due, and give an acquittance for the same to the Governours on the usuall day of March. 5. Whereas ye statutes enjoyn that the Governours, when they meet about ye business of ye school, shall be content with moderate charges, it is agreed that those moderate charges on ye usuall day of meeting in March shall not exceed at any one meeting the sum of one pound per Annum. To ye above written articles, I, John Carr, A.B., give my consent and promise to observe them. JOHN CARR. It cannot be explained why these regulations were made, but probably the real point of friction had lain in the collection of rents, or perhaps in the choice of the Writing Master. It is clear from the second clause that the original custom has not changed much. The Ancient Statutes of 1592 had given the Master power to appoint a three weeks vacation, when he wished, in order that the "scollers" might "be exercysed in wrytinge under a scriviner" and it is the same in 1712. It proves that, although the School was a free school and was the place of education for the whole township of Giggleswick and the surrounding neighbourhood, it was not a place for elementary education and never had been. The fifth paragraph bears reference to the agreement made with John Armitstead in 1705, by which the Masters ceased to provide the entertainment at the Governors' Meetings. Henceforward the amount to be expended is limited to one pound per annum. In 1720 Richard Thornton was allowed to act as Clerk to Charles Harris, Esq., for six months. It does not transpire who Charles Harris was, but the case is somewhat paralleled seventy years later, when in 1793 Robert Kidd is "to take the trouble of keeping accounts, etc., for the Governors and be allowed an additional sum of two guineas per annum." In 1726 Richard Thornton resigned and George Carr took his place. Nothing worthy of note is recorded until John Carr's death in 1744, save that in 1728 the said John Carr received £1 11_s._ 8_d._, "to be laid out in building a little house for ye use of ye schoole," but what it was, is not known. The number of boys going up to the Universities in Carr's time fell off unaccountably, though they included John Cookson whose entry "probe edoctus" in the Christ's College Admission Book testifies to the teaching in the School. Carr died in 1743 and was succeeded by William Paley. Born at Langcliffe, educated at the School and admitted into Christ's as a Sizar with a Burton Exhibition in 1729-30, William Paley gained a Scholarship there two years later. He became ordained and was made Vicar of Helpston, Peterborough, where his eldest son was born. He remained Vicar for sixty-four years till his death and combined the living with the Headmastership of Giggleswick and for twenty years with a Curacy at the Parish Church. His family had lived at Langcliffe for some considerable time and from 1670 to 1720 the name is never absent from the School Minute-Book. "Altogether a schoolmaster both by long habit and inclination, irritable and a disciplinarian. Cheerful and jocose, a great wit, rather coarse in his language," Such is his grandson's description of him. "And when at the age of eighty-three or eighty-four he was obliged to have assistance (which was long before he wanted it in his own opinion) he used to be wheeled in a chair to his School: and even in the delirium of his last sickness insisted on giving his daughters a Greek author, over which they would mumble and mutter to persuade him that he was still hearing his boys Greek." "He was found sitting in the hayfield among his workpeople, or sitting in his elbow-chair nibbling his stick, or with the tail of his damask gown rolled into his pocket busying himself in his garden even at the age of eighty." In 1742 he married Elizabeth Clapham, of Stackhouse, who was also a member of an old Giggleswick family. She is said to have ridden on horseback behind her husband from Stackhouse to Peterborough. She was the most affectionate and careful of parents, a little, shrewd-looking, keen-eyed woman of remarkable strength of mind and spirits, one of those positive characters that decide promptly and execute at once, of a sanguine and irritable temper that led her to be always on the alert in thinking and acting. She also had a fortune of £400, which in this neighbourhood was almost sufficient to confer the title of an heiress (_Some Craven Worthies_). [Illustration: ARCHDEACON PALEY.] Their son was William Paley, Archdeacon of Carlisle and author of "Evidences of Christianity." Born in 1744 he went to Christ's College at the age of fifteen, with a Burton Exhibition and received a Carr Scholarship, when he entered. As a boy he had been a fair scholar with eccentric habits. His great delight was in cock-fighting and he must have looked forward to each Potation Day, March 12, with considerable joy. There are many anecdotes about him. He is supposed, whilst in company with his father riding on his way to Cambridge to have fallen off his horse seven times, whereupon his father would merely call out "take care of thy money, lad." His mind was always original, indeed he was never regarded as a "safe" man and in consequence he did not attain that high position in the Church that his intellectual achievements entitled him to expect. When about to take his B.A. degree he proposed to write a thesis on "Aeternitas poenarum contradicit divinis attributis," but the Master of Christ's was so distressed that Paley was induced to appease him by the insertion of a "non." In 1765 he gained the Member's Prize as Senior Bachelor with a Latin essay which had long English notes. One of the examiners condemned it, because "he supposed the author had been assisted by his father, some country clergyman, who having forgotten his Latin had written the notes in English." Powell, the Master of S. John's, a learned doctor and the oracle of Cambridge on every question concerning subscription to the faith, spoke warmly in its favour "it contained more matter than was to be found in all the others ... it would be unfair to reject such a dissertation on mere suspicion, since the notes were applicable to the subject and shewed the author to be a young man of the most promising abilities and extensive reading." This opinion turned the balance in Paley's favour (_Baker's History of S. John's_). It also justified the father's opinion of his son. For when the younger Paley went to Cambridge, his father exclaimed that he would be "a great man, a very great man: for he has by far the cleverest head I ever met with in my life." He became Senior Wrangler. The highest position he attained in the Church was the Archdeaconry of Carlisle, though he could have become Master of S. John's College, Cambridge, if an University life had attracted him, but it never did. He had left it, while quite young, to become Rector of Musgrave, Cumberland, at £80 a year. In 1805 he died, Giggleswick's most distinguished son. William Paley was soon to discover the nature of the Governing Body. Charles Nowell, one of the kin of the second founder, was confined in Lancaster Gaol for some offence which is not recorded and there results a neat little comedy: April 25, 1745. Willm. Banks, of Feizer, elected in the room of Charles Nowell, of Capleside (now being and having been long confined in Lancaster Gaol) having in the presence of us taken the accustomed oath. ANTHO. LISTER. May 20, 1745. Be it remembered that the said William Banks on the said twenty-fifth day of April, having some doubt within himself whether he was legally elected, the above-named Charles Nowell not having resigned, he did not take the oath required by the Statutes of the ffree School of Giggleswick but on this day, being satisfied that his election was legal, he took the said oath before us (the Vicar and other Governors withdrawing themselves). W. DAWSON. WM. CARR. May 23, 1745. Be it remembered that I was absent when Mr. Wm. Banks was sworn but I hereby agree that he was legally elected a Governor at a prior meeting. I also hereby declare the sd Wm. Banks to be a legall Governor. ROBT. TATHAM. Twenty years passed and another question arose to engender bitter feelings in the hearts of the Governors and Masters. In 1755 George Carr ceased to be Usher and John Moore took his place. As far as can be known, Moore had not been educated at the School, certainly he had not gone up to Christ's with a Burton Exhibition. For some years Master and Usher worked together for stipends respectively of £90 and £45, according to the regular method by which the Master received double the pay of the Usher. They had been accustomed to make an acknowledgment of "all ye wages now due to us as masters." But the Statutes of 1592 had declared the Master's wage to be £13 6_s._ 8_d._ and accordingly the Governors in 1768 proposed to emphasize the additional sum, as being given of grace. They brought forward a draft receipt acknowledging the payment of £13 6_s._ 8_d._ "being a year's salary as Headmaster; and likewise from the said Governors £83 6_s._ 8_d._ as a gratuity and encouragement for my diligence." This they required Paley to sign, and a similar one was drafted for Moore. Both Masters refused. The Governors then decided that they "cannot consistently with their trust pay the Master and Usher any more money than is fixed for their stipend by the Statutes." Three months later a meeting was called to take into consideration a letter from the Archbishop of York in answer to an appeal from both parties, and the following minute records their decision: "It is resolved by us, whose names are subscribed, punctually to comply with and put into execution to the utmost of our power the very judicious and friendly opinions and advice given by the Archbishop in his letter." The minute is signed by six Governors and the two Masters and on the next page the receipts are given as they always had been before, though the few pounds extra that each was to have received are not paid. The very "judicious" letter of Archbishop Drummond not only fixed the salary of the Master and the Usher but gives some additional information. The rents had increased to above £140 a year and of this the Master and Usher were to be given £135 and as the rents increased so should the salaries, always leaving a sufficient surplus for the Repairs Fund. The School, he added, had a small number of scholars, which "may be accounted for by various causes" and was not due to the teaching to which he paid a graceful compliment. He further suggested that the Usher should take it upon himself to teach Writing, Arithmetic, and Merchants' Accounts, the first elements of Mathematics, and the parts that lead to Mensuration and Navigation. With regard to the Governors, he counselled them to meet annually on May 2, quite apart from their ordinary meetings and make up their accounts and submit a review of the same and of the past year's work to the Archbishop. Secondly they should draw up fresh Statutes. He was anticipating the Governors' action of thirty years later. The Scholars, he noted, had no pew in the Church. Some should be procured and the Scholars should "goe there regularly under the eye of the Master or Usher or some Upper Boy, who should note the absentees." Altogether the word "judicious," applied to the letter by the Governors, was justified. Largely by the work of Arthur Young, the old system of cultivation by open fields had been changing, and by the beginning of the reign of George III it was chiefly the North of England that still continued after the older fashion. People were content to make a living, they did not concentrate their thoughts on wealth. But in 1764 the tide of reform had reached the Governors' East Riding Estates in North Cave and Rise, and a private Act was passed through Parliament, ordering that the separate possessions should be marked off and enclosed. This Act involved a very considerable expense and the Governors, being unable to meet it out of their income, on August 26, 1766, mortgaged their East Riding Estates to Henry Tennant, of Gargrave. The acreage was three hundred and ninety-five acres one rood and the mortgage was concluded for £1,120 for one thousand years. The whole of the money was at once expended; and nearly £500 was appropriated by what Arthur Young called "the knavery of Commissioners and Attorneys." The income of the Governors rose immediately, in 1766 their rent receipts amounted roughly to £208 and eleven years later to £347 while in 1780 £400 would be a closer estimate. The Shute Exhibition rents had also increased steadily. In 1739 they were £9 4_s._ 6_d._, twenty-five years later £13 9_s._ and in 1786 over £15. The Masters' salaries were therefore increased. In 1768 the Archbishop had fixed the minimum of Master and Usher at £90 and £45. A few years later £96 was given and in 1776 the sums of £151 and £75, each with a few shillings. In 1784 a new scheme was evolved, William Paley received £180, John Moore's successor--Smith--£70, and a third Master who was apparently engaged to teach Writing and Accounts, and first appears in 1786, received £20 a year. Expenditure in every direction increased, and an agent, William Iveson, had to be retained to look after the North Cave Estates, at a salary of £1 10_s._ Repairs to the School became more extensive, Vincent Hallpike was required to make a "box for the Charter," and the Governors made more frequent journeys to their estates, no doubt as a result of the increased facility and diminished expense of travelling, which was a notable feature of the latter part of the eighteenth century. Further they had engaged a third Master, but whether this was due to a slight decrease of attention paid to the School by the Master--and it is well to remember that he was still Curate of Giggleswick and Vicar of Helpston, Peterborough--or due to a real increase in the numbers and requirements of the School is not stated. Several indications point to an increase in the efficiency of the School. In 1783, an advertisement was drafted and published for the appointment of an Usher, whereas before this time they had been content as a rule to take the most promising of those who had recently left the School. Advertising now gave them a wider field of choice. A Lexicon and a Dictionary were bought in the following year for £1 8_s._ 6_d._, as well they might be, for the last occasion on which books are recorded to have been bought was in 1626, when the Governors had expended £3 7_s._ The Exhibition fund, which came from the rents of the land given by Josias Shute together with the Burton rents and a rent-charge of 3_s._ 6_d._ on Thos. Paley's house in Langcliffe, had been gradually accumulating. Few Exhibitions were given and the surplus was put into the capital account. In 1780 the general fund borrowed £160 from the Exhibition money in order to enclose some new allotments in Walling Fen, in accordance with an Act of Parliament. The result was startling. The first year gave them a new rent-roll of £40, the second year saw this sum doubled. For a hundred and seventy-five years James Carr's "low, small and irregular" building had sufficed for the needs of the School. "Deep in the shady sadness of a vale" it had witnessed the gradual change of the Reformation, it had inspired one of the leaders of Puritan Nonconformity, it had seen the child growth of a great theologian and, more than all, it had roused the imagination and fostered the mental growth of hundreds of the yeomen and cottagers of the North of England. But now its work was accomplished. Flushed with new-found wealth, full of a vague aspiration after progress, conscious perhaps of real deficiencies in the old building, these late eighteenth century Governors spoiled the "many glories of immortal stamp." Carelessly they destroyed the ancient building, without a line to record its glory or its age. It was left to a nameless "Investigator C," in the pages of the _Gentleman's Magazine_ to tell the world what it was losing. Future dreams oversoared past deeds. [Illustration: SECOND SCHOOL, 1790.] No minutes survive, but the accounts of the year 1787 describe the expenditure on a new building. Three years later the last item was paid for and a new school-house was standing on the site of the old. It was very solidly built and larger than its predecessor. Over the door was fixed the stone on which the Hexameter inscription "Alma dei mater, defende malis Jacobum Kar" etc., was written, and which had already adorned the face of the old building so long. The old division of an upper and lower school was retained, but otherwise details are few. The new School was built at a cost of £276 16_s._ 8¼_d._ and served its purpose for over sixty years, when it was then itself replaced in 1851. With new school buildings, greatly increased revenues and a third Master--Mr. Saul--appointed in 1784 with the privity of the Archbishop of York but not licensed--the Governors were eager to get additional statutory power to increase the teaching staff and pay the surplus money away both in leaving Exhibitions and in gratuities to the Scholars at the School by way of encouragement. There is a letter extant addressed in November, 1794, by the Clerk to the Governors to Mr. Clough, who was requested to lay the whole matter before Mr. Withers and get his legal opinion. The letter reads as follows, after first quoting the Charter and also the Statutes of 1592, which limited the stipend of the Master to £13 6_s._ 8_d._ and of the Usher to £6 13_s._ 4_d._ The Revenues of the said School have for sometime been betwixt three and four hundred pounds a year, but upon the Governors lately re-letting the several farms belonging the School, the Revenues will be advanced to about seven hundred pounds a year. The Governors have with the privity of the late Archbishop of York for a number of years employed a third Master to teach Writing, and Accompts. As the Revenues of the said School are now so much advanced, viz: from about £350 to £700 a year, the Governors of the sd School are desirous with the consent of the Archbishop of York to make some additional Statutes in pursuance of the sd Charter, authorizing them to engage more assistants at the sd School to teach different branches of literature. The Governors propose by the new Statutes to be made that the Head Master's stipend shall not be less than £200 a year and the Usher's stipend not less than £100 a year, and then to authorize the Governors to apply such part of the surplus of the Revenues, as they shall think expedient, in the hiring one or more assistant or assistants under such annual stipends as they shall think proper for teaching different branches of literature at the sd School; and the remainder of the money to be by them applied in Exhibitions to be given to any Scholar or Scholars of the sd School going to either of the Universities, as the Governors for the time being shall think best for the good of the sd School, or in any gratuitys to be given to any Scholar or Scholars to create emulation whilst at School. The Governors think it would be of great use ... if some ANNUAL EXHIBITION were established of 20 or £30 a year to two or more Scholars going to either of the Universities, who had resided three of the last years of his Education as a Scholar of Giggleswick School. Such Exhibitions to be held for four years, if residing at the University, but they have some doubt how far this can be done, or any gratuity given to any Scholar to create Emulation, whilst still at School, consistent with the Charter. Therefore they desire Mr Withers to give his opinion. * * * * * As the present vicar of Giggleswick the Rev. John Clapham was appointed in 1783 and in 1793 refused to act as Governor, has been a little obnoxious to the rest of the Governors, they wish a Statute may be prepared empowering any two of the Governors from time to time to call a meeting of the Governors respecting the sd School. And that any new elected Governor may be sworn before any two Governors at such meeting to be true and faithful towds the sd School. The whole of the Governors are perfectly unanimous in this business, except the Rev. John Clapham, the vicar, who has not attended lately the meetings of the Governors, tho' he has always had regular notice given him of every meeting that has been held, and he gives no reason why he does not attend the meetings and concur with the rest of the Governors in the Trust. Bishop Watson, of Llandaff, was also consulted. He had already been connected with William Paley, the Headmaster's son, and had been his examiner for his degree, and suggested the insertion of the "non," when the Master of Christ's had been scandalized by the subject on which Paley had intended to write his theme.--"Aeternitas poenarum contradicit divinis attributis." In the matter of the new Statutes his friendly counsel had been sought by John Parker, of Marshfield, Settle, one of the Governing Body. The Bishop recommended that twelve leaving Exhibitions should be established of £30 for four years, and the remainder to be disposed of "at the discretion of the Governors, to such young men as had been distinguished by obtaining Academic or Collegiate Honours during their residence in the University." "Some appropriation of this kind," he added, "if you take care to get a good Master will make Giggleswick School one of the first in the North of England, and I for one prefer a School in the North and situated, as Giggleswick is, out of the way of much corruption, to either Eton or Westminster. As to French and Mathematics being taught at a great Classical School, I do not approve of it; the Writing Master should make the scholars quite perfect in common Arithmetic, and in vulgar and decimal fractions, and that knowledge will be a sufficient basis to build Mathematics upon. Greek and Latin require so much time and attention before they can be well understood, that I think there is no time at School for any other language."--Oct. 18, 1794. Meanwhile the matter was developing. In January, 1795, the Governors wrote direct to Mr. Withers, and stated that they desired "_power to borrow money for building an additional School_," or in the "_improvement of the Estates_." To this Mr. Withers replied that he considered that annual leaving Exhibitions came within the province of the Governing Body, but they could not borrow money without fresh legislation. He further advised them to repeal all the old Statutes. The additional School buildings that they proposed were a house for the Master. In March, 1796, the Attorney-General gave his opinion that the power to call meetings could not be taken away from the Vicar, "if he remains a corporate" or member of the Body, that the granting of Exhibitions was _ultra vires_, and that he doubted whether the provision for the Master to teach Writing, Accounts, etc., "is consistent with the Institution itself, doubting whether the School founded is not a School for _teaching Latin, etc._," but possibly it might, he added, be upheld, as a court would be hardly likely to censure the Governors for applying a reasonable sum to that purpose. The Archbishop of York considered the application, and altered it in one respect only. He decided that it was too dangerous to pay the Master a minimum of £200 and the Usher a minimum of £100, for it would tend to make them "independent of the Governors;" he therefore preferred "to leave it in the breasts of the Governors to reward them according to their merit," but he allowed a minimum to be inserted in each case, for the Master £100, for the Usher £50. A Writing Master was also to be appointed, and such other Assistants "when occasion shall in their judgment require to teach Writing, Accounts, Mathematics, and different branches of Literature in the said School." Their stipend was not fixed, and for this reason. Mr. Saul had been acting as Writing Master since 1784, at the salary of £20 a year. He left in 1790 and was succeeded by Mr. Stannicliffe, who was paid at the same rate. After six months he determined that the salary was not satisfactory and sent in his resignation. The Governors endeavoured to engage a successor, but "finding they could not get a proper person in his room for less than £30 for six months, they all agreed (except the Vicar) to give that sum, and a Master has been employed in the School upon these terms ever since." In spite of their difficulty in getting a "proper" person, there was no lack of applicants, and one in particular is worthy of reproduction: Littleboro', near Rochdale, Lancashire, 3rd April, 1792. Revd. Sir, Having perused your Advertisement in Wright's Paper for a Writing-Master and Accountant for the free Grammar School at Giggleswick in your neighbourhood, I take this Opportunity of offering myself as a Candidate for that Office.... The Salary is but small but from the Tenor of your Advertisement, I am inclined to believe that from my assiduity and care, I should soon be able to increase it. I have studied the French and Italian Languages grammatically and have travelled thro' many Parts of Italy, France and Spain, after 4 years Residence in a Counting House at Leghorn--I will thank you, Revd. Sir, if you will candidly inform me pr Return of Post, whether these two Languages will be useful in your Part and how far Giggleswick is from Settle; also for a particular description of the Place.--For if it be populous, my Wife will carry on her Business, which is that of Mantua making. I have been twice at Settle, but it is a long time ago. I was private Pupil to the Rev. Mr Shuttleworth B.A., Curate of our Village, upwards of 12 years and from him and from the neighbouring Gentlemen and Clergy, I can obtain the needful; provided you think it wd answer for me to come over with my Family and settle. I should like a neat House, with a good garden to it and Accommodations for a few boarders. Most Elections, in different Departments of Life, are very unfair and partial and if you suppose this is likely to be the case on the present Occasion, your Candour will infinitely oblige me and be instrumental in preventing my further trouble. Your friendly reply as soon as possible will be deem'd a great favour conferr'd on revd. Sir, Yr mo obedt Sert, JOHN WOOLFENDEN. He was not selected. All candidates, or nearly all, sent with their letters of application beautifully written testimonials in different styles to shew their proficiency, one unfortunately made a bad blot. They were also put through an examination in Arithmetic, when they assembled on the day of election. One confessed to being a member "of ye old Established Church," another "hoped to continue so." Finally, Robert Kidd was chosen. His letter of application is particularly interesting, both because of its beauty and because he says: "I have a good circuit for half-a-year, and if attendance from January to middle of the year, or from Midsummer to January will suit at Giggleswick," he would be ready to come. From this he appears to have been one of the old type of Scrivener, who paid regular visits to different Schools, and for whom the Ancient Statutes of 1592 allowed a special vacation to the Scholars. He wrote on April 8, from Whalley Grammar School, and a special messenger was sent to fetch him at a cost of 5_s._ In the following year he wrote an elaborate address to the Governors, in which he said, "Permit me to say, I have been a faithful labourer and Disciplinarian in your School. You are truly sensible of the Inequality of the Attendance and Salaries. Now Gentlemen, if it be consistent with your Approbation, and the Institution of your Seminary, to make a small adjustment, the Favor shall be gratefully acknowledged." He was accordingly "put to the trouble of Keeping Accounts, etc., for the Governors," and paid an additional two guineas a year. Archbishop Markham agreed to the alteration of the Statutes with regard to the Governors themselves, and thenceforward a newly elected Governor was to protest and swear to be faithful etc., in the presence of any two Governors, instead of before the Vicar as formerly; and the privilege of summoning meetings was taken away from the Vicar and given to any two Governors. Further, any five, duly assembled, had the power to act and proceed with business, and "the determination of the major part of them shall be final and conclusive." The Scholars moreover were at liberty to receive annual rewards and gratuities, in such manner as the Governors may deem "best calculated to excite a laudable emulation." Thus in 1798 three guineas were distributed among them in the presence of the Masters and Governors: £ s. d. Jno. Carr 1 1 0 Jno. Bayley 0 10 6 Enoch Clementson 0 7 0 Wm. Bradley 0 7 0 Jno. Howson 0 7 0 Richd. Paley 0 3 6 Richd. Preston 0 3 6 Jams. Foster 0 3 6 Any Scholar who had attended at the School for the last three years of his education could receive an Exhibition with which to attend any English University, provided that the Governors always reserved in their hands a sufficient sum for the necessary Repairs of the School, and also of a House for the habitation of the Master, if and when such a House should be built. Mr. Smith, who had been acting as Usher but without a license from the Archbishop, resigned in 1792 and Nicholas Wood succeeded him. Possibly he had been educated at the School, for in 1796 a letter was sent to the Archbishop from the Governors saying that they had appointed Nicholas Wood, of Giggleswick, Clerk, to be Usher, and praying the Archbishop to give him a license "subject to the said Statutes and Ordinances," which had been agreed upon. The new power to grant an increase of salary was soon exercised and in 1797 the Headmaster received £250, the Usher £100, "in case of Diligence and good Conduct" and the Assistant £60 provided that he assisted the Governors when necessary in "transacting the business of their Trust" and taught Writing and Arithmetic to the free School Scholars, "every boy who has been at the free School one month to be entitled." In the following year Robert Kidd was allowed £70 on condition that he "gives due attention on every day in the year, Saturdays, Sundays and one month at Christmas only excepted and that, when any boy is initiated into the ffree School he will not take any pay in case such Boy or Boys should attend his School, altho' they may not have been a month at the ffree School." The matter of prizes is also taken up and a certain sum, which is not named, was allotted to each of the three head classes and was to be expended on books, which should be given to the best Scholar of each class. No class was to compete which had less than nine boys and they were to be examined once every year in the presence of the Governors. The Master was required to see that the boys in the higher department of the School had their conversation during School hours in Latin. This was evidently a throw-back to the Ancient Statutes of 1592, when they were at least given the alternative of Greek or Hebrew. Further they said "conceiding that a Boy may improve in writing as much by an exercise as a copy, they recommend that every boy be obliged to write his exercise in the high or Writing School, under the inspection of the Writing Assistant and each exercise to have his (_i.e._ the Assistant's) initials affixed to signify that such Boy wrote his best, not to signify whether a good or bad Exercise." It will be remembered that in the house that James Carr built, the lower part was for advanced teaching, the higher for writing. The distinction had apparently continued and the upper portion alone had materials for writing. Certain it is that each portion was wholly distinct from the other, and Usher and Assistant were masters in their own domain. In June, 1797, the Governors decided that attention should be paid to Classics in the Writing Department and Nicholas Wood, the Usher, was asked to undertake the work but refused, whereupon Mr. Clayton an Assistant in the Classical Work was requested to do so and accepted the duty for an additional remuneration of £10. These two men held an interesting position. Wood certainly had a freehold, and Clayton was difficult to remove, so that in 1798 the Governors decided that an Assistant should "be provided during the summer months to teach the Classical Scholars, unless Mr. Wood and Mr. Clayton in three days signifie that one of them will teach." Fortunately Mr. Wood at once agreed to do so. It referred, no doubt, to the Classical Scholars in the Writing Department, whom Wood had refused to instruct, but when Clayton undertook the work and received £10 for his trouble, Wood relented. Two months later the Governors issued a pathetic appeal that the "Master's Assistant and Usher be requested to attend better at the School." It was July and only in the previous April Robert Kidd's salary had been raised to £70 on stringent conditions of attendance. The numbers of the School were growing apace, for twice in 1798 it was resolved to advertise for a Mathematical Assistant. At the same meeting 25_s._ was allowed to the Master's Assistant "for the purpose of providing fuel during the winter and no collection shall be made from the Scholars." The Staff seem to have been a little difficult. Nicholas Wood refused to sign a receipt in full for his wages when he was only being paid a part, and the Governors resolved to "withold the remainder of his salary." Robert Kidd and Nicholas Wood left the School in April, 1799, and John Carr, of Beverley, took Kidd's place. Wood's post was filled by Clayton, who was made Usher at a salary of £100 a year, "provided he conducts himself to the satisfaction of the Governors or a majority of them," and agreed to teach five days a week. Some difficulty arose, and on May 11 there is a minute saying that "Mr. Wood and Mr. Kidd had been settled with." Wood seems to have been dependent on his wife, who could not make up her mind whether she wished to stay or go. For the post of Usher there were several applicants as well as Clayton, who got testimonials from Magdalene College, Cambridge, where he had behaved himself with "sobriety." One of the applicants went so far as to give an extract in Hebrew writing in order to shew his capacity. The study of Hebrew in the School had perhaps not lapsed. He further stated that he did not consider it necessary to learn Latin and Greek first, in order to get a good knowledge of Hebrew. A sound foundation in English was sufficient, though he hastened to declare that he was perfectly capable of teaching Latin and Greek "with quickness and accuracy." An advertisement had before appeared with a view to electing a Mathematical Assistant, and was worded thus: "Whereas the Revenue of the Free Grammar School of King Edward the Sixth at Giggleswick is very much increased. The Governors for that Charity wishing to appropriate the same to be as useful to the Community at Large as possible, have resolved to appoint an ASSISTANT to teach Mathematics in all its Branches, to commence the First Week of February, 1799, provided there be Three Young Men at that Time inclined to be instructed therein." Therefore, NOTICE is hereby given, That Classics, Mathematics, Writing and Accompts, etc., will be taught free of any Expense to any Person in the Kingdom. Such Persons as wish to be instructed in Mathematics are desired to signify their Intention by Letter addressed to the Governors of Giggleswick School, on or before Michaelmas Day next, in order that an Assistant may be obtained. Certain School holidays were fixed at the same meeting. They were to be the 12th and 13th of March (Potation Day and its successor), Monday and Tuesday in Easter Week, Monday and Tuesday in Whitsun-week, two days at Laurence Mass (Lammas), one month at Christmas, and "one month to commence the first Monday after the 5th day of July annually." But while the difficulties with the Usher and the Assistants were developing, the attitude of the Head Master was not altogether satisfactory. In December, 1798, "Mr. Preston reports that Rev. Mr. Paley refuses his resignation upon such terms as the Governors are inclined to receive ... therefore resolved that the Recorder be applyed to for every matter that the Governors are doubtful about." William Paley was a man of considerable age, and disinclined to believe that he was unfit for his work. The Governors had recognized the possibility that he would not be strong enough for his duties, when in 1797 they had agreed to give him a salary of £250 "for the time that School shall be taught by him or by a sufficient and diligent Assistant." Clayton probably acted as the Assistant. Yet in December, 1798, the Governors' patience was exhausted, for they had already questioned Miss Elizabeth Paley on the subject, and she appears to have given grounds for hoping that her father would resign, but on the twenty-ninth he definitely refused. They waited another nine months, and on September 28, 1799, they adjourned their meeting to October 5, "as the present Master is not considered to survive many days." On September 29 he lay dead. For fifty-five years William Paley had presided over the destinies of the School and his work may fitly be compared with that of his great predecessor Christopher Shute. Both had taken up their work, when the fortunes of the School were at a low ebb. Shute had watched the careful saving of the School money, until they had been able to purchase "the school-house and yard in 1610 and a cart-road in the same yard and liberty for the schollers to resort to a certain spring to drink and wash themselves 1619, and likewise a garden for the use of the Masters and several other good things." Paley had become Head Master in 1744 when no accounts were kept, when the Master and Usher appropriated all the money from the rents and when the boys were few in number. Rapidly matters began to mend. His own son William left the School in 1759 already a scholar and destined to a lasting fame. Thomas Proctor was a boy at the School between 1760 and 1770, and became a great sculptor. His "Ixion" exhibited in 1785 is still recognized as a work of genius. William Carr, of the same family as James Carr, the founder of the School, won a Scholarship at University College, Oxford in 1782, a Fellowship at Magdalen 1787, and settled down at Bolton Rectory in 1789. His literary tastes brought him the friendship of Wordsworth, and he became famous as the breeder of a heifer of remarkable proportions. One of Paley's pupils--Thomas Kidd--probably a member of the same family as the Writing Assistant, a family who had lived in the neighbourhood certainly since 1587--wrote from Trinity College, Cambridge, to the Vicar, the Rev. John Clapham, in 1792: Revd. Sir, I recd your Draught of £26 0_s._ 0_d._ April 19, 92. Mr. Jas. Foster left the University in March. I _was_ very happy to congratulate him on his being elected Fellow of S. John's Col. _by that_ respectable _Society_ and I _hope_ that he will be able to assert this honour _legally_ x x x. I am sincerely sorry that the Governors are not pleased that I so long deferred to send a certificate of my residence, if it is an _offence_, it is _involuntary_:--and for the future it shall be sent in due time and _nearly_, I expect in the same _formula_. For what business have I in the country previous to "taking" my degree? There aren't any I remember in the country, _some here_, who affect to despise what they cannot understand; such enterprising critics and fastidiously hypercritics, men of truly philosophical penetration--of a truly classical taste spurn aside the coarse beverage to be found in Gr. mss. scholiasts and various _lections_; but [Greek: all' aidesai men ... en lygrô gêra proleipôn ... mêtera ... hê =me= pollakis =theô= aratai zônta pros domous molein.] This appeals to the feelings: but we must attend to general consequences. Please to present my respects to my worthy master Mr. Paley--let him know that we have this year gone through Mechanics--Locke on the H.U., Duncan and Watts, etc. Logick--Dr. T. Clarke and Dr. Foster on the Attributes, Mr. Paley's Moral and P. Phil.--Spherical Trigonometry--and are going to lectures in Astronomy--That I have written a Gr. Ode in Sapphics--that it has been examined--that I am advised to hazard it in the Lottery. This year has been distinguished for remarkable events in the litterary world, wh our narrow limits will not permit us to mention.--The learned Dr. Parr _began_ an edition of Horace--it will _come out_ a 4to on _Human Evidence_--(a very interesting subject in _Jurisprudence_)--caused by a political frate.--Porson will vacate the University Scholarship next October. I am your most obliged humble servant, T. KIDD. Trin. Coll., Camb., April 24--92. The majority of those that went to Cambridge seem to have gone to Colleges other than Christ's, but of those who went there one, Adam Wall, son "pharmacopolae haud indocti" was Second Wrangler in 1746, and had a distinguished Academic career, his own son William was Senior Wrangler, John Preston gained the "wooden spoon" in 1778, but was afterwards elected a Fellow of his College, while Thomas Paley his great nephew, was Third Wrangler in 1798, and a Fellow of Magdalene. All three were Christ's men. This was a very good proportion of successes, seeing that only thirteen boys went there from Giggleswick in Paley's time. Not only in the educational improvements, but also in the financial increase of the School property, these years were similar to the beginning of the 17th century. North Cave and Walling Fen were enclosed by Acts of Parliament, and land worth £140 in 1768 was valued at £750 in 1795. The Exhibition Fund had no balance in 1765, while nine years later there was £100 in the bank. A new School had been built, the teaching staff increased and new Statutes made. Surely a great and enviable Headmastership. CHAPTER VII. The Rev. Rowland Ingram, B.D. On the death of William Paley the Governors at once began the task of finding a successor. They inserted in the newspapers an advertisement to the effect that a vacancy had occurred and that candidates would be examined by the Archbishop of York in Classics, Mathematics, "or any other Branch of Literature, his Grace may think proper." The salary was to be from £100--£300 but no house was provided. There was a very strong field of applicants. A Fellow of Trinity, Cambridge, Thomas Carr, founder's kin--a Fellow of Hertford--a Fellow of Queen's, Oxford--a Fellow of Sidney Sussex, Cambridge--Headmasters of various Grammar Schools, were all candidates. One Isaac Cook--Headmaster of Ripon--explained as shewing the high value of his Classical attainments that when he was elected to Ripon he was examined "with another candidate in Terence, Cicero, Tacitus, the Greek Testament and Demosthenes, and wrote a Latin Dissertation." The Archbishop declined the honour of examining the candidates, but later recommended that they should appoint to the Mastership his brother--John Sheepshanks--as one eminently suitable. The Headmaster of Eton was then asked to undertake the examination and was offered "such pecuniary or other compliment" as he might wish. As he did not even answer their letter, they wrote to the Rev. W. Stevens, Headmaster of Sedbergh, who undertook the duty. [Illustration: REV. ROWLAND INGRAM, M.A.] In the result the Rev. Rowland Ingram was elected. He had gained "one of the first Mathematical honours" and had only just failed to win the Bachelor of Arts Classical Medal. He was a B.D. and a late Fellow and Tutor of Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge. He was turned thirty-two (his brother said he was thirty-four) and after being for some years a private Tutor at Eton had been appointed in Midsummer, 1798, Headmaster of Ipswich Grammar School, where he had made a considerable name. He was certainly the strongest candidate who applied and it speaks well for the Governors that they elected him, notwithstanding the fact that two old Giggleswick boys were standing--Thomas Carr and the Rev. Thomas Paley, the former of whom had a very distinguished academic career, and Paley had been third Wrangler. Ingram began with a salary of £300 a year and within six months premises were bought from Mr. Geo. Robinson, on which it was determined to build him a house. Troubles arose on the staff almost immediately. John Carr who had succeeded Robert Kidd at £80 a year declared in June, 1800, that he would not continue to teach under £100. His request was not complied with, but the Governors made a compromise. They told him that he must give reasonable notice before he left the School, but that as his department consisted of a great number of boys and it was impossible for him to pay proper attention to them all, they had decided to hire an Assistant. At the same time they required that "teaching the English Grammar be encouraged." The recent and rapid growth of the Writing Department is very significant. Its growth and the importance laid upon it increased step by step with the Industrial Revolution. It gave an elementary education and was confined to practical subjects--Arithmetic, Mensuration, Merchants' Accounts, etc. Some confusion existed in men's minds about the primary object of a Grammar School. Giggleswick had not been founded to give elementary instruction but its duty was to impart a sound knowledge of the Classics, in order to enable its pupils to go up to the University with a Scholarship and thence enter one of the learned professions and preferably become a Priest. The boys were welcomed from whatever homes they came, and though leaving Scholarships were given with a preference to the poorer boy, everyone received an education in the higher branches of literature. Not until 1768 was there any mention of the necessity of promoting the study of elementary subjects. It is true that the Statutes of 1592 had provided for a Scrivener to teach writing but he was only to come for three weeks in the year. In 1768 the Archbishop of York desired that a more permanent teacher should be chosen and the appointments of Saul, Stancliffe, Kidd, which have already been noticed, and of John Carr, of Beverley, were the result. With the nineteenth century the School rapidly developed in importance. Kidd had in 1798 been paid £70 a year, Carr in the following March received £80 and clamoured for £100. In 1801 owing to the increase of numbers the son of Mrs. Mary Bradley acted as his Assistant for a few months and later in the year Carr engaged his own son, whom the Governors allowed to remain, until a permanent Assistant was appointed. The Governors passed and re-passed resolutions on the question of providing a permanent teacher and Mr. Clementson was appointed in 1805 and taught the boys in a house built by the Governors but lately used as a school by Mr. Holmes. The proper School was possibly growing too large and in 1804, the Archbishop had suggested that English should be taught in a distinct department. The teaching of English grammatically was an innovation and a natural response to the needs of the time. Earlier ages had thought that in order to get a thorough grasp of English it was first necessary to pass through the portals of the Classics but the get-educated-quick had no time for such methods. Clementson was paid £50 and, when he demanded an increase, was graciously allowed an additional £20 "so long as his servitude shall be agreeable to the parties." For a brief period of seven weeks in 1806 William Stackhouse worked under Carr at the rate of £30--Clementson having left--and Carr resigned in January, 1807. In that month he received a last payment of £5 5_s._, as a reward for examining candidates for the vacant post. One of them, John Lockwood, was elected but he was required to teach not only Writing and Arithmetic but also Mathematics. He rejected the offer and Stackhouse was appointed permanently at £100 a year. In 1809 he received £150 and continued at this salary till his death or resignation in 1830. In his appointment English, as a teaching subject, was neglected, but later in the same year the Archbishop was approached on the propriety of establishing an English School and in 1809 a minute of the Governors declared that none were to be admitted into the Writing School, unless they were able to read and were under eighteen. This points to an entire cleavage between the Grammar and the Writing School. They were in different parts of the building and a member of the one was not of necessity a member of the other. They were both subsisting on the same foundation, but the Writing School was an off-shoot, a child and an illegitimate one. Not until the middle of the century did the old School shake it off and return to the primary objects of its foundation. Obadiah Clayton, the Usher, began in June, 1800, to shew signs of insanity. The particular form that it took was the habit of producing pistols in School. He was put for a time in an asylum and a Mr. Tomlinson was to be written to as a successor, but as they did not hear from the Archbishop to whom they had applied for instructions, nothing was done. Later Clayton returned from the asylum but possibly for a time took no part in the School work. In 1802 the Governors went to the expense of 5_s._ 4_d._ in order to get advice on the propriety of complying with his request that he should attend a private pupil during school hours and should be allowed to take the globes from the School. His request was negatived. Two years later, matters reached a head, his conduct was not considered consistent and the Archbishop suggested that they should pay him the statutory minimum of £50 and hire an Assistant. The difficulty lay in the fact that he held a freehold and could only with great difficulty be made to resign. Meanwhile, Carr and Ingram were requested to report upon his conduct. Ingram declared that Clayton's conversation was of a wild and incoherent nature, but Carr was more minute. He reported that Clayton did not attend the School much for three weeks and that during that time he appeared to be in a deranged state of mind and made use of expressions such as that he had got a letter from his wife in heaven, or that the roads on which he walked were paved with fire. Although the immediate cause of his mental derangement was the death of his wife, he had never enjoyed good health. One of his testimonials from the Tutor of Magdalene College, Cambridge, had said that he had been compelled to leave Magdalene temporarily owing to ill health. He continued however to teach until 1805, when at his own suggestion he was allowed to absent himself for four years without giving up his license and he received £50 a year. This permission was characterized by the Archbishop as an act of humanity, but the legality of thus disposing of the Trust money was seriously questioned. A year later the Governors received a letter from him, saying that he had had many difficulties and had visited many parts of England but his "_dernier resort_" was at Bognor Barracks where he had enlisted as a private soldier and was anxious to be bought out. Some neighbouring clergy had interested themselves in his case and the Bishop of Chichester was willing to provide him with a curacy, provided that satisfactory answers came from the Governors of Giggleswick. Clayton begged them therefore to say that the cause of his leaving the School had been "ill-health." He was released from the Army but probably did not serve any curacy, for in May, 1808, he was acting as a Chaplain in the Royal Navy, after which nothing more is known of him though he continued to be paid his salary till 1810. His position as Usher was filled in that year by John Armstrong, who had been elected as a Classical Assistant in 1806; the Governors at that time had proposed to offer £50 as a fit salary, but as no candidate had appeared on the day of election, it was raised to £100. Ingram was an energetic man at the beginning of his Headmastership and supported by an able Governing Body and a growing revenue, he had wished to enlarge the numbers of the School and to increase its efficiency. Advertisements had been put in the Leeds, London, and Liverpool papers "for the encouragement of the School," money had been annually distributed among the Scholars to create emulation, the English Department had been strengthened and it had been decided to teach English grammatically. Books had been bought more lavishly than ever before, and also globes celestial and terrestrial, as they were "considered to be of great use in every department of the School." The numbers of the School increased sometimes to such an extent that four masters had to be engaged but this was never more than a temporary expedient. The Charity Commissioners issued a report in 1825 dealing with the School, in which they gave the numbers of the School as sixty-three, of whom twenty-three were taught by the Master and forty by the Usher. It gave no record of the number in the English Department. These boys had a feeling of distinct hostility against the Grammar School boys. They were of a less wealthy class, they lived in the neighbourhood and they were receiving the priceless boon of a practical and elementary education. The Grammar School boys on the other hand were not all natives of the place. About twenty-one came from the Parish, ten were members of families who had come to reside there, and the rest were wholly strangers. They were compelled to learn Writing and Mathematics, which they did not consider liberal sciences, and they had to use the same door of entrance and exit as their enemies. This hostility developed into open strife and partly accounts for the continual glazing bills that the Governors had to meet. From 1783-1792 they had been fairly constant amounting to about a pound a year, but in 1803 5_s._ reward was offered to anyone giving information about persons breaking School windows, and in 1834 the bill was over £7. It was a very difficult position. The Report of 1825 recommended that the elementary education should be continued but if possible in another building because it supplied a certain need and, if discontinued, would arouse an even greater hostility in the locality. At the same time it distinctly recognized that such endowment was probably illegal. It has already been noticed that the revenues of the School were expanding. In 1802 the Governors received over £800 from the North Cave Estate, which five years later was valued at £1,287 but was not let at this valuation. At the time of the Report of 1825 the rental was considered to be about £1,140. The Exhibition Fund had also risen from £26 in 1801 to £37 15_s._ in 1821, and twice it reached £40. The money at this period was given as a rule to one person for four years and at the end of that period as re-assigned. There was no examination, the boy or his father applied to the Governors and the claimant could receive it, even if he had already been three years resident in the University. The increased income had been obtained by the purchase of Government Stock. Between 1810 and 1814 Navy five per cents. were bought to the extent of £1,190, and in addition to this the Governors had paid off the debt of £1,120, which had been incurred owing to the enclosure of Walling Fen. They were paying Ingram £510 a year, John Howson, M.A., who had been a former pupil of Paley and had become Usher on John Armstrong's death in 1814, received £205; and William Stackhouse £150. They had built a house for the Headmaster and had repaired one for the Usher. All boys were admitted into the School for whom there was room, but they now had to bring a certificate of good character for the previous year. The boarders lodged with the Usher and with people in the neighbourhood, notably one John King and Mrs. Craggs. These boys paid boarding fees. When the Governors issued an advertisement for a Writing Master in 1792 they gave the salary as £30 but "as much more can be made by quarterage." Is it possible that quarterage can mean taking boarders? It is not certain whether Ingram took boarders, but he probably did. His house was built gradually. Although the land was bought in 1800, the mode of a building for Master, Usher and Assistant was still being discussed in 1802. In October of the same year John Nicholson was commissioned to erect it at a cost of £700. It was finished in 1804, and Nicholson undertook to repair a house for the accommodation of the Usher or Assistant at a cost of £250. [Illustration: USHER'S HOUSE.] [Illustration: CRAVEN BANK.] Carr, the Writing Master, was complaining bitterly of the "numberless inconveniences" he had suffered, and in January, 1805, was looking forward to living at last in a good house, though he was not quite sure whether he would "live to enjoy it." But by March he had not got into it and working himself up into a fit state of indignation delivered himself of the following letter to Thomas Paley, one of the Governors: Sir, I am very poorly with a cold I have taken by lying in a damp bed, I thought last night I must have called somebody to my assistance, I have with difficulty got thro' the fatigues of the day. Surely when Nicholson undertook the house, he had not permission to defer the completing of it _ad libitum_. It was first thought it would have been done six weeks before Christmas. Mr. N. has now converted the house into a workshop for the convenience of his people to carry on the repairs that are to be done to the dog-kennel: in order to make it habitable for some of Mr. Armistead's people: and the plasterer has also been absent for the last two days, I suppose, employed by Mr. N. at Astick. If I had any tolerable convenience it would be quite another thing; but I have never had a comfortable place to lie down in since I have been at Giggleswick, tho' I have been a slave to the business of the School, and stood much in need of undisturbed and comfortable rest. I am indeed sorry to trouble you so often, but not only my happiness, but my life is at stake: and I would rather leave Giggleswick immediately than go on so any longer. I remain, Sir, Yours etc., J. CARR. Monday, P.M. P.S.--Mr. Ingram could have done a little longer without a scullery, as well as I can do (if I ever go to it) without a garden wall and a necessary. He did not stay many years longer but resigned in 1807. Ingram's house was known as Craven Bank and in 1829 he added a stable at the cost of £60. Howson also was having money spent upon his house. In 1817 he had a new kitchen built at the cost of £100 and seven years later he received £120 to repair his house, while his salary had already been increased £5 yearly to meet the cost of alterations and repairs. The closing years of Rowland Ingram's time were not bearing the fruit that the first decade had promised. But the School turned out at least one good Scholar--John Saul Howson--a son of the Usher. Born in 1816 he went up to Trinity College, Cambridge, in 1833, at the age of seventeen. He won a Scholarship there and also received money from the Tennant Exhibition Fund. He took some University prizes, and a first class in both Classics and Mathematics. As Head of Liverpool College for ten years he did a great educational work, by releasing it from debt and reforming its system. Later he was appointed Dean of Chester where eventually he died. As a Churchman he was a notable figure and as a Christian he will be remembered long. On the whole the teaching in later years was not efficient. J. S. Howson relates how before he was eight years old he had said the Latin Grammar through four times without understanding a word of it. This was a remarkable achievement but not adequate evidence of supreme genius in the teacher. Education, like most other things, was everywhere at its nadir, and Giggleswick was no exception. In the whole of Ingram's time as Headmaster--43 years--he had three Ushers. One was mad, one died after four years, and one--John Howson--grew grey-headed with the work. He had during the same period three Writing Masters, of whom one was most cantankerous, another stayed twenty-four years, and the third--John Langhorne--was not wholly a success. He managed the School Accounts from 1839-1845, but they were found to be "so inaccurate and confused" that Mr. Robinson had to enter them in the book afresh. The constancy of a staff which from 1814-1831 never varied, and of whom two were local men, contributed to the depression of the School. Another contributory cause lay in the constitution of the Governing Body. During the last decade of the eighteenth century and the first decade of the next the Governors showed themselves very diligent in the pursuit of the School's welfare. But as time went on, the increasing revenues created an increasing thirst for more. The Accounts dealt less and less with things appertaining to the School, more and more with the management of the North Cave Estate. Between the years 1810 and 1843 there were not more than two meetings of the Governors, the minutes of which refer to the conduct of the School; instead they refer constantly to the growing balance in the Bank (in 1817 it was over £1,500) and they dissipated it by gratuities equivalent to half a year's salary to the several Masters and in profuse expenditure in building and repairs. There was but one man among them who had known the days when £350 was all they had a year, and only a tumbledown school to teach in. John Clapham must have looked back with mixed feelings as he regarded the energy, the efficiency, and the swelling numbers of that early part of the century and compared them with later years. There was one more change of importance in this time. The Potation was still retained and the cost of the meetings on March 12 grew more and more. The Governors came to dine but they remained to sup. In 1784 fifteen sat down to a dinner, costing 1_s._ a head, they had eight bottles of Wine, 12_s._ 6_d._ worth of Punch, and Ale 4_s._ 6_d._ In 1802 ten had dinner at 2_s._ 6_d._ a head, nine had supper. They drank fourteen bottles of Wine, on Rum and Brandy they spent 15_s._ 6_d._, and on Ale 4_s._ 6_d._ Similar meetings took place each year. There was also a change in the boys' share. They probably--there is not always a record--had Figs and Bread given them every year but, sometimes Ale was also provided. In 1802 they had 5_s._ 6_d._ worth, and in 1807 they had some but it cannot be asserted that they always had it and between 1807 and 1825 the practice completely dropped and has never been revived. Rowland Ingram--old Rowland, as the boys called him--was growing old, and in 1844 he retired on a pension. His friends and neighbours determined to give him some substantial recognition of the esteem with which they regarded him, and in January, 1845, a committee was formed to decide its nature. In the end a Portrait was painted, and the surplus was placed in the hands of the Governors, to be expended on the foundation of a library, to be attached to the School, or in any other substantial way, such as would seem to them more likely to be permanently beneficial to the School. CHAPTER VIII. The Rev. George Ash Butterton, D.D. 1845-1858. In 1834 the Governors felt some doubt respecting the legality of the last Statutes of 1795 and proposed to bring forward some Scheme to obtain sufficient power for the management of the School. Thereafter for six years the Minute-Books were completely silent on this matter, but in 1840 they noted that the number of boys in the High School learning Writing and Arithmetic under Langhorne was greater than one man could efficiently attend to. The Headmaster was therefore requested to propose regulations such as he might think expedient for making the High School more useful, as subsidiary to the Grammar School, either by insisting upon qualifications in the Scholars previous to admission, limiting the number to be admitted or otherwise, and to submit such regulations for the consideration of the Governors. Presumably some steps were taken, but the Governors were beginning to feel that all was not right, and in 1843 they became more definite. They decided first, "That from the change of Times and other causes, the Education afforded at the Giggleswick Grammar School is at the present time insufficient for general purposes, and more especially for the purposes of Trade and Mercantile Business." [Illustration: REV. G. A. BUTTERTON, D.D.] It will be as well to pause here and remark this very notable statement. Reformers had been at work before, but their effect had been very slight. They had succeeded in establishing a Writing Master, whose duty it was to give free elementary instruction. Now, forty years later, dissatisfaction was surging in the breasts of the Governors, because the elementary instruction was too elementary, and because its spirit did not pervade the whole School. Now for the first time was it laid down that the business of a School was to train its children so as to fit them in some obvious manner for the work of their life. Latin and Greek and Hebrew had become the touchstone of education, primarily because they were the "holy" languages, and after Religion had long ceased to be the mainspring of education, their intrinsic merits fell into the background. Utility became a more pungent argument. Secondly, the Governors decided that the Endowment and Statutes, together with the particulars of the income of the School, should be laid before a competent Chancery Barrister who should suggest a system of education upon a more extended scale. The necessity for some alteration in the Statutes was established by the refusal of the Governors in 1844 to accede to Mr. Ingram's desire for a new Assistant. They declared that such an arrangement was not contemplated by the Charter and Statutes and therefore could not be made. An impossible situation had arisen, and the Statutes must be revised. But there was one difficulty. A new Scheme could not be carried out except on the appointment of a new Headmaster or with his willing consent. Ingram was approached upon the subject and declared his readiness to retire on a pension of £300 a year, and with permission to continue to occupy his official residence, Craven Bank. He was seventy-eight years old, and in view of his long service to the School, his request could scarcely be denied. Four years later he died, and like his predecessor, William Paley, was buried in Giggleswick Church, amidst a great gathering of men who came to bear tribute to "his truly Christian character." His resignation had paved the way for a new Scheme, in accordance with the Act passed in 1841, for "improving the condition and extending the benefits of Grammar Schools." The Scheme was drawn up by the Governors, commented on by Arthur Lynch, Master in Chancery, 1844, and in the next year confirmed by the Vice-Chancellor of England. It will be well to examine the Report in some detail. In the first place the Bishop of Ripon was in all cases substituted for the Archbishop of York, where the latter had jurisdiction. Secondly, the 1795 Statutes were wholly omitted and of the earlier Ordinances of 1592, only such were retained as were in tune with the spirit of the age. New regulations were also added. The Headmaster must be a Clergyman of the Church of England, and a Master of Arts. He must be a good Classical Scholar and a Mathematician, thoroughly capable of teaching both subjects, and qualified to teach Logic, Rhetoric, English in all its branches, and Moral and Political Philosophy. The requirements in an Usher were less exceptional. He must be a member of the Church of England, but need not be in Orders. He should be capable of taking the higher Classical Forms occasionally, be skilled in English, and rather less advanced Mathematics, and have an elementary knowledge of Modern Science. He was to be appointed by the Governors. The salary of the Headmaster was to be a minimum payment of £210 and a maximum of £360, with a house; the Usher was to receive a house and £150 and a capitation fee of £2, which was so limited that it was only possible to rise to £210. Each could receive ten boarders. Other Assistants might be employed, but their united salaries were not to exceed £230. The retiring age was fixed at sixty-five, when the Master and Usher would be granted a pension, but the Governors could extend the services of either beyond the age limit, if they so willed. The surplus funds were to be used in such a way as to make the Exhibition money from the Burton Rents, etc., up to £70 a year. The Bishop of Ripon was to appoint an Examiner every Christmas, and receive a Report from him. Holidays were fixed for a month in the Summer and at Christmas, three days each at Easter and Whitsuntide, in addition to the Saturday and Sunday and Good-Friday. Every Saturday and the day of riding the Parish boundaries were to be whole holidays. Further, the arrangements by which one Master relieved another in case of illness or absence, the place where each Master should sit in School, the disposition of the School into Forms and Classes, the amount of time to be devoted to each branch of instruction--provided always that every boy should learn some Latin and Greek--all these questions of internal arrangement, which were essentially within the province of the Headmaster, were to be agreed upon by the Governors and reduced to writing. It is almost inconceivable that such a scheme was ever put on paper, yet it lived for twenty years. The Headmaster was bound and shackled beyond belief. He could not appoint or dismiss his Masters, he had no power to admit boys into the School, nor, unless they were "altogether negligent and incapable of learning," could he remove them. He was powerless. Ingram had retired in 1844, and the scheme then had gone forward and been completed before a new Headmaster was appointed. Thus the details of the management of the School were settled, quite irrespective of the point of view of the man who was to be responsible. In August, 1845, the Governing Body--eight discreet men--met to appoint Ingram's successor. There was, as in 1800, a strong list of applicants, but the choice fell unanimously on the Rev. George Ash Butterton, D.D., late Fellow of S. John's College, Cambridge, and at the time Headmaster of Uppingham School. As a boy he had been fortunate enough to have been one of Kennedy's Sixth Form pupils at Shrewsbury School, and his subsequent success at Cambridge shewed that he was among the ablest Scholars of his year. The first three years passed uneventfully. Small alterations were made in the School, and with the aid of £150 from the Governors, he added a wing to his house at Craven Bank. In 1849 he desired the Governors, in accordance with the scheme, to appoint a Master for teaching Modern Languages, but they were unwilling to do this "until such addition shall have been made to the School, as will afford suitable accommodation for such a Master and his class." This is the first intimation that the Governors were considering the question of building. Complaints had been made before that numbers were increasing and exceeding the limits of the room or the staff, but nothing had been done. Now, however, the question was actively taken up. The immediate resolve was to build an addition of a Library and a Class-room for Modern Languages, and further to raise the School-rooms and give them better light and ventilation. Many Subscriptions were offered by the Masters, Old Pupils, and other friends of the School, towards a more ornamental style of building than the School funds could afford. The Architects' plans grew, and it was soon found that very little of the old structure would remain. Consequently in 1850 it was decided to build the School afresh from its foundations. [Illustration: THE OLD SCHOOL.] Finance troubled the Governors much, for they did not feel justified in spending more Trust money than was essential for the upkeep of the School. The Library and the new Class-room were essential, and the Governors were prepared to find the money for them, but the rest they hoped to receive from outside help. They put forward a statement of the need, and the resulting subscriptions were very satisfactory. Two Old Boys and sons of the Usher, the Rev. John Saul Howson and his brother George Howson, undertook the entire expense of the Ornamental Doorway. The relatives of the Rev. John Carr, Professor of Mathematics in the University of Durham, put in a long window immediately above the doorway. In this window is a representation of John Carr, the Headmaster up to 1744. Further, £50 remained over from the Ingram Testimonial Fund, and was now to be applied to the decorating of a window in the Library with stained glass. The building was substantial and sound. The main part consisted of two long Class-rooms, one on the ground floor, one above. These both ran the whole length of the building, until the Library was reached which with the Modern Language Room formed a transverse addition. A stone staircase, winding and unexpectedly long, ascended from the main entrance, and at its top was the High or Writing School. In the Class-room below were two platforms, now disappeared, the one by the door for the Usher's desk, the one by the Library for the Master. The Modern Language Room opened into it. There were two doors, one the main entrance chiefly used by the boys, the other smaller and undistinguished for the Masters only. It led into the Library and into a Tower, where the School bell was. The Library was not very big but a long narrow room, and inset in the wall was a fire-proof safe, for the better preservation of the Charter and other documents. It alone has continued to serve its original purpose. It is not possible to judge accurately the difference in size between this building and its predecessor, but it was distinctly bigger. The poplars which are to be seen in the photograph of the Drawing of the 1790 School were felled for the new one and the School filled the space. In addition there was a cloister-like building at the back, where in hours of play refuge might be sought from the weather. The total cost was over £2,000, or more than seven times as much as its predecessor. Much of the money came from subscriptions, some from the surplus income of the School, but the rest was obtained by selling out £645 7_s._ 2_d._ New 3¼ per cent. Stock belonging to the Exhibition Fund. The Governors pledged themselves to pay 3½ per cent. to the Exhibition Fund, thus depleted, and to repay the principal out of surplus income at the rate of 10 per cent. per annum, or more, if convenient. It was represented that this would at once be an advantage to the Exhibition Fund and also an economical method of borrowing the necessary money. The money was repaid by 1855. [Illustration: PORCH OF THE OLD SCHOOL.] The cost of the Ornamented Doorway, paid for by the Usher's two sons, was estimated at £48 13_s._, but this was exclusive of the Niche and the Statue of Edward VI which it contained. This Statue was an object of the frequent missile and was so often cast down that it was at last removed. On the outside of the Library Wall is a Coat of Arms belonging to the Nowell family and underneath is the extract from the Charter "_Mediante Johanne Nowell_." One relic of James Carr's School remained, the stone slab with its Hexameter inscription, and as it had found a place inset in the wall of the second building, so it did in 1850, but after a time it was removed owing to its decay. The first Speech Day in the new School was celebrated in a fitting manner on March 12th, 1851. Three prize Odes were composed on the subject of re-building and were read by their respective authors. F. Howson recited some rapt verses, extolling Queen Victoria and telling her that the New School should stand as her memorial. O Fairest star, with radiance divine Gilding the honours of thy royal line! Too pure thy beauty realms of earth to cheer A brighter orbit gained in a far brighter sphere. But unextinguishable still Thy parting glow! As from Sol's latest smile of light Steep Alpine summits of eternal snow A purpling lustre cast o'er the deep vales below. So beams thy virtue, after life has fled, In deeds reflected, which their blessings shed Still o'er thy people, and will ever be Illustrious tokens of thy piety. This spot an endless monument Of thee shall stand, And still perpetuate thy praise: For here from age to age a youthful band Shall learn the fear of God, the love of Fatherland. J. Brackenridge gave a short description of the extent of his Classical Studies:-- See this the third! theme of mine ode, Adorned by sculptur'd art; Make it, O Learning, thy abode, Thy gems through it impart. There may the bards of tragic name Forever flourish, Graecia's fame-- With Homer's deathless lay! Here Maro with heroic glow, And Naso's elegiac flow Outlive their mould'ring clay. Jackson Mason was the best of the three, though strongly suggestive of Gray. He describes the tale of a maiden "vanished down the gulph profound" and now The ruffled water of the well Mov'd by bosom's fall and swell Alternate ebbs and flows. The tale is o'er; the old man gone. With tottering steps and slow He pauses ever and anon, To view the vale below: And, leaning on his staff the while, Gazes with pleasure on the pile, Which crowns that landscape fair: Then as the grateful tear-drop falls, For blessings on those goodly walls Breathes forth this fervent prayer. Such was the poetical achievement of three boys in 1851. The School might reasonably be expected to go forward quickly, with new buildings, a new Headmaster and strenuous Governors, and in 1850 they received a just recognition of the quality of the teaching. The Provost and Fellows of Queen's College, Oxford, had a very large sum of money at their disposal, which was devised to them by Lady Elizabeth Hastings. She had intended the money to be divided annually among boys from schools in the North of England. The privilege of being one of the schools able to send boys in for the Exhibitions--which were very valuable--was offered to Giggleswick and gratefully accepted. The Exhibitions have frequently been won. The first Examination under the new scheme was held in December, 1862. The Bishop of Ripon appointed the Rev. William Boyd, M.A., Examiner. He found the School in "an efficient working condition," in both the higher and lower departments. The first class, which in those days consisted of the senior boys, passed a good Examination in Greek Testament, a play of Aeschylus, Homer, Thucydides, Horace, and Vergil, Geography and Ancient History. The Latin Prose Composition of two or three was very good. The Second Class were examined in Homer, Xenophon, Ovid, and Cæsar. Books were given as prizes to the value of £13 4_s._ Both in this Examination and in the two succeeding years the proficiency of the first form was very marked, and the general efficiency of the teaching was commented on. The most general excellence lay in Divinity, but as the subject was a limited one _e.g._ Life of Abraham, and the work for it began six months before, perhaps too much stress should not be laid on it. There were seven classes, all of them doing Latin, with the fourth class doing Eutropius, and they were also examined in Modern Geography, the History of England, and the Catechism. In 1844, four old boys, William Garforth, John Saul Howson, John Birkbeck, and William Robinson agreed together to contribute to a fund for the provision of two prizes each half year. They were to be called, "The Giggleswick Pupils' Prizes," and were to consist of Books, stamped with the School Seal. One was to be given to the boys of the Upper part of the School for the best English or Latin Essay, and the other to the Lower boys for General Merit. In 1853, the Howson Prizes were given by the Fellows of Christ's College, Cambridge, and other friends, in memory of George Howson, a son of the Usher, and himself a Fellow of his College. It was a striking testimony to the character of the man that his associates should thus wish to "perpetuate the name of our highly gifted and lamented friend." They wished in some small degree to advance "the interests of an institution, which was, we know, most dear to him, from early associations, and also from his worthy father's long and honourable association with it." They asked that two prizes should be given annually to the boys of the Lower School, one for General Proficiency, regard being had to conduct, and one for the best examination in a defined portion of Scripture History; the subject was to be announced at least six months before. The School had been re-built chiefly in order to provide room for a Teacher of Modern Languages, and in 1855 the Governors proposed to appoint such an one. They laid down the following regulations: He should attend five days a week--all classes except the highest and lowest should learn French, and the highest might, if they wished. Italian, German and Hebrew were to be optional with all. Lastly, all classes except the highest must attend the English Master. The salary of the Modern Language Master was to be £130 a year. The Masters were requested to draw up a scheme of work. The hours of School had been altered in 1844 and were now from 8-0 a.m. till noon, and from 2-0 p.m. till 5-0 p.m. (in the Winter till 4-30 p.m.). All the Masters and Assistants were compelled to teach every hour of every school day. The scheme is as follows: THE HIGHER DIVISION. ---------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+------------- | MONDAY. | TUESDAY. | WEDNESDAY. | THURSDAY. | FRIDAY. ---------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+------------- Morning |1. Classics &|1, 2, 3. |1, 2, 3. |1. Classics &|1, 2, 3. | Mathematics.| Classics. | Classics. | Mathematics.| Classics. |2 & 3. | | |2, 3. | | French. | | | French. | ---------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+------------- Afternoon|1. Classics &|1. Classics &|1. |1. Classics &|1. | Mathematics.| Mathematics.| Mathematics.| Mathematics.| Mathematics. |2, 3. |2, 3. |2, 3. |2, 3. |2, 3. | Classics & | Arithmetic.| Arithmetic. | Classics & | Arithmetic. | Arithmetic. | | | Arithmetic. | ---------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+------------- THE LOWER DIVISION ---------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+------------- | MONDAY. | TUESDAY. | WEDNESDAY. | THURSDAY. | FRIDAY. ---------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+------------- Morning |4, 5. |4, 7. |5, 6. |4, 5. |4, 5. | Classics & | Classics & | Classics & | Classics. | Classics & | Scripture. | History. | Geography. | | Geography. |6, 7. |6. |7. |6, 7. |7. | Arithmetic &| Arithmetic. | Arithmetic. | Arithmetic. | Arithmetic. | Scripture. |5. French. |4. French. | |6. French ---------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+------------- Afternoon|5, 6. |4, 5. |6, 7. |6, 7. |6, 7. | Classics. | Classics. | Classics. | Classics. | Classics. |7. |7. |4, 5. |4. |4, 5. | Arithmetic. | Arithmetic. | Arithmetic. | Arithmetic. | Arithmetic. |4. French. |6. French. | |5. French. | ---------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+------------- |6, 7. One |7. One hour |6, 7. One |6, 7. One | hour in the | in the | hour in the | hour in the | morning for | morning for | morning for | morning for | Latin | Grammar, | Geography | Exercise, | Grammar, | Exercise, | Exercise, | Grammar or | Exercise, | etc. | etc. | History. | etc. | | | +-------------+-------------+-------------+------------- THE MODERN LANGUAGE MASTER ---------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+------------- | MONDAY. | TUESDAY. | WEDNESDAY. | THURSDAY. | FRIDAY. ---------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+------------- Morning |2, 3. French.|5. French. |4. French. |2, 3. French.|6. French. ---------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+------------- Afternoon|4. French. |6. French. |German. |5. French. |German. ---------+-------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+------------- N.B. The numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, mark the different classes The stragglers, not classified, are included under number 7. Every class did Classics for at least two hours every day, very often four. English had no place in the Schedule for the first three forms; yet by the scheme the second and third had to attend the English Master. Arithmetic was the only subject of a mathematical type. It was only a scheme for the General Course of Instruction and doubtless under the name of Classics or of Mathematics, they may have found some scope for English or Scripture. Scripture was certainly done by the first and second but possibly only in the Greek Testament. The Examiner appointed by the Bishop of Ripon in 1855 paid many tributes to the excellence of the first class, and added "all of whom bid fair to do honour to the School by high University distinction." It is the nature of some men to exude praise, but words such as these certainly seem to point to a very fair level of scholarship in the class taken by Dr. Butterton and to considerable powers of teaching on his part. Dr. Butterton was destined to rule the School for two more years, but they were filled with such bitter fruit that it is difficult to describe them. It will be remembered that the Governors according to the new scheme held themselves responsible for the election of boys who wished to enter the School. At the beginning of every term the Headmaster would supply them with a list of boys, with the district from which they came and, if there was room for them, there seems to have been no hesitation about admitting them. There was not even, as far as appears, a question of a certificate of character for those boys who wished to be Boarders, though perhaps it was so customary since Ingram's early years that it passes without comment. Only once, in 1854, does the number of applicants appear to have exceeded the number of vacancies. Acting on the presumption that such a selection or election was almost a matter of form Dr. Butterton admitted certain boys into the School on his own authority in 1856. He had clearly put himself in the wrong and he was admonished by the Governors. There was also at the same time a dispute between him and the Governors, relative to the appointment of the Modern Language Master. There had been several applicants and one had been chosen, but the Headmaster did not consider the choice wholly an impartial one and he was unwise enough to say so. The Governors pointed out to him that the appointment of the Masters was vested wholly in the Governors and that it was most improper for him to interfere. The Governors were acting perfectly within their rights and in accordance with the scheme. But the scheme was totally unsound for the proper management of a School. Again when Dr. Butterton wished the Whitsuntide holidays to be added to the month in the Summer, he was informed that according to the scheme there must be holidays at Whitsuntide and not more than a month in the Summer, and so nothing could be done. Perhaps as a man he was too impetuous and slightly intolerant, and, though it would have been difficult for the most godly of men to keep a school alive and progressing under such conditions, it was quite impossible for him to hope to succeed, unless he kept the staff upon his side. But he quarrelled with John Howson, the Usher, on two distinct occasions, one on a question of discipline and one with regard to a French Class that he caused to be held during School hours in his own house, by a man of his own choice. On both occasions the immediate cause of disagreement was but the final spark of a smouldering and mutual discontent, and it is impossible to distribute the blame. The Modern Language Master was placed upstairs in the High School and a space was partitioned off for him from the main part of the room, where Mr. Langhorne was giving Elementary Instruction. Such an arrangement was not entirely suitable and the French Classes were afterwards taken in the room which had been especially built for them next to the Library. The next months saw the gradual development of a situation that caused Dr. Butterton's retirement. The Rev. John Howson also showed signs of so serious an illness that he expressed his readiness to retire, should some suitable arrangement be made. The Governors agreed to give him a pension of £120 a year. Dr. Butterton's Headmastership cannot be dismissed without a reference to certain customs that were prevalent in his time. Down the centre of the pathway that runs alongside the School palings on to the main road there is a black stone fixed in the ground. This was a familiar place of torture. Every new boy was taken thither and made to sit down heavily on its top. It was a custom that continued for some years, until the removal of the School buildings to their present position took away the temptation. The distribution of Figs and Bread on March 12 still continued but cock-fighting had gradually died out. It had long been the custom to use the Figs as missiles and the objects of attack were Masters, Governors, spectators and even Ladies. It is very difficult to say whether March 12, was ever a day on which the Masters used to collect money gifts from the boys. Potation Day was the customary day for such offerings in many schools, but at Giggleswick the practice of receiving money from the Scholars was particularly forbidden in the case of the Writing Master in 1799, and at other times. And it may be that money was taken in a more official way. Three guineas frequently appears in the Minute-Book as the "contribution of the Scholars" towards the firing and heating of the School, and in 1852 blinds were provided for the School windows, but the Minute-Book expressly said that they were to be kept in repair by the Boys. There has already been occasion to notice the very heavy glazier bills that the Governors had to meet, and there is a fitting commentary upon them in an extract from a letter to the Governors written by the Rev. Dr. Butterton: "I take the opportunity of mentioning a circumstance, which requires the interference of the magistrates or at any rate of the police. Every evening all the rabble of Giggleswick and Settle assemble in the Schoolyard and conduct themselves in such a riotous manner, that no schoolboy dare enter the yard and no lady dare pass through it. They play at ball against the library wall to the imminent danger of the windows, and frequently climb up to the top of the building to the serious injury of the roof. As the nuisance seems to increase every evening, it appears to me that strong measures must be taken to put it down." This chapter cannot close without a brief and inadequate account of the Rev. John Howson. He was born at Giggleswick in 1787 and was a pupil at the School during the later years of William Paley's Headmastership; in 1798 his name was in the list of pupils who received a prize. He graduated B.A. and M.A. at Dublin, and in March, 1814, he came back to his old School as Second Master on John Armstrong's death. He was ordained Priest and married a daughter of Mr. J. Saul, who had been at one time Writing Master at the School. He remained at Giggleswick till his death. He was of a type of schoolmaster, now extinct, hot tempered, but kindly natured; one of his pupils is said to have returned from the Colonies bent on one thing, determined to have his revenge on Howson for some act of supposed injustice done to him as a boy. His portrait reveals a geniality that marked him always, though at times he was inclined to distrust new ideas and new men. He preferred the well-trodden path. [Illustration: REV. JOHN HOWSON, M.A.] [Illustration: SIR JAMES KAY-SHUTTLEWORTH.] The year before Dr. Butterton had been appointed Headmaster had been marked by the first appearance of a School Magazine, of which record remains. The Giggleswick School Olio ran to three numbers under the motto of Vade, Vale, Cave. Its contributions are ambitious and graceful, poetry haunts its pages, and is of a kind that reflects considerable Classical reading. Two boys under Dr. Butterton deserve some mention. Jackson Mason, the son, grandson, and father of Giggleswick boys, recited a poem in honour of the re-building of the School in 1851, and after being a scholar of Trinity College, Cambridge, became later Vicar of Settle. Though an invalid, he made his mark as a translator of many hymns from the old Latin, and his work remains in the Ancient and Modern Hymn-Book. J. H. Lupton was a Scholar of St. John's College, Cambridge, and afterwards Fifth Classic and Surmaster of S. Paul's School. These are not isolated examples of the academic success that attended Dr. Butterton's Headmastership. The Speech Day of 1855 recorded not a few. It was notable for being the first year a Giggleswick boy--Bramley--had ever won the Lady Elizabeth Hastings' Exhibition at Queen's College, Oxford, and was marked by high distinctions gained at Cambridge by three other former boys, Lupton, Mason, and Leeming. Under Dr. Butterton there is probably little doubt that, with the exception of his last year, the School had increased greatly in efficiency. Its numbers averaged eighty-three and once reached ninety-one. It had re-built itself and had attracted the generosity of old boys and friends in the endowment of prizes. The subjects of instruction had been increased. The discipline, had improved. Fresh blood had been wanted, and a fresh scheme. They were both obtained. But perhaps the scheme did not represent the summit of human wisdom, perhaps the fresh blood was too rich. CHAPTER IX. The Rev. J. R. Blakiston. The resignation of Dr. Butterton did not in any way modify the determination of the Governors to hold by the existing Scheme. A printed notice of the qualifications required by the new Master and Usher was sent out. The Master had to excel in all branches of learning, the higher branches of Greek and Latin Literature, advanced Mathematics, Logic, Rhetoric, English of all kinds and Moral and Political Philosophy. The qualifications of the Usher were less exacting. Salaries at a minimum of £210 and £150 were offered, and for every additional boy in the School after the first thirty and up to sixty, the Master received £5, the Usher £2 as a capitation fee. Each was given a house and garden, rent free, and could take boarders. More than forty applications for the mastership were received and the Rev. John Richard Blakiston was appointed. Born in 1829 he was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he gained a Scholarship. In 1853 he was Second Classic and took Mathematical Honours. A Fellowship Examination was to be held in October, 1854, and Mr. Blakiston was studying for it, when Thring, who had been recently appointed to Uppingham, offered him a post there as a House-Master. After three-and-a-half years he accepted the Headmastership of Preston Corporation School and a year later--December, 1858--was appointed to Giggleswick. At the same meeting of the Governors the Rev. Matthew Wood was appointed Usher. Born in 1831 he was a Scholar of S. Catherine's College, Cambridge, and later an Assistant Master at Durham School. John Langhorne was the only survivor of the days of Butterton and almost immediately he resigned and was succeeded by Mr. Arthur Brewin, who had been trained as a teacher in the Chelsea Training College and had served under Blakiston at Preston. His salary was to be £130 a year. A Modern Language Master was also chosen. The following December the usual examination took place and the Bishop of Ripon appointed the Rev. Frederic William Farrar, who at that time was a Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, and a Master at Harrow. This first report is important, because of the great contrast it presents when compared with later years. The School in 1859 was staffed by very able, young and ambitious men, indeed Mr. Blakiston's intellectual capacity and ability as a teacher were quite exceptional, and the report speaks in terms of commendation of the work of the School, especially of the boys under Blakiston and Brewin. [Illustration: REV. J. R. BLAKISTON.] In the next year 1860, the examiner appointed was the Rev. J. T. B. Landon, sometime Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford; the progress that he reported was by no means so satisfactory as in the previous year. He praised the efficiency of the staff, but he pointed out that the pupils were not so advanced as to be able to profit sufficiently from the teaching. Similarly in 1861 there were no boys whose knowledge corresponded with that of an average sixth form in one of the greater Public Schools. The causes were twofold. The number of boys had steadily decreased from ninety-six in Dr. Butterton's time, to fifty-six in 1860, and thereafter to an even greater extent. The consequence was that the competition became considerably less acute, and the proportion of boys from the neighbourhood considerably greater. Such boys would clearly in the main be less likely to profit by the efficiency of the teaching than boys from a greater distance. But there was a second and a contributory cause. The anomalous position of the Master and Usher, each of whom had a freehold in his office, had led to awkward incidents under the late Headmaster. But they were now accentuated by the fact that both Master and Usher were young men and were appointed at the same time. The subordination of the Usher to the Master was regulated by the Statutes of 1592, but in so vague a manner that they allowed room for all manner of evasion. It would be an unprofitable task to discuss these differences in detail; let it be sufficient to say that matters reached such a pitch that the Master was summoned before the Settle Bench of Magistrates on a charge of excessive vigour in applying punishment, and that the Usher was expected (though he did not do so) to appear as a witness for the Prosecution. The summons was dismissed, and the Master exonerated from all blame, but such a procedure was not calculated to enhance the prestige of the School, or modify the mutual difficulties of the Headmaster and Usher. One of the chief of the minor causes of complaint was the position of the boarders. The advertisement issued for the purpose of encouraging applicants for the posts of Master and Usher had signified that both men could take boarders and so increase their salary. But Craven Bank, which was the Master's residence, was quite unsuited for the housing of boys. Butterton had only the attics to put them in, and Blakiston found it impossible to take any boys, except by allowing them to live entirely with his own family, and inhabit the same rooms, and for this he asked a higher fee of £75 a year. The Usher on the other hand was given a smaller house, but in April, 1859, the Governing Body spent £700 in enlarging it, and building what is now the Sanatorium. By this means he was able to take ten or twelve boys, keep them quite separate from his own family, and board them on lower terms than the Master at £56. As the numbers declined, the necessity for both men to have boarders disappeared, and in consequence the lower fees and the more comfortable internal arrangements of the Usher's house caused it to be more desirable in the eyes of the parents, and in January, 1863, the Usher had ten boarders, the Master one. These were the more trivial causes of complaint, but Mr. Blakiston had too big a mind to suffer himself to be obsessed by the accidentals. He was fighting, and consciously fighting, a much bigger battle. Dr. Arnold had fought and won it at Rugby some years before, but the path at Giggleswick was not therefore the easier. The real point at issue was the 1844 Scheme for the Management of the School. It had driven away Dr. Butterton, it was harassing his successor. Mr. Blakiston on one occasion had to receive permission from the Governing Body to have the floor raised on his dais in the School, in order that he might have a better view of the boys as a whole. He could not arrange holidays without permission, he could not admit the boys without authority, he could not insist on a change in the pronunciation of Latin without rousing the interference of the Governors. The pronunciation, that is to-day called "new," was introduced by Mr. Blakiston in 1860, as well as a novel method of pronouncing Greek; he tried in vain to induce other Headmasters to follow his example. These restrictions were particularly harassing to an ambitious and enthusiastic man, and in March, 1862, he applied to the Charity Commissioners for an amendment of the Scheme. They were unwilling to take any hand in it on the mere motion of the Master, and their refusal led to much recrimination. Men, anonymous and otherwise, wrote to the Newspapers commenting on the decadence of the School in efficiency and numbers, and the subject became well-worn. In the midst of it Mr. Blakiston received generous and unexpected support. Mr James Foster, a City of London Merchant, who had been educated at Giggleswick and had property in the neighbourhood, heard of the dissension that was going on, and read the published pamphlets of Mr. Blakiston. He accordingly asked his nephew and partner--Mr. James Knowles--to wait upon Mr. Blakiston with the offer of £500 wherewith he might be enabled to continue his efforts. James Knowles also wrote independently to the Charity Commissioners, as a member of the public anxious for the welfare of a School in whose neighbourhood he owned property. He called attention to the differences which had arisen between the Master and the Usher and the consequent depression of the School, and desired that they should open an investigation themselves in the interests of the Public. Meanwhile the Governors had at last bestirred themselves and in September, 1862, had caused a letter to be written to the Commissioners, asking for an amendment to the Scheme. They suggested that, in accordance with Mr. Blakiston's suggestion, the area, from which members of their body could be chosen, should be slightly extended and their numbers raised from the statutory eight to fifteen. They put forward the names of seven additional members, but on two declining the honour, they reduced the number to five. The great danger of the previous number of eight drawn from the small area of the Parish of Giggleswick had lain in the tendency to choose men, who were closely allied one to another by ties of relationship and so possibly of prejudice. In 1864 the Scheme was so amended and the new Governors were chosen. They included three men, who soon shewed a very real, active and enlightened interest in the prosperity of the School--Sir James Kay Shuttleworth, Mr. C. S. Roundell, and Mr. Walter Morrison. One object had now been attained and the way lay open for a more thorough amendment of the position of the Master. But first it will not be amiss to mention other features of the School life. Potation Day was celebrated to the usual accompaniment of Figs until the year 1860, when the Charity Commissioners objected to it and to the Governors' dinners as a waste of trust funds. The Governors declined to entertain the objection, but limited the expenditure on the dinner given by the Governors to themselves and the Masters to £12, and any further expense was to be borne by the whole body of Governors present. The following year the dinner was again held and paid for as formerly, but in 1862 the differences between the Master and Usher and the death of one of the Governors gave them an opportunity of omitting the dinner in a dignified manner. Since that date the dinner has never been held. Fig-day, as far as the boys were concerned, was also celebrated this year but for the last time. In 1863 it was resolved that the customary payment of three guineas by the Scholars for School fires and cleaning should be discontinued and the money which had been collected in the winter of 1859-60 was to be applied to the purchase by Mr. Blakiston of books for the School Library. This is the first recorded intimation of the buying of books for the Library, which had been built by Dr. Butterton. [Illustration: HECTOR CHRISTIE, _Chairman of the Governors_.] In 1861 it was decided to purchase for the School a clock not exceeding the value of £5 and also to erect a shed in the Schoolyard. It was to be used as a playing and drilling place for the boys in wet weather, but as the estimated cost of it was £80 the Governors refrained from carrying the matter further until July, 1862. In that year some members of a committee, who had been appointed many years earlier to promote the decoration in the re-building of the School reported that they had £66 3_s._ 9_d._ in hand. This they offered to the Governors to assist them in the building of the shed in an ornamental style. In 1864 it was suggested that the Building Committee should report on the additional cost, for which the shed then in course of erection could be converted into Fives Courts. In 1865 Mrs. Kempson, of Holywell Toft offered £150 as a prize, to be called "The Ingram Prize," in memory of her father, the Rev. Rowland Ingram, sometime Headmaster. Five years previously the Pupils Prize and the Howson Prize had been suspended, but Mrs. Kempson's offer was gratefully accepted. She wished it to take the form, if possible, of a Bible with references. The Usher had already absented himself for one term in order that he might undertake work at Cirencester, but he found it uncongenial and returned to Giggleswick. In June, 1864, he definitely resigned. The Governors at once requested permission from the Charity Commissioners to suspend for six months the post of Usher and to appoint a temporary Assistant to take the work. It was inconvenient to have the freehold occupied at a time when the Governing Body were contemplating amendments to the 1844 Scheme. In the meantime the Master was allowed the option of living in the Usher's house. Henceforth the fortunes of the School began to improve. The position had been so unenviable that with the temporary vacancy in the freehold of the Usher, the Governors and the Headmaster began to consider seriously the alteration of the Scheme of Management. The Charity Commissioners had been approached first in 1862, by Mr. Blakiston, and, after he had been supported by the Governing Body, the matter received official attention. An Inspector was sent down in the early part of 1863, and taking advantage of a reconciliation between the Master and Usher, he refused to discuss or enquire into the personal aspect of the matter. His report described the financial resources of the School, which consisted of 732 acres of land, and produced a yearly income of over £1,120. There was also an increasing surplus of revenue over expenditure, which three years later amounted to little less than £800. The average number of boys during the years 1846-1860 had been eighty-three, and the highest point had been ninety-six. This according to the testimony of those, who had the longest associations with the School, was a considerably larger number than had ever been reached at any previous period. In 1860 the number had dropped to fifty-six, and at the time of the Inspector's visit was fifty-one. Ten of these were boarders, of whom nine lived in the Usher's House, one with the Headmaster. There was one day boarder; nine lodged with strangers, four more with relatives, the rest, twenty-seven in all, were home boarders or boys coming to School from their homes in the neighbourhood. The education was mainly Classical, although some boys who were intended for a commercial career were excused Greek and Latin Verse, while almost all learned both French and German. The chief difficulty under which the School was labouring, was the class of boy from which it drew. The whole education was given free and this tempted many parents to send their sons, who in reality were not fitted to take advantage of the curriculum provided. There were exceptions, and some boys of humble parentage had distinguished themselves in an intellectual sphere, but their proportion was not great. It was therefore suggested that tuition fees should be imposed. Such a charge was revolutionary and was stoutly condemned by all the inhabitants living around. It formed the battlefield for ten years. Face to face with the Inspector, the Governors gave their consent to the change, but presently local pressure became so strong that they withheld it. But the short Scheme of 1864 which enabled members of the Governing Body to be chosen from a wider area, and the consequent appointment of Sir James Kay Shuttleworth gave a great impetus to reform. There was now no faintness of heart. The increased efficiency of the School became a dominating idea, and the principle of capitation fees was accepted. But it was impossible to carry through such a principle without the consent of the neighbourhood. Their enthusiasm could hardly be looked for, but their goodwill was indispensable. In 1865 their hostility was lessened to the extent that a compromise was suggested, by which fifty boys should always be admitted free of capitation fee, and that ability to read and write should be deemed sufficient to gain admittance. The School had never within living memory educated more than ninety-six boys, and at this time the numbers were down to thirty-seven, in 1864 they had been thirty-four, so that the suggested number of free boys was perhaps somewhat an exaggerated number. The Governors replied by suggesting twenty-five boys drawn from a radius of eight miles. This would probably have sufficed for as many as would be likely to benefit in the limited area, and the limitation in area was only a return to the original desire of the founder to educate boys who were sons of parents in the neighbourhood. In October, 1865, Mr. J. G. Fitch inspected the School as an Assistant Commissioner, under the Schools Enquiry Commission. There were only twenty-two boys in the higher classes learning Latin, and the Sixth Form consisted of one, while only eight boys in all were able to read a simple passage from a Latin Author. He noticed several disadvantages under which the School was labouring, and consequent upon which it had declined. One of them was the narrow and local character of the Governing Body, but this had been recently amended by the Scheme of 1864. Another was the obvious one of the impossibility of having two masters, one nominally subordinate to the other, and yet each enjoying a freehold. Lastly, he pointed out that there was no effective supervision by the Governors over the boarding arrangements, and he condemned the gratuitous character of the instruction, which attracted boys for whom the education at the National School would have been sufficient. The Report was issued and negotiations went forward with regard to capitation fees. The inhabitants of the Parish of Giggleswick were quite open to compromise within a limited extent. They were willing to reduce the number of free Scholars, but they could hardly be expected to waive their rights altogether. Instead of fifty they suggested thirty-five as a suitable number and the Governors agreed to accept thirty but no longer wished them to be chosen from a limited area. Limitation of area was however a very important point in the eyes of the Parish and they could not accept the offer. A deadlock arose. Sir James Shuttleworth saw the danger of jeopardizing the whole Scheme by their inability to agree upon one point and he boldly proposed to omit the clause altogether and allow it to stand over, while the rest of the Scheme was carried through. The Commissioners were asked to give their consent to this omission, and they were only very reluctantly persuaded to do so, for they had considered it to be a very important clause. Even so a further difficulty arose. The freehold of the Usher was in abeyance, and Mr. Blakiston for the sake of the promised prosperity of the School had been willing to waive his rights but, when the question of capitation fees was wholly dropped, he changed his mind and proposed to retain his former position. The whole Scheme was in danger, until the Governors decided to point out to Mr. Blakiston that his refusal would in no way impede some of the essentials of the change but that, as they could not intrude upon his privileges, he would, while he retained the Mastership, continue to labour under all the disadvantages, which had for seven years made his position so irksome. He would still be unable to appoint or dismiss his Assistants and his power over the Scholars would not be changed for the better. The Master's decision was unaltered, but in March, 1866, he determined to accept an appointment as a Government Inspector of Schools and so the difficulty was at an end. The following May the Commissioners promulgated the new Scheme and it will be as well to discuss it at this point. All boys were to be admitted who could read and write and were not afflicted with any contagious disorder. The Headmaster was to receive a salary of not less than £250 a year and was to be appointed by the Governors subject to the approval of the Bishop of Ripon, the Visitor of the School. He could be dismissed by a two-thirds majority of the Governors, without any cause being assigned. A house was provided for him and he could both appoint and dismiss all the Assistant Masters and have complete and sole control over the supervision and discipline of the boys. These regulations were a great step forward and the power of the Headmaster became a real power. Scholarships were also to be given to deserving boys, and they were to be tenable at the School. This was a new departure and had been suggested by the desire to impose capitation fees, which would in particular cases be excused. The Scholarships under the amended Scheme would be spent in part payment of the boarding fees. Leaving Exhibitions were also to be awarded and were intended to supplement the various moneys massed under the heading of Burton Rents. The year 1865 was marked also by another equally notable enquiry. At the half-yearly meeting a Committee was appointed to enquire into the advisability of extending the boarding accommodation. The present arrangements were not satisfactory. The Usher's house could not accommodate more than ten boys, the Master's not so many. Any other boys from a distance were compelled to live with anyone in the village, who was willing to take them. The boys would be under no proper supervision and frequently the conditions would be not even sanitary. There was a clear need for an enlarged building, where as many boys could live, as were attracted to a school, which had many natural advantages. [Illustration: CRICKET GROUND.] The Committee issued their report in October and proposed that a Boarding-house should be built and a level piece of ground provided in its vicinity for Football and Cricket. The Boarding-house was to provide a dining-hall, rooms for preparatory studies and dormitories for fifty boys, together with apartments for a Master in charge. The Trust Funds were not sufficient to build the School up afresh, with new Boarding-houses and new Class-rooms and it was a debateable question what site they should choose. The first proposal was to use the recently built School and convert the upper room into a dormitory and so increase the accommodation with a minimum of expense. But the close proximity of the Churchyard gave a suggestion of insanitariness to the site and the absence of playing fields made it impossible. There was a further choice. Near Craven Bank was a certain amount of land belonging to Mr. Robinson and also a field of five acres. Other sites were suggested including one between the Workhouse and the Station but finally in January, 1866, the plot of land near Craven Bank was bought for £375. Mr. Ingram's house--at the present time occupied by the Headmaster--was offered to the Governors for £2,600 subject to Mrs. Kempson's life interest, but it was not accepted. There was a further question of the lines on which the Boarding-house should be run. The alternatives were, to let the buildings to the Master on a rent of six per cent. on the total outlay and allow him to make what money he could out of the pupils, or to adopt what was called the Hostel System. The Master would then have a limited control over the internal discipline of the boys, but the other responsibilities would rest with the Governors. All profit could then be appropriated by them with a view to the adoption of a Sinking Fund and an Exhibition Fund. Finally the Hostel System was decided upon. In March, 1866, Sir James Kay Shuttleworth, Mr. Carr and Mr. Morrison were appointed as a Committee to obtain plans for the erection of a Boarding-house and to prepare a scheme of management for it. Mr. Blakiston's resignation was accepted at the same meeting, and Mr. Thomas Bramley was appointed as his temporary successor. He had already been acting as an Assistant in the place of the Usher, and his salary was now raised to £250 a year, and he was liable to supersession at three months' notice; he had no freehold, and was only intended to act as Master for a limited period. Before closing the Chapter on Mr. Blakiston's career at Giggleswick it will be well to recapitulate briefly some of the excellent work that he had accomplished. He had come in a time of transition. Education throughout England was in the melting-pot. Giggleswick itself had very considerable opportunities of expanding into one of the foremost Schools in the North of England. The population was growing rapidly. New industries were springing up on every hand. A generation was coming to manhood, whose needs were as yet a matter for speculation. But Giggleswick had a traditional hold upon the minds of the North, it had also a rich endowment. Was it prepared to meet the necessities of the hour, or was it to continue in the same self-centred policy that had served well enough in the past? Mr. Blakiston answered the question at once. He was young, he was ambitious, he was a scholar. He was also in his ideas a revolutionary. It is not difficult to picture the result. Thrown into the midst of a slow-moving machinery, alone in his estimate of the potential greatness of the School, supremely conscious of his mission, he found himself a solitary. There are two methods of progress. One to oil the old cog-wheels and pray for progression. Another to point out the clogging nature of the machinery and propose a new device. He chose the latter method. It was bold and dangerous. But he went through with it courageously. The numbers dropped rapidly, the fame of the School suffered a relapse, but in the end the victory was his. Before he retired, one new scheme had been adopted, another and a better one was awaiting confirmation, the suggestion of a new Boarding-house was being pressed forward, and the field was clear for the great and revolutionary change--the adoption of a system of capitation fees. The subsequent prosperity of the School owed much of its swift development to the Headmastership of Mr. Blakiston, and it is a grateful task to record it. CHAPTER X. A New Era. On the resignation of Mr. Blakiston, in March, 1866, the Rev. Thomas Bramley, an Assistant Master, was appointed temporary Headmaster. The Charity Commissioners had been asked for their advice, and had expressly stipulated that the temporary office should not carry with it any freehold. After holding this position for eighteen months, Mr. Bramley sent in his resignation in October, 1867. The Governors held a meeting to consider the position, and a letter was read voicing the opinion of the inhabitants of the neighbourhood that a permanent Headmaster should be appointed. They shewed that the numbers of the School proved that the education received had value in the eyes of the locality, and they suggested that a permanent Headmaster would be more likely to take a close interest in the boys. The Governors replied that they could not see their way to making a permanent appointment, until the Boarding-house had been completed and the regulations drawn up for boys who wished to reside with strangers in the neighbourhood. [Illustration: THE HOSTEL, 1869.] The Plans for a Boarding-house had been going forward rapidly, and in May, 1867, the Charity Commissioners had sanctioned the expenditure by the Governors of £6,400. The income of the Trust had for some years shewn a surplus of revenue over expenditure, and this surplus then amounted to over £1,200; the further £5,000 was obtained from the proceeds of the sale of the Rise Estate, in 1863. The Boarding-house was to be built by Mr. Paley, a grandson of the Archdeacon, and was to contain Dormitories for forty-nine boys and studies for eighteen. In December, 1867, Mr. Michael Forster was appointed provisional Headmaster for a single year. It was particularly pointed out to him that the position would not carry with it any claim to be appointed to the permanent post, when it was determined that such should be filled up. Mr. Forster had taken a First Class in Classical Moderations, and a Second in the Final School, and in addition had won a Winchester Scholarship in Mathematics at New College, and had "read Mathematics as high as Plane Trigonometry." The numbers of the School steadily increased, and in the Easter Term of 1868 there were sixty-six boys, and in the following Michaelmas Term sixty-seven, of whom four boarded in the Master's House, and eleven in Lodging Houses. The rest were day-boys living at home. The majority were very young: twenty-two boys were under twelve, and forty-one between the ages of twelve and sixteen. In May, 1869, the Governors proceeded to the appointment of a permanent Headmaster. Mr. Michael Forster had been continued in his provisional post for a few months, and had witnessed a further increase in the numbers of the School, which at that period stood at seventy-three. The regulations for the conduct of the School had been drawn up, and the Headmaster was to receive a House rent-free and an assured income of £250, with a further additional sum for each boy, not exceeding fifty in number, who should board for a year in the Hostel or in the Master's House. The maximum would then amount to £750, but a further sum of £250 was possible, if the Governors deemed it expedient to build a second Hostel to accommodate another fifty boys. For the first time in the history of the School it was not necessary for applicants to be in Holy Orders, but the master must be a member of the Church of England, and a graduate of one of the Universities of Oxford, Cambridge or Dublin. Under the new Scheme of Management the appointment of Assistant Masters, but not their salaries, and the control of the internal discipline and conduct of the School were to be in his sole charge. But the regulations for the admission of boys and for the subjects of instruction were to be made by the Governing Body. A scheme had been drawn up by a Sub-Committee, whereby the charge for Boarders was fixed at £80 per annum and £5 of each boarder's charges was to be appropriated to Free Scholarships and Exhibitions. The division of the School into an Upper and Lower Division was maintained and the subjects in the latter were to be English in all its branches, Arithmetic and the Accidence of Latin. The Upper School in time was to consist of two sides, Classical and Modern. The Classical side had as its especial object the preparation of boys for the English Universities, whereas the Modern side was intended to give instruction in Latin, French, German, English Literature, Mathematics, History, Physical Geography, and, when the numbers of the School should increase, Chemistry or some other branch of Natural Science. Latin could be omitted with the concurrence of the Master and parents in individual cases. Provision was also made for an increased and efficient staff of Masters, some of whom should be resident in the Hostel. There were four principal applicants for the Headmastership and on May 26, 1869, the Governors elected as Headmaster the Rev. George Style, Fellow of Queens' College, Cambridge, who since the beginning of 1868 had been an Assistant Master at Clifton College. The staff of Masters consisted of Mr. Style, the Headmaster, Mr. C. H. Jeaffreson, late Scholar of Lincoln College, Oxford, the Second Master, without however a freehold, Mr. Arthur Brewin, who was still in charge of the Lower School, which at this time came rather to be known as the Junior or Preparatory School, and Herr Stanger who visited the School on certain days each week in order to teach German. When Mr. Style came he found fifty-six boys in the School; of these, three became boarders in the Hostel, fifteen were boarding in various houses in the neighbourhood and the rest lived with their parents. In March, 1870, at the Annual Meeting, the Headmaster reported that there were sixty-one boys in the School of whom nine were in the Hostel and sixteen in private Boarding-houses. The system of Private Boarding-houses constituted a difficulty common to many of the older schools in England at this period. It was not possible to put a sudden stop to a practice that had been prevalent for the most part of three centuries and yet the accommodation in many of these lodging-houses was inadequate and the sanitary arrangements most prejudicial to health. It is only necessary to glance at the regulations which the Governors thought fit to make to realize how unrestricted had been the life of the boys who lodged in such houses. Henceforward no boy could live in a house, other than his parents', unless the tenant had received a license from the Governing Body. No boy was to be allowed to leave the house after 7-0 p.m. in Winter, and 9-0 p.m. in Summer. No boy should enter a Public House, or smoke or play cards, and any breach of the rules was to be forthwith reported to the Headmaster. This was the first occasion on which any rules had been laid down. Eventually the private Boarding-houses gave place to the Hostel, where greater opportunities existed for study and discipline; in 1871 only four such private boarders remained and soon afterwards there were none. [Illustration: A HOSTEL STUDY.] [Illustration: CLASS ROOM.] As soon as the Endowed Schools Act had been passed in 1869 the Governors of Giggleswick began to consider a new scheme for the management of the School. On May 30, 1870, Mr. D. R. Fearon, an Assistant Endowed Schools Commissioner, came down to confer with the Governors. He suggested that the foundations of Giggleswick and Sedbergh should be amalgamated and that out of their joint funds two first-grade schools should be established, one Classical, one Modern; and that in some respects it would be more convenient that Sedbergh should be the Modern School, because at that time it was almost in abeyance and therefore the difficulties would be less great. If the Governors of Giggleswick had not already expended large sums in building, the Commissioners would have approved a scheme for removing both schools and establishing one central foundation for Classical and Modern studies, but this was then impossible. It was proposed that the Governing Body should be increased and no teaching be gratuitous, but in order to provide for the satisfaction of local requirements a Third Grade School should be established in Settle either as a separate school or as an upper branch of the National School or alternatively they should annex to Giggleswick School a Junior Department with a lower fee and a limitation of age. Further, in consequence of the twelfth clause of the Endowed Schools Act, some provision was to be made out of the Giggleswick Endowments for the education of girls. These suggestions were not all carried out. The two foundations were treated separately, except that Sedbergh was established as a First-grade Secondary School with Classics as its main subject, and Giggleswick was similarly established on Modern lines. The new regulations for the government of the School came into force in 1872. The Governing Body was to consist of sixteen members; eight were to be Representative Governors, and were to consist of the Justices of the Peace in the Petty Sessional Divisions in which Giggleswick and Sedbergh were respectively situated; representatives nominated by S. John's College, Cambridge, Owen's College, Manchester, and the Governing Bodies of certain neighbouring Grammar Schools. The remaining eight were to be co-optative. The Vicar of Giggleswick ceased to be an ex-officio Governor and the Bishop of Ripon was no longer the official visitor of the School. His powers were henceforward vested in the Crown. The Headmaster had no freehold but was liable to be dismissed at six months' notice without cause assigned by a two-thirds majority of the Governing Body, twice assembled for the purpose. But on the other hand he was given complete jurisdiction over the whole internal management, teaching and discipline of the School, and full power to appoint and dismiss his Assistant Masters. [Illustration: HOSTEL.] The question of free education at the School was settled finally. Every boy admitted into the School had to pay an entrance fee not exceeding £3 and a tuition fee not less than £12 or more than £24. Fees for boarding in the Hostel were not to exceed £45. Certain exemptions from tuition fees could be granted as the reward of merit, and in a few instances the boarding fees might be remitted for similar reasons and to a limited extent. If the state of the Trust Funds permitted, a leaving Exhibition, to be called The Giggleswick Exhibition, might be awarded for the purpose of fitting the holder for some profession or calling. It was to be given on the results of an examination in Mathematics, Natural Science or Modern Languages. The most important clause in the scheme was that which inaugurated the Shute Exhibitions. Giggleswick had been founded as a Free School, and the fundamental alteration of its character had been vigorously opposed by the inhabitants of the neighbourhood for close upon ten years. They were fighting a losing battle. It was clear that no school could maintain the efficiency of its education without the imposition of fees. One of its two original characteristics must go. Either the education must cease to be free, or it must lose its former liberal element. For three hundred years and more a Grammar School education had been such that by its very breadth it endeavoured to fit men for whatsoever walk in life they intended to adopt. But in the nineteenth century education was becoming more expensive, and the old ideals could not be maintained at the old cost. It is always an odious task to change the character of a benefaction, and to deprive people of long-standing privileges, but on the other hand it is essential to look at the matter from a different standpoint. Did the imposition of fees rob many boys of the chance of an education by which they were likely to profit? The answer is almost certainly in the negative. That there were some few to whom a higher education would be a gain is equally certain, and for these provision was made. The bequests of Josias Shute had been made in order to enable poor scholars to go up to the University, and for two hundred years the money was used in this way. But in 1872 it was diverted. It was henceforth to be applied to the payment of the tuition fees of such boys as had for not less than three years been educated at one or other of the Public Elementary Schools in the Ancient Parish of Giggleswick, and who should be deserving of it. These boys were to be called Shute Exhibitioners. The change has limited the numbers of boys from the neighbourhood who have been educated at the School, but the results have been excellent. Many Shute Exhibitioners have been enabled by this help to fit themselves for various positions in life, in which they have afterwards distinguished themselves, and it is improbable that any have been kept back by their failure to gain an Exhibition. The Governors further determined to change the character of the Lower School and make the education received there similar to that of a Preparatory School. In order to carry out the second aspiration of the Endowed Schools Commissioners, namely to "promote the education of girls," the Governors were ordered to pay £100 yearly to some girls' schools, which should be chosen later. This sum was paid to the Endowed School for Girls at Skipton. [Illustration: THE LIBRARY.] The subjects of instruction at the Grammar School were fixed according to the ideas prevalent for the promotion of "Modern" Education. Natural Science was included, and Latin found a place. Greek did not form part of the regular course, but the Governors could accord permission to learn it to such boys as needed it to qualify them to enter an University. The permission was frequently granted, and in such cases Greek was taken in place of German. The establishment of the new scheme was followed by a great development in the numbers of the School. Whereas in March, 1871, there were only fifty-eight boys, in the following March there were sixty-seven, and in December, 1873, one hundred and one. Never before in the history of the School had the numbers, so far as is known, reached a hundred, and the rapid increase justified the decision of the Governors to build the Hostel and to lower the boarding fees. It is a remarkable fact that although in the early part of 1872, no boys had been required to pay any money for tuition, yet no boy left the School when fees were imposed later in the same year in accordance with the provisions of the scheme. It is probable that the provision made under the Scheme for the teaching of Natural Science contributed largely to the increase in numbers. In January, 1872, the Headmaster had appointed Dr. W. Marshall Watts, as an Assistant Master, to take charge of the Science subjects, viz.: Chemistry, Physics, and Botany in the Upper School. At the same time arrangements were made by the Governors for the building of the first part of the Chemical Laboratory. The plans for the buildings and all the arrangements were carried out in accordance with the advice and under the personal supervision of Dr. Marshall Watts, who brought to bear upon the subject the experience which he had lately gained at Manchester Grammar School. In consequence the Laboratory, which cost about £1,500, was excellently adapted to its purpose. While the building operations were in progress, the Science teaching was begun and carried on under difficulties in two or more rooms at Craven Bank, which was then empty. A new residence for the Headmaster had been provided by the Governors in 1872. Holywell Toft had been built by the Rev. Rowland Ingram, a son of the former Headmaster, and he had used it as his residence while he was Vicar of Giggleswick; when he resigned the office, his sister Mrs. Kempson remained there. In 1871 the Governors were given the opportunity of purchasing it for £2,000, and in the following year it was used as the official residence of the Headmaster. [Illustration: CLASS ROOMS AND LABORATORY.] The additions to the Hostel, rendered necessary by the increase in numbers, were sanctioned by the Charity Commissioners in 1874, and a sum of £10,000 was named to provide for the same, and for the provision of further accommodation in the Laboratory. The Hostel already provided accommodation for forty-nine boys, but with the additions, which included, besides other buildings, the whole of the South Wing, and on the North the present Dining Hall and the Dormitories above it, room was made for about sixty-six more boys. From this time also the three-term system was adopted. Previously the School had assembled in the middle of August until Christmas, after which they came back for a long term extending from January till July, with only a short holiday at Easter. The holidays were now lengthened from eleven or twelve weeks in the year to fourteen. In 1876 the numbers had increased to such an extent that it was found necessary to build new Class-Rooms. Teaching had been still carried on in what is now known as the Old School, and the accommodation for some time had been so inadequate that rooms in the Hostel itself had been utilized. The Governors therefore determined to build rooms sufficient for one hundred and twenty boys, and to add a Lecture-room to the Laboratory. A difficulty arose about the site. It was at first proposed to lessen the expenditure by adding to the Old School, where there was a sufficient space, but such an addition would have permanently divided the life of the School, and apart from the question of finance, it was clearly of the utmost importance that the Class-rooms should be adjacent to the Hostel. This course was finally decided upon, and six Class-rooms were built. The total cost of these buildings and of the Hostel additions reached over £13,000, and the Governors were empowered to sell certain of their North Cave Estates, and to borrow £6,000 from the Governors of Sedbergh. This debt was finally paid off in 1881 out of surplus revenue, which was so great that in 1878 Fives Courts were built out of it, and three years later £1,100 was spent in alterations and additions to the Headmaster's House. In spite of this considerable expenditure the Governors were still able to put aside each year the sum of £800. [Illustration: CHEMISTRY LABORATORY.] [Illustration: THE MUSEUM.] The numbers continued to increase rapidly, and in 1884 the Charity Commissioners agreed to the proposal of the Governors to extend the Class-rooms. Those already standing had been built in such a way that it was an easy undertaking to add to them. The road up High Rigg alone stood in their way, but permission was obtained to divert it and make a better road further South. On the ground-floor two new Class-rooms were built and connected by a corridor on the West side, while above it Big School, eighty feet long by thirty feet broad, absorbed one of the former Class-rooms, and supplied what had previously been a great defect in the arrangements of the School. It was capable of holding between three and four hundred people, and was thus of the utmost use on Speech Days and other great occasions, besides providing a fit place for assembling the whole School for Prayers and Concerts. At the southern end of the building a transverse addition was built, of which the lower half was to serve as a Library, and above were two Class-rooms opening into the Big School. Thus in addition to the Science Block, the School Buildings now consisted of Big School and nine large Class-rooms, each of which was capable of holding from twenty to twenty-five boys. Another long-felt need was also supplied. A large Covered Playground was erected on the West side of the Class-rooms. It was one hundred and five feet long and fifty feet broad, with a height of forty feet; its floor was paved with wood, and its walls were cemented. There a large proportion of the School could amuse themselves on days when the inclemency of the weather made out-door pursuits difficult. The cost of these buildings was defrayed out of the Trust Funds, but at the same time a Gymnasium and Changing Room were added by money provided by the subscriptions of Old Boys and other friends of the School, and in particular of Mr. John Birkbeck, one of the Governors. The cost of this part alone amounted to over £1,300. The twenty years from 1866 to 1886 saw the whole character of the School transformed. A complete set of new buildings had been erected with boarding accommodation for one hundred and fifty boys, and Class-rooms for two hundred and forty, all within one central space. Over twenty thousand pounds had been expended, and yet it had been found possible to meet these many claims without unduly depleting the total revenue arising from the Estates in the possession of the Governors in the East-Riding. The rental in 1894 was over £700, and shewed a decrease of a little less than £500 a year. That such a sudden and swift development should have been possible reflects the greater credit on the foresight of Sir James Kay Shuttleworth and his fellow Governors and on the energy and enthusiasm of the Headmaster. [Illustration: BIG SCHOOL.] No branch of the School life failed to grow during these eventful years; in work and in play success was pre-eminent. Dr. Marshall Watts was possessed of new buildings and up-to-date apparatus, and he did not fail to use them to the full. Mr. Style himself superintended the Mathematical work of the School, and both Mathematics and Science turned many a Giggleswick boy towards paths which brought honour and distinction to himself and his School. Between the years 1880 and 1891 five Scholarships were won for Mathematics, and nine first-class Mathematical Honours. In Natural Science thirteen boys won Scholarships at Oxford or Cambridge, and eleven took first classes. One Classical Scholarship was gained, the Junior Mathematical Scholarship at Oxford and one Mathematical Fellowship at Cambridge. Two boys passed into the Indian Civil Service direct from the School. Many others won Second-class Honours or Exhibitions or Scholarships at other places and several were placed extremely high in the Honours List of the London University Matriculation. These successes speak for themselves, and cover only a period of eleven years. The last decade of the century was almost as fruitful. At this point it will be as well to picture more definitely in the mind the characteristics of the School. A contributor to the _Giggleswick Chronicle_, in June, 1893, has described the conditions as he found them on his admission in 1871. The Dining-room stood where the Senior Reading-room now is, but it extended further back, including what is now a passage and the Servants' Hall. The eight Studies at the end of the lower passage formed a single large room for evening preparation and for prayers. Gas was not used, but oil-lamps were in every study and the school-room in the Hostel was lighted by candles fitted into tall metal candlesticks heavily weighted. The Old School was the chief place for work and the practice was continued of having the Junior School, which corresponded to the more ancient Lower School, upstairs and the Upper School consisting of three classes worked on the ground floor. The Class-room and Library were soon called into use and as the numbers rapidly increased two large rooms at the South end of the Hostel which had been recently built were also used. Science Classes were held in Craven Bank. [Illustration: FIVES COURTS.] In 1877 the death of Sir James Kay Shuttleworth robbed Giggleswick of a firm friend. His position as Chairman of the Governors had enabled him largely to mould the destinies of the School during its very difficult and important period of transition. He had been the most strenuous supporter of all who had the true interests of the School at heart, and he had fought amongst the foremost in the struggle for a new Scheme. Sir James Shuttleworth came to Giggleswick free from local prejudice and trained in educational work and the success that attended the School from 1872 onwards is largely due to the broad-minded sagacity that he displayed. Lord Frederick Cavendish succeeded him as Chairman and for five years gave Giggleswick of his best. He was followed by his brother Lord Edward Cavendish, who held the office for nearly nine years till his death in 1891. In that year Mr. Hector Christie entered upon his long term as Chairman. Ever since the Scheme of 1864 the Governing Body had been an exceedingly strong one. In addition to those already mentioned there were at different times Mr. Morrison, Mr. C. S. Roundell, Rev. H. I. Swale, and Mr. John Birkbeck, junior. All these men took a great individual interest in the School and as a body they were generous and progressive. From time immemorial the School had attended Giggleswick Parish Church for services on Sunday, and during this period two pews, one for the Headmaster and one for the Second Master, were set apart immediately on the North and South sides of the Communion Table. Boarders sat in their respective Master's pew or overflowed into other seats in the Church. But with increasing numbers it became difficult to provide seats for the School without interfering unduly with the convenience of the general congregation. Accordingly at the beginning of the year 1875 the School was allowed to have the use of the Church on Sundays for a special service at 9-0 a.m., but they still attended the ordinary afternoon service at 3-0. This system continued for five years until in 1880 the Governors laid on gas in the Church and put in suitable fittings. The School was then enabled to have a second special service at 7-0 p.m. A few years later the Rev. W. H. Coulthurst, the Vicar, consented to a plan for the restoration of the Church, and it was only fitting that the School should take a special interest in the work. The Headmaster issued an appeal for financial help to the Old Boys and to the School; £120 was collected for the General Fund, special contributions were made to the new organ, and the Headmaster and Boys, Past and Present, gave the Church a clock with S. Mary's chimes. This clock replaced an old one, which was put in the School Museum. Its works were made partly of wood and it required daily winding by hand, a process which occupied a considerable time. The School services during the progress of the restoration were held in Big School, while the Old School had been given over to the Vicar for the holding of the Parish services. The Church was re-opened on May 11, 1892, by the Bishop of Richmond, and on the following Sunday the sermon at the first School service was preached by the Rev. Delaval Ingram, a son of the former Vicar and a grandson of the Rev. Rowland Ingram, the former Master of the School. [Illustration: LORD FREDERICK CAVENDISH.] During Mr. Style's Headmastership Athletics also became a permanent part of the School life. The Cricket-field had been purchased in 1869, and had been used for both Cricket and Football. Unfortunately it was a fair-weather ground. Its foundations rested on peat, and continuous play all the year round did not improve it. The first matches that were played took place in the early seventies, when the Hostel had as yet only fourteen boys, but in spite of their small numbers a match was arranged between them and the rest of the School. Later on other School fixtures were mapped out, and the great days of the year were when Sedbergh, and, for a time, Lancaster School were the opponents. Between the years 1871 and 1895 forty-six Cricket Matches were played against Sedbergh, of which nine were drawn and seventeen won. Similarly during the period 1880-1895 twenty-four Football Matches took place, and Giggleswick won ten. The two Schools were equally matched, and the football of both reached a high standard. The Swimming Bath had been built in 1877, and was roofed in for use in winter. The Fives Courts were well attended, and Golf was begun on the playing fields at a later time. In 1893 a new Football Field was bought and an adjoining one rented. This was a material help to the School Athletics, for it was one of the few level fields in the district that was not in the winter almost permanently a marsh. [Illustration: THE SCHOOL BUILDINGS.] One of the most distinguishing features of the School was Music. The first resident Master was Mr. Charles Frederick Hyde, who came to the School in 1886, and for nearly seven years organized the music. With the help of Mr. L. Watkins all branches of the subject were developed, and, unlike the custom of most other Schools, music teaching was not cramped or regarded merely as an unfortunate necessity, but was given considerable opportunity. When Mr. Hyde died in 1893, his friends combined together, and, collecting £560, presented to the School Trustees a fine Organ, which was placed in Big School. This was a striking testimony to the appreciation that he had inspired after just seven years' work. Three men have up till the present succeeded to Mr. Hyde's place, and musical enthusiasm has been maintained at a very high pitch. The School Library had been begun under Dr. Butterton in a room especially built for the purpose. But as the centre of the School life gradually changed and new Class-Rooms were built near the Hostel, the Library was transferred to its present position. For a time each boy paid a small terminal subscription to maintain it with a supply of books. Reading in the Library was never compulsory, but a number of boys would go there on wet afternoons or at other free times, and it proved itself very valuable. Among the Books in the School's possession there is a copy of the "Breeches" Bible; A Paraphrase and Note on the Epistles of St. Paul, by John Locke, the Second Edition, published in 1709; An Edition of Cocker's Arithmetic, and several of the first collected Editions of Charles Dickens. The establishment of the Preparatory School had led Mr. Style to consider the question of providing a house for the boarding of younger boys, who should in time come up to the Hostel. Bankwell seemed a suitable building and was taken on a lease in 1887. Mr. G. B. Mannock was placed in charge. There was an excellent garden attached and the house had rooms for twenty boarders, while an adjoining field was rented for games. Thus the boys living there were able to keep almost entirely apart from the older boys in the School, except in school-time. Two years later Holly Bank was also taken for the same purpose. The Junior School had for a period of nearly forty years been in the charge of Mr. Arthur Brewin, who had succeeded John Langhorne as Writing Master in 1859. He had seen the complete development of the School and had watched each of the many schemes of management mature. His own department had been completely revolutionized. Formerly it had been a Writing School, in which generally he had been accustomed to give an elementary education, that in some cases was to be the only book learning that the boys were ever to get; but he eventually found himself teaching boys whose average age was under twelve and scarcely one of whom left the School before going into the higher classes. In July, 1897, he retired. In November, 1896, what might have proved an irreparable disaster came upon the Laboratory. During the early hours of the morning a fire was discovered in the Chemistry Room and it spread to the rest of the building. Most fortunately the Class-rooms and Hostel, which were both separate from the Laboratory, were not injured and the fire was quenched by 6-0 a.m. The misfortune seemed only to inspire the Headmaster and Dr. Watts to draw up plans for replacing what was already an excellent Laboratory with a still better one. In the following term both the Chemistry and Lecture Rooms were almost re-built and in 1899 a more extensive scheme was carried out by which two new Class-rooms, a Physical Laboratory and a Science Library were designed together with some smaller rooms, and the building fitly completed the appearance of the School. An Educational Exhibition was held at the Imperial Institute, London, in 1900, and many of the Schools of England exhibited their ancient documents and summarized their schemes of work. Giggleswick was allotted a certain space and sent up a survey of its past history and a detailed statement of its curriculum. In the Sixth Form, the thirty-two teaching periods a week were divided thus: Latin was allotted six, Mathematics eight, English and Divinity one each, Modern Languages eight, and Natural Science eight. Boys who wished to take Greek omitted German. In addition preparation for the next day's work was done each evening and on Saturday nights an essay or theme was set. Drawing formed part of the regular work of the School below the first three Forms. Singing was taught to all the younger boys and a School Choir had been formed consisting of boys and masters. Nearly half the School learned instrumental music, chiefly the Piano, and there were one or two School Concerts given every year and in addition concerts of classical music were held every fortnight. The School Museum occupied the place of the Library in the Old School, and in it were some particularly interesting specimens. The Victoria Cave which had been discovered in 1837, was carefully explored by Mr. Tiddeman and other experts, and after five years' work the results were presented in 1878 to the School Museum. In 1893 Mr. J. Walling Handby sent a Collection of Forty-one Skins of New Zealand Birds, and Mr. Clapham, of Austwick, gave a valuable Collection of British Birds. In addition there were Collections of Minerals (notably the Keate Collection), Fossils, Eggs, and South Sea Shells. The Museum was open at certain times to the public. School Societies flourished. The Photographic Society was instituted in 1876, the Debating Society in 1877, and a Literary Society in 1879. Cricket, Football, Golf, Fives, Swimming, and Athletic Sports, all found their place in the School year. The School Colours--Red and Black--were worn by most of the School, but, as is common, distinctive colours were assigned to members of the first two elevens in Cricket, and the two fifteens in Football. Inter-School and Dormitory Matches were also played. [Illustration: BANKWELL.] In September, 1897, an Old Boys' Club was formed under the presidency of the Headmaster in order to maintain a closer union between past and present members of the School, and to organize Meetings and Athletics. The Scheme met with considerable support, and from time to time meetings and dinners have been held. For the most part of the last twenty years of the century the numbers of the School had been too great for the Hostel to include them all. In 1894 there were two hundred and eight boys in the School, of whom only twenty to twenty-five were Day Boys. Craven Bank had consequently been used as another Dormitory. Bankwell, and for a time Hollybank, were filled with some of the younger boys. The great difficulty under which the School laboured was the frequent change of Masters, especially of those who took the higher forms. It was therefore suggested that the House System as opposed to the Dormitory System should be given a trial. Hollybank was no longer needed in 1900 to take the overplus from Bankwell, and a Master was put in charge of it, in the hope that older boys would come. The attractions were twofold. In the first place it was intended to give the Master in charge of it an opportunity of marrying and the expectation of a sufficient income to make him content to continue at Giggleswick. In the second place it was hoped that the fact of a man being married would tend to induce parents to send their boys more readily. Unfortunately the scheme was not wholly successful, and was soon abandoned. Every boy in the School attended the Gymnasium, which since its opening in 1887 had been under the superintendence of Sergeant-Major Cansdale. Many boys also learned carpentry in the Joiners' Shop, which had been fitted with benches and lathes, and other necessary materials in the upper room of the Old School. This brief summary of the School life was depicted at the Educational Exhibition and it was a worthy record for a small School. It will be seen that the main characteristic of the School was that it was amongst the first to adapt itself to modern needs. It is probably no exaggeration to say that at that period no school in England could approach Giggleswick in the practical teaching of Science; to this was due a great measure of its success. In every branch of school life excellence was attained, an unusual number of Scholarships were won and the Football Fifteen for two successive seasons in 1894 and 1895 never had a single point scored against them in any School Match. Throughout the history of the School there have been very few signs of literary exuberance. Only one School song has been written, called "Now Reds" by Mr. J. R. Cornah for the _Giggleswick Chronicle_, April, 1898. The _Giggleswick Chronicle_ was begun in 1880 but it was edited by Masters and was intended rather to place on record the terminal life of the School than aspire to literary eminence. As such it has achieved its purpose and is a valuable and interesting record. But apart from official matter boys have shewn themselves very loth to summon forth their energies and write. With one exception no paper, written by boys alone, has been published since the _Olio_ caused Sir Walter Scott to smile. The Boer War claimed a certain number of Old Boys, some of whom did extremely well. Captain H. H. Schofield distinguished himself at the Battle of Colenso, and helped to rescue two guns, for which he gained the Victoria Cross, while Lieutenant S. A. Slater was largely responsible for a clever and daring capture of Bultfontein. Altogether at least nineteen boys went out. CHAPTER XI. The Chapel. House of Commons Library, March 1, 1897. Dear Style, I have an idea in my head of offering to build the School a Chapel with a Dome as an architectural experiment, employing Jackson, the famous Oxford Architect. One would call it the Diamond Jubilee Memorial. Site the knoll in the Cricket Field. We have very few domes in England and it might give a hint to others. But I should like to hear any suggestions of yours. A Domed Building on the site should look well. It would need much thinking out as we do not understand Domes. The Round Church at Cambridge gives some hints. Yours truly, W. MORRISON. Rev. G. Style. This letter was received by the Headmaster on March 2. The effect of such news coming without any previous warning can be imagined. The difficulty of commemorating the Diamond Jubilee year had seemed overwhelming and this unexpected offer from Mr. Walter Morrison dissipated the troubles in a moment. In the second place a School Chapel had alone been wanting to complete the seclusion and privacy of the School, and hitherto the prospect of such a building had seemed unattainable. It was now offered as a gift. [Illustration: WALTER MORRISON J.P.] Mr. Morrison had recently returned from travelling in the East and had been greatly impressed by one particular feature of Eastern Architecture. The dome is almost universal in Palestine, and Mr. Morrison desired that an architectural experiment should be made in England. He wished to see the School Chapel built in the Gothic Style but with a dome. Mr. T. G. Jackson, R.A., was approached upon the subject and remembering that his former Master, Sir Gilbert Scott, had always hoped to undertake such a work, he gladly made his plans. The aim of all the best Architecture is to construct a building of such a kind that it will withstand the ruin of the ages and will prove an opportunity for doing well whatever it is built for. The purpose of a house is that a man should be able to live in it. The essence of a church is that it should provide a place of worship. It is easy enough to construct a four-square building with accommodation for a required number of people but brick walls are not sufficient. Utility does not consist only in adequate space; it has many other features, closely inwoven with it. Fitness is the keynote of beauty. Taken by themselves there is little beauty to be seen in two parallel straight iron lines running through the country-side, but conceive of them as railway lines, adequately and without any unnecessary waste of material performing the office for which they were made, and few sights can be more charged with the very essence of beauty. The purpose that underlies the construction and the complete fulfilment of that purpose is beauty. But a Church cannot be content only with a building sufficiently well-built to hold its worshippers and sufficiently in tone with its surroundings to express the unity of art and nature. It has a further form of expression that it must satisfy. It is a religious building, and as such its characteristics and its form must exemplify religious tendencies and thought. A barn can be supremely beautiful, but it does not radiate the atmosphere of worship. A Church must be characterized by certain great and instinctive elements of grandeur, it must breathe the spirit of reverence, it must, as Ruskin says, "speak well and say the things it was intended to say in the best words." Giggleswick School Chapel may justly be said to fulfil all these conditions. It is in harmony with its surroundings, and it is a structure of great architectural beauty, that is to say, it expresses its purpose in the best way. [Illustration: THE CHAPEL EXTERIOR.] Every style of Architecture makes its own peculiar appeal to mankind. One kind of Church seems better adapted to the needs of Englishmen; Eastern peoples prefer a different style. Mr. Morrison proposed to take a distinctive feature of each and make them one. For the general building he chose the Gothic style because, though not native to England, it has imposed itself to an overwhelming extent on the Parish Churches and Cathedrals of the country, and to it he added a Dome. There is one feature that these two apparent opposites have in common. Gothic Churches vary greatly, but many of them are notable for their appearance of loftiness. The clustered columns seem to lead the eye upwards to the roof, as if men naturally went about the world cramped and confined, and were now bidden turn their gaze to the heights. A dome has a somewhat similar effect: it carries on the gaze and it gives an increased and unexpected vision. The bold union of the two has created a School Chapel, which satisfies every wish. It is suited to the surrounding country, it is possessed of great beauty, and it breathes the atmosphere of worship. But there is another consideration. One of the most striking characteristics of boy-life is the feeling of personal possession. Everything that is of importance has a personal aspect. Whatever a boy sees belonging to his own School is at once invested with a curious sanctity and defended with all the armour of pride. It is of supreme importance that the side of school life, the religious side, which sometimes appeals to a boy with a greater force than any other, should have a building of its own. The Parish Church can never lay claim to the same devotion, and therefore can never exercise the same influence. A School Chapel develops a feeling of unity and brotherhood; such unity is less possible in a Parish Church. Buildings and surroundings have a power to mould character. It is the big, silent things of life that often really move a man: the walls that he can learn to love and know, and invest with life and memory. These feelings are not recognized at the time, and it is well that they should not be. Emotionalism and probing self-analysis are dread dangers. But the memories of school in after life are not in the first instance memories of friends, but of the places where those friends were met and the friendships made. A boy's life is made up of moments and impressions, and many of the indelible impressions of his youth are formed in the School Chapel. Hence the gift of a beautiful School Chapel is the greatest gift a man can give. Boys at Giggleswick have at their right hand the natural glories of the Craven District, they have now also a supreme example of the architect's skill and courage and success. Environment is the keynote to the development of character. These boys have the twofold opportunity of profiting from Nature and from Art. The mind must go back three centuries in the history of the School to find a parallel to this gift, and even then no individual example will stand comparison. The difficulties of the work were great, but were surmounted with complete success. The Chapel is a striking and beautiful landmark. The Building was begun in 1897, and the foundation stone was laid with some ceremony on October 7, by the Duke of Devonshire, and work proceeded for four years without interruption. There are many interesting features about the building, and no expense was spared to get the very best material. In the interior all the fittings and seats were made of cedar wood imported direct from Tucuman, a Province in the Argentine. Two Bronze Statues, one of Queen Victoria and one of Edward VI were designed by Mr. George Frampton, A.R.A., and placed in niches over the west door. A cast of the one of Edward VI was given by the sculptor and placed in Big School. The main feature of the interior is one broad aisle in the centre, balanced on either side by two passage aisles, and the centre of the broad aisle is paved with black and white marble. At the West end are eight stalls with carved and pierced standards to the canopies. The Organ was the last instrument built under the direction of Mr. Henry Willis--Father Willis--and its construction was superintended by Sir Walter Parratt. The outside pipes are made of spotted metal, and the organ has three manuals. The Pulpit was put in later standing at the North-West end of the Choir it is visible to the whole congregation. The Dome was constructed in a way, hitherto probably untried in Europe, it was built without centering, on a principle of interlocking blocks of terra cotta. The outside is of timber covered with copper; inside on the lower part with a gold background are mosaics of sixteen angels. They are slightly over six feet high, and are represented as playing musical instruments; their wings cross one another and give a fine pattern of colour. In the pendentives are seated figures of the four Evangelists. These were all worked, not from the back as is usual, but from the face, and each was fixed on the vault bit by bit. [Illustration: JAMES CARR.] [Illustration: THE CHAPEL DOME.] The glass has special interest. The East Window contains subjects from the Life of our Lord, and the South Transept Window contains figures of James Carr, Edward VI, Josias Shute, Archdeacon Paley, the Headmaster and Mr. Morrison. The Clerestory Windows contain in groups of threes, Christian worthies of various times. NORTH SIDE. SOUTH SIDE. 1. MARTYRS. 4. WARRIORS. Sir Thomas More. Sir Philip Sidney. King Edmund. King Alfred. Bishop Latimer. General Gordon. 2. DIVINES. 5. MISSIONARIES. John Bunyan. Henry Martin. John Wycliffe. Columba. John Wesley. Livingstone. 3. TEACHERS. 6. POETS. Alcuin, of York. Milton. William, of Wykeham. Caedmon. Arnold, of Rugby. Tennyson. The West Window was designed by the Architect, and is a very curious representation of the Creation, full of daring colour. The roof and part of the walls are decorated with sgraffito work. The Chapel was opened for use on October 4, 1901, by Dr. Warre, Headmaster of Eton, and dedicated by the Bishop of Ripon, and has since been regularly used for services on Sunday. The generosity of Mr. Morrison did not stop with the Chapel, but at the same time he constructed a fine stone Pavilion at the West end of the Cricket Ground, and a Gate-house and Porter's Lodge at the entrance from the public road. The enthusiasm aroused by the sight of this open-handed generosity was so great that it was at once determined to open a fund for a portrait of Mr. Morrison and hang in Big School. The subscribers were nearly four hundred in number, and many of the old masters and boys were among them. Sir Hubert Von Herkomer was commissioned to paint the portrait, and on July 28, 1903, it was unveiled in the presence of a large gathering of people. It is a striking portrait, and well suggests the kindliness, humour, and generosity that are the distinguishing features of Mr. Morrison's character. It was close upon thirty-five years since Mr. Style had first taken over the charge of the School. The year 1869 had been a most unpromising one in the history of Giggleswick; the future was difficult and doubtful. But courage is one of the first essentials in a Schoolmaster, and Mr. Style had a full share. Every old School is steeped with tradition, but much of it at Giggleswick was bad, and Mr. Style did his best to eradicate and replace it. The boy of that period was a rougher boy than is common in public schools to-day, and he needed sterner treatment. Mr. Style was an awe-inspiring disciplinarian, but he was no Busby or Keate in his use of the rod. The temper of Schoolmasters had been rapidly improving, and there are no instances of the astonishingly unjust punishments that were common in an earlier day. In the early part of the century one of the masters had once thrashed a boy, and the apparent injustice of the punishment had been so indelibly inscribed upon the boy's mind that years afterwards he came back to the School, not with the feelings of affection common to most men when they revisit the scene of their boyhood, but filled with a fierce resentment against his former master, and vowing that if he were alive he would thrash him within an inch of his life. Mr. Style was of a different mould; he set before himself the ideal of absolute justice, and this fact was recognized by the School. On one occasion some boys had placed an elaborate "booby" trap, consisting of two dictionaries on the top of the door of the end "prep" room and awaited the arrival of their victim. To their horror the door opened and crash went the dictionaries on the Headmaster's top-hat. There was a moment of awful suspense, and he said, "I know that was not meant for me." With the building of the Hostel it was necessary to build up afresh a complete system of school life. As the numbers increased he established a monitorial system, by which many of the lesser breaches of discipline were dealt with by the boys themselves. There was great opposition to the innovation on the part of the boys, and as a consequence the system never worked so well as it should have done. These head boys were called Praepostors, a conscious echo of the two "Praepositors" of the first Statutes of 1592. Fagging was allowed but was not unduly practised. It consisted chiefly of running messages or blacking boots or boiling water. Perhaps the most unpleasant duty of the new boy was the compulsion that he was under to sing for the benefit of his elders. On the second Saturday of term the senior boys in the Hostel were assembled in the underground Baths and every new boy was put upon a chair in their midst and made to sing. The penalty for singing out of tune was a cup of salt and water but it is doubtful whether the penalty was often enforced; even so there is no continuous tradition; it was irregular and spasmodic. Another task for the new boy was to climb the Scars a quarter of a mile from the School and place a stone upon the cairn, called "Schoolboys' Tower." [Illustration: CHAPEL, EAST.] The Praepostors had also the power of punishment by giving "lines" or by thrashing but the latter was subject to proper control. Some years previously the monitorial system in schools had been given a new lease of life by Arnold at Rugby and it was in theory a legalised increase of the natural power possessed by the Sixth Form; but it was often found that intellect and strength of character did not always accompany each other. At Giggleswick no position in the School gave a prescriptive right to be a Praepostor. The choice lay solely in the hands of the Headmaster and although more frequently those chosen were members of the Sixth Form, it was by no means necessary, and the captain of the Football Fifteen was almost always chosen among them. In the early days the Athletics of the School needed much encouragement. The Schoolyard for generations had provided the only opportunity for games; Football and Cricket were in their infancy. In most matches against teams, other than schools, Mr. Style took a personal part. He was a keen wicket-keeper and a good bat and did not cease to play cricket till 1890. There were other ways in which his personal character greatly influenced the boys. He spent a great part of each day, when not in School, in the Governors' Room at the South end of the Hostel and there he was always ready to see those who wished to speak to him on any subject. Many received special tuition from him after Evening Prayers and one great secret of the esteem with which the boys regarded him was the personal interest that he took in their life. There is the story of a boy who was particularly anxious to enter the School as a day-boy, but his attainments were insufficient for his age and he knew no Latin. He came himself to see Mr. Style and to press for admittance and at last he was told that if he could learn some Latin before the entrance examination of the following term, his age should not stand in his way. At the same time Mr. Style advised him to come to him every now and then and tell him how he was getting on. After a while the boy came and said that he had learned the Latin Grammar as far as the dative of the relative. On being asked why the dative of the relative had been his limit, he explained that his teacher had not been able to pronounce it and so he could go no further. He was put through some questions and could not answer them but if asked to decline any word he would do it in this fashion: _Mensa_ _mensae_ _mensam_ _mensas_ _mensae_ _mensarum_ _mensae_ _mensis_ _mensa_ _mensis_ and so on all through the Grammar until he came to the relative and at the dative he failed. Mr. Style considering that the memorising of the Latin Grammar in such a way implied some quickness of mind told him to leave the school that he was at and come to him at certain times each day. His time-table was however very full and he could only give the boy half an hour a day at 6-0 a.m. and 7-0 p.m. This he did and he found the boy extremely quick and intelligent. He passed him into the School the next term and seeing he had a distinct gift for Mathematics encouraged him in every way. Eventually he sent him up to S. John's College, Cambridge, with a Mathematical Scholarship and hoped that at last he had prepared a boy who would be Senior Wrangler. Unfortunately his health broke down and he came out seventh but some years later in 1889 was made a Fellow of the College. [Illustration: CHAPEL, WEST.] Mr. Style was an early riser. Every morning at 6-30, without fail, he was in the Governors' Room ready to talk over any necessary matters. He took very full duty in School, and made himself chiefly responsible for the higher Mathematical work; and in addition with some assistance from Mr. Mannock or Mr. Bearcroft, he undertook most of the laborious business work connected with the organization of the Hostel and the School. His Assistant Masters always look back to their days at Giggleswick as some of the happiest they have ever spent. Mr. Style was naturally anxious to keep his staff with him as long as possible, but he realized that he could not expect to do this while the Trustees felt themselves unable to guarantee salaries sufficient to enable a man to marry. He gladly and generously helped them to find promotion. Many became Headmasters. Mr. J. Conway Rees, who for years had been the most painstaking and successful of men in making the Fifteen a match-winning side, left to become head of a school connected with the Mohammedan College at Aligarh. Mr. Rhodes went to Ardingly, and so on. Every Sunday, in the early days, Mr. and Mrs. Style would ask the whole Hostel and later, as the numbers increased, the upper forms to come into the Governors' Room and there they would be regaled with sandwiches and lemonade and a musical evening would be held. Bubble and Squeak the boys called these evenings and they were much appreciated. Delicate boys would sometimes spend a week or a few days living in the Headmaster's house, and sometimes boys would be invited who were suffering from colds or other slight illnesses, and thus in the middle of a term they would find a short reminder of home life. In innumerable ways the boys were made to feel that the Headmaster was no official pedagogue but a man such as their own fathers, and they felt a corresponding affection for him. [Illustration: THE GATE HOUSE.] Ascension Day was a whole holiday and for some years the Headmaster was in the habit of taking the whole School, after a service, out for a day on the hills. On one occasion they went to the top of Graygreth (near Kirkby Lonsdale) on a very hot day. In the evening four boys were found to be missing. The Headmaster taking two boys with him scoured the hills till darkness drew on, but in vain. At last they came to a wayside inn and made inquiries, at which a yokel remarked "You must be a fine Master, if you can't look after your own boys." As a matter of fact all four boys were in safe quarters at Kirkby Lonsdale, after losing their way in a thick mist. This was the last occasion on which the Headmaster ventured to take the whole School out. In future the boys went in smaller bodies with their House Tutors. What was the secret of his power and his success? First undoubtedly was the keenness of his eye. "I have been all over the world and I have never come across a man with as keen an eye as Mr. Style" said one of his former pupils. He seemed to look quite through a man and there was no thought of evasion with him. Then there was his thoroughness. He was so absolutely devoted to his duty that his example was bound to affect those who came near him. It was noticeable in everything he did. He played a game of cricket as if it were the most important thing in life. Thirdly he had another most necessary quality in a Headmaster, the power of choosing the right Assistant Masters. Dr. Marshall Watts, G. B. Mannock, Douglas R Smith, S. P. Smith, C. F. Hyde, Rev. J. W. Chippett, A. W. Reith, are only a few among the many who helped him with every quality they possessed. As a teacher he was sometimes unable to restrain himself with a dull boy. "Do you understand?" he asked a boy who was struggling with the intricacies of Algebra. "No sir." "My good man! My fine owl! Now do you understand?" But with the abler boys he was remarkably successful. In October, 1896, there were twenty-six old boys at Oxford and Cambridge and of these twelve were Scholars or Exhibitioners of their College, two played for the Cambridge Rugby Fifteen, one rowed against Oxford, and another gained his half-blue for Swimming. This year represented perhaps one of the latest successful years. Between 1880 and 1894 nothing could go wrong; numbers increased and Scholarships were gained but about the latter year the School suffered a serious set-back owing to an outbreak of scarlet fever and the numbers began to sink. During the long period of growth Mr. Style was watchful over every detail of the building that was going on, and was projecting much for the future. "It is my opinion that the Headmaster is never happy, unless he can hear the sound of hammer and nails," an Old Boy once said. He was determined that the School should have the very best buildings and fittings possible, although he was never at a loss to carry things on when a makeshift was necessary. "Some of the best Science work that has been done here was done in my scullery," were his words. This absorbing love of the School was a tonic to every one who was under him. He came at a time when there was only a collection of boys with no unity and no sound traditions. He left it united and loyal. He came to a rich endowment, which was spending its resources with little visible result. He left the School prosperous, and possessed of a reputation all over England. He had been among the first Headmasters to acknowledge the value of a training in Natural Science, and he showed men that a thorough and efficient training in modern subjects could be given in one of the oldest of England's Public Schools. He did not wait upon time, he did not waver upon his path, but marched straight forward. Prosperity grew step by step, buildings rose up, numbers increased, and distinctions were won, but behind all the outward success was the vitalising energy of the Headmaster, the inspiration of the optimist, the personality of the man. CHAPTER XII. The Last Decade. In January, 1904, the Governors of the School assembled to elect a new Headmaster. Their choice fell unanimously on Mr. William Wyamar Vaughan. Mr. Vaughan had been educated at Rugby and New College, Oxford, where he graduated in 1888. Since 1890 he had been an Assistant Master at Clifton College, and had been in charge of seventy day boys there for four years. The appointment was in many respects a significant one. For the first time in the history of the School a permanent Headmaster had been appointed, who was not in Holy Orders. Since 1869 the statutory regulation on the subject had been changed, but this was the first occasion on which the Governors had exercised their freedom. In the second place, Giggleswick up till the last thirty years had educated a preponderating number of day boys, but lately this element had been so outnumbered by the boarders that there was considerable danger of a serious division arising between them. The election of a man who had been in charge of the day boys at one of the bigger Public Schools gave great hopes to those who had the unity of the School at heart, nor were these expectations unfulfilled. Thirdly, Mr. Vaughan was a pioneer in the enthusiasm which directed the path of learning towards a greater study of English subjects. [Illustration: W. W. VAUGHAN, M.A. _Russell & Sons_] [_17, Baker Street, W._ ] The chief responsibility of the military side at Clifton had lain with him of late years, and at Giggleswick he lost little time in reorganizing the classification of the School. A scheme was carried through by which every boy was classed according to his attainments in English, and one hour a day was given to the study of the subject in its various branches of Scripture, History, Geography, Literature, and occasionally Grammar. The weekly theme or essay was retained. For all other subjects the boy was put into sets, which bore no relation to his Form, except in so far as the School was divided up for English into three parts--Upper, Lower and Junior, and for other subjects into A, B and C, Blocks. No boy was able to be in the B Block who was in the Junior School, or in the A Block, if he was in the Lower School. These big divisions were very rarely found to hinder the advance of a boy in any particular subject and when once he had obtained a position in the Upper School, want of capacity in English was of no impediment at all. The great ideal at which Mr. Vaughan aimed was a sound education in a varied number of subjects but all of them must be based on the study of English. Boys were not encouraged to specialize until they had attained to a position in one of the two top Forms and in later years not until they had gained the Oxford and Cambridge Higher Certificate. The School was inspected by the Oxford and Cambridge Board in 1906 and the reports were most gratifying. In the same year the Higher Certificate Examination was taken by the Sixth and Upper Fifth, and in future became a regular feature of their work. The School suffered a severe loss in 1904 by the resignation of Dr. Watts. He had acted as the chief Master of Natural Science for thirty-two years and had superintended the building of the Science Block from its foundations. Mr. C. F. Mott a former Scholar of Trinity College, Cambridge, and a Lecturer at Emmanuel College was appointed to succeed him and no choice could have been more happy. A Scientific Society was soon formed with the object of giving a lead to the informal study of Nature and to promote a closer interest in the collections of various kinds at the School Museum. In the following year 1905 Speech-Day was celebrated for the first time for twenty-five years and was marked by the presentation of the "Style" Mathematical Prizes, which had been founded from a fund to which former pupils of Mr. Style contributed as a mark of their appreciation of his Headmastership. In 1906 the "Waugh" Prizes for English Literature were presented by Mr. John Waugh, J.P., who had been at the School under Dr. Butterton and had retained a strong interest in education. These prizes were to be awarded on the result of two papers, one on a specially prepared subject in English Literature and one on a general knowledge of the whole. [Illustration: JOINER'S SHOP.] [Illustration: ATHLETIC SHOP.] Many smaller changes were made in the School-life in the next few years. The four dormitories which had hitherto been known by letters A, B, C, D, were re-named in 1907 after four benefactors of the School--Paley, Nowell, Carr, and Shute, thus recalling to mind something of the traditions to which the boys were heirs. The Gate-house, which had been built by Mr. Morrison at the time of the building of the Chapel was further utilized as a Shop, where boys from the Hostel could at certain hours buy most kinds of food. Previously they had been able to buy what they required from a shop in the village but this had always been open to disadvantages and the opening of the Gate-house in 1906 under Mr. and Mrs. Parker, who had both been connected with the School for many years, obviated these disadvantages; it also secured a useful profit, which could be laid out by the School in what way they wished. But one of the most important events of Mr. Vaughan's Headmastership was the foundation in 1906 of the Giggleswick Boys' Club in Leeds. The great danger of Public School life is the difficulty of realizing that the unit of the School is a part of a larger whole and that one aim of education is the inculcation of an active interest in all spheres of life. The aim of the founders of the Giggleswick Boys' Club was to provide a house in one of the poorer districts, where boys might spend certain evenings in the week in warmth and comfort. An excellent man was fortunately found in Sergeant-Major Baker, who was willing to take the whole responsibility of the internal management. The Club was begun at 2, West Street, Leeds, and at the end of a year the average attendance was found to have been thirty. Every Summer as many boys as possible come down to Giggleswick for a day, and a cricket match is arranged. There is a very noteworthy feeling of affection for the School springing up in the Club and its general success is assured. Another departure from ordinary school routine was made in the same year. A Rifle Club was formed for the purpose of teaching boys to shoot. Mr. J. G. Robinson, a Governor of the School, presented a Sub-Target Rifle Machine, which was placed in the Covered Playground and under the direction of Sergeant-Major Cansdale a considerable number of the School practised shooting. [Illustration: G. B. MANNOCK.] The year 1907 was a very important one in the history of the School. On November 12, just four hundred years before, the lease of the plot of ground, on which James Carr built his first School, had been signed. The occasion was one which was fittingly celebrated. A Thanksgiving Service was held in the Chapel and Mr. Style, the late Headmaster, attended it and was gladly welcomed. Mr. J. G. Robinson, took the opportunity of presenting the School with two new covered-in Fives Courts at the back of Brookside, and, closely adjoining it, he built and fitted up a metal workshop, where boys could indulge their taste for engineering. In the same year another inspection of the School was invited by the Headmaster and the Board of Education sent down three examiners. The result was most encouraging for they had come down somewhat prejudiced about the usefulness of the education received there but they went away convinced that Giggleswick was performing its duty in a way that merited the highest commendation. The Carr Exhibitions at Christ's College, Cambridge, which were reserved for Giggleswick boys, were still given but, owing to the decrease in the value of land, were at this time limited to one in every three years. They nevertheless proved a most useful means of helping those boys, who were unable to go up to the University without aid. A year later, on May 26, 1908, Mr. G. B. Mannock died suddenly. Since 1874 he had been a Master at the School. He had taught the First Form during the whole of the time and had also in earlier days taken over the charge of the Drawing and Music. In 1887 when it was decided to lease Bankwell as a house for those boys who were too young to go immediately into the Hostel, Mr. Mannock, who had been previously a Dormitory Master for the younger boys in the Hostel, was asked to undertake the responsibility of being the Master-in-charge. He continued to do so till his death. The influence that he had exerted was a very remarkable one. No boy ever came away from Bankwell without feeling that for some time in his life at any rate he had lived under the protection of one of the most saintly of men. Friendship and sympathy were the very essence of his character and he taught every one with whom he came in touch, that gentleness and courtesy were weapons, stronger and more valuable than any others. A fund was raised to perpetuate his memory and it was decided to decorate the Class Rooms with panelling and hang them with pictures. In the Sixth Form Room Honour Boards were also erected. It was felt that this improvement in the decoration of the School would be a fitting tribute to one, whose joy in beauty was so deep and sure. The close of Mr. Vaughan's time at Giggleswick was marked by two schemes of the utmost importance. A contingent of the Officers Training Corps was established under the direction of the Rev. C. F. Pierce. Mr. Pierce had enjoyed no previous experience of military training, but he threw himself into the work with enthusiasm. The Summer Term in 1910 saw its beginning, and within a year there had been a consistent average of between fifty-five and sixty boys in the Corps. They have two field-days a term, and go to the Public Schools' Camp at Aldershot or Salisbury each August. In 1911 the Corps went to Windsor to be reviewed by the King, and were members of a Brigade which was widely noted in the newspapers for its appearance and marching. [Illustration: OFFICERS' TRAINING CORPS.] The second scheme that was undertaken at this time was the improvement of the Cricket Ground. The ground rested on a foundation of peat, which acted like a sponge, and it was almost impossible in an average summer to get a fast wicket. It was proposed that a sum of six or seven hundred pounds should be collected, and some means should be found of draining the ground thoroughly. Mr. Edwin Gould, one of the Assistant Masters, was chiefly instrumental in gaining acceptance for the scheme, and his appeal for funds was responded to well. The work was begun in the Autumn of 1910, and it was hoped that it would be finished before the Summer of 1911, but this was found impossible. The underlying foundation of peat was so deep that all hope of digging it up was abandoned. It was instead decided to heighten the general level of the ground by six feet, and to do so by filling in with earth and stone. The work was very laborious owing to the blasting operations that had to be carried out, but the ground has been enlarged in every direction, and in course of time should prove one of the best in England. While the work was in progress Cricket was played during the Summer of 1911 on the Football Field, and a remarkably fast wicket was obtained. During Mr. Vaughan's time the Athletics of the School had not been maintained at the same high pitch as in previous years. The great success of the ninety's had not continued. It is difficult for a school to be successful both in work and games, and in the early years of the century the School was not so large in numbers as it had been in the best years of Mr. Style; the choice of players was therefore more limited. Nevertheless, throughout the School there was a general tendency to take up more than one branch of sport. Golf, Fives, Gymnastics, all received gifts of Challenge Cups, and considerable competition resulted. In 1908 Captain Thompson, of Beck House, generously presented a Cup for a Cross Country Race. The Scar-Rigg Race, as it has been called, is three miles long, and starting near the top of the Scar Quarry, the competitors run along its top till they get to the summit of Buckhaw Brow, after which they run across the fields, over the High Rigg Road and down to the finish near the Chapel. It is a fine course and, though a hard one, does not try the strength of the runners unduly. In April, 1910, the Headmaster received an unanimous invitation from the Governors of Wellington College to be the Master there. It was a great grief to Giggleswick that she should lose one, who, though she had known him only for six years, had even in that brief period stamped himself upon the imagination of them all. During his Headmastership everyone connected with the School seemed to gain a closer and more personal interest in its fortunes. He treated men as if they were themselves possessed of more than usual individuality. No one was expected to be a mere automaton, useful but replaceable. There was a special part of the School organization which each man was made to feel was precisely the part that he could play. Dormitory Masters were given greater independence, boys, especially the older boys, were made to realize that they also had a deep responsibility in the welfare of the School. The great features in Mr. Vaughan's character were his insight into the best qualities of all who surrounded him and the generous optimism of his judgment. It was a difficult task for any man to succeed to the work of Mr. Style, who had built up the School afresh through many arduous difficulties, but Mr. Vaughan realized that the passing of the period of rapid enlargement laid upon him the responsibility of fostering the slow and unostentatious work of profiting by the past and of seeing that the reputation of the School was maintained and increased. He was essentially an idealist, a dreamer of dreams, a visionary, but he never lost sight of the practicable. Organization was his handmaid. Parents, Masters and Boys were quick to recognize the sincerity of the man. He was often impetuous but he was always candid. His decisions were firm, but he never shirked an argument. His sermons in Chapel were not steeped in oratory but the directness of his appeal, the persistent summons to the standard of Duty and the obvious depth of his emotion gave them power. Largeness of numbers never appealed to him, and he did not in any way strive to call the attention of the world to the School. He wished for success in Scholarships and in Athletics but he regarded the School as he regarded the individual. Distinction in work or games was no passport to his favour, but he continually looked only for the right use of such capacity as each one possessed. Frequently he would take boys from the lower part of the School and himself give them private tuition. Character was more than intellect. The boys learned to know him as their friend and he would go into their studies in the evening and be gladly welcomed. The unity of the School was much increased, the Hostel had no special privileges and at the close of his Headmastership the six years had witnessed a steady growth in the effectiveness of the School. No one ever forgot that he was Headmaster but at the same time he never failed to encourage others to act for themselves. He had a single-minded desire for the good of the School and he inspired others with it. His contempt for outworn conventions, his sincerity, his generosity of heart, even his impetuous nature impressed all alike with the feeling that they were dealing with one, who was essentially a man. A successor to Mr. Vaughan was soon found in Mr. Robert Noel Douglas, who after having had a distinguished Academic and Athletic career at Selwyn College, Cambridge, had been appointed Assistant Master at Uppingham in 1892. There he had acted as a House Master for some years previously to his appointment to Giggleswick. [Illustration: R. N. DOUGLAS, M.A.] Soon after the new Headmaster had been appointed, Mr. Philip Bearcroft retired from his work as Bursar. Since 1878 he had been a Master at the School and had acted as Form Master, Dormitory Master and later as Bursar. The older generation of Giggleswick boys look back with peculiar affection to the days when they were in his form--The Transitus--as it was then called. They remember his enthusiasm and his loyalty and his conscientious devotion to the School. Many had hoped that his retirement from active work would prelude some years of life released from anxiety, but death has claimed him with the hope unfulfilled. In May, 1912, he made his last visit to the School and two days later he died. During the two years since 1910 the progress of the School has been very steady. Almost every term has seen the numbers increase, until they are at the present time just under one hundred-and-fifty. The Officers Training Corps has flourished, an Athletic shop has been opened, and in every respect the development of the School has continued. A great loss however was suffered when Sergeant-Major Cansdale retired in April, 1912, after completing twenty-five years of work. He had originally come to Giggleswick in 1887 as an Instructor in the Gymnasium, but when Mr. Vaughan instituted the practice of Swedish Drill, Sergeant-Major Cansdale gladly seconded the change, and the improvement in the general physique of the School bears tribute to his skill. The year 1912 also marks the four hundredth anniversary of the opening of the First School, which had been built under the guidance of the Founder, James Carr. The importance of the anniversary is being celebrated by the raising of a fund, from which entrance scholarships of good monetary value may be established, and so a sound educational step forward will have been taken, and one true to the best traditions of the School. The four centuries that have passed by have witnessed many changes in the world of education. New ideals have prevailed and have altered the bases of the past. But Giggleswick may look back upon its history with a consciousness that it has seldom failed to do its duty. It shall not fail to-day. _Vera gloria radices agit et propagatur._ APPENDIX I. LEASE BY PRIOR AND CONVENT OF DURHAM CATHEDRAL MONASTERY OF SCHOOL SITE AT GIGGLESWICK. [_Leach._ _Early Yorkshire Schools_, p. 232.] [From the original, in possession of the Governors.] A lease by the Prior of Duresme to Sir James Carr, preiste, for the grounde whereon the schoolhouse and schoolehouse yarde air now sett, Dated 12 Nov., 1507. "This Indentur made the xii day of Novembr the yere of our lorde MDvii betwixt the Right Reverende ffader in Gode, Thomas, prior of Duresme, and convent of the same, on the one partie, and Jamys Karr, preste, on the other partie. "Witnessyth that the forsaide prior and convent of one hole mynde and consent hath graunted, dimised and to ferme lettyn, and by these presentes graunttes and to ferme lattes, to the forsaid Jamys Karr his heires, executors and assignes, half one acre of lande with the appertenance, laitle in the haldyng of Richarde lemyng lyeng neir the church garth of Gyllyswyke in Crawen within the countie of york, abowndyng and beyng betwix the lande laitlye in the haldyng of Robert Burton upon the est syde, and the parsons lande afforsaide on the sowth syde, contenyng space and lenth of the saide Kyrkegarth, that is to say, frome the cloise laitlye in the haldyng of Richard Talyour and so lynyally to the lathe appertenyng unto the tenement of the parsonage nexst jonyng, unto the steple of the said church, And the tother hede shoryng and abbuttyng upon one cloise called thakwhait contenyng xv yerdes upon the north side. "Also it is agreyd that the said Jamys shall encloise the said half acre and therupon beyld and uphold at hys awne propyr charges and costes, in which beildyng he shall kepe or cause to be kept one gramer Scole, with fre curse and recurse with all maner of caryage necessarye to the same, without any interrupcion of the tenante afforsaid or any that shall succede. And in lyke maner the said tenante and they that shall succede to have fre curse and recurse to ther tenement with all maner of caryage necessarie without any maner of interrupcion of the said Jamys or they that shall succede. "To have holde and occupye to the said Jamys his heires and assignes, beyng Scole masters of the said gramer scole, the said half acre of lande with the appurtenance frome the fest of the Invencion of the holy Croce next ensuyng unto the ende and terme of lxxix yeres then next followyng fully to be completyd and expired yevyng yerlye therfor unto the said prior and convent and ther successors or ther assignes at the fest of Saynct laurence martyr xij_d._ of good and lawfull monye of England as parcell of the rente of the said tenement wherto the said halff acre afforsaid pertenyth and belongyth. The first pament begynyng in the fest of Saynct laurence afforsaid next ensuyng, and if it happyn or fortune the said ferme of xij_d._ to be behynd unpayd after the fest that it awght to be payd at by the space of xxti days and no sufficient distres founde in the said grounde for the ferme so beyng behynd unpayd, That then it shalbe lawfull to the said Prior and convent and ther successors to reentre in the said halff acre of land with the appurtenaunce and it to rejoce unto such tyme they be fully content and payd of the said ferme and arrerage if ther be any. "Provided allway that when soever the said Jamys Karr shall change his naturall lyfe, that then it shalbe lawfull, as ofte tymes as it shalbe nedfull, to the vicar of ye churche afforsaid for the tyme beyng and kyrkmasters of the same, heires executors and assignes to the said Jamys jontle, to electe one person beyng within holye orders, to be scole master of the gramer scole afforsaid, whiche so electe, and abled by the Prior of Duresme, shall have occupye and rejoce the said halff acre of land and the hows therapon beildyd with the appurtenaunce, in lyk wyse as the said Jamys occupyed and usyd in hys tyme. Overthis and above, it is covnandyt and agreyd that when so ever it shall pleas the Scolemaster of the said scole for the tym beyng to renewe this leis and dimision at any tyme within the yeres above specyfied That then the said Prior and convent shall seall under ther common seall to the said scolemaster a newe Indentur maid in maner and forme afforsaid, no thyng except nor meneshyd, bot as largely as in this said Indentur is specyfied. The said scolemaster paying therfor as oft tymes it shalbe renewed vj_s._ viij_d._ for the said Seall. In witness wheroff ather partie to other to thes Indentures enterchangeably hath put to ther sealls yevyn the yere and day above said." APPENDIX II. REPORT OF THE CHANTRY COMMISSIONERS OF HENRY VIII ON GIGGLESWICK SCHOOL, 1546. [_English Schools at the Reformation_, p. 295, from Rec. Off. Chantry Certificate, 70.] Deanery of Craven. 17. The Chaunterie of the Roode in the same parish churche of Gygleswyke. Thomas Husteler, Incumbent. Of the foundacion of James Skarr', priest, To th'entente to pray for the sowle of the Founder and all Cristen sowles and to synge masse every Friday of the name of Jhesu, and of the Saterday of Our Lady; And further that the said incumbent shulde be sufficientlie sene in playnsonge and gramer, and to helpe dyvyne service in the same Churche. The same is in the saide churche, and used according to the foundacion. Ther is no landes aliened sithens the statute. Goodes, ornamentes and plate pertenynge to the same, as apperith by the inventory, viz. goods valued at 19_s._ 2_d._ and plate 42_s._ Goods, 19_s._ 2_d._ Plate, 42_s._ First, one messuage with th'appurtenaunces in Oterbourne, in the tenure of Cuthberte Carre 24_s._ Christopher Tompson 2_s._ John Smyth, one cotage 2_s._ Henry Atkinson, one mesuage with th'appurtenaunces ther 18_s._ the wyff of Thomas Atkinson, one mesuage and one oxgange of lande 10_s._ Thomas Atkinson, one messuage with th' appurtenaunces 15_s._ Christopher Tompson, one cotage 5_s._ Richard Tompson, " 5_s._ Henry Swier, j mesuage with th'appurtenaunces 15_s._ Richard Patenson, one " " " 15_s._ William Harroo, " in [_blank in MS_] 10_s._ In all £6 12_d._ Sum of the rental £6 12_d._ Whereof Paiable to the Kinges Maiestie yerlie for the tenthes 6_s._ 8_d._ And to John Smyth yerlie for his annuytie durynge his lyffe 6_s._ Sum of the allowance 14_s._ 8_d._ And so remaynyth 106_s._ 4_d._ APPENDIX III. REPORT OF THE CHANTRY COMMISSIONERS OF EDWARD VI, 1548. [_English Schools at the Reformation_, p. 302, from Rec. Off. Chantry Certificate, 64.] West rydyng of the countye of Yorke. 50. Gyggleswike Parryshe. The Chauntry of Our Lady in the Parysche churche ther. * * * * * In the parysh of Gyggleswike is one prist found to serve the cure besyde the vicar; the number of houslyng people is xijc, and the seyd parysh is wyde. The Chauntry of the Rode in the seyde Paryshe Churche. Rychard Carr, incumbent, xxxijti yeres of age, well learned and teacheth a grammer schole there, lycensed to preache, hath none other lyving then the proffitts of the seyd chauntrie. Goods, ornaments and plate belonging to the seyd Chauntrie as apperith, 6_s._ 8_d._ Plate, _nil_. The yerely value of the freehold land belonging to the seid Chauntrie as particularly apperith by the Rentall, £6 12_d._; Coppiehold, _nil_. Whereof Resolutes and deduccions by yere, 6_s._ And so remayneth clere to the Kinges Majestie, 115_s._ A some of money geven for the meytenaunce of schole Mr there. The sayd[A] John Malholme and one Thomas Husteler, disseased, dyd gyve and bequeth by theyre last will and testament, as apperith by the seyd certificat, the some of £24 13_s._ 4_d._ towards the meyntenance of a scholemaister there for certen yeres, whereupon one Thomas Iveson, preist, was procured to be Scholemaister there, which hath kept a Scole theis three yeres last past, and hath receyved every yere for his stypend after the rate of £4, which is in the holle, £12. And so remayneth, £12 13_s._ 4_d._ FOOTNOTES: [A] 'Sayd' because the last entry was that the same person, described as 'preist disseased,' i.e. deceased, had given £33 6_s._ 8_d._ for a priest, who received yearly £4 3_s._ 4_d._ APPENDIX IV. CHANTRY COMMISSIONERS' CERTIFICATE FOR CONTINUANCE OF GIGGLESWICK SCHOOL. [_Leach. Early Yorkshire Schools_, p. 240, Rec. Off. Chantry Certificate, 103.] Westriddinge of the Countye of Yorke. 72. Giggleswike. The Chaunterie of the roode there. Richard Carre, Incumbent there. Freholde, £5 6_s._ 8_d._ Memorandum: that thincumbent of the seide Roode Chaunterie, being well lerned and licensed to preache, kepith a Grammer Scole there, which is necessarie to contynne with the seide revenue, or other stipend, for the good educacion of the abbondaunt yought in those rewde parties. Scoole continuatur quousque. Scoole maynteyned with a somme of money. Memorandum: that in the seide parishe one John Malholme, prest, and Thomas Husteler diseased, did give and bequethe by their last will and testament, as apperith by the certificat of Giggleswike, the some of £24 13_s._ 4_d._ towardes the mayntenaunce of a Scoole master there for certyn yeres, whereupon one Thomas Iveson, priest, was procurid to be Scolemaster, which hathe kept a Scole there these three yeres paste, and hathe receyved every yere for his stipende after the rate of £4 the yere, the hole £12, and so remayneth £12 13_s._ 4_d._ Continuatur Scole per quantitatem pecunie. Examinatur per Henricum Savill, supervisorem. APPENDIX V. GIGGLESWICK. PURCHASE OF SCHOOL LANDS FROM CROWN. [_Leach._ _Early Yorkshire Schools_, p. 241.] [Rec. Off. Particulars for grants. 3 Edward VI.] Memorandum[B] that we, Sir Edwarde Warner, knight, Silvestre Leigh and Leonarde Bate, gentelmen, do require to purchase of the King's maiestie, by virtue of his graces Comyssion of sale of landes, the landes, tenements and heredytaments conteyned and specified in the particulers and rates hereunto annexed, being of such clere yerely value as in the same particulers and rates is expressed. In witness whereof to this Bill, subscribed with our handes, we have put our Seales the 28th day of Marche, in the thirde yere of the reigne of our souereigne lorde, Edwarde the sixt, by the grace of God king of England, Fraunce and Ireland, defender of the fayth, and of the Churche of England and also of Ireland on Earth the supreme hedd. By me, Sylvester Leigh. per me, Leonardum Bate. [The place left for signature and seal of Sir E. Warner has never been filled. Traces of the seal of S. Leigh and a portion of that of L. Bate still remain.] West riding com. Ebor. Possessiones nuper Canterie vocate Roode chaunterye in ecclesia parochiali de Gygleswik. Gygleswik. Terre et tenementa dicte nuper } Cantarie Liberis tenentibus per } valent in cartam pertinencia . . . } Firma unius tenementi cum pertinenciis in Settill in parochie de Gygleswike predicta ac 2 acrarum et unius rode terre arrabilis ibidem, et unius prati vocati Howbecke ynge continentis ½ rodam, cum communa, pasture in Trakemore, sic dimissi Willelmo Hulle per indenturam Cantariste ibidem, datam 12mo die Augusti anno regni Regis Henrici VIImi 14to Habendum sibi et heredibus suis imperpetuum Reddendo inde annuatim ad festa Purificationis Beate Marie et Sancti Laurencii equaliter 11_s._ Firma unius cotagii in Settill predicta dimissi Johanni Smythe per indenturam dicti Cantariste datam 28vo die Marcii anno regni Regis Henrici VIIIvi quinto Habendum pro termino vite ejusdem Johannis et Reddendo inde annuatim ad festa predicta equaliter 2_s._ Firma unius mesuagii scituati in Otterburne, ac trium bovatarum terre arrabilis, prati et pasture jacencium in villa et campis ibidem, modo in tenura Cuthberti Carre ad voluntatem de anno in annum Reddendo inde annuatim ad festa predicta equaliter 24_s._ Firma unius cotagii ibidem modo in tenura Christoferi Thomeson, ut prius, per annum eisdem terminis equaliter 2_s._ Firma unius mesuagii ibidem ac duarum bovatarum terre arrabilis prati et pasture jacencium in campis predictis, modo in tenura Henrici Atkynson, ut prius, per annum eisdem terminis equaliter 18_s._ Firma unius mesuagii et unius bovate [etc., as in last item to pasture] ibidem modo in tenura relicte Henrici Atkynson [etc., as in last] 15_s._ Firma 1 mesuagii et duarum bovatarum [etc., as in last] Thome Atkynson [etc.] 15_s._ Firma [etc., as in last] Henrici Swyer [etc.] 15_s._ Firma [etc., as in last] Ricardi Paytsin 15_s._ } } Firma unius cotagii ibidem modo in } tenura Christoferi Thomson [etc.] 5_s._ } } Firma [as in last] Ricardi Thomson [etc.] 5_s._ } Summa totalis £6. 0_s._ 12_d._ Inde Reprise, viz. in Redditu annuatim Johanni Smythe pro quodam feodo sibi concesso pro termino vite sue in consideracione collectionis reddituum supradictorum, prout patet per cartam sub sigillo fundatoris Cantarie predicte, gerentem datam 28mo die Marcii anno nuper Domini Regis H. VIIIvi quinto [_sic._] _unde 3s. concesse prefato Johanni et heredibus suis ut patet per cartam predictam_. _at 20 yeres rate_, 60_s._ 3_s._ £146 16_s._ 60_s._ __________ £143 16_s._ Et remanet clare per annum [_sic._] 118_s._ There are no woods growinge in or uppon the premisses. Examinatur per Henricum Savill, supervisorem. [At foot of roll.] 29 Januarii anno 3cio The clere yerelie value Regis Edwardo VIti, of the preamisses £67 8_s._ 11½_d._ pro Edwardo Warner, which, rated at the milite. severall rates above remembered, amounteth to £1297 6_s._ 8_d._ Adde the rennt for the leade and belles of the chaples of Wakefelde £7 4_s._ 4_d._ _____________ And so th'oole is £1314 11_s._ 0_d._ To be paide all in Hande. The Kinges Majestie to discharge the purchaser of all incumbraunces, except leases, and the covenauntes in the same, and except the renttes before allowed. The tenure is as above particlerly expressed. The purchaser to have thissues from Michollmas last. The purchaser to be bounde for the wooddes. The Leade, Belles and advowsons excepted. RY. SAKEVILLE. WA. MILDMAY. ROBT. KEYLWEY. FOOTNOTES: [B] This is on a separate piece of parchment, tacked on to the main document, which follows. APPENDIX VI. THE CHARTER. [From Original, in possession of the Governors.] Edwardus Dei gracia Anglie et Francie et Hibernie Rex et in terra Ecclesie Anglicane et Hibernice Supremum Caput Omnibus ad quos presentes littere pervenerint Salutem. Sciatis quod nos ad humilem peticionem tam Dilecti capellani nostri Johannis Nowell, clerici, vicarii ecclesie parochialis de Gegleswycke in Craven in comitatu nostro Eborum et dilecti nobis Henrici Tenant, generosi, quam ceterorum Inhabitancium ville et parochie de Gegleswicke predicta pro Scola Grammaticali in Gygleswicke in Craven in dicto comitatu Eborum erigenda et stabilienda pro institucione, erudicione et instruccione puerorum et juvenum. De gracia nostra speciali et ex certa sciencia et mero motu nostris volumus, concedimus et ordinamus quod de cetero est et erit una Scola grammaticalis in Gigleswyck predicta que vocabitur Libera Scola Grammaticalis Regis Edwardi sexti in Gygleswyck, et scolam illam de uno Ludimagistro seu Pedagogo et uno Subpedagogo seu Ypodidasculo pro perpetuo continuaturam erigimus, creamus, ordinamus, fundamus, et stabilimus per presentes. Et ut intencio nostra predicta meliorem capiat effectum et ut terre, tenementa, redditus, revenciones et alia ad sustentacionem Scole predicte concedenda assignanda et appunctuanda melius gubernarentur pro continuacione ejusdem, volumus, et ordinamus, quod de cetero sint et erunt infra villam et parochiam de Gygleswycke predicta octo homines de discrecioribus et magis probioribus inhabitantibus ejusdem ville et parochie pro tempore existentibus, unde vicarius ecclesie parochialis ibidem pro tempore existens unus sit, qui erunt et vocabuntur Gubernatores possessionum, revencionum et bonorum dicte Scole vulgariter vocate et vocande libere Scole grammaticalis Regis Edwardi sexti de Gygleswyck. Et ideo sciatis quod nos eligimus, nominavimus, assignavimus, et constituimus, ac per presentes eligimus, nominamus, assignamus, et constituimus dilectos nobis dictum Johannem Nowell, clericum, vicarium ecclesie parochialis de Gygleswycke, ac Willelmum Catterall de Nova Aula, ac prefatum Henricum Tenant, generosum, Thomam Procter de Cletehop, Hugonem Newhouse de Gygleswycke, Willelmum Browne de Settall, Rogerum Armisted de Knyght Stayneforde, et Willelmum Bank de Fesar, inhabitantes ville et parochie de Gygleswycke predicta fore et esse primos et modernos Gubernatores possessionum revencionum et bonorum dicte Libere Scole grammaticalis Regis Edwardi Sexti de Gygleswyck ad idem officium bene et fideliter exercendum et occupandum a data presencium durante vita eorum. Et quod iidem Gubernatores in re, facto et nomine, de cetero sint et erunt unum corpus corporatum et politiquum de se imperpetuum per nomen Gubernatorum possessionum revencionum et bonorum Libere Scole Grammaticalis Regis Edwardi Sexti de Gygleswycke incorporatum et erectum; Ac ipsos Johannem, Willelmum, Henricum, Thomam, Hugonem, Willelmum, Rogerum et Willelmum, Gubernatores possessionum revencionum et bonorum Libere Scole grammaticalis Regis Edwardi Sexti in Sedbergh in Comitatu Ebor. per presentes incorporamus ac corpus corporatum et politiquum per idem nomen imperpetuum duraturum realiter et ad plenum creamus, erigimus, ordinamus, facimus, constituimus et declaramus per presentes; Et volumus ac per presentes concedimus quod iidem Gubernatores possessionum revencionum et bonorum Libere Scole Grammaticalis Regis Edwardi Sexti de Gygleswycke habeant successionem perpetuam, et per idem nomen sint et erunt persone habiles et in lege capaces ad habendum perquirendum et recipiendum sibi et successoribus suis de nobis aut de aliqua alia persona, aut aliquibus aliis personis terras, tenementa, decimas redditus, reversiones, revenciones et hereditamenta quecumque. Et volumus, ordinamus, decernimus et declaramus per presentes quod, quandocumque contigerit aliquem vel aliiquos octo Gubernatorum possessionum, revencionum et bonorum dicte libere Scole pro tempore existencium, preter vicarium ecclesie parochialis de Gygleswyck predicta pro tempore existentem, mori, seu alibi extra villam et parochiam de Gygleswycke predicta habitare, aut cum familia sua decedere, quod tunc et tociens imperpetuum bene liceat et licebit aliis dictorum Gubernatorum superviventibus et ibidem cum familiis suis commorantibus, vel majori parti eorundem, aliam idoneam personam vel alias idoneas personas de inhabitantibus ville et parochie de Gygleswyck predicta in locum vel locos sic morientis vel moriencium, aut cum familia sua sicut prefertur decedentis vel decedencium, in dicto officio Gubernatoris vel Gubernatorum successurum vel successuros eligere et nominare; et hoc tociens quociens casus sic acciderit. Et volumus et per presentes ordinamus et concedimus quod vicarius ecclesie parochialis de Gygliswicke pro tempore existens de tempore in tempus sit et erit unus dictorum octo Gubernatorum possessionum revencionum et bonorum dicte libere Scole Grammaticalis et quod idem vicarius de Gigleswycke pro tempore existens cum uno aliorum predictorum Gubernatorum pro tempore existencium habeat plenam potestatem et auctoritatem convocandi movendi et peremptorie citandi aliquos predictorum Gubernatorum pro tempore existencium tociens quociens necessitas exiget in omnibus et singulis ordinacionem gubernacionem direccionem et conservacionem Scole predicte tantummodo tangentibus et concernentibus. Et Sciatis quod nos intencionem et propositum nostrum in hac parte ad effectum deducere volentes, de gracia nostra speciali ac ex certa sciencia et mero motu nostris, dedimus et concessimus, ac per presentes damus et concedimus prefatis modernis Gubernatoribus possessionum, revencionum et bonorum dicte Libere Scole Grammaticalis. Totum illum annualem redditum nostrum unius denarii et unius oboli et servicii nobis spectancia et pertinencia et nuper parcellam possessionum et revencionum nuper ecclesie Collegiate Sancti Andree Apostoli de Nether Acaster in comitatu Eborum exeuntem de terris et tenementis nunc vel nuper Johannis Stather in Northcave seu alibi in dicto comitatu; Ac totum illum annuum redditum nostrum duodecim denariorum et duorum pullorum gallinaciorum ac servicium nobis spectancia et pertinencia, et nuper parcellam possessionum et revencionum dicte nuper ecclesie collegiate, exeuntem de uno gardino et cotagio modo vel nuper Ricardi Padley in Northcave predicta. Ac totum illum annuum redditum duorum solidorum et servicium nobis spectantum et pertinentum et nuper parcellam [etc., as in last item] exeuntem de uno cotagio et uno gardino modo vel nuper Willelmi Powneswade; Ac totum [etc.] septem denariorum [etc.] exeuntem de terris et tenementis modo vel nuper Laurencii Mawer in Northcave predicta; Ac totum illud capitale messuagium nostrum cum pertinenciis in Northcave predicta, ac octo bovatas terre arrabilis et prati nostras ibidem ac omnia terras, prata, pascua, pasturas, et hereditamenta nostra vocata Forbyland, ac unum clausum terre nostrum vocatum Esping close in Northcave predicta; ac omnes illas duas bovatas terre nostras in Southe Kelthorp et Northe Kelthorpe in dicto comitatu nostro Eborum cum eorum pertinenciis modo vel nuper in tenura sive occupacione Radulphi Bayly ac dicte nuper ecclesie collegiate Sancti Andree Apostoli in Netheracaster predicta spectancia et pertinencia, ac parcellam possessionum inde existencia; Ac omnia mesuagia molendina, tofta, cotagia, domos, edificia, gardina, terras, tenementa, prata, pascua, pasturas, communas, redditus, reversiones, servicia et hereditamenta quecumque cum pertinenciis modo vel nuper in separalibus tenuris sive occupacionibus Ricardi Raynarde, Christoferi Stephen, Christoferi Kempe, Willelmi Goodeade, Johannis Gawdie, Ricardi Lonsdale, Hugonis Jennison, et nuper uxoris cujusdam Marshal, Thome Evars, [_blank in charter_] Raedstone, Willelmi Browne, Christoferi Powneswade, Johannis Anderson, Laurencii Smythe, Johannis Kiddal, [_blank in charter_] Jackson et nuper uxoris Kirkton et Willelmi Nayre, clerici, Johannis Stather, Marmaduci Banks, Thome Hayre, Alicie Smythe, et Radulfi Raynarde situata jacencia et existencia in Northcave et Brampton in dicto comitatu Eborum et dicte nuper ecclesie collegiate Sancti Andree Apostoli in Netheracaster predicta dudum spectancia et pertinencia et parcellam possessionum et revencionum inde existencia; Ac eciam totom illud capitale mesuagium ac unum parvum hortum et duo pomeria nostra continencia per estimacionem duo acras; Ac totum illum clausum nostrum terre et pasture, vocatum Southende close, continentem per estimacionem quinque acras, ac eciam quinque bovatas nostras terre prati et pasture cum omnibus et singulis pertinenciis suis modo vel nuper in tenura sive occupacione Ricardi Carter, situata jacencia et existencia in Rise et Aldburgh in dicto comitatu Eborum, ac alibi in eodem comitatu, que fuerunt parcella possessionum et revencionum nuper cantarie Beate Marie fundate in ecclesia parochiali de Rise et Aldburgh in dicto comitatu Eborum, ac omnia alia terras tenementa prata pastures redditus reversiones servicia et hereditamenta nostra quecumque cum pertinenciis in Rise et Aldburgh in dicto comitatu Eborum et alibi in dicto comitatu que fuerunt parcella possessionum et revencionum dicte nuper cantarie. Necnon omnes illas decimas garbarum granorum et bladorum nostras cum pertinenciis annuatim et de tempore in tempus proveniencium crescencium sive renovencium in Edderwyck infra parochiam de Aldburgh in dicto comitatu nostro Eborum, modo vel nuper in tenura sive occupacione dicti Ricardi Carter, et dicte nuper cantarie spectantes et pertinentes et parcellam possessionum et revencionum inde existentes; Ac totum illum annuum redditum duorum solidorum et sex denariorum et servicium nobis spectancia et pertinencia et parcellam possessionum et revencionum dicte nuper cantarie existencia, exeuntia de uno tenemento cum pertinenciis modo vel nuper in tenura sive occupacione Roberti Hudderson in Rise predicta; Ac totum illum annuum redditum duodecim denariorum et servicium nobis [etc., as in last item] exeuntia de uno cotagio in Rise predicta, modo vel nuper in occupacione Johannis Robynson; Ac eciam omnes et omnimodos boscos subboscos et arbores nostros quoscumque de in et super premissis crescentes et existentes, ac reversionem et reversiones quascumque omnium, et singulorum premissorum et cujuslibet inde parcelle, Necnon redditus et annualia proficua quecumque reservata super quibuscumque dimissionibus et concessionibus de premissis seu de aliqua inde parcella quoquomodo factis, Adeo plene libere et integre ac in tam amplis modo et forma prout aliquis Gaudianus, Custos, Magister vel Gubernator dicte ecclesie collegiate Sancti Andree Apostoli in Netheracaster, aut aliquis cantarista vel Incumbens dicte nuper cantarie aut aliquis alius sive aliqua alia premissa aut aliquam inde parcellam antehac habentes possidentes aut seisiti inde exisientes eadem aut aliquam inde parcellam unquam habuerunt, tenuerunt vel gavisi fuerunt, habuit tenuit vel gavisus fuit, aut habere tenere vel gaudere debuerunt aut debuit; Et adeo plene, libere et integre ac in tam amplis modo et forma prout ea omnia et singula ad manus nostras racione vel pretextu cujusdam actus de diversis Cantariis, Collegiis, Gildis Fraternitatibus et liberis Capellis dissolvendis et determinandis in Parliamento nostro tento apud et Westmonasterium anno regni nostri primo inter alia editi et provisi, seu quocumque alio modo, jure seu titulo devenerunt, seu devenire debuerunt, ac in manibus nostris jam existunt seu existere debent vel deberent. Que quidem mesuagia, terre, tenementa, redditus, reversiones, servicia et cetera omnia et singula premissa, modo extenduntur ad clarum annuum valorem viginti trium librarum et trium solidorum; Habendum tenendum et gaudendum predicta mesuagia, molendina, terras, tenementa, decimas, prata, pascua, pasturus communas, boscos, subboscos, redditus, reversiones, servicia ac cetera omnia et singula premissa cum pertinenciis prefatis modernis Gubernatoribus possessionum revencionum et bonorum dicte Libere Scole grammaticalis, et successoribus suis imperpetuum. Tenendum de nobis heredibus et successoribus nostris ut de manerio nostro de Estgranewich in comitatu Kancie per fidelitatem tantum in libero socagio et non in capite. Ac reddendo inde annuatim nobis, heredibus et successoribus nostris sexaginta et tres solidos legalis monete Anglie ad curiam nostram Augmentacionum et revencionum corone nostre ad festum Sancti Michaelis Archangeli singulis annis solvendos, pro omnibus redditibus, serviciis et demandis quibuscumque. Necnon dedimus et concessimus, ac per presentes damus et concedimus prefatis modernis Gubernatoribus omnia exitus, redditus, revenciones et proficua predictorum terrarum, tenementorum et ceterorum omnium et singulorum premissorum a festo Sancti Martini in hyeme ultimo preterito huc usque proveniencia sive crescencia Habendum eisdum Gubernatoribus ex dono nostro, absque compoto seu aliquo alio proinde nobis heredibus vel successoribus nostris quoquomodo reddendo, solvendo vel faciendo. Et ulterius volumus ac pro nobis heredibus et successoribus nostris per presentes concedimus prefatis Gubernatoribus et successoribus suis quod de cetero imperpetuum habeant commune sigillum ad negocia sua premissa aut aliter tangencia seu concernencia, deserviturum; et quod ipsi Gubernatores et successores sui per nomen Gubernatorum possessionum, revencionum et bonorum Libere Scole Grammaticalis Regis Edwardi Sexti de Gigleswycke placitare possint et implicatari, defendere et defendi, respondere et responderi in quibuscumque curiis et locis, et coram quibuscumque judicibus in quibuscumque causis, accionibus, negociis, sectis, querelis, placitis et demandis cujuscumque nature seu condicionis fuerint. Et ulterius de uberiori gracia nostra ac ex certa sciencia et mero motu nostris dedimus et concessimus et per presentes damus et concedimus prefatis modernis Gubernatoribus et successoribus suis ac majori parti eorundem plenam potestatem et auctoritatem erigendi nominandi et appunctuandi Pedagogum et Subpedagogum Scole predicte tociens quociens eadem Scola de Pedagogo vel Subpedagogo vacua fuerit. Et quod ipsi et successores sui Gubernatores advisamento Episcopi diocesis ibidem pro tempore existentis, de tempore in tempus faciant et facere valeant et possint idonea et salubria statuta et ordinaciones in scriptis, Gubernatores predictos et successores suos quomodo se habeant et gerant in officiis suis Gubernatorum predictorum vel ob quas causas ab officiis suis amoveantur, et tangencia et concernencia modum et formam erigendi et nominandi Pedagogum et Subpedagogum ac approbandi, admittendi et continuandi eosdem sic electos nominatos ab ipsis Gubernatoribus pro tempore existentibus aut majori parte eorundem ut prefertur, Ac eciam quocumque modo concernencia et tangencia ordinacionem, gubernacionem et direccionem Pedagogi et Subpedagogi ac Scolarium Scole predicte pro tempore existencium, et stipendii et salarii ejusdem Pedagogi et Subpedagogi; ac alia eandem Scolam ac ordinacionem, gubernacionem, preservacionem et dispocionem reddituum et revencionum ad sustentacionem ejusdem Scole appunctuatorum et appunctuandorum tangencia et concernencia. Que quidem statua et ordinaciones sic fienda concedimus et per presentes precipimus inviolabiliter observari de tempore in tempus imperpetuum. Et si vicarius ecclesie parochialis de Gigleswicke predicta pro tempore existens dicta statuta et ordinaciones infringat et non perimpleat juxta intencionem et effectum eorundem, quod tunc pro ista vice bene liceat et licebit aliis dictorum octo Gubernatorum ad tunc existencium unam idoneam personam de inhabitantibus parochie de Gigleswycke predicta magis discreciorem et probiorem in officium unius Gubernatorum possessionum revencionum et bonorum dicte libere Scole grammaticalis eligere nominare et prefato loco dicti vicarii sic infringentis statuta et ordinaciones predicta. Et ulterius de uberiori gracia nostra dedimus et concessimus, ac per presentes damus et concedimus prefatis modernis Gubernatoribus possessionum, revencionum et bonorum dicte Libere Scole Grammaticalis et successoribus suis, licenciam specialem liberamque et licitam facultatem, potestatem et aucthoritatem, habendi, recipiendi et perquirendi eis et eorum successoribus imperpetuum, ad sustentacionem et manutencionem Scole predicte tam de nobis heredibus vel successoribus nostris, quam de aliis quibuscumque personis et alia persona quacumque, maneria, mesuagia, terras, tenementa, rectorias, decimas, aut alia hereditamenta quecumque, infra regnum Anglie, seu alibi infra dominia nostra dummodo non excedant clarum annuum valorem triginta librarum, ultra dicta mesuagia terras tenementa decimas ac cetera premissa prefatis Gubernatoribus et successoribus suis, ut prefertur, per nos in forma predicta concessa, Statuto de terris et tenementis ad manum mortuam non ponendis, aut aliquo alio statuto, actu, ordinacione seu provisione aut aliqua alia re, causa vel materia quacumque in contrarium inde habito facto, ordinato seu proviso in aliquo non obstante. Et volumus ac per presentes ordinamus quod omnia exitus, redditus, et revenciones predictorum terrarum tenementorum decimarum et possessionum per presentes concessorum ac imposterum dandorum et assignandorum ad sustentacionem Scole nostre predicte de tempore in tempus convertentur ad sustentacionem et conservacionem Scole predicte et non aliter nec ad aliquos alios usus seu intenciones. Volumus eciam et per presentes concedimus prefatis Gubernatoribus Scole predicte quod habeant et habebunt has litteras nostras patentes sub magno Sigillo nostro Anglie debito modo factas et sigillatas, absque fine seu feodo magno vel parvo nobis in Hanaperio nostro, seu alibi, ad usum nostrum, proinde quoquomodo reddendo, solvendo vel faciendo. Eo quod expressa mencio de vero valore annuo, aut de aliquo alio valore, aut de certitudine premissorum, sive eorum alicujus, aut de aliis donis sive concessionibus per nos aut per aliquem progenitorum nostrorum prefatis modernis Gubernatoribus Scole predicte ante hec tempora factis, in presentibus minime facta existit, aut aliquo statuto, acta, ordinacione, provisione sive restriccione inde in contrarium facto, edito, ordinato sive proviso, aut aliqua alia re, causa vel materia quacumque in aliquo non obstante. In cujus rei testimonium has litteras nostras fieri fecimus patentes. Teste me ipso apud Westmonasterium vicesimo sexto die Maii anno regni nostri septimo. Per breve de privato sigillo et de praedicta aucthoritate Parliamenti. _Irorogatur in officio Willim Notte Auditoris ibin 9no die Junii Anno Regni nunc Edwardi Sexti septimo._ APPENDIX VII. THE STATUTES. [_Early Yorkshire Schools_, p. 254.] Statutes and Ordinaunces to be observed by the Governours, Master, Usher and Schollers of the Free Grammer Schole of Gygleswicke from tyme to tyme agreed on by the Governours of the sayd Schole together with the consent and approbacion of the moste Reverend Father in God, John, by Devyne permission, Archbyshoppe of Yorke, prymate of Englande and metropolitane, as followeth:-- For the Governours. First the Governours to be chosen from tyme to tyme shall be men of true and sounde religion, fearinge God, and of honest Conversacion. Secondly att their ordinacion to the said Schole they shall protest and sweare before the Vycar of Gygleswicke and the rest of the Governours of the said Schoole, to be true and faithefull towardes the said Schoole and the emolumentes and profytes belonginge to the same; and that they shall not att any time purloyne or take away any of the commodities of the same, whereby it mighte be impoverished or empayred in any respecte. Thirdly if it fortune any of the said Governours att this tyme or att any tyme hereafter, to dwell or remove with there families out of the parishe aforesaid, or if any of them be convicte of any notorious cryme, that then and from thencefurth it shall and may be lawful for the rest of the said Governours, with the privitie and assent of the Archbysshoppe of Yorke for the tyme beinge, upon due proofe and examinacion of the matter or matters aforesaid, to electe into the office and roome of every one so removeinge, offendinge and convicted, a godly, discrete and sober person of the parishe aforesaid. Fourthly the said Governours, or the more parte of them, shall every halfe yere once att the least, visitte the said Schoole, and there examyne the labours of the Master and Usher, and also the proceadinges of the said Schollers in good litterature, together with the observations of the Statutes of the Schole in that case provyded, to thende if any defaulte be proved in master, usher or scholler, they, with the privitie and assent of the Archbysshoppe of Yorke for the tyme beinge, may furthwith take order to redresse the same. Fyftely if upon due admonicion twise gyven by the said Governours to the said Master, usher or scholler concernynge the violatinge and wilfull breakeinge of the Statutes of the said Schoole, they and every of them do not amend, that then and from thencefurth it shall and may be lawfull to and for the said Governours, with the privitie and assente of the Archbysshoppe of Yorke, for the tyme beinge, to deprive and depose the said master, usher or scholler so offendinge, and others to electe into there place, accordinge to the true meaninge of the letters Pattentes of the said Schoole in that case provided. Sixtely the said Governours shall provyde from tyme to tyme that the ordinarie stipendes for the master and usher at there accustomed tymes be payd, and also shall take care that the Schoole house within and without be sufficiently repayred upon the emolumentes and profittes accrewinge and growinge to the said Schoole, neyther shall they make any wilfull waste of the said profittes, but be contente with a moderate allowaunce when they are occupyed about the busines of the said Schoole. For the Master. First the Scholemaster to be chosen from tyme to tyme, shall be a man fearinge God, of true religion and godlye conversacion, not gyven to diceinge, cardinge, or other unlawfull games, but beinge admitted to the chardge of the said schole, shall faithfully followe the same. Secondly he shall instructe his schollers in godly authours for Christian religion and other meet and honest authours for more knowledge of the liberall sciences; and also shall once each weeke cathechise his said schollers in the knowledge of Christian religion and other godly dueties, to thende their obedience in lyfe may answere to there proceadinges in godly litterature. Thirdly he shall not teache his schollers any unsavory and popishe aucthours which may eyther infecte the yonge wittes of his schollers with heriesies, or corrupte there lyfes with uncleanenes. Fourthly he shall not use in schoole any language to his schollers which be of ryper yeares and proceadinges but onely the lattyne, Greeke and Hebrewe, nor shall willingly permitt the use of the Englishe tonge in the schoole to them which are or shalbe able to speake lattyne. Fyftely he shall indifferently in schoole endevour himselfe to teache the poore as well as the riche, and the parishioner as well as the stranger, and as his said schollers shall profitt in learninge, so he shall preferre them accordingly, without respecte of persons. Sixtely he shall not be absent above six dayes in any one quarter of the yeare, without speciall licence of the Governours for the tyme beinge, or the more parte of them, nor shall use any vacations througheout the yeare unlesse it be two weekes att Easter, three weekes att Christenmes, and three weekes by the said master to be appointed when he thinketh it most convenient for his schollers to be exercysed in wrytinge under a scriviner for there better exercyse in that facultye; provyded alwayes that he may upon any convenient occasion grante an intermission or vacation to his schollers from studye, in any afternoone whensoever he seeth the same expedient or requisite. Seaventhly that the said Scholemaster in recompence of his paynes and labour in the due exequution of his office, shall have and receyve yearely of the said Governours the yearely stipend of twentie markes of lawfull Englishe money, for and duringe so longe tyme as he shall continue scholemaster att the schoole of Gygleswicke aforesaid, to be payd att two tymes in the yeare, vidz.:--att the feast of saynt Peter advincula, six poundes thirtene shillinges fourepence, and at the feast of the Purificacion of our Ladye, six poundes thirtene shillinges fourepence, by even portions. Lastly the said master shall not bygynne to teache or dismisse the said Schoole without convenient prayers and thankesgyveinge, in that behalfe publiquely to be used, most requisite att bothe mornynge and evenynge. For the Usher. First the Usher of the schoole shalbe a man of sounde religion and sober lyfe, and such one as can traine upp the Yowthe of the Schoole in godlynes and vertue. Secondly he shalbe obedient to the scholemaster in all thinges concernynge his office, by whome he shalbe directed for his manner in teacheing, cathechiesinge, correctinge, &c. Thirdly he shall not absent himselfe from the schoole foure dayes in any quarter of the yeare, without speciall lycence first obteyned of the master and Governours. Fourthly he shall preferr every yeare one whole forme or seedge to the masters erudition, wherein if he make defaulte then he shall stande to the censure of the said master and Governours. Fyftly he shall take upon him the Regiment and teacheinge of the said Schoole in thabsence of the master, and so shall supplye the office of the master in his said absence. Sixtly that the said Usher in Recompence of his paynes and labour in the due exequution of his office, shall have and receyve yearely of the said Governours the yerely stypende of sixe poundes thirtene shillinges fourepence of lawful Englishe money, for and duringe so longe tyme as he shall contynue Usher of the said school att Gygleswicke aforesaid, to be payd att two tymes in the yeare, vidz.:--att the feast of saynt Peter Advincula, thre poundes six shillings eightpence, and att the feast of the purificacion of our Lady, three poundes sixe shillinges eightepence, by even portions. For the Master and Usher. First that the Scholemaster and Usher of the said Schoole shall every worke day (usuall vacations aforesaid excepted) begynne to teache the Schollers of the said Schoole halfe an houre before seaven of the clocke, if he shall see it expedient, and so contynue till eleaven of the clocke before Noone, and so shall begynne againe att one of the clocke in thafternoone and so continue till fyve of the clocke (the usuall vacacions aforesaid and other necessarie and honest causes and reasonable recreations excepted), Excepte also the winter season whan the tymes of begyninge of the schoole and dismissinge of the same, and of the schollers dwellinge neare to the schoole or farr of, shalbe lefte to the discretion of the master. Secondly if the Scholemaster or Usher of the said schoole shall committ any notorious cryme, or shalbe remisse or negligent in teaching the Schollers of the said schoole, and do not upon the second admonition by the said Governours or any of them given, amend and reforme such his or their faulte and offence, that then from thencefurth it shalbe lawfull for the said Governours or the more parte of them, with the privitie and assent of the Archebysshoppe of Yorke for the tyme beinge, to expell the said schoolemaster and usher so offendinge from his said office, and to electe and chuse an other in his place, in manner aforesaid. Thirdly if the scholemaster or usher shalbe founde eyther to be remisse or vehement in corrections, upon due proofe first made to the Governours, it shalbe lawfull for them or the more parte of them, upon admonicion once or twice gyven, to fyne or censure the said master or usher accordinge to the quallitie of thee offence, the assent and consent of the Archebysshoppe of Yorke for the tyme beinge first had and obteyned in that behalfe. For the Schollers. First what Scholler or Schollers soever shalbe admitted into the said Schoole and ther be registred in the number of Schollers, and afterwardes shall rebelliously and obstinatly withstand his master or masters, eyther in doctrine, correction, or other godly Government, and convinced of the same, if upon admonicion and warninge first given he do not repent and amend, it shall and may be lawfull to the said Governours with the consent of the said master, to expulse him the schoole. Secondly no scholler or schollers of what degree soever, shall absent himselfe from schoole any day, and especially the dayes eyther nowe or hereafter for exercyses to be appointed, without necessarye cause or speciall leave first obteyned of the master or usher under whome he shall then remayne for his absence that day. Thirdly if any Scholler, upon due proofe first had, shalbe founde eyther altogether negligent or uncapable of lernynge, att the discrecion of the said master, he shalbe returned to his frendes to be broughte upp in some other honest trade and exercyse of lyfe. Fourthly what scholler or schollers soever in the absence of the said master and usher shall not obey the two prepositors, by the master to be appointed for order and quyetnes of the said Schole, shall for every offence proved, be subjecte to the severe censure of the said master or usher. Lastly what Scholler or schollers soever shall committ any misdeameaner, or behave themselfes unreverently att home or abroade, eyther towardes there parentes, frendes, strangers, or others whosoever, or shall complaine of correction moderately given him by the master or usher, shalbe severely corrected for the same, upon due knowledge first gyven of the same to the said master or usher. APPENDIX VIII. PURCHASE DEED OF SCHOOL HOUSE AND YARD, 1610.[C] [_Early Yorkshire Schools_, p. 267.] [From the original in possession of the Governors.] This Indenture made the ffourtenth daie of December in the yeares of the raigne of our soveraigne Lord James, by the grace of God of England, Scotland, ffrance and Ireland, king, defender of the fayth. That is to saie of England, ffrance and Ireland the eight and of Scotland the foure and fortith. Betwene Sir Gervysse Helwysse of worletbie in the countie of Lincoln, knight, and Sir Richard Williamson of Gainesburgh in the same countie, knight, on thone partie, and Christofer Shutt, batcheler in Divinitie and vickar of the parish church of Giglesweke in the countie of Yorke, Robert Bankes of Giglesweke afforesaid, one of the attorneyes of his maiesties court of comon pleas, and John Robinson of Hollinghall in the parish of Giglesweke afforesaid, yoman, on thother partie. Wittnesseth that the said Sir Gervysse Hellwysse and Sir Richard Williamson, being owners in ffee farme of the Rectorie and parsonage of Giglesweke, in consideracion of a certeyne somme of money to them in hand paid, but especially at the request and mediacion of the said Christofer Shutt, and to and for the use and benifitt of the free Grammer schoole of Giglesweeke afforesaid, have enfeoffed, graunted, bargayned and solde, and by these presentes doe enfeoffe, graunt, bargayne and sell unto the said Christofer Shutt, Robert Bankes, and John Robinson, ther heires and assignes for ever, as feoffees in trust for and to the uses afforesaid. All that house comonly called the Schoolehouse in Giglesweke afforesaid, and that close adioyneing thereto called the Schoolehouse garth, parcell of the said Rectorye. To have and to holde the said Schoolehouse and schoolehouse garth unto the said Christofer Shutt, Robert Bankes and John Robinson, ther heires and assignes for ever, for and to the uses afforesaid. Yelding and paying therfore yearly to the kinges maiestie, his heires and successors, the rent of twelve pence of lawfull English money, at the feastes of thanunciacion of the blessed virgine Marie and of St. Michaell tharchangell, by even porcions for and towardes thet fee farme rent of fortie and foure poundes, payable yearly for the said Rectorie and parsonage to the kinges maiestie, his heirs and successors, at the feastes afforesaid. And the said Sir Gervisse Helwysse and Sir Richard Williamson doe by these presentes constitute and appoint John Bankes and William Lawson of Giglesweke afforesaid, yomen, ther true and lawfull Attorneyes, for them, and in ther names and places, to enter into the said Schoole and Scholehouse garth, to geve quyet and peaceable possession and seisine thereof unto the said Christofer Shutt, Robert Bankes and John Robinson, ther heirs and assignes, rattifyeing and alloweing whatsoever the said Attorneys shall doe therin. In wittnes wherof the parties afforesaid to these presente Indentures interchangeably have sett ther handes and seales the daie and yeares first above written. GERVASE HELWYSSE Recognita coram me Mattheo Carew, milite, in Cancellaria Magistro per suprascriptum Gervasium Helwis, militem, octavo die Februarii anno suprascripto 1610. Examinata. RD. WILLIAMSON Capta et recognita per predictum Ricardum Williamson militem coram me Willelmo Gee, milite, uno magistrorum alme Curie Cancellarie dicti domini Regis apud Ebor. xxo die Decembris anno supradicto. Cognosco recognicionem W. Gee. Sealed and deliuered by the within named Sir Gervysse Helwysse,[D] in the presence of Christopher Batesonn, Edward Astone. Sealed and delivered by the within named Sir Richard Williamson, in the presence of-- William Nowell. Thomas Preston. Henry Somerscales. George Bainton. Giglesweke Schoole Helwyss et alius et Shutt et alii. In dorso clausarum cancellarie infrascripti domini Regis nono die ffebruarii anno infrascripto. Per Johannem Torr. Seals. 1. [Or, a fess azure debruised by a bend gules?]--Helwys--impaling [? or] a cross engrailed [per pale gules and sable?].--Broke. Crest: Five arrows, 1 in pale and 4 in saltire, points in base [or, armed and flighted argent] entwined by a serpent [proper]. 2. [Or], a chevron [gules] between 3 trefoils slipped [sable] a crescent in chief for difference.--Williamson. FOOTNOTES: [C] Modern (eighteenth century) hand. [D] Sir Gervase Helwys was Lieutenant of the Tower, and was executed in connection with the Overbury Murder, 1615. APPENDIX IX. SCHEME MADE BY THE BOARD OF EDUCATION UNDER THE CHARITABLE TRUSTS ACTS, 1853 TO 1894, FOR THE ALTERATION OF THE SCHEME REGULATING THE GIGGLESWICK GRAMMAR SCHOOL. _The Foundation._ 1. In this Scheme the expression "the Foundation" means the Grammar School, in the Parish of Giggleswick, in the Administrative County of the West Riding of Yorkshire, now regulated by a Scheme made under the Endowed Schools Acts on 9 August 1872, as amended and altered by Schemes of 3 April 1886, 26 November 1897, and 23 April 1903. _Repeal and Substitution._ 2. The provisions of the Scheme of 9 August 1872 as amended and altered are hereby repealed, and the provisions of this Scheme are substituted therefor; provided that nothing in this Scheme shall derogate from the exclusive right of the Board of Education to exercise any rights or powers of the Visitor of the Foundation exercisable through or by them immediately before the date of this Scheme. _Title of Foundation._ 3. The Foundation and its endowment (including the particulars specified in the Schedule to this Scheme) shall be administered under the name of GIGGLESWICK SCHOOL. GOVERNORS. _Governing Body._ 4. The Governing Body of the Foundation, in this Scheme called the Governors, shall, when complete, consist (subject as in this Scheme provided) of 18 persons, being:-- TEN Representative Governors to be appointed TWO by the West Riding County Council; ONE by the Council of St. John's College, Cambridge; ONE by the Provost and Fellows of Queen's College, Oxford; ONE by the Master and Fellows of Christ's College, Cambridge; ONE by the Council of the Victoria University of Manchester; ONE by the Council of the University of Leeds; ONE by the Governing Bodies of Bingley Grammar School and the Keighley Trade and Grammar School alternately; ONE by the Governing Bodies of Burnley Grammar School and the Clitheroe Grammar School alternately; and ONE by the Governing Bodies of Ermysted's Grammar School at Skipton and the Kirkby Lonsdale Grammar School alternately; and EIGHT Coöptative Governors, to be appointed by resolution of the Governors. A Representative Governor need not be a member of the appointing body. Every Governor to be appointed by the County Council shall be appointed for a term of office ending on the date of the appointment of his successor, which may be made at any time after the ordinary day of retirement of County Councillors next after his appointment. The other Representative Governors shall be appointed each for a term of three years, and the Coöptative Governors each for a term of five years. Wherever alternate election by two Governing Bodies is prescribed, the first election after the date of this Scheme shall be made by the Governing Body, whose turn it would have been to elect, if this Scheme had not been made. _Existing Representative Governors._ 5. The persons in office at the date of this Scheme as Representative Governors of the Foundation shall be entitled to remain in office as Representative Governors under this Scheme each for the remainder of the term for which he was appointed, but in other respects shall be counted as if they had been appointed under this Scheme. _Existing Coöptative Governors._ 6. The persons in office at the date of this Scheme as Coöptative Governors of the Foundation shall be entitled to remain in office as Coöptative Governors under this Scheme, each for the remainder of the term for which he was appointed. _Additional Governors._ 7. If an increase in the number of Representative Governors is required to comply with any conditions of a grant made by a Local Authority or by the Board of Education, or is considered desirable for any other reasons, additional Representative Governors may, with the consent of the Governors and the approval of the Board of Education (signified by writing under their seal), be appointed by a Local Authority. _Religious Opinions of Governing Body._ 8. Religious opinions or attendance or non-attendance at any particular form of religious worship shall not in any way affect the qualification of any person for being one of the Governing Body under this Scheme. _Declaration by Governors._ 9. No person shall be entitled to act as a Governor, whether on a first or any subsequent entry into office, until he has signed in the minute book of the Governors a declaration of acceptance and of willingness to act in the trusts of this Scheme. _Governors not to be personally interested in Foundation._ 10. Except in special circumstances with the approval in writing of the Board of Education, no Governor shall take or hold any interest in any property belonging to the Foundation otherwise than as a trustee for the purposes thereof, or receive any remuneration, or be interested in the supply of work or goods, at the cost of the Foundation. _Quorum and Voting._ 11. There shall be a quorum when five Governors are present at a meeting. Every matter, except as in this Scheme provided, shall be determined by the majority of the Governors present and voting on the question. In case of equality of votes the Chairman shall have a second or casting vote. _Determination of Governorship._ 12. Any Governor who is absent from all meetings of the Governors during a period of one year, or who is adjudicated a bankrupt, or who is incapacitated from acting, or who communicates in writing to the Governors a wish to resign, shall thereupon cease to be a Governor. _Vacancies._ 13. Every vacancy in the office of Governor shall as soon as possible be notified to the proper appointing body, or be filled by the Governors, as the case requires. Any competent Governor may be re-appointed. _Casual Vacancies._ 14. A Governor appointed to fill a casual vacancy shall hold office only for the unexpired term of office of the Governor in whose place he is appointed. _Management Rules._ 15. The Management Rules appended to this Scheme (being the rules in accordance with which the Governors shall conduct their business and manage the property of the Foundation) shall have effect as part of this Scheme. _Vesting Property._ 16. The Governors and all other persons capable of being bound by this Scheme shall, unless the Board of Education otherwise in writing direct, do all such acts as may be necessary in order to vest in the Official Trustee of Charity Lands and to transfer to the Official Trustees of Charitable Funds respectively, all freehold and leasehold lands and hereditaments and all stocks, shares, funds, and securities respectively, which may hereafter become the property of the Foundation. THE SCHOOL. _Day and Boarding School for Boys._ 17. The School of the Foundation shall be a day and boarding School, for boys, and shall be maintained in or near the Ancient Parish of Giggleswick in the present school buildings or in other suitable buildings provided for the purpose by the Governors as a Public Secondary School. _Income of Foundation._ 18. All moneys received as income exclusively in respect of the School, whether from the fees of pupils or otherwise, shall be applicable wholly for the purposes of the School. After payment of the expenses of administration, the Governors shall apply the income arising from the property specified in the Schedule to this Scheme as follows:-- (1) They shall pay thereout the yearly sum of 100_l._ to the Governing Body of the Girls' Middle School at Skipton, to be applied by that Governing Body for the general purposes of that School, in accordance with the provisions of the above-mentioned Scheme of 3 April 1886, as since amended and altered; (2) They shall provide thereout the yearly sum of 90_l._ to be applied as herein-after directed; (3) They shall apply the income of the property representing the endowment of the Foundation of Josias Shute, in the maintenance of Shute Scholarships as hereinafter provided; (4) They shall apply the income of the various prize funds in providing prizes for boys in the School of the Foundation as heretofore; and (5) They shall apply the residue for the general purposes of the School of the Foundation. _Rates, &c. on School._ 19. All payments for rates, taxes, repairs, and insurance of or in respect of any property occupied for the purposes of the School shall, so far as not otherwise provided for, be made out of the income of the Foundation applicable to the purposes of the School. STAFF. _Head Master and Assistants._ 20. There shall be a Head Master of the School, and such number of Assistant Masters as the Governors think fit. _Employment of Staff._ 21. Every Master in the School shall be employed under a contract of service with the Governors which shall, in the case of appointments made after the date of this Scheme, be reduced to writing, and shall in any case be determinate only (except in the case of dismissal for misconduct or other good and urgent cause) upon a written notice given by or on behalf of the Governors or by the Master, as the case may be, and taking effect in the case of the Head Master after the expiration of six months from the date of notice, and in other cases at the end of a school term and after the expiration of two months from the date of notice; but nothing in this clause shall-- (_a_) in the case of any person employed at the date of this Scheme, affect any special provisions as to notice contained in the Scheme under which he was appointed or any special agreement as to notice in force at the date of this Scheme; or (_b_) affect the special provisions of this Scheme as to the procedure to be followed by the Governors in the case of the dismissal of the Head Master. _Masters need not be in Holy Orders._ 22. No person shall be disqualified for being a Master in the School by reason only of his not being, or not intending to be, in Holy Orders. _Masters not to be Governors._ 23. No Master in the School shall be a Governor. _Head Master--Appointment._ 24. The Head Master shall be a graduate of a University in the United Kingdom or have such other equivalent qualification as may be approved by the Board of Education. He shall be appointed by the Governors after due public advertisement in newspapers and otherwise so as to secure the best candidates. _Dismissal of Head Master._ 25. The Governors may, at pleasure, dismiss the Head Master without assigning cause, upon notice given in accordance with the provisions of this Scheme; or they may, for misconduct or other good and urgent cause, dismiss him without notice. Any resolution to dismiss the Head Master shall not take effect until it has been passed at a special meeting, and confirmed at a second special meeting held after an interval of not less than 14 days, and is so passed and confirmed by not less than two-thirds of the Governors present and voting on the question. Provided that where the dismissal is a dismissal without notice-- (_a_) the Governors may, at the first meeting, if they think fit, by a resolution passed by not less than two-thirds of the whole number of Governors for the time being in office, suspend the Head Master from his office until the second meeting; and (_b_) full notice of, and opportunity of defence at, both meetings shall be given to the Head Master. _Head Master's Tenure and Official Residence._ 26. The Head Master shall dwell in the residence, if any, assigned for him. The occupation and use of the residence and of any other property of the Foundation occupied by him as Head Master shall be had by him in respect of his official character and duties, and not as tenant, and if he is removed from his office, he shall relinquish all claim to the Mastership and its future emoluments, and shall deliver up possession of the residence and other property to the Governors, or as they direct. He shall not, except with the permission of the Governors, permit any person not being a member of his family to occupy the residence or any part thereof. _Head Master not to have other Employment._ 27. The Head Master shall give his personal attention to the duties of the School. He shall not undertake any office or employment interfering with the proper performance of his duties as Head Master. He shall not hold any benefice having the cure of souls, nor during a school term perform for payment any ecclesiastical duty outside the School. _Income of Head Master._ 28. Subject as in this Scheme provided, the Head Master shall receive a stipend in accordance with a rate or scale fixed by the Governors. _Assistant Masters._ 29. The power of appointing and dismissing Assistant Masters in the School shall be exercised by the Head Master, after obtaining in every case the approval of the Governors, and every Assistant Master shall be dismissible at pleasure, either on notice given in accordance with the provisions of this Scheme, or in the case of misconduct or other good and urgent cause, without notice. An Assistant Master may at any time be suspended from duty by the Head Master, and the Head Master shall in that case report the matter to the Governors. _Pensions or Insurance._ 30. The Governors may contribute, or agree to contribute, while any Master is in their employment, towards yearly payments for securing on his behalf a pension or capital sum payable after that employment has ceased. The amount contributed by the Governors in respect of a Master in any year shall not exceed that contributed by the Master. ORGANIZATION AND CURRICULUM. _Jurisdiction of Governors over School Arrangements._ 31. Within the limits fixed by this Scheme, the Governors shall prescribe the general subjects of instruction, the relative prominence and value to be assigned to each group of subjects, what reports shall be required to be made to them by the Head Master, the arrangements respecting the school terms, vacations, and holidays, and the number of boarders. They shall take general supervision of the sanitary condition of the school buildings and arrangements. They shall every year fix the amount which they think proper to be paid out of the income of the Foundation applicable for the purposes of the School for providing and maintaining a proper School plant and apparatus and awarding prizes. _Views and Proposals of Head Master._ 32. Before making any rules under the last foregoing clause, the Governors shall consult the Head Master in such a manner as to give him full opportunity for the expression of his views. The Head Master may also from time to time submit proposals to the Governors for making or altering rules concerning any matter within the province of the Governors. The Governors shall fully consider any such expression of views or proposals and shall decide upon them. _Jurisdiction of Head Master over School Arrangements._ 33. Subject to any rules prescribed by or under the authority of this Scheme, the Head Master shall have under his control the choice of books, the method of teaching, the arrangement of classes and school hours, and generally the whole internal organization, management, and discipline of the School, including the power of expelling boys from the School or suspending them from attendance for any adequate cause to be judged of by him, but on expelling or suspending any boy he shall forthwith report the case to the Governors. _Payments for School Objects._ 34. The Head Master shall determine, subject to the approval of the Governors, in what proportions the sum fixed by the Governors for school plant and apparatus and prizes shall be divided among the various objects for which it is fixed in the aggregate, and the Governors shall pay the same accordingly either through the hands of the Head Master or directly as they think best. _General Instruction._ 35. Instruction shall be given in the School in such subjects proper to be taught in a Public Secondary School for boys as the Governors in consultation with the Head Master from time to time determine. Subject to the provisions of this Scheme, the course of instruction shall be according to the classification and arrangements made by the Head Master. _Religious Instruction._ 36. Subject to the provisions of this Scheme, religious instruction in accordance with the principles of the Christian Faith shall be given in the School under regulations to be made by the Governors. No alteration in any such regulations shall take effect until the expiration of not less than one year after notice of the making of the alteration has been given by the Governors in such manner as they think best calculated to bring the matter within the knowledge of persons interested in the School. _Religious Exemptions._ 37.--(_a_) The parent or guardian of, or person liable to maintain or having the actual custody of, any boy attending the School as a day pupil may claim by notice in writing addressed to the Head Master the exemption of such boy from attending prayer or religious worship, or from any lesson or series of lessons on a religious subject, and such boy shall be exempted accordingly, and a boy shall not, by reason of any exemption from attending prayer or religious worship, or from any lesson or series of lessons on a religious subject, be deprived of any advantage or emolument in the School or out of the endowment of the Foundation to which he would otherwise have been entitled. (_b_) If the parent or guardian of, or person liable to maintain or having the actual custody of, any boy who is about to attend the School and who but for this sub-clause could only be admitted as a boarder, desires the exemption of such boy from attending prayer or religious worship, or from any lesson or series of lessons on a religious subject, but the persons in charge of the boarding-houses of the School are not willing to allow such exemption, then it shall be the duty of the Governors to make proper provisions for enabling the boy to attend the School and have such exemption as a day pupil, without being deprived of any advantage or emolument to which he would otherwise have been entitled. (_c_) If any teacher, in the course of other lessons, at which any boy exempted under this clause is in accordance with the ordinary rules of the School present, teaches systematically and persistently any particular religious doctrine from the teaching of which any exemption has been claimed as in this clause before provided, the Governors shall, on complaint made in writing to them by the parent, guardian, or person liable to maintain or having the actual custody of such boy, hear the complainant, and inquire into the circumstances, and if the complaint is judged to be reasonable, make all proper provisions for remedying the matter complained of. _Examinations._ 38. Once at least in every two years there shall be, at the cost of the Foundation, an examination of the whole of each of the upper forms of the School by, or under the direction of, a University or other examining body approved by the Board of Education, with the assistance, if the Governors think fit, of any of the teaching staff of the School; and a report thereon shall be made to the Governors, who shall send copies of it to the Head Master and to the West Riding County Council and two copies to the Board of Education. Provided that the Board may, either generally or in any particular year, dispense with that examination as regards any of the upper forms. Once at least in every year there shall be an examination of the lower forms by the teaching staff of the School, and a report thereon shall be made to the Governors if they require it. An examination may be partly in writing and partly oral, or, in the lower forms, wholly oral. If in any year the School as a whole is inspected by the Board of Education, the Board may dispense with any examination for that and the following year. The Board may decide which forms shall be considered to be "upper" and "lower" respectively for the purposes of this clause. CONDITIONS OF ADMISSION. _To Whom School is Open._ 39. Subject to the provisions established by or under the authority of this Scheme, the School and all its advantages shall be open to all boys of good character and sufficient health. Provided that a boy shall not be admitted to the School-- (_a_) unless he is residing with his parent, guardian, or near relation within degrees of kindred fixed by the Governors, or lodging in the house of some person other than a Master, conducted under the rules approved for that house by the Governors, or (_b_) unless (if he is admitted as a border) he is boarding in a house conducted under rules made by the Governors and provided or controlled by them or by some Master who is not the parent of the boy. _Ages for School._ 40. Subject as herein provided, no boy shall be admitted to the School under the age of 9 years. No boy shall remain in the School after the end of the school year, in which the age of 19 is attained. The Head Master shall make rules for the withdrawal of boys from the School in cases where, from idleness, or incapacity to profit by the studies of the place, they have fallen materially below the standard of position and attainment proper for their age. _Application for Admission._ 41. Applications for admission to the School shall be made to the Head Master, or to some person appointed by the Governors, according to a form to be approved by them and delivered to all applicants. _Register of Applications._ 42. The Head Master or some person appointed by the Governors shall keep a register of applications of admission, showing the date of every application and of the admission, withdrawal, or rejection of the applicant and the cause of any rejection and the age of each applicant. Provided that every person requiring an application to be registered shall pay such fee as the Governors may fix, not exceeding five shillings. _Entrance Examination._ 43. No boy shall be admitted to the School except after being found fit for admission in an examination under the direction of the Head Master graduated according to the age of the boy, or in some other examination approved by the Governors. Those who are so found fit shall, if there is room for them, be admitted in order according to the date of their application. _Fees._ 44. No fee, payment, or gratuity shall be received from or on behalf of any boy in the School, except in accordance with Rules for Payments, which shall be made by the Governors and shall among other things provide:-- (_a_) for the payment of such tuition fee, at the rate of not more than 30_l._ and not less than 12_l._ a year, as is prescribed in the rules: (_b_) for the payment of an entrance fee not exceeding 3_l._ and (_c_) in the case of any boarder, for the payment of a boarding fee, at the rate of not more than 66_l._ a year, in addition to the tuition fee. The Rules for Payments shall be subject to the approval of the Board of Education signified by writing under their seal, and when so approved shall have effect accordingly. FREE PLACES, MAINTENANCE ALLOWANCES, AND EXHIBITIONS. _Exemptions from Fees._ 45. (1.) The Rules for Payments shall provide for total or partial exemptions from payment of tuition fees or entrance fees. (2.) They shall, among other things, provide-- (_a_) that a yearly sum of not less than 60_l._ out of the income of the Foundation applicable for the general purposes of the School may, if funds permit, be applied in providing total or partial exemptions from payment of tuition fees for boys who are and have for not less than three years been resident in the Ancient Parish of Giggleswick; and (_b_) that the income of the property representing the endowment of Josias Shute shall be applied in providing total exemptions from payment of tuition fees and the cost of books and stationery, to be called Shute Scholarships, and to be offered in the first instance to boys who are and have for not less than two years been in attendance at a Public Elementary School in the Ancient Parish of Giggleswick; and may also provide-- (_c_) that any boys who are exempted from payment of tuition fees under the provisions of sub-clauses (2) (_a_) and (2) (_b_) of this clause, and who by reason of their proficiency are deserving of the distinction, shall be called Giggleswick Scholars and Shute Scholars respectively, and that any other boys who are exempted from payment of tuition fees, and are likewise worthy of the distinction, shall be called Foundation Scholars. _Maintenance Allowances._ 46. The Governors may award to such of the Giggleswick Scholars or Foundation Scholars as in the opinion of the Governors are in need of financial assistance to enable them to enter or remain in the School, Maintenance Allowances each of a yearly value of not more than 5_l._ Any such Allowance may, at the discretion of the Governors, be paid to the parent or guardian of the boy, or may be applied by them towards payments (other than tuition or entrance fees under the Rules for Payments or in providing the boy with travelling facilities or meals). _Boys' Moiety of Yearly Sum of 90l._ 47. The Governors shall apply one moiety of the above-mentioned yearly sum of 90_l._, in one or both of the following ways:-- (1) in providing additional Shute Scholarships, (2) in awarding maintenance allowances each of a yearly value of not more than 10_l._ to Shute Scholars. Any unapplied residue of the said moiety shall be applied by the Governors in augmenting the value of the Giggleswick and other Exhibitions herein-after mentioned. _Boarding Scholarships._ 48. The Governors may, if funds permit, apply a yearly sum of not more than 150_l._ out of the income of the Foundation applicable for the purposes of the School in the maintenance of Boarding Scholarships, each consisting of exemption, total or partial, from payment of boarding fees. These Scholarships may be held in conjunction with any Scholarship or Exemption maintained under this Scheme. _Giggleswick and other Leaving Exhibitions._ 49. The Governors shall, as soon as funds permit, maintain a Leaving Exhibition, to be called the Giggleswick Exhibition, of the yearly value of not less than 30_l._ nor more than 50_l._ to be awarded for proficiency in any one or more of the subjects of general instruction provided for by this Scheme. They may also maintain (1) a Leaving Exhibition to be called the Clapham and Tennant Exhibition, and (2) other Leaving Exhibitions. (_a_) The Exhibitions shall be tenable at any University, Training College for pupils intending to enter the teaching profession, or other Institution of higher, including professional or technical, instruction. (_b_) An Exhibition shall be either (i) a single payment, or (ii) a series of payments extending over not more than four years, and in either case shall not exceed a total value of 200_l._ (_c_) Exhibitions shall be awarded for merit only, on the result of such examination as the Governors think fit, to boys who then are and have for not less than two years been in the School. Within the limits fixed by this Scheme the Exhibitions shall be freely and openly competed for, and shall be awarded under such rules and conditions as the Governors think fit, but so that as nearly as possible the same number may be awarded each year. Any Exhibition for which there is no duly qualified candidate, who on examination is adjudged worthy to take it, shall for that turn not be awarded. _Deprivation._ 50. The Scholarships and Exhibitions shall be tenable only for the purposes of education. If, in the judgment of the Governors, the holder of any Scholarship or Exhibition or any boy exempted as aforesaid is guilty of serious misconduct or idleness, or fails to maintain a reasonable standard of proficiency, or ceases to pursue his education, the Governors may deprive him of the Scholarship, Exhibition, Exemption, or any Maintenance Allowance, but in the case of an Exemption (unless the Rules for Payments otherwise provide) only upon grounds sufficient to justify the removal of any boy from the School. In the case of an Exhibition, the Governors may act on the report of the proper authorities of the University, College, or Institution, at which the Exhibition is held, or on such other evidence as the Governors think sufficient. Under this clause the decision of the Governors shall be final in each case. SPECIAL DEPARTMENTS. _Preparatory Department._ 51. The Governors may, if they think fit, maintain in the School a Preparatory Department for the education of boys. For this department the Governors may make such modifications as they think fit in the foregoing provisions relating to ages, instruction, and examination, and the Rules for payments may prescribe such tuition fees as may be thought suitable. _Education of intending Elementary School Teachers._ 52. The Governors may, with the approval in writing of the Board of Education, make special provision in or in connexion with the School for the education of boys who intend to qualify as teachers in Public Elementary Schools. For these boys, subject to the like approval, the Governors may make such modifications as they think fit in the foregoing provisions relating to ages, instruction, and examination, and the Rules for Payments may prescribe such tuition fees as may be thought suitable. SETTLE GIRLS' SCHOOL. _Payment to Settle Girls' School._ 53. The Governors shall pay the other moiety of the said yearly sum of 90_l._ to the Governing Body of the new Public Secondary School for girls established or about to be established at Settle, to be applied by such Governing Body for the general purposes of that School, on condition that the Governing Body maintain therein not less than three free places for girls who are resident in the Ancient Parish of Giggleswick, and who are and have for not less than two years been in attendance at a Public Elementary School. TRANSITORY PROVISIONS. _Continuance of Existing Arrangements._ 54. Until the expiration of two months from the date of this Scheme, or such further period as may be sanctioned in writing by the Board of Education, matters which under this Scheme are to be the subject of rules which require the approval of the Board under their seal may be conducted in accordance, as far as circumstances permit, with the arrangements existing at the date of this Scheme. _First Meeting of Governors._ 55. The first meeting of the Governors shall be summoned by the Clerk of the present Governing Body as soon as possible after the date of this Scheme, or, if he fails to summon a meeting for two months after that date, by any two Governors. _Present Head Master._ 56. The present Head Master shall, if willing, take and hold the office of Head Master of the School under this Scheme. He shall be entitled while holding office to receive a fixed yearly stipend of 200_l._ and also a capitation payment calculated on such a scale, uniform or graduated, as may be fixed from time to time by the Governors, at the rate of not less than 4_l._ a year for each boy in the School. _Saving of Interests._ 57. No boy who is and on 8 September 1909 was in the School shall be liable to any payment to which he might not have been liable if this Scheme had not been made, and any holder of a Scholarship or Exhibition awarded on or before the date of this Scheme shall be entitled to hold his Scholarship or Exhibition as if this Scheme had not been made. GENERAL PROVISIONS. _Further Endowments._ 58. The Governors may receive any additional donations or endowments for the general purposes of the Foundation. They may also receive donations or endowments for any special objects connected with the Foundation not inconsistent with or calculated to impede the due working of the provisions of this Scheme. Any question arising upon this last point shall be referred to the Board of Education for their decision. _Orders for Replacement not affected._ 59. Nothing in this Scheme shall affect any Order of the Charity Commissioners or the Board of Education now in force, so far as it makes provision for the discharge of any debt or for the replacement of any stock or money. _Alteration of Scheme._ 60. The Board of Education may, in the exercise of their ordinary jurisdiction under the Charitable Trusts Acts, 1853 to 1894, frame Schemes for the alteration of any portions of this Scheme, provided that such alteration shall not be contrary to anything contained in the Endowed Schools Acts, 1869, 1873 and 1874, and that the object of the Foundation shall always be:-- (1) to supply a liberal education for boys by means of a School or Schools in the Ancient Parish of Giggleswick or otherwise, and (2) to promote the education of girls. _Questions under Scheme._ 61. Any question as to the construction of this Scheme or as to the regularity or the validity of any acts done or about to be done under this Scheme, shall be determined conclusively by the Board of Education, upon such application made to them for the purpose as they think sufficient. _Interpretation._ 62. The Interpretation Act, 1889, applies to the interpretation of this Scheme as it applies to an Act of Parliament. _Date of Scheme._ 63. The date of this Scheme shall be the day on which it is established by an Order of the Board of Education. MANAGEMENT RULES. MEETINGS AND PROCEEDINGS. 1. The Governors shall hold ordinary or stated meetings at least twice in each year. A special meeting may at any time be summoned by the Chairman or any two Governors upon four clear days' notice being given to the other Governors of the matters to be discussed. _Chairman._ 2. The Governors shall, at their first ordinary or stated meeting in each year, elect one of their number to be Chairman of their meetings for the year. If it is necessary to supply his place at any meeting, the Chairman of that meeting shall be appointed before any other business is transacted. The Chairman shall always be re-eligible. _Rescinding Resolutions._ 3. Any resolution of the Governors may be rescinded or varied at a subsequent meeting, if due notice of the intention to rescind or vary the same has been given to all the Governors. _Adjournment of Meetings._ 4. If at the time appointed for a meeting a sufficient number of Governors to form a quorum are not present, or if at any meeting the business is not completed, the meeting shall stand adjourned _sine die_, and a special meeting shall be summoned as soon as conveniently may be. Any meeting may be adjourned by resolution. _Minutes and Accounts._ 5. The Governors shall provide and keep a minute-book and books of account. All proper accounts in relation to the Foundation shall in each year be made out and certified, and copies sent to the Board of Education and the West Riding County Council in such form as the Board may require. _Publication of Accounts._ 6. On sending accounts for any year to the Board of Education the Governors shall exhibit for public inspection in some convenient place in Giggleswick, copies of the accounts so sent for that year, giving due public notice where and when the same may be seen, and they shall at all reasonable times allow the accounts for any year to be inspected, and copies or extracts to be made, by all persons applying for the purpose. _General Power to make Rules._ 7. Within the limits prescribed by the Scheme, the Governors shall have full power to make rules for the management of the Foundation, and for the conduct of their business, including the summoning of meetings, the deposit of money at a proper bank, the custody of documents, and the appointment during their pleasure of a Clerk or of any necessary officers at such a rate of remuneration as may be approved by the Board of Education. MANAGEMENT OF PROPERTY. 8. The Governors shall manage the property of the Foundation not occupied for the purposes thereof according to the general law applicable to the management of property by Trustees of charitable foundations. _Repairs and Insurance._ 9. The Governors shall keep in repair and insure against fire all the buildings of the Foundation not required to be kept in repair and insured by the lessees or tenants thereof. _Allotments Extension Act, 1882._ 10. The Governors may set apart and let in allotments under the Allotments Extension Act, 1882, any portions of the land belonging to the Foundation other than buildings and appurtenances of buildings. _Letting of Property._ 11. The Governors shall give public notice of the intention to let any property in such manner as they shall consider most effectual for insuring full publicity. The Governors shall not create any tenancy in reversion, or for more than 21 years certain, or for less than the improved annual value at rackrent, without the sanction of the Board of Education or a competent Court. _Leases._ 12. The Governors shall provide that on the grant by them of any lease the lessee shall execute a counterpart; and every lease shall contain a covenant on the part of the lessee for the payment of rent, and all other usual and proper covenants applicable to the property comprised therein, and a proviso for re-entry on non-payment of the rent, or non-performance of the covenants. _Timber and Minerals.--Surplus Cash._ 13. Any money arising from the sale of timber, or from any mines or minerals on the estates of the Foundation; and Any sum of cash now or at any time belonging to the Foundation and not needed as a balance for working purposes; shall (unless otherwise ordered by the Board of Education) be treated as capital and be invested in the name of the Official Trustees of Charitable Funds. COPIES OF SCHEME. 14. The Governors shall cause a copy of the Scheme to be given to every Governor, Head Master, and other Teacher, upon entry into office, and copies may be sold at a reasonable price to all persons applying for the same. SCHEDULE. PARTICULARS OF PROPERTY OF THE FOUNDATION. =========================================================================== Description. | Extent | Tenant, Person liable, |Gross Yearly | or Amount.|or Persons in whose Name| Income. | | invested. | -------------------------+-----------+------------------------+------------ REAL ESTATE. | | | | | | _At Giggleswick._ | | | | A. R. P. | | £ _s._ _d._ Sites and buildings of | ---- | In hand. | ---- the Grammar School, | | | Chapel, hostel, Masters'| | | houses, &c. | | | | | | Eatage of Football field | 6 1 17 | Emanuel Johnson | 10 0 0 (Lower Ashton). | | | | | | Tram Pasture | 4 1 32 | | | | | Eatage of Cricket field | 15 0 7 | Messrs. Harrison & Sons| 8 0 0 | | | Brookside croft | 1 0 36 | W. W. Vaughan | 3 0 0 | | | Site for Sanatorium | 6 3 32 | } | | | } George Jenkinson | 44 10 0 Spen pasture | 11 3 26 | } | | | | Land called "Cappleriggs"| 16 3 2 | Do. do. | 20 0 0 | | | " " "Poor Ashton"| 2 0 33 | Emanuel Johnson | 10 10 0 | | | Bath Croft | 1 1 14 | William Simpson | 3 10 0 | | | _At North Cave, in the | | | East Riding._ | | | | | | Farm buildings and land |129 2 14 | Charles Dennis | 88 0 0 called "North Cave | | | Farm." | | | | | | Farm buildings and land |128 2 0 | Do. do. |100 0 0 called "Common Farm." | | | | | | Farm Buildings and land | 67 3 15 | Thomas Cleminshaw | 47 0 0 called "Stoney Carr | | | Farm." | | | | | | "White Hart" Inn and | 48 0 22 | Mrs. Emily Gray | 80 0 0 garden, farm buildings, | | | and land called | | | | | | Watermill, cottage, and | 15 2 34 | Richard Boast | 40 0 0 land. | | | | | | House, foundry, and land | 5 2 18 | W. and T. Saunders | 25 0 0 | | | House and land | 0 0 30 | Major Dunlop | 7 4 0 | | | Do. | 1 0 12 | H. S. Clarke | 7 0 0 | | | Do. (Nordham House) | 1 0 15 | Thomas Gregson | 25 0 0 | | | Do. | 0 1 10 | W. J. Tuton | 7 0 0 | | | Garden | 0 1 5 | Do. | 2 10 0 | | | Do. | 0 1 32½| W. E. Blanchard | 2 10 0 | | | Do. | 0 1 32 | Do. do. | 2 10 0 | | | Land at Drewton | 0 1 21 | W. Moverley | 1 1 0 | | | Twenty-eight Sheepwalks | ---- | J. G. A. Jowett | 7 7 0 on Drewton. | | | | | | Rent for shooting over | ---- | Colonel Clitherow | 9 9 0 estate at North Cave. | | | | | | _Rentcharges._ | | | | | | Quit-rents in respect of | ---- | Various | 3 2 10 lands at North Cave. | | | | | | Tithe rentcharges on | | Various | 23 10 4 lands at Etherdwick, in | | | Aldborough, in the East | | | Riding. | | | | | | Rentcharge on land at | | Christopher Other's | 14 0 0 Burton-in-Lonsdale, | | Representatives | West Riding. | | | | | | Do. do. | | ----Foxcroft | 0 13 4 | | | Rentcharge on land at | | Fine Cotton Spinners' | 0 3 6 Langcliffe, in Parish | | Association, Limited, | of Giggleswick. | | Manchester. | | | | PERSONAL ESTATE. | | | |£ _s._ _d._| | Consols | 4 11 0 | The Official Trustees | 0 2 0 | | of Charitable Funds. | | | | _The Howson Prize Fund._ | | | | | | Proceeds of Sale of |104 0 0 | Governors of the School| shares in the Settle | | | Public Buildings | | | Company. | | |---------- | | Total £|594 13 0 -------------------------+-----------+------------------------+------------ This schedule is made up to 1 November 1909. The Board of Education order that the foregoing scheme be established. Sealed this 1st day of February 1910. APPENDIX X. MASTERS OF GIGGLESWICK. 1499-1518 JAMES CARR, Founder of the Rood Chantry. 1548-1560 RICHARD CARR, Incumbent of the Rood Chantry. 1615-1619 REV. CHRISTOPHER SHUTE, B.D., Vicar of Giggleswick, 1576-1626. 1619-1641 REV. ROBERT DOCKRAY, M.A., Vicar of Giggleswick, 1632-1641. 1642-1647 REV. ROWLAND LUCAS, M.A. 1648-1656 REV. WILLIAM WALKER, M.A. 1656- WILLIAM BRADLEY (Temporary). 1656-1684 REV. WILLIAM BRIGGS. 1684- JOHN PARKINSON, B.A. 1685-1712 REV. JOHN ARMITSTEAD, M.A. 1712-1744 REV. JOHN CARR, B.A. 1744-1799 REV. WILLIAM PALEY, B.A. 1800-1844 REV. ROWLAND INGRAM, B.D. 1846-1858 REV. GEORGE ASH BUTTERTON, D.D. 1858-1866 REV. JOHN RICHARD BLAKISTON, M.A. 1866-1867 REV. THOMAS BRAMLEY, M.A. (Provisional). 1867-1869 MICHAEL FORSTER, B.A. (Provisional). 1869-1904 REV. GEORGE STYLE, M.A. 1904-1910 WILLIAM WYAMAR VAUGHAN, M.A. 1910- ROBERT NOEL DOUGLAS, M.A. APPENDIX XI. USHERS. 1545-1562 THOMAS IVESON (Priest). 1615-1642 HENRY CLAPHAMSON. 1642-1665 WILLIAM WILSON. 1666-1671 WILLIAM COWGILL. 1671-1680 REV. THOMAS WILDEMAN, B.A. 1680-1682 JOHN PARKINSON, B.A. 1683-1688 REV. JOHN SPARKE. 1688- HENRY ROOME. 1688-1698 RICHARD ATKINSON. 1698-1703 ARTHUR WHITAKER. 1704-1705 REV. ANTHONY WEATHERHEAD, B.A. 17 -1712 THOMAS RATHMELL. 1712-1726 RICHARD THORNTON. 1726-1755 GEORGE CARR. 1756-1784 JOHN MOORE. 1784-1792 SMITH. 1792-1799 REV. NICHOLAS WOOD. 1799-1810 REV. OBADIAH CLAYTON. 1810-1814 JOHN ARMSTRONG. 1814-1858 REV. JOHN HOWSON, M.A. 1858-1864 REV. MATTHEW WOOD, M.A. WRITING MASTERS. 1784-1790 J. SAUL. 1790-1791 STANCLIFFE. 1791-1799 ROBERT KIDD. 1799-1807 JOHN CARR. 1807-1831 WILLIAM STACKHOUSE. 1831-1859 JOHN LANGHORNE. 1859-1897 ARTHUR BREWIN. N.B.--In 1872 the position of Mr. Brewin was changed. INDEX. Acaster, 28 Act Book, Ripon, 19 Alcuin of York, 205 Aldburgh, 29 Aldershot, 223 Alfred, King, 205 Aligarh, 212 Ardingly, 212 Argentine, 203 Armitstead, Anthony, 71 John (Master), 72, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79 Armistead, ----, 121 Roger, 28 Armstrong, John (Usher), 117, 120, 147 Arnold, Dr., 153, 205, 208 Ascham, Roger, 24 Atherton, Thomas, 57 Atkinson, Richard (Usher), 72, 74 Athletic Shop, 228 Auckland, St. Andrew, 67 Austwick, 54, 121, 193 Baker, Sergt.-Major, 219 Banckes, Thomas, 31, 48 Bank, William, 28 Bankes, Alexander, 54 Robert, 60 William, 84, 86 Banks, John, 51 Bankwell, 191, 195, 222 Barney, 53 Barrows, Anthony, 71 Bayley, John, 99 Bearcroft, Philip, 211, 226 Beck House, 225 Benet, John, 32 Beverley, 103 Big School, 182, 189, 190, 203, 205 Birkbeck, John, 138 John (Junior), 184, 187 Blakiston, Rev. J. R. (Master), 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 156, 158, 162, 163, 166, 167, 168, 169 Boarding-house (_see_ Hostel), 173 Boer War, 197 Bognor, 116 Bolton, 107 Boyd, Rev. W., 137 Brackenridge, J., 136 Bradley, Mary, 113 William (Master), 69 William, 99, 113 Bramley, ----, 148 Rev. T. (Master), 166, 169 Brampton, 29 Brasenose College, Oxford, 25 Brayshay, Thomas, 71 "Breeches" Bible, 191 Brewin, Arthur, 150, 151, 173, 192 Brigge, William (Master), 69, 70, 71, 72 Brinsley, 41 Brookside, 221 Browne, William, 28 "Bubble and Squeak," 212 Buckhaw Brow, 225 Bulidon, 29, 30 Bultfontein, 197 "Bumming" Stone, 145 Bunyan, John, 205 Burton, 67 Exhibitions (_see_ Carr, Tennant, Clapham, Shute), 67, 72, 73, 74, 80, 82, 85, 92, 130, 134, 164 Rents, 62, 90, 134, 164 Busby, 206 Butterton, Rev G. A. (Master), 131, 142, 143, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 149, 151, 152, 153, 157, 191, 219 Caedmon, 205 Camden, 42 Cansdale, Sergeant-Major, 196, 219, 228, 229 Canterbury, 40 Capleside, 84 Cappleriggs Close, 61, 62 Carlisle, 83 Carr, ---- (Governor), 166 George (Usher), 77, 80, 85 James (Founder), 13, 16, 17, 18, 19, 26, 30, 54, 55, 77, 90, 91, 101, 106, 135, 204, 219, 221, 229 Carr, John, 65 (Master), 77, 78, 79, 80 (Mathematical Professor at Durham University), 133 (Writing Master), 99, 103, 111, 113, 114, 116, 121 Richard (Master), 22, 26, 77 (Founder of the Exhibitions), 55 Richard (of Peterhouse), 57 Roger (Governor, 1592), 31 Stephen (of Stackhouse), 14 Thomas (Vicar of Sancton), 71 (of Settle), 71 (Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge) 110, 111 William (of Langcliffe), 77 (of Stackhouse), 77, 84 (Rector of Bolton), 106, 107 Exhibitions, 56, 58, 73, 82, 221 Catterall, John, 48 William, 28 Cavendish, Lord Edward, 187 Lord Frederick, 187 Chantries Act, 20 Chantry of Our Lady, 22 of the Rood, 13, 14, 16, 18, 22, 23 Tempest, 22 Commissioners, 19, 37 Chapel (_see_ Parish Church), 198, 199, 200, 202, 203, 205, 221, 225 Charity Commissioners, 52, 118, 154, 155, 158, 161, 163, 183 Charles II, 68 Charter, 26, 27, Appendix VI Chelsea Training College, 150 Chester, Dean of, 122 Chewe, Richard, 31, 48 Chichester, Bishop of, 117 Chippett, Rev. J. W., 213 Choir Schools, 24 Christie, Hector, 187 Christ's College, Cambridge, 56, 57, 65, 66, 67, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 77, 78, 80, 82, 83, 85, 93, 108, 221 Cirencester, 158 Clapham (of Austwick), 193 Elizabeth, 81 John (Vicar), 93, 107, 124 William (Founder of Clapham Exhibitions), 49, 50, 51, 73 Exhibitions, 49, 50, 52, 54 Claphamson, 49 Henry (Usher), 58, 63, 64 Robart, 53 Clarke, Dr. T., 108 Class-rooms, 181, 183 Clayton, Obadiah (Usher), 102, 115, 116, 117 Clementson, Enoch, 99, 113, 114 Cletehop, 28, 52, 53 Clifton College, 173, 216, 217 Clough, 92 Club, Old Boys', 195 Giggleswick Boys', 219 Cocker's Arithmetic, 191 Cocket, Thomas, 74 Cockett, John, 66 Colchester, 60 Colenso, 197 Colet, Dean, 41 Columba, 205 Colours, School, 193 Conventicle Act, Second, 68 Cook, Isaac, 110 Cookson, Bryan, 74 John, 80 Robte, 71 Cornah, J. R., 197 Cosen, Bishop, 68 Coulthurst, Rev. W. H. (Vicar), 188 Cowgill, William (Usher), 70 Craggs, Mrs., 120 Craven Bank, 122, 128, 131, 152, 165, 170, 180, 186, 194 Cricket, 189, 193 Field (_see_ Football Field), 198, 223 Pavilion, 205 Cross-country Race, 225 Croxton, 49 Cumberland, 84 Custos, 41 Dawson, William, 84 Debating Society, 193 Devonshire, Duke of, 203 Dickens, Charles, 191 Dockray, Josias, 66 Robert (Master and Vicar), 58, 63, 64 Thomas, 65 Dome (Chapel), 198, 199, 201, 204 Douglas, R. N. (Headmaster), 227 Dronfield School, 34 Drummond, Archbishop, 86 Dublin, 147, 171 Duncan, 108 Durham School, 42, 44, 150 Prior of, 16, 17, 25, 55 Edderwick, 29 Edmund, King, 205 Edward VI, 20, 21, 25, 26, 31, 47, 48, 135, 203, 204 Education, Board of, 221 Educational Exhibition, 193, 196 Elizabeth, Queen, 21, 40, 47, 48 Ellershaw, Richard (Vicar), 58, 73 Endowed Schools Act, 74, 174 English School, 113, 114, 117, 118, 119, 126, 133, 140, 142, 192 Teaching of, 217 Erasmus, 42 Eshton Close, 61, 62 Eton College, 37, 41, 94, 110, 205 Exhibitions (_see_ Burton, Carr, Tennant, Shute), 94, 95, 100, 109, 119, 177, 178 Exhibition, Giggleswick, 177, Appendix IX Fagging, 208 Farrar, Rev. F. W., 150 Fearon, D. R., 174 Fees, imposition of, 176 Feizor} Fesar } 28, 84 Fig-Day (_see_ Potations), 145, 156 Finchale Priory, 14, 25, 55 Fishbourn, 60 Fitch, J. G., 16 Fives Courts, 157, 182, 190, 194, 221, 224 Football, 189, 190, 193, 196, 209 Field, 165, 189, 190, 224 Forster, Michael (Headmaster), 170, 171 Foster, Christopher, 31 Dr., 108 James, 99, 107 James, 154 William, 74 Foundation Scholars, Appendix, 9 Frampton, George, A.R.A., 203 Frankland, Jane, 67 John, 67 Richard, 67, 68 ----, 48 "Free" School, 27, 79, 160, 176, 177, 178 Fulmodestone, 49 Garforth, William, 138 Gargrave, 88 Gate-house, 205, 219 _Gentleman's Magazine_, 17, 91 George III, 87 Gibson, Thomas, 69 _Giggleswick Chronicle_, 18, 186, 197 Gloucester Grammar School, 39 Golf, 190, 193, 224 Gordon, General, 205 Gould, E., 223 Governing Body, 28, 115 Grace, 44 Gray, Thomas, 136 Graygreth, 212 Green, Thomas, 69 Gymnasium, 184, 194, 224 Hallam, 41 Hallpike, Vincent, 89 Hamworth, 53 Handby, J. W., 193 Harris, Charles, 80 Harrison, Richard, 74 Harrow School, 150 Hartlebury Grammar School, 50 Haselrig, Sir Arthur, 68 Hastings, Lady Elizabeth, 137 Exhibition, 137, 148 Hawkwell, 56 Hebrew, 34, 41, 42, 43, 101, 104, 127, 139 Helpston, 80, 89 Helwysse, Sir Gervysse, 55 Henry VIII, 19, 20, 21, 40, 43 Herkomer, Sir H. Von, 206 Heversham, 65 High Rigg, 225 Higher Certificate, 218 Hockleigh, 55, 58 Hodgson, Sir W., 19 Holidays (_see_ Vacations), 35, 105, 130, 144, 153, 181 Hollins, 66 Hollybank, 192, 195 Holmes, ----, 113 Holywell Toft, 157, 180, 182 Horace, 108 Horman, 24 Horsfield, 75 Hostel, 165, 169, 170, 172, 174, 181, 189, 191, 192, 195, 208, 209, 227 Howbeck Ynge, 14 Howson, F., 135 George, 133, 139 John (Usher), 99, 120, 122, 123, 135, 144, 145, 146 John Saul (Dean of Chester), 122, 123, 133, 138 Hulle, William, 14 Huntwaitfields, 61 Husteler, Thomas, 23 Hyde, C. F., 190, 191, 213 Ingram, Rev. D., 189 Rev. Rowland (Master), 111, 116, 117, 120, 123, 125, 128, 131, 133, 143, 157, 180, 189 Rev. R., Junior (Vicar), 165, 180, 189 Injunctions, 20, 44 Inscription on First School, 18 Ipswich Grammar School, 111 Iveson, Thomas (Usher), 24, 26 Iveson, William, 89 J.N., 73 Jackson, J. G., 198, 199, 205 Jeaffreson, C. H., 173 Jesus College, Oxford, 57, 76 Joiner's Shop, 196 Keasden Farm, 75, 76, 78 Keate Collection (Museum), 193 Dr., 206 Kelthorpe, North and South, 29 Kempson, Mrs., 157, 165, 180 Kennedy, Dr., 131 Kidd, Robert (Writing Master), 80, 98, 100, 103, 111, 113 Thomas, 107, 108 King, John, 120 Kirkby (?) 65 Lonsdale, 212, 213 Knowles, James, 154 Laboratory (_see_ Natural Science), 192, 193 Lancashire, 96 Lancaster Gaol, 84 Grammar School, 189 Landon, J. T. B., 151 Langcliffe, 22, 77, 80, 81, 90 Langhorne, John (Writing Master), 123, 126, 144, 150, 192 Lascelles, Christopher, 63 Lateran Council, 12, 15, 40 Latimer, Bishop, 205 Leach, A. F., 16 Leake, 65 Leeds, 117, 219 Leeming, 148 Leghorn, 97 lemyng, Richard, 16 Library, 156, 157, 183, 191 Lily's Latin Grammar, 41, 42 Lincoln College, Oxford, 173 Lister, Anthony (Vicar, 1641), 64, 66 (Vicar, 1741), 84 Literary Society, 193 Littleboro', 96 Liverpool, 117 College, 122 Llandaff, Bishop of, 93 Locke, John, 108, 191 Lockwood, John, 114 London, 117 Long Preston, 71, 72 Lucas, Rowland (Master), 64, 65, 70 Lupton, J. H., 148 Lynch, Arthur, 128 Magdalen College, Oxford, 107, 151 Magdalene College, Cambridge, 70, 103, 108, 116 Maldon, 56, 58 Malhame, John, 18, 23 William, 18, 23 Manchester, 59 Grammar School, 180 Mannock, G. B., 191, 211, 213, 222 Markham, Archbishop, 99 Marshfield, 94 Martin Henry, 205 Marton, 19 Martyndale, Sir W., 19 Mary, Queen, 25 Mason, Jackson, 136, 147, 148 Master, The, 30, 35, 44, 86, 129, 140, 163, 164, 165, 171, 172, 176, 182, 216 Mathematics, 185, 210 Mathematical Assistant, 103, 104 Mellers, Dame, 50 Merchant Taylors' School, 37 Metal Workshop, 221 Middleton Free School, 26 Milton, 205 Modern Languages, 131, 132, 139, 140, 144, 172, 174, 175, 193 Moore, John (Usher), 85, 88 More, Nathaniel, 71 Sir Thomas, 205 Morrison, Walter, 156, 165, 187, 198, 199, 200, 204, 205, 206, 219 Mott, C. F., 218 Mulcaster, 24, 37, 42 Munde Bovers, 56, 58 Museum, 188, 193, 218 Musgrave, 84 Music, 190, 193, 222 National School, 161, 175 Natural Science, 172, 179, 180, 185, 193, 214, 215 Nelson, William, 74 New College, Oxford, 69, 170, 216 Newhall, 28, 48 Newhouse, 28 Nicholson, John, 120, 121 North Cave, 29, 70, 78, 87, 89, 109, 119, 124, 182, 184 Nottingham, 50 Nowell, Alexander (Dean of St. Paul's), 25, 26, 43 Charles (Governor), 84 John (Vicar), 25, 26, 28, 30, 43, 135, 219 "_Now Reds_," 197 O.T.C., 223, 228 _Olio_, 147, 197 Owen's College, Manchester, 176 Paley, ----, 76, 170 Elizabeth, 105 Richard, 99 Thomas, 90, 121 Thomas, 108, 111 William (Master), 80, 83, 85, 88, 105, 106, 107, 108, 110, 120, 128, 147 William (Archdeacon), 82, 83, 93, 94, 106, 108, 204, 219 Parish Church, 187, 188, 202 Parker, John, 94 Mr. and Mrs., 219 Parkinson, John (Master), 72 Parr, Dr., 108 Parratt, Sir Walter, 204 Paycock, Simon, 53 Pembroke Hall, Cambridge, 47 Pert, Mary, 74 Peterborough, 80, 81, 89 Peterhouse, 57 Photographic Society, 193 Piers, John (Archbishop of York), 31, 59 Pierce, Rev. C. F. (Captain O. T. C.), 223 Porson, 108 _Positions_ (Mulcaster), 42 Potations, 49, 50, 51, 82, 105, 124, 145, 156 Powell (Master of S. John's College, Cambridge), 83 Praepositors} Praepostors } 37, 207, 208, 209 Preparatory School (_see_ Bankwell) 178, 191 Preston, ----, (Governor), 105 John, 108 Richard, 99 William, 14 Corporation School, 150 Primer, 43 Prizes (_see_ Howson, G. and J. S., Ingram, Style), 138, 139, 157, 218, 219 Procter, Anthony, 53 Thomas, 28 ----, 106 Pronounciation of Greek and Latin, 154 Prynne, Abraham de la, 66 Pulpit (Chapel), 204 Puteaco, Henry de, 25 Quadrivium, 40 Quakers, 69 Queen's College, Oxford, 137, 148, 172 Rathmell, 22, 48, 67, 68 Thomas (Usher), 78 Rees, J. Conway, 211 Reith, A. W., 213 Revenues, 28, 29, 158, 170 Rhodes (Rev. C. A.), 212 Richmond, Bishop of, 189 Rifle Club, 219 Ripon, 64, 110 Bishop of, 129, 130, 137, 142, 176, 205 Rise Estate, 29, 78, 87, 170 Robinson, ----, 123, 165 George, 111 J., 74 John, 60 J. G., 219, 221 William, 138 Rochdale, 96 Rolleston, 49 Roome, Henry (Usher), 72 Rotherham Grammar School, 37 Roundell, C. S., 156, 187 Rugby School, 153 Runtoun, 49 S. Bees School, 44 S. Catherine's College, Cambridge, 150 S. John's College, Cambridge, 66, 69, 83, 84, 107, 131, 148, 176, 211 S. Mary, Wolnoth, 60 S. Paul's School, 41, 148 Salisbury, 223 Sanatorium, 153 Sancton, 15 Saul, J. (Writing Master), 91, 96, 113, 147 Scar Quarry, 225 Scar-rigg, 225 Scheme of Management (1872), 175, 187 Schofield, Captain, 197 Schoolboys' Tower, 208 School Songs (_see_ Cornah) Science (_see_ Natural Science) Scientific Society, 218 Scott, Sir Gilbert, 199 Sir Walter, 197 Scrivener (_see_ Writing Master), 35, 44, 45, 79, 94, 98, 113 Seal, School, 28, 29 Sedbergh School, 111, 174, 175, 176, 182, 189 Seely House Grove, 56, 58 Selwyn College, Cambridge, 227 Settle, 22 28, 53, 54, 71, 74, 94, 97, 146, 147, 152, 175 Sharpe, Archbishop, 68 Sheepshanks, John, 111 Shrewsbury School, 131 Shute, Christopher (Master and Vicar), 31, 47, 48, 52, 54, 55, 58, 59, 60, 62, 106 ----, 59 Josias (Archdeacon), 52, 54, 59, 60, 73, 74, 90, 178, 204 Nathaniel, 59, 60 Thomas, 54 Timothy, 61 Exhibitions (_see_ Burton), 61, 62, 69, 74, 88 Shuttleworth, Rev. Mr., 97 Sir James Kay, 155, 160, 162, 165, 185, 186, 187 Sidney, Sir Philip, 205 Sussex College, Cambridge, 111 Skipton, 179 Slater, Lieutenant S. A., 197 Smith, ----, (Usher), 88, 100 D. R., 213 James, 19, 23 ----, 67 S. P., 213 Somerscales, Henry, 48 Robert, 55 Somerskayle, Richard, 22 Sparke, John (Usher), 71 Speech Day, 135, 218 Sports, Athletic, 193 Stackhouse, 77, 81 Hugh, 70, 71 Oliver, 70 Thomas, 71 William (Writing Master), 114, 120 Stainforth, 22, 28, 69 Stancliffe, ---- (Writing Master), 96, 113 Stanger, Kerr, 173 Statutes School, 30, 31, 41, 42, 59, 92, 98, 101, 126, 127, 152, 208 Stevens, Rev. W., 110 Stillingfleet, 28 Stipends of Master and Usher, 35, 36, 37, 63, 70, 72, 75, 76, 83, 92, 95, 96, 100, 103, 115, 117, 129, 149, 163, 171 Style, Rev. G. (Headmaster), 172, 173, 185, 188, 189, 193, 195, 198, 204, 206, 207, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 218, 221, 224, 226 Supremacy, Oath of, 40 Swale, Rev. H. I., 187 Swimming Bath, 190, 193 Tarn, Brow, 61, 62 Tatham, Robert, 85 Tennant, Henry, 88 ----, 26, 28, 31, 47, 48, 52, 53, 54, 59 Exhibition (_see_ Burton), 53, 122 Tennyson, 205 Thartilbie, 67 Thirkleby, 67 Thirsk, 67 Thomson, Thomas, 22 Thompson, Captain, 224 Thornton, ---- (Poor Fund), 74 Richard (Usher), 78, 80 Robert, 56 Robert, 57 Tempest, 57 Thring, 150 Tiddeman, 193 Tomlinson, ----, 115 "Transitus," The, 228 Trinity College, Cambridge, 60, 107, 108, 122, 149, 150 Trivium, 40 Tucuman, 203 Udall, Ephraim, 60 University College, Oxford, 106 Uppingham School, 131, 150, 227 Usher, 35, 86, 129, 140, 149, 153, 163, 164, 173 Vacations (_see_ Holidays), 35 Vaughan, W. W. (Headmaster), 216, 217, 220, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 229 Vicar (of Giggleswick), _passim_, 28, 176 Victoria, Queen, 135, 203 Cave, 193 Cross, 197 Walker, William (Master), 65, 69 Wall, Adam, 108 Walling Fen, 90, 109, 120 Warre, Dr., 205 Watkins, L., 190 Watson, Anthony, 31, 48 Bishop of Llandaff, 93 Samuel, 69 Watts, 108 Dr. Marshall, 180, 185, 193, 213, 218 Waugh, John, 219 Weatherhead, Anthony (Usher), 77 Wellington College, 225 Wesley, John, 205 Westminster School, 25, 41, 42, 94 Whalley, 26 Grammar School, 98 Whitaker, Arthur (Usher), 74 Joshua, 74 Wildeman, Thomas (Usher), 70, 71, 72 Wilkinson, John Grime, 74 William of Wykeham, 205 Williams, Thomas, 21 Williamson, Sir Richard, 55 Willis, Henry, 204 Wilsonne, Thomas, 64 William (Usher), 64, 65, 69 Winchester College, 41, 170 Withers, 92, 93, 95 Wolnoth, S. Mary, 60 Wood, Rev. M. (Usher), 150, 152, 156, 157, 158 Nicholas (Usher), 100, 102, 103 Woodward, Hezekiah, 45 Woolfenden, John, 97 Wordsworth, 107 Wren, Hugh, 14 Wright's Paper, 96 Writing Master (_see Scrivener_), 94, 96, 100, 102, 107, 112, 114, 115, 120, 127, 146, 147, 192 Writing School (_see English School_) Wycliffe, John, 205 Young, Arthur, 87, 88 A Short List of Yorkshire Books published by Richard Jackson, 16 and 17, Commercial Street, Leeds. #Coronations: their rise and development in England.# By the Very Rev. the Dean of York. Printed on antique paper in quarto form, 90 pages and 30 full-page Illustrations. Bound in art cloth boards, gilt top. Price 10/6 nett. #Picturesque Old York.# Chapters Historical and Descriptive. By The Very Rev. A. P. Purey-Cust, D.D., Dean of York. With 35 full-page Illustrations specially prepared for the Work, reproducing many of the vanished and vanishing beauties of the Ancient City, and various Historic Portraits from the Guildhall and Mansion House. Special Edition. Limited to 100 copies, bound in Vellum. £1 5 0 nett. Ordinary Edition. Limited to 250 numbered copies, bound in Art Cloth. 15/- nett. "The Dean imparts to his subject a freshness that strikes exactly the right note. Times without number the beauties of York have been pointed out, but never with more completeness than in 'Picturesque Old York'.... Throughout the whole story there is maintained a sense of contrast with modern life, and full descriptions are given of those vanished glories which made York one of the finest cities in the world."--_York Herald_ #The Alien Benedictines of York.# Being a History of Holy Trinity Priory from the first Prior Hermarus 1089 A.D., down to present times, with a full account of their possessions in Yorkshire and the adjoining Counties; Biographical Notices of the Priors, and full particulars of the part they played in Contemporary History, by J. Solloway, D.D. (Oxon.), Rector of Holy Trinity, &c., &c., with 35 full-page Illustrations specially executed for the Work. Special Edition With a Coloured Frontispiece, bound in Vellum, only 100 copies, numbered. £1 5 0 nett. Ordinary Edition. 250 copies, numbered, bound in Art Cloth. 15/- nett. #Adel and its Norman Church.# A History of the Parish and Church from the earliest down to present times. By the Rev. William H. Draper, M.A., Rector of Adel. 28 full-page Illustrations uniform with the above. Special Edition. Containing Coloured Frontispiece. Only 100 numbered copies issued, bound in White Vellum. £1 5 0 nett. Ordinary Edition. Limited to 250 numbered copies. 15/- nett. "Mr. Draper has done his duty by his Parish in a way that cannot be too widely imitated.... He describes the Church, a fine specimen of late Norman.... He tells the story of the Patrons and Incumbents, and gives a complete list.... Mr. Draper has piously preserved all the Mortuary Inscriptions. Among them we notice a name which will be familiar to some of our readers: John William Inchbold, painter and poet."--_Spectator._ "Mr. Draper has done his work well."--_The Times._ "In 'Adel and its Norman Church' the present Rector has enlarged a familiar picture and placed it in a worthier frame.... Adel and its Church are the embodiment of our National History for seven centuries, and Mr. Draper's book is of much more than local topographical value.... That little Norman temple the religious home of English country folk, so serene, so undisturbed by change, is a symbol of abiding verities which should be cooling now and then to dwell upon.... Apart from this the volume is valuable for its illustrations, which contain several not hitherto published.... 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Gough. Price 10/6 nett. An Edition-de-Luxe of 100 numbered copies, bound in vellum and printed on antique paper, £1 1 nett; also a limited edition, bound in vellum, price 25/-. #Sedbergh School Songs.# Written and Illustrated by R. St. John Ainslie. Beautifully Printed on Art Paper and Bound in Navy Blue Art Cloth, Gilt Edges. Price 3/6. Large Paper Edition, Bound in White Vellum, 10/6 nett. #Sedbergh School and its Chapel.# Edited by B. Wilson, Editor of the "Sedbergh School Register," and R. St. John Ainslie. With numerous Illustrations, and Prefaced with a History of this Ancient School. Demy 8vo. Art Cloth Boards, Gilt Edges. 3/6 nett. And a limited Edition bound in Vellum, Bevelled Boards, &c. 7/6 nett. #Sedbergh School Register#, 1546-1909. Second and Enlarged Edition, with a History of the School from the earliest to the present time. By B. Wilson, Esq., B.A., Twenty-five full-page illustrations together with a fac-simile of King Edward VI Charter, Demy 8vo, 700 pages, cloth boards, gilt top. 10/6 nett. (_Only a very few copies remain._) "The Registers with the assistance of the Universities go back to the sixteenth century and furnish many interesting facts about scholars who distinguished themselves at School and University. The illustrations add greatly to the value of the book. The Charter reproduced from the copy in the Bodleian shows the signatures of the King, Protector, and Archbishop Cranmer. There is a Photo. of the School and its Grounds, the Chapel, the old and new Class-Rooms, Evan's House, and many Portraits which cannot fail to interest all Sedberghians."--_Yorkshire Post._ #Walks Round York Minster.# By the Very Rev. A. P. Purey-Cust, D.D., author of "The Heraldry of York Minster," &c. 4to, 250 pages with forty full-page Illustrations, specially done for the work. Edition limited to 250 numbered copies. 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The above comprise twenty-five Chapters in Yorkshire Family History, the importance of which cannot be exaggerated, as the families whose history is given are amongst the most prominent in England's Story. #A History of the Bramham Moor Hunt.# By William Scarth Dixon, author of "A History of the York and Ainsty Hunt." With twenty-five full-page Illustrations, reproducing portraits of many famous Members of the Hunt and the three important plates originally painted by David Dalby, also a frontispiece, an original portrait of the late George Lane Fox, Esq., the Master. Large 4to £1 11 6. #The History of the York and Ainsty Hunt.# By William Scarth Dixon, author of "A History of the Bramham Moor Hunt," "In the North Countree," &c., &c., with twenty reproductions of Portraits of Masters, Huntsmen, Special Meets, Favourite Hounds, Old Prints, &c., &c. Published at £1 1 0. Also a large paper edition at £2 2 0 nett. "A valuable acquisition to every Sporting Library." 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TRANSCRIBERS' NOTES General: Corrections to punctuation have not been individually documented General: No attempt has been made to correct or standardise spelling in quotations from original documents General: Italicised text in the original is marked with underscores _text_; Bold text is marked with hashes #text#; underlined text is marked with equal signs =text= Page 6: tenour as in original Pages 8, 37, 38, 207, 291: Inconsistent spelling of Praepositors/ Præpositors/Prepositors/prepositors as in original Pages 10, 220: Variable capitalisation of Sub-Target as in original Page 20: School-masters standardised to Schoolmasters Page 25: Chapter title 1553-1592. as in original, differs from table of contents 1553-1599. Pages 59, 193: Variable spelling of summarised/summarized as in original Page 63: ninteenth corrected to nineteenth Page 105: twenth-ninth corrected to twenty-ninth Page 107: philsophical corrected to philosophical Page 135: rebuilding standardised to re-building Page 146: he corrected to be in And it may be that money was taken Page 147: Hyphenation of Kay-Shuttleworth in illustration caption as in original, inconsistent with text Page 148: rebuilt standardised to re-built Page 161: aud corrected to and in "the boarding arrangements, and he condemned" Page 166: responsibilites corrected to responsibilities Page 209: School-yard standardised to Schoolyard Page 239: tenemcnta corrected to tenementa in Terre et tenementa dicte nuper Page 243: Gugernatores corrected to Gubernatores in Et quod iidem Gugernatores Page 249: successsoribus corrected to successoribus in heredibus et successsoribus nostris Page 250: , as in original in eorundem ut prefertur, Ac Page 266: Variable hyphenation of herein(-)after as in original Page 272: if he is admitted as a border as in original Page 288: Hasebrig corrected to Haselrig in index entry for Haselrig, Sir Arthur Page 289: lemyng not capitalised, as in original 
38180	----	Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal signs=. [Illustration: TEA ON THE LAWN AT THE OXFORD UNION (page 63)] AN AMERICAN AT OXFORD BY JOHN CORBIN AUTHOR OF "SCHOOLBOY LIFE IN ENGLAND" _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_ BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY The Riverside Press, Cambridge 1903 COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY JOHN CORBIN ALL RIGHTS RESERVED _Published May, 1902_ TO A. F. C. PREFACE By a curious coincidence, the day on which the last proof of this book was sent to the printer saw the publication of the will of the late Cecil Rhodes, providing that each of the United States is forever to be represented at Oxford by two carefully selected undergraduate students. That the plan will result in any speedy realization of the ideals of the great exponent of English power in the new worlds is perhaps not to be expected. For the future of American education, on the other hand, few things could be more fortunate. Native and independent as our national genius has always been, and seems likely to remain, it has always been highly assimilative. In the past, we have received much needed aliment from the German universities. For the present, the elements of which we have most need may best, as I think, be assimilated from England. Whether or not Americans at Oxford become imbued with Mr. Rhodes's conceptions as to the destiny of the English peoples, they can scarcely fail to observe that Oxford affords to its undergraduates a very sensibly ordered and invigorating life, a very sensibly ordered and invigorating education. This, as I have endeavored to point out in the following pages, our American universities do not now afford, nor are they likely to afford it until the social and the educational systems are more perfectly organized than they have ever been, or seem likely to be, under the dominance of German ideals. If, however, the new Oxford-trained Americans should ever become an important factor in our university life, the future is bright with hope. We have assimilated, or are assimilating, the best spirit of German education; and if we were to make a similar draft on the best educational spirit in England, our universities would become far superior as regards their organization and ideals, and probably also as regards what they accomplish, to any in Europe. The purpose and result of an introduction of English methods would of course not be to imitate foreign custom, but to give fuller scope to our native character, so that if the American educational ideals in the end approximate the English more closely than they do at present, such a result would be merely incidental to the fact that the two countries have at bottom much the same social character and instincts. If Mr. Rhodes's dream is to be realized, it will probably be in some such tardy and roundabout but admirably vital manner as this. At a superficial glance the testator's intention seems to have been to send the students to Oxford directly from American schools. Such a course, it seems to me, could only work harm. Even if the educational and residential facilities afforded at Oxford were on the whole superior to those of American universities, which they are not, the difference could not compensate the student for the loss of his American university course with all it means in forming lifelong friendships among his countrymen and in assimilating the national spirit. If, however, the Oxford scholarships were awarded to recent graduates of American universities, the greatest advantage might result. The student might then modify his native training so as to complete it and make it more effective. Now the wording of the testament requires only that the American scholars shall "commence residence as undergraduates." This they will be able to do whatever their previous training, and in fact this is what Americans at Oxford have always done in the past. The most valuable A.B. leaves the field of human knowledge far from exhausted; and the methods of instruction and of examining at Oxford are so different from anything we know that it has even proved worth while for the American to repeat at Oxford the same studies he took in America. The executors of the will should be most vigorously urged to select the scholars from the graduates of American universities. The parts of this book that treat most intimately of Oxford life were written while in residence in Balliol College some six years ago. Most of the rest was written quite recently in London. Much of the matter in the following pages has appeared in "Harper's Weekly," "The Bachelor of Arts," "The Forum," and "The Atlantic Monthly." It has all been carefully revised and rearranged, and much new matter added. Each chapter has gained, as I hope, by being brought into its natural relation with the other chapters; and the ideas that have informed the whole are for the first time adequately stated. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE INTRODUCTORY 1 I. THE UNIVERSITY AND THE COLLEGE I. THE UNIVERSITY OF COLLEGES 7 II. THE OXFORD FRESHMAN 10 III. A DAY IN AN OXFORD COLLEGE 17 IV. DINNER IN HALL 21 V. EVENING 28 VI. THE MIND OF THE COLLEGE 37 VII. CLUB LIFE IN THE COLLEGE 52 VIII. SOCIAL LIFE IN THE UNIVERSITY 62 IX. THE COLLEGE AND THE UNIVERSITY 74 II. OXFORD OUT OF DOORS I. SLACKING ON THE ISIS AND THE CHERWELL 81 II. AS SEEN FROM AN OXFORD TUB 96 III. A LITTLE SCRIMMAGE WITH ENGLISH RUGBY 116 IV. TRACK AND FIELD ATHLETICS 132 V. ENGLISH AND AMERICAN SPORTSMANSHIP 145 III. THE COLLEGE AS AN EDUCATIONAL FORCE I. THE PASSMAN 159 II. THE HONOR SCHOOLS 171 III. THE TUTOR 178 IV. READING FOR EXAMINATIONS 184 V. THE EXAMINATION 190 VI. OXFORD QUALITIES AND THEIR DEFECTS 193 VII. THE UNIVERSITY AND REFORM 200 VIII. THE UNIVERSITY AND THE PEOPLE 206 IV. THE HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSITY AND THE COLLEGE I. THE UNIVERSITY BEFORE THE COLLEGE 215 II. THE MEDIÆVAL HALL 221 III. THE COLLEGE SYSTEM 223 IV. THE GOLDEN AGE OF THE MEDIÆVAL HALL 231 V. THE ORIGIN OF THE MODERN UNDERGRADUATE 236 VI. THE INSIGNIFICANCE OF THE MODERN UNIVERSITY 239 VII. THE COLLEGE IN AMERICA 245 V. THE PROBLEMS OF THE AMERICAN UNIVERSITY I. THE SOCIAL AND ATHLETIC PROBLEM 255 II. THE ADMINISTRATIVE PROBLEM 272 III. THE EDUCATIONAL PROBLEM 281 IV. THE AMERICAN HALL 301 APPENDIX I. ATHLETIC TRAINING IN ENGLAND 313 II. CLIMATE AND INTERNATIONAL ATHLETICS 316 III. AN OXFORD FINAL HONOR SCHOOL 319 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE _Tea on the Lawn at the Oxford Union (page 63)_ _Frontispiece_ _The Hall Staircase, Christ Church_ 22 _Magdalen Tower from the Bridge_ 30 _A Racing Punt and Punter_ 84 _Iffley Lock and Mill_ 90 _The Full Costume of an Eightsman_ 100 _The College Barges: Tubbing in November Floods_ 106 _The Last Day of the Bumping Races of the Summer Eights (1895)_ 112 _An English Rugby Line-up_ 120 _Throwing in the Ball_ 124 _New College Cloisters, Bell Tower, and Chapel_ 224 _New College Gardens--showing the Mediæval Wall of Oxford_ 228 AN AMERICAN AT OXFORD The great German historian of the United States, H. E. Von Holst, declares[1] that, "in the sense attached to the word by Europeans, ... there is in the United States as yet not a single university;" institutions like Johns Hopkins and Harvard he characterizes as "hybrids of college and university." In his survey of European usage, one suspects that Professor Von Holst failed to look beyond Germany. The so-called universities of England, for example, are mere aggregations of colleges; they have not even enough of the modern scientific spirit to qualify as hybrids, having consciously and persistently refused to adopt continental standards. The higher institutions of America belong historically to the English type; they have only recently imported the scientific spirit. To the great world of graduates and undergraduates they are colleges, and should as far as possible be kept so. Yet there is reason enough for calling them hybrids. In the teaching bodies of all of them the German, or so-called university, spirit is very strong, and is slowly possessing the more advanced of our recent graduates and undergraduates. Let us be duly grateful. The first result of this spirit is an extraordinary quickening and diffusion of the modern ideal of scholarship, a devotion to pure science amounting almost to a passion. As to the second result, we may or may not have cause to be grateful. Our most prominent educational leaders have striven consciously to make over our universities on the German plan. We are in the midst of a struggle between old and new forces, and at present the alien element has apparently the upper hand. The social ideal, which only a few years ago was virtually the same in England and America, has already been powerfully modified; and the concrete embodiment of the new scientific spirit, the so-called elective system, has transformed the peculiar educational institution of our Anglo-Saxon people. We have gone so far forward that it is possible to gain an excellent perspective on what we are leaving behind. In the ensuing pages I propose to present as plainly as I may the English university of colleges. I shall not hesitate to give its social life all the prominence it has in fact, devoting much space even to athletic sports. The peculiarity of the English ideal of education is that it aims to develop the moral and social virtues, no less than the mental--to train up boys to be men among men. Only by understanding this is it possible to sympathize with the system of instruction, its peculiar excellences, and its almost incredible defects. In the end I hope we shall see more clearly what our colleges have inherited from the parent institutions, and shall be able to judge how far the system of collegiate education expresses the genius of English and American people. At the present juncture of political forces in America this consideration has a special importance. The success with which we exert our influence upon distant peoples will depend upon what manner of young men we train up to carry it among them. If the graduates of German institutions are prepared to establish their civilization in the imperial colonies, the fact has not yet been shown. The colleges of England have manned the British Empire. FOOTNOTE: [1] _Educational Review_, vol. v. p. 113. I THE UNIVERSITY AND THE COLLEGE I THE UNIVERSITY OF COLLEGES One of the familiar sights at Oxford is the American traveler who stops over on his way from Liverpool to London, and, wandering up among the walls of the twenty colleges from the Great Western Station, asks the first undergraduate he meets which building is the university. When an Oxford man is first asked this, he is pretty sure to answer that there isn't any university; but as the answer is taken as a rudeness, he soon finds it more agreeable to direct inquirers to one of the three or four single buildings, scattered hither and yon among the ubiquitous colleges, in which the few functions of the university are performed. A traveler from our middle West, where "universities" often consist of a single building, might easily set forth for London with the firm idea that the Ashmolean Museum or the Bodleian Library is Oxford University. To the undergraduate the university is an abstract institution that at most examines him two or three times, "ploughs" him, or graduates him. He becomes a member of it by being admitted into one of the colleges. To be sure, he matriculates also as a student of the university; but the ceremony is important mainly as a survival from the historic past, and is memorable to him perhaps because it takes place beneath the beautiful mediæval roof of the Divinity School; perhaps because he receives from the Vice-Chancellor a copy of the university statutes, written in mediæval Latin, which it is to be his chief delight to break. Except when he is in for "schools," as the examinations are called, the university fades beyond his horizon. If he says he is "reading" at Oxford, he has the city in mind. He is more likely to describe himself as "up at" Magdalen, Balliol, or elsewhere. This English idea that a university is a mere multiplication of colleges is so firmly fixed that the very word is defined as "a collection of institutions of learning at a common centre." In the daily life of the undergraduate, in his religious observances, and in regulating his studies, the college is supreme. To an American the English college is not at first sight a wholly pleasing object. It has walls that one would take to be insurmountable if they were not crowned with shards of bottles mortared into the coping; and it has gates that seem capable of resisting a siege until one notices that they are reinforced by a _cheval-de-frise_, or a row of bent spikes like those that keep the bears in their dens at the Zoo. Professor Von Holst would certainly regard it as a hybrid between a mediæval cloister and a nursery; and one easily imagines him producing no end of evidence from its history and traditions to show that it is so. Like so many English institutions, its outward and visible signs belong to the manners of forgotten ages, even while it is charged with a vigorous and very modern life. A closer view of it, I hope, will show that in spite of the barnacles of the past that cling to it--and in some measure, too, because of them--it is the expression of a very high ideal of undergraduate convenience and freedom. II THE OXFORD FRESHMAN When a freshman comes up to his college, he is received at the mediæval gate by a very modern porter, who lifts boxes and bags from the hansom in a most obliging manner, and is presently shown to his cloistral chambers by a friendly and urbane butler or steward. To accommodate the newcomers in the more populous colleges, a measure is resorted to so revolutionary that it shocks all American ideas of academic propriety. Enough seniors--fourth and third year men--are turned out of college to make room for the freshmen. The assumption is that the upper classmen have had every opportunity to profit by the life of the college, and are prepared to flock by themselves in the town. Little communities of four or five fellows who have proved congenial live together in "diggings"--that is, in some townsman's house--hard by the college gate. This arrangement makes possible closer and more intimate relationship among them than would otherwise be likely; and after three years of the very free life within those sharded walls, a cloistered year outside is usually more than advisable, in view of the final examination. It cannot be said that they leave college without regret; but I never heard a word of complaint, and it is tacitly admitted that on the whole they profit by the arrangement. The more substantial furnishings in the rooms are usually permanent, belonging to the college: each successive occupant is charged for interest on the investment and for depreciation by wear. Thus the furniture is far more comfortable than in an American college room and costs the occupant less. Bed and table linen, cutlery, and a few of the more personal furnishings the student brings himself. If one neglects to bring them, as I confess I did through ignorance, the deficiency is supplied by the scout, a dignitary in the employ of the college, who stands in somewhat more than the place of a servant and less than that of a parent to half a dozen fellows whose rooms are adjacent. The scout levies on the man above for sheets, on the man below for knives and forks, and on the man across the staircase for table linen. There is no call for shame on the one part or resentment on the other, for is not the scout the representative of the hospitality of the college? "When you have time, sir," he says kindly, "you will order your own linen and cutlery." How high a state of civilization is implied in this manner of receiving a freshman can be appreciated only by those who have arrived friendless at an American university. The scout is in effect a porter, "goody," and eating-club waiter rolled into one. He has frequently a liberal dash of the don, which he has acquired by extended residence at the university; for among all the shifting generations of undergraduates, only he and the don are permanent. When he reaches middle age he wears a beard if he chooses, and then he is usually taken for a don by the casual visitor. There is no harm in this; the scout plays the part _con amore_, and his long breeding enables him to sustain it to a marvel. Yet for the most part the scout belongs with the world of undergraduates. He has his social clubs and his musical societies; he runs, plays cricket, and rows, and, finally, he meets the Cambridge scout in the inter-varsity matches. His pay the scout receives in part from the college, but mostly from the students, who give him two to four pounds a term each, according to his deserts. All broken bread, meat, and wine are his perquisites, and tradition allows him to "bag" a fair amount of tea, coffee, and sugar. Out of all this he makes a sumptuous living. I knew only one exception, and that was when four out of six men on a certain scout's staircase happened to be vegetarians, and five teetotalers. The poor fellow was in extremities for meat and in desperation for drink. There was only one more pitiable sight in college, and that was the sole student on the staircase who ate meat and drank wine; the scout bagged food and drink from him ceaselessly. At the end of one term the student left a half dozen bottles of sherry, which he had merely tasted, in his sideboard; and when he came back it was gone. "Where's my sherry, Betts?" he asked. "Sherry, sir? you ain't got no sherry." "But I left six bottles; you had no right to more than the one that was broken." "Yes, sir; but when I had taken that, sir, the 'arf dozen was broke." According to Oxford traditions the student had no recourse; and be it set down to his praise, he never blamed the scout. He bemoaned the fate that bound them together in suffering, and vented his spleen on total abstinence and vegetarianism. It may be supposed that the scout's antiquity and importance makes him a bad servant; in the land of the free I fear that it would; but at Oxford nothing could be more unlikely. The only mark that distinguishes the scout from any other class of waiters is that his attentions to your comfort are carried off with greater ease and dignity. It may be true that he is president of the Oxford Society of College Servants--the Bones or the Hasty Pudding of the scouts; that he stroked the scouts' eight in the townie's bumping races, during the long vac, and afterward rowed against the scouts' eight from Cambridge; that he captained the scouts' cricket eleven; that in consequence he is a "double blue" and wears the Oxford 'varsity color on his hat with no less pride than any other "blue." Yet he is all the more bound, out of consideration for his own dignity, to show you every respect and attention. After the scout, the hosts of the college are the dons. As soon as the freshman is settled in his rooms, or sometimes even before, his tutor meets him and arranges for a formal presentation to the dean and master. All three are apt to show their interest in a freshman by advising him as to trying for the athletic teams, joining the college clubs and societies, and in a word as to all the concerns of undergraduate life except his studies--these come later. If a man has any particular gift, athletic or otherwise, the tutor introduces him to the men he should know, or, when this is not feasible, gives a word to the upper classmen, who take the matter into their own hands. If a freshman has no especial gift, the tutor is quite as sure to say the proper word to the fellows who have most talent for drawing out newcomers. In the first weeks of a freshman's residence he finds sundry pasteboards tucked beneath his door: the upper classman's call is never more than the formal dropping of a card. The freshman is expected to return these calls at once, and is debarred by a happy custom from leaving his card if he does not find his man. He goes again and again until he does find him. By direct introduction from the tutor or by this formality of calling, the freshman soon meets half a dozen upper classmen, generally second-year men, and in due time he receives little notes like this:-- DEAR SMITH,--Come to my rooms if you can to breakfast with Brown and me on Wednesday at 8.30. Yours sincerely, A. ROBINSON. At table the freshman finds other freshmen whose interests are presumably similar to his own. No one supposes for a moment that all this is done out of simple human kindness. The freshman breakfast is a conventional institution for gathering together the unlicked cubs, so that the local influences may take hold of them. The reputation of the college in general demands that it keep up a name for hospitality; and in particular the clubs and athletic teams find it of advantage to get the run of all available new material. The freshman breakfast is nothing in the world but a variation of the "running" that is given newcomers in those American colleges where fraternity life is strong, and might even be regarded as a more civilized form of the rushes and cane sprees and even hazings that used to serve with us to introduce newcomers to their seniors. Many second-year breakfasts are perfunctory enough; the host has a truly British air of saying that since for better or for worse he is destined to look upon your face and abide by your deeds, he is willing to make the best of it. If you prove a "bounder," you are soon enough dropped. "_I_ shall soon be a second-year man," I once heard a freshman remark, "and then _I_ can ask freshmen to breakfast, too, and cut them afterward." The point is that every fellow is thrown in the way of meeting the men of his year. If one is neglected in the end, he has no reason to feel that it is the fault of the college. As a result of this machinery for initiating newcomers, a man usually ceases to be a freshman after a single term (two months) of residence; and it is always assumed that he does. III A DAY IN AN OXFORD COLLEGE When a freshman is once established in college, his life falls into a pleasantly varied routine. The day is ushered in by the scout, who bustles into the bedroom, throws aside the curtain, pours out the bath, and shouts, "Half past seven, sir," in a tone that makes it impossible to forget that chapel--or if one chooses, roll-call--comes at eight. Unless one keeps his six chapels or "rollers" a week, he is promptly "hauled" before the dean, who perhaps "gates" him. To be gated is to be forbidden to pass the college gate after dark, and fined a shilling for each night of confinement. To an American all this brings recollections of the paternal roof, where tardiness at breakfast meant, perhaps, the loss of dessert, and bedtime an hour earlier. I remember once, when out of training, deliberately cutting chapel to see with what mien the good dean performed his nursery duties. His calm was unruffled, his dignity unsullied. I soon came to find that the rules about rising were bowed to and indeed respected by all concerned, even while they were broken. They are distinctly more lax than those the fellows have been accustomed to in the public schools, and they are conceded to be for the best welfare of the college. Breakfast comes soon after chapel, or roll-call. If a man has "kept a dirty roller," that is, has reported in pyjamas, ulster, and boots, and has turned in again, the scout puts the breakfast before the fire on a trestle built of shovel, poker, and tongs, where it remains edible until noon. If a man has a breakfast party on, the scout makes sure that he is stirring in season, and, hurrying through the other rooms on the staircase, is presently on hand for as long as he may be wanted. The usual Oxford breakfast is a single course, which not infrequently consists of some one of the excellent English pork products, with an egg or kidneys. There may be two courses, in which case the first is of the no less excellent fresh fish. There are no vegetables. The breakfast is ended with toast and jam or marmalade. When one has fellows in to breakfast,--and the Oxford custom of rooming alone instead of chumming makes such hospitality frequent,--his usual meal is increased by a course, say, of chicken. In any case it leads to a morning cigarette, for tobacco aids digestion, and helps fill the hour or so after meals which an Englishman gives to relaxation. At ten o'clock the breakfast may be interrupted for a moment by the exit of some one bent on attending a lecture, though one apologizes for such an act as if it were scarcely good form. An appointment with one's tutor is a more legitimate excuse for leaving; but even this is always an occasion for an apology, in behalf of the tutor of course, for one is certainly not himself responsible. If a quorum is left, they manage to sit comfortably by the fire, smoking and chatting in spite of lectures and tutors, until by mutual consent they scatter to glance at the "Times" and the "Sportsman" in the common-room, or even to get in a bit of reading. Luncheon often consists of bread and cheese and jam from the buttery, with perhaps a half pint of bitter beer; but it may, like the breakfast, come from the college kitchen. In any case it is very light, for almost immediately after it everybody scatters to field and track and river for the exercise that the English climate makes necessary and the sport that the English temperament demands. By four o'clock every one is back in college tubbed and dressed for tea, which a man serves himself in his rooms to as many fellows as he has been able to gather in on field or river. If he is eager to hear of the games he has not been able to witness, he goes to the junior common-room or to his club, where he is sure to find a dozen or so of kindred spirits representing every sport of importance. In this way he hears the minutest details of the games of the day from the players themselves; and before nightfall--such is the influence of tea--those bits of gossip which in America are known chiefly among members of a team have ramified the college. Thus the function of the "bleachers" on an American field is performed with a vengeance by the easy-chairs before a common-room fire; and a man had better be kicked off the team by an American captain than have his shortcomings served up with common-room tea. The two hours between tea and dinner may be, and usually are, spent in reading. IV DINNER IN HALL At seven o'clock the college bell rings, and in two minutes the fellows have thrown on their gowns and are seated at table, where the scouts are in readiness to serve them. As a rule a man may sit wherever he chooses; this is one of the admirable arrangements for breaking up such cliques as inevitably form in a college. But in point of fact a man usually ends by sitting in some certain quarter of the hall, where from day to day he finds much the same set of fellows. Thus all the advantages of friendly intercourse are attained without any real exclusiveness. This may seem a small point; but an hour a day becomes an item in four years, especially if it is the hour when men are most disposed to be companionable. The English College hall is a miniature of Memorial Hall at Harvard, of which it is the prototype. It has the same sombrely beautiful roof, the same richness of stained glass. It has also the same memorable and impressive canvases, though the worthies they portray are likely to be the princes and prelates of Holbein instead of the soldiers, merchants, and divines of Copley and Gilbert Stuart. The tables are of antique oak, with the shadow of centuries in its grain, and the college plate bears the names and date of the Restoration. To an American the mugs he drinks his beer from seem old enough, but the Englishman finds them aggressively new. They are not, however, without endearing associations, for the mugs that preceded them were last used to drink a health to King Charles, and were then stamped into coin to buy food and drink for his soldiers. The one or two colleges that, for Puritan principles or thrift, or both, refused to give up their old plate, are not overproud of showing it. Across the end of the hall is a platform for high table, at which the dons assemble as soon as the undergraduates are well seated. On Sunday night they come out in full force, and from the time the first one enters until the last is seated, the undergraduates rattle and bang the tables, until it seems as if the glass must splinter. When, as often happens, a distinguished graduate comes up,--the Speaker of the Commons to Balliol, or the Prime Minister to Christ Church,--the enthusiasm has usually to be stopped by a gesture from the master or the dean. [Illustration: THE HALL STAIRCASE, CHRIST CHURCH] The dons at high table, like the British peers, mingle judicial with legislative functions. All disputes about sconces are referred to them, and their decrees are absolute. A sconce is a penalty for a breach of good manners at table, and is an institution that can be traced far back into the Middle Ages. The offenses that are sconcible may be summarized as punning, swearing, talking shop, and coming to hall after high table is in session. Take, for instance, the case of a certain oarsman who found the dinner forms rather too rigid after his first day on sliding seats. By way of comforting himself, he remarked that the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Who is to decide whether he is guilty of profanity? The master, of course, and his assembled court of dons. The remark and the attendant circumstances are written on the back of an order-slip by the senior scholar present, and a scout is dispatched with it. Imagine, then, the master presenting this question to the dons: Is it profanity to refer by means of a quotation from Scripture to the cuticle one loses in a college boat? Suppose the dons decree that it is. The culprit has the alternative of paying a shilling to the college library, or ordering a tun of bitter beer. If he decides for beer, a second alternative confronts him: he may drink it down in one uninterrupted draft, or he may kiss the cup and send it circling the table. If he tries to floor the sconce and fails, he has to order more beer for the table; but if he succeeds, the man who sconced him has to pay the shot and order a second tun for the table. I never knew but one man to down a sconce. He did it between soup and fish, and for the rest of the evening was as drunk as ever was the Restoration lord who presented the silver tankard to the college. After hall the dons go to the senior common-room for the sweet and port. At Trinity they have one room for the sweet and another for port. The students, meanwhile, in certain of the colleges, may go for dessert to the college store; that is to say, to a room beneath the hall, where the fancy groceries of the college stock are displayed for sale. There are oranges from Florida and Tangiers, dainty maiden blush apples from New England, figs and dates from the Levant, prunes and prunelles from Italy, candied apricots from France, and the superb English hothouse grapes, more luscious than Silenus ever crushed against his palate. There are sweets, cigarettes, and cigars. All are spread upon the tables like a Venetian painting of abundance; but at either end of the room stand two Oxford scouts, with account-books in their hands. A fellow takes a Tangerine and, with a tap-room gesture, tilts to the scout as if to say, "Here's looking toward you, landlord;" or, "I drink to your bonny blue eyes." But he is not confronted by a publican or barmaid; only a grave underling of the college bursar, who silently records "Brown, orange, 2d.," and looks up to catch the next item. Two other fellows are flipping for cigars, and the second scout is gravely watching their faces to see which way the coin has fallen, recording the outcome without a sign. Some one asks, "How much are chocolate creams, Higgins?" "Three ha'pence for four, sir," is the answer, and the student urges three neighbors to share his penny'orth. The scout records, "Jones, c. c. 1½d." The minuteness of this bookkeeping is characteristic. The weekly battels (bills) always bear a charge of twopence for "salt, etc.;" and once, when I had not ordered anything during an entire day, there was an unspecified charge of a penny in the breakfast column. I asked the butler what it meant. He looked at me horrified. "Why, sir, that is to keep your name on the books." No penny, I suppose, ever filled an office of greater responsibility, and I still can shudder at so narrow an escape. I asked if such elaborate bookkeeping was not very expensive. In America, I said, we should lump the charges and devote the saving to hiring a better chef. He explained that it had always been so managed; that the chef was thought very good, sir; and that by itemizing charges the young gentlemen who wished were enabled to live more cheaply. Obviously, when it costs a penny merely to keep your name on the books, there is need to economize. After a quarter of an hour in the store the fellows drop off by twos and threes to read, or to take coffee in some one's room. With the coffee a glass of port is usually taken. Almost all the fellows have spirits and wines, which are sold by the college as freely as any other commodity. If a man wishes a cup served in his room, he has only to say so to his scout. If one waits long enough in the store, he is almost certain to be asked to coffee and wine. The would-be host circulates the room tapping the elect on the shoulder and speaking a quiet word, as they select Bones men at Yale. If half a dozen men are left in the store uninvited, one of them is apt to rise to the occasion and invite the lot. It scarcely matters how unpopular a fellow may be. The willingness to loaf is the touch of nature that makes all men kin. After coffee more men fall off to their books; but the faithful are likely to spend the evening talking or playing cards--bridge, loo, napp, and whist, with the German importation of skat and the American importation of poker. In one college I knew, there was a nomadic roulette wheel that wandered from room to room pursued by the shadow of the dean, but seldom failed of an evening to gather its flock about it. V EVENING In the evening, when the season permits, the fellows sit out of doors after dinner, smoking and playing bowls. There is no place in which the spring comes more sweetly than in an Oxford garden. The high walls are at once a trap for the first warm rays of the sun and a barrier against the winds of March. The daffodils and crocuses spring up with joy as the gardener bids; and the apple and cherry trees coddle against the warm north walls, spreading out their early buds gratefully to the mild English sun. For long, quiet hours after dinner they flaunt their beauty to the fellows smoking, and breathe their sweetness to the fellows playing bowls. "No man," exclaims the American visitor, "could live four years in these gardens of delight and not be made gentler and nobler!" Perhaps! though not altogether in the way the visitor imagines. When the flush of summer is on, the loiterers loll on the lawn full length; and as they watch the insects crawl among the grass they make bets on them, just as the gravest and most reverend seniors have been known to do in America. In the windows overlooking the quadrangle are boxes of brilliant flowers, above which the smoke of a pipe comes curling out. At Harvard some fellows have geraniums in their windows, but only the very rich; and when they began the custom an ancient graduate wrote one of those communications to the "Crimson," saying that if men put unmanly boxes of flowers in the window, how can they expect to beat Yale? Flower boxes, no sand. At Oxford they manage things so that anybody may have flower boxes; and their associations are by no means unmanly. This is the way they do it. In the early summer a gardener's wagon from the country draws up by the college gate, and the driver cries, "Flowers! Flowers for a pair of old bags, sir." _Bags_ is of course the fitting term for English trousers--which don't fit; and I should like to inform that ancient graduate that the window boxes of Oxford suggest the very badge of manhood. As long as the English twilight lingers, the men will sit and talk and sing to the mandolin; and I have heard of fellows sitting and talking all night, not turning in until the porter appeared to take their names at roll-call. On the eve of May day it is quite the custom to sit out, for at dawn one may go to see the pretty ceremony of heralding the May on Magdalen Tower. The Magdalen choir boys--the sweetest songsters in all Oxford--mount to the top of that most beautiful of Gothic towers, and, standing among the pinnacles,--pinnacles afire with the spirituality of the Middle Ages, that warms all the senses with purity and beauty,--those boys, I say, on that tower and among those pinnacles, open their mouths and sing a Latin song to greet the May. Meantime, the fellows who have come out to listen in the street below make catcalls and blow fish horns. The song above is the survival of a Romish, perhaps a Druidical, custom; the racket below is the survival of a Puritan protest. That is Oxford in symbol! Its dignity and mellowness are not so much a matter of flowering gardens and crumbling walls as of the traditions of the centuries in which the whole life of the place has deep sources; and the noblest of its institutions are fringed with survivals that run riot in the grotesque. [Illustration: MAGDALEN TOWER FROM THE BRIDGE] If a man intends to spend the evening out of college, he has to make a dash before nine o'clock; for love or for money the porter may not let an inmate out after nine. One man I knew was able to escape by guile. He had a brother in Trinity whom he very much resembled, and whenever he wanted to go out, he would tilt his mortarboard forward, wrap his gown high about his neck, as it is usually worn of an evening, and bidding the porter a polite good-night, say, "Charge me to my brother, Hancock, if you please." The charge is the inconsiderable sum of one penny, and is the penalty of having a late guest. Having profited by my experience with the similar charge for keeping my name on the college books, I never asked its why and wherefore. Both are no doubt survivals of some mediæval custom, the authority of which no college employee--or don, for the matter of that--would question. Such matters interest the Oxford man quite as little as the question how he comes by a tonsil or a vermiform appendix. They are there, and he makes the best of them. If a fellow leaves college for an evening, it is for a foregathering at some other college, or to go to the theatre. As a rule he wears a cloth cap. A "billycock" or "bowler," as the pot hat is called, is as thoroughly frowned on now in English colleges as it was with us a dozen years ago. As for the mortarboard and gown, undergraduate opinion rather requires that they be left behind. This is largely, no doubt, because they are required by law to be worn. So far as the undergraduates are concerned, every operative statute of the university, with the exception of those relating to matriculation and graduation, refers to conduct in the streets after nightfall, and almost without exception they are honored in the breach. This is out of disregard for the Vice-Chancellor of the university, who is familiarly called the Vice, because he serves as a warning to others for the practice of virtue. The Vice makes his power felt in characteristically dark and tortuous ways. His factors are two proctors, college dons in daytime, but skulkers after nightfall, each of whom has his bulldogs, that is, scouts employed literally to spy upon the students. If these catch you without cap or gown, they cause you to be proctorized or "progged," as it is called, which involves a matter of five shillings or so. As a rule there is little danger of progging, but my first term fell in evil days. For some reason or other the chest of the university showed a deficit of sundry pounds, shillings, and pence; and as it had long ceased to need or receive regular bequests,--the finance of the institution being in the hands of the colleges,--a crisis was at hand. A more serious problem had doubtless never arisen since the great question was solved of keeping undergraduates' names on the books. The expedient of the Vice-Chancellor was to summon the proctors, and bid them charge their bulldogs to prog all freshmen caught at night without cap and gown. The deficit in the university chest was made up at five shillings a head. One of the Vice-Chancellor's rules is that no undergraduate shall enter an Oxford "pub." Now the only restaurant in town, Queen's, is run in conjunction with a pub, and was once the favorite resort of all who were bent on breaking the monotony of an English Sunday. The Vice-Chancellor resolved to destroy this den of Sabbath-breaking, and the undergraduates resolved no less firmly to defend their stronghold. The result was a hand-to-hand fight with the bulldogs, which ended so triumphantly for the undergraduates that a dozen or more of them were sent down. In the articles of the peace that followed, it was stipulated, I was told, that so long as the restaurant was closed Sunday afternoons and nights, it should never suffer from the visit of proctor or bulldog. As a result, Queen's is a great scene of undergraduate foregatherings. The dinners are good enough and reasonably cheap; and as most excellent champagne is to be had at twelve shillings the bottle, the diners are not unlikely to get back to college a trifle buffy, in the Oxford phrase. By an interesting survival of mediæval custom, the Vice-Chancellor has supreme power over the morals of the town, and any citizen who transgresses his laws is visited with summary punishment. For a tradesman or publican to assist in breaking university rules means outlawry and ruin, and for certain offenses a citizen may be punished by imprisonment. Over the Oxford theatre the Vice-Chancellor's power is absolute. In my time he was much more solicitous that the undergraduate be kept from knowledge of the omnipresent woman with a past than that dramatic art should flourish, and forbade the town to more than one excellent play of the modern school of comedy that had been seen and discussed in London by the younger sisters of the undergraduates. The woman with a present is virtually absent. Time was when no Oxford play was quite successful unless the undergraduates assisted at its first night, though in a way very different from that which the term denotes in France. The assistance was of the kind so generously rendered in New York and Boston on the evening of an athletic contest. Even to-day, just for tradition's sake, the undergraduates sometimes make a row. A lot of B. N. C. men, as the clanny sons of Brazenose College call themselves, may insist that an opera stop while the troupe listen to one of their own excellent vocal performances; and I once saw a great sprinter, not unknown to Yale men, rise from his seat, face the audience, and, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder at the soubrette, announce impressively, "Do you know, I rather _like_ that girl!" The show is usually over just before eleven, and then occurs an amusing, if unseemly, scramble to get back to college before the hour strikes. A man who stays out after ten is fined threepence; after eleven the fine is sixpence. When all is said, why shouldn't one sprint for threepence? If you stay out of college after midnight, the dean makes a star chamber offense of it, fines you a "quid" or two, and like as not sends you down. This sounds a trifle worse than it is; for if you must be away, your absence can usually be arranged for. If you find yourself in the streets after twelve, you may rap on some friend's bedroom window and tell him of your plight through the iron grating. He will then spend the first half of the night in your bed and wash his hands in your bowl. With such evidence as this to support him, the scout is not apt, if sufficiently retained, to report a suspected absence. I have even known fellows to make their arrangements in advance and spend the night in town; but the ruse has its dangers, and the penalty is to be sent down for good and all. It is owing to such regulations as these that life in the English college has the name of being cloistral. Just how cloistral it is in spirit no one can know who has not taken part in a rag in the quad; and this is impossible to an outsider, for at midnight all visitors are required to leave, under a heavy penalty to their host. VI THE MIND OF THE COLLEGE Any jubilation is a rag; but the most interesting kind, though perhaps the least frequent, takes the direction of what we call hazing. It is seldom, however, as hazing has come to be with us, a wanton outbreak. It is a deliberate expression of public opinion, and is carried on sedately by the leading men of the college. The more I saw of it, the more deeply I came to respect it as an institution. In its simplest if rarest form it merely consists in smashing up a man's room. The only affair of this kind which I saw took place in the owner's absence; and when I animadverted on the fact, I was assured that it would have turned out much worse for the man's feelings if he had been present. He was a strapping big Rugbeian, who had come up with a "reputter," or reputation, as a football player, and had insisted on trying first off for the 'varsity fifteen. He had promptly been given the hoof for being slow and lazy, and when he condescended to try for the college fifteen, his services were speedily dispensed with for the same reason. As he still carried his head high, it was necessary to bring his shortcomings home to him in an unmistakable manner. Brutal as I thought the proceeding, and shameful to grown men, it did him good. He became a hard-working and lowly minded athlete, and prospered. I am not prepared to say that the effect in this particular instance did not justify the means. A series of judicial raggings was much more edifying. Having pulled their culprit out of bed after midnight, the upper classmen set him upon his window-seat in pyjamas, and with great solemnity appointed a judge, a counsel for the prosecution, and a counsel for the defense. Of the charges against him only one or two struck home, and even these were so mingled with the nonsense of the proceedings that their sting was more or less blunted. The man had been given over to his books to the neglect of his personal appearance. It was charged that in pretending to know his subjunctives he was ministering to the vanity of the dean, who had written a Latin grammar, and that by displaying familiarity with Hegel he was boot-licking the master, who was a recently imported Scotch philosopher. Then the vital question was raised as to the culprit's personal habits. Heaven defend him now from his legal defender! It was urged that as he was a student of Literæ Humaniores, he might be excused from an acquaintance with the scientific commodity known as H2O: one might ignore anything, in fact, if only one were interested in Literæ Humaniores. By such means as this the face of the college is kept bright and shining. Here is a round robin, addressed to the best of fellows, a member of the 'varsity shooting team and golf team. He was a Scotchman by birth and by profession, and even his schoolboy days at Eton had not divested him of a Highland gait. "Whereas, Thomas Rankeillor, Gent, of the University of Oxford, has, by means of his large feet, uncouth gait, and his unwieldy brogues, wantonly and with malice destroyed, mutilated, and otherwise injured the putting greens, tees, and golf course generally, the property of the Oxford University Golf Club, whereof he is a member, and "Whereas, 2, The said Thomas Rankeillor, etc., has by these large feet, uncouth gait, and unwieldy brogues aforesaid, raised embankments, groins, and other bunkers, hazards, and impediments, formed unnecessary roads, farm roads, bridle paths, and other roads, on the putting greens, tees, and golf course generally, aforesaid; excavated sundry and diverse reservoirs, tanks, ponds, conduits, sewers, channels, and other runnels, needlessly irrigating the putting greens, tees, and golf course generally aforesaid, and "Whereas, 3, The said Thomas Rankeillor, etc., has by those large feet, uncouth gait, and unwieldy brogues aforesaid, caused landslips, thus demolishing all natural hills, bunkers, and other excrescences, and all artificial hillocks, mounds, hedges, and other hazards, "Hereby we, the circumsigned, do request, petition, and otherwise entreat the aforesaid "THOMAS RANKEILLOR, GENT, OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, to alter, transform, and otherwise modify his uncouth gait, carriage, and general mode of progression; to buy, purchase, or otherwise acquire boots, shoes, and all other understandings of reasonable size, weight, and material; and finally that he do cease from this time forward to wear, use, or in any way carry the aforesaid brogues. "Given forth this the 17th day of March, 1896." At times rougher means are employed. At Brazenose there happened to be two men by the same name, let us say, of Gaylor, one of whom had made himself agreeable to the college, while the other had decidedly not. One midnight a party of roisterers hauled the unpopular Gaylor out of his study, pulled off his bags, and dragged him by the heels a lap or two about the quad. This form of discipline has since been practiced in other colleges, and is called debagging. The popular Gaylor was ever afterward distinguished by the name of Asher, because, according to the Book of Judges, Asher abode in his breaches. Not dissimilar correctives may be employed, in extreme need, against those mightiest in authority. A favorite device is to screw the oak of an objectionable don. Mr. Andrew Lang, himself formerly a don at Merton, reports a conversation--can it have been a personal experience?--between a don standing inside a newly screwed oak and his scout, who was tendering sympathy from the staircase. "What _am_ I to do?" cried the don. "Mr. Muff, sir," suggested the scout, "when 'e's screwed up, sir, _'e_ sends for the blacksmith." At Christ Church, "The House," as it is familiarly called, much more direct and personal methods have been employed. Not many years ago a censor (whose office is that of the dean at other colleges) stirred up unusual ill-will among his wards. They pulled him from his bed, dragged him into Tom Quad,--Wolsey's Quad,--and threw him bodily among the venerable carp of the Mercury Pond. Then they gathered about in a circle, and, when he raised his head above the surface, thrust him under with their walking-sticks. Something like forty of them were sent down for this, and the censor went traveling for his health. The memory of this episode was still green when the Duke of Marlborough gave a coming of age ball at Blenheim Palace, and invited over literally hundreds of his Oxford friends. In other colleges the undergraduates were permitted to leave Oxford for the night, but at the House the censor stipulated that they be within the gates, as usual, by midnight. This would have meant a break-neck drive of eight miles after about fifteen minutes at the ball, and was far more exasperating to the young Britons than a straightforward refusal. That evening the dons sported their oaks, and carefully bolted themselves within. The night passed in so deep a silence that, for all they knew, the ghost of Wolsey might have been stalking in his cherished quadrangle, the glory of building which the Eighth Henry so unfeelingly appropriated. As morning dawned, the common-room gossips will tell you, the dons crawled furtively out of bed, and shot their bolts to find whether they had need of the blacksmith. Not a screw had been driven. The morning showed why. On the stately walls of Tom Quad was painted "Damn the Dons!" and again in capital letters, "Damn the Dons!" and a third time, in larger capitals, "Damn the Dons!" There were other inscriptions, less fit to relate; and stretching along one whole side of the quad, in huge characters, the finely antithetical sentence: "God bless the Duke of Marlborough." The doors of the dean's residence were smeared with red paint; and against a marble statue of the late Dean Liddell, the Greek lexicographer, a bottle of green ink had been smashed. Two hundred workmen, summoned from a neighboring building, labored two days with rice-root brushes and fuller's earth, but with so little effect that certain of the stones had to be replaced in the walls, and endless scrubbings failed to overcome the affinity between the ink and the literary Liddell. The marble statue has been replaced by one of plaster. Compared with the usual Oxford rag, the upsetting of Professor Silliman's statue in the Yale campus by means of a lasso dwindles into insignificance, and the painting of 'varsity stockings on John Harvard, which so scandalized the undergraduates that they repaired the damage by voluntary subscriptions, might be regarded as an act of filial piety. The more I learned of Oxford motives, the less anxious I was to censure the system of ragging. In an article I wrote after only a few months' stay, I spoke of it as boyish and undignified; and most Americans, I feel sure, would likewise hold up the hand of public horror. Yet I cannot be wholly thankful that we are not as they. To the undergraduates, ragging is a survival of the excellently efficient system of discipline in the public schools, where the older boys have charge of the manners and morals of the younger; and historically, like public school discipline, it is an inheritance from the prehistoric past. In the Middle Ages it was apparently the custom to hold the victim's nose literally to the grindstone. In the schools, to be sure, the Sixth Form take their duties with great sobriety of conscience--which is not altogether the case in college; but the difference of spirit is perhaps justifiable. For a properly authorized committee of big schoolboys to chastise a youngster who has transgressed is not unnatural, and the system that provides for it has proved successful for five centuries; but for men to adopt the same attitude towards a fellow only a year or two their junior would be preposterous. Horseplay is a necessary part of the game. The end in both is the same: it is to bring each individual under the influence of the traditions and standards of the institution of which he has elected to be a part. Just as the system of breakfasting freshmen is by no means as altruistic as it at first appears, the practice of ragging is by no means as brutal. It is as if the college said: We have admitted you and welcomed you, opening up the way to every avenue of enjoyment and profit, and it is for our common good, sir, that you be told of your shortcomings. The most diligent and distinguished scholar is not unlikely to be most in need of a pointed lesson in personal decorum; and the man who was not Asher may be thankful all his life for the bad quarter of an hour that taught him the difference between those who do and those who do not abide in their breaches. With regard to the dons, a similar case might be made. Any one who assumes an authority over grown men that is so nearly absolute should be held to strict honesty and justice of dealing. So far as I could learn, the Christ Church dons who were so severely dealt with were both unjust and insincere, and I came to sympathize in some measure with the undergraduates at the House, who were half humorously inclined to regard the forty outcasts as martyrs. This is not to argue that all American hazing is justifiable. In many cases, especially of late years, it has been as silly and brutal as the most puritanical moralists have declared. To steal the Louisburg Cross from above the door of the Harvard Library was vandalism if you wish--it was certainly a very stupid proceeding; and to celebrate a really notable athletic victory by mutilating the pedestal of the statue of John Harvard was not only stupid, but unworthy of a true sportsman. How much better to make an end with painting 'varsity stockings on the dear old boy's bronze legs, and leave the goody to wash them off next day. What I wish to point out is that where there is vigorous public spirit, it may be more efficiently expressed by hazing than by a very nor'easter of Puritan morality. A tradition of the late master of Balliol, Jowett, the great humanist, would seem to show that he held some such opinion. It was his custom in his declining years to walk after breakfast in the garden quad, and whenever there were evidences of a rag, even to the extent of broken windows, he would say cheerily to his _fidus Achates_, "Ah, Hardie, the mind of the college is still vigorous; it has been expressing itself." The best possible justification of the cloistral restrictions of English college life is the facility with which the mind of the college expresses itself. It is by no means fantastic to hint that the decline of well-considered hazing in American colleges has come step by step with the breaking up of the bonds of hospitality and comradeship that used to make them well-organized social communities. I have not come to this philosophy without deep experience. On one occasion after Hall, I was flown with such insolence against college restrictions that the _cheval-de-frise_ above the back gate seemed an affront to a freeborn American. Though the porter's gate was still open, it was imperatively necessary to scale that roller of iron spikes. I was no sooner astride of it than a mob of townspeople gathered without, and among them a palsied beggar, who bellowed out that he would hextricate me for 'arf a crown, sir. I have seldom been in a less gratifying position; and when I had clambered back into college, I ruefully recalled the explanation my tutor had given me of the iron spikes and bottle shards,--an explanation that at the time had shaken my sides with laughter at British absurdity. My tutor had said that if the fellows were allowed to rag each other in the open streets and smash the townspeople's windows, the matter would be sure to get into the papers and set the uninitiated parent against the universities. In effect, the iron spikes and the stumps of bottles are admirable, not so much because they keep the undergraduate in, as because they keep the public out; and since the public includes all people who wish to hextricate you for 'arf a crown, sir, my mind was in a way to be reduced to that British state of illogic in which I regarded only the effect. As a last resort I carefully sounded the undergraduates as to whether they would find use for greater liberty. They were not only content with their lot, but would, I found, resent any loosening of the restrictions. To give them the liberty of London at night or even of Oxford, they argued, would tend to break up the college as a social organization and thus to weaken it athletically; for at Oxford they understand what we sometimes do not, that a successful cultivation of sports goes hand in hand with good comradeship and mutual loyalty. The only question remaining was of the actual moral results of the semi-cloistral life. Such outbreaks of public opinion as I have described are at the worst exceptional; they are the last resort of outraged patience. The affair at Christ Church is unexampled in modern times. Many a man of the better sort goes through his four years at the university without either experiencing or witnessing undergraduate violence. As for drinking, in spite of the fact that wine and spirits are sold to undergraduates by the college at any and all times and in any and all quantities, there seemed to be less excessive indulgence than, for instance, at Harvard or at Yale. And the fact that what there was took place for the most part within the college walls was in many respects most fortunate. When fellows are turned loose for their jubilations amid the vices of a city, as is usually the case with us, the consequences to their general morality are sometimes the most hideous. In an English college the men to whom immorality seems inevitable--and such are to be found in all communities--have recourse to London. But as their expeditions take place in daylight and cold blood, and are, except at great risk, cut short when the last evening train leaves Paddington shortly after dinner, it is not possible to carry them off with that dazzling air of the man of the world that in America lures so many silly freshmen into dissipations for which they have no natural inclination. This little liberty is apparently of great value. The cloistral vice, which seems inevitable in the English public schools, is robbed of any shadow of palliation. A fellow who continues it is thought puerile, if nothing worse. When it exists, it is more likely to be the result of the intimate study of the ancient classics, and is then even more looked down upon by the robust Briton as effeminate or decadent. The subject, usually difficult or impossible to investigate, happened to be on the surface at the time of my residence because of the sensational trial of an Oxford graduate in London. I was satisfied that the general body of undergraduates was quite free of contamination. On the whole, I should say that the restrictions of college life in England are far less dangerous than the absolute freedom of life in an American college. Under our system a few men profit greatly; they leave college experienced in the ways of the world and at the same time thoroughly masters of themselves. But it is a strong man--perhaps a blasphemous one--that would ask to be led into temptation. The best system of college residence, I take it, is that which develops thoroughly and spontaneously the normal social instincts, and at the same time leaves men free moral agents. In a rightly constituted fellow, in fact, the normal social life constitutes the only real freedom. Those frowning college walls, which we are disposed to regard as instruments of pedagogical tyranny, are the means of nourishing the normal social life, and are thus in effect the bulwarks of a freer system than is known to American universities. VII CLUB LIFE IN THE COLLEGE As a place for the general purposes of residence--eating and sleeping, work and play--the English college is clearly quite as well organized and equipped as any of the societies, clubs, or fraternities of an American university. And whereas these are in their very nature small and exclusive, the college is ample in size and is consciously and effectively inclusive; the very fact of living in it insures a well-ordered life and abundant opportunity for making friends. Yet within this democratic college one finds all sorts of clubs and societies, except those whose main purpose is residential, and these are obviously not necessary. By far the larger proportion of the clubs are formed to promote the recognized undergraduate activities. No college is without athletic and debating clubs, and there are musical and literary clubs almost everywhere. Membership in all of them is little more than a formal expression of the fact that a man desires to row, play cricket or football, to debate, read Shakespeare, or play the fiddle. Yet they are all conducted with a degree of social amenity that to an American is as surprising as it is delightful. The only distinctively social feature of the athletic clubs is the wine, which is given to celebrate the close of a successful season. A boating wine I remember was held in a severe and sombre old hall, built before Columbus sailed the ocean blue. It was presided over by a knot of the dons, ancient oarsmen, whose hearts were still in the sport. They sat on the dais, like the family of a baron of the Middle Ages, while the undergraduates sat about the tables like faithful retainers. All the sportsmen of the college were invited, and everybody made as much noise as he could, especially one of the boating men, who went to the piano and banged out a song of triumph he had written, while we all tumbled into the chorus. One of the fellows--I have always taken it as a compliment to my presence--improvised a cheer after the manner not unknown in America, which was given with much friendly laughter. "Quite jolly, isn't it!" he remarked, with the pride of authorship, "and almost as striking as your cry of 'Quack, quack, quack!'" He had heard the Yale men give their adaptation of the frog chorus at the athletic games between Oxford and Yale. About midnight the college butler passed a loving cup of mulled wine of a spicy smoothness to fill your veins with liquid joy. The recipe, I was told, had been handed down by the butlers of the college since the fourteenth century, being older than the hall in which we were drinking. I have no doubt it was the cordial Chaucer calls Ypocras, which seems to have brought joy to his warm old heart. After the loving cup had gone about, the fellows cleared away the tables and danced a stag. At this stage of the game the dons discreetly faded away, and the wine resolved itself into a good-natured rag in the quad that was ended only by daylight and the dean. I have seen many feasts to celebrate athletic victory and the breaking of training, but none as homelike and pleasant all through as the wine of an Oxford college. The debating clubs have of necessity a distinct social element, for where there is much talk, food and drink will always be found; and with the social element there is apt to be some little exclusiveness. In Balliol there are three debating clubs, and they are of course in some sense rivals. Like the fraternities in an American college, they look over the freshmen each year pretty closely; and the freshmen in turn weigh the clubs. One freshman gave his verdict as follows: "The fellows in A are dull, and bathe; the fellows in B are clever, and sometimes bathe; the fellows in C are supposed to be clever." The saying is not altogether a pleasant one, but will serve to indicate the range of selection of members. In spite of social distinctions, few fellows need be excluded who care to debate or are clubable in spirit. As a system, the clubs are inclusive rather than exclusive. Each club convenes at regular intervals, usually in the rooms of such members as volunteer to be hosts. The hour of meeting is directly after dinner, and while the men gather and settle down to the business of the evening, coffee, port, and tobacco are provided out of the club treasury. The debates are supposed to be carried on according to the strictest parliamentary law, and the man who transgresses is subject to a sharp rebuff. On one occasion, when the question of paying members of Parliament was up, one speaker gravely argued that the United States Senate was filled with politicians who were attracted by the salary. Though I had already spoken, I got up to protest. The chairman sat me down with the greatest severity--amid a broad and general smile. I had neglected, I suppose, the parliamentary remark that I arose to a point of fact. A member's redress in such instances is to rag the president at the time when, according to custom, interpellations are in order; and as a rule he avails himself of this opportunity without mercy. On one occasion, a fellow got up in the strictest parliamentary manner and asked the president--a famous shot on the moors--whether it was true, as reported, that on the occasion when he lately fell over a fence three wrens and a chipping sparrow fell out of his game-bag. Such ragging as the chair administers and receives may not aid greatly in rational debate, but it certainly has its value as a preparation for the shifts and formalities of parliamentary life. It is the first duty of a chairman, even the president of the Oxford Union, to meet his ragging with cheerfulness and a ready reply, and the first duty of all debaters is to be interesting as well as convincing. In American college debating there is little of such humor and none of such levity. The speakers are drafted to sustain or to oppose a position, often without much reference to their convictions, and are supposed to do so to the uttermost. The training is no doubt a good one, for life is largely partisan; but a man's success in the world depends almost as much on his tact and good sense as on his strenuosity. The Englishman's advantage in address is sometimes offset by deficiencies of information. In a debate on Home Rule, one argument ran somewhat as follows: It is asserted that the Irish are irresponsible and lacking in the sense of administrative justice. To refute this statement, I have only to point to America, to the great metropolis of New York. There, as is well known, politics are exclusively in the hands of Irish citizens, who, denied the right of self-government--as the American colonies were denied similar freedom, I need scarcely point out with what disastrous results to the empire--the Irish immigrants in America, I say, are evincing their true genius for statesmanship in their splendid organization known as Tammany Hall. In the better clubs, the debates are often well prepared and cogent. I remember with particular gratitude a discussion as to whether the English love of comfort was not an evidence of softening morals. The discussion was opened with a paper by a young Scotchman of family and fortune. More than any other man I met he had realized the sweetness and pleasantness of Oxford, and all the delights of the senses and of the mind that surround the fellows there; and the result of it was, as it has so often been with such men, a craving for the extreme opposite of all he had known, for moral earnestness and austerity. What right, he questioned, had one to buy a book which, with ever so little more effort, he might read in the Bodleian, while all the poor of England are uneducated? And was it manly or in any way proper to spend so much time and interest on things that are merely agreeable? The sense of the meeting seemed to be that comfort in daily life is an evil only when it becomes an end in itself, a self-indulgence; and that a certain amount of it is necessary to fortify one for the most strenuous and earnest work in the world. I think that debate made us realize, as we never could have realized without it, to what serious end England makes the ways of her young men so pleasant; yet the more deeply I lived into the life of the university, the more deeply I questioned, as the young Scotchman did, whether the line between the amenities and the austerities was not somewhat laxly drawn. The only purely social club, and therefore the only really exclusive one, is the wine club. In Balliol there is a college rule against wine clubs, which seems to be due partly to a feeling against social exclusiveness, and partly perhaps to a distrust of purely convivial gatherings. The purpose of a wine club was served quite as well, however, by an organization that was ostensibly for debating. The notices of meetings were usually a parody of the notices of the meetings of genuine debating clubs, and the chief business of the secretary was to concoct them in pleasing variety. For instance, it would be _Resolved_, that this House looks with disfavor upon the gradual introduction of a continental sabbath into England; or _Resolved_, that this House looks with marked disfavor upon the assumption that total abstinence is a form of intemperance. On the evening when the House was defending total abstinence, our host's furniture and tea-things suffered some damage, and as I was in training, I found it advisable to leave early. As I slipped out, the president of the club, a young nobleman, who was himself at the time in training for the 'varsity trial eights, called me back and said with marked sobriety that he had just thought of something. "You are in for the mile run, aren't you? And in America you have always run the half. Well, then, if you find the distance too long for you, just don't mind at all about the first part of the race, but when you get to the last part, run as you run a half mile. Do it in two minutes, and you can't help beating 'em." He bade me good-night with a grave and authoritative shake of the hand. If he recalled his happy thought next morning, he was unable to avail himself of it, for I grieve to say that in the 'varsity trial race, which came only a few days later, he missed his blue by going badly to pieces on the finish. The meeting at which this occurred was exceptional. For the most part the fellows were moderate enough, and at times I suspected the wine club of being dull. Certainly, we had no such fun as at the more general jubilations--a rag in the quad or a boating wine. I doubt if any one would have cared so very much to belong to the club if it had not afforded the only badge of social distinction in college, and if this had not happened to be an unusually pretty hatband. However successful a wine club may be, moreover, it is of far less consequence than similar clubs in America. In the first place, since there are one or more of them in each of the twenty colleges, the number of men who belong to them is far greater relatively, which of course means far less exclusion. In the second place, and this is more important, the fellows who do not belong are still able to enjoy the life which is common to all members of the college. In general, the social walls of Oxford are like the material ones. Far from being the means of undue exclusion and of the suppression of public feeling, they are the live tissues in which the vital functions of the place are performed. Until well along in the nineteenth century, this life in the college was about the only life; but of late years the university has begun to feel its unity more strongly, and in social and intellectual life, as in athletics, it has become for the first time since the Middle Ages an organic whole. VIII SOCIAL LIFE IN THE UNIVERSITY The first formal organization of the life of the university was, as its name records, the Oxford Union, an institution of peculiar interest to Americans because our universities, though starting from a point diametrically opposite, have arrived at a state of social disorganization no less pronounced than that which the Union was intended to remedy. Harvard, which has progressed farthest along the path of social expansion and disintegration, has already made a conscious effort to imitate the Union. The adamantine spirit of Yale is shaken by the problems of the Sophomore societies; and it will not be many decades before other universities will be in a similar predicament. It will not be amiss, therefore, to consider what the Oxford Union has been and is. If Americans have not clearly understood it even when attempting to imitate it, one should at least remember that it would not be easy for an Oxford man to explain it thoroughly. The Union was founded in 1823, and was primarily for debating. In fact, it was the only university debating society. Its members were carefully selected for their ability in discoursing on the questions of the day. In its debates Gladstone, Lord Rosebery, the Marquis of Salisbury, and countless other English statesmen of recent times got their first parliamentary training. Its present fame in England is largely based upon this fact; but its character has been metamorphosed. Early in its history it developed social features; and though it was still exclusive in membership, little by little men of all kinds were taken in. At this stage of its development, the Union was not unlike those vast political clubs in London in which any and all principles are subordinated to the kitchen and the wine cellar. The debates, though still of first-rate quality, became more and more an incident; the club was chiefly remarkable as the epitome of all the best elements of Oxford life. The library was filled with men reading or working at special hobbies; the reading and smoking rooms were crowded; the lawn was daily thronged with undergraduates gossiping over a cup of tea; the telegram board, the shrine of embryo politicians watching for the results from a general election, was apt to be profaned by sporting men scanning it for the winners of the Derby or the Ascot. In a word, the Union held the elect of Oxford, intellectual, social, and sporting. This is the Union remembered by the older graduates, and except for a single feature, namely, that it was still exclusive, this is the Union that has inspired the projectors of the Harvard Union. The Oxford man of the later day knows all too well that this Union is no more. Some years ago, responding to a democratic impulse that has been very strong of late at Oxford, the Union threw down all barriers; virtually any man nowadays may join it, and its members number well beyond a thousand. The result is not a social millennium. The very feature of inclusiveness that is to be most prominent in the Union at Harvard destroyed the character of the Oxford Union as a representative body. To the casual observer it still looks much as it did a dozen years ago; but its glory has departed. In any real sense of the word it is a Union no more. The men who used to give it character are to be found in smaller clubs, very much like the clubs of an American university. The small university debating clubs are the Russell, the Palmerston, the Canning, and the Chatham, each of which stands for some special stripe of political thought, and each of which has a special color which--sure sign of the pride of exclusiveness--it wears in hatbands. The clubs meet periodically--often weekly--in the rooms of members. Sometimes a paper is read which is followed by an informal discussion; but the usual exercise is a formal debate. Time was when the best debates came off at the Union, and writers of leading articles in London papers even now look to it as a political weather-vane. The debates there are still earnest and sometimes brilliant, and to have presided over them is a distinction of value in after life; but as far as I could gather, their prestige is falling before the smaller debating clubs. The main interest at the Union appeared to centre in the interpellation of the president, which is carried on much as in the House of Commons, though with this difference, that, following the immemorial custom, it is turned into ragging. When this is over, the major part of the audience clears out to the smoking and reading rooms. In the smaller clubs the exercises are not only serious, but--in spite of the preliminary ragging, which no function at Oxford may flourish without--they are taken seriously. The clubs really include the best forensic ability of Oxford. At the end of each year they give dinners, at which new and old members gather, while some prominent politician from Westminster holds forth on the question of the hour. In a word, these clubs, collectively, are what the Union once was--the training school of British statesmen. The university social clubs are of a newness that shocks even an American; but it would not be quite just to account for the fact by regarding them as mere offshoots, like the debating clubs, of a parent Union. Until the nineteenth century, there really was no university at Oxford, at least in modern times. The colleges were quite independent of one another socially and in athletics, and each of them provided all the necessary instruction for its members. The social clubs which now admit members from the university at large began life as wine clubs of separate colleges, and even to-day the influence of the parent college is apt to predominate. The noteworthy fact is that in proportion as the social prestige of the Union has declined, these college wine clubs, like the small debating clubs, have gained character and prestige. The oldest of these is the Bullingdon, which is not quite as old, I gathered, as the Institute of 1770 at Harvard, and, considered as a university organization, it is of course much younger. It was originally the Christ Church wine club, and to-day it is dominated by the sporting element of Christ Church, which is the most aristocratic of Oxford colleges. In former years, it is said, the club had kennels at Bullingdon, and held periodic hunts there; and it is still largely composed of hunting men. To-day it justifies its name mainly by having an annual dinner beneath the heavy rafters of a mediæval barn at Bullingdon. On these, as on other state occasions, the members wear a distinctive costume--no doubt a tradition from the time when men generally wore colors--which consists of a blue evening coat with white facings and brass buttons, a canary waistcoat, and a blue tie. This uniform is no doubt found in more aristocratic wardrobes than any other Oxford trophy. The influence of the Bullingdon is indirectly to discourage athletics, which it regards as unaristocratic and incompatible with conviviality; so that Christ Church, though the largest of Oxford colleges and one of the wealthiest, is of secondary importance in sports. For this reason the Bullingdon has suffered a partial eclipse, for the middle-class spirit which is invading Oxford has given athletic sports the precedence over hunting, while expensive living and mere social exclusiveness are less the vogue. By a curious analogy, one of the oldest and most exclusive of the clubs at Harvard is similarly out of sympathy with the athletic spirit. Another old and prominent college wine club that has come to elect members from without is the Phoenix of Brazenose, the uniform of which is perhaps more beautiful than the Bullingdon uniform, consisting of a peculiar dark wine-colored coat, brass buttons, and a light buff waistcoat. In general, the college wine clubs are more or less taking on a university character. The Annandale Club of Balliol, for instance, has frequent guests from outside, and often elects them to membership out of compliment. At the formal wines the members have the privilege of inviting outside guests. The most popular and representative Oxford club is Vincent's, which owes its prominence to the fact that it expresses the enthusiasm of modern Oxford for athletics. It was founded only a third of a century ago, but it must be remembered that inter-varsity boat races did not become usual until 1839, nor a fixture until 1856; that the first inter-varsity athletic meeting came in 1864, and the first inter-varsity football game as late as 1873. Vincent's was originally composed largely of men from University College, which was at that time a leader in sports; but later it elected many men from Brazenose, then in the ascendant. When Brazenose became more prominent in athletics, it gained a controlling influence in Vincent's; and when it declined, as it lately did, the leadership passed on. The name Vincent's came from a printer's shop, above which the club had its rooms. Any second year man is eligible; in fact, until a few years ago, freshmen were often taken in. The limit of members is ninety, but as the club is always a dozen or so short of this, no good fellow is excluded for lack of a place. When a man is proposed, his name is written in a book, in which space is left for friends in the club to write their names in approval. After this, elections are in the hands of a committee. Like all Oxford clubs, Vincent's will always, I suppose, lean towards men of some special college or group of colleges; yet it is careful to elect all clubable blues, and, in point of fact, is representative of the university at large, as, for instance, the Hasty Pudding Club at Harvard, or the senior societies at Yale, to which, on the whole, it most nearly corresponds. The most democratic, as well as one of the most recent of the more purely social clubs, is the Gridiron. It is a dining rather than a social club, and one may invite to his board as many guests who are not members as he chooses. Any good fellow is eligible, though here, again, a man in one of the less known colleges might fail to get in from lack of acquaintances on the election committee. The Union has long lost prestige before this development of small exclusive clubs. Politically, socially, and even in that most essential department, the kitchen, it holds a second place. If you ask men of the kind that used to give it its character why they never go there, they will tell you, in the most considerate phrase, how the pressure of other undergraduate affairs is so great that they have not yet found time; and this is quite true. They may add that next year they intend to make the time, for they believe that one should know all kinds of men at Oxford; and they are quite sincere. But next year they are more preoccupied than ever. If Oxford is united socially, it is not because of the Oxford Union. In addition to the clubs which are mainly social, there is the usual variety of special organizations. These, as a rule, are of recent growth. The Musical Union has frequent meetings for practice, and gives at least one concert a year. The Dramatic Society, the O.U.D.S., as it is popularly called, will be seen to be a very portentous organization. In America, college men give comic operas and burlesques, usually writing both the book and the music themselves; and when they do, there is apt to be a Donnybrook Fair for vulnerable heads in the faculty. So well is musical nonsense adapted to the calibre of the undergraduate mind that college plays sometimes find their way to the professional stage, and to no small general favor. At Oxford the Vice-Chancellor, who is a law to himself and to the university, has decreed that there shall be no fun and nonsense. If the absurdities of donnishness are all too fair a mark for the undergraduate wit, the Vice-Chancellor has found a very serviceable scapegoat. He permits the undergraduates to present the plays of Shakespeare. Surely Shakespeare can stand the racket. The aim of the O.U.D.S. seems to be to get as many blues as possible into the cast of a Shakespearean production, with the idea, perhaps, of giving Oxford its full money's worth. I remember well the sensation made by the most famous of all university athletes,--a "quadruple blue," who played on four university teams, was captain of three of them, and held one world's record. The play was "The Merchant of Venice," and the athlete in question was the swarthy Prince of Morocco. Upon opening the golden casket his powers of elocution rose to unexpected heights. Fellows went again and again to hear him cry, "O hell! what have we here?" In one way, however, the performances of the O.U.D.S. are really noteworthy. Not even the crudest acting can entirely disguise the influences of birth and environment; and few Shakespearean actors have as fine a natural carriage as those companies of trained athletes. For the first time, perhaps, on any stage, the ancient Roman honor more or less appeared in Antonio, and there were really two gentlemen in Verona. For this reason--or, what is more likely, merely because the plays are given by Oxford men--the leading dramatic critics of London run up every year for the O.U.D.S. performance, and talk learnedly about it in their dignified periodicals. Both the musical and the dramatic societies have an increasing social element, and the dramatic society has a house of its own. Of at least one association I happened upon, I know of no American parallel. One Sunday afternoon, a lot of fellows who had been lunching each other in academic peace were routed from college by a Salvation Army gathering that was sending up the discordant notes of puritanical piety just outside the walls. In the street near by we came upon a quiet party of undergraduates in cap and gown. They were standing in a circle, at the foot of the Martyr's Memorial, and were alternately singing hymns and exhorting the townspeople who gathered about. Their faces were earnest and simple, their attitude erect. If they were conscious of doing an unusual thing, they did not show it. I don't remember that they moved any of us to repent the pleasantness of our ways, but I know that they filled the most careless of us with a very definite admiration. One of the fellows said that he thought them mighty plucky, and that they had the stuff at least out of which sportsmen are made. The phrase is peculiarly British, but in the undergraduate vernacular there is no higher epithet of praise. In America there are slumming societies and total abstinence leagues; but I never knew any body of men who had the courage to stand up in the highway and preach their gospel to passers-by. IX THE COLLEGE AND THE UNIVERSITY The distinctive feature of the social organization of Oxford life is said to be the colleges. Fifty years ago the remark held good, but to-day it requires an extension. The distinctive feature is the duality of the social organization: a man who enters fully into undergraduate affairs takes part both in the life of the college and in the life of the university. The life of the college, in so far as it is wholesome, is open to all newcomers; it is so organized as to exert powerfully upon them the force of its best influences and traditions, and is thus in the highest degree inclusive. The life of the university, in so far as it is vigorous, is in the main open only to those who bring to it special gifts and abilities, and is therefore necessarily exclusive. In college, one freely enjoys all that is fundamental in the life of a young man--a pleasant place to sleep in and to dine in, pleasant fellows with whom to work and to play. In the university, one finds scope for his special capacities in conviviality or in things of the mind. More than any other institution, the English university thus mirrors the conditions of social life in the world at large, in which one is primarily a member of his family, and takes part in the life of the outside community in proportion as his abilities lead him. The happiest thing about all this is that it affords the freest possible interplay of social forces. As soon as a newcomer gains distinction, as he does at once if he has the capacity, he is noticed by the leading men of the college, and is thus in a way to be taken into the life of the university. From the college breakfast it is only a step to the Gridiron, from the college eight to Vincent's, and from the debating society to the Chatham or the Canning. These, like all undergraduate clubs, are in yearly need of new members, and the older men in college are only too glad to urge the just claims of the younger for good-fellowship sake, and for the general credit of their institution. Even when a fellow has received all the university has to offer, he is still amenable to the duality of Oxford life. In American institutions, in proportion as a man is happily clubbed, he is by the very nature of the social organization withdrawn from his college mates; but at Oxford he still dines in Hall, holds forth at the college debating society, plays on the college teams, and, until his final year, he lives within the college walls. First, last, and always his general life is bound up with that of the college. The prominent men thus become a medium by which every undergraduate is brought in touch with the life of the university. The news of the athletic world is reported at Vincent's over afternoon tea; and at dinner time the men who have discussed it there relate it to their mates in the halls of a dozen colleges. A celebrated debater brings the news of the Union or of the smaller clubs; and whatever a man's affiliations in the university, he can scarcely help bringing the report of them back with him. In an incredibly short time all undergraduate news, and the judgments upon it of those best qualified to judge, ramify the college; and men who seldom stir beyond its walls are brought closely in touch with the innermost spirit of the university life. Here, again, those forbidding walls make possible a freedom of social interplay which is unknown in America. The real union of Oxford, social, athletic, and intellectual, is quite apart from the so-called Oxford Union; it results from the nice adjustment between the general residential life of the colleges and the specialized activities of the university. The immediate effect of this union is the humble one of making the present life of the undergraduate convenient and enjoyable; but its ultimate effect is a matter of no little importance. Every undergraduate, in proportion to his susceptibilities and capacities, comes under the influence of the social and intellectual traditions of Oxford, which are the traditions of centuries of the best English life. In Canada and Australia, South Africa and India, you will find the old Oxonian wearing the hatband, perhaps faded and weather-stained, that at Oxford denoted the thing he was most proud to stand for; and wherever you find him, you will find also the manners and standards of the university, which are quite as definite a part of him, though perhaps less conspicuous. Without a large body of men animated by such traditions, it is no exaggeration to say that it would not have been possible to build up the British empire. If the people of the United States are to bear creditably the responsibilities to civilization that have lately fallen to them, or have been assumed, there is urgent need for institutions that shall similarly impose upon our young men the best traditions and influences of American life. II OXFORD OUT OF DOORS I SLACKING ON THE ISIS AND THE CHERWELL The dual development of college and university, with all its organic coördinations, exists also in the sports of Oxford. The root and trunk of the athletic spirit lies in the colleges, though its highest development is found in university teams. To an American, this athletic life of the college will be found of especial interest, for it is the basis of the peculiar wholesomeness and moderation of Oxford sports. If the English take their pleasures sadly, as they have been charged with doing ever since Froissart hit upon the happy phrase, they are not so black a pot but that they are able to call us blacker; in the light of international contests, they have marveled at the intensity with which our sportsmen pursue the main chance. The difference here has a far deeper interest than the critic of boating or track athletics often realizes. Like the songs of a nation, its sports have a definite relation to its welfare: one is tempted to say, let me rule the games of my countrymen and who will may frame their laws. At least, I hope to be pardoned if I speak with some particularity of the out-of-door life, and neglect the lofty theme of inter-varsity contests for the humbler pursuits of the common or garden undergraduate. The origin of the boating spirit is no doubt what the Oxonian calls slacking, for one has to learn to paddle in a boat before he can row to advantage; and in point of fact the bumping races are supposed to have originated among parties of slackers returning at evening from up the river. If I were to try to define what a slacker is, I suppose you could answer that all Oxford men are slackers; but there are depths beneath depths of _far niente_. The true slacker avoids the worry and excitement of breakfast parties and three-day cricket matches, and conserves his energies by floating and smoking for hours at a time in his favorite craft on the Isis and the Cherwell--or "Char," as the university insists on calling it. He is a day-dreamer of day-dreamers; and despised as he is by the more strenuous Oxford men, who yet stand in fear of the fascination of his vices, he is as restful a figure to an American as a negro basking on a cotton-wharf, and as appealing as a beggar steeped in Italian sunlight. Merely to think of his uninterrupted calm and his insatiable appetite for doing nothing is a rest to occidental nerves; and though one may never be a roustabout and loaf on a cotton-wharf, one may at any time go to Oxford and play through a summer's day at slacking. Before you come out, you must make the acquaintance of the O.U.H.S.--that is, the University Humane Society. In the winter, when there is skating, the Humane Society man stands by the danger spot with a life-buoy and a rope; and in the summer, when the streams swarm with pleasure-craft, he wanders everywhere, pulling slackers out of the Isis and the Char. In view of the fact that, metaphorically speaking at least, you can shake hands with your neighbors across either of these streams, the Humane Society man is not without his humors. You may get yourself a tub or a working-boat or a wherry, a rob-roy or a dinghy, for every craft that floats is known on the Thames; but the favorite craft are the Canadian canoe and the punt. The canoe you will be familiar with, but your ideas of a punt are probably derived from a farm-built craft you have poled about American duck-marshes--which bears about the same relationship to this slender, half-decked cedar beauty that a canal-boat bears to a racing-shell. During your first perilous lessons in punting, you will probably be in apprehension of ducking your mentor, who is lounging among the cushions in the bow. But you cannot upset the punt any more than you can discompose the Englishman; the punt simply upsets you without seeming to be aware of it. And when you crawl dripping up the bank, consoled only by the fact that the Humane Society man was not at hand with his boat-hook to pull you out by the seat of the trousers, your mentor will gravely explain how you made your mistake. Instead of bracing your feet firmly on the bottom and pushing with the pole, you were leaning on the pole and pushing with your feet. When the pole stuck in the clay bottom, of course it pulled you out of the boat. Steering is a matter of long practice. When you want to throw the bow to the left, you have only to pry the stern over to the right as you are pulling the pole out of the water. To throw the bow to the right, ground the pole a foot or so wide of the boat, and then lean over and pull the boat up to it. That is not so easy, but you will learn the wrist motion in time. When all this comes like second nature, you will feel that you have become a part of the punt, or rather that the punt has taken life and become a part of you. [Illustration: A RACING PUNT AND PUNTER] A particular beauty of punting is that, more than any other sport, it brings you into personal contact, so to speak, with the landscape. In a few days you will know every inch of the bottom of the Char, some of it perhaps by more intimate experience than you desire. Over there, on the outer curve of the bend, the longest pole will not touch bottom. Fight shy of that place. Just beyond here, in the narrows, the water is so shallow that you can get the whole length of your body into every sweep. As for the shrubbery on the bank, you will soon learn these hawthorns, if only to avoid barging into them. And the Magdalen chestnut, which spreads its shade so beautifully above the water just beyond, becomes quite familiar when its low-reaching branches have once caught the top of your pole and torn it from your hands. The slackers you see tied up to the bank on both sides of the Char are always here after luncheon. An hour later their craft will be as thick as money-bugs on the water, and the joys of the slackers will be at height. You won't, as a rule, detect happiness in their faces, but it is always obvious in the name of the craft. One man calls his canoe "Vix Satis," which is the mark the university examining board uses to signify that a man's examination paper is a failure. Another has "P.T.O." on his bows--the "Please Turn Over" which an Englishman places at the bottom of a card where we say "Over." Still another calls his canoe the "Non-conformist Conscience"--which, as you are expected to remark, is very easily upset. All this makes the slacker even happier than if he were so un-English as to smile his pleasure, for he has a joke ready-made on his bow, where there is no risk of any one's not seeing it. These pollard willows that line the bank are not expected to delight your eye at first sight, but as you see them day after day, they grow on you like the beauty of the bull-terrier pup that looks at you over the gunwale of the boat tied beneath them. They have been topped to make their roots strike deeper and wider into the soil, so that when the freshets come in the spring the banks will stand firm. The idea came some centuries ago from Holland, but has been so thoroughly Englished that the university, and, indeed, all England, would scarcely be itself without its pollard willows. And though the trees are not in themselves graceful, they make a large part of the beauty of the river scenery. The sun is never so golden as up there among their quivering leaves, and no shadow is so deep as that in the water at their feet. The bar of foam ahead of us is the overflow from the lasher--that is to say, from the still water above the weir. The word "lasher" is obsolete almost everywhere else in England, and even to the Oxford mind it describes the lashing overflow rather than the _lache_ or _slack_ water above. When we "shoot the lasher," as the phrase goes, you will get a hint as to why the obsolete term still clings to this weir. Those fellows beyond who have tied up three deep to the bank are waiting to see us get ducked; but it is just as easy to shoot the lasher as to upset in it; and with that swarm of slackers watching, it makes a difference which you do. We have only to get up a fair pace and run into it on a diagonal. The lashing torrent will catch our bows, but we shall be half over before it sweeps them quite around; and then it will catch the stern in turn, and whirl the bow back into the proper direction. A sudden lurching of the bow, the roaring of a torrent beneath, a dash of spray--and we are in still water again. In order to reach the inn at Marston by four we must pole on. If we were true slackers, to be sure, we should have brought a spirit lamp and a basket of tea, and tied up in the first convenient nook on the bank; but these are heights of slacking to which the novice cannot aspire. Just beyond here we shall have to give the Thames Conservancy man threepence to roll the punt around a weir. If there were ladies with us, we should have to let them walk a quarter of a mile on shore, for just above is Parson's Pleasure, the university bathing-hole; and these men, who would not let the Yale and the Cornell athletes appear in sleeveless "zephyrs," plunge into a frequented waterway without any zephyrs at all. Above Parson's Pleasure we emerge from Mesopotamia--as the pretty river bottom is called in which the Char divides into several channels--and come in sight of the 'varsity cricket-ground. There is a game on against a picked eleven from the Marylebone Club; and every few minutes, if we waited, we might see the statuesque figures in white flannel suddenly dash after a ball or trot back and forth between the wickets. Few slackers have had energy to get beyond this point; and as we pole among the meadows, the cuckoo's homely voice emphasizes the solitude, singing the same two notes it sang to Shakespeare--and to Chaucer before him, for the matter of that. At Marston, having ordered tea of the red-cheeked housewife, it is well to ask the innkeeper for credit. He is a Parisian, whose sociological principles, it is said, were the cause of his venturing across the Channel--in Paris, a man will even go as far as that for his opinions; and while his cheery English spouse, attended by troops of his red-cheeked boys, brings out the thin buttered bread, he will revile you. What business have you to ask an honest yeoman to lend you money? If he were to go down to Oxford and ask the first gentleman he met to lend him half a crown to feed his starving family, should he get it? Should he? And what right have you to come to his house--his _home_!--and demand food at his board? You are a gentleman; but what is a gentleman? A gentleman is the dregs of the idleness of centuries! Then he will declaim about his plans for the renovation of the world. All this time his well-fed wife has been pouring out the tea and slicing the Genoa cake; and now, with a smile of reassurance, she takes our names and college. But the innkeeper's eloquence does not flag, and it will not until you tell him with decision that you have had enough. This you are loath to do, for he has furnished you with a new ideal of happiness. The cotton-wharf negro sometimes wants leisure, the repose of the cricketer is at times rudely broken in upon, and even the slacker is liable to his ducking; but to stand up boldly against the evils of the world and to picture the new Utopia while your wife averts all practical consequences, this is _otium cum dignitate_. This journey up the Char, though all-popular with the undergraduate, is not the only one worth taking. We might have gone down the Isis to the Iffley Mill and the sleepy little Norman church near by. This would have taken us through the thick of the college crews training for the summer eights. But the rules of the river are so complicated that no man on earth who has not given them long hours of study can understand them; and if an eight ran into us, we should be fined a quid or two--one quid for a college eight, and two for the 'varsity. Below Iffley, indeed, there is as much clear punting as you could desire, and here you are in the full current of Thames pleasure-boats. The towing-path skirts the water, so that when you are tired of punting you can get out and tow your craft. The stretch of river here I hold memorable as the scene of the only bit of dalliance I ever witnessed in this most sentimental of environments. A young man and a young woman had tied the painter of their punt to the middle of a paddle, and shoulder by shoulder were loitering along the river-side. Twenty yards behind, three other men and a baffled chaperon were steering the punt clear of the bank, and boring one another. [Illustration: IFFLEY LOCK AND MILL] The best trip on the Isis is into the backwaters. These are a mesh of tiny streams that break free from the main current above Oxford and lose themselves in the broad bottom-lands. The islands they form were chosen in the Dark Ages as the sites of religious houses; for not only was the land fertile, but the network of deep, if tiny, streams afforded defense from the heathen, while the main channel of the Thames afforded communication with the Christian world. The ruins of these, or of subsequent monasteries, remain to-day brooding over a few Tudor cottages and hamlets, with a mill and a bakery and an inn or two to sustain life in the occasional undergraduate who lazes by in his canoe. The most interesting of these ruins is Wytham. The phrase is exact, for the entire hamlet was built from a venerable religious house shortly after the dissolution of the monasteries. You can imagine the size of Wytham. If you don't watch very closely as you paddle up the sedgy backwater, you will miss it entirely, and that would be a pity, for its rude masonry, thatched roofs, and rustic garden fronts seem instinct with the atmosphere of Tudor England. The very tea roses, nodding languidly over the garden wall, smell, or seem to smell, as subtly sweet as if they had been pressed for ages between the leaves of a mediæval romance. I am not quite sure that they do, though, for these ancient hamlets have strange ways of pulling the wool--a true golden fleece, to be sure--over American eyes. Once at twilight I heard a knot of strolling country men and women crooning a tune which was so strangely familiar that I immediately set it down as a village version of one of the noble melodies of that golden age when English feeling found its natural vent in song. As it drew nearer, I suddenly recognized it. It was a far-away version of "Mammy's Little Alabama Coon." I have still faith, though, in a certain mediæval barmaid I chanced upon in the backwaters. The circumstances of our meeting were peculiar. As I drifted along one Sunday, perched on an after-thwart of the canoe, the current swept me toward a willow that leaned over the water, and I put up my hand to fend off. I chanced to be laughing to myself at the time at the thought of a fellow who, only the day before at the lasher, had tried to do the same thing. The lasher was forcing his punt against the willow on the opposite bank, whereupon, to my heart's delight, he lazily tried to fend it off with his arms. The punt refused to be fended off, and he stooped with an amusing effect of deliberation plump into the water. He was hauled out by the O.U.H.S. man hard by. I was interrupted in these pleasant reminiscences by the roaring of waters about my ears, mingled with a boorish guffaw from one of the fellows behind me.... But I started to tell about the mediæval barmaid. Making my way to a bakehouse up the stream, I hung my coat and trousers before the fire on a long baker's pole, and put my shoes inside the oven on a dough tray. My companion of the horse-laugh hung my shirt on a blossoming almond-tree, and then left for the lunch hamper. He had scarcely gone when I heard the rustle of skirts at the door. "What do you want?" I cried. "I want my dinner," was the friendly reply. It was the barmaid of a neighboring public house, in her Sunday frock. When she saw me she smiled, but maintained a dignity of port that--I insist upon it--was instinct with the simple and primitive modesty of the Middle Ages. It was the modesty of the people before whom Adam in the Chester mystery play was required by the stage directions to "stand nakyd and not be ashamyd." My barmaid advised me to take off my stockings and hang them up before the fire. The advice I admit came as a shock, but on reflection I saw that it was capital. For one happy moment I lived in the broad, wholesome atmosphere of the Middle Ages. It was like a breath from Chaucer's England. Then the baker rushed into the room, in a cutaway Sunday coat of the latest style. He had baked for an Oxford college so long that he had become infected with the squeamish leaven of the nineteenth century. He called the girl a huzzy, and, taking her by the shoulder, hustled her into the garden, and then passed her plum pudding out to her gingerly through a crack in the door. He covered me with apologies and a bath-robe; but I did not mind either, for as the barmaid ran back to the inn she was laughing what I still insist upon believing to have been the simple joyous laughter of the Middle Ages. But we must hurry to get back to college in time for dinner. And even at that we shall have to stop here at Magdalen bridge and give a street boy sixpence to take the punt the rest of the way. We land at the foot of the tower just as the late afternoon sun is gilding its exquisite pinnacles, and the chimes in its belfry are playing the prelude to the hour of seven. It is a melody worth all the Char and the Isis, with all their weirs and their willows. Other mediæval chimes fill you with a delicious sorrow for the past; but when they cease, and the great bell tolls out the hour, you think only of the death of time. It leaves you sadly beneath the tower, in the musty cellarage. But the melody that the Magdalen chimes utter is full of the fervid faith, the aspirations, of our fathers. It lifts you among the gilded pinnacles, or perhaps ever so little above them. II AS SEEN FROM AN OXFORD TUB To the true slacker, the college barges that line the Isis are an object of aversion, for into them sooner or later every fellow who loves the water finds his way, and then there is an end of slacking. Each of the barges is a grammar school of oarsmanship, where all available men are taught everything, from what thickness of leather to wear on the heels of their boating-shoes to the rhythm in rowing by which alone an eight can realize its full speed; and from the barges issues a navy of boats and boating-men more than ten times as large as that of an American university. When Mr. R. C. Lehmann arrived at Cambridge to coach the Harvard crew, he was lost in admiration of the Charles River and the Back Bay, and in amazement at the absence of boats on them. At either Yale or Harvard it would be easy to give space to both of the fleets that now swarm on the slender Isis and threadlike Cam. We have water enough--as a Congressman once remarked of our fighting navy--it is only the boats that are lacking. The lesson we have to learn of our English cousins is not so much a matter of reach and swing, outrigger and blades, as a generous and wholesome interest in boating for the sake of the boat and of the water; and it is less apparent in an Oxford 'varsity eight than in the humblest tub of the humblest college. The first suggestion that I should go out to be tubbed came from the gray-bearded dean of the college, who happened at the time to be taking me to the master for formal presentation. I told him that I had tried for my class crew, and that three days on the water had convinced the coach that I was useless. He fell a pace behind, looked me over, and said that I might at least try. As this was his only advice, I did not forget it; and when my tutor, before advising me as to my studies, also urged me to row, I gave the matter some serious thought. I found subsequently that every afternoon, between luncheon and tea, the college was virtually deserted for field, track, and river; and it dawned upon me that unless I joined the general exodus I should temporarily become a hermit. Still, my earlier unhappy experience in rowing was full in mind, and I set out for the barge humble in spirit, and prepared to be cursed roundly for three days, and "kicked out," or, as they say in Oxford, "given the hoof," on the fourth. Few memories could be so unhappy, however, as to resist the beauty of the banks of the Isis. At New Haven, the first impression an oarsman gets is said to be an odor so unwelcome that it is not to be endeared even by four years of the good-fellowship and companionship of a Yale crew. At Harvard, the Charles--"Our Charles," as Longfellow spoke of it in a poem to Lowell--too often presents aspects which it would be sacrilege to dwell on. What the "royal-towered Thame" and "Camus, reverend sire," may have been in the classic days of English poetry it is perhaps safest not to inquire; suffice it that to-day they are--and especially the Thames--all that the uninitiated imagine "our Charles." Nowhere does the sun stream more cheerfully through the moist gray English clouds; nowhere is the grass more green, the ivy more luxuriant, and the pollard willows and slender elms and poplars more dense in foliage. And every building, from the thatched farm-cottage in Christ Church meadow to the Norman church at Iffley, is, as it were, more native and more a part of creation than the grass and trees. The English oarsman, it is true, cannot be as conscious of all this as an American visitor. Yet the love of outdoors, which has been at work for centuries in beautifying the English landscape, is not the least part of the British sporting instinct. Where an American might loiter in contemplation of these woods, fields, and streams, an Englishman shoots, hunts, crickets, and rows in them. When you enter the barge on the river, you feel keenly the contrast with the bare, chill boathouses of the American universities. On the centre tables are volumes of photographs of the crews and races of former years; the latest sporting papers are scattered on chairs and seats; and in one corner is a writing-table, with note-paper stamped "Balliol Barge, Oxford." There is a shelf or two of bound "Punches," and several shelves of books--"Innocents Abroad" and "Indian Summer," beside "Three Men in a Boat" and "The Dolly Dialogues." On the walls are strange and occult charts of the bumping races from the year one--which, if I remember rightly, is 1837. At the far end of the room is a sea-coal fire, above which shines the prow of a shell in which the college twice won the Ladies' Plate at Henley. The dressing-room of the barge is sacred to the members of the eight, who at the present season are engaged in tubbing the freshmen in the hope of finding a new oar or two. At the appointed hour they appear, in eightsman blazers if it is fair, or in sou'westers if it is not--sad to relate, it usually is not--and each chooses a couple of men and leads them out to the float. Meanwhile, with the rest of the candidates--freshmen, and others who in past years have failed of a place in the torpids--you lounge on easy-chairs and seats, reading or chatting, until your own turn comes to be tubbed. It is all quiet like a club, except that the men are in full athletic dress. [Illustration: THE FULL COSTUME OF AN EIGHTSMAN] The athletic costume is elaborate, and has been worn for a generation--since top-hats and trousers were abandoned, in fact--in more or less its present form. It consists of a cotton zephyr, flannel shorts flapping about the knees, and socks, or in winter Scotch hose gartered above the calves. The sweater, which, in cold weather, is worn on the river, has a deep V neck, supplemented when the oarsman is not in action by a soft woolen scarf or cloud. Over all are worn a flannel blazer and cap embroidered with the arms of the college. This uniform, with trifling variations, is used in all sports on field and river, and it is infinitely more necessary, in undergraduate opinion, than the academic cap and gown which the rules of the university require to be worn after dark. This seemingly elaborate dress is in effect the most sensible in the world, and is the best expression I know of the cheerful and familiar way in which an Englishman goes about his sports. Reduced to its lowest terms, it is no more than is required by comfort and decency. With the addition of sweater, scarf, blazer, and cap, it is presentable in social conversation--indeed, in the streets of the city. It is in consequence of this that an afternoon in the barge is--except for the two tubbings on the river--so much like one spent in a club. In America an oarsman wears socks and trunks which are apt to be the briefest possible. If he wears a shirt at all, it is often a mere ribbon bounding the three enormous apertures through which he thrusts his neck and shoulders. Before going on the river he is likely to shiver, in spite of the collar of his sweater; and after he comes in, his first thought is necessarily of donning street clothes. There is, in consequence, practically no sociability in rowing until the crews are selected and sent to the training-table. A disciple of Sartor Resartus would be very likely to conclude that, until American rowing adapts itself to the English costume, it must continue to be--except for the fortunate few--the bare, unkindly sport it has always been. All this time I have had you seated in an armchair beside the sea-coal fire. Now an eightsman comes into the barge with two deep-breathing freshmen, and nods us to follow him to the boat the three have just quitted. On a chair by the door as we go out are several pads, consisting of a rubber cloth faced with wool. These are _spongeo pilenes_, or so I was told, which in English are known as Pontius Pilates--or Pontiuses for short. The eightsman will advise you to take a Pontius to protect your white flannel shorts from the water on the seat; for there is always a shower threatening, unless indeed it is raining. Every one knows, however, including the eightsman, that the wool is a no less important part of the Pontius than the rubber: it will save you many painful impressions of the dinner form in hall. We are already on the river, and pair-oars, fours, and eights are swarming about us. "Come forward," cries our coach, "ready--paddle!" and we take our place in the procession of craft that move in one another's wake down the narrow river. The coach talks pleasantly to us from time to time, and in the course of an afternoon we get a pretty good idea of what the English stroke consists in. The sun bursts through the pearl-gray clouds, and glows in golden ponds on the dense verdure of grass and trees. "Eyes in the boat," shouts the stern voice of conscience; but the coach says, "See, fellows. Here's a 'varsity trial eight. Watch them row, and you will see what the stroke looks like. Those fellows in red caps belong to the Leander." Their backs are certainly not all flat, and to an American eye the crew presents a ragged appearance as a whole; but a second glance shows that every back swings in one piece from the hips, and that the apparent raggedness is due to the fact that the men on the bow side swing in one line, while those on the stroke side swing in another parallel line. They sway together with absolute rhythm and ease, and the boat is set on a rigidly even keel. Our coach looks them over critically, especially his three college-mates, one of whom at least he hopes will be chosen for the 'varsity eight. No doubt he aimed at a blue himself two years ago, when he came up; but blues are not for every man, even of those who row well and strongly. He watches them until they are indistinguishable amid the myriad craft in the distance. "It's jolly fine weather," he concludes pleasantly, with a familiar glance at the sky, which you are at liberty to follow. "Come forward. Ready--paddle!" We are presently in the barge again with the other fellows. A repetition of this experience after half an hour ends the day's work. When I tried for the freshman crew in America, I was put with seven other unfortunates into a huge clinker barge, in charge of the sophomore coxswain. On the first day I was told to mind the angle on my oar. On the second day I was told to keep my eyes in the boat, damn me! On the third day, the sophomore coxswain wrought himself into a fury, and swore at me for not keeping the proper angle. When I glanced out at my blade he yelled, "Damn you, eyes in the boat!" This upset me so that I forgot thereafter to keep a flat back at the finish of the stroke. When we touched the float he jumped out, looked at my back, brought his boot against it sharply, and told me that there was no use in trying to row unless I could hold a flat back and swing my body between my knees. That night I sat on a dictionary with my feet against the footboard and tried to follow these injunctions, until my back seemed torn into fillets, but it would not come flat. I never went down to the river again, and it was two years before I summoned courage to try another sport. The bullyragging sophomore coxswain I came to know very well in later years, and found him as courteous and good-hearted as any man. To this day, if I mention our first meeting, he looks shy, and says he doesn't remember it. He says that the flat back is a discarded fetish in Harvard boating circles, that even before the advent of Mr. Lehmann cursing and kicking were largely abandoned; and moreover (_fortissimo_) that the freshman crew he helped to curse and kick into shape was the only one in ten years that won. After a fortnight's tubbing in pair-oars, the better candidates are tubbed daily in fours, and the autumn races are on the horizon. At the end of another week the boats are finally made up, and the crews settle down to the task of "getting together." Each of the fours has at least one seasoned oarsman to steady it, and is coached from the coxswain's seat by a member of the college eight. Sometimes, if the November floods are not too high, the coach runs or bicycles along the towing-path, where he can see the stroke in profile. If a coach swears at his men, there is sure to have been provocation. His favorite figure of speech is sarcasm. At the end of a heart-breaking burst he will say, "Now, men, get ready to _row_," or, "I say, fellows, wake up; _can't you make a difference?_" The remark of one coach is now a tradition--"All but four of you men are rowing badly, and they're rowing damned badly!" This convention of sarcasm is by no means old. One of the notable personages in Eights' Week is a little man who is pointed out to you as the Last of the Swearing Coaches. _Tempora mutantur._ Perhaps my friend the ex-coxswain is in line for a similar distinction. When the fours are once settled in their tubs, the stroke begins to go much better, and the daily paddle is extended so as to be a real test of strength and endurance for the new men, and for the man from the torpid a brisk practice spin. Even at this stage very few of the new men are "given the hoof;" the patience of the coachers is monumental. [Illustration: THE COLLEGE BARGES: TUBBING IN NOVEMBER FLOODS] The tubbing season is brought to an end with a race between the fours. Where there are half a dozen fours in training, two heats of three boats each are rowed the first day, and the finals between the best two crews on the following day. The method of conducting these races is characteristic of boating on the Isis and the Cam. As the river is too narrow to row abreast, the crews start a definite distance apart, and row to three flags a mile or so up the river, which are exactly as far apart as the boats were at starting. At each of these flags an eightsman is stationed. In the races I saw they flourished huge dueling pistols, and when the appropriate crew passed the flag, the appropriate man let off his pistol. The crew that is first welcomed with a pistol-shot wins. These races are less exciting than the bumping races; yet they have a picturesque quality of their own, and they settle the question of superiority with much less rowing. The members of the winning four get each a pretty enough prize to remember the race by, and the torpidsman at stroke holds the "Junior fours cup" for the year. The crowning event of the season of tubbing is a wine, to which are invited all boating-men in college, and the representative athletes in other sports. In Balliol it is called the "Morrison wine," as the races are called "Morrison fours," in honor of an old Balliol man, a 'varsity oar and coach, who established the fund for the prizes. The most curious thing about this affair is that it is not given, as it would be in America, at the expense of the college, or even of the men who have been tubbed, but at the expense of those who are finally chosen to row in the races. To my untutored mind the hospitality of English boating seemed a pure generosity. It made me uncomfortable at first, with the sense that I could never repay it; but I soon got over this, and basked in it as in the sun. The eightsmen devote their afternoons to coaching you because there are seats to be filled in the torpid and in the eight; they speak decently because they find that in the long run decency is more effective; and they hold the wine because they wish to honor the sport in which they have chosen to stake their reputations as athletes. In a word, where in America we row by all that is self-sacrificing and loyal, in England the welfare of boating is made to depend upon its attractiveness as a recreation and a sport; if it were not enjoyable to the normal man, nothing could force fellows into it. The relationship of the autumn tubbing and its incidental sociability to the welfare of the sport in the college and in the university seems remote enough to the American mind, for out of the score of fellows who are tubbed only three or four, on an average, go farther in the sport. Yet it is typical of the whole; and it will help us in following the English boating season. Throughout the year there are two converging currents of activity in boating. On the one hand, the tubs in the autumn term develop men for the torpids, which come on during the winter term; and the torpids develop men for the summer eights. On the other hand, the 'varsity trials in the autumn term develop men for the 'varsity eight, which trains and races in the winter term; and the 'varsity oarsmen, like the men who have prospered in tubs and torpids, end the season in the eights of their respective colleges. The goal of both the novice and the veteran is thus the college eight. The torpid is, so to speak, the understudy to the college eight. In order to give full swing to the new men, no member of the eight of the year before is allowed to row in it; and the leading colleges man two torpids--sometimes even three. The training here is much more serious than in the tubs; wine, spirits, and tobacco are out of order. The races, which are conducted like the celebrated May Eights, are rowed in midwinter--in the second of the three Oxford terms--under leaden skies, and sometimes with snow piled up along the towing-path. On the barges, instead of the crowds of ladies, gayly dressed and bent on a week of social enjoyment, one finds knots of loyal partisans who are keen on the afternoon's sport. The towing-path, too, is not so crowded as in May Week; but nothing could surpass the din of pistols and rattles and shouting that accompanies the races. If the men in the torpid do not learn how to row the stroke to the finish under the excitement of a race, it is not for the lack of coaching and experience. When the torpids break training, there are many ceremonies to signalize the return to the flesh-pots: one hardly realizes that the weeks of sport and comradeship have all gone to the filling of a place or two in the college eight. All this time, while the tubs and torpids have been training up new men, the 'Varsity Boat Club, whose home is on the shore of the Isis opposite the row of college barges, has also, so to speak, been doing its tubbing. The new men for the 'varsity are chiefly those who have come to the front in the May Eights of the previous year--oars of two or three seasons' standing; though occasionally men are taken directly from the Eton eight, which enters yearly for the Ladies' Plate at Henley. The new men will number ten or a dozen; and early in the autumn they are taken out in tubs. They are soon joined by as many of last year's blues as are left in Oxford. The lot is divided into two eights, as evenly matched as possible, which are coached separately. These are called the Trial Eights, or 'Varsity Trials. To "get one's trials" is no mean honor. It is the _sine qua non_ of membership to the Leander--admittedly the foremost boating club of the world. Toward the end of the first term there is a race of two and a half miles between the two trial eights at Moulsford, where the Thames is wide enough to permit the two boats to race abreast. Of the men who row in the trials the best ten or a dozen are selected to train for the 'varsity during the winter term. Of the training of the 'varsity eight it is not necessary to speak here at length. The signal fact is that the men are so well schooled in the stroke, and so accustomed to racing, that a season of eight weeks at Oxford and at Putney is enough to fit them to go over the four miles and a quarter between Putney and Mortlake with the best possible results. The race takes place in March, just after the close of the winter term. The series of races I have mentioned gives some idea of the scheme and scope of English boating, but it is by no means exhaustive. The strength of the boating spirit gives rise to no end of casual and incidental races. Chief among these are the coxswainless fours, which take place about the middle of the autumn term, while the trials are on the river. The crews are from the four or five chief boating colleges, and are made up largely from the men in the 'varsity trials. The races have no relation that I could discover to the 'varsity race; the only point is to find which college has the best four, and it is characteristic that merely for the sport of it the training of the 'varsity trials is interrupted. After the 'varsity race the members of the crew rest during what remains of the Easter vacation, and then take their places in the boats of their respective colleges. Here they are joined by the other trials men, the remaining members of last year's college eight, and the two or three men who have come up from the torpids. Now begins the liveliest season in boating. Every afternoon the river is clogged with eights rowing to Iffley or to Sandford, and the towing-path swarms with enthusiasts. The course in the May bumping races is a mile and a quarter long--the same as the course of the torpids--and the crews race over it every day for a week, with the exception of an intervening Sunday, each going up a place or down a place in the procession daily according as it bumps or is bumped. These races, from the point of view of the expert oarsman, are far less important than the 'varsity race; yet socially they are far more prominent, and the enthusiasm they arouse among the undergraduates is incomparable. The vitality of Oxford is in the colleges: the university organizations are the flowers of a very sturdy root and branch. [Illustration: THE LAST DAY OF THE BUMPING RACES OF THE SUMMER EIGHTS (1895)] The difference between American and English boating is that we lack the root and branches of the college system. In a university of from three to four thousand men there are, in addition to the 'varsity crew, four class crews and perhaps a few scratch crews. In England, each of the score of colleges, numbering on an average something like one hundred and fifty men apiece, mans innumerable fours, one or more eight-oared torpids, and the college eight. A simple calculation will show that with us one man in fifty to seventy goes in for the sport, while in England the proportion is one man in five to seven. The difference in spirit is as great as the difference in numbers. In America, the sole idea in athletics, as is proclaimed again and again, is to beat the rival team. No concession is made to the comfort or wholesomeness of the sport; men are induced to train by the excellent if somewhat grandiose sentiment that they owe it to the university to make every possible sacrifice of personal pleasure. Our class crews, which have long ceased to represent any real class rivalry, are maintained mainly in the hope of producing 'varsity material. The result of these two systems is curiously at variance with the intention. At Oxford, where rowing is very pleasant indeed, and where for the greater part of the year the main interest centres in college crews, the 'varsity reaches a high degree of perfection, and the oarsmen, without quite being aware of the fact, represent their university very creditably; while at Yale, and until recently at Harvard, the subsidiary crews have been comparative failures in producing material, and the 'varsity is in consequence somewhat in the position of an exotic, being kept alive merely by the stimulus of inter-varsity rivalry. The recent improvement at Harvard is due to Mr. Rudolph C. Lehmann, the celebrated Cambridge and Leander oar who coached the Harvard crews of 1897 and 1898, in the sportsmanlike endeavor to stimulate a broader and more expert interest in boating. His failure to bring either of the crews to victory, which to so many of us signified the utter failure of his mission, has had more than a sufficient compensation in the fact that he established at Harvard something like the English boating system. Anything strictly similar to the torpids and eights is of course out of the question, because we have no social basis such as the colleges afford for rivalry in boating; but the lack of colleges has in a measure been remedied by creating a factitious rivalry between improvised boating clubs, and the system of torpids and eights has been crudely imitated in the so-called graded crews. A season of preliminary racing has thus been established, on the basis of which the candidates for the 'varsity crew are now selected, so that instead of the nine months of slogging in the tank and on the river, in which the more nervous and highly organized candidates were likely to succumb and the stolid men to find a place in the boat, the eight is made up as at Oxford of those who have shown to best advantage in a series of spirited races. Crude as the new Harvard system is as compared with the English system, it has already created a true boating spirit, and has trained a large body of men in the established stroke, placing the sport at Harvard on a sounder basis than at any other American university. It has thus been of infinitely more advantage, by the potentiality of an example, than any number of victories at New London. To realize the full benefit of the system of graded crews and preliminary races, it is only necessary to supersede the arbitrary and meaningless division into clubs by organizations after the manner of English colleges which shall represent something definite in the general life of the university. III A LITTLE SCRIMMAGE WITH ENGLISH RUGBY The relationship between the colleges and the university exists in a greater or less degree in all sports. There is a series of matches among the leading colleges in cricket, and a "cup tie" in Association football. These sports are almost as popular as rowing, and have many excellences which it would be pleasant to point out and profitable perhaps to emulate; but it seems best to concentrate attention on the sports which are best understood in America, such as Rugby football and athletics. The workings of the college system may be most clearly seen in them, and the spirit of English sportsmanship most sympathetically appreciated. The rivalry between the Association and the Rugby games has made English football players quite unexpectedly sensitive to comparisons. I had scarcely set foot upon a Rugby field when I was confronted with the inevitable question as to English Rugby and American. I replied that from a hasty judgment the English game seemed haphazard and inconsequent. "We don't kill one another, if that's what you mean by 'inconsequent,'" my companion replied; and I soon found that a report that two players had been killed in the Thanksgiving Day match of the year before had never been contradicted in England. "That is the sport," my friend continued, "which Caspar Whitney says, in his 'Sporting Pilgrimage,' has improved English Rugby off the face of the earth!" The many striking differences between English and American Rugby arise out of the features of our game known as "possession of the ball" and "interference." In the early days of the American game, many of the most sacred English traditions were unknown, and the wording of the English rules proved in practice so far from explicit that it was not possible to discover what it meant, much less to enforce the rules. One of the traditions favored a certain comparative mildness of demeanor. The American players, on the contrary, favored a campaign of personal assault for which the general rules of the English scrummage lent marked facilities. It soon became necessary in America to line the men up in loose order facing each other, and to forbid violent personal contact until the actual running with the ball should begin. This clearly made it necessary that the sides should in turn put the ball in play, and consequently should alternately have possession of it. Under this arrangement, each side is in turn organized on the offensive and the defensive. The upshot of this was that the forwards, who in the parent English game have only an incidental connection with the running of the backs, become a part of each successive play, opening up the way for the progress of the ball. According to the English code, this made our forwards off-side, so that the rule had to be changed to fit the new practice. It then appeared that if the forwards could play ahead of the ball, the backs could do so too; and here you have the second great American feature. The result of "possession" of the ball and "interference" is an elaborate and almost military code of tactics unknown in the English game. In the course of time I had unusual facilities for observing English Rugby. During the Morrison wine which ended the season of tubbing on the river, the captain of the Balliol fifteen threw his arms about me, and besought me to play on the team. He had not a single three-quarters, he said, who could get out of his own way running. I pleaded an attack of rheumatism and ignorance of the game. He said it did not matter. "And I'm half blind," I added. "So am I," he interrupted, "but we'll both be all right in the morning." I said I referred to the fact that I was very near-sighted; but he took all excuses as a sign of resentment because he had failed to invite me to breakfast in my freshman term; he appeared to think it his duty to breakfast all possible candidates. Such are the courtesies of an English captain, and such are the informalities of English training. The next morning the captain wrote me that there was a match on against Merton, and asked me to come out a quarter of an hour before the rest for a little coaching. A quarter of an hour to learn to play football! In spite of the captain's predictions of the night before, I was not so sure that he was yet "all right;" so I went out to the porter's lodge and scanned the bulletin board. My name stared me in the face. I had scarcely time to take luncheon and don a pair of football shorts. The practice my coach gave me consisted in running the length of the field three or four times, passing the ball back and forth as we went. His instructions with regard to the game were equally simple. To keep in proper position I had only to watch my Merton _vis-à-vis_ and take a place symmetrical with his. When the enemy heeled the ball out of the "scrummage" to their quarter-back, putting us for the moment on the defensive, I was to watch my man, and, if the ball was passed to him, to tackle him. If he passed it before I could tackle him I was still to follow him, leaving the man who took the ball to be watched by my neighbor, in order that I might be on hand if my man received it again. An American back, when his side is on the defensive, is expected to keep his eye on his _vis-à-vis_ while the ball is being snapped back; but his main duty is to follow the ball. An English back under similar circumstances is expected only to follow his man. If our side happened to heel out the ball from the scrum and one of our three-quarters began to run with it, we were on the offensive, and the other three-quarters and I were to follow at his heels, so that when he was about to be tackled--"collared," the English say--he could pass it on to us. There is, as I have said, no such thing as combined "interference" among the backs. A player who gets between the man with the ball and the enemy's goal is rankly off-side. It is not to be understood that the captain coached all this information into me. I had to buttonhole him and pump it out word by word. Coaching of any sort is all but unknown on English football fields. What there is of the game is learned at school--or in the nursery! [Illustration: AN ENGLISH RUGBY LINE-UP To the left of the scrum, two half backs and six three-quarter backs face each other in pairs] When the opposing teams scattered over the field for the kick-off, I noticed with satisfaction that there was not a spectator on the grounds to embarrass me. It is so in almost all English college games--the fellows are more than likely to have sports of their own on, and anyway, what is the use in hanging round the fields where other fellows are having all the fun? On the kick-off, luckily, the ball did not come to my corner of the field, for I could scarcely have seen it, much less caught it. Our side returned the kick and the "scrum" formed. The nine forwards gathered compactly in a semi-ellipse, bent their bodies together in a horizontal plane, with their heads carefully tucked beneath the mass, and leaned against the opposing mass of forwards, who were similarly placed. When the two scrums were thoroughly compacted, the umpire tossed the ball on the ground beneath the opposing sets of legs, whereupon both sides began to struggle. The scrum in action looks like a huge tortoise with a score of legs at each end, which by some unaccountable freak of nature are struggling to walk in opposite directions. The sight is certainly awe-inspiring, and it was several days before I realized that it masked no abstrusely working tactics; there is little, if anything, in it beyond the obvious grunting and shoving. The backs faced each other in pairs ranged out on the side of the scrum that afforded the broader field for running. The legs in the Balliol scrum pushed harder and the bodies squirmed to more advantage, for our men had presently got the ball among their feet. They failed to hold it there, however, and it popped out into a half-back's hands. He passed it quickly to one of my companions at three-quarters, who dodged his man and ran toward the corner of the field. I followed, and just as the full-back collared him he passed the ball to me. Before I had taken three rheumatic strides I had two men hanging at my back; but when they brought me down, the ball was just beyond the line. The audience arose as one man--to wit, the referee, who had been squatting on the side lines--and shouted, "Played. Well played!" I had achieved universal fame. During the rest of the game the Balliol scrum, which was a very respectable affair of its kind, kept the ball to itself, while we backs cooled our heels. A few days later, in a game against Jesus, the scrums were more evenly matched, and the ball was heeled out oftener. I soon found that my eyes were not sharp enough to follow quick passing; and when, just before half-time, a punt came in my direction, I was horrified to see the ball multiply until it looked like a flock of balloons. As luck had it, I singled out the wrong balloon to catch. Jesus fell on the ball just as it bounced over the goal-line. In the second half the captain put one of the forwards in my place, and put me in the scrum. The play here was more lively, though scarcely more complex or difficult. Each forward stuck his head beneath the shoulders of the two men in front of him, grasped their waists, and then heaved, until, when the ball popped out of the scrum, the word came to dissolve. There were absolutely no regular positions; the man who was in the front centre of one scrummage might be in the outskirts of the next. On some teams, I found, by inquiry, a definite order is agreed on, but this is regarded as of doubtful advantage. When the umpire or a half-back tosses the ball into the scrummage, there are, at an ultimate analysis, four things that can happen. First, the two sides may struggle back and forth, carrying the ball on the ground at their feet; this play is called a "pack." Second, the stronger side may cleave the weaker, and run down the field, dribbling the ball yard by yard as they go, until either side picks it up for a run, or else drops on it and cries "down." Third, one side may be able to "screw the scrum," a manoeuvre which almost rises to the altitude of a "play." The captain shouts "Right!" or perhaps "Left!" and then his forwards push diagonally, instead of directly, against their opponents. The result is very like what we used to call a revolving wedge, except that, since the ball is carried on the ground, the play eventuates, when successful, in a scattering rush of forwards down the field, dribbling the ball at their feet, just as when the scrum has been cloven. The fourth possibility is that the side that gets the ball amongst its eighteen legs allows it to ooze out behind, or, if its backs are worthy of confidence, purposely heels it out. Thereupon results the play I have already described: one of the half-backs pounces upon it and passes it deftly to the three-quarters, who run with it down the field, if necessary passing it back and forth. In plays which involve passing or dribbling, English teams sometimes reach a very high degree of skill: few sights on the football field are more inspiring than to see a "combination" of players rush in open formation among their opponents, shifting the ball from one to another with such rapidity and accuracy as to elude all attempts to arrest it. As a whole, the game of the forwards is much more fun than that of the backs, though decidedly less attractive in the eyes of the spectators--a consideration of slight importance on an English field! [Illustration: THROWING IN THE BALL] Just as I began to get warmed to my new work I smashed my nose against the head of a Balliol man who was dodging back into the push. The captain told me that I need not finish the game; but as it is against the English rules to substitute players and we were still far from sure of winning, I kept to my grunting and shoving. At the end of the game the captain very politely gave me the hoof. This was just what I expected and deserved; but I was surprised to find that the fellows had objected to my playing the game through with a bloody nose. They would have preferred not to be bled upon. This regard for pleasantness and convenience, which to an American is odd enough, is characteristic even of 'varsity football. The slenderness of the preliminary training of a 'varsity fifteen is incredible to any American who has not witnessed it. To sift the candidates there is a freshman match and a senior match, with perhaps one or two "squashes"--that is to say, informal games--besides. And even these tests are largely a matter of form. Men are selected chiefly on their public school reputations or in consequence of good work on a college fifteen. The process of developing players, so familiar to us, is unknown. There is no coaching of any kind, as we understand the word. When a man has learned the game at his public school or in his college, he has learned it for all time, though he will, of course, improve by playing for the university. The need of concentrated practice is greatly lessened by the fact that the soft English winter allows as long a season of play as is desired. The team plays a game or two a week against the great club teams of England--Blackheath, Richmond, London Scottish, Cardiff, Newport, and Huddersfield--with perhaps a bit of informal kicking and punting between times. When the weather is too bad, it lays off entirely. All this does not conduce to the strenuousness of spirit Americans throw into their sports. In an inter-varsity match I saw the Oxford team which was fifty per cent. better allow itself to be shoved all over the field: it kept the game a tie only by the rarest good fortune. It transpired later that the gayeties of Brighton, whither the team had gone to put the finishing touches on its training, had been too much for it. In an American university such laxity would be thought the lowest depth of unmanliness, but I could not see that any one at Oxford really resented it; at most it was a subject for mild sarcasm. You can't expect a team to be in the push everywhere! This lack of thorough preparation is even more characteristic of the international teams--England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales--that yearly play for the championship of Great Britain. They are chosen from the most brilliant players in the leading clubs, and local jealousy makes the task of choosing most delicate. The temptation is to take a man or two impartially from each of the great fifteens. As the international teams take little or no practice as a whole, the tendency in the great games is to neglect the finer arts of dribbling and passing in combination--the arts for which each player was severally chosen--and revert to the primitive grunting and shoving. In the great games, accordingly, the team which is man for man inferior as regards the fine points may prevail by sheer strength, so that the result is liable to be most unsatisfactory. Some years ago, owing to local jealousy, the Welsh international had to be chosen mainly from a single club--with the result that it won the championship; and in 1901 the canny Scotch team won by intentionally selecting its members, in spite of local jealousy, on the score of their familiarity with one another's play. The very rules under which the game is played are calculated to moderate the struggle. As a result of the rule against substituting, to which I have referred, any extreme of hard play in the practice games, such as lays off dozens of good American players yearly, is not likely to be encouraged. Of course good men "crock," as they call it; but where an injury is practically certain to disqualify a man from the inter-varsity match, the football limp and the football patch can scarcely be regarded as the final grace of athletic manhood. Willful brutality is all but unknown; the seriousness of being disqualified abets the normal English inclination to play the game like a person of sense and good feeling. The physical effect of the sport is to make men erect, lithe, and sound. And the effect on the nervous system is similar. The worried, drawn features of the American player on the eve of a great contest are unknown. An Englishman could not understand how it has happened that American players have been given sulphonal during the last nights of training. English Rugby is first of all a sport, an exercise that brings manly powers into play; as Hamlet would say, the play's the thing. It is eminently an enjoyable pastime, pleasant to watch, and more pleasant to take part in. That our American game is past hoping for on the score of playability is by no means certain. As the historical critics of literature are fond of saying, a period of rapid development is always marked by flagrant excesses, and the development of modern American football has been of astonishing rapidity. Quite often the game of one season has been radically different from the games of all preceding seasons. This cannot continue always, for the number of possible variations is obviously limited, and when the limit is reached American Rugby will be, like English Rugby, the same old game year in and year out. Everybody, from the youngest prep. to the oldest grad., will know it and love it. The two vital points in which our game differs from the English--"possession of the ball" and "interference"--are both the occasion of vigorous handling of one's opponents. When an American player is tackled, he seldom dares to pass the ball for fear of losing possession of it, so that our rule is to tackle low and hard, in order to stop the ball sharply, and if possible to jar it out of the runner's grasp. In England, it is still fair play to grab a man by the ankle. This is partly because of the softness of the moist thick English turf; but more largely because, as passing is the rule, the tackler in nine cases out of ten aims at the ball. The result is that a man is seldom slammed to the earth as he would be in our game. It is this fact that enables the English player to go bare-kneed. The danger from interference in the American game is also considerable. When a man is blocked off, he is liable to be thrown violently upon the far from tender bosom of our November mother-earth. Any one familiar with the practice of an American eleven will remember the constant cry of the coaches: "Knock your man on the ground! Put him out of the play!" It has been truly enough said that the American game has exaggerated the most dangerous features of the two English games--the tackling of English Rugby and the "charging" or body-checking of the Association game. Yet this is only a partial statement of the case. These elements of possession of the ball and interference have raised our game incalculably above the English game as a martial contest. Whereas English Rugby has as yet advanced very little beyond its first principles of grunting and shoving, the American game has always been supreme as a school and a test of courage; and it has always tended, albeit with some excesses, toward an incomparably high degree of skill and strategy. Since American football is still in a state of transition, it is only fair to judge the two games by the norm to which they are severally tending. The Englishman has on the whole subordinated the elements of skill in combination to the pleasantness of the sport, while the American has somewhat sacrificed the playability of the game to his insatiate struggle for success and his inexhaustible ingenuity in achieving it. More than any other sport, Rugby football indicates the divergent lines along which the two nations are developing. By preferring either game a man expresses his preference for one side of the Atlantic over the other. IV TRACK AND FIELD ATHLETICS In track and field athletics, the pleasantness and informality of English methods of training reach a climax. In America we place the welfare of our teams in the hands of a professional trainer, who, through his aide-de-camp, the undergraduate captain, is apt to make the pursuit of victory pretty much a business. Every autumn newcomers are publicly informed that it is their duty to the university to train for the freshman scratch games. At Oxford, I was surprised to find, there was not only no call for candidates, but no trainer to whom to apply for aid. The nearest approach to it was the groundsman at the Iffley Running Grounds, a retired professional who stoked the boilers for the baths, rolled the cinder-path, and occasionally acted as "starter." As his "professional" reputation as a trainer was not at stake in the fortunes of the Oxford team, his attitude was humbly advisory. The president of the Athletic Club never came near the grounds, being busy with rowing on a 'varsity trial eight, and later with playing Association football for the university. To one accustomed to train not only for the glory of his alma mater but for the reputation of his trainer, the situation was uninspiring. As I might have expected, the impetus to train came from the college. I was rescued from a fit of depression by a college-mate, a German, who wanted some one to train with. At school he had run three miles in remarkable time; but later, when an officer in the German army, his horse had rolled over him at the finish of a steeple-chase, and the accident had knocked out his heart; so he was going to try to sprint. I advised him against all training, and the groundsman shook his head. Yet he was set upon showing the Englishmen in Balliol that a German could be a sportsman. This was no idle talk, as I found later, when he fainted in the bath after a fast hundred, and failed by no one knows how little of coming to. We were soon joined by a third Balliol man, a young Greek poet, whose name is familiar to all who are abreast of the latest literary movement at Athens. He was taking up with athletics because of his interest in the revival of the ancient glories of Greece. When I asked him what distance suited him best--whether he was a sprinter or a runner--he answered with the sweet reasonableness of the Hellenic nature that any distance would suit him that suited me. A motlier trio than we, I suppose, never scratched a cinder-path. Yet the fellows in our college seemed almost as interested as they were amused; and we soon found that even so learned a place as Balliol would have been glad to bolster its self-esteem by furnishing its quota of "running blues." What was lacking in the way of stimulus from the university was more than made up for by the spontaneous interest of the fellows in college. The rudimentary form of athletics is in meetings held by the separate colleges. These occur throughout the athletic season, namely, the autumn term and the winter term; and as hard on to a score of colleges give them, they come off pretty often. The prizes are sums of money placed with the Oxford jeweler, to be spent in his shop as the winners see fit. In America, the four classes, which are the only sources of athletic life independent of the university, are so moribund socially that it never occurs to them to get out on the track for a day's sport. It is true that we sometimes hold inter-class games, but the management of these is in the hands of the university; they are inspired solely by a very conscious attempt to develop new men, and to furnish the old ones with practice in racing. The vitality of the athletic spirits in the English colleges is witnessed by the fact that an Oxford college frequently meets a fit rival at Cambridge in a set of dual games just for the fun of it. The only bond between the numerous college meetings and the university sports is a single event in each, called a strangers' race, which is open to all comers. The purpose of these races is precisely that of our inter-class meetings--to give all promising athletes practice in competition. As the two prizes in each strangers' race average five pounds and thirty shillings respectively, the races are pretty efficient. Though the "blues" sometimes compete--Cross made his record of 1m. 54-2/5s. for the half mile in one of them--they generally abandon them to the new men of promise. While the president and the "blues" generally are rowing and playing football, the colleges thus automatically develop new material for the team. The climax of the athletic meetings of the autumn term is the freshman sports, held on two days, with a day's interval. The friends of the various contestants make up a far larger audience than one finds at similar sports in America; and a brass band plays while the races are on. The whole thing is decidedly inspiring; and for the first time one is brought face to face with the fact that there are inter-varsity games in store. When the winter term opens, bleak and rainy, the strangers' races bring out more upper classmen. By and by the "blues" themselves appear in sweater, muffler, and blazer, and "paddle" about the track to supple their muscles and regain disused racing strides. At the end of a fortnight I noticed a middle-aged gentleman with whom the prominent athletes conferred before and after each day's work. I soon found that he was Mr. C. N. Jackson, a don of Hertford College, who should always be remembered as the first hurdler to finish in even time. It is he who--save the mark--takes the place of our American trainers. At one of our large American universities about this time, as I afterwards learned, a very different scene was enacting. The trainer and the captain called a mass-meeting and collected a band of Mott Haven champions of the past to exhort the University to struggle free from athletic disgrace. Though the inter-varsity games were nearly four months in the future--instead of six or seven weeks as at Oxford--those ancient athletes aroused such enthusiasm that 268 men undertook the three months of indoor training. To one used to such exhortations, the Oxford indifference was as chilling as the weather we were all training in. Mr. Jackson seemed never to notice me; and how could I address him when he had not even asked me to save the university from disgrace? I was forced to the unheroic expedient of presenting a card of introduction. To my surprise, I found that he had been carefully watching my work from day to day, but had not felt justified in giving advice until I asked for it. Even during the final period of training, everything happened so pleasantly and naturally that I had none of the nervous qualms common among American athletes. At first I thought I missed the early morning walks our teams take daily, the companionship and jollity of the training-table, and the sense that the team was making a common sacrifice for an important end. Yet here, too, the college made up in a large measure for what I failed to find in the university. One of our eightsmen was training with a scrub four that was to row a crew of schoolboys at Winchester; and we had a little course of training of our own. Every morning we walked out for our dip to Parson's Pleasure, and breakfasted afterward beneath an ancient ivied window in the common room. In the pleasantness and quiet of those sunlit mornings, I began to realize that our training-table mirth, which is sometimes so boisterous, is in part at least due to intense excitement and overwrought nerves. And the notion of self-sacrifice, which appeals to us so deeply, seemed absurd where we were all training for the pleasure and wholesomeness of sport, and for the sake of a ribbon of blue. The interest the university took in our welfare became made manifest when the "first strings" were sent off to Brighton for the change in climate which all English teams require before great games. Some of the rest of us, who had nowhere else to go, went with them, but most of the men went home to train. The second string in the three miles stayed up at Oxford for commemoration, and joined us after three consecutive nights of dancing. He said that he found he needed staying up work. Every morning at Brighton the president made the round of our quarter of the hotel shortly before eight o'clock, and spoiled our waking naps to rout us out for our morning's walk, which included a plunge into the Channel. For breakfast, as indeed for all our meals, we had ordinary English fare, with the difference only that it was more abundant. On alternate days our training consisted in cross-country walks of ten or a dozen miles. Our favorite paths led along the chalk cliffs, and commanded a lordly view of the Channel. Sometimes, for the sake of variety, we went by train to the Devil's Dyke and tramped back over the downs, now crossing golf-links and now skirting cornfields ablaze with poppies. All this walking filled our lungs with the Brighton air, and by keeping our minds off our races, prevented worry. Sprinters and distance men walked together, though the sprinters usually turned back a mile or two before the rest. The rate prescribed was three and a half miles an hour; but our spirits rose so high that we had trouble in keeping it below five.[2] The training dinners furnished the really memorable hours of the day. A half-pint of "Burton bitter" was a necessity, and a pint merely rations. If one preferred, he might drink Burgundy _ad lib._, or Scotch and soda. After trials there was champagne. When I told the fellows that in America our relaxation consists in ice-cream for Sunday dinner, they set me down as a humorist. After dinner, instead of coffee and tobacco, we used to go out to the West Pier, which was a miniature Coney Island, and amuse ourselves with the various attractions. The favorite diversion was seeing the Beautiful Living Lady Cremated. The attraction was the showman, who used to give an elaborate oration in Lancashire brogue. Every word of it was funny, but especially the closing sentence: "The Greeks 'ad a ancient custom of porun' a liebation on the cinders of the departud, which custom, gentlemen, we omits." We used to laugh so heartily at this that the showman would join in, and even the beautiful living lady would snicker companionably, as she crawled away beneath the stage. If the reader is unable to see the fun of it, there is no help for him--except, perhaps, an English training dinner. The rest of the evenings we used to spend in strolling about among the crowd, breathing the salt air, and listening to the music. We did not lack companionship, for the Oxford and Cambridge cricket elevens were at Brighton, and the entire Cambridge athletic team. Many of the cricketers, and not a few of the Cambridge athletes--whom the Oxford men called "Cantabs," and sometimes even "Tabs"--paraded the place puffing bulldog pipes. The outward relationship between the rival teams was simply that of man to man. If one knew a Cambridge man he joined him, and introduced the fellows he happened to be walking with. One day the Cambridge president talked frankly about training, urging us to take long walks, and inviting us to go with his men. The only reason we did not go was that our day for walking happened to be different from theirs. The days on which we did our track work we spent largely in London, at the Queen's Club grounds, in order to get a general sense of the track and of the conditions under which the sports were to take place. Sometimes, however, we ran at Preston Park, on the outskirts of Brighton. On the day of the inter-varsity meeting, our team came together as a whole for the first time in the dressing-rooms of the Queen's Club. The fellows dropped in one by one, in frock coats, top hats, and with a general holiday air. The Oxford broad-jumper, who was the best man at the event in England, had been so busy playing cricket all season, and smoking his pipe with the other cricketers on the pier at Brighton, that he had not had time even to send to Oxford for his jumping-shoes. In borrowing a pair he explained that unless a fellow undertook the fag of thorough training, he could jump better without any practice. Our weight-thrower, a freshman, had surprised himself two days previously by making better puts than either of the Cambridge men had ever done; but as nobody had ever thought it worth while to coach him, he did not know how he had done it, and was naturally afraid he couldn't do it again. He showed that he was a freshman by appearing to care whether or not he did his best; but even his imagination failed to grasp the fact that the team which won was to have the privilege of meeting Yale in America. As it turned out, if either of these men had taken his event, Oxford, instead of Cambridge, would have met Yale. As I went out to start in my race, the question of half-sleeves which Englishmen require in all athletic contests was settled in my mind. The numberless seasonable gowns in the stands and the innumerable top hats ranged on all sides about the course made me feel as if I were at a lawn party rather than at an athletic meeting. I suffered as a girl suffers at her first evening party, or rather as one suffers in those terrible dreams where one faces the problem of maintaining his dignity in company while clad in a smile or so. Waiving the question of half-sleeves, I should have consented to run in pyjamas. In the race I had an experience which raised a question or two that still offer food for reflection. As my best distance--a half mile--was not included in the inter-varsity program, I ran in the mile as second string. There was a strong wind and the pace was pretty hot, even for the best of us, namely, the Cambridge first string, who had won the race the year before in 4 min. 19-4/5 sec.,--the fastest mile ever run in university games. As the English score in athletic games, only first places count, and on the second of the three laps I found myself debating whether it is not unnecessarily strenuous to force a desperate finish where the only question is how far a man can keep in front of the tail end. Several of the fellows had already dropped out in the quietest and most matter of fact manner; and as we were finishing the lap against the wind, I became a convert to the English code of sportsmanship. As the bunch drew away from me and turned into the easy going of the sheltered stretch, I was filled with envy of them, and with uncontrollable disgust at myself, the like of which I had never felt when beaten, however badly, after making a fair struggle. And when I saw them finishing against the hurricane, striding as if they were running upstairs, I felt the heroism of a desperate finish as I had never done before. It did not help matters when I realized that it was the last race I was ever to run. At the Sports' dinner that night at the Holborn Restaurant, I pocketed some of my disgust. The occasion was so happy that I remember wishing we might have something like it after our meetings at home, for good-fellowship chastens the pride of winning and gives dignity to honest defeat. There was homage for the victors and humorous sympathy for the vanquished. Light blue and dark blue applauded and poked fun at each other impartially. Sir Richard Webster, Q. C., now Lord Chief Justice, himself an old blue, presided at the dinner, and explained how it was that the performances of his day were really not to be sneezed at; and the young blues, receiving their prizes, looked happy and said nothing. After dinner, we divided into squads and went to the Empire Theatre of Varieties, Cantab locking arms with Oxonian. By supper time, at St. James', I was almost cheerful again. Yet the disgust of having quitted that race has never left me. The spirit of English sportsmanship will always seem to me very gracious and charming. As a nation, I think we can never be too thankful for the lesson our kinspeople have to teach us in sportsmanly moderation and in chivalry toward an opponent. But every man must draw his own line between the amenities of life and the austerities; and I know one American who hopes never again to quit a contest, even a contest in sport, until he has had the humble satisfaction of doing his best. V ENGLISH AND AMERICAN SPORTSMANSHIP The prevalence of out-of-door sports in England, and the amenity of the English sporting spirit, may be laid, I think, primarily, to the influence of climate. Through the long, temperate summer, all nature conspires to entice a man out of doors, while in America sunstroke is imminent. All day long the village greens in England are thronged with boys playing cricket in many-colored blazers, while every stream is dotted with boats of all sorts and descriptions; and in the evenings, long after the quick American twilight has shut down on the heated earth, the English horizon gives light for the recreations of those who have labored all day. In the winter the result is the same, though the cause is very different. Stupefying exhalations rise from the damp earth, and the livelong twilight that does for day forces a man back for good cheer upon mere animal spirits. In the English summer no normal man could resist the beckoning of the fields and the river. In the winter it is sweat, man, or die. It is perhaps because of the incessant call to be out of doors that Englishmen care so little to have their houses properly tempered. At my first dinner with the dons of my college, the company assembled about a huge sea-coal fire. On a rough calculation the coal it consumed, if used in one of our steam-heaters, would have heated the entire college to incandescence. As it was, its only effect seemed to be to draw an icy blast across our ankles from mediæval doors and windows that swept the fire bodily up the chimney, and left us shivering. One of the dons explained that an open fire has two supreme advantages: it is the most cheerful thing in life, and it insures thorough ventilation. I agreed with him heartily, warming one ankle in my palms, but demurred that in an American winter heat was as necessary as cheerfulness and ventilation. "But if one wears thick woolens," he replied, "the cold and draught are quite endurable. When you get too cold reading, put on your great-coat." I asked him what he did when he went out of doors. "I take off my great-coat. It is much warmer there, especially if one walks briskly." Some days later, when I went to dine with my tutor, my hostess apologized for the chill of the drawing-room. "It will presently be much warmer," she added; "I have always noticed that when you have sat in a room awhile, it gets warm from the heat of your bodies." She proved to be right. But when we went into the dining-room, we found it like a barn. She smiled with repeated reassurances. Again she proved right; but we had hardly tempered the frost when we had to shift again to the drawing-room, which by this time again required, so to speak, to be acclimated. Meanwhile my tutor, who was of a jocular turn of mind, diverted our thoughts from our suffering by ragging me about American steam heat, and forced me, to his infinite delight, to admit that we aim to keep our rooms warmed to sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit. Needless to say, this don was an athlete. As the winter wore away, I repeatedly saw him in Balliol hockey squashes, chasing the ball about with the agility of a terrier pup. At nightfall, no doubt, he returned to his wife and family prepared to heat any room in the house to the required temperature. Heaven forbid that I should resent the opprobrium Englishmen heap upon our steam heat! I merely wish to point out that the English have failed as signally as we, though for the opposite reason, in making their houses habitable in the winter, and that an Englishman is forced into athletics to resist the deadly stupefaction of a Boeotian climate, and to keep his house warm. In a sportsman it would be most ungracious to inveigh against English weather. The very qualities one instinctively curses make possible the full and varied development of outdoor games, which Americans admire without stint. Our football teams do day labor to get fit, and then, after a game or so, the sport is nipped in the bud. To teach our oarsmen the rudiments of the stroke we resort to months of the galley-slavery of tank-rowing. Our track athletes begin their season in the dead of winter with the dreary monotony of wooden dumb-bells and pulley-weights, while the baseball men are learning to slide for bases in the cage. In England the gymnasium is happily unknown. Winter and summer alike the sportsman lives beneath the skies, and the sports are so diverse and so widely cultivated that any man, whatever his mental or physical capacity, finds suitable exercise that is also recreation. It is because of this universality of athletic sports that English training is briefer and less severe. The American makes, and is forced to make, a long and tedious business of getting fit, whereas an Englishman has merely to exercise and sleep a trifle more than usual, and this only for a brief period. Our oarsmen work daily from January to July, about six months, or did so before Mr. Lehmann brought English ideas among us; the English 'varsity crews row together nine or ten weeks. Our football players slog daily for six or seven weeks; English teams seldom or never "practice," and play at most two matches a week. Our track athletes are in training at frequent intervals throughout the college year, and are often at the training-table six weeks; in England six weeks is the maximum period of training, and the men as a rule are given only three days a week of exercise on the cinder-track. To an American training is an abnormal condition; to an Englishman it is the consummation of the normal. The moderation of English training is powerfully abetted by a peculiarity of the climate. The very dullness and depression that make exercise imperative also make it impossible to sustain much of it. The clear, bright American sky--the sky that renders it difficult for us to take the same delight in Italy as an Englishman takes, and leads us to prefer Ruskin's descriptions to the reality--cheers the American athlete; and the crispness of the atmosphere and its extreme variability keeps his nerves alert. An English athlete would go hopelessly stale on work that would scarcely key an American up to his highest pitch. The effect of these differences on the temperament of the athlete is marked. The crispness and variety of our climate foster nervous vitality at the expense of physical vitality, while the equability of the English climate has the opposite effect. In all contests that require sustained effort--distance running and cross-country running, for example--we are in general far behind; while during the comparatively few years in which we have practiced athletic sports we have shown, on the whole, vastly superior form in all contests depending upon nervous energy--sprinting, hurdling, jumping, and weight-throwing. Because of these differences of climate and of temperament, no rigid comparisons can be made between English and American training; but it is probably true that English athletes tend to train too little. Mr. Horan, the president of the Cambridge team that ran against Yale at New Haven, said as much after a very careful study of American methods; but he was not convinced that our thoroughness is quite worth while. The law of diminishing returns, he said, applies to training as to other things, so that, after a certain point, very little is gained even for a great sacrifice of convenience and pleasantness. Our American athletes are twice as rigid in denying the spirit for an advantage, Mr. Horan admitted, of enough to win by. The remark is worth recording: it strikes the note of difference between English and American sportsmanship. After making all allowances for the conditions here and abroad that are merely accidental, one vital difference remains. For better or for worse, a sport is a sport to an Englishman, and whatever tends to make it anything else is not encouraged; as far as possible it is made pleasant, socially and physically. Contests are arranged without what American undergraduates call diplomacy; and they come off without jockeying. It is very seldom that an Englishman forgets that he is a man first and an athlete afterwards. Yet admirable as this quality is, it has its defects, at least to the transatlantic mind. Even more, perhaps, than others, Englishmen relish the joy of eating their hearts at the end of a contest, but they have no taste for the careful preparation that alone enables a man to fight out a finish to the best advantage. It is no doubt true, as the Duke of Wellington said, that the battle of Waterloo was won on the playing-fields of England; but for any inconsiderable sum I would agree to furnish a similar saying as to why the generals in South Africa ran into ambush after ambush. In America, sportsmanship is almost a religion. Fellows mortify the flesh for months and leave no means untried that may help to bring honor to their college; or if they don't, public opinion brings swift and sure retribution. It is true that this leads to excesses. Rivalries are so strong that undergraduates have been known to be more than politic in arranging matches with each other. So the graduate steps in to moderate the ardor of emulation, and often ends by keeping alive ancient animosities long after they would have been forgotten in the vanishing generations of undergraduates. The Harvard eleven wants to play the usual football game; but it is not allowed to, because a committee of graduates sees fit to snub Yale; the athletic team wants to accept a challenge from Oxford and Cambridge, but it is not allowed to because Pennsylvania, which is not challenged, has a better team, and it is the policy of the university (which has an eye to its graduate schools) to ingratiate sister institutions. In a word, the undergraduates are left to manage their studies while the faculty manages their pastimes. When a contest is finally on, excesses are rampant. Of occasional brutalities too much has perhaps been said; but more serious errors are unreproved. There is a tradition that it is the duty of all non-athletes to inspire the 'varsity teams by cheering the play from the side lines; and from time to time one reads leading articles in the college papers exhorting men to back the teams. The spectator is thus given an important part in every contest, and after a 'varsity match he is praised or blamed, together with the members of the team, according to his deserts. Yale may outplay Harvard, but if Harvard sufficiently out-cheers Yale she wins, and to the rooters belong the praise. In baseball games especially, a season's championship is not infrequently decided by the fact that the partisans of one side are more numerous, or for other reasons make more noise. These are serious excesses, and are worthy of the pen of the robustest reformer; but after all has been said they are incidents, and in the slow course of time are probably disappearing. The signal fact is that our young men do what they do with the diligence of enthusiasm, and with the devotion that inspires the highest courage. It is not unknown that, in the bitterness of failure, American athletes have burst into tears. When our English cousins hear of this they are apt to smile, and doubtless the practice is not altogether to be commended; but in the length and breadth of a man's experience there are only two or three things one would wish so humbly as the devotion that makes it possible. Such earnestness is the quintessence of Americanism, and is probably to be traced to the signal fact that in the struggle of life we all start with a fighting chance of coming out on top. Whatever the game, so long as it is treated as a game, nothing could be as wholesome as the spirit that tends to make our young men play it for all it is worth, to do everything that can be done to secure victory with personal honor. In later years, when these men stand for the honor of the larger alma mater, on the field of battle or in the routine of administration, it is not likely that they will altogether forget the virtues of their youth. The superiority of English sportsmanship arises, not from the spirit of the men, but from the breadth of the development of the sports, and this, climate aside, is the result of the division of the university into colleges. The average college of only a hundred and fifty men maintains two football teams--a Rugby fifteen and an Association eleven--an eight and two torpids, a cricket eleven, and a hockey eleven. Each college has also a set of athletic games yearly. If we add the men who play golf, lawn and court tennis, rackets and fives, who swim, box, wrestle, and who shoot on the ranges of the gun club, the total of men schooled in competition reaches eighty to one hundred. A simple calculation will show that when so many are exercising daily, few are left for spectators. Not a bench is prepared, nor even a plank laid on the spongy English turf, to stand between the hanger-on and pneumonia. A man's place is in the field of strife; to take part in athletic contests is almost as much a matter of course as to bathe. Of late years there has been a tendency in England to believe that the vigor of undergraduates--and of all Englishmen, for the matter of that--is in decadence. As regards their cultivation of sports at least, the reverse is true. Contests are more numerous now than ever, and are probably more earnestly waged. What is called English decadence is in reality the increasing superiority of England's rivals. Quite aside from the physical and moral benefit to the men engaged, this multiplication of contests has a striking effect in lessening the importance of winning or losing any particular one of them. It is more powerful than any other factor in keeping English sports free from the excesses that have so often characterized our sports. From time to time a voice is raised in America as of a prophet of despair demanding the abolition of inter-university contests. As yet the contests have not been abolished, and do not seem likely to be. Might it not be argued without impertinence that the best means of doing away with the excesses in question is not to have fewer contests, but more of them? If our universities were divided into residential units, corresponding roughly to the English colleges, the excesses in particular contests could scarcely fail to be mitigated; and what is perhaps of still higher importance, the great body of non-athletes would be brought directly under the influence of all those strong and fine traditions of undergraduate life which centre in the spirit of sportsmanship. NOTE. For a discussion of the influences of climate in international athletics, see Appendix II. FOOTNOTE: [2] For a note on the value of walking as a part of athletic training, see Appendix I. III THE COLLEGE AS AN EDUCATIONAL FORCE I THE PASSMAN In the educational life of Oxford, as in the social and athletic life, the distinctive feature, at least to the American mind, is the duality of organization in consequence of which an undergraduate is amenable first to his college and then to the university: the college teaches and the university examines. In America, so far as the undergraduate is concerned, the college and the university are identical: the instructor in each course of lectures is also the examiner. It follows from this that whereas in America the degree is awarded on the basis of many separate examinations--one in each of the sixteen or more "courses" which are necessary for the degree--in England it is awarded on the basis of a single examination. For three or four years the college tutor labors with his pupil, and the result of his labors is gauged by an examination, set and judged by the university. This system is characteristic of both Cambridge and Oxford, and for that matter, of all English education; and the details of its organization present many striking contrasts to American educational methods. Sir Isaac Newton's happy thought of having a big hole in his door for the cat and a little hole for the kitten must have first been held up to ridicule by an American. In England, the land of classes, it could hardly fail of full sympathy. In America there is but one hole of exit, though men differ in their proportions as they go out through it. In England there are passmen and classmen. To say that the passman is the kitten would not be altogether precise. He is rather a distinct species of undergraduate. More than that, he is the historic species, tracing his origin quite without break to the primal undergraduate of the Middle Ages. He is a tradition from the time when the fund of liberal knowledge was so small that the university undertook to serve it all up in a pint-pot to whoever might apply. The pint-pot still exists at Oxford; and though the increasing knowledge of nine centuries long ago overflowed its brim, the passman still holds it forth trustfully to his tutor. The tutor patiently mingles in it an elixir compounded of as many educational simples as possible, and then the passman presents it to the examiners, who smile and dub him Bachelor of Arts. After three years, if he is alive and pays the sum of twelve pounds, they dub him Master. The system for granting the pass degree is, in its broader outlines, the same as for all degrees. In the first examination--that for matriculation--it is identical for passmen and classmen. This examination is called "responsions," and is, like its name, of mediæval origin. It is the equivalent of the American entrance examination; but by one of the many paradoxes of Oxford life it was for centuries required to be taken after the pupil had been admitted into residence in one of the colleges. In the early Middle Ages the lack of preparatory schools made it necessary first to catch your undergraduate. It was not until the nineteenth century that a man could take an equivalent test before coming up, for example at a public school; but it is now fast becoming the rule to do so; and it is probable that all colleges will soon require an entrance examination. In this way two or three terms more of a student's residence are devoted to preparation for the two later and severer university tests. The subjects required for matriculation are easy enough, according to our standards. Candidates offer: (1) The whole of arithmetic, and either (_a_) elementary algebra as far as simple equations involving two unknown quantities, or (_b_) the first two books of Euclid; (2) Greek and Latin grammar, Latin prose composition, and prepared translation from one Greek and one Latin book. The passages for prepared translation are selected from six possible Greek authors and five possible Latin authors. The influence of English colonial expansion is evident in the fact that candidates who are not "European British subjects" may by special permission offer classical Sanskrit, Arabic, or Pali as a substitute for either Greek or Latin: the dark-skinned Orientals, who are so familiar a part of Oxford life, are not denied the right to study the classics of their native tongues. Thus the election of subjects is a well-recognized part of responsions, though the scope of the election does not extend to science and the modern languages. Once installed in the college and matriculated in the university, both passman and honor man are examined twice and twice only. The first public examination, more familiarly called "moderations," or "mods," takes place in the middle of an undergraduate's course. Here the passmen have only a single subject in common with the men seeking honors, namely, the examination in Holy Scripture, or the Rudiments of Faith and Religion, more familiarly called "Divinners," which is to say Divinities. The subject of the examination is the gospels of St. Luke and St. John in the Greek text; and either the Acts of the Apostles or the two books of Kings in the Revised Version. As in all Oxford examinations, cram-books abound containing a reprint of the questions put in recent examinations; and, as many of these questions recur from year to year, the student of Holy Scripture is advised to master them. A cram-book which came to my notice is entitled "The Undergraduate's Guide to the Rudiments of Faith and Religion," and contains, among other items of useful information: tables of the ten plagues; of the halting-places during the journey in the wilderness; of the twelve apostles; and of the seven deacons. The book recommends that the kings of Judah and Israel, the journeys of St. Paul, and the Thirty-nine Articles shall be committed to memory. The obviously pious author of this guide to the rudiments of these important accomplishments speaks thus cheerfully in his preface: "The compiler feels assured that if candidates will but follow the plan he has suggested, no candidate of even ordinary ability need have the least fear of failure." According to report, it is perhaps not so easy to acquire the rudiments of faith and religion. In a paper set some years ago, as one of the examiners informed me, a new and unexpected question was put: "Name the prophets and discriminate between the major and the minor." One astute passman wrote: "Far be it from me to make discriminations between these wise and holy men. The kings of Judah and Israel are as follows." Unless a man passes the examination, he has to take it again, and the fee to the examiner is one guinea. "This time I go through," exclaimed an often ploughed passman. "I need these guineas for cigars." Those who are not "European British subjects" may substitute certain sacred works in Sanskrit, Arabic, or Pali; and those who object for conscientious scruples to a study of the Bible may substitute the Phædo of Plato; but the sagacious undergraduate knows that if he does this he must have no conscientious scruples against harder work. In America there is no such examination, so far as I know. At Harvard an elective course in the history and literature of the Jews is given by the Semitic department; and if this does not insure success in acquiring the rudiments of faith and religion, it was, on one occasion at least, the means of redoubling the attendance at chapel. Just before the final examination, it transpired that the professor in charge of the course was conducting morning service, and was giving five minute summaries of Jewish history. For ten days the front pews were crowded with waistcoats of unwonted brilliance; the so-called sports who had taken the course as a snap were glad to grind it up under the very best auspices. Let me not be misunderstood. In the long run, the English undergraduates no doubt add greatly to their chances of spiritual edification. At the very least they gain a considerable knowledge of one of the great monuments of the world's literature. In America the Bible is much less read in families than in England, so that it would seem much more important to prescribe a course in Biblical history and literature. At one time Professor Child gave a course in Spenser and the English Bible, and is said to have been moved at times when reading before his classes to a truly Elizabethan access of tears. Some years before the great master died, he gave up the course in despair at the Biblical ignorance of his pupils. The usual Harvard undergraduate cannot name five of the prophets, with or without discrimination, or be certain of five of the kings of Judah. As I write this, I am painfully uncertain as to whether there were as many as five. But to return to our muttons. The remaining subjects for pass moderations are: (1) Portions of three classic authors, two Greek and one Latin, or two Latin and one Greek. The passages of each author to be studied are prescribed, but the candidate may elect, with certain slight limitations, from eight Greek and eight Latin authors "of the best age." As in the case of responsions and Holy Scripture, Sanskrit, Arabic, or Pali may be substituted for either Greek or Latin. The examination covers not only grammar and literature, but any question arising out of the text. Besides these are required: (2) Latin prose composition; (3) sight translation of Greek and Latin; and (4) either logic or the elements of geometry and algebra. The final pass examination allows a considerable range of election. Three general subjects must be offered. At least one of these must be chosen from the following: Greek, Latin, Sanskrit, Persian, German, and French. If a candidate wishes, he may choose two of his three subjects in ancient language, literature, and history, or in modern language, literature, history, and economics. The remaining one or two subjects may be chosen from a dozen courses ranging through the elements of mathematics, natural science, law, and theology. This range of choice is very different from that in America, in that a student is not permitted freely to elect subjects without reference to one another. For the pass degree, no considerable originality or grasp of the subject is necessary, any more than for an undistinguished degree in an American college; but the body of necessary facts is pretty sure to be well ordered, if not digested. The idea of grouping electives is the fundamental difference between English and American education. In the case of the honor man it will be seen to be of chief importance. In order to take the Oxford degree, it is further necessary to be in residence three years, and a man may reside four years before going up for his final examination. The period of study--or loafing--may be broken in various ways; and it is characteristic that though a man may anticipate his time and take his last examination before the last term of his third year, he is required to reside at the university, studies or no studies, until the minimum residence is completed. Nothing could indicate more clearly the importance which is attached to the merely social side of university life. It is, in fact, as a social being that the passman usually shines. You may know him most often from the fact that you sight him in the High by a waistcoat of many colors. At night he is apt to evade the statutes as to academicals; but if he wears his gown, he wraps it about his neck as if it were a muffler, and tilts his mortar-board at all angles. He is the genius of the fox terrier and the bulldog pipe; he rides to the hounds, and is apt in evading the vice-chancellor's regulations as to tandems and four-in-hands. Or perhaps he sits comfortably in his rooms discoursing lightly of the impious philosophies that are the studies of the classman, and writes Horatian verse for the "Isis" and the "Oxford Magazine." He does anything, in fact, that is well-bred, amusing, and not too strenuous. Curiously enough, it sometimes happens that he does sufficient reading on his own account to give him no little real culture. Of late there has been a reaction in favor of the pass school as affording a far better general education. If the passman loiters through the three or four years, it is mainly the fault--or the virtue--of the public school he comes from. Of late the best public schools have had so strong and admirable an influence that boys have often been kept in them by their parents until they reach the age limit, generally nineteen. By this time they have anticipated most of the studies required for a pass degree in the university, and find little or nothing to do when they go up but to evade their tutors and to "reside." It is by this means, as the satirist long ago explained, that Oxford has become an institution of such great learning. Every freshman brings to it a little knowledge and no graduate takes any away. There is reason in all this. In the first place, as I have said, the passman is the historical undergraduate, and little short of a convulsion could disestablish him--that is the best of British reasons. Moreover, to be scrupulously just, the passman knows quite as much as the American student who barely takes a degree by cramming a few hours with a venal tutor before each of his many examinations, and perhaps more than the larger proportion of German students who confine their serious interests to the duel and the Kneipe, and never graduate. And then, the Oxonian argues amiably, if it were not for the pass schools, the majority of the passmen would not come to Oxford at all, and would spend their impressionable period in some place of much less amenity. Clearly, they learn all that is necessary for a gentleman to know, and are perhaps kept from a great deal that is dangerous to young fellows with money and leisure. It means much to the aristocracy and nobility of England that, whatever their ambitions and capacities, they are encouraged by the pursuit of a not too elusive A.B. to stay four years in the university. Even the ambitious student profits by the arrangement. Wherever his future may lie, in the public service, in law, medicine, or even the church, it is of advantage to know men of birth and position--of far greater advantage, from the common sensible English point of view, than to have been educated in an atmosphere of studious enthusiasm and exact scholarship. II THE HONOR SCHOOLS The modern extension of the world's knowledge, with the corresponding advance in educational requirements, which are perhaps the most signal results of the nineteenth century, could not fail to exert a powerful influence on all university teaching. In the United States, the monument to its influence is the elective system. In England, it is the honor schools. Both countries felt the inadequacy of the antique pint-pot of learning. The democratic New World has not dreamed of making a sharp distinction between the indifferent and the ambitious. Under the lead of the scientific spirit of the German universities, it has placed the noblest branches of human knowledge on a par with the least twig of science. With characteristic conservatism England kept the old pint-pot for the unscholarly, to whom its contents are still of value, though extending its scope to suit the changing spirit of the age; and for those who felt the new ambitions it made new pint-pots, each one of which should contain the essence gathered from a separate field of learning. The new pint-pots are the honor schools, and the children of the new ambition are the honor men. The honor schools of Oxford are eight in number. Here again the English conservatism is evident. The oldest of them, literæ humaniores, which was at first the only honor school, has for its subject-matter a thorough view of classical language, literature, and thought. It is an _édition de luxe_ of the old pass school. Because of the nobility of its proportions, it is familiarly called "greats," and it justifies its name by enrolling almost half of all Oxford candidates for the honor degree. An overwhelming majority of famous Oxford graduates have taken their degree in "greats." The other schools are sometimes known as the minor schools. Mathematics was originally a part of the school in literæ humaniores, but was soon made into a separate school. Since then schools have been established in six new subjects--natural science, jurisprudence, modern history, theology, Oriental studies, and English. Under our elective system, a student continues through his four years, choosing each year at random, or as the fates decree, this, that, or the other brief "course." Under the honor system a man decides sooner or later which one of the several branches he most desires, and sets out to master it. An Oxford man's decision may be made at the outset; but far the larger number of men defer the choice. They do this by reading for moderations, for pass moderations as well as honor mods may be followed by an honor school at finals. The subject-matter for honor mods is, roughly speaking, the same as for pass mods--the classics and kindred studies; but the field covered is considerably more extended, and to take a high class the student is required to exhibit in his examination papers no little grasp of the subjects as a whole, and if possible to develop his own individuality in the process. Having done with moderations, an honor man is forced to choose a final school. The logical sequence of honor mods is literæ humaniores; but one may choose instead modern history, theology, Oriental studies, or English. The men who commit themselves to a choice at the outset are those who go in for science or jurisprudence. These men begin by reading for a form of moderations known as science preliminaries or jurisprudence preliminaries. The exact sequence of examinations is fixed only by common sense. The school of history is open to those who have taken pass mods, and even to those who have taken the jurisprudence preliminary, though mods is usually preferred in order to give a man the use of the necessary languages. If a science man's chief work is to be in astronomy or physics, which require some mathematics, he may take the mathematical mods, and devote only the second half of his course to science. Even after a man has chosen his subject and begun to work on it with his tutor, there is considerable range of election. As classical mods are supposed to cover all the subjects essential to polite education, election is mainly a question as to the ancient authors read. If a man knows what final school he is to enter, he may choose his authors accordingly. Thus, a history man chooses the ancient historians; a man who intends to enter the school in English literature, the ancient poets and dramatists. In addition to such authors, all candidates for classical mods choose, according to their future needs, one of four subjects: the history of classical literature, comparative classical philology, classical archæology, and logic. The preliminary examinations in natural science and in jurisprudence are concerned with a general view of the field, and thus do not admit of much variation, whatever the branch to be pursued later; and the same is true of mathematical moderations. A man who chooses any one of these three honor schools has made the great choice of bidding good-by to the classics. In the final schools the range of choice is greater than at moderations, and is greater in some schools than in others. Literæ humaniores offers the least scope for election. The reason is that the subject-matter is a synthetic view of the classic world entire. Still, in so vast a field, a student perforce selects, laying emphasis on those aspects of the ancient world which he considers (or which he expects the examining board to consider) of most interest and importance. It has been objected even at Oxford that such a course of study gives a student little or no training in exact scholarship. The examination statutes accordingly give a choice of one among no less than forty special subjects, the original sources of which a man may thresh out anew in the hope of adding his iota to the field of science; and, on six months' notice, a student may, under approval, select a subject of his own. The unimportance of this part of the "greats" curriculum is evident in the fact that it is recommended, not required. The history school requires the student to cover the constitutional and political history of England entire, political science and economy, with economic history, constitutional law, and political and descriptive geography. It also requires a special subject "carefully studied with reference to the original authorities," and a period of general history. If a student does not aim at a first or second class at graduation, he may omit certain parts of all this. In any case, he has to choose from the general history of the modern world one special period for a more detailed examination. In the school of natural science, the student, after filling in the broad outlines of the subject for his preliminary, must choose for his final examination one of the following seven subjects: physics, chemistry, animal physiology, zoölogy, botany, geology, and astronomy. Besides the written examination, a "practical" examination of three hours is required to show the student's ability at laboratory work. These three honor schools are the most important, and may be regarded as representative. After a man has taken one honor degree, for example, in literæ humaniores, he may take another, for example, in modern history. He then becomes a double honor man, and if he has got a first class in both schools, he is a "double first." In America, the election of studies goes by fragmentary subjects, and the degree is awarded for passing some four such subjects a year, the whole number being as disconnected, even chaotic, as the student pleases or as chance decrees. In England, the degree is granted for final proficiency in a coherent and well-balanced course of study; but within this not unreasonable limit there is the utmost freedom of election. The student first chooses what honor school he shall pursue, and then chooses the general lines along which he shall pursue it. III THE TUTOR In preparing for his two "public examinations," the pupil is solely in the hands of a college tutor. Any familiar account of the Oxford don is apt to make him appear to the American, and especially to the German mind, a sufficiently humble person. His first duty is the very unprofessional one of making newcomers welcome. He invites his pupils to breakfast and to dinner, and introduces them to their fellows so that they shall enter easily into the life of the college; he tells them to go in for one or another of the various undergraduate activities. As a teacher, moreover, his position is strikingly similar to that of the venal tutors in our universities, who amiably keep lame ducks from halting, and temper the frost of the examination period to gilded grasshoppers. It is all this that makes the American scholar so apt to smile at the tutor, and the German, perhaps, to sniff. The tutor is not easily put down. If he replies with anything more than a British silence, it is to say that after all education cannot be quite dissociated from a man's life among his fellows. And then there is the best of all English reasons why the tutor should think well of his vocation: it is approved by custom and tradition. Newman, Pusey, Jowett, Pater, Stubbs, Lang, and many such were tutors, and they thought it well worth while to spend the better part of each day with their pupils. Homely as are the primary duties of the tutor, it is none the less necessary that certain information should be imparted. The shadow of the examiners looms across the path twice in the three or four years of an undergraduate's life. There is no dodging it: in order to get a degree, certain papers must be written and well written. Here is where the real dignity of the tutor resides, the attribute that distinguishes him from all German and American teachers. He is responsible to the college that his pupils shall acquit themselves well before the examiners,--that the reputation of the college shall be maintained. By the same token, the examiners are responsible to the university that its degrees shall be justly awarded, so that the course of education in England is a struggle of tutor against examiner. In Germany and in America, an instructor is expected to be a master of his subject; he may be or may not be--and usually is not--a teacher. In England, a tutor may be a scholar, and often is not. His success is measured first and foremost by the excellence of the papers his pupils write. Is Donkin of Balliol a good tutor? Well, rather, he has got more firsts than any don in Oxford; by which is meant of course that his pupils have got the firsts. A college is rated partly by its number of blues and partly by its number of firsts. For a tutor to lead his pupils to success is as sacred a duty as for an athletic undergraduate to play for the university. The leisurely, not to say loafing, tutor of eighteenth-century tradition has been reformed out of existence. If the modern tutor fails of any high attainment as a scholar, it is mainly because he is required to be a very lively, strenuous, and efficient leader of youth. The means by which the tutor conducts his charges in the narrow path to success in the schools are characteristic. The secret lies in gaining the good-will of the pupil. Thus any breakfasts, luncheons, and dinners that the hospitable tutor gives to his pupils while they are learning the ways of the place are bread cast upon the waters in a very literal sense. For a decent fellow to neglect the just wishes of a teacher to whom he is indebted is easy enough on occasions; but systematically to shirk a genuine debt of gratitude without losing caste with one's self requires supreme ingenuity. If you don't want to get into the clutches of your tutor, don't take the least chance of getting to like him. This is the soundest advice ever given by the wary upper classman. It has not been ordained by nature that the soul of the teacher is sib to the soul of the taught, but clearly, by exercising the humanities, the irrepressible conflict may be kept within bounds. Sometimes harsher measures are necessary. Then a man is sent up to the Head of the college, which is not at all a promotion. One fellow used to tell a story of how Jowett, the quondam master of Balliol, chastised him. When he reported, the Master was writing, and merely paused to say: "Sit down, Mr. Barnes, you are working with Mr. Donkin, are you not?" The culprit said he was, and sat down. Jowett wrote on, page after page, while the undergraduate fidgeted. Finally Jowett looked up and remarked: "Mr. Donkin says you are not. Good-morning." After that the undergraduate was more inclined to work with Mr. Donkin. For graver offenses a man is imprisoned within the paradise behind the college walls--"gated," the term is. One fellow I knew--a third year man who roomed out of college--was obliged to lodge in the rooms of the dean, Mr. J. L. Strachan Davidson. The two turned out excellent friends. No one could be altogether objectionable, the undergraduate explained, whose whiskey and tobacco were as good as the dean's. In extreme cases a man may be sent down, but if this happens, he must either have the most unfortunate of dispositions, or the skin of a rhinoceros against tact and kindness. It is by similar means that the don maintains his intellectual ascendency. Nothing is more foreign to Oxford than an assumption of pedagogic authority. Mr. Hilaire Belloc, who is now not unknown in London as a man of letters, used to tell of a memorable encounter with Jowett. Mr. Belloc was holding forth in his vein of excellent enthusiasm with regard to his countrymen. For a long time Jowett listened with courteously qualified assent, but finally said: "Mr. Belloc, do you know the inscription which is said to stand above the gate to Hell?" Mr. Belloc was ready with the familiar line from Dante. "No, Mr. Belloc, _Ici on parle français_." The oratory of even a president of the Oxford Union broke down in laughter. Under such a system a mutual confidence increases day by day between teacher and taught, which may end in a comradeship more intimate than that between father and son. Our universities are fast adopting the German or pseudo-German idea that an advanced education consists merely in mastering the subject one may choose to pursue. The point of departure is the "course." If we gain the acquaintance of Lowell or Longfellow, Agassiz, Child, or Norton, we have to thank our lucky stars. In England, the social relationship is the basis of the system of instruction. IV READING FOR EXAMINATIONS How easy is the course of Oxford discipline on the whole is evident in the regulations as to the times for taking the examinations. The earliest date when a man may go up for moderations is his fifth term after matriculation. As there are four terms a year, this earliest date falls at the outset of his second year. For a passman there is apparently no time beyond which it is forbidden to take mods, or finals either. An honor man may repeat his attempts at mods until eight terms are gone--two full and pleasant years; that is, he may take mods in any of three terms--almost an entire year. For finals he may go up as early as his eleventh term, and as late as his sixteenth--giving a latitude of more than a year. If he wishes to take a final examination in a second subject, he may do so up to his twentieth term. Clearly, the pupil's work is done without pressure other than the personal influence of the tutor. When an American student fails to pass his examinations on the hour, he is disclassed and put on probation, the penalty of which is that he cannot play on any of the athletic teams. On this point, at least, the Oxford system of discipline is not the less childish of the two. As to the nature of the work done, it is aptly expressed in the Oxford term, "reading." The aim is not merely to acquire facts. From week to week the tutor is apt to meet his pupils, and especially the less forward ones, in familiar conversation, often over a cup of tea and a cigarette. He listens to the report of what the pupil has lately been reading, asks questions to see how thoroughly he has comprehended it, and advises him as to what to read next. When there are several pupils present, the conference becomes general, and thus of greater advantage to all. In the discussions that arise, opposing views are balanced, phrases are struck out and fixed in mind, and the sum of the pupil's knowledge is given order and consistency. The best tutors consciously aim at such a result, for it makes all the difference between a brilliant and a dull examination paper, and the examiners highly value this difference. The staple of tutorial instruction is lectures. In the old days the colleges were mutually exclusive units, each doing the entire work of instruction for its pupils. This arrangement was obviously wasteful, in that it presupposed a complete and adequate teaching force in each of the twenty colleges. Latterly, a system of "intercollegiate lectures" has been devised, under which a tutor lectures only on his best subjects and welcomes pupils from other colleges. These intercollegiate tutorial lectures are quite like lecture courses at an American college, except that they are not used as a means of police regulation. Attendance is not compulsory, and there are no examinations. A man issues from the walls of his college for booty, and comes back with what he thinks he can profit by. The importance of the university examinations is thus proportionate to their rarity. The examiners are chosen from the best available members of the teaching force of the university; they are paid a very considerable salary, and the term of service is of considerable length. The preparation for the examination, at least as regards honor men, has a significance impossible under our system. Matters of fact are regarded mainly as determining whether a man shall or shall not get his degree; the class he receives--there are four classes--depends on his grasp of facts and upon the aptitude of his way of writing. No man can get either a first or a second class whose knowledge has not been assimilated into his vitals, and who has not attained in some considerable degree the art of expression in language. One of the incidents of reading is a set of examinations set by the colleges severally. They take place three times a year, at the end of each term, and are called collections--apparently from the fact that at this time certain college fees used to be collected from the students. The papers are set by the dons, and as is the case with all tutorial exercises, the results have nothing at all to do with the class a man receives in the public examinations--mods and finals. I was surprised to find that it was rather the rule to crib; and my inquiries disclosed a very characteristic state of affairs. One man, who was as honorable in all respects as most fellows, related how he had been caught cribbing. His tutor took the crib and examined it carefully. "Quite right," he said. "In fact, excellent. Don't be at any pains to conceal it. By the finals, of course, you will have to carry all these things in your head; at present, all we want to know is how well you can write an examination paper." The emphasis as to the necessity of knowing how to write was quite as genuine as the sarcasm. These examinations have a further interest to Americans. They are probably a debased survival of examinations which in centuries past were a police regulation to test a student's diligence, and thus had some such relation to a degree as our hour examinations, midyears, and finals. In other words, they suggest a future utility for our present midyears and finals, if ever a genuine honor examination is made requisite for an American honor degree. For the greater part of his course, an undergraduate's reading is by no means portentous. It was Dr. Johnson, if I am not mistaken, whose aim was "five good hours a day." At Oxford, this is the maximum which even a solid reading man requires of himself. During term time most men do much less, for here is another of the endlessly diverting Oxford paradoxes: passman and classman alike aim to do most of their reading in vacations. As usual, a kernel of common sense may be found. If the climate of England is as little favorable to a strenuous intellectual life as it is to strenuous athleticisms, the climate of Oxford is the climate of England to the _n_th power. A man's intellectual machinery works better at home in the country. And even as the necessity of relaxation is greater at Oxford, so is the chance of having fun and of making good friends--of growing used to the ways of the world of men. The months at the university are the heyday of life. The home friends and the home sports are the same yesterday and forever. The university clearly recognizes all this. It rigidly requires a man to reside at Oxford a certain definite time before graduation; but how and when he studies and is examined, it leaves to his own free choice. A man reads enough at Oxford to keep in the current of tutorial instruction, and to get on the trail of the books to be wrestled with in vacation. V THE EXAMINATION When mods and finals approach, the tune is altered. Weeks and months together the fellows dig and dig, morning, noon, and night. All sport and recreation is now regarded only as sustaining the vital forces for the ordeal. Sometimes, in despair at the distractions of Oxford life, knots of fellow sufferers form reading parties, gain permission to take a house together in the country, and draw up a code of terrible penalties against the man who suggests a turn at whist, the forbidden cup, or a trip to town. From the simplest tutorial cram-book to the profoundest available monograph, no page is left unturned. And this is only half. The motto of Squeers is altered. When a man knows a thing, he goes and writes it. Passages apt for quotation are learned by rote; phrases are polished until they are luminous; periods are premeditated; paragraphs and sections prevised. An apt epigram turns up in talk or in reading--the wary student jots it down, polishes it to a point, and keeps it in ambush to dart it at this or that possible question. One man I knew was electrified with Chaucer's description of the Sergeant of the Law,-- No wher so bisy a man as he ther nas, And yet he semed bisier than he was;-- and fell into despair because he could not think of any historical personage in his subject-matter to whom it might aptly apply. On the other hand, there was Alfred the Great, whose character was sure to be asked for. Did I know any line of Chaucer that would hit off Alfred the Great? So unusual to quote Chaucer. All this sort of thing has, of course, its limits. In the last days of preparation, the brains are few that do not reel under their weight of sudden knowledge; the minds are rare that are not dazzled by their own unaccustomed brilliance. The superlatively trained athlete knocks off for a day or two before an important contest--and perhaps has a dash at the flesh-pots by way of relaxing tension from the snapping point. So does the over-read examinee. He goes home to his sisters and his aunts, and to all the soothing wholesomeness of English country life. And then that terrible week of incessant examinations! All the facts and any degree of style will fail to save a man unless he has every resource ready at command. No athletic contest, perhaps no battle, could be a severer test of courage. Life does not depend upon the examination, but a living may. In America, degrees are more and more despised; but in England, it still pays to disarrange the alphabet at the end of one's name, or to let it be known to a prospective employer that one is a first-class honor man. The nature of the young graduate's employment and his salary too have a pretty close correspondence with his class at graduation. If he can add a blue to a first, the world is his oyster. The magnitude of the issue makes the examinee--or breaks him. Brilliant and laborious students too often come off with a bare third, and happy audacity has as often brought the careless a first. It may seem that the ordeal is unnecessarily severe; but even here the reason may be found, if it be only granted that the aim of a university is to turn out capable men. The honor examination requires some knowledge, more address, and most of all pluck--pluck or be plucked, as the Cambridge phrase is; and these things in this order are what count in the life of the British Empire. VI OXFORD QUALITIES AND THEIR DEFECTS Under the German-American system, the main end is scholarly training. Our graduates are apt to have the Socratic virtue of knowing how little they know--and perhaps not much besides. Even for the scholar this knowledge is not all. Though the English undergraduate is not taught to read manuscripts and decipher inscriptions--to trace out knowledge in its sources--the examination system gives him the breadth of view and mental grasp which are the only safe foundations of scholarship. If he contributes to science, he usually does so after he has left the university. The qualities which then distinguish him are rare among scholars--sound common sense and catholicity of judgment. Such qualities, for instance, enabled an Oxford classical first to recognize Schliemann's greatness while yet the German universities could only see that he was not an orthodox researcher according to their standards. If a man were bent on obtaining the best possible scholarly training, he probably could not do better than to take an English B. A. and then a German or an American Ph.D. As for the world of deeds and of men, the knowledge which is power is that which is combined with address and pluck; and the English system seems based on practical sense, in that it lays chief stress on producing this rare combination. To attribute to the honor schools the success with which Englishmen have solved the problems of civic government and colonial administration would be to ignore a multitude of contributory causes; but the honor schools are highly characteristic of the English system, and are responsible for no small part of its success. A striking illustration of this may be seen in the part which the periodical press plays in public affairs. In America, nothing is rarer than a writer who combines broad information with the power of clear and convincing expression. The editor of any serious American publication will bear me out in the observation that, notwithstanding the multitude of topics of the deepest and most vital interest, it is difficult to find any one to treat them adequately; and any reader can satisfy himself on this point by comparing the best of our periodicals with the leading English reviews. Now the writing of a review article requires nothing more nor less than the writing of a first-class examination paper, even to the element of pluck; for to marshal the full forces of the mind in the pressure of public life or of journalism requires self-command in a very high degree. The same thing is as obvious in the daily papers. The world is filled with English newspaper men who combine with reportorial training the power of treating a subject briefly and tellingly in its broadest relations. The public advantage of this was not long ago very aptly exemplified. When our late war suddenly brought us face to face with the fact that our national destiny had encountered the destinies of the great nations of the world, the most thoughtful people were those who felt most doubt and uncertainty; the more one considered, the less could one say just what he thought. At that crisis a very clear note was sounded. The London correspondents of our papers--Englishmen, and for the most part honor men--presented the issue to us from British and imperialistic point of view with a vigor and conviction that had immediate effect, as we all remember, and gave the larger part of the nation a new view of the crisis, and a new name for it. It was not until weeks later that our own most thoughtful writers as a body perceived the essential difference between our position and that of Great Britain, and we have scarcely yet discarded the word "imperialism." The knowledge, address, and pluck--or shall we call it audacity?--of the English correspondents enabled them to make a stroke of state policy. This is only one of many citable instances. To the robustious intelligence of the honor man, it must be admitted, the finer enthusiasm of scientific culture is likely to be a sealed book. The whole system of education is against it. Even if a student is possessed by the zeal for research, few tutors, in their pursuit of firsts, scruple to discourage it. "That is an extremely interesting point, but it will not count for schools." One student in a discussion with his tutor quoted a novel opinion of Schwegler's, and was confuted with the remark, "Yes, but that is the German view." It is this tutor who is reported to have remarked: "What I like about my subject is that when you know it you know it, and there's an end of it." His subject was that tangle of falsehood and misconception called history. It must, of course, be remembered in extenuation that with all his social and tutorial duties, the don is very hard worked. And considering the pressure of the necessary preparation for schools, the temptation to shun the byways is very great. The examining board for each school is elected by the entire faculty of that school from its own members; and though it is scarcely possible for an unscrupulous examiner to frame the questions to suit his own pupils, there is nothing to prevent the tutor from framing his pupils' knowledge to meet the presumptive demands of the examiners. "We shall have to pay particular attention to Scottish history, for Scotus is on the board, and that is his hobby." In the school of literæ humaniores, no one expects either pupil or tutor to go far into textual criticism, philology, or archæology. These branches are considered only as regards their results. In history, a special subject has to be studied with reference to its original sources, but its relative importance is small, and a student is discouraged from spending much time on it. Stubbs's "Select Charters" are the only original documents required, and even with regard to these all conclusions are cut and dried. To be sure there is a science school, but few men elect it, and it is in distinctly bad odor. In the slang of the university it is known as "stinks," and its laboratories as "stink shops." One must admit that its unpopularity is deserved. As it is impossible that each of the twenty colleges should have complete apparatus, the laboratories are maintained by the university, and not well maintained, for the wealth of Oxford is mainly in the coffers of the colleges. The whole end of laboratory work at Oxford is to prepare the student for a "practical examination" of some three hours. The Linacre professor has made many strenuous efforts, and has delivered much pointed criticism, but he has not yet been able to place the school on a modern or a rational basis. In his nostrils, perhaps, more than those of the university, the school of science is unsavory. Many subjects of the highest practical importance are entirely ignored. No advanced instruction is offered in modern languages and literatures except English, and the school in English is only six years old and very small. No one of the technical branches that are coming to be so prominent a part of American university life is as yet recognized. The Oxford honor first knows what he knows and sometimes he knows more. Few things are as distressing as the sciolism of a second-rate English editor of a classic. The mint sauce quite forgets that it is not Lamb. The English minor reviewer exhibits the pride of intellect in its purest form. The don perhaps intensifies these amiable foibles. There is an epigram current in Oxford which the summer guide will tell you Jowett wrote to celebrate his own attainments:-- Here I am, my name is Jowett; I am the master of Balliol College. All there is to know, I know it. What I know not is not knowledge. This is clearly a satire written against Jowett, and it would be more clearly a legitimate satire if aimed at the generality of dons. VII THE UNIVERSITY AND REFORM This tale of Oxford shortcomings is no news to the English radical. The regeneration of the university has long been advocated. On the one hand, the reformers have tried to make it possible, as it was in the Middle Ages, to live and study at Oxford without being attached to any of the colleges; on the other, they have tried to bring into the educational system such modern subjects and methods of study as are cultivated in Germany, where the new branches have been so admirably grafted on the mediæval trunk. In general it must be said that Oxford is becoming more democratic and even more studious; but the advance has come in spite of the constitution of the university. All studied attempts at reform have proved almost ludicrously futile. In order to combat the monopoly of the colleges, and to build up a body of more serious students without their walls, a new order of "unattached" students was created. The experiment has no doubt been interesting, but it cannot be said that it has revived the glorious democracy and the intellectual enthusiasm of the mediæval university. Few things could be lonelier, or more profitless intellectually, than the lot of the unattached students. Excluded by the force of circumstances from the life of the colleges, they have no more real life of their own than the socially unaffiliated in American universities. They have been forced to imitate the organization of the colleges. They lunch and dine one another as best they can, hold yearly a set of athletic games, and place a boat in the college bumping races. They have thus come to be precisely like any of the colleges, except that they have none of the felicities, social or intellectual, that come from life within walls. From time to time the introduction of new honor schools is proposed to keep pace with modern learning. A long-standing agitation in favor of a school in modern languages was compromised by the founding of the school in English; but it is not yet downed, and before the century is over may yet rise to smite conservatism. Coupled with this there is an ever-increasing desire to cultivate research. As yet these agitations have had about as much effect as the kindred agitation that led to the rehabilitation of the unattached student. The Bodleian Library is a treasure chest of the rarest of old books and of unexplored documents; but nothing in the Bod counts for schools, and so the shadow of an undergraduate darkens the door only when he is showing off the university to his sisters--and to other fellows'. When I applied for permission to read, the fact that I wore a commoner's gown, as I was required to by statute while reading there, almost excluded me. If I had been after knowledge useful in the schools, no doubt I should have been obliged to consult a choice collection of well-approved books across the way in the camera of the Radcliffe. In America, a serious student is welcome to range in the stack, and to take such books as he needs to his own rooms. Some few researchers come to the Bodleian from the world without to spend halcyon days beneath the brave old timber roof of Duke Humphrey's Library; but any one used to the freedom of books in America would find very little encouragement to do so. The librarian is probably an eminently serviceable man according to the traditions of the Bodleian; but there are times when he appears to be a grudging autocrat intrenched behind antique rules and regulations. In the Middle Ages it was the custom to chain the books to the shelves, as one may still observe in the quaint old library of Merton College. The modern method at the Bodleian would seem to be a refinement on the custom. And what is not known about the Bodleian in the Bodleian would fill a library almost as large. In the picture gallery hangs a Van Dyck portrait of William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, a former chancellor of the university, a nephew of Sir Philip Sydney, son of Mary, Countess of Pembroke, and the once reputed patron to whom Shakespeare addressed the first series of his sonnets. The librarian did not know how or when the portrait came into the possession of the University, or whether it was an original; and not being required to know by statute, he did not care to find out, and did not find out. The crowning absurdity of the educational system is the professors, and here is an Oxford paradox as yet unredeemed by a glimmering of reason. When I wanted assistance as to a thesis on which I was working, my tutor referred me to the Regius Professor of Modern History, who he thought would be more likely than any one else to know about the sources of Elizabethan literature. Few as are the professors, they are all too many for the needs of Oxford. They are learned and ardent scholars, many of them with a full measure of German training in addition to Oxford culture. But in proportion as they are wise and able they are lifted out of the life of the university. They lecture, to be sure, in the schools; and now and then an undergraduate evades his tutor long enough to hear them. Several young women may be found at their feet--students from Somerville and Lady Margaret. When the subject and the lecturer are popular, residents of the town drop in. But as regards the great mass of undergraduates, wisdom crieth in the streets. The professors are as effectually shelved as ever their learned books will be when the twentieth century is dust. "The university, it is true," Mr. Brodrick admits in his "History of Oxford," "has yet to harmonize many conflicting elements which mar the symmetry of its institutions." This torpor in which the university lies is no mere matter of accident. I quote from Mr. Gladstone's Romanes Lecture, delivered in 1892:-- "The chief dangers before the English universities are probably two: one that in [cultivating?] research, considered as apart from their teaching office, they should relax and consequently dwindle [as teachers?]; the other that, under pressure from without, they should lean, if ever so little, to that theory of education, which would have it to construct machines of so many horse power rather than to form character, and to rear into true excellence the marvelous creature we call man; which gloats upon success in life, instead of studying to secure that the man shall ever be greater than his work, and never bounded by it, but that his eye shall boldly run-- Along the line of limitless desire." Few will question the necessity of rising above the sphere of mere science and commercialism; but many will question whether the way to rise is not rather by mastering the genius of the century than by ignoring it. It is scarcely too much to say that the greatest intellectual movement of the nineteenth century, though largely the work of English scientists, has left no mark on Oxford education. If, as Professor Von Holst asserts, the American universities are hybrids, Oxford and Cambridge cannot be called universities at all. VIII THE UNIVERSITY AND THE PEOPLE As a result of the narrowness of the scope of Oxford teaching, the university has no relation to the industrial life of the people--a grave shortcoming in a nation which is not unwilling to be known as a nation of shopkeepers. The wail of the British tradesman is not unfamiliar. Wares "made in Germany" undersell English wares that used to command the market; and being often made of a cheaper grade to suit the demands of purchasers, the phrase "made in Germany" is clearly indicative of fraudulent intention. Certain instances are exceptionally galling. Aniline dyes were first manufactured from the residuum of coal tar in Great Britain. But enterprising Germany, which has coal-fields of its own, sent apprentices to England who learned the manufacture, and then by means of the chemistry taught in the German universities, revolutionized the process, and discovered how to extract new colors from the coal tar, so that now the bulk of aniline dyes are made in Germany. Obviously, the German chemist is a perfidious person. The Yankee is shrewd and well taught in the technical professions. He makes new and quite unexampled tools, and machinery of all sorts. It takes the Briton some years to be sure that these are not iniquitous--a Yankee trick; but in the end he adopts them. Even then, to the Briton's surprise, the Yankee competes successfully. A commission (no German spy) is sent to America to find out why, and on its return gleefully reports that the Yankee works his tools at a ruinous rate, driving them so hard that in a decade it will be necessary to reëquip his plant entire. At the end of the decade, the conservative Englishman's tools are as good as if they had been kept in cotton batting; but by this time the Yankee has invented newer and more economical devices, and when he reëquips his plant with them he is able to undersell the English producer even more signally. The honest British manufacturer sells his old tools to an unsuspecting brother in trade and adopts the new ones. The Yankee machinist is obviously as perfidious as the German chemist. The upper middle classes in England realize that the destinies of Great Britain and America run together, and they are very hospitable to Americans, but the industrial population hate us scarcely less than they hate the Germans. All this is, of course, not directly chargeable to the English universities: but the fact remains that in Germany and in America the educational system is the most powerful ally of industry. Here again the English radical is on his guard. From time to time, in letters to the daily papers or political speeches before industrial audiences, the case is very clearly stated. In a recent epistolary agitation in "The Times" it was shown that whereas American and German business men learn foreign languages, Englishmen attempt to sell their wares by means of interpreters, and do not even have their pamphlets and prospectuses translated. Admitting the facts, one gentleman gravely urged that if only the English would stick out the fight, their language would soon be the business language of the world. If it is the conscious purpose of the nation to make it so, it might be of advantage to spell the language as it has been pronounced in the centuries since Chaucer; already with some such purpose the Germans are adopting Roman characters. But at least it will be many decades before English is the Volapük of business, and meantime England is losing ground. From the point of view of the mere outsider, it would seem of little moment to England what language is used, if the profits of the business transacted accrue to Russian, German, and American corporations. It has even been strongly urged that commercial and technical subjects be taught in the universities. Cambridge and the University of Glasgow have already a fund with this in view; and the new Midland University at Birmingham, of which Mr. Joseph Chamberlain is chancellor, is to be mainly devoted to commercial science and engineering. It cannot be foretold that the ancient universities will hold their own against the modern. In a speech at Birmingham (January 17, 1901), Mr. Chamberlain said: "Finance is the crux of the situation. Upon our finance depends entirely the extent to which we shall be able to develop this new experiment. With us, in fact, money is the root of all good. I am very glad to say that the promises of donations which, when I last addressed you, amounted to £330,000, have risen since then to an estimated amount of about £410,000.... Now £410,000 is a large sum. I heard the other day that the University of Cambridge, which has for some time past been appealing for further assistance, has only up to the present time received £60,000. I most deeply regret that their fund is not larger, and I regret also that ours is so small." Oxford has apparently not entered the new competition even in a half-hearted manner. For centuries it has been the resort of the nobility and aristocracy, the "governing classes," and though the spirit of the age has so far invaded it as to have been in Mr. Gladstone's eyes its chief danger, the university has as yet only the slenderest connection with the industrial life of the nation. The virtues of the Oxford educational system, like those of the social and athletic life, are pretty clearly traceable in the main to the division of the university into colleges; at least, it is hard to see how anything other than this could have suggested the idea of having one body to teach the student and another to examine him. And they have a strong family likeness one to another, the concrete result being a highly sturdy and effective character. But the educational system differs from the social and athletic system in that the defects of its qualities are the more vigorous. As far as these defects result from the educational system, they are chargeable not so much to the preponderance of the colleges as to the torpor of the university; and they are powerfully abetted by the Oxford tradition as to the nature and function of a liberal education. This has not always been the case at Oxford. To understand the situation more clearly, it is necessary to review in brief the origin and the growth of the colleges, and the extinction of the mediæval university. This will throw further light on Oxford's social history. We shall thus be better able to judge how and to what extent the college system offers a solution for the correction of our American instruction. IV THE HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSITY AND THE COLLEGE I THE UNIVERSITY BEFORE THE COLLEGE In the beginning was the university. The colleges were as unimportant as the university is now. If it be admitted that the university exists to-day, they were less important; for there were no colleges. The origin of the university was probably due to a migration of students in 1167 from the then world-famous University of Paris. The first definite mention of a _studium generale_ at Oxford, or assembly of masters of the different faculties, dates from 1185, when Giraldus Cambrensis, as he himself relates, read his new work, "Topographia Hibernia," before the citizens and scholars of the town, and entertained in his hostel "all the doctors of the different faculties." At this time, and for many centuries afterward, Oxford, like other mediæval universities, was a guild, and was not unlike the trade guilds of the time. Its object was to train and give titles to those who dealt in the arts and professions. The master tanner was trained by his guild to make leather, and he made it; the master of arts was trained by the university to teach, and he taught. He was required to rent rooms in the university schools, for a year and even two, and to show that he deserved his title of master by lecturing in them, and conducting "disputations." The masters lived directly from the contributions of their hearers, their means varying with the popularity of their lectures; and the students were mainly poor clerks, who sought degrees for their money value. The lectures were mere dictations from manuscript, necessitated by the lack of accessible texts. The students copied the lectures verbatim for future study. The instruction in arts covered the entire field of secular knowledge, the "seven arts," the trivium (grammar, rhetoric, and logic or dialectic), and the quadrivium (music, arithmetic, geometry, and astronomy). The lectures were the main and often the only means of imparting knowledge. The disputations were scholastic arguments--debates--on some set question, and were conducted by the masters. They were the practical application of what the student had learned from the lectures, and were the chief means of intellectual training. Besides attending lectures and disputing, the candidate for the degree had to pass an examination; but the great test of his acquirement seems to have been the skill with which he used his knowledge in debate. Thus the formal disputations occupied very much the same place as the modern written examinations, and they must have required very much the same rare combination of knowledge, address, and pluck. All learning was in a pint-pot; but it was a very serviceable pint-pot. The university education did not make a man above the work of the world: it made him an engine of so many horse power to perform it. It brought him benefices in that great sphere of activity, the mediæval Church, and important posts in that other sphere of mediæval statecraft, which was so often identified with the Church. If the clerk was above the carpenter, it was not because he came from a different station in life, for he often did not: it was because his work was more important. And he was far above the carpenter. It was a strenuous, glorious life, and the man of intelligence and training found his level, which is the highest. The kings and the nobility were warriors, and may have affected to despise education; but they were far from despising educated men. The machinery of state was organized and controlled by clerks from the university. If the scientific and mechanical professions had existed then, there is no doubt that they would not have been despised as to-day, but would have had full recognition. Socially, the university was chaos. In the absence of colleges, all the students lived with the townsmen in "chamberdekyns," which appear to be etymologically and historically the forbears of the "diggings" to which the fourth year man now retreats when he has been routed from college by incoming freshmen and by the necessity of reading for his final examination. But such discipline as is now exerted over out-of-college students was undreamed of. In his interesting and profoundly scholarly history of the universities of the Middle Ages, the Rev. Hastings Rashdall gives a vivid picture of mediæval student life, which was pretty much the same in all the universities of Europe. Boys went up to the university at as early an age as thirteen, and the average freshman could not have been older than fifteen; yet they were allowed almost absolute liberty. Drunkenness was rarely treated as a university offense; and for introducing suspicious women into his rooms, it was only on being repeatedly caught that an undergraduate was disciplined. At the University of Ingolstadt, a student who had killed another in a drunken quarrel had his scholastic effects and garments confiscated by the university. He may have been warned to be good in future, but he was not expelled. "It is satisfactory to add," Rashdall continues, "that at Prague, a Master of Arts, believed to have assisted in cutting the throat of a Friar Bishop, was actually expelled." The body of undergraduates was "an undisciplined student-horde." Hende Nicholas, in Chaucer's "Miller's Tale," is, it must be admitted, a lively and adventuring youth; but he might have been much livelier without being untrue to student life in chamberdekyns. The townspeople seem to have been the not unnatural fathers of the tradesmen and landlords of modern Oxford; and the likeness is well borne out in the matter of charges. But where to-day a man sometimes tries amiably to beat down the landlord's prices, the way of the Middle Ages was to beat down the landlord. As the student was in many cases of the same station in life as the townsman, he naturally failed to command the servility with which the modern undergraduate is regarded. Both sides used to gird on their armor, and meet in battles that began in bloodshed and often ended in death. Pages of Rashdall's history are filled with accounts of savage encounters between town and gown, which are of importance historically as showing the steps by which the university achieved the anomalous legal dominance over the city which it still in some measure retains. For our present purpose, it is enough to note that mediæval Oxford was unruly, very. "Fighting," says Rashdall, "was perpetually going on in the streets of Oxford.... There is probably not a single yard of ground in any part of the classic High Street that lies between St. Martin's and St. Mary's [almost a quarter of a mile] which has not at one time or other been stained with human blood. There are historic battlefields on which less has been spilt." As if this were not enough, there were civil feuds. In the Middle Ages, sectional differences were more obvious and more important than now; and the first subdivision of the universities, both in England and on the Continent, was by "nations." At Oxford there were two nations; and if, when the north countryman rubbed elbows with the south countryman, he was offended by his silken gown and soft vowels, he rapped him across the pate. Hence more strife and bloodshed. Amid all this disorder there was a full measure of mediæval want and misery. At best, the student of moderate means led a precarious life; and poor students, shivering, homeless, and starved, lived by the still reputable art of the beggar. Something had to be done. II THE MEDIÆVAL HALL The mediæval spirit of organization, which resulted in so many noble and deathless institutions, was not slow in exerting itself against the social chaos of the university. Out of chaos grew the halls, and out of the halls the colleges. The first permanent organizations of student life were small, and had their origin in the immediate wants of the individual. To gain the economy of coöperation and the safety of numbers, the students at Oxford, as at Paris and elsewhere, began to live in separate small colonies under one roof. These were called aulæ or halls. They were no less interesting in themselves than for the fact that they were the germ out of which the Oxford college system grew. At first the halls appear to have been mere chance associations. Each had a principal who managed its affairs; but the principal had no official status, and might even be an undergraduate. The halls correspond roughly to the fraternities of American college life. Their internal rule was absolutely democratic. The students lived together by mutual consent under laws of their own framing, and under a principal of their own electing. They were quite without fear or favor of the university. The principal's duties were to lease the hall, to be a sort of over-steward of it, and to lead in enforcing the self-imposed rules of the community. His term of office, like his election, depended on the good-will of his fellows; if he made himself disliked, they were quite at liberty to take up residence elsewhere. In the thirteenth century there was really no such thing as university discipline. The men who lived in the halls came and went as they pleased, and were as free as their contemporary in chamberdekyns to loiter, quarrel, and carouse. Chaucer's "Reeve's Tale" gives us a glimpse into "Soler Halle at Cantebregge," from which it would appear that the members were quite as loose and free as Hende Nicholas, their Oxford contemporary. But the liberty was an organized liberty. In contrast with the chaos of the life of the students in chamberdekyns, the early halls must have been brave places to work and to play in, and one might wish that a fuller record had been left of the life in them. It was their fate to be obscured by the greater splendor and permanence of the colleges to which they paved the way. III THE COLLEGE SYSTEM The English college, roughly speaking, is a mediæval hall supported by a permanent fund which the socii or fellows administer. The first fund for the support of scholars was bequeathed in 1243, but it can scarcely be regarded as marking the first college, for it provided for two scholars only, and these lived where they pleased. In 1249 William of Durham bequeathed a fund for the support of ten or more masters of arts. At first these also lived apart; it was only in 1280, after the type of the English college had been fixed, that they were formed into the body now known as University College. The first organized community at Oxford was founded by Sir John de Balliol some little time before 1266; but the allowances to the scholars, as was the case in colleges of the University of Paris, after which it was doubtless modeled, were not from a permanent fund, being paid annually by the founder. Balliol cannot therefore be regarded as the first characteristic English college. It was not until 1282 that Sir John's widow, Dervorguilla, adopted the new English idea by making the endowment of the "House of Balliol" permanent, and placing it under the management of the fellows. The real founder of the English college was Walter de Merton. In 1264 Walter provided by endowment for the permanent maintenance of twenty scholars, who were to live together in a hall as a community; and in 1274 he drew up the statutes which fix the type of the earliest English college. The principal of Merton was not, like the principal of a mediæval hall, the temporary head of a chance community, but a permanent head with established power; and he had to manage, not the periodic contributions of free associates, but a landed estate held in permanent trust. He was called "warden," a title which the head of Merton retains to this day. This idea of a body supported in a permanent residence by a permanent fund is perhaps of monastic origin, and was accompanied by certain features of brotherhood rule. The scholars lived a life of order and seclusion which was in striking contrast to the life of the students in chamberdekyns, and even of those in the halls. But with the monastic order they had also the monastic democracy, so that in one way the government of the college was strikingly similar to that of the halls. Vacancies in the community were filled by coöptation, and the warden was elected by the thirteen senior fellows from their own number. Though partly monastic in constitution, the Hall of Merton was not properly a religious body. The fellows took no vows, and seem rather to have been expected to enter lay callings. This College of Merton was the result of a gradual development of the hall along monastic lines--a lay brotherhood of students. It was destined to work a revolution in English university life and in English university teaching. The constitutions of University and Balliol were, as I have indicated, remodeled on the lines of Merton; and other colleges were founded as follows: Exeter, 1314; Oriel, 1324; Queens, 1341; and Canterbury, now extinct, 1362, most of which were profoundly influenced by the constitution of Merton. [Illustration: NEW COLLEGE CLOISTERS, BELL TOWER, AND CHAPEL] It was at first no part of the duty of the elders (socii, or, as Chaucer calls them, felawes) to teach the younger. The scholars of the college received the regular mediæval education in the university. But even in Merton the germ of tutorial instruction was present. Twelve "parvuli" who were not old enough, or sufficiently used to the Latin tongue, to profit by the lectures and disputations of the university, lived in or near the colleges and were taught by a grammar master; and it appears that even the older scholars might, "without blushing," consult this grammar master on matters that "pertained to his faculty." In his relation to these older students the grammar master may be regarded as the precursor of the system of tutorial instruction. The first college to develop regular undergraduate instruction within its walls was "S. Marie College of Winchester in Oxford," founded in 1379, by William of Wykeham. "S. Marie's" brought in so many innovations that it came to be called "New College," a title which, incongruously enough, it has retained for more than five hundred years. Wykeham's first innovation was to place the grammar master, for the greater good of his pupils, at the head of a "college" of seventy boys at Winchester, thus outlining the English system of public schools. New College was accordingly able to exclude all who had not attained the ripe age of fifteen. The effect of this innovation on the college was peculiar. When the boys came up from Winchester, they appear to have been farther advanced than most of the undergraduates attending lectures and disputes in the university schools; in any case, Wykeham arranged that the older fellows should supplement the university teaching by private tuition within the college. Little by little the New College type succeeded that of Merton. Magdalen College, founded in 1448, carried the tutorial system to its logical end by endowing lectureships in theology, metaphysics, and natural philosophy. The older colleges--those of the Merton type--little by little followed this new example, so that by the end of the Middle Ages it was possible for a student to receive his entire instruction within the walls of his college. In Wolsey's splendid foundation, Cardinal College (1522), now styled Christ Church, there was a still more ample endowment for professorships. At first the college instruction was regarded as supplementary to the university teaching, though it soon became far more important. The masters of the university continued to read lectures on the recognized subjects, living as of old on fees from those who chose to listen; but they were clearly unable to compete with the endowed tutors and professors of the colleges. By the beginning of the fifteenth century, the mediæval teaching master was disappearing. The only real teaching in arts--by all odds the most popular branch of study at Oxford--was given within the colleges and halls. The discipline of the earlier colleges was much severer than that of to-day, but the difference is one of degree rather than of kind. The lectures in schools began at six, instead of nine; and at any hour it was forbidden to leave the college except on a studious errand. When attending out-of-college lectures, all scholars were required to go and come in a body; and in one set of statutes even a chaplain was forbidden to leave the gates, except to go to lectures or to the library, without taking at least one companion, who, in the antique phrase of the statute, was to be a "witness of his honest conversation." There were only two meals a day, dinner at ten and supper at five. Breakfast, now the great rallying-point of Oxford hospitality, was the invention of a more luxurious age. Of athletics there was none, or next to none. The only licensed hilarities were certain so-called "honest jokes," with which the tutors were in at least one case required to regale their pupils after dinner, and a "potation" which was permitted after supper, perhaps as an offset to the "honest jokes." [Illustration: NEW COLLEGE GARDENS Showing the mediæval wall of Oxford] The severity of these regulations is mainly explainable in the fact that the inmates of the colleges were fed, clothed, and housed out of the endowment, and might thus be reasonably expected to give a good account of themselves. Furthermore, they were most of them mere boys. A statute dating as late as 1527 requires that "scholars" shall be at least twelve years old. At fourteen or fifteen a scholar might become a fellow. The average age of "determining" as bachelor of arts was little if at all over seventeen. At nineteen, the age at which the modern Oxonian comes up from the public schools, the mediæval student might, if he were clever, be a master of arts, lecturing and disputing in schools for the benefit of the bachelors and scholars of the university. The modern Oxonian delights to tell visiting friends that he is forbidden by statute to play marbles on the steps of the Bodleian, and to roll hoop in the High; but if a mediæval master of arts were to "come up" to-day, he would be amused, not that so many rules framed for his boyish pupils of old should be applied to grown men, but that the men so obviously require a check to juvenile exuberance. Yet this much has been gained, that the outgrown restrictions of college life have kept Oxford wholesomely young. The survivals of the monastic system meanwhile have kept it wholesomely democratic. After the colleges reached their full development, the extinction of the mediæval university as an institution for teaching was largely a matter of form. The quietus was given in 1569. The Earl of Leicester, then chancellor, ordered that the government should be in the hands of the chancellor, doctors, proctors, and the heads of the colleges and halls. In 1636 (the year of the founding of the first American college) the statutes of the university were revised and codified by Archbishop Laud; the sole authority was placed in the hands of an oligarchy composed of the leading dons of the colleges. The government was limited to the vice-chancellor, the proctors, and the heads of houses, and the vice-chancellor and the proctors were elected in sequence by each of the colleges from its own members. The teaching of the university was now legally as well as actually in the hands of the college tutors, and the examination was in the hands of a board chosen by the colleges. University lectures were still delivered in the schools by the regent masters, but they had ceased to play any important part in Oxford education. IV THE GOLDEN AGE OF THE MEDIÆVAL HALL Like the colleges, the halls meanwhile tended gradually towards an organized community life. The starting-point was a regulation that the principal should give the university security for the rent of the house. The logical result of this was that the principal became the representative of the university, and the hall one of its recognized institutions. The advantage of living in separate communities meantime had become so clearly evident that by the middle of the fifteenth century chamberdekyns were abolished. All students not living in a college were required to live in a hall. It was thus that the halls lost some of their democratic independence. At this period in their development they may be roughly compared to such modern American halls as Claverly at Harvard, where the residents govern their own affairs in the main, admitting newcomers only by vote, but are all alike subject to the authority of a resident university proctor. The analogy is by no means close, for the principal of the mediæval hall was not so much a resident policeman as the actual head of the community. As the colleges developed tutorial instruction, the halls followed suit; the local administrator became responsible not only for the social régime, but for the tuition of the undergraduates. The halls thus differed from the college mainly in that they had no corporate existence such as is necessary to an endowed institution. The mediæval hall was now in its golden age; it was a well-conceived instrument for all the purposes of residence and of education. It is especially to be noted that the régime of the community was still in the main democratic. Though the head was appointed by the university, he had to be accepted by vote of the undergraduates, a provision that was still observed, at least in one instance, until the close of the nineteenth century. The discipline of the halls of the fifteenth century, severe though it was by comparison with that of the earliest halls, was far less severe than the discipline in the colleges. It was quite as much as the university could accomplish, according to Rashdall, "to prevent students expelled from one hall being welcomed at another, to prevent the masters themselves condoning or sharing the worst excesses of their pupils, to compel fairly regular attendance at lectures and other university or college exercises, to require all students to return home by curfew at 8 or 9 P.M., to get the outer doors of the pedagogy locked till morning, and to insist on the presence of a regent throughout the night." When the early habits of the community generally are remembered, it will be evident that these regulations still allowed a vast deal of liberty, or rather of license. Boys of fifteen or sixteen living in the very centre of large and densely populated towns were in general perfectly free to roam about the streets up to the hour at which all respectable citizens were accustomed, if not actually compelled by town statutes, to retire to bed. The halls were reduced in number by the wars of the Roses and by a period of intellectual stagnation that followed, but they still numbered seventy-one, as against eighteen colleges (including those maintained by monasteries, which disappeared with the Reformation); and the number of their students is estimated at seven hundred, as against three hundred in the colleges. In the light of subsequent development it seems probable that it would have been far better for the university if the halls had remained the characteristic subdivision. Their fate was decided not by any inherent superiority on the part of the colleges, but by the force of corporate wealth. Even in the fifteenth century, the halls were tending to pass into the possession of the colleges, and later events made the tendency a fact. "As stars lose their light when the sun ariseth," says an ancient Cambridge worthy, "so all these hostels decayed by degrees when endowed colleges began to appear." The Reformation, and a recurrent pestilence, "the sweating sickness," a kind of inflammatory rheumatism due apparently to the unwholesome situation of the university, resulted in a sharp falling off in the number of students. The colleges lived on, however thinned their ranks, by virtue of the endowments; but the halls disappeared with the students who had frequented them. In 1526 it was recorded that sixteen had lately been abandoned. When the numbers of the university swelled again under Elizabeth, the increase found place partly in the few halls that were left, but mainly in the colleges. In 1602 there were only eight halls, and these were all mere dependencies of separate colleges. "_Singulæ singulis a colegiis pendent_," as a contemporary expresses it. Only one of these, St. Edmund Hall, now retains even a show of the old democratic independence, and this has lately been brought into closer subjection to Queen's College. Socially as well as educationally, the mediæval university faded before the organization and endowment of the colleges. The life of Oxford was concentrated in a dozen or more separate institutions, and so thoroughly concentrated that there was little association, intellectual or social, between any two of them. V THE ORIGIN OF THE MODERN UNDERGRADUATE If the tutors of New College were epoch-making, the amplitude and splendor of its social life were no less so. Its original buildings are in such perfect preservation that it is hard to believe that they are almost the oldest in Oxford, and that the New College quadrangle is the father of all quads. The establishment of the "head" was of similar dignity. The master of Balliol received forty shillings yearly; the warden of New College, forty pounds. In the statutes of an old Cambridge college we find it required that since it would be "indecent" for the master to go afoot, and "scandalous" to the college for him to "conducere hackeneye," he might be allowed one horse. The warden of New College had a coach and six. As century followed century the value of the endowments increased, and the scale of living was proportionately raised. The colleges in general became the home of comfort, and sometimes of a very positive luxury. In the colleges of the Middle Ages the students were the _socii_, and were maintained by the endowment. These are the dons and foundationers, or scholarship men, of to-day. But the comfort and order of the life in the colleges were very attractive, and the sons of the rich were early welcomed as "gentlemen commoners," precursors of the modern "commoners." The statutes of Magdalen make the first clear provision for receiving and teaching such "non-foundation" students. They permit the admission of twenty _filii nobilium_ as _commensales_, or commoners, in the vernacular. At first these were few and unimportant; in the centuries during which the numbers of the university were at an ebb, they could easily be accommodated within the depleted colleges. When the university increased under Elizabeth, the idea of living in halls in the mediæval fashion, as we have seen, was obsolescent, so that the result of the increase was to enlarge the colleges. Thus, largely as a matter of chance, the commoners of to-day, the characteristic and by far the larger part of the undergraduate body, live under a régime invented for the endowed scholars of the Middle Ages, and the democratic license of the mediæval undergraduate at large has given way to a democratic rule of commoners in colleges. Though the commoner is no longer called a gentleman commoner, he is more than likely to come from a family of position and means, for the comfort of life in the colleges is expensive. All this has transformed Oxford from a mediæval guild of masters and apprenticed students, a free mart of available knowledge, into a closely organized anteroom to social and professional life. VI THE INSIGNIFICANCE OF THE MODERN UNIVERSITY Though the university as a teaching body pined before the rising colleges, and for centuries lay in a swoon, it was not dead. It was kept alive by certain endowments for lecturers. But so thoroughly did the college tutors supply all undergraduate needs that, unless walls indeed have ears, the lectures were never heard. The professors gradually abandoned the university schools and gave the unattended lectures in their own houses. Such lectures were known as "study lectures." Even these gave way to silence. An odd situation was caused by the fact that there were also salaries paid to university proctors, a part of whose duty it was to see that the professorial lectures were properly given. When a proctor appeared, the learned professor would snatch up his manuscript and read until his auditor got tired and left. This was one case in which a thief was not the person to catch a thief; such energy on the part of the proctor was unusual, and was regarded as in extremely bad form. The abuse proceeded so far that in some cases, when hearers appeared at the appointed hour, the professors refused point blank to read their lectures. The climax of the farce was that at graduation students were fined for having cut these lectures that had never been given. When Samuel Johnson was fined for neglecting a college lecture to go "sliding on Christ Church Meadow," he exclaimed, "Sir, you have fined me twopence for missing a lecture that was not worth a penny!" His untimely departure from Oxford has lamentably left us to conjecture what he would have said upon paying the university fines at graduation for cutting lectures that had never been given. Even the university examinations became farcical. Under the Laudian statutes the very examiners became corrupt. Instead of a feast of reason and a flow of soul, the wary student provided his examiner with good meat and wine; and the two, with what company they bade in, got gloriously drunk together. B. A. meant Bacchanal of Arts. Even when the forms of examination were held to, the farce was only less obvious. A writer in _Terræ Filius_, March 24, 1721, tells us that the examination consisted in "a formal repetition of a set of syllogisms upon some ridiculous question in logick, which the candidates get by rote, or perhaps read out of their caps, which lie before them." These commodious sets of syllogisms were called strings, and descended from undergraduate to undergraduate in a regular succession like themes and mechanical drawings in an American club or fraternity. "I have in my custody a book of strings upon most or all of the questions discussed in a certain college noted for its ratiocinative faculty; on the first leaf of which are these words: _Ex dono Richardi P----e primæ classi benefactoris munificentissimi_." Lord Eldon took his degree at University College by an examination that consisted of two questions: "What is the meaning of Golgotha?" and "Who founded University College?" It was, no doubt, the bearers of degrees thus achieved who owned those marvelous libraries of the eighteenth century, which consisted of pasteboard boxes exquisitely backed in tooled calf, and labeled with the names of the standard Greek and Latin classics. The decline of the university teaching and examination did not result in a corresponding rise in the colleges. Each of the dozen and more institutions was supposed, as I have said, to keep a separate faculty in arts, and often in law and theology as well. If there had been any incentive to ambition, the colleges might have vied with one another in their impossible task, or at least have gone far enough to bring about a reform. But they were rich and did not care. The wealth of collegiate endowments, that had begun by ruining the university, ended by ruining the colleges. There were still earnest teachers and students at Oxford, but they were not the rule. The chief energies of the tutors were spent in increasing their salaries by a careful management of the estates, and in evading their pupils. In "the splendid foppery of a well-turned period" Gibbon thus pictures the dons of Magdalen in 1752: "Their deep and dull potations excused the brisk intemperance of youth." Only one result was possible. In 1821 T. J. Hogg, Shelley's college-mate at University College, referred to Oxford as a seat of learning. "Why do you call it so?" Shelley cried indignantly. "Because," Hogg replied, "it is a place in which learning sits very comfortably, well thrown back as in an easy chair, and sleeps so soundly that neither you nor I nor anybody else can wake her." Permanent endowments had transferred the seat of learning from a nobly indigent university to the colleges, and the deep and dull potations of endowed tutors had put it asleep on the common-room chairs. The nineteenth century did not altogether arouse it. "The studies of the university," according to the testimony of the Oxford Commission of 1850, "were first raised from their abject state by a statute passed in 1800." Heretofore all students had pursued the same studies, and there was no distinction to be gained at graduation except the mere fact of becoming a Bachelor of Arts. The statute of 1800 provided that such students as chose might distinguish themselves from the rest by taking honors; and for both passman and honor man it provided a dignified and quite undebauchable university examining board. At first the subjects studied were, roughly speaking, the same for passman and honor man; the difference was made by raising the standard of the honor examination. The examination followed the mediæval custom in being mainly oral; and though it soon came to be written, it still preserves the tradition of the mediæval disputation by including a _viva voce_ which is open to the attendance of the public. Throughout the nineteenth century the development consisted mainly in adding a few minor schools. The good and bad features of the English college system as a whole should not be hard to distinguish. In all social aspects the colleges are as nearly perfect as human institutions are capable of becoming, and they are the foundation of an unequaled athletic life. Educationally, their qualities are mixed. For the purpose of common or garden English gentlemen, nothing could be better than a happy combination of tutorial instruction and university examining. For the purposes of scholarly instruction in general, and of instruction in the modern sciences and mechanic arts in particular, few things could be worse than the system as at present construed. To exult over the superiority of American institutions in so many of the things that make up a modern university would not be a very profitable proceeding. Let us neglect the imperfections of Oxford. It is of much greater profit to consider the extraordinary social advantages that arise from the division of the university into colleges, and the educational advantages of the honor schools. These are points with regard to which we are as poor as Oxford is poor in the scope of university instruction. The point will perhaps be clearer for a brief review of the manner in which our college system grew out of the English. The development is the reverse of what we have just been considering. In England, the colleges overshadowed the university and sapped its life. With us, the university has overshadowed the college and is bidding fair to annihilate it. VII THE COLLEGE IN AMERICA In 1636 the Commonwealth of Massachusetts passed an act to establish a "schoole or colledge," and set apart a tract of land in "New Towne" as its seat, which they called Cambridge. Our Puritan forefathers had carried from the English university the conviction that "sound learning" is the "root of true religion," and were resolved, in their own vigorous phrase, that it should not be "buried in the graves of the fathers." In 1638 a master of arts of Emmanuel College, Cambridge, John Harvard, bequeathed to the new institution his library and half his fortune, some £780. A timber building was erected and a corporation formed which bore the donor's name. From the regulations in force in 1655 it is evident that in its manner of life, its laws of government, the studies taught, and the manner of granting the degree, Harvard College was a close counterpart of the English college of the early seventeenth century, its very phraseology including such terms as "disputing," "proceeding," "determining." It was the first institution of higher education in British America. Until the founding of the first state university, the University of Virginia, in 1819, the constitution afforded the principal model for subsequent foundations, and to-day colleges of the Harvard type are perhaps the strongest factor in American education. Harvard thus transplanted to American soil the full measure of the traditions of the Middle Ages, many of which exist in a modified form to-day. In "Harvard College by an Oxonian" Dr. George Birkbeck Hill suggests that John Harvard expected others to found similar institutions which collectively were to reproduce the University of Cambridge in New England. The supposition is by no means impossible, and the manuscript records in the Harvard Library would perhaps reward research. But whatever the intention, it is abundantly clear that in the full English sense of the word no second college was established at Cambridge. The first constitution was in all essentials the same as that of to-day. Hutchinson's "History of Massachusetts" records (1676): "There are but four fellowships, the two seniors have each 30_l._ per ann. and the two juniors 15_l._, but no diet is allowed: There are tutors to all such as are admitted students.... The government of these colledges is in the governor and magistrates of Massachusetts and the president of the colledge, together with the teaching elders of the six adjacent towns." The fellows are the forbears of the modern corporation, the tutors of the faculty; and though the institution has been separated from the state, the "teaching elders" are the earliest overseers. Furthermore, the endowment of Harvard has remained undivided; and generations elapsed before the present very un-English division was made by which the teaching force is separated into independent faculties for arts and the various professions. From the first the "college" was a "university" in that it granted degrees; and less than twenty years after its founding the two terms are used as synonymous; an appendix to what is called the charter of Harvard "College" calls the institution a "University." This confusion of terms still persists, and is found at most other American institutions, the constitutions of which were largely modeled after that of Harvard. For generations the endowments and the teaching force of the American college and university were identical. Thus as regards its constitution the typical American university is a single English college writ large. Almost from the outset, however, there were, in one sense of the word, several colleges. In "An Inventory of the whole Estate of Harvd Colledge taken by the President & Fellows as they find the same to be Decemb. 10, 1654," the first two items are as follows:-- "Imprs. The building called the old colledge, conteyning a Hall, Kitchen, Buttery, Cellar, Turrett & 5 Studeys & therin 7 chambers for students in them. A Pantry & small corne Chamber. A library & Books therin, vallued at 400lb. "It. Another house called Goffes colledge, & was purchased of Edw: Goffe. conteyning five chambers. 18 studyes. a kitchen cellar & 3 garretts."[3] It is to be noted that "Old Colledge," which was Harvard's building, had a kitchen, buttery, and cellar, a pantry and a small corn chamber, and was thus primitively modeled after an English hall or college. Presumably the inmates, like their cousins across the water, dined in the hall. As for "Goffe's colledge," granting that the punctuation of the inventory is intentional, it had a kitchen cellar, which would seem to imply a kitchen; and it is not impossible that there should be a comma after "kitchen." No hall is mentioned, and it is hardly likely that there could have been so imposing a room in what was built for a private house; but it would have been possible and natural to serve meals in the largest of the five "chambers." A third building Hutchinson's history describes as "a small brick building called the Indian Colledge, where some few Indians did study, but now it is a printing house," the first printing house in British America. The two earliest buildings at Harvard would thus be the abodes of separate communities, and though I can find no intimation as to the Indian College, it can scarcely be doubted that since it was established for the separate use of the redskins, it contained a separate living-plant. A later record shows that there was a separate kitchen in the first Stoughton Hall. These early "colledges" at Harvard are more properly termed halls, and such as survived are now so called. They had probably little in common with the democratic English halls of the Middle Ages. Both at Oxford and at Cambridge the halls of the seventeenth century were, as I have said, mere pendants of the colleges; they must have had a separate character as a social community and a certain independence; but if they had separate endowments, they did not manage them, and each of them depended for its instruction mainly on the college to which it was affiliated. The printed records of the early American halls are too meagre to warrant definite conclusions; but they seem to show that the halls were conceived in the spirit of the English hall of the seventeenth century, in that they provided for separate social and residential communities without separate endowment or teaching force. If the increase of students at Harvard had been rapid, it is not unlikely that many new halls would have been established, each the home of a complete community; but for half a century the number fluctuated between fifteen and thirty. If we take the English estimate of two hundred and fifty as the largest feasible size for a single community, the limit was not reached until as late as 1840. By 1676 the timber "colledge" built at the charge of Mr. Harvard, which bore his name, had been superseded by the first Harvard Hall, which Hutchinson describes as "a fair pile of brick building covered with tiles by reason of the late Indian warre not yet finished.... It contains twenty chambers for students, two in a chamber, a large hall which serves for a chapel; over that a convenient library." In these ample accommodations it was found that the student body could be most conveniently and cheaply fed as a single community. Thus, like the idea of a group of colleges with separate finances and teaching bodies, the idea of separate residential halls must have passed away with the generation of divines educated in England. The American college and the American university remained identical, not only educationally and in their finances, but as a social organization. This fact has caused a curious reversion in America toward the mediæval type of university, both socially and educationally. As the university has expanded, it has declined socially: to-day the residential life is only a degree better than that in the ancient chamberdekyns. Educationally, the reversion has been fortunate: the university is alive to the needs of the life about it. If it here resembles the modern German universities, this is largely due to the fact that both have more faithfully preserved the system and the spirit of the Middle Ages: the resemblance is quite as much a matter of native growth in America as of foreign imitation. In England, the mediæval idea of a multiplicity of residential bodies has survived, and the educational idea of the mediæval university has perished. In Germany, the educational idea has survived, and the old community life has perished. In America, the two ideas have survived by virtue of their identity. But for the same reason both are in a rudimentary and very imperfect state of development. FOOTNOTE: [3] William G. Brown in _The Nation_, vol. 61, No. 1585, p. 346. V THE PROBLEMS OF THE AMERICAN UNIVERSITY I THE SOCIAL AND ATHLETIC PROBLEM The imperfection of the modern American university in its social organization has been stated with the utmost clearness and authority, at least as regards Harvard. The "Harvard Graduates' Magazine" for September, 1894, published posthumously an article by Frank Bolles, late secretary of the college, entitled "The Administrative Problem." "In the present state of affairs," says Mr. Bolles, "student social life is stunted and distorted.... There is something very ugly in the possibility of a young man's coming to Cambridge, and while here sleeping and studying alone in a cheerless lodging, eating alone in a dismal restaurant, feeling himself unknown, and so alone in his lectures, his chapel, and his recreations, and not even having the privilege of seeing his administrative officers, who know most of his record, without having to explain to them at each visit who he is and what he is, before they can be made to remember that he is a living, hoping, or despairing part of Harvard College." Some of these men who fail to find a place in the social community meet their isolation grimly and are embittered against life. Others, after a few months or a year of lonesomeness and neglect, give up their university career broken-hearted, and by so doing perhaps take the first step in a life of failures. One man of whom I happened to know confided to his daily themes a depth of misery of which it can only be hoped that it was hysterical. At night when he heard a step on his staircase he prayed that it might be some one coming to see him. The tide of undergraduate life and of joy in living flowed all about him and left him thirsting. If a man finds sweetness in the uses of such adversity, it can only be by virtue of the firmest and calmest of tempers. Sometimes fellows starve physically without a friend with whom to share their hardship, living perhaps on bread, milk, and oatmeal, which they cook over the study lamp. Occasionally one hears disquieting rumors that such short rations have resulted in disease and even death before the authorities were aware. If this be so, the hardships of life in the earliest mediæval university, though far enough removed from us to be picturesque, could hardly have been more real. The sickness of the body politic has been portrayed with artistic sympathy and veracity by Mr. C. M. Flandrau, in his "Harvard Episodes," the wittiest and most searching of studies of undergraduate life. It is no doubt for this reason that the book is both read and resented by the healthy and unthinking college man. To dwell on such individual instances would be unpleasant. The point of importance is to show how the social chaos affects the health of the community as a whole. As it happens, we have a barometer. For better or for worse, the moving passion of the undergraduate body, aside from studies, is athletic success. If athletics prosper, it is because the life of the college finds an easy and natural expression; if athletics languish, there is pretty sure to be some check on wholesome functioning. The causes of Harvard's abundant failures and the remedies have been a fertile theme of discussion. One cause is obvious. The rivals with distressing frequency have produced better teams. Every one knows that what Cambridge chooses to call Yale luck is nine parts Yale pluck; and the quality is well developed at Princeton, Pennsylvania, and elsewhere. But why is it developed at these places more than at Harvard? The explanations are legion. The first cry was bad coaching. This was repeated until the fault was corrected, at least in part, and until every one was wholly tired of hearing the explanation. Then came the cry of bad physical training. This in turn was repeated until it brought partial remedy and total weariness of the agitation. By and by, all other complaints having been worn threadbare, Harvard's defeat was attributed to the fog on Soldier's Field. It is not unlikely that the fog will be dissipated and the athletes duly benefited. Yet it is far from certain that this will make the athletic body sound. The fault lies deeper than Yale pluck--or even the fog on Soldier's Field. It is to be found in the conditions, social, administrative, and even educational, which are at the basis of the life of the university. If these conditions were peculiar to Harvard, it would decidedly not be worth while to discuss them publicly. But they are inherent in the type of university of which Harvard is the earliest and most developed example, and are destined to crop out in every American institution of learning in proportion as it grows, as Harvard has grown, from the English college of a few decades ago into the Teutonized university of the present and of the future. In considering the causes, it is necessary to speak concretely of our one eminent example; but the main fact brought out will be applicable in greater or less degree to the present or future of any American college. The sources of Harvard's weakness are mainly social. When the college was small, it had its share of victory; but almost from the year when it began to outgrow its rivals, its prowess declined. Forty years ago, and even less, the undergraduate constitution of American institutions was, roughly speaking, that of the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge: a freshman was measurably sure of falling into easy relationship with the fellows of his class and of other classes, and thus of finding his level or his pinnacle in athletic teams and in clubs. Considered as a machine for developing good fellows and good sportsmen, it was well adjusted and well oiled; it worked. But it was not capable of expansion. Two or three hundred fellows can live and even dine together with comfort and an increase of mutual understanding; they soon become an organized community. When a thousand or two live as a single community and dine at one board (let us call it dining), the social bond relaxes. Next door neighbors are unknown to one another, having no common ground of meeting, and even the college commons fail to bring them together. The relaxing influence of the hour spent at table and in the subsequent conversation, during which social intercourse should most freely flourish, is quite lost. The undergraduate body is a mob, or at best an aggregation of shifting cliques. If men live in crowds or in cliques, their life is that of crowds or of cliques, and is unprofitable both to themselves and to the community that should prosper by their loyal activity. It is true that there are societies and clubs, but these also to a certain degree have been swamped in the rising tide of undergraduates. With freshman classes as large as those of to-day, the old social machinery becomes incapable of sifting the clubable from the less clubable, those who deserve recognition in the body of undergraduates from those who do not. The evil is increased by the fact that as a rule in America the social life is organized early in the undergraduate course, so that the men who fail of election in the first year or two have failed for good. There are, to be sure, cases in which men who have later developed signal merit have been taken into the all-important societies and clubs of the upper classmen, and sometimes these societies make a special and most creditable effort thus to remedy the failures of the system; but the men who are thus elected are an exception, and an exception of the kind that proves the rule. Unless a man has been prominent in one of the large preparatory schools, or becomes prominent in athletics in the first year or so, there is only one way to make sure of meeting such fellows as he wishes to know, and that is both to choose friends and to avoid them with an eye to social chances, a method which is scarcely to be commended. As the incoming classes grow larger, there is an increasingly large proportion of undergraduates who fail to qualify in the first year or two in any of these ways. Throughout their course they neither receive benefit from the general life of the university nor contribute to it. They are often of loyal and disinterested character, and they not infrequently develop into men of exceptional ability in all of the paths of undergraduate life; not a few of them have been 'varsity captains. But instead of exerting the influence on the welfare of the university which such men might and should exert, they find it impossible to get into the main currents, and revolve impotently on the outside, each in the particular eddy where fate has thrust him. At Harvard, where the evil has long been recognized, a remedy has been sought in increasing the membership of the great sophomore and senior societies, the Institute of 1770 and the Hasty Pudding Club. The result has been the reverse of what was intended. The larger the club the less compact its life and its influence,--what a few men have gained the club has lost. The tendency toward disintegration is confirmed by a peculiarity of the organization of the societies. The first half of the members of the Institute form a separate club, the D. K. E., or Dickey. From this the second half are excluded, becoming a sort of social fringe; they often form a part of the mob that dines at Memorial or of the cliques that dine in boarding-houses, and are only a shade less excluded than the rest from the centres of the college life. If this inner club, the Dickey, were the instrument of a united and efficient public spirit, the case would not be so bad, but its members in turn are split into a number of small clubs; as a social organization the Dickey is mainly a name. If now these small clubs took a strong part in the general life of the college, the case would still not be so bad; but each spends its main strength in struggling with the others to secure as many members as possible from the first ten of the Dickey. They are scarcely to be regarded as engines of public spirit. The same is true of the great senior society, the Hasty Pudding. Its most prominent members belong to the few small clubs of upper classmen; the rest are as much a social fringe as the later tens of the Institute. And the senior clubs, like the clubs of the under classmen, are more interested in their private politics than in the policy of the college as a whole. At Yale the senior societies still exert a strong and generally wholesome influence, but at Harvard they have long ceased to do so, if they ever did. In proportion as a man is successful in the social world the system lifts him out of the body of undergraduate life. The reward of athletic distinction or of good-fellowship is a sort of pool pocket, upon getting into which a man is definitely out of the game. The leaders in the college life, social and athletic, are chosen on the superficial tests of the freshman year, and are not truly representative; and the organization of which they become a part is calculated only to suppress general and efficient public spirit. The outer layers are dead wood and the kernels sterile. This is at least one reason why Harvard does not oftener win. In all this there is no place for a philosophy of despair. The spirit of the undergraduate, clubbed and unclubbed, is normal and sound. The efforts which the clubs themselves make from time to time to become representative are admirably public spirited; and there is no less desire on the part of the outsiders to live for the best interests of the college. On the day of an athletic contest the university is behind the team, heart and lungs; and when defeat comes it is felt alike by all conditions of men. From time to time ancient athletes journey to Cambridge to exhort the undergraduate body to pull together; and it is a poor orator indeed who cannot set in motion strong currents of enthusiasm. Half an hour of earnest talk on the strenuous life from Theodore Roosevelt has often been known to raise a passion of aspiration that has positively lasted for weeks. But the social system cannot be galvanized into life and functioning. The undergraduates aspire and strive, but every effort is throttled by a Little Old Man of the Sea. When all is said and done, the mob and the cliques remain mob and cliques; with discord within and exclusive without, there is small hope of organized efficiency. At Yale the oligarchic spirit of the senior societies is compact and operative where that of the Harvard clubs is not; but Yale also is being swamped. The vast and increasing mob of the unaffiliated has several times within the last decade shown a shocking disrespect for the sacred authority of the captains; and the non-representative character of the sophomore societies, from which the senior societies are recruited, has been a public scandal. One result of this disorder is that the ancient athletic prestige is slipping away, or is so far in abeyance that it is again a question whether Harvard or Yale has--shall we say the worse team? The case of the older universities is typical. Other institutions are expanding as fast or faster, and it is only a question of time when the increase of numbers will swamp the social system. That there is something rotten in the state of Denmark has of late been officially recognized, at least at Harvard. In order to create a general social and athletic life in the community a Union has been established, modeled on the Oxford Union. It would be pleasant to picture the College House of the future shaking hands with Claverly, the Phi Beta Kappa linking elbows with the Porcellian, and the fellows who now, in spite of a desire to be sociable, have lived through four years of solitary confinement each in his petty circle, enjoying the bosom friendship of all the men they may desire to know. It would be pleasant but perhaps not altogether warrantable, when one considers the essential nature of the Union. The Oxford Union of celebrity, as has been pointed out in an earlier chapter, is a thing of the past. It was an exclusive institution, in which no attempt was made to foster universal brotherhood. When it was thrown open to the entire undergraduate world, it lost caste and authority. The elect flocked by themselves each in his own exclusive club. If the Harvard Union had been modeled on the old exclusive Oxford Union, it might perhaps have been equally efficient in bringing together a broadly representative body of men. But it was modeled on the modern democratic Union. Here is a plain case: When the Oxford Union ceased to be exclusive, its best elements flocked by themselves, and the result is a growth of small exclusive clubs. At Harvard the exclusive clubs and societies are both ancient and honorable, and, moreover, very comfortable, and it hardly seems likely that their members will rout themselves out of their cosy corners to join the merry rout at the Harvard Union. This is not to cast a gloomy eye upon the new university club; it is rather by way of emphasizing the importance of the work it has to do, and will succeed in doing. Hitherto the lounging grounds of the unaffiliated (alas! that in such an alma mater so many are forever unaffiliated!) have been public billiard-rooms and tobacco shops. For the solace of a midnight supper one had to go to the locally familiar straw-hatted genius of the sandwich, and for the luxury of a late breakfast to John of the Holly Tree. And John the Orange Man! Great worthies these, ancient and most honorable. But even in the enchantment of retrospect they somehow or other explain why so many fellows choose to live, for the most part, in small cliques in one another's rooms and cultivate the deadly chafing-dish. For the unaffiliated--by far the larger part of each class--the new club-house will be a Godsend. It is much more fun to cut a nine-o'clock lecture if you are sure of a comfortable chair at breakfast and a real napkin; and even in the brutal gladness of youth, it is pleasant at a midnight supper to be seated. And then, after that athletic dinner at Memorial, a place to loaf quietly over a pipe with whatever congenial spirit one finds, and listen to the clicking of billiard-balls! It is also proposed that the 'varsity athletes have their training tables at the new Union, so that any fellow may come to know them clothed and in their right minds. I fancy that the new club will leave those old worthies a trifle lonesome, and will banish the chafing-dish forever. The spirit of an old graduate somehow takes kindly to the idea of a place like that. How the spirit of Bishop Brooks, for instance, would enjoy slipping in of an evening for the cigar they have denied him in the house erected in his memory! And for the graduate in the flesh the club-house will be no less welcome, especially if he is unlucky enough not to have a club of his own to go back to. To love one's alma mater it is, of course, not necessary to have a club; but it somehow interferes with the sentiment of a home-coming to be obliged to go back to Boston by trolley for luncheon and dinner, and to eat it among aliens. In the new Union it will even be possible to put up for the night. A long step has been made in advance of the old unhappy order. Yet the new Union leaves the vital evil in the community life as far as ever from solution. What the authorities have failed to do consciously may, according to present indications, be accomplished, in some manner at least, by an unconscious growth. When Memorial became inadequate to the mere demand for seating-room, new dining-halls were established. In the future it is possible that these new halls may be kept within the line where community life becomes impossible and mob life begins. If they could be, the problem would be at least one step nearer solution. But to gain the highest effect of community organization, it is necessary that the men who dine in the same hall shall live near one another. Under the present system this rarely happens, and when it does, it does not even follow that they know one another by sight. Until the halls represent some real division in undergraduate life--separate and organized communities--they must remain the resort of a student mob. Fortunately, another movement is discernible in the direction of separate residential organization. Already certain of the dormitories in American universities are governed democratically by the inmates: no student is admitted except by order of a committee of the members. The fraternity houses so widely diffused in America offer a still better example, almost a counterpart, of the halls of the golden age of the mediæval university. Any considerable development of hall or fraternity life in the great universities would result in a dual organization of the kind that has proved of such advantage in England, so that a man would have his residence in a small democratic community, and satisfy his more special interests in the exclusive clubs of the university. In such an arrangement the hall would profit by the clubman as the clubman would gain influence through the hall. All undergraduates would thus be united in the general university life in a way which is now undreamed of, and which is unlikely, as I think, even in the new Harvard Union. The tendency toward division in the dining-halls and the dormitories is evident also in athletics; but here it is very far from unconscious. The division by classes long ago ceased to be an adequate means of developing material for the 'varsity teams, and when the English rowing coach, Mr. R. C. Lehmann, was in charge of the Harvard oarsmen, he outlined a plan for developing separate crews not unlike the college crews of England. This system has since been effected with excellent results. Separate boating clubs have been established, each of which has races among its own crews and races with the crews of its rivals. Only one thing has prevented the complete success of the system. The division into clubs is factitious, representing no real rivalry such as exists among English colleges. To supply this rivalry, it is only necessary that each boat club shall represent a hall. The same division would of course be equally of benefit in all branches of sport. The various teams within the university would then represent a real social rivalry, such as has long ceased to exist. This could scarcely fail to produce the effect that has been so remarkable at the English universities. As in England, a multiplication of contests would on the one hand develop far better university material, and on the other hand it would lessen rather than exaggerate the excessive importance of intercollegiate contests. II THE ADMINISTRATIVE PROBLEM The administrative evil of the American university, as typified in Harvard, Mr. Bolles described even more vividly than the social evil. The bare fact of the problem he stated as follows: "In 1840 the college contained 250 students; in 1850, 300; in 1860, 450; in 1870, 600; in 1880, 800; in 1890, 1300; in 1894, 1600." He then pointed out that the only means the authorities have found for meeting this increasing demand on the administrative office is, not to divide the students into separate small bodies each under a single administrator, but to divide the duties of administration among several officers. Thus each of the added officers is required to perform his duty toward the entire student body. It is apparently assumed that he can discharge one duty toward two or three thousand students as intelligently as in former years he could discharge two or three duties toward two or three hundred. By this arrangement the most valuable factor in administration is eliminated--personal knowledge and personal contact between the administrator and his charges. It is said that the members of the administrative board of the college--professors whose time is of extreme value to the university and to the world, and who receive no pay as administrators--sit three hours a night three nights in the week deciding the cases that come before them, not from personal knowledge of the undergraduates concerned, but from oral and documentary reports. "It is only by a fiction that the Recorder [or the Dean, or the member of the administrative board] can be assumed to have any personal knowledge of even a half of the men whose absences he counts, whose petitions he acts upon, and against whose delinquencies he remonstrates; yet the fiction is maintained while its absurdity keeps on growing.... If the rate of growth and our present administrative system are maintained, the Dean and Recorder of Harvard College will [in 1950] be personally caring for 6500 individuals, with all of whom they will be presumed to have an intelligent acquaintance." Mr. Bolles lived through the period in which a brilliant band of German-trained American professors, having made over our educational system as far as possible on German lines, were endeavoring to substitute German discipline, or lack of it, for the traditional system of collegiate residence which aims to make the college a well-regulated social community. At one time these reformers rejoiced in the fact that Harvard students attended the ice carnival at Montreal or basked in the Bermudan sun while the faculty had no means of knowing where they were and no responsibility for the success of their college work. The Overseers, however, were not in sympathy with the Teutonized faculty, and soon put an end to this; but the reformers were, and perhaps still are, only waiting the opportunity to establish again the Teutonic license. "It is sometimes said," Mr. Bolles continues, "that Harvard may eventually free itself from all its remaining parental responsibility and leave students' habits, health, and morals to their individual care, confining itself to teaching, research, and the granting of degrees. Before it can do this, it must be freed from dormitories. As long as fifteen hundred of its students live in monastic quarters provided or approved by the university, so long must the university be held responsible by the city, by parents, and by society at large, for the sanitary and moral condition of such quarters. The dormitory system implies and necessitates oversight of health and morals. The trouble to-day is that the administrative machinery in use is not capable of doing all that is and ought to be expected of it.... If it be determined openly that the health and morals of Harvard undergraduates are not to occupy the attention of the Dean and Board of the college, then the present system may be perpetuated, but if this determination is not reached, then either the system must be changed or the present attempt to accomplish the impossible will go on until something snaps." Since Mr. Bolles's day there has been much earnest effort to solve the administrative problem; but the difficulties have increased rather than diminished. The duties of the Dean are still much the same as when the freshman class numbered one hundred instead of five. Only the Dean has been improved. He is at least five times as human and five times as earnest as any other Dean; but the freshman class keeps on growing, and when he has satisfied his very exacting conscience and retires (or, not having satisfied his conscience, perishes), no man knows where his better is to be found. Of the Secretary and the Recorder and his assistants Mr. Bolles has spoken. A Regent has among other duties a general charge of the rooms the fellows live in, and usually makes each room and its occupant a yearly visit--which the occupant, in the perversity of undergraduate nature, regards as a visitation. Then there is the physician. So large a proportion of the undergraduates were found to be isolated and unhappy in their circumstances, and remote from the knowledge of the authorities, that it became necessary to appoint some one to whom they might appeal in need. Thus the details as to each undergraduate's residence are in the hands of seven different officials, each of whom, in order to attain the best results, requires a personal acquaintance with the thousands of undergraduates. Furthermore the entire body of undergraduates changes every four years. If every administrator had the commodity of lives commonly attributed to the cat, the duties of their offices would still be infinitely beyond them. Mr. Bolles suggested a solution of the administrative problem: "If the college is too large for its dean and administrative board to manage in the way most certain to benefit its students, it should be divided, using as a divisor the number ... which experts may agree in thinking is the number of young men whom one dean and board should be expected to know and govern effectively." When Mr. Bolles wrote, one class of administrative officer and one only was limited in his duties to a single small community: in each building in which students lived, a proctor resided who was supposed to see that the Regent's orders were enforced. Since then another step has been taken in the same direction; a board of advisers has been established, each member of which is supposed to have a helpful care of twenty-five freshmen. These two officials, it will be seen, divide the administrative duties of an English tutor. That they represent a step toward Mr. Bolles's solution of the administrative difficulty has probably never occurred to the authorities; and as yet it must be admitted the step is mainly theoretical. The position of both, as I know from sad personal experience, is such that their duties, like those of all other administrators, resolve into a mere matter of police regulation. The men are apt to resist all friendly advances. In the end, a proctor's activities usually consist in preventing them of a Sunday from shouting too loud over games of indoor football, and at other times from blowing holes through the cornice with shotguns. The case of the freshman adviser is much the same. His first duty is to expound to his charges the mysteries of the elective system, and to help each student choose his courses. According to the original intention, he was to exert as far as possible a beneficial personal influence on newcomers; but the result seldom follows the intention. Beyond the visit which each freshman is obliged to make to his adviser in order to have his list of electives duly signed, there is nothing except misdemeanor to bring the two within the same horizon. When the adviser takes pains to proffer hospitality, the freshman's first thought is that he is to be disciplined. When, as often happens, a proctor is also a freshman adviser, he unites the two administrative duties of an English tutor; but his position is much less favorable in that his duties are performed toward two distinct bodies of men. With time, tact, and labor, he might conceivably force himself into personal relationship with his fifty-odd charges; but the inevitable ground of meeting, such as the English tutor finds in his teaching, is lacking. An attempt to become acquainted is very apt to appear gratuitous. In point of fact, such acquaintance is scarcely expected by the university, and is certainly not paid for. What little an administrator earns is apt to be so much an hour (and not so very much) for teaching. A gratuitous office is so difficult that one hesitates to perform it gratuitously. If the young instructor is bent on making himself unnecessary trouble, there is plenty of opportunity in connection with his teaching; and here, of course, owing to the characteristic lack of organic coördination, he has to deal with a body of men who, except by rare accident, are quite distinct both from those whom he advises and those whom he proctorizes. The system at Harvard may be different in detail from that at other American universities; but wherever a large body of undergraduates are living under a single administrative system, it can scarcely be different in kind. Enough has been said to show that the only office which an administrator can perform is a police office. Where the college and the university are identical, the element of personal influence is necessarily eliminated. But if the college were divided into separate administrative units, the situation would be very different. The seven general and two special offices I have indicated might be discharged, as regards each undergraduate, by a dean and a few proctor-advisers; and as the students and their officers would be living in the same building, personal knowledge and influence might become the controlling force. The solution of the administrative problem is identical with the solution of the social and athletic problem, and in both cases a movement toward it is begun. If the student body is eventually divided into residential halls of the early mediæval type, much good will result, and probably nothing but good, even if the tutorial function proper is absent. As to the addition of the tutorial function, that is a question of extreme complexity and uncertainty, in order to grasp which it is necessary to review the peculiar educational institutions of American universities. III THE EDUCATIONAL PROBLEM As regards the American teaching system, the fact that the college so long remained identical with the university has caused little else than good. At Oxford and Cambridge, when a demand arose for instruction in new fields, the university could not meet it because it had little or no wealth and had surrendered its teaching function; and the score of richly endowed colleges, by force of their inertia, collectively resisted the demand. The enlargement in the scope of instruction has been of the slowest. In America, each new demand instantly created its supply. The moment the students in theology required more than a single professor, their tuition fees as well as other funds could be applied to the creation of a divinity school; and the professorships in law, medicine, and the technical professions were likewise organized into schools, each fully equipped under a separate faculty for the pursuit of its special aim. Thus the ancient college was developed by segregation into a fully organized modern university. American institutions are composed of a reduplication, not of similar colleges, but of distinct schools, each with its special subject to teach. This fact makes possible a far higher standard of instruction. The virtue of the administrative and social organization in the English university, as has been pointed out, results from division of the university into separate communities,--distinct organs, each with its separate activity. The virtue of the American university in its teaching functions results from a precisely similar cause. In the case of the college, one or two details have lately been the occasion of criticism. In the educational as in the social and administrative functions, the machinery is apparently overgrown. Until well into the nineteenth century, the body of instruction offered was much the same as in the English colleges of the seventeenth century, or in the pass schools of to-day,--a modified version of the mediæval trivium and quadrivium. When a new world of intellectual life was opened, most academic leaders regarded it with abhorrence. The old studies were the only studies to develop the manners and the mind; the new studies were barbarous, and dwarfed the understanding. All learning had been contained in a pint-pot, and must continue to be so. If the old curriculum had prevailed, the old system might have continued to serve, in spite of the enormous increase of students; but it did not. Discussions of the educational value of the new learning are still allowed to consume paper and ink; but the cause of the old pint-pot was lost decades ago. All branches are taught, and are open to all students. The live question to-day both in England and America is not whether we shall recognize the new subjects, but how and in what proportion we shall teach them. In England, where the colleges and the university are separate, the teaching and the examining are separate. The student prepares in college for an examination by the university. It is as a result of this that the subjects of instruction have been divided and organized into honor schools; and here again the division and organization have resulted in sounder and more efficient functioning. In America, such a division has never been made: the teaching and the degree-granting offices have remained identical. The professor in each "course" is also the examiner, and the freedom of choice of necessity goes not by groups of related studies but by small disconnected courses. As the field of recognized knowledge developed, new courses were added, and the student was granted a greater range of choice. Whereas of old all the instruction of the college might and had to be taken in four years, the modern courses could scarcely be exhausted in a full century. This American system, earliest advocated at Harvard, is called the elective system, and has made its way, in a more or less developed form, into all American universities worthy of the name. Its primary work was that of the Oxford honor schools--the shattering of the old pint-pot. It has done this work; but it is now in train to become no less a superstition than the older system, and is thus no less a menace to the cause of education. It is perhaps only natural, though it was scarcely to be expected, that the university which in late years has most severely criticised the elective system is that which a quarter of a century ago deliberately advocated it, and in the face of almost universal opposition justified it in the eyes of American educators. There has evidently been a miscalculation. Yet though Harvard has cautiously acknowledged its failure in the persons of no less authorities than Professor Münsterberg and Dean Briggs, the element of error has not yet been clearly stated, nor has the remedy been proposed. Many things have been said against the elective system, but they may all be summed up in one phrase: it is not elective. This is no specious paradox. It is the offer of free election that is specious. No offer could seem fairer. The student is at liberty to choose as he will. He may specialize microscopically or scatter his attention over the universe; he may elect the most ancient subjects or the most modern, the hardest or the easiest. No offer, I repeat, could seem fairer. But experience disillusions. Some day or other a serious student wakes up to the fact that he is the victim of--shall we say a thimble-rigging game? For example, let us take the case of a serious specialist. Of all the world's knowledge the serious specialist values only one little plot. A multitude of courses is listed in the catalogue, fairly exhausting his field. Delightful! Clearly he can see which walnut-shell covers the pea. He chooses for his first year's study four courses--the very best possible selection, the only selection, to open up his field. One moment: on closer scrutiny he finds that two of the four courses are given at the same hour, and that, therefore, he cannot take them in the same year. Still, there are at his command other courses, not so well adapted to his purposes, but sooner or later necessary. He chooses one. Hold again! On closer inspection he finds that appended to the course is a Roman numeral, and that the same numeral is against one of his other courses. After half an hour's search in the catalogue he finds that, though the two courses are given at different hours, and indeed on different days of the week, the mid-year and final examinations in both take place on the same days. Obviously these two cannot be taken in the same year. With dampened spirits his eye lights on a second substitute. He could easily deny himself this course; but it is vastly interesting, if not important, and he must arrange a year's work. Behold, this most interesting course was given last year, and will be given next year, but neither love nor money nor the void of a soul hungering for knowledge could induce the professor who gives it to deliver one sentence of one lecture; he is busy and more than busy with another course which will not be given next year. The specialist is at last forced to elect a course he does not really want. One entanglement as to hours of which the present deponent had knowledge forced a specialist in Elizabethan literature to elect--and, being a candidate for a degree with distinction, to get a high grade in--a course in the history of finance legislation in the United States. This was a tragic waste, for so many and so minute are the courses offered that the years at the student's disposal are all too few to cover even a comparatively narrow field. The specialist may well ruminate on the philosophy of Alice and her Wonderland jam. Yesterday he could elect anything, and to-morrow anything; but how empty is to-day! Highly as the modern university regards the serious specialist, a more general sympathy will probably be given to the man who is seeking a liberal education. Such a man knows that in four years at his disposal he cannot gain any real scientific knowledge even of the studies of the old-fashioned college curriculum. As taught now, at Harvard, they would occupy, according to President Eliot's report for 1894-95, twice four years. But by choosing a single group of closely related subjects, and taking honors in it, he hopes to master a considerable plot of the field of knowledge. I will not say that he chooses the ancient classics, for--though they are admirably taught in a general way in the great Oxford Honor School of Literæ Humaniores--the American student may be held to require, even in studying the classics, a larger element of scientific culture, which would take more time than is to be had. For the same reason I will not say that he chooses the modern languages and literatures, though such a choice might be defended. Let us say that he chooses a single modern language and literature--his own.[4] Surely this is not too large a field for four years' study. Of classics, mathematics, science, and history he has supposedly been given a working knowledge in the preparatory school. For the rest he relies on the elective system. Even in the beginning, like the specialist, he is unable to choose the courses he most wants, because of the conflict of the hours of instruction and examination; and this difficulty pursues him year by year, increasing as the subjects to be taken grow fewer and fewer. But let us dismiss this as an incidental annoyance. His fate is foreshadowed when he finds that the multitude of courses by which alone he could cover the entire field of English literature would fill twice the time at his disposal. Already he has discovered that the elective system is not so very elective. He sadly omits Icelandic and Gothic, and all but one half course is Anglo-Saxon. Some day he means to cover the ground by means of a history of literature and translations; but in point of fact, as the subjects are not at all necessary for his degree, and as he is overburdened with other work, he never does. He sticks to his last, and is the more willing to do so because, being wise beyond the wont of undergraduates, he knows that it will be well to fortify his knowledge of the English language and literature with a complementary knowledge of the history of the English people, and of the history and literature of the neighboring Germans and French. Having barely time for a rapid survey of these complementary subjects, he elects only the introductory courses. In the aggregate they require many precious hours, and to take them he is obliged to omit outright English literature of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries; but he knows that it is better to neglect a finial or two than the buttresses of the edifice he is building. Again he has miscalculated. After his complementary courses are begun, and it is too late to withdraw from them, he discovers even more clearly than the specialist how very unelective the elective system can be. It is the same old question of the thimble and the pea. These introductory courses are intended to introduce him to the study of history and of literature, not to complement his studies of English. What he wanted to know in English history was the social and the political movements, the vital and picturesque aspect; what he is taught is the sources and constitutions--the dry bones. In German and French he wanted to know the epochs of literature; he is taught the language, considered scientifically, or, at most, certain haphazard authors in whom he has only a casual interest. If he is studying for honors, he is obliged to waste enough time on these disappointing courses to reach a high grade in each. The system of free election is mighty, for he is a slave to it. This difficulty is typical. Thus a student of history or of German who wants to study Elizabethan literature for its bearing on his subject is obliged to spend one full course--a quarter of a year's work--on the language of four or five plays of Shakespeare before he is permitted to take a half course on Shakespeare as a dramatist; and even then all the rest of the Elizabethan period is untouched. Let us suppose that our student of English is wary as well as wise, preternaturally wary, and leaves all complementary subjects to private reading--for which he has no time. He is then able to devote himself to the three or four most important epochs in English literature. He has to leave out much that is of importance, so that he cannot hope to gain a synoptic view of the field as a whole; but of his few subjects he will at least be master. Here at last is the thimble that covers the pea. Not yet! In four courses out of five of those devoted to the greatest writers, the teacher's attention is directed primarily to a very special and scientific study of the language; the examination consists in explaining linguistic cruxes. Literary criticism, even of the most sober kind, is quite neglected. If the student learns only what is taught, he may attain the highest grades and the highest honors without being able in the end to distinguish accurately the spirit of Chaucer from that of Elizabethan literature. Furthermore, not every student is sufficiently well advised to know precisely what courses he requires to attain his end. For example, to gain an understanding of the verse forms and even the spirit of Middle English and Elizabethan English, it is necessary to know the older French and Italian; but, as it happened, our student was not aware of the fact until he broke his shins against it, and it was nobody's business to tell him of it. And even if he had been aware of it, he could not have taken those subjects without leaving great gaps in his English studies. He has graduated _summa cum laude_ and with highest honors in English; but he has not even a correct outline knowledge of his subject. His education is a thing of shreds and patches. Whatever may be the aim of the serious student, the elective system is similarly fatal to it. I must be content with a single instance more. The signal merit of the old-fashioned curriculum was that its insistence on the classics and mathematics insured a mental culture and discipline of a very high order, and of a kind that is impossible where the student elects only purely scientific courses, or courses in which he happens to be especially interested. Let us suppose that the serious student wishes to elect his courses so as to receive this discipline. His plight is indicated in "Some Old-fashioned Doubts about New-fashioned Education" which have lately been divulged[5] by the Dean of Harvard College, Professor Le B. R. Briggs. The undergraduate "may choose the old studies but not the old instruction. Instruction under an elective system is aimed at the specialist. In elective mathematics, for example, the non-mathematical student who takes the study for self-discipline finds the instruction too high for him; indeed, he finds no encouragement for electing mathematics at all." The same is true of the classics. One kind of student, to be quite candid, profits vastly by the elective system, namely, the student whose artistic instinct makes him ambitious of gaining the maximum effect, an A.B., with the minimum expenditure of means. History D is a good course: the lectures do not come until eleven o'clock, and no thought of them blunts the edge of the evening before. Semitic C is another good course--only two lectures a week, and you can pass it with a few evenings of cramming. If such a man is fortunate enough to have learned foreign languages in the nursery or in traveling abroad, he elects all the general courses in French and German. This sort of man is regarded by Dean Briggs with unwonted impatience; but he has one great claim to our admiration. Of all possible kinds of students, he alone has found the pea. For him the elective system is elective. The men who developed the elective system, it is quite unnecessary to say, had no sinister intention. They were pioneers of educational progress who revolted against the narrowness of the old curriculum. The nearest means of reform was suggested to them by the German plan, and they sought to naturalize this _in toto_ without regard to native needs and conditions. But the pioneer work of the elective system has been done, and the men who now uphold it in its entirety are clogging the wheels of progress no less than those who fought it at the outset. The logic of circumstances early forced them to the theory that all knowledge is of equal importance, provided only that it is scientifically pursued, and this position in effect they still maintain. You may elect to study Shakespeare and end by studying American finance legislation; but so long as you are compelled to study scientifically, bless you, you are free. The serenity of these men must of late have been somewhat clouded. Professor Hugo Münsterberg, as an editorial writer in "Scribner's Magazine" lately remarked, "has been explaining, gently but firmly, ostensibly to the teachers in secondary schools, but really to his colleagues in the Harvard faculty, that they are not imitating the German method successfully." In no way is the American college man in the same case as the German undergraduate. His preparatory schooling is likely to be three years in arrears, and, in any case, what he seeks is usually culture, not science. "The new notion of scholarship," this writer continues, "by which the degree means so much Latin and Greek, or the equivalent of them in botany or blacksmithing, finds no favor at all in what is supposed to be the native soil of the 'elective system.'" Dr. Münsterberg's own words, guarded as they are, are not without point: "Even in the college two thirds of the elections are haphazard, controlled by accidental motives; election, of course, demands a wide view and broad knowledge of the whole field.... A helter-skelter chase of the unknown is no election." The writer in "Scribner's" concludes: "It is not desirable that a man should sell his birthright for a mess of pottage, even if he gets the pottage. If he does not get it, as Dr. Münsterberg intimates, of course his state is even worse." Rough as the elective system is upon the student who aspires to be merely a scholar, it is rougher on the undergraduate who only wants to train his mind and to equip it for business and professional life. To him a purely scientific training is usually a positive detriment. Scrupulous exactitude and a sense of the elusiveness of all knowledge are an excellent and indispensable part of the bringing up of a scholar; but few things are more fitted, if pursued exclusively, to check the self-confidence of a normal man and to blight his will. Poor Richard had a formula for the case: "A handsaw is a very good thing, but not to shave with." Before taking a vigorous hold on the affairs of Wall Street or of Washington, our recent graduate has first to get away from most of the standards that obtain in the university, or at least to supplement them by a host of others which he should have learned there. In another passage in the article already quoted, Dean Briggs has touched the vital spot. He is speaking of the value, to teachers especially, of the peculiar fetich of Teutonized university instruction, the thesis, and of its liability to be of fictitious value. "Such theses, I suspect, have more than once been accepted for higher degrees; yet higher degrees won through them leave the winner farther from the best qualities of a teacher, remote from men and still more remote from boys. It was a relief the other day to hear a head-master say, 'I am looking for an under-teacher. I want first a man, and next a man to teach.'" What is true of teaching is even more obviously true of the great world of business and of politics. What it wants is men. The cause of the break-down of the elective system, as at present constituted, is to be found in the machinery of instruction. The office of the teacher has become inextricably mixed up with a totally alien office--university discipline. Attendance at lectures is the only means of recording a student's presence in the university, and success in the examination in lecture courses is the only basis for judging of his diligence. At the tolling of a bell the student leaves all other affairs to report at a certain place. In the Middle Ages, as we have seen, lectures were of necessity the main means of instruction. Books were rare and their prices prohibitive. The master read and the student copied. To-day, there are tens of thousands of books in every college library. Only in the higher courses are lectures necessary or profitable. But still instruction is carried on, even in the most general courses, by means of professorial lectures. Where great periods are covered by leaps and bounds, freshness or individuality of treatment is quite impossible. The tolling of the college bell dooms hundreds of students to hear a necessarily hurried and inarticulate statement of knowledge which has been carefully handled in printed form by the most brilliant writers, and to which a tutor might refer the student in a few minutes' conference. Modify the lecture system? It is the foundation of the police regulation. The boasted freedom in elective studies simmers down to this, that it enables the student to choose in what courses he shall be made the unwilling ally of the administrative officer. The lectures waste the time of the student and exhaust the energy of the teacher; but unless the lecturers give them and the studious attend, how can the university know that the shiftless stay away? It is necessary, moreover, for the administrator to judge of the student's success as well as of his diligence. Twice every year the professors hold an examination lasting for three hours in each of their several courses. Of late years an ingenious means has been devised for making the examination system an even more perfect ally of the police. In the middle of each term an examination of one hour is held to insure that the student has not only attended lectures but studied outside; and, in order to expose the procrastinator, it has become the custom for the examination to be given without warning. Like the lecture system, the examination system throws the onus of discipline on the studious and the teachers. Two thousand students write yearly 32,000 examination books. Quite obviously the most advanced of the professors cannot spare time for the herculean task of reading and duly grading their share of these books. They give over most of them to underpaid assistants. The logical result of such a system is that the examinations tend to be regarded merely as statements of fact, and the reading of the books merely as clerical labor. If academic distinctions are disprized in America, both in college and out of it, this is amply explained by the fact that they attest a student's diligence rather than his ability. They are awarded, like a Sunday-school prize, in return for a certain number of good-conduct checks. It is not enough that the machinery of instruction wastes the time of the student and debases the office of the examiner; it is, as I have said, the cause of the break-down of the elective system. As long as each student is required to pursue every study under the eye of the disciplinarian, the decision as to what he shall study rests not with his desires or his needs, but with an elaborate schedule of lectures and examinations. So excessive are the evils of the present system that no less a man than Professor William James has advocated the abolition of the examinations. This remedy is perhaps extreme; but the only alternative is almost as radical. It is to enable the student, at least the more serious student, to slip the trammels of the elective system, and to study rationally, and to be rationally examined in, the subject or group of subjects which he prefers. In a word, the remedy is to divide and organize our courses of instruction for the more serious students into groups corresponding in some measure to what the English call honor schools. It may be objected that already it is possible to read for honors. The objection will scarcely convince any one who has taken the examination. It is oral, and occupies an hour or two. The men who conduct it are leading men in the department, and are often of world-wide reputation. They are so great that they understand the nature of the farce they are playing. No candidate is expected to have covered the field of his honor subject even in the broadest outlines. When the astute student is not sure of an answer, he candidly admits the fact and receives credit for knowing that he does not know--a cardinal virtue to the scientific mind. If I may be allowed a personal instance, I went up for the examination in English literature in complete ignorance as to all but a single brief movement. When my ignorances were laid bare, the examiners most considerately confined their questions to my period. We had much pleasant conversation. Each of the examiners had imparted in his courses his latest rays of new light, and each in turn gave me the privilege of reflecting these rays to the others. For a brief but happy hour my importance was no less than that of the most eminent publication of the learned world. It need scarcely be said that such examinations are not supposed to have much weight in judging of the candidate's fitness. A more important test is a thesis studied from original sources, and the most important is good-conduct marks in a certain arbitrary number of set lecture courses. The policeman's examination is supreme. IV THE AMERICAN HALL The college has shown a tendency, as I have indicated, to divide in its social life into separate organizations for the purposes of residence, dining, and athletics. In the administrative life, at least the proctors and the freshman advisers are each in charge of separate bodies of undergraduates. In the educational life, a similar tendency is noticeable. Year by year there has been an increasing disposition to supplement lectures or to substitute them by what is in effect tutorial instruction. In the history courses, for example, the lectures and examinations have for some time been supplemented by private personal conferences. If the student is proceeding properly, he is encouraged; if not, he is given the necessary guidance and assistance. I do not know what the result has been in the teaching of history; but in the teaching of English composition, where the conferences have largely supplanted lectures, it has been an almost unmixed benefit. The instructor's comments are given a directness and a personal interest impossible either in the lecture-room or by means of written correction and criticism; and the students are usually eager to discuss their work and the means for bettering it. As the lecture system proves more and more inadequate, the tutorial instruction must necessarily continue to increase, and is not unlikely to afford the basis for a more sensibly devised scheme of honor schools. If the American college were organized into separate halls, it would be necessary and proper, as Mr. Bolles suggested, to place in each a Dean and administrative board; and the most economical plan of administration, as he pointed out, would be to give each administrator as many duties as possible toward a single set of pupils. Thus the proctor on each staircase of the hall would be the adviser of the men who roomed on it. It would be only a logical extension of the principle to give the proctor-adviser a tutorial office. All this indicates a reversion toward the golden age of the mediæval hall. Here is where the gain would lie: The administration of the hall would make it no longer necessary to rely on the lecture courses for police duty, and the wise guidance of a tutor would in some measure remove the necessity of the recurrent police examinations. Thus the student would be able to elect such courses only as the competent adviser might judge best for him; and if the faculty were relieved of the labor of unnecessary instruction and examination it would be possible, with less expense than the present system involves, to offer a well-considered honor examination, and to provide that the examination books should be graded not with mere clerical intelligence, but with the highest available critical appreciation. Thus and only thus can the American honor degree be given that value as an asset which the English honor degree has possessed for almost a century. It would by no means be necessary as at Oxford to make the honor examination the only basis for granting the degree. The fewer lecture courses which the student found available would be those in which the instruction is more advanced--the "university" courses properly speaking; and his examinations in these would be a criterion, such as Oxford is very much in need of, for correcting the evidence of the honor examination. Furthermore, in connection with one or more of these courses it would be easy for the student to prepare an honor thesis studied from the original sources under the constant advice of a university professor. Such an arrangement might be made to combine in any desired proportion the merits of the English honor schools with the merits of advanced instruction in America. With the introduction of the tutor, the American hall would be the complete counterpart of the mediæval hall of the golden age, and would solve the educational as well as the social and administrative problem. As to the details of the new system, experience would be the final teacher; but for a first experiment, the English arrangement is in its main outline suggestive. An American pass degree might be taken by electing, as all students now elect, a certain number of courses at random. For the increasing number of those who can afford only three years' study, a pass degree would probably prove of the greatest advantage. It was by making this sharp distinction between the pass degree and the honor degree that the English universities long ago solved the question, much agitated still in America, of the three years' course. For the honor men[6] two general examinations would probably suffice. For his second year honor examination (the English "Moderations") a student might select from three or four general groups. This examination would necessarily offer precisely that opportunity for mental culture the lack of which Dean Briggs laments as the worst feature of the elective system as at present conducted. Furthermore, it would be easy to arrange the second year honor groups so as to include only such subjects as are serviceable both for the purposes of a general education and to lead up to the subjects the student is likely to elect for final honors. For the final honor examination the student might choose from a dozen or more honor groups, in any one of which he would receive scientific culture of the most advanced type, while at the same time, by means of private reading under his tutor, he might fill in very pleasantly the outlines of his subject. It is probable that such a system would even facilitate the efforts of those who are endeavoring to transplant German standards. According to Professor Münsterberg, the student who specializes in the German university is a good two years or more in advance of the American freshman. The spirit of German instruction would thus require that the period of general culture be extended at least to the middle of the undergraduate course. Some such reorganization of our methods of teaching and examining, and I fear only this, would enable an undergraduate to choose what he wants and to pursue it with a fair chance of success. It would make the elective system elective. A concrete plan for an American hall will perhaps make the project clearer. The poorer students at Harvard have for some years had a separate dining-hall, Foxcroft, where the fare and the system of paying for it are adapted to the slenderest of purses. They have also lived mainly in certain primitive dormitories in which the rooms are cheapest. More than any other set of men except the clubmen they are a united body, or are capable of being made so. When next a bequest is received, might not the University erect a building in which a hundred or two of these men could live in common? The quadrangle would insure privacy, the first requisite of community life; the kitchen and dining-hall would insure the maximum comfort and convenience with the minimum expense. Nothing could contribute more to the self-respect and the general standing of the poorer students than a comfortable and well-ordered place and way of living, if only because nothing could more surely correct the idiosyncrasies in manners and appearance which are fostered by their present discomfort and isolation. The life of the hall would not of course be as strictly regulated as the life in an English college--perhaps no more strictly than in any other American college building. If in the hope of creating a closer community feeling stricter rules were adopted, they should be adopted, as in a mediæval hall, only by consent of the undergraduates. Such a hall would develop athletic teams of its own, and would produce university athletes. Under the present arrangement, when the poorer students are members of university teams, they may, and often do, become honorary members of the university clubs; but their lack of means and sometimes of the manner of the world make it difficult for them to be at home in the clubs; their social life is usually limited to a small circle of friends. If they had first been trained in the life of a hall, they would more easily fall in with the broader life outside; and instead of being isolated as at present, they would exert no small influence both in their hall and in the university. Few things could be better for the general life of the undergraduate than the coöperation of such men, and few things could be better for the members of a hall than to be brought by means of its leading members into close connection with the life of the university. If such a hall were successful, it could not fail to attract serious students of all sorts and conditions. At Oxford, Balliol has for generations been known as in the main unfashionable and scholarly; but it is seldom without a blue or two, and its eight has often been at the head of the river. As a result of all this, it never ceases to attract the more serious men from the aristocracy and even the nobility. In America, the success of one residential hall would probably lead to the establishment of others, so that in the end the life of the university might be given all the advantages of a dual organization. No change could be more far reaching and beneficial. The American institutions of the present are usually divided into two classes, the university, or "large college," and the "small college." The merit of the large colleges is that those fortunately placed in them gain greater familiarity with the ways of the world and of men, while for those who wish it, they offer more advanced instruction--the instruction characteristic of German universities. But to the increasing number of undergraduates who are not fortunately placed, their very size is the source of unhappiness; and for those undergraduates who wish anything else than scientific instruction, their virtues become merely a detriment. It is for this reason that many wise parents still prefer to intrust the education of their sons to the small colleges. These small colleges possess many of the virtues of the English universities; they train the mind and cultivate it, and at the same time develop the social man. If now the American university were to divide its undergraduate department into organized residential halls, it would combine the advantages of the two types of American institution, which are the two types of instruction the world over. Already our college life at its best is as happy as the college life in England; and the educational advantages of the four or five of our leading universities are rapidly becoming equal to those of the four or five leading universities in Germany. A combination of the residential hall and the teaching university would reproduce the highest type of the university of the Middle Ages; and in proportion as life and knowledge have been bettered in six hundred years, it would better that type. England has lost the educational virtues of the mediæval university, while Germany, in losing the residential halls, has lost its peculiar social virtues. When the American university combines the old social life with the new instruction, it will be the most perfect educational instruction in the history of civilization. FOOTNOTES: [4] For a detailed statement as to the course such a student would be able to pursue under the English system of honor schools, see Appendix III. [5] _The Atlantic Monthly_, October, 1900. [6] For full details as to the scheme of an English honor school, see Appendix III. APPENDIX I. ATHLETIC TRAINING IN ENGLAND In one or two particulars it seemed to me that we might learn from the English methods of training. On the Oxford team we took long walks every other day instead of track work. Our instructions were to climb all the hills in our way. This was in order to bring into play new muscles as far as possible, so as to rest those used in running. Though similar walks are sometimes given in America as a preliminary "seasoning," our training, for months before a meeting, is confined to the track. This is not unwise as long as a runner's stride needs developing; and in the heat of our summers such walks as the English take might sometimes prove exhausting. Yet my personal observations convinced me that for distance runners--and for sprinters, too, perhaps--the English method is far better. Under our training the muscles often seem overpowered by nervous lassitude; at the start of a race I have often felt it an effort to stand. In England there was little or none of this; we felt, as the bottle-holders are fond of putting it, "like a magnum of champagne." This idea of long walks, which the English have arrived at empirically, has been curiously approved in America by scientific discovery. It has been shown that after muscles appear too stiff from exhaustion to move, they can be excited to action by electric currents; while the motor nerves on being examined after such fatigue are found to be shrunken and empty, as in extreme old age. The limit of muscular exertion is thus clearly determined by the limit of the energy of the motor nerve. Now in a perfectly trained runner, the heart and lung must obviously reach their prime simultaneously with the motor nerves used in running; but since these organs are ordained to supply the entire system with fuel, they will usually require a longer time to reach prime condition than any single set of nerves. Thus continual track work is likely to develop the running nerves to the utmost before the heart and lungs are at prime. Conversely stated, if the development of the running nerves is retarded so as to keep pace with the development of the heart and lungs, the total result is likely to be higher. All this amounts to what any good English trainer will tell you--that you must take long walks on up and down grades in order to rest your running muscles and at the same time give your heart and lungs plenty of work--that is, in order to keep from getting "track stale." The amount of work we did from day to day will best be understood, perhaps, by quoting one or two of the training-cards. For the hundred yards the training during the final ten days was as follows: _Monday_ and _Tuesday_, sprints (three or four dashes of sixty yards at top speed); _Wednesday_, a fast 120 yards at the Queen's Club grounds; _Thursday_, walk; _Friday_, sprints; _Saturday_, 100 yards trial at Queen's Club; _Sunday_, walk; _Monday_, light work at Queen's Club; _Tuesday_, easy walk; _Wednesday_, inter-varsity sports. The man for whom this card was written happened to be over weight and short of training, or he would have had less track work. If he had been training for the quarter in addition to the hundred, he would have had fewer sprints, and, instead of the fast 120, a trial quarter a week before the sports, with perhaps a fast 200 on the following Friday. For the mile, the following is a characteristic week's work, ending with a trial: _Sunday_, walk; _Monday_, one lap (1/3 mile); _Tuesday_, two laps, fast-ish; _Wednesday_, walk; _Thursday_, easy mile; _Friday_, walk; _Saturday_, a two lap trial (at the rate of 4.30 for the mile). For the three miles, the following is a schedule of the first ten days (the walks are unusually frequent because the "first string" had a bruise on the ball of his foot): _Monday_, walk; _Tuesday_, walk; _Wednesday_, two slow laps at the Queen's Club; _Thursday_, walk; _Friday_, walk; _Saturday_, a long run at the Queen's Club; _Sunday_, walk; _Monday_, four laps, fast-ish, at the Queen's Club; _Tuesday_, walk; _Wednesday_, inter-varsity sports. The chief difference between this work and what we should give in America is in the matter of walking. II. CLIMATE AND INTERNATIONAL ATHLETICS The value of international contests as a basis for comparing English and American training is impaired by the fact that the visiting team is pretty sure to be under the weather, as may be indicated by summarizing the history of international contests. The first representatives we sent abroad, the Harvard four-oared crew of 1869, became so overtrained on the Thames on work which would have been only sufficient at home, that two of the four men had to be substituted. The substitutes were taken from the "second" crew, which had just come over from the race at Worcester. The men in this crew had been so inferior as oarsmen that they had been allowed to compete against Yale only after vigorous protest; but in the race against Oxford, owing probably to the brevity of their training in England, the substitutes pulled the strongest oars in the boat. The crew got off very well, but when the time came for the final effort, the two original members had not the nervous stamina to respond. The experience of the Yale athletes who competed against Oxford in 1894 was much the same. Their performances in the games were so far below their American form that they won only the events in which they literally outclassed their opponents--the hammer, shot, and broad jump. They were sportsmen enough not to explain their poor showing, and perhaps they never quite realized how the soft and genial English summer had unnerved them; but several competent observers who had watched their practice told me that they lost form from day to day. Their downfall was doubtless aided by the fact that instead of training at Brighton or elsewhere on the coast, they trained in the Thames valley and at Oxford. The experience of the Cornell crew, of which I got full and frank information while crossing the Atlantic with them after the race, was along the same lines. Before leaving Ithaca, they rowed over the equivalent of the Henley course in time that was well under seven minutes, and not far from the Henley record of six minutes, fifty-one seconds. At Henley they rowed their first trial in seven minutes and three seconds, if my memory serves, and in consequence were generally expected to win. From that day they grew worse and worse. Certain of the eight went stale and had to be substituted. In the race the crew, like the earlier Harvard crew, went to pieces when they were called on for a spurt--the test of nerve force in reserve--and were beaten in wretchedly slow time. They had gone hopelessly stale on work which would have been none too much in America. The experience of the Yale crew in the year after was similar to that of Harvard and Cornell. The crew went to pieces and lost the race for the lack of precisely that burst of energy for which American athletes, and Yale in particular, are remarkable. Meantime one or two American athletes training at Oxford had been gathering experience, which, humble though it was, had the merit of being thorough. Mr. J. L. Bremer, who will be remembered in America as making a new world's record over the low hurdles, steadily lost suppleness and energy at Oxford, so that he was beaten in the quarter mile in time distinctly inferior to his best in America. Clearly, the effect of the English climate is to relax the nervous system and thereby to reduce the athlete's power both of sprinting _per se_ and of spurting at the finish of the race. My own experience in English training confirmed the conclusion, and pointed to an interesting extension of it. I was forced to conclude that the first few weeks in England are more than likely to undo an athlete, and especially for sprinting; and even if he stays long enough to find himself again, his ability to sprint is likely to be lessened. In the long run, on the other hand, the English climate produces staying power in almost the same proportion as it destroys speed. When the joint team of track athletes from Yale and Harvard went to England in 1899, the powers that were took advantage of past experiences, and instead of going to the Thames valley to train, they went to Brighton; and instead of doing most of their training in England, they gave themselves only the few days necessary to get their shore legs and become acquainted with the Queen's Club track. As a result, the team was in general up to its normal form, or above it, and, except for the fact that one of the men was ill, would have won. The experience of the English athletes who came to America in 1895 points to a similar conclusion. Though the heat was intense and oppressive and most of the visitors were positively sick, one of the sprinters, in spite of severe illness, was far above his previous best, while all of the distance men went quite to pieces. Thus our climate would seem to reduce the staying power of the English athletes, and perhaps to increase the speed of sprinters. It appears on the whole probable that in these international contests the visiting athlete had best do as much as possible of his training at home, and it follows that the visiting team is at a distinct and inevitable disadvantage. III. AN OXFORD FINAL HONOR SCHOOL The scope and content of an English honor school is well illustrated in the following passage from the Oxford examination statutes, which treats of the final school in English literature. The system will be seen to be very different from a system under which a student may receive honors in ignorance of all but a single movement in English literature. § 10. _Of the Honour School of English Language and Literature._ 1. The Examination in the School of English Language and Literature shall always include authors or portions of authors belonging to the different periods of English literature, together with the history of the English language and the history of English literature. The Examination shall also include Special Subjects falling within or usually studied in connexion with the English language and literature. 2. Every Candidate shall be expected to have studied the authors or portions of authors which he offers (1) with reference to the forms of the language, (2) as examples of literature, and (3) in their relation to the history and thought of the period to which they belong. He shall also be expected to show a competent knowledge (1) of the chief periods of the English language, including Old English (Anglo-Saxon), and (2) of the relation of English to the languages with which it is etymologically connected, and (3) of the history of English literature, and (4) of the history, especially the social history, of England during the period of English literature which he offers. 3. The Examination in Special Subjects may be omitted by Candidates who do not aim at a place in the First or Second Class. 4. No Candidate shall be admitted to examination in the Final Honour School of English Language and Literature, unless he has either obtained Honours in some Final Honour School or has passed the First Public Examination [_i. e._ Moderation]. 5. The Examination shall be under the supervision of a Board of Studies. 6. It shall be the duty of the Board of Studies in framing regulations, and also of the Examiners in the conduct of the Examination, to see that as far as possible equal weight is given to language and literature: provided always that Candidates who offer Special Subjects shall be at liberty to choose subjects connected either with language or with literature or with both. 7. The Board of Studies shall by notice from time to time make regulations respecting the Examination; and shall have power-- (1) To prescribe authors or portions of authors. (2) To specify one or more related languages or dialects to be offered either as a necessary or as an optional part of the Examination. (3) To name periods of the history of English literature, and to fix their limits. (4) To issue lists of Special Subjects in connexion either with language or with literature or with both, prescribing books or authorities where they think it desirable. (5) To prescribe or recommend authors or portions of authors in languages other than English, to be studied in connexion with Special Subjects to which they are intimately related. (6) To determine whether Candidates who aim at a place in the First or Second Class shall be required to offer more than one Special Subject. (_ii_) _Regulations of the Board of Studies for the Examinations in 1901 and 1902._ The subjects of examination in this School are-- I. Portions of English Authors. II. The History of the English Language. III. The History of English Literature. IV. (In the case of those Candidates who aim at a place in the First or Second Class) a Special Subject of Language or Literature. I. ENGLISH AUTHORS. Candidates will be examined in the following texts:-- _Beowulf._ The texts printed in Sweet's _Anglo-Saxon Reader_. _King Horn._ _Havelok._ Laurence Minot. _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight._ Chaucer's _Canterbury Tales_, the _Prologue_ and the following Tales:-- _The Knight's_, _The Man of Law's_, _The Prioress's_, _Sir Thopas_, _The Monk's_, _The Nun's Priest's_, _The Pardoner's_, _The Clerk's_, _The Squire's_, _The Second Nun's_, _The Canon's Yeoman's_ _Piers Plowman_, the _Prologue_ and first seven _passus_ (text B). Shakespeare, with a special study of the following Plays: _Midsummer Night's Dream_, _King John,_ _Much Ado about Nothing_, _Macbeth_, _Cymbeline_. Milton, with a special study of _Paradise Lost_. These texts are to be studied (1) with reference to the forms of the language; (2) as examples of literature; and (3) in their relation to the history and thought of the period to which they belong. After Milton no special texts are prescribed, but Candidates are expected to show an adequate knowledge of the chief authors. II. HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. Candidates will be examined in the Philology and History of the Language, in Gothic (the Gospel of St. Mark), and in Translation from Old English and Middle English authors not specially offered. III. HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. The Examination in the History of English Literature will not be limited to the prescribed texts. It will include the history of criticism and of style in prose and verse; for these subjects, Candidates are recommended to consult the following works:-- Sidney, _Apology for Poetry_. Daniel, _Defence of Rhyme_. Dryden, _Essay of Dramatic Poesy_, and _Preface to Fables_. Addison, Papers on Milton in the _Spectator_. Pope, _Essay on Criticism_. Johnson, _Preface to Shakespeare_ and _Lives of the Poets_. Wordsworth, _Prefaces, etc., to Lyrical Ballads_. Coleridge, _Biographia Literaria_. IV. SPECIAL SUBJECTS. Candidates who aim at a place in the First or Second Class will be expected to offer a Special Subject, which may be chosen from the following list:-- 1. Old English Language and Literature to 1150 A. D. 2. Middle English Language and Literature, 1150-1400 A. D. 3. Old French Philology, with special reference to Anglo-Norman French, together with a special study of the following texts:-- Computus of Philippe de Thaun, Voyage of St. Brandan, The Song of Dermot and the Earl, Les contes moralisés de Nicole Bozon. 4. Scandinavian Philology, with special reference to Icelandic, together with a special study of the following texts:-- Gylfaginning, Laxdæla Saga, Gunnlaugssaga Ormstungu. 5. Elizabethan literature, 1558-1637 A. D. 6. English literature, 1637-1700 A. D. 7. English literature, 1700-1745 A. D. 8. Wordsworth and his contemporaries, 1797-1850 A. D. 9. History of Scottish poetry to 1600 A. D. Candidates who desire to offer any other subject or period as a Special Subject must obtain the leave of the Board of Studies a year before the Examination. Candidates who offer a period of English Literature will be expected to show a competent knowledge of the History, especially the Social History, of England during such period. The following scheme of papers is contemplated:-- 1. Beowulf and other Old English texts. 2. King Horn, Havelok, Minot, Sir Gawain. 3. Chaucer and Piers Plowman. 4. Shakespeare. 5. Milton. 6. History of the language. 7. Gothic--O. E. and M. E. translations. 8. } History of the Literature, including questions 9. } on the history of criticism. Two papers, (1) to 1700, (2) after 1700. 10. Special Subjects. The Riverside Press _Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton & Co._ _Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._ 
43764	----	Every attempt has been made to replicate the original as printed. Variation in the spellings of names has not been corrected (i.e. Queens'/Queen's) Some typographical errors have been corrected; a list follows the text. The footnotes follow the text. ^{e} signified a superscript letter e Some illustrations have been moved from mid-paragraph for ease of reading. (etext transcriber's note) CAMBRIDGE AND ITS STORY _All rights reserved_ [Illustration: Oriel Windows Queen's College] CAMBRIDGE AND ITS STORY BY CHARLES WILLIAM STUBBS, D.D. DEAN OF ELY [Illustration] WITH TWENTY-FOUR LITHOGRAPHS AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS BY HERBERT RAILTON THE LITHOGRAPHS BEING TINTED BY FANNY RAILTON 1903 LONDON J. M. DENT & CO. ALDINE HOUSE, W.C. Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. At the Ballantyne Press PREFACE I should wish to write one word by way of explanation of the character of the descriptive historical sketch which forms the text of the present book. Some time ago I undertook to prepare, for "the Mediæval Towns Series" of my Publisher, a work on the Story of the Town and University of Cambridge. Arrangements were made with Mr. Herbert Railton for its pictorial illustration. It had been intended in the first instance, that the artist's pen and ink sketches should have been reproduced by the ordinary processes used in modern book illustration. But the poetic glamour of such a place as Cambridge and its _genius loci_ did not allow the enthusiasm of the artist to remain satisfied with such drawings only as might be readily reproduced by the ordinary processes. In addition to many sketches in black and white, suitable for reproduction in the body of the text in illustration of interesting bits of architectural detail, or of quaint grouping, Mr. Railton has also drawn a series of large-sized pencil-pictures of the principal College buildings. These drawings are so beautiful, so full of delicacy and tenderness and yet so firm and effective in their treatment of light and shade, and show so much sympathy for the old buildings and all their picturesque charm, that the Publisher at once felt that they must not be treated as ordinary book illustrations. The artist had produced pictures worthy to be classed with the best work of Samuel Prout. It became the duty of the Publisher to treat them with corresponding respect. The method of auto-lithography has accordingly been adopted, by which the plates are an absolute reproduction in size and tint of the pencil drawings, and the artist's work goes straight to the reader without any mechanical intervention. A new feature has been added by which the colour stones have been made by Mrs. Railton acting in collaboration with her husband. This process of reproduction necessarily involved a change in the proposed format of the book. It was determined, therefore, to issue in the first instance an _edition de luxe_ of "The Story of Cambridge," on specially prepared paper and in large quarto size. I have readily consented to such a course, for although I may seem, by the more imposing form of a large Library Edition, to be guilty of some presumption in placing my Historical Sketch in competition with such histories as those of Mr. Mullinger in the "Epochs of History Series," or of my friend, Mr. T. D. Atkinson, in "Cambridge Described"--the larger books of Mr. J. W. Clark on the architectural history of Cambridge, and of Mr. Mullinger on the general history of the University are already classics to which humbler writers on Cambridge can only look as to final authorities--I can only hope that my readers will recognise that my presumption is only apparent, and meanwhile I rest confident that even the historical critic will have little care for the inadequacy of my prose rendering of "The Story of Cambridge," absorbed as he must be by his delight in the beauty of Mr. Railton's drawings. In any case, I shall be entirely satisfied if only my descriptive sketch is found adequate for the help of the general reader in appreciating the story of which the artist has been able to give so poetic an interpretation. C. W. S. THE DEANERY, ELY, _Michaelmas_, 1903. CONTENTS PAGE PREFACE v LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xiii CHAPTER I LEGENDARY ORIGIN OF THE UNIVERSITY 1 Geographical and commercial importance of the city site--Map of the county a palimpsest--Glamour of the Fenland--Cambridge the gateway of East Anglia--The Roman roads--The Roman station--The Castle Hill--Stourbridge Fair--Cambridge a chief centre of English commerce. CHAPTER II CAMBRIDGE IN THE NORMAN TIME 22 William I. at Cambridge Castle--Cambridge at the Domesday Survey--Roger Picot the Sheriff--Pythagoras School--Castle and Borough--S. Benet's Church and its Parish--The King's Ditch--The Great and the Small Bridges--The King's and the Bishop's Mills--The River Hythes--S. Peter by the Castle and S. Giles Church--The early Streets of the City--The Augustinian Priory of Barnwell--The Round Church of the Holy Sepulchre--The Cambridge Jewry--Debt of early Scholars to the Philosophers of the Synagogue--Benjamin's House--Municipal Freedom of the Borough. CHAPTER III THE BEGINNINGS OF UNIVERSITY LIFE 49 Monastic Origins--Continuity of Learning in Early England--The School of York--The Venerable Bede--Alcuin and the Schools of Charles the Great--The Danish Invasions--The Benedictine Revival--The Monkish Chroniclers--The Coming of the Friars--The Franciscan and Dominican Houses at Cambridge--The Franciscan Scholars--Roger Bacon--Bishop Grosseteste--The New Aristotle and the Scientific Spirit--The Scholastic Philosophy--Aquinas--Migration of Scholars from Paris to Cambridge--The term "University"--The Colleges and the Hostels--The Course of Study--Trivium and Quadrivium--The Four Faculties--England a Paradise of Clerks--Parable of the Monk's Pen. CHAPTER IV THE EARLIEST COLLEGE FOUNDATION: PETERHOUSE 71 The Early Monastic Houses in Cambridge--Student Proselytising by the Friars--The Oxford College of Merton a Protest against this Tendency--The Rule of Merton taken as a Model by Hugh de Balsham, Founder of Peterhouse--The Hospital of S. John--The Scholars of Ely--Domestic Economy of the College--The Dress of the Mediæval Student--Peterhouse Buildings--Little S. Mary's Church--The Perne Library--The College Chapel. CHAPTER V THE COLLEGES OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY 93 The Fourteenth Century an Age of Great Men and Great Events but not of Great Scholars--Petrarch and Richard of Bury--Michael House--The King's Scholars--King's Hall--Clare Hall--Pembroke College--Gonville Hall--Dr. John Caius--His Three Gates of Humility, Virtue, and Honour. CHAPTER VI THE COLLEGE OF THE CAMBRIDGE GUILDS 120 Unique Foundation of Corpus Christi College--The Cambridge Guilds--The influence of "the Good Duke"--The Peasant Revolt--Destruction of Charters--"Perish the skill of the Clerks!"--The Black Death--Lollardism at the Universities--The Poore Priestes of Wycliffe. CHAPTER VII TWO ROYAL FOUNDATIONS 137 Henry VI--The most pitiful Character in all English History--His devotion to Learning and his Saintly Spirit--His foundation of Eton and King's College--The Building of King's College Chapel--Its architect, Reginald of Ely, the Cathedral Master-Mason--Its relation to the Ely Lady Chapel--Its stained glass Windows--Its close Foundation--Queens' College--Margaret of Anjou and Elizabeth Wydville--The buildings of Queens'--Similarity to Haddon Hall--Its most famous Resident, Erasmus--His _Novum Instrumentum_ edited within its Walls. CHAPTER VIII TWO OF THE SMALLER HALLS 173 The Foundation of Trinity Hall by Bishop Bateman of Norwich--On the Site of the Hostel of Student-Monks of Ely--Prior Crauden--Evidence of the Ely Obedientary Rolls--The College Buildings--The Old Hall--S. Edward's Church used as College Chapel--Hugh Latimer's Sermon on a Pack of Cards--Harvey Goodwin--Frederick Maurice--The Hall Library--Its ancient Bookcases--The Foundation of S. Catherine's Hall. CHAPTER IX BISHOP ALCOCK AND THE NUNS OF S. RHADEGUND 183 The New Learning in Italy and Germany--The English "Pilgrim Scholars": Grey, Tiptoft, Linacre, Grocyn--The practical Genius of England--Bishops Rotherham, Alcock, and Fisher--Alcock, diplomatist, financier, architect--The Founder of Jesus College--He takes as his model Jesus College, Rotherham--His Object the Training of a Preaching Clergy--The Story of the Nunnery of S. Rhadegund--Its Dissolution--Conversion of the Conventual Church into a College Chapel--The Monastic Buildings, Gateway, Cloister, Chapter House--The Founder a Better Architect than an Educational Reformer--The Jesus Roll of eminent Men from Cranmer to Coleridge. CHAPTER X COLLEGES OF THE NEW LEARNING 210 The Lady Margaret Foundations--Bishop Fisher of Rochester--The Foundation of Christ's--God's House--The buildings of the new College--College Worthies--John Milton--Henry More--Charles Darwin--The Hospital of the Brethren of S. John--Death of the Lady Margaret--Foundation of S. John's College--Its buildings--The Great Gateway--The new Library--The Bridge of Sighs--The Wilderness--Wordsworth's "Prelude"--The aims of Bishop Fisher--His death. CHAPTER XI A SMALL AND A GREAT COLLEGE 246 Dissolution of the Monasteries--Schemes for Collegiate Spoliation checked by Henry VIII.--Monks' or Buckingham College--Refounded by Sir Thomas Audley as Magdalene College--Conversion of the old buildings--The Pepysian Library--Foundation of Trinity College--Michaelhouse and the King's Hall--King Edward's Gate--The Queen's Gate--The Great Gate--Dr. Thomas Neville--The Great Court--The Hall--Neville's Court--New Court--Dr. Bentley--"A House of all Kinds of Good Letters." CHAPTER XII ANCIENT AND PROTESTANT FOUNDATIONS 265 Queen Elizabeth and the Founder of Emmanuel--The Puritan Age--Sir Walter Mildmay--The Building of Emmanuel--The Tenure of Fellowships--Puritan Worthies--The Founder of Harvard--Lady Frances Sidney--The Sidney College Charter--The Buildings--The Chapel and the old Franciscan Refectory--Royalists and Puritans--Oliver Cromwell--Thomas Fuller---A Child's Prayer for his Mother. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS _TINTED LITHOGRAPHS_ ORIEL WINDOWS, QUEENS' COLLEGE _Frontispiece_ THE SCHOOL OF PYTHAGORAS _facing page_ 28 PETERHOUSE " 82 CLARE COLLEGE AND BRIDGE " 96 PEMBROKE COLLEGE " 106 GATE OF HONOUR AND GATE OF VIRTUE, CAIUS COLLEGE " 112 THE CHURCHES OF S. EDWARD AND S. MARY THE GREAT FROM PEAS HILL " 123 CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE AND S. BENEDICT'S CHURCH " 128 THE PITT PRESS, S. BOTOLPH'S CHURCH, AND CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE " 132 THE WEST DOORWAY, KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL " 144 GATEWAY TO OLD COURT OF KING'S COLLEGE " 153 THE CHAPEL, TRINITY HALL " 174 ORIEL WINDOW, JESUS COLLEGE " 178 GATEWAY IN GREAT COURT, S. CATHERINE'S COLLEGE " 180 THE CHAPEL, CHRIST'S COLLEGE " 214 GATEWAY, S. JOHN'S COLLEGE " 230 ORIEL IN LIBRARY, S. JOHN'S COLLEGE " 236 TOWER AND TURRETS OF TRINITY FROM S. JOHN'S COLLEGE " 243 THE LIBRARY, CHAPEL, AND HALL, MAGDALENE COLLEGE " 248 GATEWAY AND DIAL, TRINITY COLLEGE " 254 NEVILLE'S COURT, TRINITY COLLEGE " 260 HALL AND CHAPEL, EMMANUEL COLLEGE " 266 DOWNING COLLEGE " 274 THE GARDEN FRONT, SIDNEY SUSSEX COLLEGE " 278 _BLACK AND WHITE ILLUSTRATIONS_ PAGE COURTYARD OF THE FALCON INN 25 SAXON TOWER, S. BENEDICT'S CHURCH 29 THE ABBEY HOUSE 35 CHAPEL, BARNWELL PRIORY 39 THE ROUND CHURCH 41 ORIEL WINDOWS FROM HOUSE IN PETTY-CURY _facing page_ 46 CLARE COLLEGE AND BRIDGE 101 PEMBROKE COLLEGE 107 PEMBROKE COLLEGE, ORIELS AND ENTRANCE 109 CAIUS COLLEGE, THE GATE OF HONOUR 117 KING'S PARADE 139 KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL 145 KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL _facing page_ 150 KING'S COLLEGE QUADRANGLE 155 CLOISTER COURT, QUEENS' COLLEGE 163 ORIEL WINDOW, QUEENS' COLLEGE 166 THE BRIDGE AND GABLES, QUEENS' COLLEGE 169 A BIT FROM SIDNEY STREET 172 DIVINITY SCHOOLS AND S. JOHN'S 193 NORMAN WORK IN CHURCH OF JESUS COLLEGE 197 NORMAN WORK IN N. TRANSEPT, JESUS COLLEGE CHAPEL 201 ENTRANCE TO CHAPTER-HOUSE, PRIORY OF S. RHADEGUND 203 JACK IN WOLSEY'S KITCHEN, CHRIST'S COLLEGE 219 THE COURTYARD OF THE WRESTLERS' INN _facing page_ 220 ENTRANCE TO S. JOHN'S COLLEGE 229 S. JOHN'S COLLEGE FROM THE BACKS 233 BRIDGE OF SIGHS, S. JOHN'S COLLEGE 239 TOWER AND GATEWAY, TRINITY COLLEGE _facing page_ 252 THE FOUNTAIN, TRINITY COLLEGE " 258 [Illustration: CAMBRIDGE AND ITS STORY] CHAPTER I LEGENDARY ORIGIN OF THE UNIVERSITY "Next then the plenteous Ouse came far from land, By many a city and by many a town, And many rivers taking under-hand Into his waters as he passeth down, The Cle, the Were, the Grant, the Sture, the Bowne, Thence doth by Huntingdon and Cambridge flit, My Mother Cambridge, whom as with a crowne He doth adorne, and is adorn'd by it With many a gentle Muse and many a learned wit." --SPENSER'S _Faerie Queene_, iv. xi. 34. Geographical and commercial importance of the city site--Map of the county a palimpsest--Glamour of the Fenland--Cambridge the gateway of East Anglia--The Roman roads--The Roman station--The Castle Hill--Stourbridge Fair--Cambridge a chief centre of English commerce. One could wish perhaps that the story of Cambridge should begin, as so many good stories of men and cities have begun, in the antique realm of poetry and romance. That it did so begin our forefathers indeed had little doubt. John Lydgate, the poet, a Benedictine monk of Bury, "the disciple"--as he is proud to call himself--"of Geoffrey Chaucer," but best remembered perhaps by later times as the writer of "London Lackpenny" and "Troy Book," has left certain verses on the foundation of the Town and University of Cambridge, which are still preserved to us.[1] Some stanzas of that fourteenth-century poem will serve to show in what a cloudland of empty legend it was at one time thought that the story of the beginnings of Cambridge might be found:-- "By trew recorde of the Doctor Bede That some tyme wrotte so mikle with his hande, And specially remembringe as I reede In his chronicles made of England Amounge other thynges as ye shall understand, Whom for myne aucthour I dare alleage, Seith the translacion and buylding of Cambridge. * * * * * "Touching the date, as I rehearse can Fro thilke tyme that the world began Four thowsand complete by accomptès clere And three hundred by computacion Joyned thereto eight and fortie yeare, When Cantebro gave the foundacion Of thys citie and this famous towne And of this noble universitie Sette on this river which is called Cante. * * * * * "This Cantebro, as it well knoweth At Athenes scholed in his yougt, All his wyttes greatlye did applie To have acquaintance by great affection With folke-experte in philosophie. From Athens he brought with hym downe Philosophers most sovereigne of renowne Unto Cambridge, playnlye this is the case, Anaxamander and Anaxagoras With many other myne Aucthors dothe fare, To Cambridge fast can hym spede With philosophers and let for no cost spare In the Schooles to studdie and to reede; Of whose teachinges great profit that gan spreade And great increase rose of his doctrine; Thus of Cambridge the name gan first shyne As chief schoole and universitie Unto this tyme fro the daye it began By cleare reporte in manye a far countre Unto the reign of Cassibellan. * * * * * "And as it is put eke in memorie, Howe Julius Cesar entring this region On Cassybellan after his victorye Tooke with hym clarkes of famous renowne Fro Cambridg and ledd theim to Rome towne, Thus by processe remembred here to forne Cambridg was founded long or Chryst was borne." But it is not only in verse that this fabric of fable is to be found. Down even to the middle of the last century the ears of Cambridge graduates were still beguiled by strange stories of the early renown of their University--how it was founded by a Spanish Prince, Cantaber (the "Cantebro" of Lydgate's verses), "in the 4321st year of the creation of the world," and in the sixth year of Gurgant, King of Britain; how Athenian astronomers and philosophers, "because of the pleasantness of the place," came to Cambridge as its earliest professors, "the king having appointed them stipends"; how King Arthur, "on the 7th of April, in the year of the Incarnacion of our Lord, 531," granted a charter of academic privileges "to Kenet, the first Rector of the schools"; and how the University subsequently found another royal patron in the East Anglian King Sigebert, and had among its earliest Doctors of Divinity the great Saxon scholars Bede and Alcuin. I have before me as I write a small octavo volume, a guide-book to Cambridge and its Colleges, much worn and thumbed, probably by its eighteenth-century owner, possibly by his nineteenth-century successor, in which all these fables and legends are set out in order. The book has lost its title-page, but it is easily identifiable as an English translation of Richard Parker's _Skeletos Cantabrigiensis_, written about 1622, but not apparently published until a century later, when the antiquary, Thomas Hearne, printed it in his edition of Leland's _Collectanea_. My English edition of the _Skeletos_ is presumably either that which was "printed for Thomas Warner at the Black Boy, Pater Noster Row," and without a date, or that published by "J. Bateman at the Hat and Star in S. Paul's Churchyard," and dated 1721. As an illustration of the kind of record which passed for history even in the last century,--for the early editions of Hallam's "History of the Middle Ages" bear evidence that that careful historian still gave some credence to these Cambridge fables,--it may be interesting to quote one or two passages from the legendary history of Nicholas Cantelupe, which is prefixed to this English version of Parker's book:-- "Anaximander, one of the disciples of Thales, came to this city on account of his Philosophy and great Skill in Astrology, where he left much Improvement in Learning to Posterity. After his Example, Anaxagoras, quitting his Possessions, after a long Peregrination, came to Cambridge, where he writ Books, and instructed the unlearned, for which reason that City was by the People of the Country call'd the City of SCHOLARS. "King Cassibelan, when he had taken upon him the Government of the Kingdom, bestowed such Preheminence on this City, that any Fugitive or Criminal, desirous to acquire Learning, flying to it, was defended in the sight of His Enemy, with Pardon, and without Molestation, Upbraiding or Affront offer'd him. For which Reason, as also on account of the Richness of the Soil, the Serenity of the Air, the great Source of Learning, and the King's Favour, young and old, from many Parts of the Earth, resorted thither, some of whom JULIUS CÆSAR, having vanquished Cassibelan, carry'd away to Rome, where they afterwards flourish'd." There then follows a letter, given without any doubt of authenticity, from Alcuin of York, purporting to be written to the scholars of Cambridge from the Court of Charles the Great:-- "To the discreet Heirs of CHRIST, the Scholars of the unspotted Mother Cambridge, _Ælqninus_, by Life a Sinner, Greeting and Glory in the Virtues of Learning. Forasmuch as Ignorance is the Mother of Error, I earnestly intreat that Youths among you be us'd to be present at the Praises of the Supreme King, not to unearth Foxes, not to hunt Hares, let them now learn the Holy Scriptures, having obtain'd Knowledge of the Science of Truth, to the end that in their perfect Age they may teach others. Call to mind, I beseech you dearly beloved the most noble Master of our Time, _Bede_ the Priest, Doctor of your University, under whom by permission of the Divine Grace, I took the Doctor's Degree in the Year from the Incarnation of our Lord 692, what an Inclination he had to study in His Youth, what Praise he has now among Men, and much more what Glory of Reward with God. Farewell always in _Christ Jesu_, by whose Grace you are assisted in Learning. Amen." We may omit the mythical charter of King Arthur and come to the passage concerning King Alfred, obviously intended to turn the flank of the Oxford patriots, who too circumstantially relate how their University was founded by that great scholar king. "In process of time, when Alfred, or Alred, supported by divine Comfort, after many Tribulations, had obtained the Monarchy of all England, he translated to Oxford the scholars, which Penda, King of the Mercians, had with the leave of King Ceadwald carried from Cambridge to Kirneflad (rather Cricklade, as above), to which scholars he was wont to distribute Alms in three several Places. He much honour'd the Cantabrigians and Oxonians, and granted them many Privileges. "Afterwards he erected and establish'd Grammar Schools throughout the whole Island, and caus'd the Youth to be instructed in their Mother Tongue. Then perceiving that the Scholars, whom he had conveyed to Oxford, continually applied themselves to the Study of the Laws and expounded the Holy Scriptures: he appointed Grimwald their Rector, who had been Rector and Chancellor of the City of Cambridge." The severer canons of modern historical criticism have naturally made short work of all these absurd fables; nor do they even allow us to accept as authentic the otherwise not unpleasing story quoted from the Chronicle, or rather historical novel, of Ingulph, in the quaint pages of Thomas Fuller, written a generation later than Richard Parker's book, which tells how, early in the twelfth century, certain monks were sent to Cambridge by Joffrey, Abbot of Crowland, to expound in a certain public barn (by later writers fondly thought to be that which is now known by the name of Pythagoras' School) the pages of Priscian, Quintillian, and Aristotle. There is little doubt, I fear, that we may find the inciting motive of all this exuberant fancy and invention in the desire to glorify the one University at the expense of the other, which is palpably present in that last quotation from Parker's book, and which is perhaps not altogether absent from the writings and the conversation of some academic patriots of our own day. We may, however, more wisely dismiss all these foolish legends and myths as to origins in the kindlier spirit of quaint old Fuller in the Introduction to his "History of the University of Cambridge":-- "Sure I am," he says, "there needeth no such pains to be took, or provision to be made, about the pre-eminence of our English Universities, to regulate their places, they having better learned humility from the precept of the Apostle, In honour preferring one another. Wherefore I presume my aunt Oxford will not be justly offended if in this book I give my own mother the upper hand, and first begin with her history. Thus desiring God to pour his blessing upon both, that neither may want milk for their children, or children for their milk, we proceed to the business." Descending then from the misty cloudland of Fable to the hard ground of historic Fact, we are shortly met by a question which, I hope, Fuller would have recognised as businesslike. How did it come about that our forefathers founded a University on the site which we now call Cambridge--"that distant marsh town," as a modern Oxford historian somewhat contemptuously calls it? The question is a natural one, and has not seldom been asked. We shall find, I think, the most reasonable answer to it by asking a prior question. How did the town of Cambridge itself come to be a place of any importance in the early days? The answer is, in the first place, geographical; in the second, commercial. We may fitly occupy the remaining space of this chapter in seeking to formulate that answer. And first, as to the physical features of the district which has Cambridge for its most important centre. "The map of England," it has been strikingly said by Professor Maitland, "is the most wonderful of all palimpsests." Certainly that portion of the map of England which depicts the country surrounding the Fenlands of East Anglia is not the least interesting part of that palimpsest. Let us take such a map and try roughly to decipher it.[2] If we begin with the seaboard line we shall perhaps at first sight be inclined to think that it cannot have changed much in the course of the centuries. And most probably the coast-line of Lincolnshire, from a point northwards near Great Grimsby or Cleethorpes at the mouth of the Humber to a point southwards near Waynefleet at the mouth of the Steeping River, twenty miles or less north of Boston, and again the coast-line of Norfolk and Suffolk from Hunstanton Point at the north-east corner of the Wash round past Brancaster and Wells and Cromer to Yarmouth and then southwards past Southwold and Aldborough to Harwich at the mouth of the Orwell and Stour estuary, has not altered much in ten or even twenty centuries. But that can hardly be said with regard to the coast-line of the Wash itself. For on its western side our palimpsest warns us that there is a considerable district called _Holland_; that on its south side, a dozen miles or more from the present coast-line, is a town called _Wisbech_ (or Ouse-beach); that still farther inland, within a mile or two of Cambridge itself, are to be found the villages of Waterbeach and Landbeach; and that scattered throughout the whole district of the low-lying lands are villages and towns whose place-names have the termination "ey" or "ea," meaning "island"--such, as Thorney, Spinny, Sawtrey, Ramsey, Whittlesea, Horningsea; and that one considerable tract of slightly higher ground, though now undoubtedly surrounded by dry land, is still called the Isle of Ely. These place-names are significant, and tell their own story. And that story, as we try to interpret it, will gradually lead us to the conclusion that the ancient seaboard line of the Wash, instead of being marked on the map of England as we have it now, by a line roughly joining Boston and King's Lynn, would on the earliest text of the palimpsest require an extended sea boundary on which Lincoln, and Stamford and Peterborough, and Huntingdon and Cambridge, and Brandon and Downham Market would become almost seaboard towns, and Ely an island fifteen miles or so off the coast at Cambridge. Such a conclusion, of course, would be somewhat of an exaggeration, for the wide waste of waters which thus formed an extension of the Wash southwards was not all or always sea water. So utterly transformed, however, has the whole Fen country become in modern times--the vast plain of the Bedford level contains some 2000 square miles of the richest corn-land in England--that it is very difficult to restore in the imagination the original scenery of the days before the drainage, when the rivers which take the rainfall of the central counties of England--the Nene, the Welland, the Witham, the Glen, and the Bedfordshire Ouse--spread out into one vast delta or wilderness of shallow waters. The poetic glamour of the land, now on the side of its fertility and strange beauty, now on the side of its monotony and weird loneliness, has always had a strange fascination for the chroniclers and writers of every age. In the first Book of the _Liber Eliensis_ (ii. 105), written by Thomas, a monk of Ely, in the twelfth century, there is a description of the fenlands, given by a soldier to William the Conqueror, which reads like the report of the land of plenty and promise brought by the spies to Joshua. In the _Historia Major_ of Matthew Paris, however, it is described as a place "neither accessible for man or beast, affording only deep mud, with sedge and reeds, and possest of birds, yea, much more by devils, as appeareth in the Life of S. Guthlac, who, finding it a place of horror and great solitude, began to inhabit there." At a later time Drayton in his _Polyolbion_ gives a picture of the Fenland life as one of manifold industry:-- "The toiling fisher here is towing of his net; The fowler is employed his limèd twigs to set; One underneath his horse to get a shoot doth stalk; Another over dykes upon his stilts doth walk; There other with their spades the peats are squaring out, And others from their cars are busily about To draw out sedge and reed to thatch and stover fit: That whosoever would a landskip rightly hit, Beholding but my Fens shall with more shapes be stored Than Germany or France or Thuscan can afford." This eulogy of the Fenland, however, Drayton is careful to put into the mouth of a Fenland nymph, who is not allowed to pass without criticism by her sister who rules the uplands:-- "O how I hate Thus of her foggy fens to hear rude Holland prate That with her fish and fowl here keepeth such a coil, As her unwholesome air, and more unwholesome soil, For these of which she boasts the more might suffered be." But probably the most picturesque and truthful imaginative sketch of the old fenlands is that which was given in our own time by the graphic pen of Charles Kingsley in his fine novel of "Hereward the Wake," somewhat amplified afterwards in the chapters of "The Hermits," which he devoted to the history of St. Guthlac:-- "The fens in the seventh century," he says, "were probably very like the forests at the mouth of the Mississippi or the swampy shores of the Carolinas. Their vast plain is now in summer one sea of golden corn; in winter, a black dreary fallow, cut into squares by stagnant dykes, and broken only by unsightly pumping mills and doleful lines of poplar trees. Of old it was a labyrinth of black wandering streams, broad lagoons, morasses submerged every spring-tide, vast beds of reed and sedge and fern, vast copses of willow and alder and grey poplar, rooted in the floating peat, which was swallowing up slowly, all devouring, yet preserving the forests of fir and oak, ash and poplar, hazel and yew, which had once grown on that low, rank soil, sinking slowly (so geologists assure us) beneath the sea from age to age. Trees torn down by flood and storm floated and lodged in rafts, damming the waters back on the land. Streams bewildered in the flats, changed their channels, mingling silt and sand with the peat moss. Nature left to herself ran into wild riot and chaos more and more, till the whole fen became one 'dismal swamp,' in which at the time of the Norman Conquest, 'the last of the English,' like Dred in Mrs. Stowe's tale, took refuge from their tyrants and lived like him a free and joyous life awhile." Such was one aspect, then, in the early days of English history, of the great plain that stretches from Cambridge to the sea. But our map-palimpsest has further physical facts to reveal which had an important influence on the civic and economic development of Cambridge. To the south-east of this great plain of low-lying fenlands rises the upland country of boulder clay, stretching in a line almost directly west and east from the downs at Royston, thirteen miles below Cambridge, to Sudbury-on-the-Stour. The whole of this ridge of high ground, which roughly corresponds with the present boundaries between Cambridgeshire and Suffolk and Essex, was in the early days covered with dense forest. Thus the Forest and the Fen between them formed a material barrier separating the kingdom of East Anglia from the rest of Britain. At one point only could an entrance be gained. Between the forest and the fen there runs a long belt of land, at its narrowest point not more than five miles wide, consisting partly of open pasture, partly of chalk down. In the neck, so to say, of this natural pass into East Anglia lies the town of Cambridge. A careful scrutiny of our map will show, on the under-text of our palimpsest, a remarkable series of British earthworks, all crossing in parallel lines this narrow belt of open land between the fen and the forest, marked on the map as Black Ditches, Devil's Dyke, the Fleam or Balsham Dyke, the Brent or Pampisford Ditch, and the Brand or Heydon Way. Of these the longest and most important is the well-known Devil's Dyke, near Newmarket. It is some eight miles long in all, and consists of a lofty bank twelve feet wide at the top, eighteen feet above the level of the country, and thirty feet above the bottom of the Ditch, which is itself some twenty feet wide. The ditch is on the western side of the bank, thus showing that it was used as a defence by the people on the east against those on the west. It was near this ditch that the defeat of the ancient British tribe of the Iceni by the Romans, as described by Tacitus ("Annals," xii. 31), took place in A.D. 50.[3] At Cambridge itself the ancient earthwork known as Castle Hill may belong to this British period, and have formed a valuable auxiliary to the line of dykes in defending the ford of the river and the pass behind; but upon this point authorities are divided.[4] Indeed, there is good ground for the opinion that the Castle Hill is a construction of the later Saxon period, and may, in fact, be referred to the time of the Danish incursions in the ninth century, during which time Cambridge is known to have been sacked more than once. However that may be, there is ample proof that the site of the Castle at any rate was occupied by the Romans, for the remains of a fosse and vallum, forming part of an oblong enclosure within which the Castle Hill, whether early British or later Saxon, is included, seem to indicate the position of a Roman station here. Moreover, to this place converge the two great Roman roads, of which the remains may still be traced: _Akeman Street_, leading from Cirencester (Corinium) in the south through Hertfordshire to Cambridge, and thence across the fen (by the Aldreth Causeway, the scene of William the Conqueror's two years' campaign with Hereward) to Ely, and so onwards to Brancaster in Norfolk; and the _Via Devana_, which, starting from Colchester (Colonia or Camelodunum), skirted the forest lands of Essex through Cambridge and Huntingdon (Durolifons) northwards to Chester (Deva). Whether the Roman station, however, at the junction of these two roads can be identified as the ancient Camboritum is still a little doubtful. Certainly the common identification of Cambridge with Camboritum, because of the resemblance between the two names, cannot be justified. That resemblance is a mere coincidence. The name Cambridge, in fact, is comparatively modern, being corrupted, by regular gradations, from the original Anglo-Saxon form which had the sense of Granta-bridge. The name of the town is thus not, as is generally supposed, derived from the name of the river (Cam being modern and artificial), but, conversely, the name of the river has, in the course of centuries, been evolved out of the name of the town.[5] To return, however, to the Castle Hill. It may be doubtful, as we have said, whether the Roman station there was Camboritum or not, but there can be no doubt that the station, whatever it may have been called by the Romans, must have been a fairly important one, not only as commanding the open pass-way between the forest and the fen leading into East Anglia, but also as standing at the head of a waterway leading to the sea. It is difficult, of course, to estimate the extent of the commerce in these early days, or even perhaps to name the staple article of export that must have found its way by means of the fenland rivers to the Continent, but that it must have been at times considerable we may at least conjecture from the fact that in the records of the sacking of the Fenland abbeys--Ely, Peterborough, Ramsey, and Crowland--by the Danes in the seventh century there is evidence of a great store of wealth, costly embroideries, rich jewels, gold and silver, which can hardly have been the product of native industry alone, but seem to indicate a fair import trade from the Continent. The geographical position, in fact, of Cambridge at the head of a waterway directly communicating with the sea is a factor in the history of the town the importance of which cannot be exaggerated. In direct communication with the Continent by means of the river, and on the only, or almost the only, line of traffic between East Anglia and the rest of England, it naturally became the chief distributing centre of the commerce and trade of eastern England, and the seat of a Fair which in a later age boasted itself the largest in Europe. In his "History of the University," Thomas Fuller gives an account of the origin of this Fair, which is perhaps more picturesque than accurate:-- "About this time," he says--that is, about A.D. 1103, in the reign of the first Henry--"Barnwell,[6] that is, Children's Well, a village within the precincts of Cambridge, got both the name thereof and a Fair therein on this occasion. Many little children on Midsummer (or St. John Baptist's) Eve met there in mirth to play and sport together; their company caused the confluence of more and bigger boys to the place: then bigger than they: even their parents themselves came thither to be delighted with the activity of their children. Meat and drink must be had for their refection, which brought some victualling booths to be set up. Pedlers with toys and trifles cannot be supposed long absent, whose packs in short time swelled into tradesmen's stalls of all commodities. Now it is become a great fair, and (as I may term it) one of the townsmen's commencements, wherein they take their degrees of wealth, fraught with all store of wares and nothing (except buyers) wanting therein." This description of Fuller is obviously a rough translation of a passage from the _Liber Memorandorum Ecclesia de Bernewelle_, commonly called the "Barnewell Cartulary," given at page xii. of Mr. J. W. Clark's "Customs of Augustinian Canons," and dated about 1296. It is possible, of course, that the celebrated Stourbridge Fair, which in later centuries was held every autumn in the river Meadow, a mile or so below the town, adjoining Barnwell Priory, did date back to these early times, but its two earliest charters undoubtedly belong to the thirteenth century, one belonging to the reign of King John, granting the tolls of the Fair to the Friars of the Leper Chapel of St. Mary Magdalene, the other to Henry III.'s time fixing the date of the Fair for the four days commencing October 17, being the Festival of St. Etheldreda, Virgin, Queen and Abbess of Ely. From this time onward at any rate the annual occurrence of this Fair furnishes incidents, not always commendable, in the annals of both town and University. It is said with probability that John Bunyan, who in his Bedfordshire youth may well have been drawn to its attractions, made the Fair at Stourbridge Common the prototype of his "Vanity Fair." And certainly any one who will take the trouble to compare the description of the Fair given by the Cambridgeshire historian Carter with the well-known passage in the "Pilgrim's Progress," cannot but feel that the details of Bunyan's picture are touches painted from life:-- "Then I saw in my dream, that when they were got out of the Wilderness, they presently saw a Town before them, and the name of that Town is _Vanity_; and at the Town there is a Fair kept, called _Vanity Fair_ ... therefore at this Fair are all such Merchandise sold, as Houses, Lands, Trades, Places, Honours, Preferments, Titles, Countries, Kingdoms, Lusts, Pleasures, and Delights of all sorts, as Whores, Bawds, Wives, Husbands, Children, Masters, Servants, Lives, Blood, Bodies, Souls, Silver, Gold, Pearls, Precious Stones and what not. "And moreover at this Fair there is at all times to be seen Jugglings, Cheats, Games, Plays, Fools, Apes, Knaves, and Rogues, and that of all sorts. "And as in other Fairs of less moment, there are the several Rows and Streets under their proper names, where such and such wares are vended; so here likewise you have the proper places, Rows, Streets ... where the wares of this Fair are soonest to be found. Here is the Britain Row, the French Row, the Italian Row, the German Row, where several sorts of vanities are to be sold." The historian, it is true, speaks of "the Sturbridge Fair as like to a well-governed city, with less disorder and confusion than in any other place where there is so great a concourse of people," yet when one reads in Bunyan's "Progress" of the Peremptory Court of Trial, "under the Great One of the Fair," ever ready to take immediate cognisance of any "hubbub," one cannot but remember that the judicial rights of the University in the regulation of the ale-tents and show-booths on Midsummer Common were at least a fertile theme for satire with the licensed wits of both Universities, whether of "Mr. Tripos" at Cambridge, or of the "Terræ Filius" at Oxford, and wonder what amount of truth there may have been in the rude statement of the latter that "the Cambridge proctors at Fair time were so strict in forbidding undergraduates to enter public-houses in the town because it would spoil their own trade in the Fair." But as Fuller would say, "Enough hereof. It tends to slanting and suppositive traducing of the records." Let us proceed with our history. And that we may do so let us end this introductory chapter of Fable and Fact by enforcing the point, of which the incident of Stourbridge Fair was but an illustration, that Cambridge became the seat of an English University, because it had already become a chief centre of English trade and commerce, and had so become because in the early centuries it had stood as guardian of the only pass-way which crossed the frontier line of the kingdoms of Mercia and the West Saxons and the kingdom of the East Anglians, and at a later time had been the busy porter of the river gate, by which the merchandise of northern Europe, borne to the Norfolk Wash and the Port of Lynn by the ships of Flanders and the Hanse towns of the Baltic, found its way, by the sluggish waters of the Cam and the Ouse, to a place which was thus well fitted to become the great distributing centre of trade for southern England and the Midlands. Stourbridge Fair is a thing of the past. Cambridge as a distributing centre for the trade of northern Europe has ceased to be. The long line of river barges no longer float down the stream. The waters of the Wash are silting up. The fame of the town has been eclipsed by the fame of the University. But town and University alike may still gaze with emotion at the old timbered wharfs and clay hithes of the river, the green earthwork of the Castle Hill, the far-stretching roads once known as Akeman Street and the Icknield Way, the grass-grown slopes of the Devil's Dyke, as the symbols of mighty forces which in their day brought men from all parts of Europe to this place, and have been potent to make it through many centuries a centre of light and learning to England and the world. CHAPTER II CAMBRIDGE IN THE NORMAN TIME "At this time the fountain of learning in Cambridge was but little, and that very troubled.... Mars then frighted away the Muses, when the Mount of Parnassus was turned into a fort, and Helicon derived into a trench. And at this present, King William the Conqueror, going to subdue the monks of Ely that resisted him, made Cambridgeshire the seat of war."--FULLER. William I. at Cambridge Castle--Cambridge at the Domesday Survey--Roger Picot the Sheriff--Pythagoras School--Castle and Borough--S. Benet's Church and its Parish--The King's Ditch--The Great and the Small Bridges--The King's and the Bishop's Mills--The River Hithes--S. Peter by the Castle and S. Giles Church--The early Streets of the City--The Augustinian Priory of Barnwell--The Round Church of the Holy Sepulchre--The Cambridge Jewry--Debt of early Scholars to the Philosophers of the Synagogue--Benjamin's House--Municipal Freedom of the Borough. On the site of the ancient Roman station of which we have spoken in the preceding chapter, as guarding the river ford and the pass between forest and fen into East Anglia, William the Conqueror, returning from the conquest of York in the year 1068, founded Cambridge Castle, that "it might be"--to quote Fuller's words--"a check-bit to curb this country, which otherwise was so hard-mouthed to be ruled." Here, in the following year, he took up his abode, making the castle the centre of his operations against the rebel English who had rallied to the leadership of Hereward the Wake, in his camp of refuge at Ely. But the castle at Cambridge never became a military centre of importance. No important deed of arms is recorded in connection with it. It was a mere outpost, useful only as a base of operations. It was so used by William the Conqueror. It was so used by Henry III. in his futile contest with the English baronage. It was so used by the Duke of Northumberland in his unsuccessful attempt to crush the loyalist rising of East Anglia against his plot to place Lady Jane Grey on the throne. It was so used by Oliver Cromwell when he was organising the Eastern Counties Association, and forming "his lovely company" of Ironsides. But beyond these episodes Cambridge Castle has no history. In the early part of the fourteenth century it was used as a prison for common criminals. Edward III. built his College of King's Hall with some of its materials, and from that time onwards it appears to have been used as a quarry by the royal founders of more than one college. Its last remaining outwork, the Gate House, was demolished in 1842. Now there is nothing left but the grass-grown mound, still known as Castle Hill, the resort of occasional American tourists who are wise enough to know how fine a view of the town may be obtained from that position, and, so it is said, a less frequent place of pilgrimage also to certain university freshmen who are foolish enough to accept the assurance of their fellows that "at the witching hour of night" they may best observe from Castle Hill those solemn portents which, on the doubtful authority of the University Calendar, are said to happen when "the Cambridge term divides at midnight." But if the Castle at Cambridge, as a "place of arms," had practically no history, much less had the town over which nominally it stood guard. The old streets of Cambridge show no sign of ever having been packed closely within walls in the usual mediæval fashion. In the early days the town seems to have been limited to a little knot of houses round the castle and along the street leading down to the river ford at the foot of the Castle Hill. From the Domesday Survey we learn that in the time of Edward the Confessor the town had consisted of 400 dwelling-houses, and was divided into ten wards, each governed by its own lawman ("lageman") or magistrate, a name which appears to suggest that the original organisation of the town was of Danish origin. By the year 1086 two of these wards had been thrown into one, owing to the destruction of twenty-seven houses--"pro castro"--on account of the building of the Castle, and in the remaining wards no fewer than fifty-three other dwellings are entered as "waste." Altogether, in Norman times the population of Cambridge can hardly have exceeded at the most a couple of thousand. The customs of the town were assessed at £7, the land tax at £7. 2s. 2d. Both of these seem to have been new impositions, payable to the royal treasury. How this came about one cannot say, but from this time onward, all through the middle ages, the farm of Cambridge appears frequently to have been given as a dower to the Queen. [Illustration: Courtyard of the Falcon Inn] The earldom of Cambridge and Huntingdon has been almost invariably held by a member of the Royal Family. The first steps, indeed, towards municipal independence on the part of the borough were taken when the burgesses demanded the privilege of making their customary payments direct to the King, and ridding themselves of this part, at any rate, of the authority of the sheriff. Certainly, there was much complaint made to the Domesday Commissioners concerning the first Norman sheriff of Cambridgeshire, one Roger Picot, because of his hard treatment of the burgesses. Among other things, it was said that he had "required the loan of their ploughs nine times in the year, whereas in the reign of the Confessor they lent their ploughs only thrice in the year and found neither cattle nor carts," and also that he had built himself three mills upon the river to the destruction of many dwelling-houses and the confiscation of much common pasture. Reading of these things one is almost tempted to wonder, whether the old stone Norman house still standing, styled, by a tradition now lost, "the School of Pythagoras," in close proximity as it is to the river, the ford, and the castle, may not have been the residence of this sheriff or of one of his immediate successors. The house cannot, certainly, be of a later date than the latter part of the twelfth century. Originally, it appears to have consisted of a single range of building of two storeys, the lower one formerly vaulted, the upper one serving as a hall. How it came by its present name of "Pythagoras School" we do not know, and certainly there is no reason to suppose that it was at any time a school. The Norman occupier, however, of this stone house, with his servants and retainers, could hardly have been other than a leading personage in the community, and must have contributed in no slight degree to its importance. Possibly it may have been owing to the destruction of houses caused by the clearing of the sites for both this mansion and for the Castle, that the dispossessed population sought habitation for themselves on the low lying ground across the ford, on the east bank of the river. Whether this was the cause or not, certainly the town on the west bank--"the borough," as the castle end of Cambridge was still called in the memory of persons still living[7]--overflowed at an early period to the other side of the river, and gradually extending itself along the line of the Via Devana, eventually coalesced with what had before been a distinct village clustering round the ancient pre-Norman church of S. Benedict. This church, or rather its tower, is the oldest building in Cambridge and one of the most interesting. It is thus described by Mr. Atkinson.[8] [Illustration: The School of Pythagoras.] "The tower presents those features which are usually taken to indicate a Saxon origin. It is divided into three well-marked stages, each one of which is rather narrower than the one below it. The quoins are of the well-known long-and-short work (a sign of late date), and the lowest quoin is let into a sinking prepared for it in the plinth. The belfry windows are of two sorts; the central window on each face is of two heights, divided by a mid-wall balister shaft, supporting a through-stone of the usual character. On each side of this window there is a plain lancet at a somewhat higher level, and with rubble jambs. Above these latter there are small round holes--they can hardly be called windows. Over each of the central windows there is a small pilaster, stopped by a corbel which rests on the window head; these pilasters are cut off abruptly at the top of the tower, which has probably been altered since it was first built; most likely it was originally terminated by a low spire or by gables. The rough edges of the quoins are worked with a rebate to receive the plaster which originally covered the tower. The arch between the tower and the nave springs from bold imposts, above which are rude pieces of sculpture, forming stops to the hood mould. The quoins remaining at each angle of the present nave show that it is of the same length and width as the nave of the original church, and they seem to show also that the original church had neither aisles nor transepts. The chancel is also the same size as that of the early church, for though the east and north walls have been rebuilt, they are in the positions of the Saxon walls. The south wall of the chancel has been altered at many different periods, but has probably never been rebuilt. The bases of the chancel arch remain below the floor. The early church was probably lighted by small lancets about three inches wide, placed high in the wall, and without glass." The present nave is of the thirteenth century. The chancel was built as late as 1872. The building which still abuts against the south chancel wall belongs, however, to the fifteenth century, and was a connecting hall or gallery with "the old court" of Corpus Christi College, which not only took its early name of S. Benet from the ancient church, but for some century and more possessed no other College chapel. The bells of S. Benet, we read in the old College records, were long used to call the students "to ye schooles, att such times as neede did require--as to acts, clearums, congregations, lecturs, disses, and such like." But this belongs to its story in a later age. The Pre-Conquest Church of S. Benet, as we have said, probably served a township separate and distinct from the Castle-end "borough" on the west bank of the river. After the two villages became united, the Norman Grantebrigge, and indeed the mediæval Cambridge of later days, seemed to have formed a straggling and incompact town, stretching for the most part along the Roman road which crossed the river by the bridge at the foot of Castle hill, and so eastward past S. Benet's, and onward to the open country, eventually reached Colchester across the forest uplands. This Roman Way, following the line of the modern Bridge Street, Sidney Street, S. Andrew Street, Regent Street, ran close to the eastern limit of the town, marked roughly at a later time by the King's Ditch. This was an artificial stream constructed as a defence of the town by King John in the year 1215. It was strengthened later by King Henry III., who had also intended to protect the town on this side by a wall. The wall, however, was never built, and the Ditch itself could never have been much of a defence, except, perhaps, against casual marauders, though for centuries it was a cause of insanitary trouble to the town. Branching out of the river at the King's and Bishop's Mills, just above Queen's College, it joined the river again, after encircling the town, just below the Great Bridge and above the Common now called Jesus Green. The Ditch was crossed by bridges on the lines of the principal roads. One of these, built of stone, still remains under the road now called Jesus Lane. There appears to have been a drawbridge also at the end of Sussex Street. The river itself, which formed the western boundary of the town, was spanned by two bridges, the Great Bridge at Castle End and the Small Bridge or Bridges at Newnham by the Mill pond. Between the two bridges were the principal wharfs or river hithes--corn hithe, flax hithe, garlic hithe, salt hithe, Dame Nichol's hithe. These have all now given place to the sloping lawns and gardens of the colleges, the far-famed "Cambridge Backs." The common hithe, however, below the Great Bridge still continues in use. It is with certain rights in regard to these hithes that the earliest Royal charter of which we have record deals. It is an undated writ of Henry I. (1100-1135) addressed to Henry, Bishop of Ely (1109-1131), and attested by an unnamed Chancellor and by Miles of Gloucester and by Richard Basset. The main object of the King's writ seems to be to make "his borough of Cambridge" the one "port" and emporium of the shire. "I forbid"--so runs the writ--"that any boat shall ply at any hithe in Cambridgeshire save at the hithe of my borough at Cambridge, nor shall barges be laden save in the borough of Cambridge, nor shall any take toll elsewhere, but only there." Numerous narrow lanes, all now vanished, with the exception of John's Lane, Gareth Hostel Lane, and Silver Street, led down from High Street to the quays. The town was intersected by three main streets. From the Great Bridge ran the streets already mentioned as following the line of the old Roman Way (the Via Devana). From this old roadway, at a point opposite the Round Church, there branched off the High Street--now Trinity Street and King's Parade--leading to Trumpington Gate. Parallel to the High Street, and between it and the river, ran Milne Street, leading from the King's Mill at the south end of the town, and continuing northwards to a point about the site of the existing sun-dial in Trinity Great Court, where it joined a cross-street leading into the High Street. Parts of Milne Street still exist in the lanes which run past the fronts of Queen's College and Trinity Hall. In mediæval times the entrance gateways of six colleges opened into it--King's Hall, Michael House, Trinity Hall, King's College, S. Catharine's Hall, and Queen's College. Of the most ancient church of the town, that of S. Benedict, we have already spoken. Of the possibly contemporary church of S. Peter by the Castle, the only architectural remains of any importance now existing are a rich late Norman doorway and the bowl of an ancient font. The tower and spire belong to the fourteenth century. The rest of the building is entirely modern. Bricks, however, said to be Roman, appear to have been used in the new walls. Similarly of the other two ancient Castle-end churches, All Saints by the Castle, and S. Giles. Of the former nothing now remains and its actual site is doubtful, for the parish attached to it has been united with S. Giles ever since the time when in the fourteenth century the Black Death left it almost without inhabitants. Of the Church of S. Giles there remains the ancient chancel arch of late Saxon or early Norman character (the familiar long-and-short work seems to date it about the middle of the eleventh century), and the doorway of the nave, which have been rebuilt in the large new church opened in 1875. [Illustration: The Abbey House] It was, however, from this old church of S. Giles by the Castle that the first religious house in Cambridge of which we have any record, and quite possibly the most important factor in the early development of the University, the wealthy Augustinian Priory of Barnwell, took its origin. The story of that foundation is this.[9] Roger Picot, Baron of Bourne and Norman Sheriff of Cambridgeshire, of whose hard treatment the Cambridge burgesses complained to the commissioners of the Domesday Survey, had married a noble and pious woman named Hugoline. Hugoline being taken very ill at Cambridge, and on the point, as she thought, of death, vowed a vow, that if she recovered she would build a church in honour of God and S. Giles. "Whereupon," says the legend, "she recovered in three days." And in gratitude to God she built close to the Castle the Church of S. Giles in the year 1092, together with appropriate buildings, and placed therein six canons regular of the order of S. Augustine, under the charge of Canon Geoffrey of Huntingdon, a man of great piety, and prevailed upon her husband to endow the Church and house with half the tithes of his manorial demesnes. Some vestiges of this small house (_veteris coenobioli vestigia_) were still extant in Leland's time. Before, however, this Augustinian house had been thoroughly established, Earl Pigot and his wife Hugoline died, committing the foundation to the care of their son Robert. Robert unfortunately became implicated in a conspiracy against Henry I., was charged with treason, and obliged to fly the country. The estates were confiscated, and the canons reduced to great want and misery. In this extremity a certain Pain Peverel, a valiant young Crusader, who had been standard-bearer to Robert Curthose in the Holy Land, and who had received the confiscated estates of Picot's son, Robert, came to the rescue, declaring that as he had become Picot's heir, so he would succeed him in the care of this foundation, and increase the number of canons to the number of the years of his own age, namely thirty. He determined also to move the house to a more convenient situation, and accordingly, in the year 1112, he transferred it to an excellent site in Barnwell, a mile and a half or so down the river, just off the high-road leading from Cambridge to Newmarket. This transaction is related as follows:-- "Perceiving that the site on which their house stood was not sufficiently large for all the buildings needful for his canons, and was devoid of any spring of fresh water, Pain Peverel besought King Henry to give him a certain site beyond the borough of Cambridge, extending from the highway to the river, and sufficiently agreeable from the pleasantness of its position. Besides, from the midst of that site there bubbled forth springs of clear fresh water, called at that time in English _Barnewelle_, the children's springs, because once a year, on St. John Baptist's Eve, boys and lads met there and amused themselves in the English fashion with wrestling matches and other games, and applauded each other in singing songs and playing on musical instruments. Hence by reason of the crowd of boys and girls who met and played there, a habit grew up that on the same day a crowd of buyers and sellers should meet in the same place to do business. There, too, a man of great sanctity, called Godesone, used to lead a solitary life in a small wooden oratory that he had built in honour of St. Andrew. He had died a short time before, leaving the place without any habitation upon it, and his oratory without a keeper."[10] In this pleasant place accordingly the house was rebuilt on a very large scale, and by the liberality of Peverel and his son William richly endowed. In the year 1112, we read in the Cartulary that Peverel at once set about building "a church of wonderful beauty and massive work in honour of S. Giles." To this church he gave "vestment, ornaments, and relics of undoubted authenticity which he had brought back from Palestine"; but before he could carry out his intention of completing it, he died in London of a fever "barely ten years after the translation of the canons. His body was brought to Barnwell and buried in a becoming manner on the north side of the high altar." By the munificence, however, of a later benefactor, the church was finished and consecrated in 1191, and before the end of the next century the conventual buildings, cloister, chapter house, frater, farmery, guest hall, gate house, were complete, and the Priory of Augustinian canons at Barnwell took its place in the monastic history of Cambridgeshire, a place only second probably to that of the great Benedictine House at Ely.[11] All that now remains of the Priory is a small church or chapel standing near the road, and the fragment of some other building. The whole site, however, was excavated for gravel in the beginning of the last century, so that it is impossible to speak with any certainty of the disposition of the buildings, although Mr. Willis Clark, in his "Customs of Augustinian Canons," has from documentary sources made an ingenious attempt to reconstruct the whole plan of the Priory. The small chapel of S. Andrew the Less, although it has long been known as the Abbey Church, has, of course, strictly no right to that name. Obviously it cannot be the church of "wondrous dimensions" built by Pain Peverel. The chapel, although in all likelihood it did stand within the Priory precincts, was most probably built for the use of the inhabitants of the parish by the canons, in order that they themselves might be left undisturbed in the exclusive use of the Conventual Church. It is a building of the early English style, with long, narrow lancet windows, evidently belonging to the early part of the thirteenth century. [Illustration: Chapel Barnwell Priory] The material remains of the Priory are therefore very meagre, but a most interesting insight into the domestic economy of a monastic house is afforded by the "_Consuetudinarium_; or, Book of Observances of the Austin Canons," which forms the Eighth Book of the Barnwell Cartulary, to which we have already alluded. A comparison of the domestic customs of a monastic house in the thirteenth century, as shown in this book, and of the functions of its various officers, with many of the corresponding customs and functions in the government of a Cambridge college, not only in mediæval but in modern times, throws much light on the origin of some of the most characteristic features of college life to-day.[12] Let us retrace our steps, however, along the Barnwell Road from the suburban monastery to the ancient town. There are still some features, belonging to the Norman structure of Cambridge, which demand our notice before we pass on. At a point where the High Street, now Trinity Street, branches off from Bridge Street stands the church of the Holy Sepulchre, one of the four round churches of England.[13] [Illustration: The Round Church] Presumably it must have been built by some confraternity connected with the newly established Military Order of the Templars, and, to judge by the style of its architecture--the only real evidence we have as to its date, for the conjecture that it owes its foundation to the young crusader, Pain Peverel, is purely fanciful, and of "the Ralph with a Beard," of which we read in the Ramsey cartularies as receiving "a grant of land to build a Minster in honour of God and the Holy Sepulchre," we know nothing--probably between 1120 and 1140. In its original shape, the church must have consisted of its present circular nave with the ambulatory aisle, and in all probability a semi-circular eastern apse. The ambulatory was vaulted, as in all probability was also the central area, while the apse would doubtless be covered with a semi-dome. The chancel and its north aisle, which had apparently been remodelled in early English times, was again reconstructed in the fifteenth century. At about the same time an important alteration was made in the circular nave by carrying up the walls to form a belfry. The additional stage was polygonal and terminated in a battlemented parapet. The Norman corbel table, under the original eaves of what was probably a dwarf spire, was not destroyed, and thus serves to mark the top of the Norman wall. Windows of three lights were not only inserted in the additional stage, but were also substituted for the circular-headed Norman windows of both ambulatory and clerestory. "Such," says Mr. Atkinson, "was the condition of the Church when, in 1841, the Cambridge Camden Society undertook its 'restoration.' The polygonal upper story of the circular nave, containing four bells, was destroyed; sham Norman windows, copied from one remaining old one, replaced those which had been inserted in the 15th century; and new stone vaults and high pitched roofs were constructed over the nave and ambulatory. The chancel, with the exception of one arch and the wall above it, were entirely rebuilt; the north aisle, with the exception of the entrance arch from the west, was rebuilt and extended eastwards to the same length as the chancel; a new south aisle of equal dimensions with the enlarged north aisle was added; and a small turret for two bells was built at the north-west corner of the north aisle; the lower stage of this turret was considered a sufficient substitute for the destroyed vestry. A new chancel arch of less width than the old one was built, and a pierced stone screen was formed above it. In addition to all this, those old parts which were not destroyed were 'repaired and beautified,' or 'dressed and pointed,' or 'thoroughly restored.' What these processes involved is clear from an inspection of the parts to which they were applied; in the west doorway, for instance, there is not one old stone left."[14] Across the road from the Round Church, in the angle of land caused by the branching apart of the High Street and the Bridge Street, was planted one of the earliest Jewries established in England. The coming of the Jews to England was one of the incidental effects of the Norman Conquest. They had followed in the wake of the invading army as in modern times they followed the German hosts into France, assisting the Normans to dispose of their spoil, finding at usurious interest ready-money for the impoverished English landowner, to meet his conqueror's requisitions, and generally meeting the money-broking needs of both King and subject. In a curious diatribe by Richard of Devizes (1190), Canterbury, Rochester, Chichester, Oxford, Exeter, Worcester, Chester, Hereford, York, Ely, Durham, Norwich, Lincoln, Bristol, Winchester, and of course London are all mentioned as harbouring Jewish settlements. The position of the Jew, however, in England was all along anomalous. As the member of an alien race, and still more of an alien religion, he could gain no kind of constitutional status in the kingdom. The common law ignored him. His Jewry, like the royal forest, was outside its domain. He came, indeed, as the King's special man--nay, more, as the King's special chattel. And in this character he lived for the most part secure. The romantic picture of the despised, trembling Jew--the Isaac of York, depicted for us in Scott's "Ivanhoe"--cringing before every Christian that he meets, is, in any age of English history, simply a romantic picture. The attitude of the Jew almost to the last is one of proud and even insolent defiance. In the days of the Red King at any rate, he stood erect before the prince, and seemed to have enjoyed no small share of his favour and personal familiarity. The presence of the unbelieving Hebrew at his court supplied, it is said, William Rufus with many opportunities of mocking at the Christian Church and its bishops. In a well-known story of Eadmer, the Red King actually forbids the conversion of a Jew to the Christian faith. "It was a poor exchange," he said, "which would rob me of a valuable property and give me only a subject." The extortion of the Jew was therefore sheltered from the common law by the protection of the King. The bonds of the Jew were kept, in fact, under the royal seal in the royal archives, a fact of which the memory long remained in the name of "The Star" chamber; a name derived from the Hebrew word (_ishtar_) for a "bond." [Illustration: Oriel Windows from House in Petty-Cury now demolished _To face p. 46_] The late Mr. J. R. Green, in a delightful sketch on the early history of Oxford in his "Stray Studies," afterwards incorporated into the pages of his "History of the English People," seems inclined to give some support to the theory which would connect the origin of the University with the establishment of the Oxford Jewry. This theory, however, can hardly be accepted.[15] It is very probable indeed that the medical school, which we find established at Oxford and in high repute during the twelfth century, is traceable to Jewish origin; and the story is no doubt true also, which tells how Roger Bacon penetrated to the older world of material research by means of the Hebrew instruction and the Hebrew books which he found among the Jewish rabbis of the Oxford Synagogue. It is reasonable also to suppose that the history of Christian Aristotelianism, and of the Scholastic Theology that was based upon it, may have been largely influenced by the philosophers of the Synagogue. It seems, indeed, to be a well-established conclusion, that the philosophy of Aristotle was first made known to the West through the Arabic versions brought from Spain by Jewish scholars and rabbis. But it is undoubtedly "in a more purely material way" that, as Mr. Green truly says, the Jewry most directly influenced academic history. At Oxford, as elsewhere, "the Jew brought with him something more than the art or science which he had gathered at Cordova or Bagdad; he brought with him the new power of wealth. The erection of stately castles, of yet statelier abbeys, which followed the Conquest, the rebuilding of almost every cathedral or conventual church, marks the advent of the Jewish capitalist. No one can study the earlier history of our great monastic houses without finding the secret of that sudden outburst of industrial activity to which we own the noblest of our Minsters in the loans of the Jew." Certainly at Cambridge, though perhaps hardly to the same extent as at Oxford, the material influence on the town of the Jewry is traceable. At Oxford, it is said that nearly all the larger dwelling-houses, which were subsequently converted into hostels, bore traces of their Jewish origin in their names, such as Moysey's Hall, Lombard's Hall, Jacob's Hall, and each of the successive Town Halls of the borough had previously been Jewish houses. We have some evidence of a similar conversion at Cambridge. In the first half of the thirteenth century, before we hear either of Tolbooth or of Guildhall, the enlarged judicial responsibilities of the town authorities made it necessary that they should be in possession of some strong building suitable for a prison. Accordingly, in 1224, we find King Henry III. granting to the burgesses the House of Benjamin, the Jew, for the purposes of a gaol. It is said that either the next house or a part of Benjamin's House had been the Synagogue of the Jewry, and was granted in the first instance to the Franciscan Friars on their arrival in the city. Benjamin's House, although it had been altered from time to time, appears never to have been entirely rebuilt, and some fragments of this, the earliest of Cambridge municipal buildings, are perhaps still to be found embedded in the walls of the old Town Arms public-house--a room in which, as late as the seventeenth century, was still known as "The Star Chamber"--at the western side of Butter Row, in the block of old buildings at the corner of Market Square, adjoining the new frontage of the Guildhall. With this relic of the ancient Jewry we reach the last remaining building in Cambridge that had any existence in Norman times. And with the close of this age--the age of the Crusades--we already find the Cambridge burgess safely in possession, not only of that personal freedom which had descended to him by traditional usage from the communal customs of his early Teutonic forefathers, but also of many privileges which he had bought in hard cash from his Norman conqueror. Before the time of the first charter of King John (1201) Cambridge had passed through most of the earlier steps of emancipation which eventually led to complete self-government. The town-bell ringing out from the old tower of S. Benet's already summoned the Cambridge freemen to a borough mote in which the principles of civic justice, of loyal association, of mutual counsel, of mutual aid, were acknowledged by every member of a free, self-ruling assembly. CHAPTER III THE BEGINNINGS OF UNIVERSITY LIFE "Si tollis libertatem, tollis dignitatem."--S. COLUMBAN. "Record we too with just and faithful pen, That many hooded cænobites there are Who in their private cells have yet a care Of public quiet; unambitious men, Counsellors for the world, of piercing ken; Whose fervent exhortations from afar Move princes to their duty, peace or war; And oft times in the most forbidding den Of solitude, with love of science strong, How patiently the yoke of thought they bear ... By such examples moved to unbought pains The people work like congregated bees; Eager to build the quiet fortresses Where piety, as they believe, obtains From heaven a general blessing; timely rains And sunshine; prosperous enterprise and peace and equity." --WORDSWORTH. Monastic Origins--Continuity of Learning in Early England--The School of York--The Venerable Bede--Alcuin and the Schools of Charles the Great--The Danish Invasions--The Benedictine Revival--The Monkish Chroniclers--The Coming of the Friars--The Franciscan and Dominican Houses at Cambridge--The Franciscan Scholars--Roger Bacon--Bishop Grosseteste--The New Aristotle and the Scientific Spirit--The Scholastic Philosophy--Aquinas--Migration of Scholars from Paris to Cambridge--The term "University"--The Colleges and the Hostels--The Course of Study--Trivium and Quadrivium--The Four Faculties--England a Paradise of Clerks--Parable of the Monk's Pen. In the centuries which preceded the rise of the Universities, the monks had been the great educators of England, and it is to monastic origins that we must first turn to find the beginnings of university and collegiate life at Cambridge. In the library of Trinity College there is preserved a catalogue of the books which Augustine and his monks brought with them into England. "These are the foundation or the beginning of the library of the whole English Church, A.D. 601," are the words with which this brief catalogue closes. A Bible in two volumes, a Psalter and a book of the Gospels, a Martyrology, the Apocryphal Lives of the Apostles, and the exposition of certain Epistles represented at the commencement of the seventh century the sum-total of literature which England then possessed. In little more than fifty years, however, the Latin culture of Augustine and his monks had spread throughout the land, and before the eighth century closed England had become the literary centre of Western Europe. Probably never in the history of any nation had there been so rapid a development of learning. Certainly few things are more remarkable in the history of the intellectual development of Europe than that, in little more than a hundred years after knowledge had first dawned upon this country, an Anglo-Saxon scholar should be producing books upon literature and philosophy second to nothing that had been written by any Greek or Roman author after the third century. But the great writer whom after-ages called "the Venerable Bede," and who was known to his own contemporaries as "the wise Saxon," was not the only scholar that the seventh and the eighth centuries had produced in England. Under the twenty-one years of the Archiepiscopate of Theodore (669-690), schools and monasteries rapidly spread throughout the country. In the school established under the walls of Canterbury, in connection with the Monastery of S. Peter, better known in after-times as S. Augustine's, and over which his friend the Abbot Adrian ruled, were trained not a few of the great scholars of those days--Albinus, the future adviser and assistant of Bede, Tobias of Rochester, Aldhelm of Sherborne, and John of Beverley. The influence of these and other scholars sent out from the school at Canterbury soon made itself felt. In Northumbria, too, the torch of learning had been kept alight by the Irish monks of Lindisfarne, and of Melrose and of Iona, "that nest from which," as an old writer playing on its founder S. Columba's name had said, "the sacred doves had taken their flight to every quarter." While Archbishop Theodore and the Abbot Adrian were organising Anglo-Latin education in the monasteries of the south, Wilfrith, the Archbishop of York, and his friend Benedict Biscop were performing a no less extensive work in the north. The schools of Northumbria gathered in the harvest of Irish learning, and of the Franco-Gallican schools, which still preserved a remnant of classical literature, and of Rome itself, now barbarised. Of Bede, in the book-room of the monastery at Jarrow, we are told by his disciple and biographer, Cuthbert, that in the intervals of the regular monastic discipline the great scholar found time to undertake the direction of the monastic school. "He had many scholars, all of whom he inspired with an extraordinary love of learning." "It was always sweet to me," he writes himself, "to learn to teach." At the conclusion of his "Ecclesiastical History" he has himself given a list of some thirty-eight books which he had written up to that time. Of these not a few are of an educational character. Besides a large body of Scripture commentary, we have from his pen treatises on orthography, grammar, arithmetic, geometry, and astronomy. His book on "The Nature of Things" was the science primer of the Anglo-Saxons for many generations. He wrote, in fact, to teach. At the school of York, however, was centred nearly all the wisdom of the West, and its greatest pupil was Alcwyne. He became essentially the representative schoolmaster of his age. For fourteen years, attracted by the fame of his scholarship, students not only from all parts of England and Ireland, but also from France and Germany, flocked to the monastery school at York. In 782 Alcwyne left England to join the Court of Charles the Great and to take charge of the Palatine schools, carrying with him to the Continent the learning which was about to perish for a time in England, as the result of the internal dissensions of its kings and the early ravages of the Norsemen. "Learning," to use the phrase of William of Malmesbury, "was buried in the grave of Bede for four centuries." The Danish invader, carrying his ravages now up the Thames and now up the Humber, devastated the east of England with fire and sword. "Deliver us, O Lord, from the frenzy of the Northmen!" had been a suffrage of a litany of the time, but it was one to which the scholars and the bookmen, no less than the monks and nuns of that age, found no answer. The noble libraries which Theodore and the Abbots Adrian and Benedict had founded were given to the flames. The monasteries of the Benedictines, the chief guardians of learning, were completely broken up. "It is not at all improbable," says Mr. Kemble, "that in the middle of the tenth century there was not a genuine Benedictine left in England." A revival of monastic life--some attempt at a return to the old Benedictine ideal--came, however, with that century. Under the auspices of S. Dunstan, the Benedictine Order--renovated at its sources by the Cluniac reform--was again established, and surviving a second wave of Danish devastation was, under the patronage of King Cnut and Edward the Confessor, further strengthened and extended. The strength of this revival is perhaps best seen in the wonderful galaxy of monastic chroniclers which sheds its light over that century. Florence of Worcester, Henry of Huntingdon, William of Malmesbury, Ingulf, Geoffrey Gaimar, William de Monte, John and Richard of Hexham, Jordan Fantosme, Simeon of Durham, Thomas and Richard of Ely, Gervase, Giraldus Cambrensis, William of Newburgh, Richard of Devizes all follow one another in close succession, while Robert of Gloucester, Roger of Wendover, and Matthew Paris carry on the line into the next age. But apart from the Chroniclers, though the monasteries once more flourished in England, the early Benedictine ideal of learning did not at once revive. Indeed, the tendency of the monastic reformers of the twelfth century was distinctly hostile to the more intellectual side of the monastic ideal. By the end of the century the majority of the Benedictine convents had sunk into rich corporations of landed proprietors, whose chief ambition was the aggrandisement of the house to which they belonged. The new impulse of reform, which in its indirect results was to give the thirteenth century in England so dominant a place in the history of her civilisation, came from a quite different direction. Almost simultaneously, without concert, in different countries, two great minds, S. Francis and S. Dominic, conceived a wholly new ideal of monastic perfection. Unlike the older monastic leaders, deliberately turning their backs upon the haunts of men in town and village, and seeking in the wilderness seclusion from the world which they professed to forsake, these new idealists, the followers of S. Dominic and S. Francis, the mendicant Orders, the Friars' Preachers and the Friars' Minors, turned to the living world of men. Their object was no longer the salvation of the individual monk, but the salvation of others through him. Monastic Christianity was no longer to flee the world; it must conquer it or win it by gentle violence. The work of the new Orders, therefore, was from the first among their fellowmen, in village, in town, in city, in university. "Like the great modern Order (of the Jesuists) which, when their methods had in their turn become antiquated, succeeded to their influence by a still further departure from the old monastic routine, the mendicant Orders early perceived the necessity of getting a hold upon the centres of education. With the Dominicans indeed this was a primary object: the immediate purpose of their foundation was resistance to this Albigensian heresy; they aimed at obtaining influence upon the more educated and more powerful classes. Hence it was natural that Dominic should have looked to the universities as the most suitable recruiting ground for his Order: to secure for his Preachers the highest theological training that the age afforded was an essential element of the new monastic ideal.... The Franciscan ideal was a less intellectual one ... but though the Franciscans laboured largely among the neglected poor of crowded and pestilential cities, they too found it practically necessary to go to the universities for recruits and to secure some theological education for their members."[16] The Black Friars of S. Dominic arrived in England in 1221. The Grey Friars of S. Francis in 1224. The Dominicans met with the least success at first, but this was fully compensated by the rapid progress of the Franciscans. Very soon after the coming of the Grey Friars they had formed a settlement at Oxford, under the auspices of the greatest scholar-bishop of the age, Grosseteste of Lincoln, and had built their first rude chapel at Cambridge. In the early days, however, the followers of S. Francis made a hard fight against the taste for sumptuous buildings and for the greater personal comfort which characterised the time. "I did not enter into religion to build walls," protested an English Provincial of the Order when the brethren begged for a larger convent. But at Cambridge the first humble house of the Grey Friars, which had been founded in 1224 in "the old Synagogue," was shortly removed to a site at the corner of Bridge Street and Jesus Lane--now occupied by Sidney Sussex College--and that noble church commenced, which, three centuries later, at the time of the Dissolution, the University vainly endeavoured to save for itself, having for some time used it for the ceremony of Commencement.[17] But of this we shall have to speak later in our account of the Foundation of Sidney College. But if the Franciscans, in their desire to obey the wishes of their Founder, found a difficulty in combating the passion of the time for sumptuous buildings, they had even less success in struggling against the passion of the time for learning. Their vow of poverty ought to have denied them the possession even of books. "I am your breviary! I am your breviary!" S. Francis had cried passionately to the novice who desired a Psalter. And yet it is a matter of common knowledge that Grosseteste, the great patron of the Franciscans, brought Greek books to England, and in conjunction with two other Franciscans, whose names are known--Nicholas the Greek and John of Basingstoke--gave to the world Latin versions of certain Greek documents. Foremost among these is the famous early apocryphal book, _The Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs_, the Greek manuscript of which is still in the Cambridge University Library. There is no better statement, perhaps, of those gaps in the knowledge of Western Christendom, which the scholars of the Franciscan Order did so much to fill, than a passage in the writings of the greatest of all English Franciscans, Roger Bacon, which runs to this effect:-- "Numberless portions of the wisdom of God are wanting to us. Many books of the Sacred Text remain untranslated, as two books of the Maccabees which I know to exist in Greek: and many other books of divers Prophets, whereto reference is made in the books of Kings and Chronicles. Josephus too, in the books of his _Antiquities_, is altogether falsely rendered as far as concerns the Chronological side, and without him nothing can be known of the history of the Sacred Text. Unless he be corrected in a new translation, he is of no avail, and the Biblical history is lost. Numberless books again of Hebrew and Greek expositors are wanting to the Latins: as those of Origen, Basil, Gregory, Nazianzen, Damascene, Dionysius, Chrysostom, and other most noble Doctors, alike in Hebrew and in Greek. The Church therefore is slumbering. She does nothing in this matter, nor hath done these seventy years: save that my Lord Robert, Bishop of Lincoln, of holy memory did give to the Latins some part of the writings of S. Dionysius and of Damascene, and some other holy Doctors. It is an amazing thing this negligence of the Church; for, from the time of Pope Damasus, there hath not been any Pope, nor any of less rank, who hath busied himself for the advantaging of the Church by translations, except the aforesaid glorious Bishop."[18] The truth to which Roger Bacon in this passage gave expression, the scholars of the Franciscan Order set themselves to realise and act upon. For a considerable time the Franciscan houses at both Oxford and Cambridge kept alive the interest of this "new learning" to which Robert Grosseteste and Roger Bacon opened the way. The work of the Order at Oxford is fairly well known. And in the Cambridge House of the Order there was at least one teacher of divinity, Henry of Costessey, who, in his _Commentary on the Psalms_, set the example of a type of scholarship, which, in its close insistence on the exact meaning of the text, in its constant reference to the original Hebrew, and in its absolute independence of judgment, has, one is proud to think, ever remained a characteristic of the Cambridge school of textual criticism down even to our own day. * * * * * But if the Franciscans, impelled by their desire to illustrate the Sacred Text, had thus become intellectual in spite of the ideal of their Founder, the Dominicans were intellectual from their starting-point. They had, indeed, been called into being by the necessity of combating the intellectual doubts and controversies of the south of France. That they should become a prominent factor in the development of the universities was but the fulfilment of their original design. With their activity also is associated one of the greatest intellectual movements of the thirteenth century--the introduction of the new Philosophy. The numerous houses of the Order planted by them in the East brought about an increased intercourse between those regions and Western Europe, and helped on that knowledge of the new Aristotle, which, as we have said in a previous chapter, England probably owes largely to the philosophers of the Synagogue. It is round the University of Paris, however, that the earlier history, both of the Dominican scholars and of the new Aristotle, mainly revolves. Here the great system of Scholastic Philosophy was elaborated, by which the two great Dominican teachers, Albertus Magnus--"the ape of Aristotle," as he was irreverently and unjustly called by his Franciscan contemporaries--and his greater pupil, Thomas Aquinas, "the seraphic Doctor," vindicated the Christian Creed in terms of Aristotelian logic, and laid at least a solid foundation for the Christian Theology of the future, in the contention that Religion is rational, and that Reason is divine, that all knowledge and all truth, from whatever source they are derived, are capable of being reduced to harmony and unity, because the name of Christianity is both Wisdom and Truth. In the year 1229 there broke out at Paris a feud of more than ordinary gravity between the students and the citizens, undignified enough in its cause of origin, but in the event probably marking a distinct step in the development of Cambridge University. A drunken body of students did some act of great violence to the citizens. Complaint was made to the Bishop of Paris and to the Queen Blanche. The members of the University who had not been guilty of the outrage were violently attacked and ill-treated by the police of the city. The University teachers suspended their classes and demanded satisfaction. The demand was refused, and masters and scholars dispersed. Large numbers, availing themselves of the invitation of King Henry III. to settle where they pleased in this country, migrated to the shores of England; and Cambridge, probably from its proximity to the eastern coast, and as the centre where Prince Louis, in alliance with the English baronage, but a few years before had raised the Royal standard, seems to have attracted a large majority of the students. A Royal writ, issued in the year 1231, for the better regulation of the University, probably makes reference to this migration when it speaks of the large number of students, both within the realm and "from beyond the seas," who had lately settled in Cambridge, and gives power to the Bishop of Ely "to signify rebellious clerks who would not be chastised by the Chancellor and Masters," and if necessary to invoke the aid of the Sheriff in their due punishment. Another Royal writ of the same reign expressly provides that no student shall remain in the University unless under the tuition of some Master of Arts--the earliest trace perhaps of that disciplinary organisation which the motley and turbulent crowd representing the student community of that age demanded.[19] It will be observed that in these Royal writs the term "university" occurs. But it must not be supposed that the word is used in its more modern signification, of a community or corporation devoted to learning and education formally recognised by legal authority. That is a use which appears for the first time towards the end of the fourteenth century. In the age of which we are speaking, and in the writs of Henry III., _universitas magistrorum et discipulorum_ or _scholarium_ simply means a "community of teachers and scholars." The common designation in mediæval times of such a body as we now mean by "university" was _studium generale_, or sometimes _studium_ alone. It is necessary, moreover, to remember that universities in the earliest times had not infrequently a very vigorous life as places of learning, long before they received Royal or legal recognition; and it is equally necessary not to forget that colleges for the lodging and maintenance and education of students are by no means an essential feature of the mediæval conception of a university. "The University of the Middle Ages was a corporation of learned men, associated for the purposes of teaching, and possessing the privilege that no one should be allowed to teach within their dominions unless he had received their sanction, which could only be granted after trial of his ability. The test applied consisted of examinations and public disputations; the sanction assumed the form of a public ceremony and the name of a degree; and the teachers or doctors so elected or created carried out their office of instruction by lecturing in the public schools to the students, who, desirous of hearing them, took up their residence in the place wherein the University was located. The degree was, in fact, merely a license to teach. The teacher so licensed became a member of the ruling body. The University, as a body, does not concern itself with the food and lodging of the students, beyond the exercise of a superintending power over the rents and regulations of the houses in which they are lodged, in order to protect them from exaction; and it also assumes the care of public morals. The only buildings required by such a corporation in the first instance were a place to hold meetings and ceremonies, a library, and schools for teaching, or, as we should call them, lecture rooms. A college, on the other hand, in its primitive form, is a foundation erected and endowed by private munificence solely for the lodging and maintenance of deserving students, whose lack of means rendered them unable to pursue the university course without some extraneous assistance."[20] It must be remembered, moreover, that when a mediæval benefactor founded a college his intentions were very different from those which would actuate a similar person at the present day. His object was to provide board and lodging and a small stipend, _not for students, but for teachers_. As for the taught, they lodged where they could, like students at a Scottish or a Continental university to-day; and it was not until the sixteenth century was well advanced that they were admitted within the precincts of the colleges on the payment of a small annual rent or "pension"--whence the modern name of "pensioner" for the undergraduate or pupil members of the college. Indeed, the term "college" (_collegium_), as applied to a building, is a modern use of the word. In the old days the term "college" was strictly and accurately applied to the persons who formed the community of scholars, not to the building which housed them. For that building the correct term always used in mediæval times was "domus" (house), or "aula" (hall). Sometimes, indeed, the two names were combined. Thus, in an old document we find the earliest of the colleges--Peterhouse--entitled, _Domus Sancti Petri, sive Aula Scholarium Episcopi Eliensis_--The House of S. Peter, or the Hall of the Scholars of the Bishop of Ely. In all probability the University in early days took no cognisance whatever of the way in which students obtained lodgings. It was the inconvenience and discomfort of this system, no doubt, which led to the establishment of what were afterwards termed "Hostels," apparently by voluntary action on the part of the students themselves. In the first half of the sixteenth century there seem to have been about twenty of these hostels,[21] but at the end of the century there appears to have been only about nine left. There is an interesting passage in a sermon by Lever at Paul's Cross, preached in 1550, which throws light upon this desertion of the hostels, where he speaks of those scholars who, "havyng rych frendes or beyng benefyced men dyd lyve of themselves in Ostles and Inns, be eyther gon awaye, or elles fayne to crepe into colleges, and put poore men from bare lyvynges." The University then, or, more strictly speaking, the _Studium Generale_, existed as an institution long before the organisation of the residential college or hall; and as a consequence, for many a year it had an organisation quite independent of its colleges. The University of Cambridge, like the University of Oxford, was modelled mainly on the University of Paris. Its course of study followed the old classical tradition of the division of the seven liberal sciences--grammar, logic, rhetoric, music, arithmetic, geometry, and astronomy--into two classes, the _Trivium_ and _Quadrivium_, a system of teaching which had been handed down by the monastic schools in a series of text-books, jejune and meagre, which were mainly compilations and abridgments from the older classical sources. One such treatise, perhaps the most popular in the monastery schools, was a book by Martianus Capella, a teacher of rhetoric at Carthage, in the fifth century. The treatise is cast in allegorical form, and represents the espousals of Mercury and Philology, in which Philology is represented as a goddess, and the seven liberal arts as handmaidens presented by Mercury to his bride. The humour of this allegory is not altogether spiritless, if at times somewhat coarse. Here is a specimen. The plaudits that follow upon the discourse delivered by Arithmetica are supposed to be interrupted by laughter, occasioned by the loud snores of Silenus asleep under the influence of his deep potations. The kiss wherewith Rhetorica salutes Philologia is heard throughout the assembly--_nihil enim silens, ac si cuperet, faciebat_. So popular did this mythological medley become, that in the tenth century we find certain learned monks embroidering the subject of the poem on their Church vestments. A _memoria technica_ in hexameter lines has also come down to us, showing how the monastic scholar was assisted to remember that grammar, dialectics, and rhetoric belonged to the first division of the sciences called the _Trivium_, and that the four other sciences belonged to the _Quadrivium_:-- "_Gram._: loquitur; _Dia._: vera docet; _Rhet._: verba colorat, _Mus._: canit; _Ar._: numerat; _Geo._: ponderat; _Ast._: colit astra." In a further classification given by another scholar of the end of the twelfth century, Alexander Neckham, we have enumerated the four Faculties recognised by the mediæval University: Arts, Theology, Law, Medicine. "Hic florent Artes, Coelestis Pagina regnat, Stant Leges, lucet Jus: Medicina viget." Such, then, was the cycle of mediæval study. And the student whose ambition it was to become a master of this cycle--a _magister_ or _doctor_ (for in early days the two titles were synonymous) _facultatis_--must attain to it through a seven years' course. In the school attached to a monastery or a cathedral, or from the priest of his native parish, we may suppose that the student has learnt some modicum of Latin, "the scholar's vernacular," or failing that, that the first stage of the _Trivium_--_Grammatica_--has been learnt on his arrival at the University. For this purpose, if he is a Cambridge student at least, he is placed under the charge of a special teacher, called by a mysterious name, _Magister Glomeriæ_, and he himself becomes a "glomerel," giving allegiance oddly enough during this state of pupilage, not to the Chancellor, the head of his University, but to the Archdeacon of Ely. Of the actual books read in the grammar course it is difficult to give an account. They may have been few or many. Indeed, at this period when the works of Aristotle were coming so much into vogue, it would seem as if the old Grammar course gave way at an early period to Philosophy. In a curious old French fabliau of the thirteenth century, entitled "The Battle of the Seven Arts,"[22] there is evidence of this innovation; incidentally also, a list of the books more properly belonging to the Grammar course is also given. "Savez por qui est la descorde? Qu'il ne sont pas d'une science: Car Logique, qui toz jors tence, Claime les auctors autoriaus Et les clers d'Orliens _glomeriaus_. Si vaut bien chascuns iiii Omers, Quar il boivent à granz gomers, Et sevent bien versefier Que d'une fueille d'un figuier Vous ferent-il le vers. * * * * * Aristote, qui fu à pié, Si fist chéoir Gramaire enverse, Lors i a point Mesire Perse Dant Juvénal et dant Orasce, Virgile, Lucain, et Elasce, Et Sedule, Propre, Prudence, Arator, Omer, et Térence: Tuit chaplèrent sor Aristote, Qui fu fers com chastel sor mote." "Do you know the reason of the discord? 'Tis because they are not for the same science, For Logic, who is always disputing, Claims the ancient authors, And the glomerel clerks of Orleans, Each of them is quite equal to four Homers, For they drink by great draughts And know so well how to make verse, That about a single fig leaf They would make you fifty verses. * * * * * Aristotle who was on foot Knocked Grammar down flat. Then there rode up Master Persius, Dan Juvenal and Dan Horace, Virgil, Lucan, and Statius, And Sedulius, Prosper, Prudentius, Arator, Homer, and Terence: They all fell upon Aristotle Who was as bold as a castle upon a hill." And so for the Cambridge "glomerel," if Aristotle held his own against the classics, Dan Homer, and the rest, in the second year of his university course the student would find himself a "sophister," or disputant in the Logic school. To Logic succeeded Rhetoric, which also meant Aristotle, and so the "trivial" arts were at an end, and the "incepting" or "commencing" bachelor of arts began his apprenticeship to a "Master of Faculty." In the next four years he passed through the successive stages of the _Quadrivium_, and at the end received the certificate of his professor, was admitted to the degree of Master of Arts, and thereby was admitted also to the brotherhood of teachers, and himself became an authorised lecturer. A post-graduate course might follow in Theology or Canon or Civil Law, involving another five or six years of university life. In the course for the Canon Law the candidate for a doctor's degree was required to have heard lectures on the civil law for three years, and on the Decretals for another three years; he must, too, have attended cursory lectures on the Bible for at least two years, and must himself have lectured "cursorily" on one of four treatises, and on some one book of the Decretals. Obviously, if this statutory course was strictly observed in those days, the scarlet hood could never grace the shoulders of one who was nothing more than a dexterous logician, or the honoured title of Doctor be conferred on one who had never taught. _Disce docendo_ was indeed the motto of the University of Cambridge in the thirteenth century. The great constitutional historian of our country, the late Bishop Stubbs, in one of the wisest and wittiest of his statutable lectures at Oxford,[23] speaks of England in this age as "the paradise of clerks." He illustrates the truth of his characterisation by drawing an imaginary picture of a foreign scholar making an _Iter Anglicum_ with the object of collecting materials for a history of the learning and literature of England. The Bishop is able readily to crowd his canvas with the figures of eminent Englishmen drawn from centres of learning in every part of the land, from Dover, from Canterbury, from London, from Rochester, from Chichester, from Winchester, from Devizes, from Salisbury, from Exeter, from S. Albans, from Ely, from Peterborough, from Lincoln, from Howden, from York, from Durham, from Hexham, from Melrose; scholars, historians, chroniclers, poets, philosophers, logicians, theologians, canonists, lawyers, all going to prove by the glimpse they give us into circles of scholastic activity, monastic for the most part, how comparatively wide was the extent of English learning and English education in the thirteenth century--an age which it has usually been the fashion to regard as barbarous and obscure--and how germinant of institutions, intellectual as well as political, which have since become vital portions of our national existence. From the point of view of a later age there is doubtless something to be said on the other side. _Disce docendo_ remained perhaps the academic motto, but the learning and the teaching was still under the domination of monasticism, and the monastic scholar, however patient and laborious he might be and certainly was, was also for the most part absolutely uncritical. He cultivated formal logic to perfection; he reasoned from his premise with most admirable subtlety, but he had usually commenced by assuming his premise with unfaltering, because unreasoning, faith. We shall see, however, as we proceed with our history of the collegiate life of the University, in the succeeding centuries, that the critical spirit which gave force to the genius of the great Franciscan teachers, Roger Bacon and Bishop Grosseteste, in resisting the tendencies of their age, which found practical application also in the textual interpretation of Holy Writ in such writings as those of Henry of Costessey, or in the sagacious "Treatise on the Laws and Customs of England"--the oldest of our legal classics--by Ranulf Glanville, or in the "Historia Rerum Anglicanum," of the inquisitive and independent-minded Yorkshire scholar, William of Newburgh, was a factor not to be ignored in the heritage of learning bequeathed by the great men of the thirteenth century to their more enlightened and liberal successors, the theologians, the lawyers, and the historians of the future. There is a mediæval legend of a certain monkish writer, whose tomb was opened twenty years or so after his death, to reveal the fact, that although the remainder of his body had crumbled to dust the hand that had held the pen remained flexible and undecayed. The legend is a parable. Some of the lessons of that parable we may expect to find interpreted in the academic history of Cambridge in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. CHAPTER IV THE EARLIEST COLLEGE FOUNDATION: PETERHOUSE "Re unius Exemplo omnium quoquot extant Collegiorum, fundatori."--_Epitaph of Walter de Merton._ The Early Monastic Houses in Cambridge--Student Proselytising by the Friars--The Oxford College of Merton a Protest against this Tendency--The Rule of Merton taken as a Model by Hugh de Balsham, Founder of Peterhouse--The Hospital of S. John--The Scholars of Ely--Domestic Economy of the College--The Dress of the Mediæval Student--Peterhouse Buildings--Little S. Mary's Church--The Perne Library--The College Chapel. The first beginnings of the University of Cambridge are, as we have seen in the preceding chapters, largely traceable to a monastic inspiration. The first beginnings of the Cambridge Colleges, on the other hand, are as certainly traceable to the protest which, as early as the middle of the thirteenth century, it became necessary to make against the proselytising tendencies of the monastic Orders. At a time when, as we have seen, the University authorities took no cognisance whatever of the way in which the student was lodged, and when even the unsatisfactory hostel system--eventually organised, as it would appear, by voluntary action on the part of the students themselves--did not exist, the houses of the monastic Orders were already well established. We have described the fully-equipped house of the Augustinian Canons at Barnwell. Within the town the Franciscans had established themselves, as early as 1224, in the old synagogue, and fifty years later had erected, on the present site of Sydney College, a spacious house, which Ascham long afterwards described as an ornament to the University, and the precincts of which were still, in the time of Fuller, to be traced in the College grounds. In 1274 the Dominicans had settled where Emmanuel now stands. About the middle of the century the Carmelites, who had originally occupied an extensive foundation at Newnham, but were driven from thence by the winter floods, settled near the present site of Queens. Towards the close of the century the Augustinian Friars took up their residence near the site of the old Botanic Gardens. Opposite to the south part of the present gardens of Peterhouse, on the east side of Trumpington Street, were the Gilbertines, or the Canons of S. Gilbert of Sempringham, the one purely English foundation. In 1257 the Friars of the Order of Bethlehem settled also in Trumpington Street, and in 1258 the Friars of the Sack, or of the Penitence of Jesus Christ, settled in the parish of S. Mary the Great, removed soon afterwards to the parish of S. Peter without the Trumpington Gate. It was natural, therefore, that these well-equipped houses should hold out great attractions and opportunities to the needy and houseless student, and that complaint should shortly be made that many young and unsuspicious boys were induced to enrol themselves as members of Franciscan, or Dominican, or other Friars' houses long before they were capable of judging the full importance of their action. One cannot read the biographies of even such strong personalities as those of Roger Bacon or William of Occam without surmising that their adoption of the Franciscan vow was the result rather of the exigency of the student and the proselytising activity to which they were exposed, than of any distinct vocation for the monastic life, or of their own deliberate choice. "Minors and children," as Fuller says in his usual quaint vein, "agree very well together." To such an extent at any rate had the evil spread at Oxford that, in a preamble of a statute passed in 1358, it is asserted, as a notorious fact, that "the nobility and commoners alike were deterred from sending their sons to the University by this very cause; and it was enacted that if any mendicant should induce, or cause to be induced, any member of the University under eighteen years of age to join the said Friars, or should in any way assist in his abduction, no graduate belonging to the cloister or society of which such friar was a member should be permitted to give or attend lectures in Oxford or elsewhere for the year ensuing."[24] It is not perhaps, therefore, surprising to find that the earliest English Collegiate foundation--that of Walter de Merton at Oxford in 1264--should have expressly excluded all members of the religious Orders. The dangers involved in the ascendency of the monks and friars were already patent to many sagacious minds, and Bishop Walter de Merton, who had filled the high office of Chancellor of England, and was already by his position an adversary of the Franciscan interest, was evidently desirous of establishing an institution which should not only baffle that encroaching spirit of Rome which had startled Grosseteste from his allegiance, but should also give an impulse to a system of education which should not be subservient to purely ecclesiastical ideas. This is obviously the principle which underlies the provisions of the statutes of his foundation of Merton College. Bishop Hobhouse in his _Life of Walter de Merton_ has thus carefully interpreted this principle:-- "Our founder's object I conceive to have been to secure for his own order in the Church, for the secular priesthood, the academical benefit which the religious orders were so largely enjoying, and to this end I think all his provisions are found to be consistently framed. He borrowed from the monastic institutions the idea of an aggregate body living by common rule, under a common head, provided with all things needful for a corporate and perpetual life, fed by its secured endowments, fenced from all external interference, except that of its lawful patron; but after borrowing thus much, he differenced his institution by giving his beneficiaries quite a distinct employment, and keeping them free from all those perpetual obligations which constituted the essence of the religious life.... His beneficiaries are from the first designated as _Scholares in scholis degentes_; their employment was study, not what was technically called "the religious life" (_i.e._ the life of a monk).... He forbade his scholars even to take vows, they were to keep themselves free of every other institution, to render no one else's _obsequium_. He looked forward to their going forth to labour _in seculo_, and acquiring preferment and property.... Study being the function of the inmates of his house, their time was not to be taken up by ritual or ceremonial duties, for which special chaplains were appointed; neither was it to be bestowed on any handicrafts, as in some monastic orders. Voluntary poverty was not enjoined, though poor circumstances were a qualification for a fellowship. No austerity was required, though contentment with simple fare was enforced as a duty, and the system of enlarging the number of inmates according to the means of the house was framed to keep the allowance to each at the very moderate rate which the founder fixed. The proofs of his design to benefit the Church through a better educated secular priesthood are to be found, not in the letter of their statutes, but in the tenour of their provisions, especially as to studies, in the direct averments of some of the subsidiary documents, in the fact of his providing Church patronage as part of his system, and in the readiness of prelates and chapters to grant him impropriation of the rectorial endowments of the Church." Such was the _Regula Mertonensis_, the Rule of Merton, as it came to be called, which served as the model for so many subsequent statutes. This _Regula_ Hugh de Balsham, Bishop of Ely (1257-1286), evidently had before him, when some twenty years after his consecration to the bishopric, he proceeded, by giving a new form to an earlier benefaction of his own, to open a new chapter in the history of the University of Cambridge. Hugh de Balsham, before his elevation to the bishopric, had been sub-prior of the Ely monastery, and at first sight therefore it might seem a little surprising that he should have thought of encouraging a system of education which was not to be subject to the monastic rule. But Hugh de Balsham was a Benedictine monk, and the Benedictines in England at this time were the upholders of a less stringent and ascetic discipline than that of the mendicant orders, and were, in fact, endeavouring in every way to counteract their influence. It had been the aim of Bishop Balsham, in the first instance, to endeavour to bring about a kind of fusion between the old and the new elements in university life, between the Regulars and the Seculars. But this first effort was not fortunate. About the year 1280 he introduced a body of secular scholars into the ancient Hospital of S. John. This Hospital of the Brethren of S. John the Evangelist had been founded, in the year of 1135, by Henry Frost, a wealthy and charitable burgess of the city, and placed under the management of a body of regular canons of the Augustinian Order. At a somewhat later time, Bishop Eustace, the fifth Bishop of Ely, added largely by his benefactions to the importance of the house. It was he who appropriated to the hospital the Church of S. Peter, without the Trumpington Gate. Hugh of Northwold, the eighth bishop, is said, at least by one authority, to have placed some secular scholars there, who devoted themselves to academical study rather than to the services of the Church, and he certainly obtained for the Hospital certain exemptions from taxation in connection with their two hostels near S. Peter's Church. The endowment of the secular students was still further cared for by Bishop Hugh de Balsham. In the preamble to certain letters patent of Edward I. (1280) authorising the settlement, the Bishop, after a wordy comparison, in mediæval phrase, of King Edward's wisdom with that of King Solomon, is credited with the intention of introducing "into the dwelling place of the secular brethren of his Hospital of S. John studious scholars who shall in everything live together as students in the University of Cambridge, according to the rule of the scholars of Oxford who are called of Merton."[25] This document fixes the date of the royal license, on which there can be little doubt that action was immediately taken. The change of system was most unpalatable to the original foundationers and led to unappeasable dissension. The regulars, it may be conjectured, were absorbed in their religious services and in the performance of the special charitable offices of the Hospital; while the scholars were, doubtless, eager to be instructed in the Latin authors, in the new Theology, in the civil and the canon law, perhaps in the "new Aristotle," which at this time was beginning to excite so much enthusiasm among western scholars. Anyhow, the two elements were too dissimilar to combine. Differences arose, feuds and jealousies sprang up, and eventually the good bishop found himself under the necessity of separating the Ely scholars from the Brethren of the Hospital. This he did by transplanting the scholars to the two hostels (_hospicia_) adjoining the Church of S. Peter, without the Trumpington Gate, assigning to them the Church itself and certain revenues belonging to it, inclusive of the tithes of the church mills. This was in the year 1284, and marks the foundation of Peterhouse as the earliest of Cambridge colleges. The Hospital of S. John, thus freed from the scholarly element, went quietly on its career, to become, as we shall see later, the nucleus of the great foundation of S. John's College. It may have been a disappointment to Bishop Hugh that he had not been able to fuse together the two dissimilar elements--"the scholars too wise, and the brethren possibly over-good"--in one corporation. But, as Baker, the historian of S. John's College, has said: "Could he but have foreseen that this broken and imperfect society was to give birth to two great and lasting foundations, he would have had much joy in his disappointment." In the year 1309 the new foundation of "the Scholars of the Bishops of Ely" obtained certain adjoining property hitherto occupied by the Friars of the Sack (_De Penetentia Jesu_), an Order doomed to extinction by the Council of Lyons in 1274. Its slender resources were further added to on the death of its founder by his bequest of 300 marks for the erection of new buildings. With this sum a considerable area to the west and south of the original hostels was acquired, and a handsome hall (_aulam perpulchram_) was built. This hall is substantially the building still in use. It was left, however, to his successor in the Bishopric of Ely, Simon Montagu (1337-1345), to give to the new college its first code of statutes. Bishop Simon, one is glad to think, did not forget the good intentions of Bishop Hugh, for in his code of statutes, dated April 1344, he thus speaks of his predecessor:-- "Desirous for the weal of his soul while he dwelt in this vale of tears, and to provide wholesomely, as far as in him lay, for poor persons wishing to make themselves proficient in the knowledge of letters, by securing to them a proper maintenance, he founded a house or College for the public good in our University of Cambridge, with the consent of King Edward and his beloved sons, the prior and chapter of our Cathedral, all due requirements of law being observed; which House he desired to be called the House of S. Peter or the Hall (_aula_) of the scholars of the Bishops of Ely at Cambridge; and he endowed it and made ordinances for it (_in aliquibus ordinavit_) so far as he was then able; but not as he intended and wished to do, as we hear, had not death frustrated his intention. In this House he willed that there should be one master and as many scholars as could be suitably maintained for the possessions of the house itself in a lawful manner."[26] There can be little doubt that the statutes which Bishop Montagu gave to the college represent the wishes of his predecessor, for the Peterhouse statutes are actually modelled on the fourth of the codes of statutes given by Merton to his college, and dated 1274. The formula "_ad instar Aulæ de Merton_" is a constantly recurring phrase in Montagu's statutes. The true principle of collegiate endowments could not be more plainly stated, and certainly these statutes may be regarded as the embodiment of the earliest conception of college life and discipline at Cambridge. A master and fourteen perpetual fellows,[27] "studiously engaged in the pursuit of literature," represent the body supported on the foundation; the "pensioner" of later times being, of course, at this period provided for already by the hostel. In case of a vacancy among the Fellows "the most able bachelor in logic" is designated as the one on whom, _cæteris paribus_, the election is to fall, the other requirement being that, "so far as human frailty admit, he be honourable, chaste, peaceable, humble, and modest." "The Scholars of Ely" were bound to devote themselves to the "study of Arts, Aristotle, Canon Law, Theology," but, as at Merton, the basis of a sound Liberal Education was to be laid before the study of theology was to be entered upon; two were to be admitted to the study of the civil and the canon law, and one to that of medicine. When any Fellow was about to "incept" in any faculty, it devolved upon the master with the rest of the Fellows to inquire in what manner he had conducted himself and gone through his exercises in the schools, how long he had heard lectures in the faculty in which he was about to incept, and whether he had gone through the forms according to the statutes of the university. The sizar of later times is recognised in the provision, that if the funds of the Foundation permit, the master and the two deacons shall select two or three youths, "indigent scholars well grounded in Latin"--_juvenes indigentes scholares in grammatica notabiliter fundatos_--to be maintained, "as long as may seem fit," by the college alms, such poor scholars being bound to attend upon the master and fellows in church, on feast days and other ceremonial occasions, to serve the master and fellows at seasonable times at table and in their rooms. All meals were to be partaken in common; but it would seem that this regulation was intended rather to conduce towards an economical management than enacted in any spirit of studied conformity to monastic life, for, adds the statute, "the scholars shall patiently support this manner of living until their means shall, under God's favour, have received more plentiful increase."[28] An interesting feature in these statutes is the regulation with regard to the distinctive dress of the student, showing how little regard was paid at this period, even when the student was a priest, to the wearing of a costume which might have been considered appropriate to the staid character of his profession. "The Students," writes Mr. Cooper,[29] "disdaining the tonsure, the distinctive mark of their order, wore their hair either hanging down on their shoulders in an effeminate manner, or curled and powdered: they had long beards, and their apparel more resembled that of soldiers than of priests; they were attired in cloaks with furred edges, long hanging sleeves not covering their elbows, shoes chequered with red and green and tippets of an unusual length; their fingers were decorated with rings, and at their waists they wore large and costly girdles, enamelled with figures and gilt; to the girdles hung knives like swords." In order to repress this laxity and want of discipline, Archbishop Stratford, at a later period in the year 1342, issued an order that no student of the university, unless he should reform his "person and apparel" should receive any ecclesiastical degree or honour. It was doubtless in reference to some such order as this that one of the statutes of Peterhouse ran to this effect:-- "Inasmuch as the dress, demeanour, and carriage of scholars are evidences of themselves, and by such means it is seen more clearly, or may be presumed what they themselves are internally, we enact and ordain, that the master and all and each of the scholars of our house shall _adopt the clerical dress and tonsure_, as becomes the condition of each, and wear it conformally in respect, as far as they conveniently can, and not allow their beard or their hair to grow contrary to canonical prohibition, nor wear rings upon their fingers for their own vain glory and boasting, and to the pernicious example and scandal of others."[30] [Illustration: Peterhouse College] "The Philosophy of Clothes," especially in its application to the mediæval universities, is no doubt an interesting one, and may even--so, at least, it is said by some authorities--throw much light upon the relations of the universities to the Church. The whole subject is discussed in some detail in the chapter on "Student Life in the Middle Ages," in Mr. Rashdall's "History of the Universities of Europe," to which, perhaps, it may be best to refer those of our readers who are desirous of tracing the various steps in the gradual evolution of modern academic dress from the antique forms. There it will be seen how the present doctor's scarlet gown was developed from the magisterial "cappa" or "cope," a sleeveless scarlet cloak, lined with miniver, with tippet and hood attached of the same material--a dress which, in its original shape, is now only to be seen in the Senate House at Cambridge, worn by the Vice-Chancellor on Degree days; how the present gown and hood of the Master of Arts and Bachelor is merely a development of the ordinary clerical dress or "tabard" of the thirteenth century, which, however, was not even exclusively clerical, and certainly not distinguished by that sobriety of hue characteristic of modern clerical tailordom--clerkly prejudice in the matter of the "tabard" running in favour of green, blue, or blood red; and how the modern "mortar-board," or square college cap,--now usurped by undergraduates, and even choristers and schoolboys--was originally the distinctive badge of a Master of Faculty, being either a square cap or "biretta," with a tuft on the top, in lieu of the very modern tassel, or a round cap or "pileum," more or less resembling the velvet caps still worn by the Yeomen of the Guard, or on very state occasions by the Cambridge or Oxford doctors in medicine or law. The picturesque dress of university students of the thirteenth century, still surviving in the long blue coat and yellow stockings, and red leather girdle and white bands of the boys of Christ's Hospital, is sufficient to show how much we have lost of the warmth and colour of mediæval life by the almost universal change to sombre black in clerical or student costume, brought about by the Puritan austerity of the sixteenth century. To return to the fabric of Bishop Hugh de Balsham's College. We have seen how a handsome hall (_aulam perpulchram_) was built with the 300 marks of the Bishop's legacy. This is substantially the building of five bays, which still exists, forming the westernmost part of the south side of the Great Court of the College. The three easternmost bays are taken up by the dining-hall or refectory, the westernmost is devoted to the buttery, the intervening bay is occupied by the screens and passage, at either end of which there still remain the original north and south doorways, interesting as being the earliest example of collegiate architecture in Cambridge. The windows of this hall on the south side date from the end of the fifteenth century. The north-east oriel window and the buttresses on the north side of the hall were added by Sir Gilbert Scott in 1870, who also built the new screen, panelling, and roof. At about the same time the hall was decorated and the windows filled with stained glass of very great beauty by William Morris. The figures represented in the windows are as follows (beginning from the west on the north side): John Whitgift, John Cosin, Rd. Tresham, Thos. Gray, Duke of Grafton, Henry Cavendish; in the oriel--Homer, Aristotle, Cicero, Hugh de Balsham, Roger Bacon, Francis Bacon, Isaac Newton; on the south side--Edward I., Queen Eleanor, Hugh de Balsham, S. George, S. Peter, S. Etheldreda, John Holbroke, Henry Beaufort, John Warkworth. After the building of this hall the College evidently languished for want of funds for more than a century. But in the fifteenth century the College began to prosper, and a good deal of building was done. The character of the work is not expressly stated in the Bursar's Rolls--of which there are some thirty-one still existing of the fifteenth century, and a fairly complete set of the subsequent centuries--but the earliest buildings of this date are probably the range of chambers forming the north and west side of the great court. The kitchen, which is immediately to the west of the hall, dates from 1450. The Fellows' parlour or combination room, completing the third side of the quadrangle, and immediately east of the dining-hall, was built some ten years later. Cole has given the following precise description of this room:-- "This curious old room joins immediately to the east end of the dining-hall or refectory, and is a ground floor called The Stone Parlour, on the south side of the Quadrangle, between the said hall and the master's own lodge. It is a large room and wainscotted with small oblong Panels. The two upper rows of which are filled with paintings on board of several of the older Masters and Benefactors to the College. Each picture has an Inscription in the corner, and on a separate long Panel under each, much ornamented with painting, is a Latin Distic." ...[31] Then follows a description of each portrait--there are thirty in all--with its accompanying distich. As an example, we may give that belonging to the portrait of Dr. Andrew Perne: Bibliothecæ Libri Redditus pulcherrima Dona Perne, pium Musiste, Philomuse, probant. _Andreas Perne, Doctor Theol. Decanus Ecclesiæ Eliensis, Magister Collegii, obiit 26 Aprilis, Anno Dom. 1573._ These panel portraits were removed from their framework in the eighteenth century, and framed and hung in the master's lodge, but have since been re-hung for the most part in the college hall, and their Latin distichs restored according to Cole's record of them. The windows of the Combination Room have been filled with stained glass by William Morris, representing ten ideal women from Chaucer's "Legend of Good Women." On the upper storey of the combination room was the master's lodge. The situation of these rooms at the upper end of the hall is almost as invariable in collegiate plans as that of the buttery and kitchen at the other end. The same may be said of that most picturesque feature of the turret staircase leading from the master's rooms to the hall, parlour, and garden, which we shall find repeated in the plans of S. John's, Christ's, Queen's, and Pembroke Colleges. About the same period (1450) the range of chambers on the north side of the court was at its easternmost end connected by a gallery with the Church of S. Mary, which remained in use as the College chapel down to the seventeenth century. This gallery, on the level of the upper floor of the College chambers, was carried on arches so as not to obstruct the entrance to the churchyard and south porch from the High Street, by a similar arrangement to that which from the first existed between Corpus Christi College and the ancient Church of S. Benedict. The Parish Church of S. Peter, without the Trumpington Gate, had from the first been used as the College Chapel of Peterhouse. Indeed, the earliest college in Cambridge was the latest to possess a private chapel of its own, which was not built until 1628. All that remains, however, of the old Church of S. Peter is a fragment of the tower, standing at the north-west corner of the present building and the arch which led from it into the church. This probably marks the west end of the old church, which, no doubt, was much shorter than the present one. It is said that this old church fell down in part about 1340, and a new church was at once begun in its place. This was finished in 1352 and dedicated to the honour of the blessed Virgin Mary. The church is a very beautiful one, though of an unusual simplicity of design. It is without aisles or any structural division between nave and chancel. It is lighted by lofty windows and deep buttresses. On the south side and at the eastern gable are rich flowing decorated windows, the tracery of which is designed in the same style, and in many respects with the same patterns, as those of Alan de Walsingham's Lady Chapel at Ely. Indeed, a comparison of the Church of Little S. Mary with the Ely Lady Chapel, not only in its general conception, but in many of its details, such as that of the stone tabernacles on the outer face of the eastern gable curiously connected with the tracery of the window, would lead a careful observer to the conclusion that both churches had been planned by the same architect. The change of the old name of the church from S. Peter to that of S. Mary the Virgin is also, in this relation, suggestive. For we must remember that it was built at a time--the age of Dante and Chaucer--when Catholic purity, in the best natures, united to the tenderness of chivalry was casting its glamour over poetic and artistic minds, and had already led to the establishment in Italy of an Order--the _Cavalieri Godenti_--pledged to defend the existence, or, more accurately perhaps, the dignity of the Virgin Mary, by the establishment everywhere throughout western Europe of Lady Chapels in her honour. Whether Alan de Walsingham, the builder of the Ely Lady Chapel, and the builder of the Church of Little S. Mary at Cambridge--if he was not Alan--belonged to this Order of the Cavaliers of S. Mary, we cannot say; but at least it seems probable that the Cambridge Church sprang from the same impulse which inspired the magnificent stone poem in praise of S. Mary, built by the sacrist of Ely. At this period Peterhouse consisted of two courts, separated by a wall occupying the position of the present arcade at the west end of the chapel. The westernmost or principal court is, save in some small details, that which we see to-day. The small eastern court next to the street has undergone great alteration by the removal of certain old dwelling-houses--possibly relics of the original hostels--fronting the street, which left an open space, occupied at a later period partly by the chapel and by the extension eastward of the buildings on the south side of the great court to form a new library, and subsequently by a similar flanking extension on the north. The earliest of these buildings was the library, due to a bequest of Dr. Andrew Perne, Dean of Ely, who was master of the College from 1553 to 1589, and who not only left to the society his own library, "supposed to be the worthiest in all England," but sufficient property for the erection of a building to contain it. Perne had gained in early life a position of importance in the University--he had been a fellow of both S. John's and of Queen's, bursar of the latter College and five times vice-chancellor of the University--but his success in life was mainly due to his pliancy in matters of religion. In Henry's reign he had publicly maintained the Roman doctrine of the adoration of pictures of Christ and the Saints; in Edward VI.'s he had argued in the University pulpit against transubstantiation; in Queen Mary's, on his appointment to the mastership of Peterhouse, he had formally subscribed to the fully defined Roman articles then promulgated; in Queen Elizabeth's he had preached a Latin sermon in denunciation of the Pope, and had been complimented for his eloquence by the Queen herself. No wonder that immediately after his death in 1589 he should be hotly denounced in the Martin Marprelate tracts as the friend of Archbishop Whitgift, and as the type of fickleness and lack of principle which the authors considered characteristic of the Established Church. Other writers of the same school referred to him as "Old Andrew Turncoat," "Old Father Palinode," and "Judas." The undergraduates of Cambridge, it is said, invented in his honour a new Latin verb, _pernare_, which they translated "to turn, to rat, to change often." It became proverbial in the University to speak of a cloak or a coat which had been turned as "perned," and finally the letters on the weathercock of S. Peter's, A.P.A.P., might, said the satirists, be interpreted as Andrew Perne, a Protestant, or Papist, or Puritan. However, it is much to be able to say that he was the tutor and friend of Whitgift, protecting him in early days from the persecution of Cardinal Pole; it is something also to remember that he was uniformly steadfast in his allegiance to his College, bequeathing to it his books, with minute directions for their chaining and safe custody, providing for their housing, and moreover, endowing two college fellowships and six scholarships; and perhaps charity might prompt us to add, that at a time when the public religion of the country changed four times in ten years, Perne probably trimmed in matters of outward form that he might be at hand to help in matters which he truly thought were really essential. The Perne Library at Peterhouse has no special architectural features of any value; its main interest in that respect is to be found in the picturesque gable-end with oriel window overhanging the street, bearing above it the date 1633, which belongs to the brickwork extension westward at that date of the original stone building. The building of the library, however, preluded a period of considerable architectural activity in the college, due largely to the energy of Dr. Matthew Wren, who was master from 1625 to 1634. It is recorded of him that "seeing the public offices of religion less decently performed, and the services of God depending upon the services of others, for want of a convenient oratory within the walls of the college," he began in 1629 to build the present chapel. It was consecrated in 1632. The name of the architect is not recorded. The chapel was connected as at present with the buildings on either side by galleries carried on open arcades. Dr. Cosin, who succeeded Wren in the mastership, continued the work, facing the chapel walls, which had been built roughly in brick, with stone. An elaborate ritual was introduced into the chapel by Cosin, who, it will be remembered, was a friend and follower of Archbishop Laud. A Puritan opponent of Cosin has written bitterly that "in Peter House Chappell there was a glorious new altar set up and mounted on steps, to which the master, fellows, and schollers bowed, and were enjoyned to bow by Dr. Cosens, the master, who set it up; that there were basons, candlesticks, tapers standing on it, and a great crucifix hanging over it ... and on the altar a pot, which they usually call the incense pot.... And the common report both among the schollers of that House and others, was that none might approach to the altar in Peter House but in sandalls."[32] It is not surprising, therefore, to read at a little later date in the diary of the Puritan iconoclast, William Dowsing:-- "We went to Peterhouse, 1643, Decemb. 21, with officers and souldiers and ... we pulled down 2 mighty great Angells with wings and divers others Angells and the 4 Evangelists and Peter, with his keies, over the Chapell dore and about a hundred chirubims and Angells and divers superstitious Letters...." These to-day are all things of the past. The interior of the Chapel is fitted partly with the genuine old mediæval panelling, possibly brought from the parochial chancel of Little S. Mary's, or from its disused chantries, now placed at the back of the stalls and in front of the organ gallery, partly with oakwork, stalls and substalls, in the Jacobæan style. The present altar-piece is of handsome modern wainscot. The entrance door is mediæval, probably removed from elsewhere to replace the doorway defaced by Dowsing. The only feature in the chapel which can to-day be called--and that only by a somewhat doubtful taste--"very magnifical," is the gaudy Munich stained-glass work inserted in the lateral windows, as a memorial to Professor Smythe, in 1855 and 1858. The subjects are, on the north side, "The Sacrifice of Isaac," "The Preaching of S. John the Baptist," "The Nativity"; and on the south side, "The Resurrection," "The Healing of a Cripple by SS. Peter and John," "S. Paul before Agrippa and Festus." The east window, containing "The History of Christ's Passion," is said by Blomefield to have been "hid in the late troublesome times in the very boxes which now stand round the altar instead of rails." CHAPTER V THE COLLEGES OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY "High potentates and dames of royal birth And mitred fathers in long order go."--GRAY. The Fourteenth Century an Age of Great Men and Great Events but not of Great Scholars--Petrarch and Richard of Bury--Michael House--The King's Scholars--King's Hall--Clare Hall--Pembroke College--Gonville Hall--Dr. John Caius--His Three Gates of Humility, Virtue, and Honour. The dates of the foundation of the two Colleges, Clare and Pembroke, which, after an interval of some fifty and seventy years respectively, followed that of Peterhouse, and the names of Lady Elizabeth, Countess of Clare, and of Marie de Valence, Countess of Pembroke, who are associated with them, remind us that we have reached that troublous and romantic time which marked the close of the long and varied reign of the Great Edward, and was the seed-time of those influences which ripened during the longer and still more varied reign of Edward III. Between the year 1326, which was the date of the first foundation of Clare College, the date also of the deposition and murder of Edward II., and the year 1348, which is the date of the foundation of Pembroke and the twenty-first year of Edward III., the distracted country had passed through many vicissitudes. It had seen the great conflict of parties under the leadership of the great houses of Lancaster, Gloucester, and Pembroke, culminating in the king's deposition and in the rise of the power of the English Parliament, and in its division into the two Houses of Lords and Commons. It had seen the growth of the new class of landed gentry, whose close social connection with the baronage on the one hand, and of equally close political connection with the burgesses on the other, had welded the three orders together, and had given to the Parliament that unity of action and feeling on which its powers have ever since mainly depended. It had seen the Common Law rise into the dignity of a science and rapidly become a not unworthy rival of Imperial Jurisprudence. It had seen the close of the great interest of Scottish warfare, and the northern frontier of England carried back to the old line of the Northumbrian kings. It had seen the strife with France brought to what at the moment seemed to be an end, for the battle of Crecy, at which the power of the English chivalry was to teach the world the lesson which they had learned from Robert Bruce thirty years before at Bannockburn, was still in the future, as also was the Hundred Years' War of which that battle was the prelude. It had seen the scandalous schism of the Western Church, and the vision of a Pope at Rome, and another Pope at Avignon, awakening in the mind of the nations an entirely new set of thoughts and feelings with regard to the position of both the Papacy and the Church. The early fourteenth century was indeed an age of great events and of great men; but it was not an age, at least as far as England was concerned, of great scholars. There was no Grosseteste in the fourteenth century. Petrarch, the typical man of letters, the true inspirer of the classical Renaissance, and in a sense the founder of really modern literature, was a great scholar and humanist, but he had no contemporary in England who could be called an equal or a rival. His one English friend, Richard of Bury, Bishop of Durham, book lover as he was--for his _Philobiblon_ we all owe him a debt of gratitude--was after all only an ardent amateur and no scholar. When Petrarch had applied to Richard for some information as to the geography of the Thule of the ancients, the Bishop had put him off with the statement that he had not his books with him, but would write fully on his return home. Though more than once reminded of his promise, he left the disappointed poet without an answer. The fact was, that Richard was not so learned that he could afford to confess his ignorance. He corresponds, in fact, to the earlier humanists of Italy--men who collected manuscripts and saw the possibilities of learning, though they were unable to attain to it themselves. There is much in his _Philobiblon_ of the greatest interest, as, for example, his description of the means by which he had collected his library at Durham College, and his directions to students for its careful use, but despite his own fervid love and somewhat rhetorical praise of learning, there is still a certain personal pathos in the expression of his own impatience with the ignorance and superficiality of the younger students of his day. Writing in the _Philobiblon_ of the prevalent characteristics of Oxford at this time, he writes:-- "Forasmuch as (the students) are not grounded in their first rudiment at the proper time, they build a tottering edifice on an insecure foundation, and then when grown up they are ashamed to learn that which they should have acquired when of tender years, and thus must needs even pay the penalty of having too hastily vaulted into the possession of authority to which they had no claim. For these and like reasons, our young students fail to gain by their scanty lucubrations that sound learning to which the ancients attained, however they may occupy honourable posts, be called by titles, be invested with the garb of office, or be solemnly inducted into the seats of their seniors. Snatched from their cradle and hastily weaned, they get a smattering of the rules of Priscian and Donatus; in their teens and beardless they chatter childishly concerning the Categories and the Perihermenias in the composition of which Aristotle spent his whole soul."[33] It is to be feared that the decline of learning, which at this period was characteristic, as we thus see, of Oxford, was equally characteristic of Cambridge. Certainly there was no scholar there of the calibre of William of Ockham, or even of Richard of Bury, or of the Merton Realist, Bradwardine, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury. It is not indeed until more than a century later when we have reached the age of Wycliffe, the first of the reformers and the last of the schoolmen, that the name of any Cambridge scholar emerges upon the page of history. [Illustration: Clare College and Bridge] But meanwhile the collegiate system of the University was slowly being developed. Some forty years after the foundation of Peterhouse, in the year 1324, Hervey de Stanton, Chancellor of the Exchequer and Canon of Bath and Wells, obtained from Edward II. permission to found at Cambridge the College of "the Scholars of St. Michael." The college itself, Michaelhouse, has long been merged in the great foundation of Trinity, but its original statutes still exist and show that they were conceived in a somewhat less liberal spirit than that of the code of Hugh de Balsham. The monk and the friar are excluded from the society, but the Rule of Merton is not mentioned. Two years afterwards, in 1326, we find thirty-two scholars known as the "King's Scholars" maintained at the University by Edward II. It seems probable that it had been the intention of the King in this way to encourage the study of the civil and the canon law, for books on these subjects were presented by him, presumably for the use of the scholars, to Simon de Bury their warden, and were subsequently taken away at the command of Queen Isabella. The King had also intended to provide a hall of residence for these "children of our chapel," but the execution of this design of establishing a "King's Hall" was left to his son Edward III. The poet Gray, in his "Installation Ode," has represented Edward III.-- "Great Edward with the lilies on his brow, From haughty Gallia torn," in virtue of his foundation of King's Hall, which was subsequently absorbed in the greater society, as the founder of Trinity College. But the honour evidently belongs with more justice to his father. It was, however, by Edward III. that the Hall was built near the Hospital of S. John, "to the honour of God, the Blessed Virgin, and all the Saints, and for the soul of the Lord Edward his father, late King of England, of famous memory, and the souls of Philippa, Queen of England, his most dear consort, and of his children and progenitors."[34] The statutes of King's Hall give an interesting contemporary picture of collegiate life. The preamble moralises upon "the unbridled weakness of humanity, prone by nature and from youth to evil, ignorant how to abstain from things unlawful, easily falling into crime." It is required that each scholar on his admission be proved to be of "good and reputable conversation." He is not to be admitted under fourteen years of age. His knowledge of Latin must be such as to qualify him for the study of logic, or of whatever other branch of learning the master shall decide, upon examination of his capacity, he is best fitted to follow. The scholars were provided with lodging, food, and clothing. The sum allowed for the weekly maintenance of a King's scholar was fourteen pence, an unusually liberal allowance for weekly commons, suggesting the idea that the foundation was probably designed for students of the wealthier class, an indication which is further borne out by the prohibitions with respect to the frequenting of taverns, the introduction of dogs within the College precincts, the wearing of short swords and peaked shoes (_contra honestatem clericalem_), the use of bows, flutes, catapults, and the oft-repeated exhortation to orderly conduct. Following upon the establishment of Michaelhouse and King's Hall, in the year 1326 the University in its corporate capacity obtained a royal licence to settle a body of scholars in two houses in Milne Street. This college was called University Hall, a title already adopted by a similar foundation at Oxford. The Chancellor of the University at the time was a certain Richard de Badew. The foundation, however, did not at first meet with much success. In 1336 its revenues were found insufficient to support more than ten scholars. In 1338, however, we find Elizabeth de Burgh, Countess of Clare and granddaughter of Edward I., coming to the help of the struggling society. By the death of her brother, the Earl of Gloucester, at the battle of Bannockburn, leaving no issue, the whole of a very princely estate came into the possession of the Lady Clare and her two sisters. Having, by a deed dated 6th April 1338, received from Richard de Badew, who therein calls himself "Founder, Patron, and Advocate of the House called the Hall of the University of Cambridge," all the rights and titles of University Hall, the Lady Clare refounded it, and supplied the endowments which hitherto it had lacked. The name of the Hall was changed to Clare House (_Domus de Clare_). As early, however, as 1346 we find it styled Clare Hall, a name which it bore down to our own times, when, by resolution of the master and fellows in 1856, it was changed to Clare College. The following preamble to the statutes of the College, which were granted in 1359, are perhaps worthy of quotation as exhibiting, in spite of its quaint confusion of the "Pearl of Great Price" with "the Candle set upon a Candlestick," the pious and withal businesslike and sensible spirit of the foundress:-- "To all the sons of our Holy Mother Church, who shall look into these pages, Elizabeth de Burgh, Lady de Clare, wishes health and remembrance of this transaction. Experience, which is the mistress of all things, clearly teaches that in every rank of life, as well temporal as ecclesiastical, a knowledge of literature is of no small advantage; which though it is searched into by many persons in many different ways, yet in a University, a place that is distinguished for the flourishing of general study, it is more completely acquired; and after it has been obtained, she sends forth her scholars who have tasted its sweets, apt and suitable men in the Church of God and in the State, men who will rise to various ranks according to the measure of their deserts. Desiring therefore, since this consideration has come over us, to extend as far as God has allowed us, for the furtherance of Divine worship, and for the advance and good of the State, this kind of knowledge which in consequence of a great number of men having been taken away by the fangs of pestilence, is now beginning lamentably to fail; we have turned the attention of our mind to the University of Cambridge, in the Diocese of Ely; where there is a body of students, and to a Hall therein, hitherto commonly called University Hall, which already exists of our foundation, and which we would have to bear the name of the House of Clare and no other, for ever, and have caused it to be enlarged in its resources out of the wealth given us by God and in the number of students; in order that the Pearl of Great Price, Knowledge, found and acquired by them by means of study and learning in the said University, may not lie hid beneath a bushel, but be published abroad; and by being published give light to those who walk in the dark paths of ignorance. And in order that the Scholars residing in our aforesaid House of Clare, under the protection of a more steadfast peace and with the advantage of concord, may choose to engage with more free will in study, we have carefully made certain statutes and ordinances to last for ever."[35] [Illustration: Clare College and Bridge.] The distinguishing characteristic of these statutes is the great liberality they show in the requirements with respect to the professedly clerical element. This, as the preamble, in fact, suggests, was the result of a desire to fill up the terrible gap caused in the ranks of the clergy by the outbreak of the Black Death, which first made its appearance in England in the year 1348, and caused the destruction of two and a half millions of the population in a single year.[36] The Scholars or Fellows are to be twenty in number, of whom six are to be in priest's orders at the time of their admission. The remaining fellows are to be selected from bachelors or sophisters in arts, or from "skilful and well-conducted" civilians and canonists, but only two fellows may be civilians, and only one a canonist. The clauses relating to the scheme of studies are, moreover, apparently intended to discourage both these branches of law. Of the further progress of the College in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries we have no record, for the archives perished in the fire which almost totally destroyed the early buildings in the year 1521. In the seventeenth century, shortly before the outbreak of the Civil War, it was proposed to rebuild the whole College, but owing to the troubles of that time it was not until the beginning of the eighteenth century, in the year 1715, that the work was finished. "The buildings are," said the late Professor Willis, "among the most beautiful, from their situation and general outline, that he could point out in the University." There is extant an amusing account of the controversy between Clare Hall and King's College, caused by the desire of the former to procure a certain piece of land for purposes of recreation on the east side of the Cam, called Butt Close, belonging to King's. Here are two of the letters which passed between the rival litigants. "_The Answer of Clare-Hall to Certaine Reasons of King's College touching Butt-Close._ "1. To the first we answer:--Iº. That y{e} annoyance of y{e} windes gathering betweene y^{e} Chappell and our Colledge is farre greater and more detriment to y^{t} Chappell, then any benefitt which they can imagine to receiue by y{e} shelter of our Colledge from wind and sunne. "2º. That y^{e} Colledge of Clare-hall being sett so neare as now it is, they will not only be sheltered from wind and sunne, but much deprived both of ayre and light. "3º. That y^{e} remove all of Clare Hall 70 feet westward will take away little or no considerable privacy from their gardens and walkes; for y{t} one of their gardens is farre remote, and y^{e} nearer fenced with a very high wall, and a vine spread upon a long frame, under which they doe and may privately walke." "_A Reply of King's Colledge to y^{e} Answer of Clare-Hall._ "1. The wind so gathering breeds no detriment to our Chappell, nor did ever putt us to any reparacions there. The upper battlements at the west end haue sometimes suffered from y^{e} wind, but y^{e} wind could not there be straightned by Clare-hall, w^{ch} scarce reacheth to y^{e} fourth part of y^{e} height. "2º. No whit at all, for our lower story hath fewer windowes y^{t} way: the other are so high y^{t} Clare-Hall darkens them not, and hath windows so large y^{t} both for light and ayre no chambers in any Coll. exceed them. "3º. The farther garden is not farre remote, being scarce 25 yards distant from their intended building; y^{e} nearer is on one side fenced with a high wall indeed, but y^{t} wall is fraudulently alleaged by them, and beside y^{e} purpose: for y^{t} wall y^{t} stands between their view and y^{e} garden is not much aboue 6 feet in height: and y^{t} we haue any vine or frame there to walke under is manifestly untrue."[37] However, the controversy was settled in favour of Clare-Hall by a letter from the King. A tradition has long prevailed that Clare-Hall was the College mentioned by the poet Chaucer in his "Reeve's Tale," in the lines-- "And nameliche ther was a greet collegge, Men clepen the Soler-Halle at Cantebregge." There appears, however, to be good reason for thinking that the Soler Hall was in reality Garrett Hostel, a _soler_ or sun-chamber being the equivalent of a garret. For the tradition also that Chaucer himself was a Clare man there is no authority. The College may well be satisfied with the list of authentic names of great men which give lustre to the roll of its scholars--Hugh Latimer, the reformer and fellow-martyr of Ridley; Nicholas Ferrar, the founder of the religious community of Little Gidding; Wheelock, the great Saxon and oriental scholar; Ralph Cudworth, leader of the Cambridge Platonists; Archbishop Tillotson and his pupil the philosopher, Thomas Burnett; Whiston, the translator of "Josephus"; Cole, the antiquary; Maseres, the lawyer and mathematician. The foundation of Pembroke College, like that of Clare Hall, was also due to the private sorrow of a noble lady. The poet Gray, himself a Pembroke man, in the lines of his "Installation Ode," where he commemorates the founders of the University-- "All that on Granta's fruitful plain Rich streams of royal bounty poured," speaks of this lady as "...sad Chatillon on her bridal morn, That wept her bleeding love." [Illustration: Pembroke College.] This is in allusion to the somewhat doubtful story thus told by Fuller-- "Mary de Saint Paul, daughter to Guido Castillion, Earl of S. Paul in France, third wife to Audomare de Valentia, Earl of Pembroke, maid, wife, and widow all in a day (her husband being unhappily slain at a tilting at her nuptials), sequestered herself on that sad accident from all worldly delights, bequeathed her soul to God, and her estate to pious uses, amongst which this is principal, that she founded in Cambridge the College of Mary de Valentia, commonly called Pembroke Hall." [Illustration: Pembroke College] All that authentic history records is that the Earl of Pembroke died suddenly whilst on a mission to the Court of France in June 1324. His widow expended a large part of her very considerable fortune both in France and England on works of piety. In 1342 she founded the Abbey of Denny in Cambridgeshire for nuns of the Order of S. Clare. The Charter of Foundation of Pembroke College is dated 9th June 1348. It is to be regretted that the earliest Rule given to the College, or to the _Aula seu Domus de Valence Marie_, the Hall of Valence Marie, as it was at first called, is not extant. A revised rule of the conjectural date of 1366, and another of perhaps not more than ten years later, furnished, however, the data upon which Dr. Ainslie, Master of the College from 1828 to 1870, drew up an abstract of its constitution and early history.[38] The most interesting feature of this constitution is the provision made in the first instance for the management of the College by the Franciscans, and its abolition on a later revision. According to the first code--"the head of the College was to be elected by the fellows, and to be distinguished by the title of the Keeper of the House." There were to be annually elected two rectors, _the one a Friar Minor_, the other a secular. This provision of the two rectors was abolished in the later code, and with it apparently all official connection between the College and the Franciscan Order, and it may be perhaps conjectured all association also with the sister foundation at Denny, concerning which the foundress, in her final _Vale_ of the earlier code, had given to the fellows of the House of Valence Marie the following quaint direction, that "on all occasions they should give their best counsel and aid to the Abbess and Sisters of Denny, who had from her a common origin with them." [Illustration: Pembroke College Oriels & Entrance] The exact date at which the building of the College was begun is not known, but it was probably not long after the purchase of the site in 1346. Many of the original buildings which remained down to 1874 were destroyed in the reconstruction of the College at that time. It is now only possible to imagine many of the most picturesque features of that building, of which Queen Elizabeth, on her visit to Cambridge in 1564, enthusiastically exclaimed in passing, "_O domus antiqua et religiosa!_" by consulting the print of the College published by Loggan about 1688. Of the interesting old features still left, we have the chapel at the corner of Trumpington Street and Pembroke Street, built in 1360 and refaced in 1663, and the line of buildings extending down Pembroke Street to the new master's lodge and the Scott building of modern date. The old chapel has been used as a library since 1663, when the new chapel, whose west end abuts on Trumpington Street, was built by Sir Christopher Wren. The cloister, called Hitcham's Cloister, which joins the Wren Chapel to the fine old entrance gateway, and the Hitcham building[39] on the south side of the inner court, are dated 1666 and 1659 respectively. All the rest of the College is modern. The early foundation of Pembroke College had some connection, as we have seen, with the Franciscan Order. The early foundation of Gonville Hall, which followed that of Pembroke in 1348, had a somewhat similar connection with the Dominicans. Edward Gonville, its founder, was vicar-general of the diocese of Ely, and rector of Ferrington and Rushworth in Norfolk. In that county he had been instrumental in causing the foundation of a Dominican house at Thetford. Two years before his death he settled a master and two fellows in some tenements he had bought in Luteburgh Lane, now called Free School Lane, on a site almost coinciding with the present master's garden of Corpus, and gave to his college the name of "the Hall of the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin." But he died in 1351, and left the completion of his design to his executor, Bishop Bateman of Norwich. Bateman removed Gonville Hall to the north-west corner of its present site, adjoining the "Hall of the Holy Trinity," which he was himself endowing at the same period. However, he too died within a few years, leaving both foundations immature. The statutes of both halls are extant, and exhibit an interesting contrast of ideal--the one that of a country parson of the fourteenth century, moved by the simple desire to do something for the encouragement of learning, and especially of theology, in the men of his own profession--the other that of a Bishop, a learned canonist and busy man of state, long resident at the Papal court at Avignon, regarded by the Pope as "the flower of civilians and canonists," desirous above all things by his College foundation of recruiting the ranks of his clergy, thinned by the Black Death, with men trained, as he himself had been, in the canon and civil law. It was the Bishop's ideal that triumphed. Gonville's statutes requiring an almost exclusively theological training for his scholars were abolished, and the course of study in the two halls assimilated, Bateman, as founder of the two societies, by a deed dated 1353, ratifying an agreement of fraternal affection and mutual help between the two societies, as "scions of the same stock"; assigning, however, the precedence to the members of Trinity Hall, "_tanquam fratres primo geniti_."[40] The fellows were by this agreement bound to live together in amity like brothers, to take counsel together in legal and other difficulties, to wear robes or cloaks of the same pattern, and to consort together at academic ceremonies. Thus Gonville Hall was fairly started on its way. It ranked from the first as a small foundation, and though it gradually added to its buildings and acquired various endowments, it did not materially increase its area for two centuries. The ancient walls of its early buildings--its chapel, hall, library, and master's lodge--are all doubtless still standing, though coated over with the ashlar placed on them in 1754. The ancient beams of the roof of the old hall are still to be seen in the attics of the present tutor's house. The upper room over the passage which leads from Gonville to Caius Court is the ancient chamber of the lodge where the early masters used to sleep, very little changed. The old main entrance to the College was in Trinity Lane, a thoroughfare so filthy in the reign of Richard II. that the King himself was appealed to, in order to check the "_horror abominabilis_" through which students had to plunge on their way to the schools. From time to time new benefactors of the College came, though for the most part of a minor sort; some of whom, however, have left quaint traces behind them. Of such was a certain Cluniac monk, John Household by name, a student in 1513, who in his will dated 1543 thus bequeaths--"To the College in Cambrydge called Gunvyle Hall, my longer table-clothe, my two awter (altar) pillows, with their bears of black satten bordered with velvet pirled with goulde: also a frontelet with the salutation of Our Lady curely wroughte with goulde; and besides two suts of vestements having everythinge belonging to the adorning of a preste to say masse: the one is a light greene having white ends, and the other a duned Taphada," whatever that may be. He also leaves his books, "protesting that whatsoever be founde in my bookes I intend to dye a veray Catholical Christen man, and the King's letheman and trewe subjecte." This might seem to speak well, perhaps, for the catholicity of the College in the thirty-fourth year of Henry VIII., and yet thirteen years earlier Bishop Nix of Norwich had written to Archbishop Warham: "I hear no clerk that hath come out lately of Gunwel Haule but saverith of the frying panne, though he speak never so holely." Anyhow about this time the College became notorious as a hotbed of reformed opinions. It was, however, at this time also that a young student was trained within its walls, who, after a distinguished career at Cambridge--it would be an anachronism to call him senior wrangler, but his name stands first in that list which afterwards developed into the Mathematical Tripos--passed to the university of Padua to study medicine under the great anatomist, Vesalius, ultimately becoming a professor there, and returning to England, and to medical practice in London, and having presumably amassed a fortune in the process, formed the design of enlarging what he pathetically describes as "that pore house now called Gonville Hall." On September 4, 1557, John Caius obtained the charter for his new foundation, and the ancient name of Gonville Hall was changed to that of Gonville and Caius College. In the following year the new benefactor was elected Master, and the remaining years of his life were spent, on the one hand, in quarrelling with Fellows about "College copes, vestments, albes, crosses, tapers ... and all massynge abominations;" and, on the other, in designing and carrying out those noble architectural additions to the College which give to the buildings of Caius College their chief interest. [Illustration: Gate of Honour & Gate of Virtue Caius College] "In his architectural works," says Mr. Atkinson, "Caius shews practical common sense combined with the love of symbolism. His court is formed by two ranges of building on the east and west, and on the north by the old chapel and lodge. To the south the court is purposely left open, and the erection of buildings on this side is expressly forbidden by one of his statutes, lest the air from being confined within a narrow space should become foul. The same care is shewn in another statute which imposes on any one who throws dirt or offal into the court, or who airs beds or bedlinen there, a fine of three shillings and fourpence. In his will also he requires that 'there be mayntayned a lustie and healthie, honest, true, and unmarried man of fortie years of age and upwardes to kepe cleane and swete the pavementes.'"[41] The love of Dr. Caius for symbolism is shown most conspicuously in his design of the famous three Gates of Humility, of Virtue, and of Honour, which were intended to typify, by the increasing richness of their design, the path of the student from the time of his entrance to the College, to the day when he passed to the schools to take his Degree in Arts. The Gate of Humility was a simple archway with an entablature supported by pilasters, forming the new entrance to the College from Trinity Street, or as it was then called, High Street, immediately opposite St. Michael's Church. On the inside of this gate there was a frieze on which was carved the word HUMILITATIS. From this gate there led a broad walk, bordered by trees, much in the fashion of the present avenue entrance to Jesus College, to the Gate of Virtue, a simple and admirable gateway tower in the range of the new buildings, forming the eastern side of the court, still known as Caius Court. "The word VIRTUTIS is inscribed on the frieze above the arch on the eastern side, in the spandrils of which are two female figures leaning forwards. That on the left holds a leaf in her left hand, and a palm branch in her right; that on the right a purse in her right hand, and a cornucopia in her left. The western side of this gate has on its frieze, 'IO. CAIUS POSUIT SAPIENTIÆ, 1567,' an inscription manifestly derived from that on the foundation stone laid by Dr. Caius. Hence this gate is sometimes described as the Gate of Wisdom, a name which has however no authority. In the spandrils on this side are the arms of Dr. Caius."[42] In the centre of the south wall, forming the frontage to Schools Street, stands the Gate of Honour. It is a singularly beautiful and picturesque composition, "built of squared hard stone wrought according to the very form and figure which Dr. Caius in his lifetime had himself traced out for the architect."[43] It was not built until two years after Caius' death, that is about the year 1575. It is considered probable that the architect was Theodore Havens of Cleves, who was undoubtedly the designer of "the great murall diall" over the archway leading into Gonville Court, and of the column "wrought with wondrous skill containing 60 sun-dialls ... and the coat armour of those who were of gentle birth at that time in the College," standing in the centre of Caius Court, and of the "Sacred Tower," on the south side of the Chapel, all since destroyed. Beautiful as the Gate of Honour still remains, it must have had a very different appearance when it left the architect's hand. Many of its most interesting features have wholly vanished. Among the illustrations to Willis and Clark's "History" there is an interesting attempt to restore the gateway with all its original details. At each angle, immediately above the lowest cornice, there was a tall pinnacle. Another group of pinnacles surrounded the middle stage, one at each corner of the hexagonal tower. On each face of the hexagon there was a sun-dial, and "at its apex a weathercock in the form of a serpent and dove." In the spandrils of the arch next the court are the arms of Dr. Caius, on an oval shield, "two serpents erect, their tails nowed together," and "between them a book." On the frieze is carved the word HONORIS. The whole of the stonework was originally painted white, and some parts, such as the sun-dials, the roses in the circular panels, and the coats-of-arms, were brilliant with colour and gold. The last payment for this "painting and gilding" bears date 1696 in the Bursar's book. Dr. Caius died in 1573, and was buried in the Chapel. On his monument are inscribed two short sentences--_Vivit post funera virtus_ and _Fui Caius_. [Illustration: Caius College The Gate of Honour] And so we may leave him and his College, and also perhaps fitly end this chapter with the kindly words with which Fuller commends to posterity the memory of this great College benefactor:-- "Some since have sought to blast his memory by reporting him a papist; no great crime to such who consider the time when he was born, and foreign places wherein he was bred: however, this I dare say in his just defence, he never mentioneth protestants but with due respect, and sometimes occasionally doth condemn the superstitious credulity of popish miracles. Besides, after he had resigned his mastership to Dr. Legg, he lived fellow-commoner in the College, and having built himself a little seat in the chapel, was constantly present at protestant prayers. If any say all this amounts but to a lukewarm religion, we leave the heat of his faith to God's sole judgment, and the light of his good works to men's imitation."[44] CHAPTER VI THE COLLEGE OF THE CAMBRIDGE GUILDS "The noblest memorial of the Cambridge gilds consists of the College which was endowed by the munificence of St. Mary's Gild and the Corpus Christi Gild: it perpetuates their names in its own.... In other towns the gilds devoted their energies to public works of many kinds--to maintaining the sea-banks at Lynn, to sustaining the aged at Coventry, and to educating the children at Ludlow. In embarking on the enterprise of founding a College, the Cambridge men seem, however, to stand alone; we can at least be sure that the presence of the University here afforded the conditions which rendered it possible for their liberality to take this form."--CUNNINGHAM. Unique Foundation of Corpus Christi College--The Cambridge Guilds--The influence of "the Good Duke"--The Peasant Revolt--Destruction of Charters--"Perish the skill of the Clerks!"--The Black Death--Lollardism at the Universities--The Poore Priestes of Wycliffe. "Here at this time were two eminent guilds or fraternities of towns-folk in Cambridge, consisting of brothers and sisters, under a _chief_ annually chosen, called an alderman. "The Guild of Corpus Christi, keeping their prayers in St. Benedict's Church. "The Guild of the Blessed _Virgin_, observing their offices in St. Mary's Church. "Betwixt these there was a zealous emulation, which of them should amortize and settle best maintenance for such chaplains to pray for the souls of those of their brotherhood. Now, though generally in those days the stars outshined the sun; I mean more honour (and consequently more wealth) was given to saints than to Christ himself; yet here the Guild of Corpus Christi so outstript that of the Virgin Mary in endowments, that the latter (leaving off any further thoughts of contesting) desired an union, which, being embraced, they both were incorporated together. 2. Thus being happily married, they were not long issueless, but a small college was erected by their united interest, which, bearing the name of both parents, was called the College of Corpus Christi and the Blessed Mary. However, it hath another working-day name, commonly called (from the adjoined church) Benet College; yet so, that on festival solemnities (when written in Latin, in public instruments) it is termed by the foundation name thereof."[45] So picturesquely writes Thomas Fuller of the Foundation of Corpus Christi College. The colleges of Cambridge owe their foundation to many and various sources. We have already seen two of the most ancient tracing their origin to the liberality and foresight of wise bishops, two others to the widowed piety of noble ladies, one to the unselfish goodness of a parish priest. Later we shall find the stately patronage of kings and queens given to great foundations, and on the long roll of university benefactors we shall have to commemorate the names of great statesmen and great churchmen, philosophers, scholars, poets, doctors, soldiers, "honoured in their generation and the glory of their days." One college, however, there is which has a unique foundation, for it sprang, in the first instance, from that purest fount of true democracy, the spirit of fraternal association for the protection of common rights and of mutual responsibility for the religious consecration of common duties, by which the Cambridge aldermen and burgesses in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries were striving by their guild life, to cherish those essential qualities of the English character--personal independence and faith in law-abidingness--which lie at the root of all that is best in our modern civilisation, and were undoubtedly characteristic of the English people in the earliest times of which history has anything to tell us. The history of the guild life of Cambridge is one of unusual interest. The story breaks off far oftener than we could wish, but in the continuity of its religious guild history Cambridge holds a very important place, second only perhaps to that of Exeter. All the Cambridge guilds of which we know anything seem to have been essentially religious guilds, so prominent throughout their history remained their religious object. It is only indeed in connection with one of the earliest of which we have any record, the guild of Cambridge Thegns in the eleventh century, associated in devotion to S. Etheldreda, the foundress saint of Ely, that we find any secular element. That Guild does indeed offer to its members a secular protection of which the later guilds of the thirteenth century knew nothing, for they were religious guilds pure and simple. It is true that in the first charter of King John, dated 8th Jan. 1201, there appears to be a confirmation to the burgesses of Cambridge of a _guild merchant_ granting to them certain secular rights of toll. But there does not appear to be any historical evidence to show that the Guild Merchant of Cambridge ever took definite shape, or stood apart in any way from the general body of burgesses. King John's charter simply secured to the town those liberties and franchises which all the chief boroughs of England enjoyed at the beginning of the thirteenth century.[46] [Illustration: The Churches of S. Edward & St. Mary--the Great from Peas Hill] The first religious guild of which we have any record is the Guild of the Holy Sepulchre, known to us only by an isolated reference in the history of Ramsey Abbey, which tells us of a fraternity existing in 1114-36, whose purpose was the building of a Minster in honour of God and the Holy Sepulchre, and which resulted in the erection of the Cambridge Round Church. Of Cambridge guild life we hear nothing more until the reign of Edward I., when we find record of certain conveyances of land being made to the Guild of S. Mary. From the first this guild is closely associated with Great S. Mary's Church, the University Church of to-day, the Church of S. Mary at Market, as it was called in the early days. The members of it were called the alderman, brethren and sisters of S. Mary's Guild belonging to the Church of the Virgin. Its benefactors direct that should the guild cease, the benefaction shall go to the celebration of Our Lady Mass in her Church. The underlying spirit, however, whatever may have been the superstitious ritual connected with the organisation, was very much the same as that of the English Friendly Society of to-day. "Let all share the same lot," ran one of the statutes; "if any misdo, let all bear it." "For the nourishing of brotherly love,"--so the members of another society took the oath of loyalty--"they would be good and true loving brothers to the fraternity, helping and counselling with all their power if any brother that hath done his duties well and truly come or fall to poverty, as God them help." "The purpose of S. Mary's Gild was primarily the provision of prayers for the members. The 'congregation' of brethren, sometimes brethren and sisters, met at irregular intervals, to pass ordinances and to elect officers. In 1300 they agree to attend S. Mary's Church on Jan. 2, to celebrate solemn mass for dead members. The penalty for absence was half a pound of wax, consumed no doubt in the provision of gild lights before the altar of Our Lady. Richard Bateman and his wife, in their undated grant, made the express condition that in return they should receive daily prayers for the health of their souls.... In the year 1307 ... the gild passed an ordinance directing the gild chaplains to celebrate two trentals of masses (60 in all) for each dead brother. If the deceased left anything in his will to the gild, then as the alderman might appoint, the chaplains should do more or less celebration according to the amount bequeathed to the gild. The rule is naïve, but its spirit is unpleasing. Individualism has thrust itself in where it seems very much out of place. The enrolment of the souls of the dead further witnesses to the purely religious character of the gild, and the purchase of a missal should also be noticed."[47] The minutes and bede roll of the guild, which have lately been published by the Cambridge Antiquarian Society, show that the association continued to flourish down to the time of the Great Plague. On its bede roll we find such names as those of Richard Hokyton, vicar of the Round Church; of "Alan Parson of Seint Beneytis Chirche"; of Warinus Bassingborn, High Sheriff of Cambridgeshire in 1341; of Walter Reynald, Chancellor of the University and Archbishop of Canterbury, who died in 1327; and of Richard of Bury, Bishop of Durham, and author of the _Philobiblon_, who died in 1345. In 1352, on "account of poverty," the Guild, by Royal Charter, was allowed to coalesce with the Guild of Corpus Christi, for the purpose of founding a college. Of this latter guild we have no earlier record than 1349, three years only before the date of union with S. Mary's. Its minute-book, however, which begins in 1350, shows it to have been at that time a flourishing institution. It had probably been founded, like that which bore the same dedication at York, for the purpose of conducting the procession on the Feast of Corpus Christi on the Thursday after Trinity Sunday, a festival instituted about 1264. There are no existing bede rolls of the guild, and therefore no means of knowing the names of any members who entered before 1350. It appears to have been attached from the first to the ancient Church of S. Benet. The reversion of the advowson of that Church was in 1350 held by a group of men, several of whom were leading members of the guild. In 1353 the then Rector entered the guild, and "by the ordinance of his friends" resigned the Church to the Bishop "gratis," that "_the brethren_ and those who had acquired the advowson" might enter upon their possession. It is disappointing to find that there are no guild records telling of the union of S. Mary's guild with that of Corpus Christi, or of the circumstances which led to the creation of the college bearing the joint names of the two guilds. Such foundation was, as we have said, a remarkable event in the history of Cambridge collegiate life. Not that these guilds were the first or the last to take part in the endowment of education; for many of the ancient grammar schools of the country owe their origin to, or were greatly assisted by, the benefactions of religious guilds. For example, Mr. Leach in his "English Schools at the Reformation" has noted, that out of thirty-three guilds, of whose returns he treats, no less than twenty-eight were supporting grammar schools. But the foundation of a college was a more ambitious task. It has a peculiar interest also, as that of an effort towards the healing of what was, even at this time, an outstanding feud between town and gown, between city and university. The principal authority for the history of the site and buildings of the college is the _Historiola_ of Josselin, a fellow of Queen's College, and Latin secretary to Archbishop Parker. According to his narrative, the guild of Corpus Christi had begun seriously to entertain the idea of building a college as early as 1342, for about that date, he says:-- "Those brethren who lived in the parishes of S. Benedict and S. Botolph, and happened to have tenements and dwelling-houses close together in the street called Leithburne Lane, pulled them down, and with one accord set about the task of establishing a college there: having also acquired certain other tenements in the same street from the University. By this means they cleared a site for their college, square in form and as broad as the space between the present gate of entrance (_i.e._ by S. Benet's Church) and the Master's Garden."[48] The original mover in the scheme for a guild college may well have been the future master, Thomas of Eltisley, chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury and rector of Lambeth. Among the Cambridge burgesses William Horwood, the mayor, was treasurer of the Guild in 1352, and used the mayoral seal for guild purposes, because the seals of the alderman and brethren of the Guild "are not sufficiently well known." Another mayor of Cambridge about this time, Robert de Brigham, was a member of the other associated Guild of S. Mary. How the support of Henry, Duke of Lancaster--the "Good Duke," as he was called--was secured does not appear, but he is mentioned as alderman of the Guild, in the letters patent of Edward III. in 1352, establishing the College. His influence perhaps may have been gained through Sir Walter Manny, the countryman and friend of Queen Philippa, whose whole family was enrolled in the Guild. At any rate, with the enrolment of the "Good Duke" as alderman of the Guild, the success of the proposed college was secure. In 1355 the Foundation received the formal consent of the chancellor and masters of the University, of the Bishop of Ely, and of the Prior and Chapter of Ely. The College Statutes, dated in the following year, 1356, show that "the chaplain and scholars were bound to appear in S. Benet's or S. Botulph's Church at certain times, and in all Masses the chaplains were to celebrate for the health of the King and Queen Philippa and their children, and the Duke of Lancaster, and the brethren and sisters, founders and benefactors of the Guild and College," and although this perhaps, rather than the love of learning, pure and simple, was the chief aim which influenced the early founders of Corpus Christi College, the Society has in after ages held a worthy place in the history of the University, and "Benet men" have occupied positions in church and state quite equal to those of more ample foundations. Three Archbishops of Canterbury--Parker, Tennison, and Herring--have been Corpus men, one of whom, Matthew Parker, enriched it with priceless treasures, and gave to its library a unique value by the bequest of what Fuller has called "the sun of English antiquity." Indeed, if they have done nothing else, the men of the Cambridge guilds have laid all students of English history under a supreme debt of gratitude in the provision of a place where so many of the MSS. so laboriously collected by Archbishop Parker are housed and preserved. From the walls of Benet College, also, there went out many other distinguished men: statesmen, like Nicholas Bacon, the Lord Keeper of the Seal; bishops, like Thomas Goodrich and Peter Gunning, of Ely; translators of the Scriptures, like Taverner, and Huett, and Pierson; commentators on the Old Testament, like the learned and ingenious Dean Spencer of Ely, the Wellhausen of the seventeenth century; soldiers, like the brave Earl of Lindsey, who fell at Edgehill, or like General Braddock, who was killed in Ohio in the colonial war against the French; learned antiquaries, like Richard Gough; sailors, like Cavendish, the circumnavigator; poets, like Christopher Marlowe and John Fletcher. [Illustration: Corpus Christi College and S. Benedict's Church] The College as originally built consisted of one court, which still remains, and is known as "the Old Court." It still preserves much of its ancient character, and is specially interesting as being probably _the first originally planned quadrangle_. Josselin speaks of it as being "entirely finished, chiefly in the days of Thomas Eltisle, the first master, but partly in the days of Richard Treton, the second master." It consisted simply of a hall range on the south and chambers on the three other sides. The former contained at the south-east corner the master's chambers, communicating with the common parlour below, and also with the library and hall. As in most of the early colleges, both the gateway tower and the chapel were absent. The entrance was by an archway of the simplest character in the north range, opening into the southern part of the churchyard of S. Benet, and thus communicating with Free School Lane, running past the east end of the church, or northwards past the old west tower, with Benet Street. At the end of the fifteenth century two small chapels, one above the other, were built adjoining the south side of S. Benet's chancel. They were connected with the College buildings by a gallery carried on arches like that already described in connection with Peterhouse. This picturesque building still exists. S. Benet's Church was used as the College chapel down to the beginning of the seventeenth century, when a new chapel was built, mainly due to the liberality of Sir Nicholas Bacon, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal. This chapel occupied nearly the same site as the western part of the present building, which took its place in 1823, as part of the scheme of buildings which gave to Corpus the large new court with frontage to Trumpington Street. The principal feature of these buildings is the new library occupying the whole of the upper floor of the range of building on the south side of the quadrangle. It is here that the celebrated collection of ancient MSS. collected by Archbishop Parker are housed. They contain, among many other treasures, the Winchester text of the "Old English Chronicle," that great national record, which at the bidding of King Alfred, in part quite probably under his own eye, was written in the scriptorium of Winchester Cathedral; ancient copies of the "Penitentiale" of Archbishop Theodore; King Alfred's translation of Pope Gregory's "Pastorale"; Matthew Paris' own copy of his "History"; a copy of "John of Salisbury" which once belonged to Thomas à Becket; the Peterborough "Psalter"; Chaucer's "Troilus," with a splendid frontispiece of 1450; a magnificent folio of Homer's "Iliad" and "Odyssey"--a note by Josselin tells how "a baker at Canterbury rescued it from among some waste paper, remaining from S. Augustine's monastery after the dissolution," and how the Archbishop welcomed it as "a monstrous treasure"; and Jerome's Latin version of the "Four Gospels," sent by Pope Gregory to Augustine, the first Archbishop of Canterbury, "the most interesting manuscript in England." No wonder that in handing over such a priceless gift to the charge of the College, Archbishop Parker should have striven to secure its future safety by this stringent regulation set out in his Deed of Gift. " ...That nothing be wanting for their more careful preservation, the Masters of Gonville and Caius College and of Trinity Hall, or their substitutes, are appointed annual supervisors on the 6th of August; on which occasion they are to be invited to dinner with two scholars of his foundation in those colleges; when each of the former is to have 3s. 4d. and the scholars 1s. a piece for their trouble in overlooking them; at which time they may inflict a penalty of 4d. for every leaf of MS. that may be found wanting; for every sheet, 2s.; and for every printed book or MS. missing, and not restored within six months after admonition, what sum they think proper. But if 6 MSS. in folio, 8 in quarto, and 12 in lesser size, should at any time be lost through supine negligence, and not restored within 6 months, then with the consent of the Vice-Chancellor and one senior doctor, not only all the books but likewise all the plate he gave shall be forfeited and surrendered up to Gonville and Caius College within a month following. And if they should afterwards be guilty of the like neglect they are then to be delivered over to Trinity Hall, and in case of their default to revert back in the former order. Three catalogues of these books were directed to be made, whereof one was to be delivered to each College, which was to be sealed with their common seal and exhibited at every visitation." [Illustration: The Pitt Press, S. Botolph's Church, and Corpus Christie College] We have spoken of the early foundation of the Guild College as in some sense an effort on the part of the Cambridge burgesses of the fourteenth century to take some worthy share in the development of university life. Unfortunately the good feeling between town and gown was not of long duration. As the older burgesses who had been brethren of the gilds of Corpus Christi and S. Mary died off, an estrangement sprang up between the members of the college they had founded and the new generation of townsmen. The initial cause of trouble arose from the character of some of the early endowments of the College. It would seem that in addition to the many houses and tenements in the town which had been bequeathed to the College, a particularly objectional rate in the form of "candle rent" was exacted by the College authorities. It is said that so numerous were the Cambridge tenements subjected to this rate, that one-half of the houses in the town had become tributary to the College. The townsmen did not long confine themselves to mere murmuring or "passive resistance." In 1381 the populace, taking advantage of the excitement caused by the Wat Tyler rebellion, vented their animosity and unreasoning hatred of learning by the destruction of all the College books, charters, and writings, and everything that bespoke a lettered community on the Saturday next after the feast of Corpus Christi, prompted perhaps by their hatred of the pomp and display of wealth in connection with the great annual procession of the Host through the streets. The bailiffs and commonalty of Cambridge, so we read in the old record, assembled in the town hall and elected James of Grantchester their captain. "Then going to Corpus Christi College, breaking open the house and doors, they traitorously carried away the charters, writings, and muniments." On the following Sunday they caused the great bell of S. Mary's Church to be rung, and there broke open the university chest. The masters and scholars under intimidation surrendered all their charters, muniments, ordinances, and a grand conflagration ensued in the market-place. One old woman, Margaret Steere, gathered the ashes in her hands and flung them into the air with the cry, "Thus perish the skill of the clerks! away with it! away with it!" Having finished their work of destruction in the market-place, the crowd of rioters marched out to Barnwell, "doing," so Fuller tells the story, "many sacrilegious outrages to the Priory there. Nor did their fury fall on men alone, even trees were made to taste of their cruelty. In their return they cut down a curious grove called Green's Croft by the river side (the ground now belonging to Jesus College), as if they bare such a hatred to all wood they would not leave any to make gallows thereof for thieves and murderers. All these insolencies were acted just at that juncture of time when Jack Straw and Wat Tyler played Rex in and about London. More mischief had they done to the scholars had not Henry Spencer, the warlike Bishop of Norwich, casually come to Cambridge with some forces and seasonably suppressed their madness."[49] And so the story of the seven earliest of the Cambridge colleges closes in a time of social misery and of national peril. The collapse of the French war after Crecy, and the ruinous taxation of the country which was consequent upon it, the terrible plague of the Black Death sweeping away half the population of England, and the iniquitous labour laws, which in face of that depopulation strove to keep down the rate of wages in the interests of the landlords, had brought the country to the verge of a wide, universal, social, political revolution. It was no time, perhaps, in which to look for any great national advance in scholarship or learning, much less for new theories of education or of academic progress. It is not certainly in the subtle realist philosophy and the dry syllogistic Latin of the _De Dominio Divino_ of John Wycliffe, the greatest Oxford schoolman of his age, but in the virile, homely English tracts, terse and vehement, which John Wycliffe, the Reformer, wrote for the guidance of his "poore priestes" (and in which, incidentally, he made once more the English tongue a weapon of literature), that we find the new forces of thought and feeling which were destined to tell on every age of our later history. It is not in the good-humoured, gracious worldliness of the poet Chaucer--most true to the English life of his own day as is the varied picture of his "Canterbury Tales"--but in the rustic shrewdness and surly honesty of "Peterkin the Plowman" in William Langland's great satire, that we find the true "note" of English religion, that godliness, grim, earnest, and Puritan, which was from henceforth to exercise so deep an influence on the national character. But while what was good in the Lollard spirit survived, the Lollards themselves, with the death of Wycliffe and of John of Gaunt, his great friend and protector, fell upon evil times. Their revolution by force had almost succeeded. For a short time they were masters of the field. But with the passing of the immediate terror of the Peasant Revolt, the conservative forces of the state rallied to the protection of that social order, whose very existence the Lollards had, by their ferocious extravagance and frantic communism, seemed to threaten. The wiser contemporaries of this movement agreed to abandon its provocations and to consign it to oblivion or misconception. At Oxford, the Government threatened to suppress the University itself unless the Lollards were displaced. And Oxford, to outward appearance, submitted. Its Lollard chancellor was dismissed. The "poore priestes" and preachers were silenced, or departed to spread the new Gospel of the "Bible-men" across the sea. Some recanted and became bishops, cardinals, persecutors. But many remained obscure or silent and cautious. Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, speaking of Oxford, said that there were wild vines in the University, and therefore little grapes; that tares were constantly sown among the pure wheat, and that the whole University was leavened with heresy. "You cannot meet," said a monkish historian, "five people talking together but three of them are Lollards." At Cambridge, on the 16th September 1401, holding a visitation in the Congregation House, the Archbishop had privately put to the Chancellor and the Doctors ten questions with regard to the discipline of the University. One question was significant: "_Were there any_," the Archbishop asked, "_suspected of Lollardism?_" The terrible and infamous statute, "De Heretico Comburendo," had been passed in the previous year, and but a few months before the first victim of that enactment had been burnt at the stake. It is an historic saying, that "Cambridge bred the Founders of the English Reformation and that Oxford burnt them." The statement is not without its grain of truth. The Puritan Reformation of the sixteenth century found, no doubt, its strongest adherents in the eastern counties of England; but it was not so much because the scholars of Cambridge welcomed more heartily than their brothers in the western university the teaching of the scholars of Geneva, but because the people of East Anglia, two centuries before, had been saturated with the Bible teaching of the "poore priestes" of Wycliffe's school, and throughout the whole of the intervening period had secretly cherished it. For the present, however, the curtain drops on the age of the schoolmen with the death of Wycliffe. When it rises again, we shall find ourselves in the age of the New Learning. What the transition was from one time to the other, how deeply the Revival of Learning influenced the reformation of religion, we shall hear in the succeeding chapters. CHAPTER VII TWO ROYAL FOUNDATIONS "Tax not the royal saint with vain expense, With ill-matched aims the architect who planned, Albeit labouring for a scanty band Of white-robed scholars only--this immense And glorious work of fine intelligence! Give all thou can'st: high Heaven rejects the lore Of nicely calculated less or more; So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof, Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells, Where light and shade repose, where music dwells Lingering--and wandering on as loth to die; Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality." --WORDSWORTH'S _Sonnet on King's College Chapel_. Henry VI.--The most pitiful Character in all English History--His devotion to Learning and his Saintly Spirit--His foundation of Eton and King's College--The Building of King's College Chapel--Its architect, Reginald of Ely, the Cathedral Master-Mason--Its relation to the Ely Lady Chapel--Its stained glass Windows--Its close Foundation--Queens' College--Margaret of Anjou and Elizabeth Wydville--The buildings of Queens'--Similarity to Haddon Hall--Its most famous Resident, Erasmus--His _Novum Instrumentum_ edited within its Walls. On the 6th of December 1421, being S. Nicolas' Day, the unhappy Henry of Windsor was born. On the 1st of September in the following year, as an infant of less than a year old, he began his reign of forty miserable years as Henry VI. There is no more pitiful character in all English history than he. Henry V., his father, had been by far the greatest king of Christendom, and England, under his rule, had rejoiced in a light which was all the brighter for the gloom that preceded and followed it. The dying energies of mediæval life sank into impotency with his death. The long reign of his son is one unbroken record of divided counsels, constitutional anarchy, civil war, national exhaustion; only too faithfully fulfilling the prophecy which his father is said to have uttered, when he was told in France of the birth of his son at Windsor: "I, Henry of Monmouth, shall gain much in my short reign, but Henry of Windsor will reign much longer and lose all; but God's will be done." "Henry VI."--I quote the pathetic words of my kinsman, the historian of the Constitution-- "Henry was perhaps the most unfortunate king who ever reigned; he outlived power and wealth and friends; he saw all who had loved him perish for his sake, and, to crown all, the son, the last and dearest of the great house from which he sprang, the centre of all his hopes, the depositary of the great Lancastrian traditions of English polity, set aside and slain. And he was without doubt most innocent of all the evils that befell England because of him. Pious, pure, generous, patient, simple, true and just, humble, merciful, fastidiously conscientious, modest and temperate, he might have seemed made to rule a quiet people in quiet times.... It is needless to say that for the throne of England in the midst of the death struggle of nations, parties, and liberties, Henry had not one single qualification."[50] [Illustration: King's Parade] And yet he did leave an impression on the hearts of Englishmen which will not readily be erased. For setting aside the fabled visions and the false miracle with which he is credited, and upon which Henry VII. relied when he pressed the claims of his predecessor for formal canonisation on Pope Julius II., it was certainly no mere anti-Lancastrian loyalty or party spirit which led the rough yeomen farmers of Yorkshire to worship before his statue on the rood-screen of their Minster and to sing hymns in his honour, or caused the Latin prayers which he had composed to be reverently handed down to the time of the Reformation through many editions of the "Sarum Hours." One enduring monument there is of his devotion to learning and of his saintly spirit, which must long keep his memory green, namely, the royal and religious foundation of the two great colleges which he projected at Eton and at Cambridge. Of Eton we need not speak. The fame of that college is written large on the page of English history. And that fame and its founder's memory we may safely leave to the "scholars of Henry" in its halls and playing fields to-day. "Christ and His Mother, heavenly maid, Mary, in whose fair name was laid Eton's corner, bless our youth With truth, and purity, mother of truth! O ye, 'neath breezy skies of June, By silver Thames' lulling tune, In shade of willow or oak, who try The golden gates of poesy; Or on the tabled sward all day Match your strength in England's play, Scholars of Henry giving grace To toil and force in game or race; Exceed the prayer and keep the fame Of him, the sorrowful king who came Here in his realm, a realm to found Where he might stand for ever crowned."[51] It was on the 12th of February 1441, when Henry of Windsor was only nineteen years old, that the first charter for the foundation of King's College, Cambridge, was signed. On the 2nd of April in the same year he laid the first stone. It is difficult to say from whence the first impulse to the patronage of learning came to the King. He had always been a precocious scholar, too early forced to recognise his work as successor to his father. Something of his uncle Duke Humfrey of Gloucester's ardent love of letters he had imbibed at an early age. No doubt, too, the Earl of Warwick, "the King's master" for eighteen years, had faithfully discharged his duty to "teach him nurture, literature, language, and other manner of cunning as his age shall suffer him to comprehend such as it fitteth so great a prince to be learned of," and had made his royal pupil a good scholar and accomplished gentleman: though perhaps he had suffered the young king's mind to take somewhat too ascetic and ecclesiastic a bent for the hard and perilous times which he had to face: a feature of his character which Shakespeare emphasises in the speech which he puts into the mouth of Margaret of Anjou, his affianced bride, in the first act of the play in which he draws the picture of the decay of England's power under the weak and saintly Lancastrian king with so masterly a pencil:-- "I thought King Henry had resembled (Pole) In courage, courtship, and proportion: But all his mind is bent to holiness, To number _Ave-Maries_ on his beads: His champions are the Prophets and Apostles: His weapons holy saws of sacred writ: His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves Are brazen images o' canonized saints. I would the college or the cardinals Would choose him Pope, and carry him to Rome, And set the triple crown upon his head: That were a state fit for his holiness."[52] However, the first fruits of the royal "holiness" was a noble conception. A visit to Winchester in the July of 1440, where Henry studied carefully from personal observation the working of William of Wykeham's system of education, seems to have fired him with the desire to rival that great pioneer of schoolcraft's magnificent foundations at Winchester and Oxford. The suppression of the alien priories, decreed by Parliament in the preceding reign and carried out in his own, provided a convenient means of carrying out the project. Henry V. had already appropriated their revenues for the purposes of war in France. Henry VI. proceeded to confiscate them permanently as an endowment for his college foundations. It would appear, however, that the first intention of the King had been that his two foundations should have been independent of one another, and that the connection of Eton with King's, after the manner of Winchester and New College, came rather as an afterthought and as part of a later scheme. The determination, however, that the Eton scholars should participate in the Cambridge foundation forms part of the King's scheme in the second charter of his college granted on 10th July 1443, in which he says:-- "It is our fixed and unalterable purpose, being moved thereto, as we trust, by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, that our poor scholars of our Royal foundation of S. Mary of Eton, after they have been sufficiently taught the first rudiments of grammar, shall be transferred thence to our aforesaid College of Cambridge, which we will shall be henceforth denominated our College Royal of S. Mary and S. Nicholas, there to be more thoroughly instructed in a liberal course of study, in other branches of knowledge, and other professions." [Illustration: The West Doorway King's College Chapel] The first site chosen for the College was a very cramped and inconvenient one. It had Milne Street, then one of the principal thoroughfares of the town, on the west, the University Library and schools on the east, and School Street on the north. On the south side only had it any outlet at all. A court was formed by placing buildings on the three unoccupied sides, the University buildings forming a fourth. These buildings, however, were never completely finished, except in a temporary manner, and indeed so remained until the end of the last century, when they were more or less incorporated in the new buildings of the University Library facing Trinity Hall Lane, erected by Sir Gilbert Scott in 1868. The old gateway facing Clare College, which had been begun in 1444, was at last completed from the designs of Mr. Pearson in 1890, and remains one of the most beautiful architectural gates in Cambridge. [Illustration: King's College Chapel] It very soon, however, became evident that the selected site was much too small for the projected college. Little time was lost by the earliest provost and scholars in petitioning the King to provide an ampler habitation for their needs. "The task was beset with difficulties that would have daunted a mind less firmly resolved on carrying out the end in view than the king's; difficulties indeed that would have been insuperable except by royal influence, backed by a royal purse. The ground on which King's College now stands was then densely populated. It occupied nearly the whole of the parish of S. John Baptist, whose church is believed to have stood near the west end of the chapel. Milne Street crossed the site from north to south, in a direction that may be easily identified from the two ends of the street that still remain, under the name of Trinity Hall Lane and Queen's Lane. The space between Milne Street and Trumpington Street, then called High Street, was occupied by the houses and gardens of different proprietors, and was traversed by a narrow thoroughfare called Piron Lane, leading from High Street to S. John's Church. At the corner of Milne Street and this lane, occupying the ground on which about half the ante-chapel now stands, was the small college called _God's House_, founded in 1439 by William Byngham for the study of grammar, which, as he observes in his petition to Henry VI. for leave to found it, is "the rote and ground of all other sciences." On the west side of Milne Street, between it and the river, were the hostels of S. Austin, S. Nicholas, and S. Edmund, besides many dwelling-houses. This district was traversed by several lanes, affording to the townspeople ready access to the river, and to a wharf on its bank called Salthithe. No detailed account has been preserved of the negotiations necessary for the acquisition of this ground, between six and seven acres in extent, and in the very heart of Cambridge.... The greatest offence appears to have been given by the closing of the lanes leading down to the river, which was of primary importance to mediæval Cambridge as a highway. In five years' time, however, the difficulties were all got over; the town yielded up, though not with the best grace, the portion of Milne Street required and all the other thoroughfares; the hostels were suppressed, or transferred to other sites; the Church of S. John was pulled down, and the parish united to that of S. Edward, whose church bears evidence, by the spacious aisles attached to its choir, of the extension rendered necessary at that time by the addition of the members of Clare Hall and Trinity Hall to the number of its parishioners."[53] On this splendid site of many acres, where now the silent green expanse of sunlit lawn has taken the place of the busy lanes and crowded tenements, which in Henry's time hummed with the life of a mediæval river-side city, there rises the wondrous building, the crown of fifteenth century architecture, beautiful, unique--a cathedral church in size, a college chapel in plan--seeming in its lofty majesty so solitary and so aloof, and yet so instantaneously impressive. Who was the architect of this masterpiece? The credit has commonly been given to one of two men--Nicholas Close or John Langton. Close was a man of Flemish family, and one of the original six Fellows of the College. He had for a few years been the vicar of the demolished Church of S. John Zachary. He afterwards became Bishop of Carlisle. Langton was Master of Pembroke and Chancellor of the University, and was one of the commissioners appointed by the King to superintend the scheme of the works at their commencement. But both of these men were theologians and divines. We have no evidence that they were architects. Mr. G. Gilbert Scott, in his essay on "English Church Architecture," has, however, given reasons, which seem to be almost conclusive, that the man who should really have the credit of conceiving this great work was the master-mason Reginald of Ely, who as early as 1443 was appointed by a patent of Henry VI. "to press masons, carpenters, and other workmen" for the new building. According to Mr. Scott's view, Nicholas Close and his fellow surveyors merely did the work which in modern days would be done by a building committee. It was the master-mason who planned the building, and who continued to act as architect until the works came to a standstill with the deposition of the King and the enthronement of his successor Edward IV. in 1462. Moreover, the character of the general design of King's Chapel and even its architectural details, such as the setting out of its great windows, the plan of its vaulting shafts, and the groining of the roofs of the small chapels between its buttresses, lend force to Mr. Scott's contention. It is evident from the accuracy and minuteness of the directions given in "the Will of King Henry VI." (a document which was not in reality a testament, but an expression of his deliberate purpose and design with regard to his proposed foundation), that complete working plans had been prepared by an architect. Whoever that architect may have been, he had evidently been commissioned to design a chapel of magnificence worthy of a royal foundation. And where more naturally could he look for his model for such a building as the King desired than to that chapel, the largest and the most splendid hitherto erected in England, that finest specimen of decorated architecture in the kingdom, Alan de Walsingham's Lady Chapel at Ely. The relationship between the two buildings is obvious to even an uninstructed eye, but Mr. Scott has shown how closely the original design of King's follows the Ely Lady Chapel lines. "Any one," he truly says, "who will carry up his eye from the bases of the vaulting shafts to the springing of the great vault will perceive at once that the section of the shaft does not correspond with the plan of the vault springers. There is a sort of cripple here. The shaft is, in fact, set out with seven members, while the design of the vault plan requires but five. Thus two members of the pier have nothing to do, and disappear somewhat clumsily in the capital. The section of these shafts was imposed by the first architect, and does not agree with the requirement of a fan-groin (designed by the architect of a later date).... The original sections, and the peculiar distribution of their bases, unmistakably indicate a ribbed vault, with transverse, diagonal, and intermediate ribs. Now, if we apply to the plan of these shaftings at Cambridge the plan of the vaulting at Ely, we find the two to tally precisely. Each member of the pier has its corresponding rib, in the direction of the sweep of which each member of the base is laid down. This might serve as proof sufficient, but it is not all. There exist in the church two lierne-groins of the work of the first period, those namely of the two easternmost chapels of the north range, and these are identical in principle with the great vault at Ely, and with the plan that is indicated by the distribution of the ante-chapel bases. We know then that the first designer of the church did employ lierne and not fan-vaulting, even in the small areas of the chapels, and that these liernes resemble not the later form--such as we may observe in the nave of Winchester Cathedral--but the earlier manner which is exhibited at Ely. There can, therefore, as I conceive, be no doubt that this great chapel was designed to be "chare-roofed" with such a lierne-vault--it is practically a Welsh-groin--as adorns the next grandest chapel in England only sixteen miles distant."[54] There seems little doubt then that the architect of King's Chapel was its first master-builder, Reginald of Ely, who, trained under the shadow of the great Minster buildings in that city, probably in its mason's yard, naturally took as his model for the King's new chapel at Cambridge one of the most exquisite of the works of the great cathedral builder of the previous century, Alan de Walsingham. Had the original design of Reginald been completed, several of the defects of the building, as we see it to-day, would have been avoided. The chapel vault would have been arched, and the great space which is now left between the top of the windows and the spring of the vaulting would have been avoided. Much of the heaviness of effect also, which is felt by any one studying the exterior of the chapel, and which is due to the low pitch of the window arches, rendered necessary by the alteration in the design of the great vault, would have been avoided. [Illustration: KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL _To face p. 150_] Reginald of Ely's work, however, indeed all work on the new chapel, ceased in 1461, when the battle of Towton gave the crown to the young Duke of York, and the Lancastrian colleges of his rival fell upon barren days. On the accession of Richard III. in 1483, the new king not only showed his goodwill to the College by the gift of lands, but ordered the building to go on with all despatch. In 1485, however, there commenced another period of twenty years' stagnation. Then in 1506, Henry VII., paying a visit with his mother to Cambridge, attended service in the unfinished chapel, and determined to become its patron. In the summer of 1508 more than a hundred masons and carpenters were again at work, and henceforth the building suffered no interruption. By July 1515 the fabric of the church was finished, and had cost in all, according to the present value of money, some £160,000. In November of the same year a payment of £100 is made to Barnard Flower, the King's glazier, and a similar sum in February 1517. It would seem that the same artist completed four windows, that over the north door of the ante-chapel being the earliest. Upon his death agreements were made in 1526 for the erection of the whole of the remaining twenty-two windows. They were to represent "the story of the old lawe and of the new lawe." Above and below the transome in each window are two separate pictures, each pair being divided by a "messenger," who bears a scroll with a legend giving the subject represented. In the lower tier the windows from north-west to south-west represent the Life of the Blessed Virgin, the Life of Christ, and the History of the Church as recorded in the Acts of the Apostles. The upper tier has scenes from the Old Testament or from apocryphal sources which prefigure the events recorded below. The whole of the east window is devoted to the Passion and Crucifixion of our Lord. The west window, containing a representation of the Last Judgment, is entirely modern. It was executed by Messrs. Clayton and Bell, and was erected in 1879. "A bare enumeration of the subjects, however, can give but a poor idea of these glorious paintings. What first arrests the attention is the singularly happy blending of colours, produced by a most ingenious juxta-position of pure tints. The half-tones so dear to the present generation were fortunately unknown when they were set up. Thus though there is a profusion of brilliant scarlet, and light blue, and golden yellow, there is no gaudiness. Again, all the glass admits light without let or hindrance, the shading being laid on with sparing hand, so that the greatest amount of brilliancy is insured. This is further enhanced by a very copious use of white or slightly yellow glass. It must not, however, be supposed that a grand effect of colour is all that has been aimed at. The pictures bear a close study as works of art. The figures are rather larger than life, and boldly drawn, so as to be well seen from a great distance; but the faces are full of expression and individuality, and each scene is beautiful as a composition. They would well bear reduction within the narrow limits of an easel picture.... There is no doubt that a German or Flemish influence is discernible in some of the subjects; but that is no more than might have been expected, when we consider the number of sets of pictures illustrating the life and passion of Christ that had appeared in Germany and Flanders during the half century preceding their execution.... That these windows should (at the time of the Puritan destruction of such things) have been saved is a marvel; and how it came to pass is not exactly known. The story that they were taken out and hidden, or, as one version of it says, buried, may be dismissed as an idle fabrication. More likely the Puritan sentiments of the then provost, Dr. Whichcote, were regarded with such favour by the Earl of Manchester during his occupation of Cambridge, that he interfered to save the chapel and the college from molestation."[55] [Illustration: Gateway to Old Court of King's College] The magnificent screen and rood-loft are carved with the arms, badge, and initials (H. A.) of Henry and Anne Boleyn, and with the rose, fleur-de-lis, and portcullis. Doubtless, therefore, they were erected between 1532 and 1535. The doors to the screen were renewed in 1636, and bear the arms of Charles I. The stalls were set up by Henry VIII., but they were without canopies, the wall above them being probably covered with hangings, the hooks for which may still be seen under the string-course below the windows. The stalls are in the Renaissance manner, and are the first example of that style at Cambridge. They appear to differ somewhat in character from Torregiano's works at Westminster, and to be rather French than Italian in feeling, although some portions of the figure-carving recalls in its vigour the style of Michael Angelo. The stall canopies and the panelling to the east of the stalls were the work of Cornelius Austin, and were put up about 1675. The north and south entrance doors leading to the quire and the side chapel are probably of the same date as the screen. The lectern dates from the first quarter of the sixteenth century, having been given by Robert Hacombleyn, provost, whose name it bears. As to the remaining buildings of King's College it is sufficient to say that the great quadrangle projected by the founder was never built. The old buildings at the back of the schools, hastily finished in a slight and temporary manner, continued in use until the last century. In 1723 a plan was furnished by James Gibbs for a new quadrangle, of which the chapel was to form the north side. The western range--the Gibbs building--was the only part actually built. The hall, library, provost's lodge, and several sets of rooms at each end of the hall, as well as the stone screen and the porter's lodge, were erected in 1824-28, at a cost of rather more than £100,000, from the designs of William Wilkins. A range of rooms facing Trumpington Street were added by Sir Gilbert Scott in 1870. The new court, which when completed will form a court with buildings on three sides and the river on the fourth, was commenced by Mr. Bodley in 1891. At present this third side of the court is still left open. [Illustration: King's College Quadrangle] To return, however, to the history of the foundation. It is an illustration of the way in which at this time ultramontanist theories were contending for supremacy in England, in the universities as elsewhere, that the King should have applied to the pope for a bull granting him power to make his new college not only independent of the bishop of the diocese, but also of the University authorities. Such a bull was granted, and in 1448 the University itself consented, by an instrument given under its common seal, that the College, in the matter of discipline as distinguished from instruction, should be entirely independent of the University. By the limitation also of the benefits of this foundation to scholars only of Eton, the founder, perhaps unconsciously, certainly disastrously, created an exclusive class of students endowed with exclusive privileges, an anomaly which for more than four centuries marred the full efficiency of Henry's splendid foundation. This _imperium in imperio_ was happily abolished by a new code of statutes which became law in 1861. "A little flock they were in Henry's hall * * * * * Hardly the circle widened, till one day The guarded gate swung open wide to all." It may certainly be hoped that there is truth in the present provost's gentle prophecy, that "it is hardly possible that the College should relapse into what was sometimes its old condition, that of a family party, comfortable, indeed, but inclined to be sleepy and self-indulgent, and not wholly free from family quarrels." And yet at the same time it should not be forgotten, as good master Fuller reminds us, that "the honour of Athens lieth not in her walls, but in the worth of her citizens," and that during the lengthened period in which the society was a close foundation only open to scholars of Eton, with a yearly entry therefore of new members seldom exceeding half-a-dozen, it could still point to a long list of distinguished scholars and of men otherwise eminent--mathematicians like Oughtred, moralists like Whichcote, theologians like Pearson, antiquarians like Cole, poets like Waller--who had been educated within its walls. In Cooper's "Memorials of Cambridge," the list of eminent King's men down to 1860 occupies twenty pages, a similar list of Trinity men, the largest college in the university, only ten pages more. This hardly seems to justify Dean Peacock's well-known epigram on the unreformed King's as "a splendid _Cenotaph_ of learning." Let us now turn from King Henry's College to the other royal foundation of his reign which claims his consort, the Lady Margaret of Anjou, as its foundress. The poet Gray in his "Installation Ode," speaking of Queen Margaret in relation to Queens' College, calls her "Anjou's heroine." But those Shakespearean readers who have been accustomed to think of his representation of the Queen, in _The Second Part of King Henry VI._, as a dramatic portrait of considerable truth and historic consistency, will hardly recognise the "heroic" qualities of Margaret's character. Certainly she is not one of Shakespeare's "heroines." She has none of the womanly grace or lovableness of his ideal women. A woman of hard indomitable will, mistaking too often cruelty for firmness, using the pliancy and simplicity of her husband for mere party ends, outraging the national conscience by stirring up the Irish, the French, the Scots, against the peace of England, finally pitting the north against the south in a cruel and futile civil war, with nothing left of womanhood but the almost tigress heart of a baffled mother, this is the Queen Margaret as we know her in Shakespeare and in history. But "Our Lady the Queen Margaret," who was a "nursing mother" to Queens' College, seems a quite different figure. She has but just come to England, a wife and queen when little more than a child, "good-looking and well-grown" (_specie et forma præstans_), precocious, romantic, a "devout pilgrim to the shrine of Boccaccio," delighting in the ballads of the troubadour, a lover of the chase, inheriting all the literary tastes of her father, King René of Anjou. The motives which led her to become the patroness of a college are thus given by Thomas Fuller:-- "As Miltiades' trophy in Athens would not suffer Themistocles to sleep, so this queen, beholding her husband's bounty in building King's College, was restless in herself with holy emulation until she had produced something of the like nature, a strife wherein wives without breach of duty may contend with their husbands which should exceed in pious performances."[56] Accordingly we read that in 1447 Queen Margaret, being then but fifteen years old, sent to the King the following petition:-- "Margaret,--To the king my souverain lord. Besechith mekely Margaret, quene of England, youre humble wif. Forasmuche as youre moost noble grace hath newely ordeined and stablisshed a Collage of Seint Bernard, in the Universite of Cambrigge, with multitude of grete and faire privilages perpetuelly apparteynyng unto the same, as in your lettres patentes therupon made more plainly hit appereth. In the whiche Universite is no Collage founded by eny quene of England hidertoward. Plese hit therfore unto your highnesse to geve and graunte unto your seide humble wif the fondacon and determinacon of the seid collage to be called and named the Quene's Collage of Sainte Margarete and Saint Bernard, or ellis of Sainte Margarete, vergine and martir, and Saint Bernard Confessour, and thereupon for ful evidence therof to hav licence and pouoir to ley the furst stone in her own persone or ellis by other depute of her assignement, so that beside the mooste noble and glorieus collage roial of our Lady and Saint Nicholas, founded by your highnesse may be founded and stablisshed the seid so called Quenes Collage to conservacon of oure feithe and augmentacon of pure clergie, namly of the imparesse of alle sciences and facultees theologie ... to the ende there accustumed of plain lecture and exposicon botraced with docteurs sentence autentiq performed daily twyse by two docteurs notable and well avised upon the bible aforenone and maistre of the sentences afternone to the publique audience of alle men frely, bothe seculiers and religieus to the magnificence of denominacon of suche a Queen's Collage, and to laud and honneure of sexe feminine, like as two noble and devoute contesses of Pembroke and of Clare, founded two collages in the same Universite called Pembroke hall and Clare hall, the wiche are of grete reputacon for good and worshipful clerkis that by grete multitude have be bredde and brought forth in theym. And of your more ample grace to graunte that alle privileges immunitees, profites and comoditees conteyned in the lettres patentes above reherced may stonde in their strength and pouoir after forme and effect of the conteine in theym. "And she shal ever preye God for you." The College of S. Bernard, mentioned in the first paragraph of the Queen's petition, was a hostel, established by Andrew Dokett, the rector of S. Botolph's Church, situated on the north side of the churchyard in Trumpington Street, adjoining Benet College. For this hostel, Dokett had obtained from the King in 1446 a charter of incorporation as a college, but a year later procured another charter, refounding the College of S. Bernard on a new site, between Milne Street and the river, adjoining the house of the Carmelite Friars. The true founder, therefore, of Queens' College was Andrew Dokett, but he was foresighted enough to seek the Queen's patronage for his foundation, and no doubt welcomed the absorption of S. Bernard's hostel in the royal foundation of Queens' College. Anyhow, the foundation stone of the new building was laid on the 15th April 1448. The outbreak of the Civil War stopped the works when the first court of the College was almost finished. Andrew Dokett, the first master, was still alive when Edward IV. came to the throne, and about the year 1465, he was fortunate to secure for his College the patronage of the new queen, Elizabeth Wydville. Elizabeth had been in earlier days a lady-in-waiting to Margaret of Anjou, and had herself strongly sympathised with the Lancastrian party. It is probable, therefore, that in accepting the patronage of the College she did so, not in her character as Yorkist queen, but rather as desirous of completing the work of the old mistress whom she had faithfully served before the strange chances of destiny had brought her as a rival to the throne. At any rate, from this period onwards the position of the apostrophe after and not before the "s" in "Queens'" adequately corresponds to the fact that the College commemorates not one, but two queens in its title. The earliest extant statutes appear to be those of the second foundress, the Queen Consort of Edward IV., revised at a later time under the authority of Henry VIII. It seems indeed likely that the absence of canon law from the subjects required by statute from all fellows after regency in arts, and the provision of Bible lectures in College, and divers English sermons to be preached in chapel by the fellows, indicates a somewhat remarkable reforming spirit for the end of the fifteenth century, and rather points to the conclusion that these provisions belong to the later revised code of Henry VIII. At the time of the foundation of Queen's College the plan of a collegiate building had been completely developed. It followed the lines not so much of a monastery, though it had, of course, some features in common with the monastic houses, but of the normal type of the large country houses or mansions of the fifteenth century. The late Professor Willis, in his archæological lectures on Cambridge, was accustomed, we are told, to exhibit in support of this view a ground plan of Haddon Hall and Queens' College side by side. And certainly it is surprising to notice how striking is the similarity of the two plans. The east and west position of the chapel at Haddon Hall happens to be the reverse of that of Queens' College, but with that exception, and the position of the entrance gateway to the first quadrangle, the arrangement of the buildings in the two mansions is practically identical. The hall, buttery, and kitchen occupy in both the range of buildings between the two courts; the private dining-room beyond the hall at Haddon is represented at Queens' College by the fellows' combination room; the long gallery in the upper court of Haddon has more or less its counterpart at Queens' in the masters' gallery in the cloister court; the upper entrance at Haddon is similarly placed to the passage to the old wooden bridge at Queens'. [Illustration: Cloister Court, Queen's College] The principal court of Queens' was almost completed before the Wars of the Roses broke out. "It is," says Mr. J. W. Clark, "the earliest remaining quadrangle in Cambridge that can claim attention for real architectural beauty and fitness of design." It is built in red brick, and has a noble gateway flanked by octagonal turrets, and there are square towers at each external angle of the court. The employment of these towers is a peculiarity which perhaps offers presumptive evidence that the architect of the other two royal colleges of Eton and King's may also have been employed at Queens'. This court probably retains more of the aspect of ancient Cambridge than any other collegiate building in the town. The turret at the south-west angle of the great court, overlooking Silver Street and the town bridge and mill pond, adjoins the rooms which, according to tradition, were occupied by Erasmus, and whose top storey was used by him as a study. It is commonly known as The Tower of Erasmus. "Queens' College," says Fuller, "accounteth it no small credit thereunto that Erasmus (who no doubt might have pickt and chose what house he pleased) preferred this for the place of his study for some years in Cambridge. Either invited thither with the fame of the learning and love of his friend Bishop Fisher, then master thereof, or allured with the situation of this colledge so near the river (as Rotterdam, his native place, to the sea) with pleasant walks thereabouts." An interesting account of Erasmus' residence in Queens' is quoted by Mr. Searle[57] from a letter written by a fellow of the College, Andrew Paschal, Rector of Chedsey, in the year 1680, which pleasantly describes at least the traditional belief. "The staires which rise up to his studie at Queens' College in Cambr. doe bring into two of the fairest chambers in the ancient building; in one of them which lookes into the hall and chief court, the Vice-President kept in my time; in that adjoyning it was my fortune to be, when fellow. The chambers over are good lodgeing roomes; and to one of them is a square turret adjoyning, in the upper part of which is the study of Erasmus and over it leads. To that belongs the best prospect about the Colledge, viz. upon the river, into the corne fields, and country adjoyning. So y^{t} it might very well consist with the civility of the house to that great man (who was no fellow, and I think stayed not long there) to let him have that study. His sleeping roome might be either the President's, or to be neer to him the next. The roome for his servitor that above it, and through it he might goe to that studie, which for the height and neatnesse and prospect might easily take his phancy." [Illustration: Oriel Window, Queen's College] It was in this study no doubt that much of the work was done for his edition of the New Testament in the original Greek, that epoch-making book which he published at Basle in 1516; and from hence also he must have written those amusing letters to his friends, Ammonius, Dean Colet, Sir Thomas More, in which comments on the progress of his work alternate with humorous grumblings about the Cambridge climate, the plague, the wine, the food: "Here I live like a cockle shut up in his shell, stowing myself away in college, and perfectly mum over my books.... I cannot go out of doors because of the plague.... I am beset with thieves, and the wine is no better than vinegar.... I do not like the ale of this place at all ... if you could manage to send me a cask of Greek wine, the very best that can be bought, you would be doing your friend a great kindness, but mind that it is not too sweet.... I am sending you back your cask, which I have kept by me longer than I otherwise should have done, that I might enjoy the perfume at least of Greek wine.... My expenses here are enormous; the profits not a brass farthing. Believe me as though I were on my oath, I have been here not quite five months, and yet have spent sixty nobles: while certain members of my (Greek) class have presented me with just a single one, which they had much difficulty in persuading me to accept. I have decided not to leave a stone unturned this winter, and in fact to throw out my sheet anchor. If this succeeds I will build my nest here; if otherwise, I shall wing my flight--whither I know not." Perhaps there is some playful exaggeration in all this. Anyhow Erasmus stayed at Cambridge seven years in all. He may have been justly disappointed in his Greek class-room: "I shall have perhaps a larger gathering when I begin the grammar of Theodorus," he writes plaintively; but disappointed there, he took refuge in his college study, and there, high up in the south-west tower of Queens', we may picture him, "outwatching the Bear" over the pages of S. Jerome, as Jerome himself in his time had outwatched it writing those same pages, eleven hundred years before, in his cell at Bethlehem; or pouring over the text of his Greek Testament and its translation, the boldest work of criticism and interpretation that had been conceived by any scholar for many a century, a _Novum Instrumentum_ indeed, by which the scholars of the new learning were to restore to the centuries which followed, the old true theology which had been so long obscured by the subtleties of the schoolmen, the new and truer theology which while based on a foundation of sound method and historical apparatus rests also in the joyous and refreshing story of the Son of God, in that unique figure of a Divine Personality, round whom centre the love, the hopes, the fears, the joys of the coming ages. [Illustration: The Bridge & Gables. Queen's College] Queens' College has many claims upon the gratitude of English scholars and English churchmen--it would have been sufficient that she had been the "nursing mother" of John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester--"vere Episcopus, vere Theologus"--under whose cautious supervision Cambridge first tasted of the fruits of the Renascence, who "sat here governor of the schools not only for his learning's sake, but for his divine life"--but she can lay no claim to greater honour than this, that within her walls three hundred years ago, these words were written--they form part of the noble "Paraclesis" of the _Novum Testamentum_ of Erasmus:-- "If the footprints of Christ are anywhere shown to us, we kneel down and adore. Why do we not rather venerate the living and breathing picture of him in these books? If the vesture of Christ be exhibited, where will we not go to kiss it? Yet were his whole wardrobe exhibited, nothing could exhibit Christ more vividly and truly than these Evangelical writings. Statues of wood and stone we decorate with gold and gems for the love of Christ. They only profess to give us the form of his body; these books present us with a living image of his most holy mind. Were we to have seen him with our own eyes, we should not have so intimate a knowledge as they give of Christ, speaking, healing, dying, rising again, as it were, in our actual presence. * * * * * "The sun itself is not more common and open to all than the teaching of Christ. For I utterly dissent from those who are unwilling that the Sacred Scriptures should be read by the unlearned translated into their vulgar tongue, as though Christ had taught such subtleties that they can scarcely be understood even by a few theologians, or as though the strength of the Christian Religion consisted in men's ignorance of it. The mysteries of kings it may be safer to conceal, but Christ wished his mysteries to be published as openly as possible. I wish that even the weakest woman should read the Gospel--should read the Epistles of Paul. And I wish these were translated into all languages, so that they might be read and understood, not only by Scots and Irishmen, but also by Turks and Saracens. To make them understood is surely the first step. It may be that they might be ridiculed by many, but some would take them to heart. I long that the husbandman should sing portions of them to himself as he follows the plough, that the weaver should hum them to the tune of his shuttle, that the traveller should beguile with their stories the tedium of his journey."[58] [Illustration: A Bit from Sidney Street] CHAPTER VIII TWO OF THE SMALLER HALLS "To London hence, to Cambridge thence, With thanks to thee, O Trinity! That to thy hall, so passing all, I got at last. There joy I felt, there trim I dwelt, Then heaven from hell I shifted well With learned men, a number then, The time I past. When gains were gone and years grew on, And Death did cry, from London fly, In Cambridge then I found again A resting plot: In College best of all the rest, With thanks to thee, O Trinity! Through thee and thine for me and mine, Some stay I got!" --THOMAS TUSSER. The Foundation of Trinity Hall by Bishop Bateman of Norwich--On the Site of the Hostel of Student-Monks of Ely--Prior Crauden--Evidence of the Ely Obedientary Rolls--The College Buildings--The Old Hall--S. Edward's Church used as College Chapel--Hugh Latimer's Sermon on a Pack of Cards--Harvey Goodwin--Frederick Maurice--The Hall--The Library--Its ancient Bookcases--The Foundation of S. Catherine's Hall. Thus sang Thomas Tusser--the author of "Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry united to as many of Good Housewifery"--of Trinity Hall and his residence there about the year 1542. And the words of the homely old rhymer--the most fluent versifier, I suppose, among farmers since Virgil, wise in his advice to others, most unlucky in the application of his own maxims--have been echoed in spirit by many generations of "Hall" men from his time onwards. And indeed there is hardly perhaps another College in Cambridge which stirs the hearts of its members with a more passionate enthusiasm of loyalty than this, which yet never speaks of itself as a "College," but always proudly as "The Hall." It was founded by William Bateman, Bishop of Norwich, in 1350, but it had an earlier origin than this. On the southern part of the present site there stood an old house, which had been provided some thirty years earlier for the use of the student-monks of Ely attending the University by the then Prior. This was John of Crauden, Prior of Ely from 1321 to 1341, a man of noble personal character, a model administrator of the great possessions of his abbey, a patron of art and learning, the friend on the one hand of Queen Philippa, and on the other of the greatest cathedral builder of the fourteenth century, Alan de Walsingham. The portrait bust of him, which may still be seen carved at the end of one of the hood moulds of the great octagon arches in the Minster, shows a strong, handsome face, dignified, benignant, pleasant; a full, frank, eloquent eye; a mouth intelligent and firm, and yet with a merry smile lurking unmistakably in its corner; altogether such a man as we may well feel might not only rightly be Queen Philippa's friend, as the chronicler says, "propter amabilem et graciosam ipsius affabilitatem et eloquentiam,"[59] but one also who one might expect to find anxious to maintain among his convent brothers the Benedictine ideal of knowledge and learning. It was no doubt to that end that somewhere about the year 1325 he had purchased the house at Cambridge as a hostel for the use of the Ely monks. In the Obedientary Rolls of the monastery, still treasured in the muniment room of the cathedral, there is evidence that from his time onwards three or four of the Ely monks were constantly residing at Cambridge at the convent expense, taking their degrees there, and then returning to Ely.[60] [Illustration: The Chapel, Trinity Hall] It is probable, however, that the residence of the Ely monks was, shortly after Crauden's time, transferred from this hostel to the rooms provided in Monk's College on the present site of Magdalene, for a register among the Ely muniments shows that in the twenty-fourth year of Edward III. John of Crauden's hostel was conveyed by the Prior and Convent to the Bishop of Norwich for the purpose of his proposed college. The old Monk's Hall was still standing in 1731, for it is contained in a plan of the College of that date preserved in the College library. A note in Warren's "History of Trinity Hall" informs us that a part of it was destroyed in 1823. Warren himself speaks of it as "Y^{e} Old Building for y^{e} Monks, where y^{e} Pigeon House is." Now all has vanished unless perhaps some underground foundations in the garden of the Master's Lodge. The buildings of the College, in their general arrangement, have probably been little altered since their completion in the fourteenth century. They had the peculiarity of an entrance court between the principal court and the street, like the outer court of a monastery. The original gateway, however, of this entrance--the Porter's Court, as it was called at a later date--has been removed, and the College is now entered directly from the street. It is probable that the Hall, forming one half of the western side of the principal court, was built during the lifetime of the founder, as also was the original eastern range, rebuilt in the last century. This would give a date, 1355, for these two ranges. The buttery and the northern block of buildings belong to 1374. In early days Trinity Hall shared with Clare Hall the Church of S. John Zachary as a joint College chapel. When in connection with the building of King's College the Church of S. John was removed, two aisles were added to the chancel of S. Edward's Church for the accommodation of "The Hall" students. The present chapel appears to date from the end of the fourteenth, or probably the early part of the fifteenth century. The only architectural features, however, at present visible of mediæval character are the piscina and the buttresses on the south side. The advowson of the Church of S. Edward, the north aisle of the chancel of which was for a time used as the College chapel, was acquired by the College in the middle of the fifteenth century, and has thus remained to our own day. "The complete control," says Mr. Walden in his lately published "History of Trinity Hall," "of the Church by a College whose Fellows, in course of time, were more and more a lay body, while other Colleges continued to be exclusively clerical, might be expected to give opportunity for the ministrations of men whose opinions might not be those preferred by the dominant clerical party at the moment. In 1529, for instance, during the mastership of Stephen Gardiner be it observed, Hugh Latimer, who is said to have become a reformer from the persuasions of Bilney, Fellow of Trinity Hall, preached in S. Edward's on the Sunday before Christmas. He preached there often, but on this occasion he surpassed himself in originality, taking apparently a pack of cards as his text, and illustrating from the Christmas game of Triumph, with hearts as 'triumph,' or _trumps_ as we say, the superiority of heart-religion over the vain outward show of the superstitious ornaments of the other court cards. Buckenham, Prior of the Dominicans, answered him from the same pulpit, and preached on dice. Latimer answered him again. The whole must have been more entertaining than edifying." This tradition of independence, at any rate in pulpit teaching, though in less eccentric ways, has been retained by S. Edward's down to our own time. Here in 1832, Henry John Rose, the brother of Hugh James Rose, the Cambridge Tractarian, represented the moderate wing of the new Anglican party. Here, during the years preceding his promotion to the Deanery of Ely in 1858, Harvey Goodwin preached that series of sermons, simple, pithy, robust, which Sunday by Sunday crowded with undergraduates the Church of S. Edward for nearly eight years, as a church in a university city has seldom been crowded. Here, also, in 1871 Frederick Denison Maurice--the most representative churchman probably of the nineteenth century, for it was he rather than Pusey or Newman, who, by his interpretation of the Doctrine of the Incarnation, has most profoundly moulded, inspired, and transfigured the Church ideals of the present--found an opportunity of preaching when too many of the parochial pulpits of England were closed to him. The grave and the trivial mingle in college as in other human affairs. And so it came about that the possession of the spiritualities of S. Edward's parish compelled the Fellows of the Hall to keep an eye on its temporalities, and from time to time to beat its bounds. Here is one record of such "beating." It was May 23rd, viz., Ascension Day in 1734, when the Fellows deputed for the purpose started from the Three Tuns and went by the Mitre, the White Horse, and the Black Bull before reaching S. Catherine's Hall. They penetrated King's, but regretted to find that here the Brewhouse was shut up. They encircled Clare and Trinity Hall, therefore, and came back to the Three Tuns whence they had started two hours before. They had not, quite evidently--for the full circuit is not great--been walking all the time. The account ends:-- "N.B.--One bottle of white wine given us at y^{e} Tuns, and one bottle of white wine given us at the Mitre. Ale and bread and cheese given by the Minister of St. Edward's at y^{e} Bench in our College Backside. _Mem._--To be given by y^{e} Minister twelve halfpenny loaves, sixpenny worth of Cheshire cheeses, seven quarts and a half of ale in y^{e} great stone bottle for y^{e} people in general, and a tankard of ale for each church warden."[61] [Illustration: Oriel Window, Jesus College] It will be remembered that in the last chapter, in speaking of the books left to Corpus Christi College by Archbishop Parker, we mentioned that provision of his deed of gift by which under certain contingencies the books were to be transferred from Corpus to Trinity Hall. It is quite probable that this provision drew the attention of the authorities of the latter college to the possible need of a library. It is unknown, however, when exactly the present library was built. The style proclaims Elizabeth's reign or thereabouts. Professor Willis conjectured about 1600. But whatever the date may be it is very fortunate that the hand of the restorer which fell so heavily upon so many other of the College buildings should have mercifully spared the library, which to this day retains its early simplicity of character, leaving it one of the most interesting of the old book rooms in the University. Mr. J. G. Clark in his valuable essay on the Development of Libraries and their fittings, published two years ago under the title "The Care of Books," has thus spoken of the library of Trinity Hall:-- "The Library of Trinity Hall is thoroughly mediæval in plan, being a long narrow room on the first floor of the north side of the second court, 65 feet long by 20 feet wide, with eight equi-distant windows in each side wall, and a window of four lights in the western gable. It was built about 1600, but the fittings are even later, having been added between 1626 and 1645 during the mastership of Thomas Eden, LL.D. They are therefore a deliberate return to ancient forms at a time when a different type had been adopted elsewhere. "There are four desks and six seats on each side of the room, placed as usual, at right angles to the side walls, in the interspaces of the windows, respectively. "These lecterns are of oak, 6 feet 7 inches long, and 7 feet high, measured to the top of the ornamental finial. There is a sloping desk at the top, beneath which is a single shelf. The bar for the chains passes under the desk, through the two vertical ends of the case. At the end furthest from the wall, the hasp of the lock is hinged to the bar and secured by two keys. Beneath the shelf there is at either end a slip of wood which indicates that there was once a movable desk which could be pulled out when required. The reader could therefore consult his convenience, and work either sitting or standing. For both these positions the heights are very suitable, and at the bottom of the case was a plinth on which he could set his feet. The seats between each pair of desks were of course put up at the same time as the desks themselves. They show an advance in comfort, being divided into two so as to allow of support to the readers' backs."[62] The garden of the Hall was laid out early in the last century, with formal walks and yew hedges and a raised terrace overlooking the river. The well-known epigram quoted by Gunning in his "Reminiscences"[63] has for its topic not this garden but the small triangular plot next to Trinity Hall Lane, which was planted and surrounded by a paling in 1793, by Dr. Joseph Jowett, the then tutor. [Illustration: Gateway in Great Court St Catharine's College] "A little garden little Jowett made And fenced it with a little palisade, But when this little garden made a little talk, He changed it to a little gravel walk; If you would know the mind of little Jowett This little garden don't a little show it." It has usually been attributed to Archdeacon Wrangham. There are several versions of it, and a translation into Latin, which runs as follows:-- "Exiguum hunc hortum, fecit Jowettulus iste Exiguus, vallo et muniit exiguo: Exiguo hoc horto forsan Jowettulus iste Exiguus mentem prodidit exiguam." At the end of the fifteenth century, just twenty years after the fall of Constantinople, Dr. Robert Woodlark, third Provost of King's College and some time Chancellor of the University, founded the small "House of Learning," which he called S. Catherine's Hall, possibly because Henry VI., whose mother was a Catherine, was his patron, or possibly because at this time S. Catherine of Alexandria, the patron saint of scholars, was a popular saint. In the statutes he says, "I have founded and established a college or hall to the praise, glory, and honour of our Lord Jesus Christ, of the most glorious Virgin Mary, His mother, and of the Holy Virgin Katerine, for the exaltation of the Christian faith, for the defence and furtherance of the Holy Church, and growth of science and faculties of philosophy and sacred theology." In the autumn of 1473 a Master and three Fellows took up their residence in the small court which had just been built on a site in Milne Street, close to the Bull Inn. The chapel and library, however, do not appear to have been completed until a few years later. In 1520 a second court was added, and a century later, in 1634, some new buildings were commenced to the north of the principal court, and adjacent to Queen's Street. These buildings, which are the only old buildings that still remain, were completed two years later. Between 1673-97 all the rest of the old buildings were pulled down and the College rebuilt. In 1704 the new chapel was built on the site of the stables of Thomas Hobson, whose just but despotic method of dealing with his customers gave rise to the phrase "Hobson's Choice." In 1757, the houses which hitherto had concealed the College from the High Street were removed. CHAPTER IX BISHOP ALCOCK AND THE NUNS OF S. RHADEGUND "Yes, since his dayes a cocke was in the fen, I knowe his voyce among a thousand men: He taught, he preached, he mended every wrong: But, Coridon, alas! no good thing abideth long. He All was a Cocke, he wakened us from sleepe And while we slumbered he did our foldes keep: No cur, no foxes, nor butchers' dogges would Coulde hurte our folds, his watching was so good; The hungry wolves which did that time abounde, What time he crowed abashed at the sounde. This Cocke was no more abashed at the Foxe Than is a Lion abashed at the Oxe." --ALEXANDER BARCLAY, _Monk of Ely_, 1513 The New Learning in Italy and Germany--The English "Pilgrim Scholars": Grey, Tiptoft, Linacre, Grocyn--The practical Genius of England--Bishops Rotherham, Alcock, and Fisher--Alcock, diplomatist, financier, architect--The Founder of Jesus College--He takes as his model Jesus College, Rotherham--His Object the Training of a Preaching Clergy--The Story of the Nunnery of S. Rhadegund--Its Dissolution--Conversion of the Conventual Church into a College Chapel--The Monastic Buildings, Gateway, Cloister, Chapter House--The Founder a Better Architect than an Educational Reformer--The Jesus Roll of eminent Men from Cranmer to Coleridge. The historical importance of the New Learning depends ultimately on the fact that its influence on the Western world broadened out into a new capacity for culture in general, which took various forms according to the different local or national conditions with which it came into contact. In Italy, its land of origin, the Classical Revival was felt mainly as an æsthetic ideal, an instrument for the self-culture of the individual, expressing itself in delight for beauty of form and elegance of literary style, bringing to the life of the cultured classes a social charm and distinction of tone, which, however, it is difficult sometimes to distinguish from a merely refined paganism. In France and Spain too, where the basis of character was also Latin, the æsthetic spirit of classical antiquity was readily assimilated. To a French or a Spanish scholar sympathy with the pagan spirit was instinctive and innate. The Teutonic genius, however, both on the side of Literature and of Art, remained sturdily impervious to the more æsthetic side of the Italian Renaissance. In Germany the æsthetic influence was evident enough--we can trace it plainly in the writings of Erasmus and Melancthon, though with them Italian humanism was always a secondary aim subservient to a greater end--but it had a strongly marked character of its own, wholly different from the Italian. The Renaissance in Germany indeed we rightly know by the name of the Reformation, and the paramount task of the German scholars of the New Learning we recognise to have been the elucidation of the true meaning of the Bible. Similarly in England the scholarly mind was at first little affected by the æsthetic considerations which meant so much to a Frenchman or an Italian. A few chosen Englishmen, it is true, "pilgrim scholars" they were called--William Grey, Bishop of Ely, John Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester, Thomas Linacre, William Grocyn stand out perhaps most conspicuously--were drawn to Italy by the rumours of the marvellous treasures rescued from monastic lumber rooms, or conveyed over seas by fugitive Greeks, but they returned to England to find that there was little they could do except to bequeath the books and manuscripts they had collected to an Oxford or a Cambridge College, and hope for happier times when scholars would be found to read them. It was not indeed until the little group of Hellenists--Erasmus and Linacre and Grocyn and Colet--had shown the value of Greek thought as an interpreter of the New Testament, that any enthusiasm for the New Learning could be awakened in England. An increase of a knowledge of the Bible was worth working for, not the elegancies of an accurate Latin style. Englishmen in the fifteenth century were busy in the task of developing trade and commerce, and their intellectual tone took colour from their daily work. It became eminently utilitarian and practical. An English scholar was willing to accept the New Learning if you would prove to him that it was useful or was true, that it was only beautiful did not at first much affect him. It was only therefore with an eye to strictly practical results that at the universities the New Learning was welcomed, and even there tardily. Nowhere perhaps is this practical tendency of English scholarship at this period more characteristically shown than in the Cambridge work of Thomas Alcock and John Fisher, the founders respectively of Jesus College and of the twin colleges of Christ's and John's. Alcock and Fisher were both of them Yorkshiremen, born and educated at Beverley in the Grammar School connected with the Minster there, and both proceeding from thence to Cambridge: Alcock in all likelihood, though there is some doubt about this, to Pembroke, where he took his LL.D. degree in or before 1461; Fisher to Michaelhouse, of which he became a Fellow in 1491. Of Alcock, the historian Bale has said that "no one in England had a greater reputation for sanctity." He was equally remarkable for his practical qualities, as a diplomatist, as a financier, as an architect. He had twice been a Royal Commissioner, under Richard III. and under Henry VII., to arrange treaties with Scotland. By an arrangement, of which no similar instance is known, he had conjointly held the office of Lord Chancellor with Bishop Rotherham of Lincoln, he himself at that time ruling the diocese of Rochester. As early as 1462 he had been made Master of the Rolls. In 1476 he was translated to Worcester, and at the same time became Lord President of Wales. On the accession of Henry VII., he was made Comptroller of the Royal Works and Buildings, an office for which he was especially fitted, it is said, by his skill as an architect. In 1486 he was translated to the See of Ely and again made Lord Chancellor. It was as Bishop of Ely that he undertook the foundation of Jesus College. There can, I think, be little doubt that for the idea of his projected college he was indebted to his old Cambridge friend and co-chancellor, Thomas Rotherham, at this time Archbishop of York. At any rate, it is noteworthy that each of the friends founded in his Diocese--the Archbishop at his native place of Rotherham, the Bishop of Ely at Cambridge--a college dedicated to the name of Jesus. Jesus College, Rotherham, was founded in 1481; Jesus College, Cambridge, followed fifteen years later. The main object of the two prelates was probably the same. In the license for the foundation of Rotherham's college its objects are stated to be twofold: "To preach the Word of God in the Parish of Rotherham and in other places in the Diocese of York; and to instruct gratuitously, in the rules of grammar and song, scholars from all parts of England, and especially from the Diocese of York." There is no reason to suppose that the needs of the Diocese of Ely, even fifteen years later, were any different. For the fact that Jesus College, Rotherham, should consist of _ten_ persons--a provost, six choristers, and three masters--who can teach respectively grammar, music, and writing, the Archbishop gave the fanciful reason, that as he, its founder, had offended God in His ten commandments, so he desired the benefit of the prayers of ten persons on his behalf. Alcock's motive for fixing the number of his new Society of Jesus at Cambridge at thirteen seems to have been no less characteristic. Thirteen, the number of the original Christian Society of Our Lord and His Apostles, was the common complement of the professed members of a monastic society, and may in all likelihood have been the original number of the nuns of St. Rhadegund, whose house the Bishop was about to suppress to found his new college. "Rotherham's College, according to its measure, was intended to meet two pressing needs of his time, and especially of northern England--a preaching clergy, and boys trained for the service of the church. At the end of the fifteenth century 'both theology and the art of preaching seemed in danger of general neglect. At the English universities, and consequently throughout the whole country, the sermon was falling into almost complete disuse.' The disfavour with which it was regarded by the heads of the Church was largely due to fear of the activity of the Lollards, which had brought all popular harangues and discourses under suspicion. When the embers of heresy had been extinguished, here and there a reforming churchman sought to restore among the parish clergy the old preaching activity. In the wide unmanageable dioceses of the north the lack of an educated, preaching priesthood was most apparent. Bishop Stanley is probably only echoing the language of Alcock when he begins and closes his statutes with an exhortation to the society, whom he addresses as 'scholars of Jesus,' so to conduct themselves 'that the name of our Lord Jesus Christ may be honoured, the clergy multiplied, and the people called to the praise of God.' He enacts that of the five Foundation Fellows (one of Alcock's having been suppressed) four shall be devoted to the study of theology, and he requires that they shall be chosen from natives of five counties, which, owing to the imperfections of the single existing copy of his statutes, are unspecified. If, as is likely, this county restriction was re-introduced by Stanley from the provisions made by Alcock, it is natural to surmise that the founder's native county was one of those preferred. Certain it is that his small society had a Yorkshireman, Chubbes of Whitby, for its first master. He had been a Fellow of Pembroke, and probably from the same society and county came one of the original Fellows of Jesus, William Atkynson. "The same fear of Lollardism which had stifled preaching had caused the teaching profession to be regarded with jealousy by the authorities of the Church. In a limited part of north-eastern England, William Byngham, about the year 1439, found seventy schools void for 'grete scarstie of Maistres of Gramar' which fifty years previously had been in active use. His foundation of God's House at Cambridge was designed to supply trained masters to these derelict schools. The boys' schools attached to Rotherham's and Alcock's Foundations were intended to meet the same deficiency. Presumably Alcock meant that one or other of his Fellows should supply the teaching, for his foundation did not include a schoolmaster. The linking of a grammar school with a house of university students was of course no novelty; the connection of Winchester with New College had been copied by Henry VI. in the association of Eton and King's. But Alcock's plan of including boys and 'dons' within the same walls, and making them mix in the common life and discipline of hall and chapel, if not absolutely a new thing, had no nearer prototype in an English university than Walter de Merton's provisions in the statutes of his College for a _Grammaticus_ and _Pueri_. Though the school was meant to supply a practical need, the pattern of it seems to have been suggested by Alcock's mediæval sentiment. There is indeed no evidence or likelihood that S. Rhadegund's Nunnery maintained a school, but the same monastic precedent which Alcock apparently followed in fixing the number of his society prescribed the type of his school. It stood in the quarter where monastic schools were always placed, next the gate, in the old building which had served the nuns as their almonry."[64] The story of the nunnery of S. Rhadegund, which, under the auspices of Bishop Alcock, became Jesus College, is an interesting one. Luckily, the material for that history is fairly complete. The nuns bequeathed a large mass of miscellaneous documents--charters, wills, account rolls--to the College, and the scrupulous care with which they were originally housed, and not less, perhaps, the wholesome neglect which has since respected their repose in the College muniment room, have fortunately preserved them intact to the present time, and have enabled the present tutor of the College, Mr. Arthur Gray, to reconstruct a fairly complete picture of this isolated woman's community in an alien world of men in pre-Academic Cambridge, and of the depravation and decay which came of that isolation, and which ended in the first suppression in England of an independent House of Religion. I am indebted for the following particulars to Mr. Gray's monograph on the priory of S. Rhadegund, published a year or two ago by the Cambridge Antiquarian Society, and to the first chapter of his lately published College History. Who the nuns were that first settled on the Green-Croft by the river bank below Cambridge, and whence they came thither, and by what title they became possessed of their original site, the documents they have handed down to us across the centuries apparently do not record. It is true that in the letters patent of Henry VII. for the dissolution of the nunnery and the erection of a college in its room it is asserted--evidently on the representation of Bishop Alcock--that S. Rhadegund's Priory was "of the foundation and patronage of the Bishop, as in right of his Cathedral Church of Ely." The nun's "original cell" was no doubt of the Benedictine Order, and the great Priory of Ely, fifteen miles away down the river, was also Benedictine, and the good Bishop may have been right in his assertion of the connection between the two, but it is a little doubtful whether he could have given chapter and verse for his assertion. What is certain is this, that Nigel, the second Bishop of Ely, in the opening years of Stephen's reign, gave to the nuns their earliest charter. It is addressed with Norman magnificence "to all barons and men of S. Etheldrytha, cleric or lay, French or English," and it grants for a rent of twelve pence, "to the nuns of the cell lately established without the vill of Cantebruge," certain land lying near to other land belonging to the same cell. To the friendly interest of the same Bishop it seems probable that the nuns owed their first considerable benefaction. This was a parcel of ground, consisting of two virgates and six acres of meadow and four cottars with their tenure in the neighbouring village of Shelford, granted to them by a certain William the Monk. The fact that after seven centuries and a half the successors of the nuns of S. Rhadegund, the Master and Fellow of Jesus College, still hold possession of the same property is not only a remarkable instance of continuity of title, but also, let us hope, is sufficient proof that the original donor had come by his title honestly--a fact about which there might otherwise have been some suspicion, when we read such a record as this of this same William the Monk in the _Historia Eliensis_ of Thomas of Ely: "With axes and hammers, and every implement of masonry, he profanely assailed the shrine (of S. Etheldreda, the Foundress Saint in the Church of Ely), and with his own hand robbed it of its metal." However, it is something that further on in the same record we may read: "He lived to repent it bitterly. He, who had once been extraordinarily rich and had lacked for nothing, was reduced to such extreme poverty as not even to have the necessaries of life. At last when he had lost all and knew not whither to turn himself, by urgent entreaty he prevailed on the Ely brethren to receive him into their order, and there with unceasing lamentation, tears, vigils, and prayers deploring his guilt, he ended his days in sincere penitence." * * * * * Other benefactions followed that of William the Monk, lands, customs, tithes, fishing rights, advowsons of churches. At some time in the reign of Henry II. the nuns acquired the advowson of All Saints Church--All Saints in the Jewry--a living which still belongs to the Masters and Fellows of Jesus, although the old church standing in the open space opposite the gate of John's was removed in the middle of the last century, and is now represented by the memorial cross placed on the vacant spot and by the fine new church of All Saints facing Jesus College. The advowson of S. Clements followed in the year 1215, given to the nuns by an Alderman of the Cambridge Guild Merchants. Altogether the nunnery, though never a large house, seems to have acquired a comfortable patrimony. [Illustration: ST. JOHN'S AND DIVINITY SCHOOLS] "The Account Rolls which the departing sisters left behind them in 1496 reveal pretty fully the routine of their lives. Books--save for the casual mention of the binding of the lives of the saints--were none of their business, and works of charity, excepting the customary dole to the poor on Maundy Thursday, and occasional relief to 'poor soldiers disabled in the wars of Our Lord the King,' scarcely concerned them more. The duties of hospitality in the Guest House make the Cellaress a busy woman. They cost a good deal, but are not unprofitable; the nuns take in 'paying guests,' daughters of tradesmen and others. Being ladies, the sisters neither toil nor spin; but the Prioress and the Grangeress have an army of servants, whose daily duties have to be assigned to them; carters and ploughmen have to be sent out to the scattered plots owned by the Nunnery in the open fields about Cambridge; the neatherd has to drive the cattle to distant Willingham fen; the brewer has instructions for malting and brewing the 'peny-ale' which serves the nuns for 'bevers'; and the women servants are dispatched to work in the dairy, to weed the garden, or to weave and to make candles in the hospice. Once in a while a party of the nuns, accompanied by their maid-servants, takes boat as far as to Lynn, there to buy stock-fish and Norway timber, and to fetch a letter for the Prioress."[65] There is not much sign, alas! in all the record of any great devotion to religion, such as we might have expected to find in regard to such a House. Indeed, it would seem that there was seldom a time in the history of the Nunnery when a visit from the Bishop of the Diocese or from one of his commissioners on a round of inspection was other than a much resented occurrence. Discipline, indeed, appears to have been generally lax in the Nunnery, and the sisters or some of them easily got permission to gad outside the cloister. Scandal is a key which generally unlocks the cloister gate and permits a glance into the interior shadows. _Bene vixit quæ bene latuit._ "Not such was Margaret Cailly, whose sad story was the gossip of the nuns' parlour in 1389. She came of an old and reputable family which had furnished mayors and bailiffs to Cambridge and had endowed the nuns with land at Trumpington. For reasons sufficiently moving her, which we may only surmise, she escaped from the cloister, discarded her religious garb, and sought hiding in the alien diocese of Lincoln. But it so happened that Archbishop Courtenay that year was making metropolitical visitation of that diocese, and it was the ill-fortune of Margaret, 'a sheep wandering from the fold among thorns,' to come under his notice. The Archbishop, solicitous that 'her blood be not required at our hands,' handed her over to the keeping of our brother of Ely. The Bishop in turn passed her on to the custody of her own Prioress, with injunctions that she should be kept in close confinement, under exercise of salutary penance, until she showed signs of contrition for her 'excesses'; and further that when the said Margaret first entered the chapter-house she should humbly implore pardon of the Prioress and her sisters for her offences. The story ends for us at Margaret's prison-door."[66] [Illustration: Norman Work in Church of Jesus College] Such a story, more or less typical, I fear, of much and long continued lax discipline, prepares us for the end. When Bishop Alcock visited the House in 1497, we are not surprised perhaps at the evidence which is set forth in the Letters Patent authorising the foundation of his College in the place of the Nunnery. The buildings and properties of the house are said to be dilapidated and wasted "owing to the improvidence, extravagance, and incontinence of the nuns resulting from their proximity to the University." Two nuns only remain; one of them is professed elsewhere, the other is _infamis_. They are in abject want, utterly unable to maintain Divine service or the works of mercy and piety required of them, and are ready to depart, leaving the home desolate. * * * * * From the nuns of S. Rhadegund then Jesus College received no heritage of noble ideal. Two things only they have left behind them for which they merit gratitude. Firstly, a bundle of deeds and manuscripts, inconsiderable to them, very valuable to the scholars and historians of the future; and secondly, their fine old church and monastic buildings. In writing in a previous chapter of the buildings of Queens' we drew attention to the fact that the general plan of the College followed in the main the lines of a large country house such as Haddon Hall. And in degree this is true of the other college buildings in Cambridge. A mere glance at a ground-plan of Jesus will show at once that the arrangement of the buildings is entirely different from that of any other college at Cambridge, and it is clearly derived from that of a monastery. This accords with what we know of its history. However dilapidated the old nunnery may have become through the poverty and neglect of the nuns, the outward walls of solid clunch, which under a facing of later brick, still testify to the durability of the Nunnery builders, were still practically intact, and Bishop Alcock had too much practical skill as an architect to destroy buildings which he could so easily adapt to the needs of his college, and harmonise to fifteenth century fashions in architecture. In his conversion of the Nunnery buildings to the purposes of his college, Bishop Alcock grouped the buildings he required round the original cloister of the nuns, increasing the size of that cloister by the breadth of the north aisle of the Conventual Church which he pulled down. The hall was placed on the north side, the library on the west. The kitchens and offices were in the angle of the cloister between the hall and library. The master's lodge at the south-west corner was partly constructed out of the altered nave of the church, and partly out of new buildings connecting this south-western corner of the cloister with the gate of entrance. This gateway, approached by a long gravelled path between high walls, known popularly as "the chimney," is one of the most picturesque features of the College. It is usually ascribed to Bishop Alcock, but on architectural evidence only. It is thus described by Professor Willis:-- "The picturesque red-brick gateway tower of Jesus College (1497), although destitute of angle-turrets, is yet distinguished from the ground upwards by a slight relief, by stone quoins, and by having its string courses designedly placed at different levels from those of the chambers on each side of it. The general disposition of the ornamentation of its arch and of the wall above it furnished the model for the more elaborate gate-houses at Christ's College and St. John's College. The ogee hood-mould rises upwards, and the stem of its finial terminates under the base of a handsome tabernacle which occupies the centre of the upper stage, with a window on each side of it. Each of the spandrel spaces contains a shield, and a larger shield is to be found in the triangular field between the hood-mould and the arch." Professor Willis thus describes also the Conventual Church and the changes which were made by the Bishop in his conversion of it into a college chapel. [Illustration: Norman Work in N. Transept Jesus College Chapel] "The church ... presented an arrangement totally different from that of the chapel of Jesus College at the present day. It was planned in the form of a cross, with a tower in the centre, and had in addition to a north and south transept, aisles on the north and south sides of the eastern limb, flanking it along half the extent of its walls, and forming chapels which opened to the chancel by two pier arches in each wall. The structure was completed by a nave of seven piers with two side aisles.... (The church) was an admirable specimen of the architecture of its period, and two of the best preserved remaining portions, the series of lancet windows on the north and south aisles of the eastern limb, and the arcade that ornaments the inner surface of the tower walls, will always attract attention and admiration for the beauty of their composition. "Under the direction of Bishop Alcock the side aisles, both of the chancel and of the nave, were entirely removed, the pier arches by which they had communicated with the remaining centre portion of the building were walled up, and the place of each arch was occupied by a perpendicular window of the plainest description. The walls were raised, a flat roof was substituted for the high-pitched roof of the original structure, large perpendicular windows were inserted in the gables of the chancel and south transept, and lastly, two-thirds of the nave were cut off from the church by a wall, and fitted up partly as a lodge for the master, partly as chambers for students. "As for the portion set apart for the chapel of the college, the changes were so skilfully effected and so completely concealed by plaster within and without, that all trace and even knowledge of the old aisles was lost; but in the course of preparations for repairs in 1846 the removal of some of the plaster made known the fact that the present two south windows of the chancel were inserted in walls which were themselves merely the filling-up of a pair of pier-arches, and that these arches, together with the piers upon which they rested, and the responds whence they sprang, still existed in the walls. When this key to the secret of the church had been supplied, it was resolved to push the enquiry to the uttermost; all the plaster was stripped off the inner face of the walls; piers and arches were brought to light again in all directions; old foundations were sought for on the outside of the building, and a complete and systematic examination of the plan and structure of the original Church was set on foot, which led to very satisfactory results."[67] [Illustration: Entrance to Chapter-House Priory of S. Radegund now Jesus College Herbert Railton] To-day the completely restored church, the work at varying intervals from 1849 to 1869 of Salvin and Pugin and Bodley, forms one of the most beautiful and interesting college chapels in Cambridge. An important series of stained glass windows were executed by Mr. William Morris from the designs of Burne-Jones between 1873-77. In 1893 the Rev. Osmund Fisher, a former Dean of the College, at this time elected an Honorary Fellow, remembering to have seen in his undergraduate days of fifty years before indications of old Gothic work in the wall of the cloister, during some repair of the plaster work, obtained leave of the Master to investigate the wall. This led to the discovery of the beautiful triple group of early English arches and doorway which formed the original entrance to the chapter house of the Nunnery, one of the most charming bits of thirteenth century architectural grouping in all Cambridge. Bishop Alcock was probably a better architect than he was an educational reformer. He was successful enough in converting the fabric of the dissolved Nunnery into college buildings. It may be doubted whether he was equally successful in translating his friend Archbishop Rotherham's ideal of a grammar school college into a working institution. In the constitution which he gave to his college there were to be places found for both Fellows and boys--_Scholares and Pueri_--but the _Scholares_ were obviously to be men, and the _Pueri_ simply schoolboys, for they were to be under fourteen years of age on admission; and _Juvenes_, undergraduate scholars, did not enter into his plan. The amended statutes of his successors, Bishops Stanley and West, gave some definition to the founder's scheme, but they did not materially modify it. Within fifty years, in fact, from its foundation, Jesus College, as Alcock had conceived it, had become an anachronism, and the claustral community of student priests with their schoolboy acolytes, not seriously concerned with true education, and unvivified by contact with the real student scholar, came near to perishing, as a thing born out of due season. The dawn of what might seem to be a better state of things only began with the endowment of scholarships--scholarships, that is to say, in the modern sense--in the reign of Edward VI. It was only, however, with the university reforms of the nineteenth century that the proportion of college revenue allotted to such endowment fund was reasonably assessed. And yet with this somewhat meagre scholarship equipment the roll of eminent men belonging to Jesus College is a worthy one. On the very first page of that roll we are confronted with the name of Cranmer. We do not know the name of any student whose admission to the College preceded his. Wary and sagacious then, as in later life, he had resisted the tempting offer of a Fellowship at Wolsey's new college of Christ Church at Oxford to come to Cambridge, there, it is true at first, "to be nursed in the grossest kind of sophistry, logic, philosophy, moral and natural (not in the text of the old philosophers, but chiefly in the dark riddles of Duns and other subtle questionists), to his age of 22 years," but shortly, having taken his B.A. degree in 1511, to receive from Erasmus, who in that year began to lecture at Cambridge as Lady Margaret Reader, his first bent towards those studies which led eventually to the publication of his "Short Instruction into Christian Religion," which it had been better had he himself more closely followed, and possibly towards that opportunist policy, which in the event ended so sadly for himself, and meant so much, both of evil and of good, to the future of both Church and State in England. Closely associated with Cranmer were other Jesus men, noted theologians of the reforming party;--John Bale, afterwards Bishop of Ossory, called "bilious Bale" by Fuller because of the rancour of his attacks on his papal opponents, Geoffry Downs, Thomas Goodrich, afterwards Bishop of Ely, John Edmunds, Robert Okyng, and others. In the list of succeeding archbishops claimed by the College as Jesus men occur the names of Herring, Hutton, Sterne. The Sterne family indeed contribute not a few members through several generations to the College, not the least eminent being the author of "Tristram Shandy" and "The Sentimental Journey." The portraits of both Laurence Sterne and his great grandfather the Archbishop hang on the walls of the dining-hall, the severe eyes of the Caroline divine looking across as if with much disfavour at the trim and smiling figure of his descendant, the young cleric so unlike his idea of what a priest and scholar should be. Other than "Shandean" influence in the College is, however, suggested by the name of Henry Venn among the admissions of 1742, when he migrated to Jesus after three months' residence at S. John's, and exercised an influence prophetic of the great movement of Cambridge evangelicalism, prolonged far into the next century by Venn's pupil and friend, Charles Simeon. It is probable, however, that there is no more brilliant page in the history of Jesus College than that which tells the story of the last decade of the seventeenth century, and which contains the names of William Otter, E. D. Clarke, Robert Malthus, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Coleridge was elected a Rustat Scholar in 1791 and a Foundation Scholar in 1793, but he gained no academic distinction. There was no classical tripos in those days, and to obtain a Chancellor's medal it was necessary that a candidate should have obtained honours in mathematics for which Coleridge had all a poet's abhorrence. Among the poems of his college days may be remembered, "A Wish written in Jesus Wood, Feb. 10, 1792," and the well-known "Monologue to a Young Jackass in Jesus Piece." Another poem more worthy of record perhaps, though he scribbled it in one of the College chapel prayer-books, is one of regretful pathos on the neglected "hours of youth," which finds a later echo in his "Lines on an Autumnal Evening," where he alludes to his undergraduate days at Jesus:-- "When from the Muses' calm abode I came, with learning's meed not unbestowed; Whereas she twined a laurel round my brow, And met my kiss, and half returned my vow." And with that quotation from the Jesus poet we may perhaps close this chapter, only adding one word of hearty agreement with that encomium which was passed upon the College by King James, who, because of the picturesqueness of its old buildings and the beauty and charm of its surroundings, spoke of Jesus College as _Musarum Cantabrigiensium Museum_, and also with that decision which on a second visit to Cambridge His Majesty wisely gave, that "Were he to choose, he would pray at King's, dine at Trinity, and study and sleep at Jesus." CHAPTER X COLLEGES OF THE NEW LEARNING "No more as once in sunny Avignon, The poet-scholar spreads the Homeric page, And gazes sadly, like the deaf at song: For now the old epic voices ring again And vibrate with the beat and melody Stirred by the warmth of old Ionian days." --MRS. BROWNING. The Lady Margaret Foundations--Bishop Fisher of Rochester--The Foundation of Christ's--God's House--The Buildings of the new College--College Worthies--John Milton--Henry More--Charles Darwin--The Hospital of the Brethren of S. John--Death of the Lady Margaret--Foundation of S. John's College--Its Buildings--The Great Gateway--The New Library--The Bridge of Sighs--The Wilderness--Wordsworth's "Prelude"--The Aims of Bishop Fisher--His Death. We may well in this chapter take together the twin foundations of Christ's College and S. John's which both had the Lady Margaret, Countess of Richmond and Derby, and mother of Henry VII. for their foundress. The father of this lady was John Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, and her mother was Margaret, daughter and heiress of Sir John Beauchamp, of Bletso. "So that," says Fuller, punning on her parents' names, "_fairfort_ and _fairfield_ met in this lady, who was fair body and fair soul, being the exactest pattern of the best devotion those days afforded, taxed for no personal faults but the errors of the age she lived in. John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, preached her funeral sermon, wherein he resembled her to Martha in four respects: firstly, nobility of person; secondly, discipline of her body; thirdly, in ordering her soul to God; fourthly, in hospitality and charity." In that assemblage of noble lives, who from the earliest days of Cambridge history have laboured for the benefit of the University, and left it so rich a store of intellectual good, there are no more honoured names than these two:--the Lady Margaret, Countess of Richmond, and her friend and confessor, Bishop Fisher, under whose wise and cautious supervision Cambridge first tasted of the fruits of the Renaissance, and welcomed Erasmus, I fear with but a very tempered enthusiasm, to the newly-founded Lady Margaret chair, and yet, nevertheless, in that encouragement of the New Learning laid the foundation of that sound method and apparatus of criticism which has enabled the University in an after age to take all knowledge for its province, and to represent its conquest by the foundation of twenty-five professorial chairs. John Fisher, who came, as we have seen in the last chapter, from the Abbey School at Beverley, where, some twenty years or so before, he had been preceded by Bishop Alcock, was Proctor of the University in 1494, and three years later, in 1497, was made Master of his College, Michaelhouse. The duties of the proctorial office necessitated at that time occasional attendance at Court, and it was on the occasion of his appearance in this capacity at Greenwich that Fisher first attracted the notice of the Lady Margaret, who in 1497 appointed him her confessor. It was an auspicious conjunction for the University. Under his inspiration the generosity of his powerful patron was readily extended to enrich academic resources. It was the laudable design of Fisher to raise Cambridge to the academic level which Oxford had already reached. Already students of the sister university had been to Italy, and had returned full of the New Learning. The fame of Colet, Grocyn, and Linacre made Oxford renowned, and drew to its lecture-rooms eager scholars from all the learned world. It hardly needed that such a man as Erasmus should sing the praises of the Oxford teachers. "When I listen to my friend Colet," he wrote, "I seem to be listening to Plato himself. Who does not admire in Grocyn the perfection of training? What can be more acute, more profound, or more refined than the judgment of Linacre? What has nature ever fashioned gentler, sweeter, or pleasanter than the disposition of Thomas More?"[68] It was natural therefore that Fisher should be ambitious in the same direction for his own university. He began wisely on a small scale, with an object of immediate practical usefulness, the foundation of a Divinity professorship, which should aim at teaching pulpit eloquence. On this point he rightly thought that the adherents of the Old and the New Learning might agree. And there was desperate need for the adventure. For with the close of the fifteenth century both theology and the art of preaching had sunk into general neglect. Times, for example, had greatly changed since the day when Bishop Grosseteste had declared that if a priest could not preach, there was one remedy, let him resign his benefice. But now the sermon itself had ceased to be considered necessary. "Latimer tells us that in his own recollection, sermons might be omitted for twenty Sundays in succession without fear of complaint. Even the devout More, in that ingenious romance which he designed as a covert satire on many of the abuses of his age, while giving an admirably conceived description of a religious service, has left the sermon altogether unrecognised. In the universities, for one master of arts or doctor of divinity who could make a text of Scripture the basis of an earnest, simple, and effective homily, there were fifty who could discuss its moral, analogical, and figurative meaning, who could twist it into all kinds of unimagined significance, and give it a distorted, unnatural application. Rare as was the sermon, the theologian in the form of a modest, reverent expounder of Scripture was yet rarer. Bewildered audiences were called upon to admire the performances of intellectual acrobats. Skelton, who well knew the Cambridge of these days, not inaptly described its young scholars as men who when they had "once superciliously caught A lytell ragge of rhetoricke, A lesse lumpe of logicke, A pece or patch of philosophy, Then forthwith by and by They tumble so in theology, Drowned in dregges of divinite That they juge themselfe alle to be Doctours of the chayre in the Vintre, At the Three Cranes To magnifye their names."[69] It was to remedy this state of things that, in the first instance, Fisher set himself to work. The Divinity professorship was soon supplemented by the Lady Margaret preachership, the holder of which was to go from place to place and give a cogent example in pulpit oratory: one sermon in the course of every two years at each of the following twelve places:-- "On some Sunday at S. Paul's Cross, if able to obtain permission, otherwise at S. Margaret's, Westminster, or if unable to preach there, then in one of the more notable churches of the City of London; and once on some feast day in each of the churches of Ware and Cheshunt in Hertfordshire; Bassingbourne, Orwell and Babraham in Cambridgeshire; Maney, St. James Deeping, Bourn, Boston, and Swineshead in Lincolnshire."[70] We have already spoken in the chapter on Queens' College of the work of Erasmus at Cambridge. He was summoned to Cambridge in 1511 to teach Greek and to lecture on the foundation of Lady Margaret. He himself tells us that within a space of thirty years the studies of the University had progressed from the old grammar, logic, and scholastic questions to some knowledge of the New Learning, of the renewed study at any rate of Aristotle, and the study of Greek. The literary revival had no doubt been quicker and more brilliant at Oxford, but Cambridge, owing to Fisher's cautious and careful supervision, and his foundation of the Lady Margaret Colleges of Christ's and S. John's, was the first to give to the New Learning a permanent home. [Illustration: The Chapel, Christ's College] The religious bias of the Countess of Richmond had inclined her to devote the bulk of her fortune to an extension of the great monastery of Westminster. But Bishop Fisher knew that active learning rather than lazy seclusion was essential to preserve the Church against the dangerous Italian type of the Renaissance, and he persuaded her to direct her gift to educational purposes. He pointed out that the Abbey Church was already the wealthiest in England, "that the schools of learning were meanly endowed, the provisions of scholars very few and small, and colleges yet wanting to their maintenance--that by such foundations she might have two ends and designs at once, might double her charity and double her reward, by affording as well supports to learning as encouragement to virtue." The foundation of Christ's College in 1505 is an enduring memorial of the wisdom of the Bishop and the charity of the Lady Margaret. There is a tradition that Fisher, who undoubtedly had joined Michaelhouse before taking his B.A. degree in 1487, had, upon his first entering Cambridge, been a student of God's House. However that may be, it was to this small foundation he turned as the basis of his projected new college. God's House, an adjunct of Clare-Hall, founded by William Byngham, Rector of S. John Zachary, in London, in 1441, stood originally on a plot of land at the west end of King's Chapel, adjoining the Church of S. John Zachary. In the changes which were necessary to secure a site for King's College, the Church of S. John and God's House were removed. In return for his surrender, Byngham had received license from Henry VI. to build elsewhere a college. Land was accordingly secured on what is now the site of the first and second courts of Christ's College, and in the charter of the new God's House, dated 16th April 1448, it is stated that Byngham had deferred the foundation owing to his ardent desire that "the King's glory and his reward in heaven might be increased" by his personal foundation of God's House. Henry could not resist such an argument, and thus God's House became, and Christ's College, as its successor, claims to be, of Royal Foundation. The little foundation, however, was always cramped by lack of means. Within fifty years of its first foundation the time had evidently come for a reconstitution of God's House. "In the year 1505 appeared the royal charter for the foundation of Christ's College, wherein after a recital of the facts already mentioned, together with other details, it was notified that King Henry VII., at the representation of his mother and other noble and trustworthy persons--_percarissimæ matris nostræ necnon aliorum nobilium et fide dignorum_--and having regard to her great desire to exalt and increase the Christian faith, her anxiety for her own spiritual welfare, and the sincere love which she had ever borne 'our uncle' (Henry VI.) while he lived--had conceded to her permission to carry into full effect the designs of her illustrious relative; that is to say, to enlarge and endow the aforesaid God's House sufficiently for the reception and support of any number of scholars not exceeding sixty, who should be instructed in grammar or in the other liberal sciences and faculties or in sacred theology."[71] The arrival of the charter was soon followed by the news of the Lady Margaret's noble benefactions--consisting of many manors in the four counties of Cambridge, Norfolk, Leicester, and Essex--which thus exalted the humble and struggling Society of God's House, under its new designation of Christ's College, into the fourth place in respect of revenue, among all the Cambridge colleges. The building of the College seems to have gone on uninterruptedly between 1505 and 1511. The amount spent by the Foundress during her lifetime is not ascertainable; but the cost, as given in the household books of the Lady Margaret after her death, was more than £1000. "Though the College," says the present Master, Dr. Peile, "had no very striking architectural features, the general effect, as seen in Loggan's view, is good. We see the old mullioned windows supplanted by sash windows in the last century: and the battlements inside the court as well as without, which were displaced by Essex to make way for the solid parapet, which still remains, and indeed suits the new windows better. The original windows have recently been restored with very good effect. We see a path, called the Regent's Walk, running from the great gate directly across the court to a door which gave entrance to the great parlour in the Lodge, then the reception-room of the College, and now the Masters' dining-room. That room has been reduced in size by a passage made between it and the Hall. The passage leads to the winding stone staircase which gave the only access to this suite of three rooms on the first floor, corresponding exactly with those below, and reserved by the Foundress for her own use during life, while the Master contented himself with the three rooms on the ground floor. The Foundress's suite consisted of a large ante-room (commonly but wrongly called the Foundress's Bed-Chamber) with a little lobby in one corner at the entrance from the old staircase. The second room (now the drawing-room) was the Foundress's own living room; it has an oriel window looking into the court, not much injured by the removal of the mullions." We may interrupt the Master's record here to tell the characteristic story of the Lady Margaret which most probably has this oriel window for its scene: "Once the Lady Margaret came to Christ's College to behold it when partly built; and looking out of a window, saw the Dean call a faulty scholar to correction, to whom she said, '_Lente! Lente!_' (Gently! gently!) as accounting it better to mitigate his punishment than to procure his pardon: mercy and justice making the best medley to offenders."[72] "The Foundress's sitting-room has a very interesting stone chimney-piece adorned with fourteen badges (originally sixteen), including a rose (repeated twice), a portcullis--the Beaufort badge (repeated once), three ostrich feathers (a badge assumed by Edward III. in right of his wife), a crown, a fleur-de-lis (repeated once), the letters H.R., doubtless Henricus Rex (repeated once), and lastly (twice repeated though the form differs) the special badge of the Lady Margaret--groups of Marguerites, in one case represented as growing in a basket. This very beautiful work was brought to light in 1887; it had been covered up by the insertion of a modern fireplace, whereby two of the badges were destroyed. The whole had been coloured: there were traces of a deep blue pigment on the stone between the badges, and on the jambs was scroll-work in black and yellow. The remaining space between the drawing-room and the chapel contained at its eastern end a private oratory with its window opening into the chapel, closed up in 1702, but reopened in 1899; it was connected with the drawing-room by a door, which was revealed when the walls of the oratory were stripped. At the western end was a small room looking into the court, probably the bedroom of the Foundress, connected by a door, now visible, with the oratory; this room was swept away when the present staircase was introduced, probably in the seventeenth century; further access had become necessary, because at that time several of the masters let the best rooms of the Lodge, and lived themselves in what was called the Little Lodge, a building of considerable size to the north of the Chapel, intended originally for offices to the Lodge."[73] [Illustration: Jack in Wolsey's Kitchen Christ's College] The hall, between the Lodge and the buttery, has no exceptional features. Early in the eighteenth century it was entirely Italianised, as also were many of the other buildings. It was entirely rebuilt by Sir Gilbert Scott in 1876, the old roof, with its ancient chestnut principals, being reconstructed and replaced. The walls were raised six feet and an oriel window was built on the east side in addition to the original one on the west. In 1882 and following years portraits of the Founders, of benefactors, and of worthies of the College were placed in the twenty-one lights of the west oriel. The persons chosen as "glass-worthy" were William Bingham, Henry VI., John Fisher, Lady Margaret, Edward VI., Sir John Finch, Sir Thomas Baines, John Leland, Edmund Grindall, Sir Walter Mildmay, John Still, William Perkins, William Lee, Sir John Harrington (this because of a mistaken claim on the part of Christ's, for Harrington was a King's man, and possibly also of Trinity at a later date), Francis Quarles, John Milton, John Cleveland, Henry More, Ralph Cudworth, William Paley, Charles Darwin. The glass-work was executed by Burlison & Grylls. At an early period "a very considerable part of y^{e} schollars of Christ College lodged in y^{e} Brazen George; and y^{e} gates there were shut and opened Morning and Evening constantly as y^{e} College gates were." The Brazen George Inn stood on the other side of S. Andrew's Street, opposite to the south-east corner of the College. Alexandra Street no doubt represents the Inn yard. In 1613 the accommodation in the College was further increased by the erection of a range of buildings in the Second Court. This was a timber building of two stories with attics. In 1665 it is described as "the little old building called Rat's Hall." It was pulled down in 1730; the large range of buildings known as the Fellows' buildings, parallel to Rat's Hall and further east, having been erected, according to tradition, by Inigo Jones about 1640. A large range of building, similar in style to the Fellows' building, was erected in 1889, and in 1895-97 Messrs. Bodley & Garner enlarged the old library, and altered and refaced the street front, extending the building to Christ's Lane, and thus added much to the dignity of the College buildings, as seen from S. Andrew's Street. The "re-beautifying the chappell," as the then Master, Dr. Covel, called it, took place in 1702-3, when it was panelled by John Austin, who did similar work about the same time in King's College chapel. The chapel has no remarkable or beautiful features. It is unnecessary to contradict the verdict of the present Master: "It must have been much more beautiful during the first fifty years of the College than at any later time." [Illustration: The Courtyard of the Wrestlers Inn. _To face p._ 220] In the list of twenty-one names which we give above as being "glass-worthy," we have also, no doubt, the list of the most eminent members of Christ's College. Of these the two greatest are undoubtedly John Milton and Charles Darwin. Milton was admitted a pensioner of Christ's College on 12th February 1624-25, and was matriculated on 9th April following. He resided at Cambridge in all some seven years, from February 1625 to July 1632. His rooms were on the left side of the great court as it is entered from the street, the first floor rooms on the first staircase on that side. They consist at present of a small study with two windows looking into the court, and a very small bedroom adjoining, and they have not probably been altered since his time. In the gardens behind the Fellows' buildings, perhaps the most delightful of all the college gardens in Cambridge, is the celebrated mulberry tree, which an unvarying tradition asserts to have been planted by Milton. "Unvarying," I have ventured to write, for I dare not repeat the heresy of which Mr. J. W. Clark was guilty when he suggested that Milton's mulberry tree was in reality one of three hundred which the College bought to please James I., and which was "set" by Troilus Atkinson, the College factotum, in the very year that Milton was born. Concerning such heresy I can only repeat the rebuke of the present Master: "The suggestion that the object of wider interest than anything else in Christ's--'Milton's mulberry tree'--is probably the last of that purchase, is the one crime among a thousand virtues of the present Registrary of the University." Milton took his B.A. degree 26th March 1629, the year in which he wrote that noble "Ode on the Nativity," in which the characteristic majesty of his style is already well marked. Three years earlier at least he had already written poems--the epitaph "On the Death of an Infant":-- "O fairest flow'r no sooner blown than blasted, Soft, silken primrose fading timelessly, Summer's chief honour" ... hardly less beautiful than the slightly later dirge "On the Marchioness of Winchester":-- "Here besides the sorrowing That thy noble house doth bring, Here be tears of perfect moan Wept for thee in Helicon," which in their exquisite grace and tenderness of wording scarcely fall below the mastery of the mightier measure and deeper thought of "Lycidas," written in 1637. Of his Latin poems, written also during his undergraduate years, Dr. Peile has said--and on such a point there could be no higher authority:--"Even then he thought in Latin: his exercises are original poems, not mere clever imitations. There is remarkable power in them--power which could only be gained by one who had filled himself with the spirit of classical literature." After this testimony we can assuredly afford to smile at those rumours of some disgrace in his university career spread about in later years by his detractors. That he had met perhaps, according to Aubrey's account, with "some unkindnesse" from his tutor Chapell, even though that phrase by an amended reading is interpreted "whipt him," need not distress us. It is a doubtful piece of gossip, and even if it were true--for flogging of students was by no means obsolete--it was a story to the tutor's disgrace, not to Milton's; and certainly the poet himself bore no grudge against the College authorities, as these magnanimous words plainly testify:-- "I acknowledge publicly with all grateful mind, that more than ordinary respect which I found, above any of my equals, at the hands of those courteous and learned men, the Fellows of that College, wherein I spent some years; who, at my parting, after I had taken two degrees, as the manner is, signified many ways how much better it would content them that I would stay; as by many letters full of kindness and loving respect, both before that time and long after, I was assured of their singular good affection towards me."[74] Between the matriculation of John Milton at Christ's and that of Charles Darwin at the same college is a period exactly of two centuries. The Christ's Roll of Honour for that period contains many worthy names, but none certainly which shed a brighter lustre on the College history than that of Henry More, a leader in that remarkable school of thinkers in the seventeenth century--Benjamin Whichcote, Ralph Cudworth, John Smith, John Worthington, Samuel Cradock--known as "the Cambridge Platonists," for whom Burnet claims the high credit of "having saved the Church from losing the esteem of the kingdom," and whose distinctive teaching is perhaps best brought out in More's writings. Henry More had been admitted to Christ's College about the time when John Milton was leaving it. He was elected a Fellow of the College in 1639, and thenceforth lived almost entirely within its walls. Like many others, he began as a poet and ended as a prose writer. He had, in fact, the Platonic temperament in far greater measure probably than any other of the Cambridge school. How the soul should escape from its animal prison--when it should get the wings that of right should belong to it--into what regions those wings could carry it--were the questions which occupied him from youth upwards. "I would sing," he had said in one of his Platonical poems, "The pre-existency Of human souls, and live once more again, By recollection and quick memory, All what is past since first we all began." But the neo-platonic extravagances which lay hidden in his writings from the first grew at last into a new species of fanaticism, which makes his later books quite unreadable. And yet he remains perhaps the most typical, certainly the most interesting, of all the Cambridge Platonists, and at least he held true to the two great springs of the movement--an unshrinking appeal to Reason, coupled with profound faith in the essential harmony of natural and spiritual Truth--doctrines which are of the very pith of the seventeenth century Cambridge evangel, and which one is glad to think remain of the very essence of the Cambridge theology of to-day. That Henry More and the Cambridge Platonists failed in much that they attempted cannot be denied. They failed partly because of their own weakness, but partly also because the time was not yet ripe for an adequate spiritual philosophy. Such a philosophy of religion can indeed only rise gradually on a comprehensive basis of historic criticism, and of a criticism which has realised not only that religious thought can no more transcend history than science can transcend nature, but has also learnt the lesson--which no man has more clearly taught to the students of history and of science alike, in the century which has just closed, than that latest and greatest of the sons of Christ's College, Charles Darwin--that knowledge is to be found not only in sudden illumination, but in the slow processes of evolution, and progress not in pet theories of this or that ancient or modern thinker, but only in patient study and faithful generalisation. Let us turn now to the second and perhaps greater Lady Margaret Foundation of S. John's College. Three years after Henry VI.'s incompleted foundation of God's House had been enriched by a fair portion of the Lady Margaret's lands and opened as Christ's College, the Oxford friends of the Countess petitioned her for help in the endowment of a college in that University. For a time it seemed as if Christ's Church was to have the Lady Margaret and not Cardinal Wolsey as its founder. But Bishop Fisher again successfully pleaded the cause of his own University, and the royal licence to refound the corrupt monastic Hospital of S. John as a great and wealthy college was obtained in 1508. Of the Hospital of the Brethren of S. John the Evangelist, which was founded in the year 1135, we have already spoken in the chapter on Peterhouse. It owed its origin to an opulent Cambridge burgess, Henry Frost, and was placed under the direction of a small community of Augustinian Canons, an Order whose rule very closely resembled that of a monastery, their duties consisting mainly in the performance of religious services, and in caring for the poor and infirm. The patronage which the little community received would seem to show that, during its earlier history at least, the Brethren of S. John had faithfully discharged their duties. Several of the early Bishops of Ely took the Hospital under their direct patronage. Bishop Eustace, a prelate who played a foremost part in Stephen's reign, appropriated to it the livings of Homingsea and of S. Peter's Church in Cambridge, now known as Little S. Mary's. Bishop Hugh de Balsham, as we have seen in our account of his foundation of Peterhouse, endeavoured to utilise the Hospital for the accommodation of the many students who in his time were flocking to the University in quest of knowledge, and to that end endowed the Hospital with additional revenues. After the failure of that scheme and the successful foundation of Peterhouse, Bishop Simon Montagu came to the help of the little house, and decreed, that in compensation for the loss of S. Peter's Church, the Master and Fellows of Peterhouse should pay to the Brethren of S. John a sum of twenty shillings annually, a payment which has regularly been made down to the present day. The Hospital continued to grow in wealth and importance down to the time of its "decay and fall" in Henry VII.'s reign. The last twelve years of the fifteenth century, under the misrule of its then Master, William Tomlyn, saw its estates mortgaged or let on long leases, its discipline lax and scandalous, its furniture, and even sacred vessels, sold. At the beginning of the sixteenth century it had fallen into poverty and decay, and the number of its brethren had dwindled to two. Its condition is described in words identical with those applied to the Priory of S. Rhadegund.[75] The words, as given in the charter of S. John's College, are these:-- "The House or Priory of the Brethren of S. John the Evangelist, its lands, tenements, rents, possessions, buildings, as well as its effects, furniture, jewels and other ornaments in the Church, conferred upon the said house or priory in former times, have now been so grievously dilapidated, destroyed, wasted, alienated, diminished and made away with, by the carelessness, prodigality, improvidence and dissolute conduct of the Prior, Master and brethren of the aforesaid House or Priory; and the brethren themselves have been reduced to such want and poverty that they are unable to perform Divine Service, or their accustomed duties whether of religion, mercy or hospitality, according to the original ordinance of their founders, or even to maintain themselves by reason of their poverty and want of means of support; inasmuch as for a long while two brethren only have been maintained in the aforesaid House, and these are in the habit of straying abroad in all directions beyond the precincts of the said religious House, to the grave displeasure of Almighty God, the discredit of their order, and the scandal of their Church." The legal formalities necessary for the suppression of the Hospital were so tedious, that it was not "utterly extinguished," as Baker, the historian of S. John's, called its dissolution, until January 1510, when it fell, "a lasting monument to all future ages and to all charitable and religious foundations not to neglect the rules or abuse the institutions of their founders, lest they fall under the same fate." Meanwhile, before these difficulties could be entirely overcome, King Henry VII. died, and within little more than two months after, the Lady Margaret herself was laid to rest by the side of her royal son in Westminster Abbey. Erasmus composed her epitaph. Skelton sang her elegy. Torregiano, the Florentine sculptor, immortalised her features in that monumental effigy which Dean Stanley has characterised as "the most beautiful and venerable figure that the abbey contains." Bishop Fisher, who two months before had preached the funeral sermon for her son Henry VII., preached again, and with a far deeper earnestness, on the loss which, to him at least, could never be replaced. [Illustration: Entrance S. John's College] "Every one that knew her," he said, "loved her, and everything that she said or did became her ... of marvellous gentleness she was unto all folks, but especially unto her own, whom she trusted and loved right tenderly.... All England for her death hath cause of weeping. The poor creatures who were wont to receive her alms, to whom she was always piteous and merciful; the students of both the universities, to whom she was as a mother; all the learned men of England, to whom she was a very patroness; all the virtuous and devout persons, to whom she was as a loving sister; all the good religious men and women whom she so often was wont to visit and comfort; all good priests and clerks, to whom she was a true defendress; all the noblemen and women, to whom she was a mirror and example of honour; all the common people of this realm, to whom she was in their causes a woman mediatrix and took right great displeasure for them; and generally the whole realm, hath cause to complain and to mourn her death." The executors of the Lady Margaret were Richard Fox, Bishop of Winchester; John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester; Charles Somerset; Lord Herbert, afterwards Earl of Worcester; Sir Thomas Lovell, Knight; Sir Henry Marney, Knight, afterwards Lord Marney; Sir John St. John, Knight; Henry Hornby, clerk; and Hugh Ashton, clerk. Unforeseen difficulties, however, soon arose. The young king looked coldly on a project which involved a substantial diminution of the inheritance which he had anticipated from his grandmother, while the young Bishop of Ely--"the Dunce Bishop of Ely"--James Stanley,[76] although stepson to the Countess, and solely indebted to her for promotion to his see, a dignity which he little merited, did his best after her death to avert the dissolution of the Hospital. As a result of this opposition of the Court party, to which no less a person than Cardinal Wolsey, out of jealousy it would seem for his own university, lent his powerful support, Lady Margaret's executors found themselves compelled to forego their claims, and the munificent bequest intended by the foundress was lost to the College for ever. As some compensation for the loss sustained the untiring exertions of Bishop Fisher succeeded in obtaining for the College the revenues of another God's House, a decayed society at Ospringe, in Kent, and certain other small estates, producing altogether an income of £80. "This," says Baker, "with the lands of the old house, together with the foundress's estate at Fordham, which was charged with debts by her will, and came so charged to the College, with some other little things purchased with her moneys at Steukley, Bradley, Isleham, and Foxton (the two last alienated or lost), was the original foundation upon which the College was first opened; and whoever dreams of vast revenues or larger endowments will be mightily mistaken." [Illustration: Gateway S. John's College] Such were the conditions under which the new society of the College of S. John the Evangelist was at last formed in 1511, and Robert Shorten appointed Master with thirty-one Fellows. During Shorton's brief tenure of the Mastership (1511-16) it devolved upon him to watch the progress of the new building, which now rose on the site of the Hospital, and included a certain portion of the ancient structure. "Some three centuries and a half later, in 1869, when the old chapel gave place to the present splendid erection, the process of demolition laid bare to view some interesting features in the ancient pre-collegiate buildings. Members of the College, prior to the year 1863, can still remember 'The Labyrinth'--the name given to a series of students' rooms approached by a tortuous passage which wound its way from the first court, north of the gateway opening upon Saint John's Street. These rooms were now ascertained to have been formed out of the ancient infirmary--a fine single room, some 78 feet in length and 22 in breadth, which during the mastership of William Whitaker (1586-95) had been converted into three floors of students' chambers. Removal of the plaster which covered the south wall of the original building further brought to light a series of Early English lancet windows, erected probably with the rest of the structure, sometime between the years 1180 and 1200. Between the first and second of these windows stood a very beautiful double piscina which Sir Gilbert Scott repaired and transferred to the New Chapel. The chapel of the Hospital had been altered to suit the needs of the College, and in Babington's opinion was very much 'changed for the worse.' The Early English windows gave place to smaller perpendicular windows, inserted in the original openings, while the pitch of the roof was considerably lowered. The contract is still extant made between Shorton and the glazier, covenanting for the insertion of 'good and noble Normandy glasse,' in certain specified portions of which were to appear 'roses and portcullis,' the arms of 'the excellent pryncesse Margaret, late Countesse of Rychemond and Derby,' while the colouring and designs were to be the same 'as be in the glasse wyndowes within the collegge called Christes Collegge in Cambrigge or better in euery poynte.'"[77] The buildings of S. John's College consist of four quadrangles disposed in succession from east to west, and extending to a length of some nearly 300 yards. The westernmost court is across the river, approached by the well-known "Bridge of Sighs," built in 1831. The easternmost court, facing on the High Street, is the primitive quadrangle, and for nearly a century after the foundation comprised the whole college. The plan closely follows what we have now come to regard as the normal arrangement, and is almost identical with that of Queens'. [Illustration: S. John's College from the Backs] The Great Gateway, which is in the centre of the eastern range of buildings, is by far the most striking and beautiful gate in all Cambridge. It is of red brick with stone quoins. The sculpture in the space over the arch commemorates the founders, the Lady Margaret and her son King Henry VII. In the centre is a shield bearing the arms of England and France quarterly, supported by the Beaufort antelopes. Above it is a crown beneath a rose. To the right and left are the portcullis and rose of the Tudors, both crowned. The whole ground is sprinkled with daisies, the peculiar emblem of the foundress. They appear in the crown above the portcullis. They cluster beneath the string course. Mixed with other flowers they form a groundwork to the heraldic devices. Above all, in a niche, is the statue of S. John. The present figure was set up in 1662. The original figure was removed during the Civil War. There is evidence that at one time the arms were emblazoned in gold and colours, and that the horns of the antelopes were gilt. Over the gateway is the treasury. The first floor of the range of buildings to the south of the treasury contained at first the library. The position of this old library is the only feature in the arrangement of the buildings in which S. John's differs from Queens'. [Illustration: Oriel in Library, S. John's College] The second court, a spacious quadrangle, considerably larger than the first, was commenced in 1598, and finished in 1602, the greater part of the cost being defrayed by the Countess of Salisbury. In the west range there is a large gateway tower. The first floor of the north range contains the master's long gallery--a beautiful room with panelled walls and a rich plaster ceiling. In this fine chamber for successive centuries the head of the College was accustomed to entertain his guests, among whom royalty was on several occasions included. According to the historian Carter, down even to the middle of the last century it still remained the longest room in the University, and when the door of the library was thrown open, the entire vista presented what he describes as a "most charming view." It was originally 148 feet long, but owing to various rearrangements its dimensions have been reduced to 93 feet. It is now used as a Combination Room by the Fellows. The new library building, which forms the north side of the third court, was built in 1624. It is reached by a staircase built in the north-west corner of the second court. The windows of the library are pointed and filled with fairly good geometrical tracery, while the level of the floor and the top of the wall are marked by classical entablatures. The wall is finished by a good parapet, which originally had on each battlement three little pinnacles like those still remaining on the parapet of the oriel window in the west gable. This gable stands above the river, and forms with the adjoining buildings a most picturesque group. The name of Bishop Williams of Lincoln, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, who had contributed as "an unknown person" two-thirds of the entire cost of £3000, is commemorated by the letters I.L.C.S. (_i.e._ _Johannes Lincolniensis Custos Sigilli_), together with the date 1624, which appear conspicuously over the central gable. His arms, richly emblazoned, were suspended over the library door, and his portrait, painted by Gilbert Jackson, adorns the wall. The original library bookcases remain, though their forms have been considerably altered. The west range of the second court and the new library formed two sides of the third court. The remaining river range and the buildings on the south adjoining the back lane were added about fifty years later. They were probably designed by Nicholas Hawkes, then a pupil of Sir Christopher Wren. The central composition of the western range was designed as an approach to a footbridge leading to the College walks across the river. This footbridge gave way to the covered new bridge, commonly spoken of as the Bridge of Sighs from its superficial resemblance to the so-called structure at Venice, leading to the fourth court, which was completed in 1831 from the plans of Rickman and Hutchinson. The old bridge, leading from the back lane, was built in 1696. Beyond the new court are the extensive gardens, on the western side of which is "the wilderness," commemorated by Wordsworth, who was an undergraduate of John's from 1787 to 1791, in the well-known lines of his Prelude:-- "All winter long whenever free to choose, Did I by night Frequent the College grove And tributary walks; the last and oft The only one who had been lingering there Through hours of silence, till the porter's bell, A punctual follower on the stroke of nine, Rang with its blunt unceremonious voice Inexorable summons. Lofty elms, Inviting shades of opportune recess, Bestowed composure on a neighbourhood Unpeaceful in itself. A single tree With sinuous trunk, boughs exquisitely wreathed, Grew there; an ash, which Winter for himself Decked out with pride, and with outlandish grace; Up from the ground and almost to the top The trunk and every mother-branch were green With clustering ivy, and the lightsome twigs The outer spray profusely tipped with seeds That hung in yellow tassels, while the air Stirred them, not voiceless. Often have I stood Foot-bound, uplooking at this lovely tree Beneath a frosty moon. The hemisphere Of magic fiction verse of mine perchance May never tread; but scarcely Spenser's self Could have more tranquil visions in his youth, Or could more bright appearances create Of human forms with superhuman powers Than I beheld, loitering on calm clear nights Alone, beneath the fairy-work of Earth." [Illustration: Bridge of Sighs S. John's College] The new chapel of S. John's, designed by Sir Gilbert Scott in a style of pointed architecture, repeating, with some added degree of richness, the same architect's design of Exeter College chapel at Oxford, was begun in 1863 and finished in 1869. The scheme involved the destruction of the old chapel and the still earlier building to the north of it. The hall was enlarged by adding to it the space formerly occupied by the Master's lodge, a new lodge being built to the north of the third court, and the Master's gallery being converted into the Fellows' combination room. The stalls from the old chapel were refixed in the new building, and some new stalls were added. The beautiful Early English piscina, three arches and some monuments were also removed from the old chapel. * * * * * Considerations of space compel me to bring this chapter to a conclusion. I have spoken of the two Lady Margaret foundations as colleges of the New Learning. How far they have succeeded in fulfilling the aims of their founder only a careful study of their subsequent history can tell, and for that we have not space. But this, at least, we may say, that a college in which, generation after generation, there were enrolled men of such varying parts and powers as Sir Thomas Wyatt and William Grindall; as Sir John Cheke and Roger Ascham, the former the tutor of Edward VI., the latter of Queen Elizabeth, and both famous as among the most sagacious and original thinkers on the subject of education; as Robert Greene and Thomas Nash, the dramatists; as Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury, and Thomas Cartwright, "the most learned of that sect of dissenters called Puritans"; of John Dee, mathematician and astrologer, the editor of Euclid's "Elements," and William Lee, the inventor of the stocking-frame; of Roger Dodsworth, the antiquary, and Thomas Sutton, the founder of Charterhouse; as Thomas Baker, the historian of the College, and Richard Bentley, the great scholar and critic; as Henry Constable, and Robert Herrick and Mark Akenside and Robert Otway and Henry Kirke White and William Wordsworth--a galaxy of names which seems to prove that not Cambridge only, but S. John's College, is "the mother of poets"--as William Wilberforce and Thomas Clarkson, can hardly be said not to have contributed much to the history of English culture and English learning, to the extension of the older Classical studies, and to the advance of the newer Science, to that wider and freer outlook upon the world and upon life to which so much that is best in our modern civilisation may be traced, and all of which took its origin from that movement of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries which we know by the name of the Renaissance. Of the genuine attachment of Bishop Fisher, the true founder of S. John's, to the New Learning there can be no doubt. He showed it clearly enough by the sympathy which he evinced with the new spirit of Biblical Criticism, and by the friendship with Erasmus, which induced that great scholar to accept the Lady Margaret professorship at Cambridge. That the study of Greek was allowed to go on in the University without that active antagonism which it encountered at Oxford was mainly owing--it is the testimony of Erasmus himself--to the powerful protection which it received from Bishop Fisher. On the other hand, it cannot be denied that his attachment to the papal cause, and his hostility to Luther, whom he rightly enough regarded as a Reformer of a very different type to that of his friends Erasmus, Colet, and More, remained unshaken. [Illustration: Tower & Turrets of Trinity from S. John's College] On the occasion of the burning of Luther's writings in S. Paul's Churchyard in 1521, he had preached against the great reformer at Paul's Cross before Wolsey and Warham, a sermon which was subsequently handled with severity by William Tyndall. It is, in fact, not difficult to recognise in the various codes of statutes, which from time to time he gave to his college foundations, evidence of both the strength and weakness of his character. In 1516 he had given to S. John's statutes which were identical with those of Christ's College. But in 1524 he substituted for these another code, and in 1530 a third. In this final code, accordingly, among many provisions, characterised by much prudent forethought, and amid statutes which really point to something like a revolution in academic study, we see plainly enough signs of timorous distrust, not to say a pusillanimous anxiety against all innovations whatever in the future. But in one cause, at any rate, he bore a noble part, and for it he died a noble death. His opposition to the divorce of King Henry and Queen Catharine was not less honourable than it was consistent, and he stood alone among the Bishops of the realm in his refusal to recognise the validity of the measure. It was, in fact, his unflinching firmness in regard to the Act of Supremacy which finally sealed his fate. The story of his trial and death are matters that belong to English history. The pathos of it we can all feel as we read the pages in which Froude has told the story in his "History," and its moral, we may perhaps also feel, has not been unfitly pointed by Mr. Mullinger in his "History of the University." Here are Froude's words:-- "Mercy was not to be hoped for. It does not seem to have been sought. He was past eighty. The earth on the edge of the grave was already crumbling under his feet; and death had little to make it fearful. When the last morning dawned, he dressed himself carefully--as he said, for his marriage day. The distance to Tower Hill was short. He was able to walk; and he tottered out of the prison gates, holding in his hand a closed volume of the New Testament. The crowd flocked about him, and he was heard to pray that, as this book had been his best comfort and companion, so in that hour it might give him some special strength, and speak to him as from his Lord. Then opening it at a venture, he read: 'This is life eternal, to know Thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom Thou hast sent.' It was the answer to his prayer; and he continued to repeat the words as he was led forward. On the scaffold he chanted the _Te Deum_, and then, after a few prayers, knelt down, and meekly laid his head upon a pillow where neither care nor fear nor sickness would ever vex it more. Many a spectacle of sorrow had been witnessed on that tragic spot, but never one more sad than this; never one more painful to think or speak of. When a nation is in the throes of revolution, wild spirits are abroad in the storm: and poor human nature presses blindly forward with the burden which is laid upon it, tossing aside the obstacles in its path with a recklessness which, in calmer hours, it would fear to contemplate."[78] And here are Mr. Mullinger's:-- "When it was known at Cambridge that the Chancellor (Fisher) was under arrest, it seemed as though a dark cloud had gathered over the University; and at those colleges which had been his peculiar care the sorrow was deeper than could find vent in language. The men, who ever since their academic life began, had been conscious of his watchful oversight and protection, who as they had grown up to manhood had been honoured by his friendship, aided by his bounty, stimulated by his example to all that was commendable and of good report, could not see his approaching fate without bitter and deep emotion; and rarely in the correspondence of colleges is there to be found such an expression of pathetic grief as the letter in which the Society of S. John's addressed their beloved patron in his hour of trial. In the hall of that ancient foundation his portrait still looks down upon those who, generation after generation, enter to reap where he sowed. Delineated with all the severe fidelity of the art of that period, we may discern the asceticism of the ecclesiastic blending with the natural kindliness of the man, the wide sympathies with the stern convictions. Within those walls have since been wont to assemble not a few who have risen to eminence and renown. But the College of St. John the Evangelist can point to none in the long array to whom her debt of gratitude is greater, who have laboured more untiredly or more disinterestedly in the cause of learning, or who by a holy life and heroic death are more worthy to survive in the memories of her sons."[79] CHAPTER XI A SMALL AND A GREAT COLLEGE "Quæ ponti vicina vides, Audelius olim Coepit et adversi posuit fundamina muri: Et coeptum perfecit opus Staffordius heros Quem genuit maribus regio celeberrima damis. * * * * * Quattuor inde novis quæ turribus alta minantur Et nivea immenso diffundunt atria circo, Ordine postremus, sed non virtutibus, auxit Henricus tecta, et triplices cum jungeret sedes, Imposuit nomen facto." --GILES FLETCHER, 1633. Dissolution of the Monasteries--Schemes for Collegiate Spoliation checked by Henry VIII.--Monks' or Buckingham College--Refounded by Sir Thomas Audley as Magdalene College--Conversion of the Old Buildings--The Pepysian Library--Foundation of Trinity College--Michaelhouse and the King's Hall--King Edward's Gate--The Queen's Gate--The Great Gate--Dr. Thomas Neville--The Great Court--The Hall--Neville's Court--New Court--Dr. Bentley--"A House of all Kinds of Good Letters." The dissolution of the monasteries by Henry VIII. and the confiscation of their great estates naturally created a sense of foreboding in the universities that it would not be long before the College estates shared the same fate. There were not wanting, we may be sure, greedy courtiers prepared with schemes of collegiate spoliation. If we may trust, however, the testimony of Harrison in his "Description of England,"[80] the hopes of the despoiler were effectually checked by the King himself. "Ah, sirha," he is reported to have said to some who had ventured to make proposals for such despoilment, "I perceive the abbey lands have fleshed you, and set your teeth on edge to ask also those colleges. And whereas we had a regard only to pull down sin by defacing the monasteries, you have a desire also to overthrow all goodness by a dispersion of colleges. I tell you, sirs, that I judge no land in England better bestowed than that which is given to our universities; for by their maintenance our realm shall be well governed when we be dead and rotten." These are brave words, and we may hope that they were sincere. They may seem, perhaps, to receive some confirmation of sincerity from the fact that that munificent donor of other people's property did himself erect upon the ruins of more than one earlier foundation that great college, whose predominance in the University has from that time onwards been so marked a feature of Cambridge life. It is the opinion of Huber,[81] that the uncertainty and depression caused in the universities by these fears of confiscation did not subside until well on in the reign of Elizabeth. * * * * * In the year 1542, however, four years before the foundation of Trinity College by Henry VIII., the spoliation of the monasteries was turned to the advantage of the University in a somewhat remarkable manner. On the further side of the river Cam, "cut off," as Fuller describes it, "from the continent of Cambridge," there stood an ancient religious house known at this time as Buckingham College. "Formerly it was a place where many monks lived, on the charge of their respective convent, being very fit for solitary persons by the situation thereof. For it stood on the transcantine side, an anchoret in itself, severed by the river from the rest of the University. Here the monks some seven years since had once and again lodged and feasted Edward Stafford, the last Duke of Buckingham of that family. Great men best may, good men always will, be grateful guests to such as entertain them. Both qualifications met in this Duke and then no wonder if he largely requited his welcome. He changed the name of the house into Buckingham College, began to build, and purposed to endow the same, no doubt in some proportion to his own high and rich estate."[82] The foundation of this Monks' College had dated as far back as the year 1428, when the Benedictines of Croyland erected a building for the accommodation of those monks belonging to their house who wished to repair to Cambridge, "to study the Canon Law and the Holy Scriptures," and yet to reside under their own monastic rule. From time to time other Benedictines of the neighbourhood--Ely, Ramsey, Walden--added additional chambers to the hostel--Croyland Abbey, however, remaining the superior house. [Illustration: The Library, Chapel and Hall, Magdalene College] A hall was built in connection with the College in 1519 by Edward, Duke of Buckingham, son of the former benefactor, and it is probably to this date that we may refer the secular or semi-secular foundation of the College. Certainly at this period the secular element of the College must have been considerable, for we find Cranmer, on his resignation of his Fellowship at Jesus on account of his marriage, supporting himself by giving lectures at Buckingham College. Sir Robert Rede, the founder of the Rede Lectureship in the University, and Thomas Audley, the future Lord Chancellor, are also said to have received their education in this College. At any rate there can be little doubt that it was this semi-secular character of the College at this period which saved it from the operations of the successive acts for the dissolution of the monastic bodies. In the year 1542 Buckingham College was converted by Sir Thomas Audley into Magdalene College. "Thomas, Lord Audley of Walden," says Fuller, "Chancellor of England, by licence obtained from King Henry VIII., changed Buckingham into Magdalene (vulgarly Maudlin) College, because, as some[83] will have it, his surname is therein contained betwixt the initial and final letters thereof--_M'audley'n_. This may well be indulged to his fancy, whilst more solid considerations moved him to the work itself." What those "more solid considerations" may have been it is difficult, in relation to such a founder, to divine. He was a man who had gradually amassed considerable wealth by a singular combination of talent, audacity, and craft, one who, in the language of Lloyd in his "State Worthies," was "well seen in the flexures and windings of affairs at the depths whereof other heads not so steady turned giddy." He was Speaker of the House of Commons in that Parliament by whose aid Henry VIII. had finally separated himself and his kingdom from all allegiance to the See of Rome, and of whose further measures for ecclesiastical reform at home Bishop Fisher had exclaimed in the House of Lords: "My lords, you see daily what bills come hither from the Common House, and all is to the destruction of the Church. For God's sake, see what a realm the kingdom of Bohemia was, and when the Church went down, then fell the glory of the kingdom. Now with the Commons is nothing but 'Down with the Church!' and all this meseemeth is for lack of faith only." Sir Thomas Audley had been one of the first to profit by the plunder of the monasteries. "He had had," as Fuller terms it, "the first cut in the feast of abbey lands." He was also one of those who shared in its final distribution. As a reward for his services as Lord Chancellor--and what those services must have been as "the keeper of the conscience" of such a king as Henry VIII. we need not trouble to inquire--a few more of the suppressed monasteries were granted to him at the general dissolution, among which, at his own earnest suit, was the Abbey of Walden in Essex. Walden was one of the Benedictine houses that had been associated in the early days with Monks', now Buckingham College. Whether the newly-created Lord of Walden regarded himself as inheriting also the Monks' rights and responsibilities in connection with the Cambridge college or not, or whether, being an old man now and infirm and with no male heir, he thought to find some solace for his conscience in the thought of himself as the benefactor and founder of a permanent college, I cannot say. Certain, however, it is that the original statutes of Magdalene College, unlike those of Christ's and John's, exhibit no regard for the New Learning, and are indeed mainly noteworthy for the large powers and discretion which they assign to the Master, and the almost entire freedom of that official from any responsibility to the governing body of Fellows. It was evidently the founder's design to place the College practically under the control of the successive owners of Audley End. In 1564 the young Duke of Norfolk, who had married Lord Audley's daughter and sole heir, and who was, moreover, descended from the early benefactor of the College, the Duke of Buckingham, contributed liberally towards both the revenues of Magdalene and its buildings. On the occasion of Queen Elizabeth's visit to Cambridge, it is recorded that "the Duke of Norfolk accompanied Her Majesty out of the town, and, then returning, entered Magdalene College, and gave much money to the same; promising £40 by year till they had builded the quadrant of the College."[84] From this statement it is plain that the quadrangle of Magdalene was not complete so late as 1654. The chapel and old library which form the west side of this court, and also the frontage to the street, had been built in 1475. The roof of the present chapel, uncovered in 1847, shows that Buckingham College had a chapel on the same site. The doorway in the north-west corner of the court retained a carving of the three keys, the arms of the prior and convent of Ely, so late as 1777, and thus probably indicated the chambers which were added to Monks' College for the accommodation of the Ely Convent scholars. The similar rooms assigned to the scholar-monks of Walden and Ramsey appear to have been in the range of buildings forming the south side of the College, parallel with the river, originally built in 1465, but reconstructed in 1585. The new gateway in the street-front belongs also to this late date. The chapel was thoroughly "Italianised" in 1733, and again restored and enlarged in 1851. The extremely beautiful building now known as the Pepysian Library, beyond the old quadrangle to the east, which belongs to Restoration times, although its exact date and the name of its architect are not known, is the chief glory of Magdalene. It was probably approaching completion in 1703, when Samuel Pepys, the diarist, who had been a sizar of the College in 1650, and had lately contributed towards the cost of the building, bequeathed his library to the College, and directed that it should be housed in the new building. There, accordingly, it is now deposited, and the inscription, "BIBLIOTHECA PEPYSIANA, 1724," with his arms and motto, "_Mens cujusque is est quisque_," is carved in the pediment of the central window. The collection of books is a specially interesting one, invaluable to the historian or antiquary. Most of the books are in the bindings of the time, and are still in the mahogany-glazed bookcases in which they were placed by Pepys himself in 1666, and of which he speaks in his Diary under date August 24 of that year:-- [Illustration: Tower & Gateway to Trinity College. _To face p. 252_] "Up and dispatched several businesses at home in the morning, and then comes Simpson to set up my other new presses for my books; and so he and I fell to the furnishing of my new closett, and taking out the things out of my old; and I kept him with me all day, and he dined with me, and so all the afternoone, till it was quite darke hanging things--that is my maps and pictures and draughts--and setting up my books, and as much as we could do, to my most extraordinary satisfaction; so that I think it will be as noble a closett as any man hath, and light enough--though, indeed, it would be better to have had a little more light." Of the many Magdalene men of eminence, from the days of Sir Robert Rede and Archbishop Cranmer down to those of Charles Parnell and Charles Kingsley, there is no need to speak in any other words than those of Fuller: "Every year this house produced some eminent scholars, as living cheaper and privater, freer from town temptations by their remote situation." * * * * * No Cambridge foundation, probably no academic institution in Europe, furnishes so striking an example as does Trinity College of the change from the mediæval to the modern conception of education and of learning. If, indeed, we may take the words of the Preamble to his Charter of Foundation, dated the thirty-eighth year of his reign (1546) as a statement of his own personal aims, King Henry had conceived a very noble ideal of liberal education. After referring to his special reasons for thankfulness to Almighty God for peace at home and successful wars abroad--peace had just been declared with France after the brief campaign conducted by Henry himself, which had been signalised by the capture of Boulogne--and above all for the introduction of the pure truth of Christianity into his kingdom, he sets forth his intention of founding a college "to the glory and honour of Almighty God, and the Holy and undivided Trinity, for the amplification and establishment of the Christian and true religion, the extirpation of heresy and false opinion, the increase and continuance of divine learning and all kinds of good letters, the knowledge of the tongues, the education of the youth in piety, virtue, learning, and science, the relief of the poor and destitute, the prosperity of the Church of Christ, and the common good and happiness of his kingdom and subjects."[85] [Illustration: Gateway & Dial, Trinity College] The site upon which King Henry VIII. had decided to place his college is also mentioned in this preamble to the Charter of Foundation. It was to be "on the soil, ground, sites, and precincts of the late hall and college, commonly called the King's Hall, and of a certain late college of S. Michael, commonly called Michaelhouse, and also of a certain house and hostel called Fyswicke or Fysecke hostel and of another house and hostel, commonly called Hovinge Inn." In addition to the hostels here named there were, however, several others which occupied, or had occupied, the site previous to 1548--for one or two previous to this time had been absorbed by their neighbours--whose names have been preserved, and whose position has been put beyond doubt by recent researches. These other hostels were S. Catharine's, S. Margaret's, Crouched Hostel, Tyler or Tyler's, S. Gregory's, Garet or Saint Gerard's Hostel, and Oving's Inn. * * * * * We may indicate roughly, perhaps, the position of these various halls and hostels in relation to the present college buildings, if we imagine ourselves to have entered the great gate of Trinity from the High Street, from Trinity Street, and to be standing on the steps leading into the Great Court, and facing across towards the Master's lodge. Immediately in front of us, on what is now the vacant green sward between the gateway steps and the sun-dial, there stood in the fifteenth century King's Hall, or that block of it which a century earlier had been built to take the place of the thatched and timbered house which Edward III. had bought from Robert de Croyland, and had made into his "King's Hall of Scholars." The entrance to this house, however, was not on the side which would have been immediately facing the point where we stand on the steps. It was entered by a doorway on its south side, opening into a lane--King's Childers' Lane it was called--which, starting from the High Street, from a point slightly to the south of the Great Gate, crossed the Great Court directly east and west, and then bending slightly to the north, reached the river at Dame Nichol's Hythe, at a point just beyond the bend in the river by the end of the present library. Returning to our point of view we should find on our right, occupying the easternmost part of the existing chapel, the old chapel of King's Hall, built in 1465, and beyond it, westwards, other buildings,--the buttery, the kitchen, the hall,--forming four sides of a little cloistered court, partly occupying the site of the present ante-chapel, and partly on its northern side facing across the Cornhithe Lane to the gardens of the old Hospital of S. John. Turning to our left to the southern half of the great court, to that part which in the old days was south of King's Childers' Lane, south, that is, of the present fountain, we should find the site intersected by a lane running directly north and south, from a point at the south-west corner of the King's Hall about where the sun-dial now stands, to a point in Trinity Lane, or S. Michael's Lane as it was then called, where now stands the Queen's Gate. This was Le Foule Lane, and was practically a continuation of that Milne Street of which we have spoken in an earlier chapter as running parallel with the river past the front of Trinity Hall, Clare, and Queens' to the King's Mills. To the east of Foule Lane, occupying the site of the present range of buildings on the east and south-east of the great court, stood the Hostel of S. Catharine, with Fyswicke Hostel on its western side. Michaelhouse occupied practically the whole of the south-western quarter of the great court, with its gardens stretching down to the river. S. Catharine's, Fyswicke Hostel, and Michaelhouse all had entrances into S. Michael's or Flaxhithe, now Trinity Lane. Beyond and across Flaxhithe Lane was Oving's Inn, on the site of the present Bishop's Hostel, with Garett Hostel still further south, on land adjoining Trinity Hall. S. Gregory's and the Crouched Hostel stood north of Michaelhouse, side by side, on a space now occupied for the most part by the great dining-hall. The Tyled or Tyler's Hostel was on the High Street adjoining the north-east corner of S. Catharine's. S. Margaret's Hall, which had adjoined the house of William Fyswicke, had been at an early date absorbed in the Fyswicke Hostel. It is plain that these various halls and hostels would sufficiently supply all the early needs of King Henry's new college. There was the chapel of King's Hall, the halls of King's Hall, Michaelhouse and Fyswicke's Hostel, and the chambers in each of these and the smaller hostels. During the first three years or so, from 1546 to 1549, the existing buildings seem to have been occupied without alteration. In 1550 and 1551 parts of Michaelhouse and Fyswicke's Hostel were pulled down, and their gates walled up. The Foule Lane, which separated them, was closed, and the new Queen's gate built at the point where that lane had joined Michael's Lane. The south ranges of both Fyswicke's Hostel and Michaelhouse on each side of this gate were retained. The hall, butteries, and kitchen of Michael House on the west were also retained, and continued northwards to form a lodge for the Master, and this range was returned easterwards at right angles to join the King Edward's gateway at the south-west corner of King's Hall. A little later the hall, butteries, and chapel of King's Hall were removed to make way for the new chapel, which was begun in 1555 and completed about ten years later. An early map of Cambridge, made by order of Archbishop Parker in 1574, and preserved in one of the early copies of Caius' "History of the University" in the British Museum, shows the College in the state which we have thus described, the outline of the Great Court, that is to say, practically defined as it is to-day, but broken at two points, one by the projection from its western side joining the Master's lodge with the old gateway of King Edward, still standing in its ancient position, more or less on the site of the present sun-dial; the other by a set of chambers, built in 1490, projecting from the eastern range of buildings, and ending at a point somewhat east of the site of the present fountain. The transformation of the Great Court into the shape in which we now know it is due entirely to the energy and skill of Dr. Thomas Neville, at that time Dean of Peterborough, who was appointed Master of Trinity in 1573. "Dr. Thomas Neville," says Fuller, "the eighth master of this College, answering his anagram '_most heavenly_,' and practising his own allusive motto, '_ne vile velis_,' being by the rules of the philosopher himself to be accounted [Greek: megaloprepês], as of great performances, for the general good, expended £3000 of his own in altering and enlarging the old and adding a new court thereunto, being at this day the stateliest and most uniform college in Christendom, out of which may be carved three Dutch universities."[86] [Illustration: The Fountain Trinity College.] Neville's first work was the completion of the ranges of chambers on the east and south sides of the great court, including the Queen's gateway tower. On the completion of these in 1599 the projecting range of buildings on the east side were pulled down. In 1601 he pulled down the corresponding projection on the western side, removing the venerable pile known as King Edward the Third's Gate. This was rebuilt at the west end of the chapel as we now see it. The Master's lodge was prolonged northwards, and a library with chambers below it was built eastwards to meet the old gate. The great quadrangle was thus complete, the largest in either university,[87] having an area of over 90,000 square feet. To Dr. Neville also in the Great Court is owing the additional storey to the Great Gate, with the statue of Henry VIII. in a niche on its eastern front, and the statue of King James, his Queen, and Prince Charles on its western side, the beautiful fountain erected in 1602, and the hall in 1604. The building of this hall, which with certain variations is copied from the hall of the Middle Temple, is thus described in the "Memoriale" of the College. "When he had completed the great quadrangle and brought it to a tasteful and decorous aspect, for fear that the deformity of the Hall, which through extreme old age had become almost ruinous, should cast, as it were, a shadow over its splendour, he advanced £3000 for seven years out of his own purse, in order that a great hall might be erected answerable to the beauty of the new buildings. Lastly, as in the erection of these buildings he had been promoter rather than author, and had brought these results to pass more by labour and assiduity than by expenditure of his own money, he erected at a vast cost, the whole of which was defrayed by himself, a building in the second court adorned with beautiful columns, and elaborated with the most exquisite workmanship, so that he might connect his own name for ever with the extension of the College." Unfortunately, much of the original beauty of Neville's Court was spoilt by the alterations of Mr. Essex in 1755, "a local architect whose life," as Mr. J. G. Clark has truly said, "was spent in destroying that which ought to have been preserved." The building of the library which forms the western side of Neville's Court was due mainly to the energy of Dr. Isaac Barrow, who was master from 1673 to 1677. The architect was Sir Christopher Wren, who himself thus describes his scheme:-- "I haue given the appearance of arches as the order required, fair and lofty; but I haue layd the floor of the Library upon the impostes, which answer to the pillars in the cloister and levells of the old floores, and haue filled the arches with relieus stone, of which I haue seen the effect abroad in good building, and I assure you where porches are low with flat ceelings is infinitely more gracefull than lowe arches would be, and is much more open and pleasant, nor need the mason feare the performance because the arch discharges the weight, and I shall direct him in a firme manner of executing the designe. By this contrivance the windowes of the Library rise high and give place for the deskes against the walls.... The disposition of the shelves both along the walls and breaking out from the walls must needes proue very convenient and gracefull, and the best way for the students will be to haue a little square table in each celle with 2 chaires." [Illustration: Neville's Court Trinity College] The table and the chairs, as well as the book-shelves, were designed by Wren, who was also at pains to give full-sized sections of all the mouldings, because "we are scrupulous in small matters, and you must pardon us. Architects are as great pedants as criticks or heralds." In 1669 Bishop's Hostel--so called after Bishop Hacket of Lichfield, who gave £1200 towards the cost--took the place of the two minor halls, Oving's Inn and Garett Hostel. No further addition to the College buildings was made until the nineteenth century, when the new court was built from the designs of Wilkins in the mastership of Dr. Christopher Wordsworth, and at a later time the two courts opposite the Great Gate across Trinity Street, by the benefaction of a sum approaching £100,000, by Dr. Whewell. To Dr. Whewell also belongs the merit of the restoration of the front of the Master's lodge, by the removal of the classical façade which had been so foolishly and tastelessly imposed upon the old work built by Dr. Bentley during his memorable tenure of the mastership from 1700 to 1742. The mention of the name of that most masterful of Yorkshiremen and most brilliant of Cambridge scholars and critics inevitably suggests the picture of that long feud between the Fellows of Trinity and their Master which lasted for nearly half a century, for a year at any rate longer than the Peloponnesian war, and was almost as full of exciting incidents. Those who care to read the miserable and yet amusing story can do so for themselves in the pages of Bishop Monk's "Life of Richard Bentley." It is more to the purpose here, I think, to recall the kindly and judicious verdict of the great scholar's life at Trinity by the greatest Cambridge scholar of to-day. "It must never be forgotten," writes Sir Richard Jebb, "that Bentley's mastership of Trinity is memorable for other things than its troubles. He was the first Master who established a proper competition for the great prizes of that illustrious college. The scholarships and fellowships had previously been given by a purely oral examination. Bentley introduced written papers; he also made the award of scholarships to be annual instead of biennial, and admitted students of the first year to compete for them. He made Trinity College the earliest home for a Newtonian school, by providing in it an observatory, under the direction of Newton's disciple and friend--destined to an early death--Roger Cotes. He fitted up a chemical laboratory in Trinity for Vigani of Verona, the professor of chemistry. He brought to Trinity the eminent orientalist, Sike of Bremen, afterwards professor of Hebrew. True to the spirit of the royal founder, Bentley wished Trinity College to be indeed a house 'of all kinds of good letters,' and at a time when England's academic ideals were far from high he did much to render it not only a great college, but also a miniature university."[88] And "a house of all kinds of good letters" Trinity has remained, and will surely always remain. As we walk lingeringly through its halls and courts what thronging historic memories crowd upon us! We may not forget the failures as well as the successes; the defeats as well as the triumphs; "the lost causes and impossible loyalties" as well as the persistent faith and the grand achievement; but what an inspiration we feel must such a place be to the young souls who, year by year, enter its gates. How can the flame of ideal sympathy with the great personalities of their country's history fail to be kindled or kept alive in such a place? Here by the Great Gate, on the first floor to the north, are the rooms where Isaac Newton lived. It was to these rooms that in 1666 he brought back the glass prism which he had bought in the Stourbridge Fair, and commenced the studies which eventually made it possible for Pope to write the epitaph:-- "Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night, God said 'Let Newton be!' and all was light." It was in these rooms that he had entertained his friends, John Locke, Richard Bentley, Isaac Barrow, Edmund Halley, Gilbert Burnett, who afterwards wrote of him, "the whitest soul I ever knew." It was here that he wrote his "Principia." It is in the ante-chapel close by that there stands that beautiful statue of him by Roubiliac, which Chantrey called "the noblest of our English statues," and of which Wordsworth has recorded how he used to lie awake at night to think of that "silent face" shining in the moonlight:-- "The marble index of a mind for ever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone." And in the chapel beyond, with its double range of "windows richly dight" with the figures of saints and worthies and benefactors of the College--Sir Francis Bacon, Sir Edward Coke, Sir Harry Spelman, Lord Craven, Roger Cotes, Archbishop Whitgift, Bishop Pearson, Bishop Barrow, Bishop Hacket, the poets Donne, George Herbert, Andrew Marvell, Cowley and Dryden--is it possible for the youthful worshipper not sometimes to be aroused and uplifted above the thoughts of sordid vulgarity, of moral isolation, of mean ambition, to "see visions and dream dreams," visions of coming greatness for city, or country, or empire, visions of great principles struggling in mean days of competitive scrambling, dreams of opportunity of some future service for the common good, which shall not be unworthy of his present heritage in these saints and heroes of the past, who may-- "Live again In minds made better by their presence; live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn For miserable aims that end with self, In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge man's search To vaster issues." CHAPTER XII ANCIENT AND PROTESTANT FOUNDATIONS "Nec modo seminarium augustum et conclusum nimis, verum in se amplissimum campum collegium esse cupimus: ubi juvenes, apum more, de omnigenis flosculis pro libita libent, modo mel legant, quo et eorum procudantur linguæ et pectora, tanquam crura, thymo compleantur: ita ut tandem ex collegio quasi ex alveari evolantes, novas in quibus se exonerent ecclesiæ sedes appetant."--_Statutes of Sidney College._ Queen Elizabeth and the Founder of Emmanuel--The Puritan Age--Sir Walter Mildmay--The Building of Emmanuel--The Tenure of Fellowships--Puritan Worthies--The Founder of Harvard--Lady Frances Sidney--The Sidney College Charter--The Buildings--The Chapel the old Franciscan Refectory--Royalists and Puritans--Oliver Cromwell--Thomas Fuller--A Child's Prayer for his Mother. "I hear, Sir Walter," said Queen Elizabeth to the founder of Emmanuel College, "you have been erecting a Puritan foundation." "No, madam," he replied, "far be it from me to countenance anything contrary to your established laws; but I have set an acorn, which, when it becomes an oak, God alone knows what will be the fruit therefrom." And Sir Walter Mildmay expressed no doubt truthfully what was his own intention as a founder, for although it is customary to speak of both Emmanuel and Sidney Colleges as Puritan foundations, and although it admits of no question that the prevailing tone of Emmanuel College was from the first intensely Puritan in tone, yet it cannot certainly be said that either Emmanuel College or the college established by the Lady Frances Sidney two years later, were specially designed by their founders to strengthen the Puritan movement in the University. They synchronised with it no doubt, and many of their earliest members gave ample proof of their sympathy with it. But as foundations they sprang rather from the impulse traceable on the one hand to the literary spirit of the Renaissance, and on the other to the desire of promoting that union of rational religion with sound knowledge, which the friends of the New Learning, the disciples of Colet, Erasmus, and More had at heart. The two colleges were born, in fact, at the meeting-point of two great epochs of history. The age of the Renaissance was passing into the age of Puritanism. Rifts which were still little were widening every hour, and threatening ruin to the fabric of Church and State which the Tudors had built up. A new political world was rising into being; a world healthier, more really national, but less picturesque, less wrapt in the mystery and splendour that poets love. Great as were the faults of Puritanism, it may fairly claim to be the first political system which recognised the grandeur of the people as a whole. [Illustration: Hall & Chapel, Emmanuel College.] As great a change was passing over the spiritual sympathies of man; a sterner Protestantism was invigorating and ennobling life by its morality, by its seriousness, and by its intense conviction of God. But it was at the same time hardening and narrowing it. The Bible was superseding Plutarch. The obstinate questionings which haunted the finer souls of the Renaissance were being stereotyped in the theological formulas of the Puritan. The sense of divine omnipotence was annihilating man. The daring which turned England into a people of adventurers, the sense of inexhaustible resources, the buoyant freshness of youth, the intoxicating sense of beauty and joy, which inspired Sidney and Marlowe and Drake, was passing away before the consciousness of evil and the craving to order man's life aright before God. Emmanuel and Sidney Colleges were the children of this transition period. Sir Walter Mildmay, the founder of Emmanuel, was Chancellor of the Exchequer in the reign of Elizabeth, known and trusted by the Queen from her girlhood--she exchanged regularly New Year's gifts with him--a tried friend and discreet diplomatist, who had especially been distinguished in the negotiations in connection with the imprisonment of Mary, Queen of Scots. He had been educated at Christ's College, though apparently he had taken no degree. He was a man, however, of some learning, and retained throughout life a love for classical literature. Sir John Harrington, in his "Orlando Furioso," quotes a Latin stanza, which he says he derived from the Latin poems of Sir Walter Mildmay. These poems, however, are not otherwise known. He is also spoken of as the writer of a book entitled "A Note to Know a Good Man." His interest in his old university and sympathy with letters is attested by the fact that he contributed a gift of stone to complete the tower of Great S. Mary's, and established a Greek lectureship and six scholarships at Christ's College. He had acquired considerable wealth in his service of the State, having also inherited a large fortune from his father, who had been one of Henry VIII.'s commissioners for receiving the surrender of the dissolved monasteries. It was fitting, perhaps, he felt, that some portion of this wealth should be devoted to the service of religion and sound learning. Anyhow, in the month of January 1584, we find the Queen granting to her old friend, "his heirs, executors, and assigns," a charter empowering them "to erect, found, and establish for all time to endure a certain college of sacred theology, the sciences, philosophy and good arts, of one master and thirty fellows and scholars, graduate or non-graduate, or more or fewer according to the ordinances and statutes of the same college." On the 23rd of the previous November, Sir Walter had purchased for £550 the land and buildings of the Dominican or Black Friars, which had been established at Cambridge in 1279 and dissolved in 1538. During the fifty years that had elapsed since the dissolution the property had passed through various hands. Upon passing into the hands of Sir Walter it is thus described:-- "All that the scite, circuit, ambulance and precinct of the late Priory of Fryers prechers, commonly called the black fryers within the Towne of Cambrigge ... and all mesuages, houses, buildinges, barnes, stables, dovehouses, orchards, gardens, pondes, stewes, waters, land and soyle within the said scite.... And all the walles of stone, brick or other thinge compassinge and enclosinge the said scite." The present buildings stand upon nearly the same sites as those occupied by the original buildings, which were adapted to the requirements of the new college by Ralph Symons, the architect, who had already been employed at Trinity and S. John's. The hall, parlour, and butteries were constructed out of the Church of the Friars. It is recorded that "in repairing the Combination Room about the year 1762, traces of the high altar were very apparent near the present fireplace." The Master's lodge was formed at the east end of the same range, either by the conversion of the east part of the church, or by the erection of a new building. A new chapel, running north and south--the non-orientation, it is said, being due to Puritan feeling--was built to the north of the Master's lodge. The other new buildings consisted of a kitchen on the north side of the hall and a long range of chambers enclosing the court on the south. Towards the east there were no buildings, the court on that side being enclosed by a low wall. The entrance to the College was in Emmanuel Lane, through a small outer court, having the old chapel as its southern range and the kitchen as the northern. From this the principal court was reached by passages at either end of the hall. The range known as the Brick Building was added in 1632, extending southwards from the east end of the Founder's Chambers. In 1668 the present chapel was built facing east and west, in the centre of the southern side of the principal court. By this time, it is said, the old chapel had become ruinous. Moreover, it had never been consecrated, and the Puritanical observances alleged to have been practised in it were giving some offence to the Restoration authorities. The following statement, drawn up in 1603,[89] is interesting, not only as giving a graphic picture of the disorders complained of at Emmanuel, but also incidentally of the customs of other colleges:-- "1. First for a prognostication of disorder, whereas all the chappells in y^{e} University are built with the chancell eastward, according to y^{e} uniform order of all Christendome. The chancell in y^{e} colledge standeth north, and their kitchen eastward. "2. All other colledges in Cambridge do strictly observe, according to y^{e} laws and ordinances of y^{e} Church of Englande, the form of publick prayer, prescribed in y^{e} Communion Booke. In Emmanuel Colledge they do follow a private course of publick prayer, after y^{r} own fashion, both Sondaies, Holydaies and workie daies. "3. In all other colledges, the M^{rs} and Scholers of all sorts do wear surplisses and hoods, if they be graduates, upon y^{e} Sondaies and Holydaies in y^{e} time of Divine Service. But they of Emmanuel Colledge have not worn that attier, either at y^{e} ordinary Divine Service, or celebration of y^{e} Lord's Supper, since it was first erected. "4. All other colledges do wear, according to y^{e} order of y^{e} University, and many directions given from the late Queen, gowns of a sett fashion, and square capps. But they of Eman. Colledge are therein altogether irregular, and hold themselves not to be tied to any such orders. "5. Every other Colledge according to the laws in that behalf provided, and to the custome of the King's Householde, do refrayne their suppers upone Frydaies and other Fasting and Ember daies. But they of Eman. Coll. have suppers every such nights throughout y^{e} year, publickly in the gr. Hall, yea upon good Fridaye itself. "6. All other Colledges do use one manner of forme in celebratinge the Holy Communion, according to the order of the Communion Booke, as particularlye the Communicants do receive kneelinge, with the particular application of these words, viz., _The Body of our Lord Jesus Christ, etc.; The Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, etc._; as the s^{d} Booke prescribeth. But in Eman. Coll. they receive that Holy Sacrament, sittinge upon forms about the Communion Table, and doe pulle the loafe one from the other, after the minister hath begon. And soe y^{e} cuppe one drinking as it were to another, like good Fellows without any particular application of y^{e} s^{d} wordes, more than once for all. "7. In other Colledges and Churches, generally none are admitted to attend att the Communion Table, in the celebration of the Holy Mystery, but Ministers and Deacons. But in Eman. Coll. the wine is filled and the table is attended by the Fellows' subsizers." There is one interesting feature in connection with the foundation of Emmanuel College which calls for special notice, as showing that the Puritan founder was fully conscious of the dangers attaching to a perpetual tenure of Fellowships, as affording undue facilities for evading those practical duties of learning and teaching, the efficient discharge of which he rightly considered it should be the main object of the University to demand, and the interest of the nation to secure. "We have founded the College," says Sir Walter, "with the design that it should be, by the grace of God, a seminary of learned men for the supply of the Church, and for the sending forth of as large a number as possible of those who shall instruct the people in the Christian faith. _We would not have any Fellow suppose that we have given him, in this College, a perpetual abode_, a warning which we deem the more necessary, in that we have ofttimes been present when many experienced and wise men have taken occasion to lament, and have supported their complaints by past and present utterances, that in other colleges a too protracted stay of Fellows has been no slight bane to the common weal and to the interests of the Church."[90] In the sequel, however, the wise forethought of Sir Walter Mildmay was to a great extent frustrated. The clause of the College statutes which embodied his design was set aside in the re-action towards conservative university tradition, which followed upon the re-establishment of the Stuart dynasty. A similar clause in the statutes of Sidney College, which had been simply transcribed from the original Emmanuel statutes, was about the same time rescinded, on the ground that it was a deviation from the customary practice of other societies, both at Oxford and Cambridge. It was not, in fact, until the close of the nineteenth century that university reformers were able to secure such a revision of the terms of Fellowship tenure as should obviate, on the one hand, the dangers which the wisdom of the Puritan founder foresaw, and, on the other, make adequate provision, under stringent and safe conditions, for the endowment of research. The old traditionary system is thus summarised by Mr. Mullinger:-- "The assumption of priests' orders was indeed made, in most instances, an indispensable condition for a permanent tenure of a Fellowship, but it too often only served as a pretext under which all obligation to studious research was ignored, while the Fellowship itself again too often enabled the holder to evade with equal success the responsibilities of parish work. Down to a comparatively recent date, it has accordingly been the accepted theory with respect to nearly all College Fellowships that they are designed to assist clergymen to prepare for active pastoral work, and not to aid the cause of learned or scientific research. Occasionally, it is true, the bestowal of a lay fellowship has fallen upon fruitful ground. The Plumian Professorship fostered the bright promise of a Cotes: the Lucasian sustained the splendid achievements of Newton. But for the most part those labours to which Cambridge can point with greatest pride and in whose fame she can rightly claim to share--the untiring scientific investigations which have established on a new and truer basis the classification of organic existence or the succession of extinct forms--or the long patience and profound calculations which have wrested from the abysmal depths of space the secrets of stupendous agencies and undreamed of laws--or the scholarship which has restored, with a skill and a success that have moved the envy of united Germany, some of the most elaborate creations of the Latin muse--have been the achievements of men who have yielded indeed to the traditional theory a formal assent but have treated it with a virtual disregard."[91] How essentially Puritan was the prevailing tone of Emmanuel during the early days we may surmise from the fact, that in the time of the Commonwealth no less than eleven masters of other colleges in the University came from this Foundation--Seaman of Peterhouse, Dillingham of Clare Hall, Whichcote of King's, Horton of Queens', Spurston of S. Catharine's, Worthington of Jesus, Tuckney of John's, Cudworth of Christ's, Sadler of Magdalene, Hill of Trinity. Among some of the earliest students to receive their education within its walls were many of the Puritan leaders of America. Cotton Mather, in his "Ecclesiastical History of New England," gives a conspicuous place in its pages to the names of Emmanuel men--Thomas Hooker, John Cotton, Thomas Shephard. "If New England," he says, "hath been in some respect Immanuel's Land, it is well; but this I am sure of, Immanuel College contributed more than a little to make it so." Few patriotic Americans of the present day, visiting England, omit to make pilgrimage to Emmanuel, for was not the founder of their University, Harvard College, an Emmanuel man, graduating from that college in 1631, and proceeding to his M.A. degree in 1635? John Harvard, "the ever memorable benefactor of learning and religion in America," as Edward Everett justly styles him--"a godly gentleman and lover of learning," as he is called by his contemporaries, "a scholar, and pious in life, and enlarged towards the country and the good of it in life and death," seems indeed to have been a worthy son of both Emmanuel and of Cambridge, a Puritan indeed, but of that fuller and manlier type which was characteristic of the Elizabethan age rather than of the narrower, more contentious, more pedantic order which set in with and was hardened and intensified by the arbitrary provocations of the Stuart regime. [Illustration: Downing College] The last in date of foundation of the Cambridge Colleges with which we have to deal--for Downing College, unique as it is in many ways, and attractive (its precincts, "a park in the heart of a city"), is not yet a century old, and its history although in some respects of national importance, lies beyond our limit of time--was the "Ancient and Protestant Foundation of Sidney Sussex College." The foundress of Sydney Sussex College was the Lady Frances Sidney, one of the learned ladies of the court of Elizabeth. She was the aunt both of Sir Philip Sidney and of the Earl of Leicester; the wife of Radcliffe, Earl of Sussex, known at least to all readers of "Kenilworth" as the rival of Leicester. To-day the noble families of Pembroke, Carnarvon, and Sidney all claim her as a common ancestress. A few years ago, in conjunction with the authorities of the college, they restored her tomb, which occupies the place of the altar in the chapel of S. Paul in Westminster Abbey. It was the Dean of Westminster, her friend Dr. Goodman, who gave to the college that portrait of the foundress which hangs above the high table in the college hall. It is a characteristic of the period which may be worth noting here--of the middle, that is, of the sixteenth century--when the destinies of Europe were woven by the hands of three extraordinary queens, who ruled the fortunes of England, France, and Scotland--that, as the fruits of the Renaissance and of the outgrowth of the New Learning, and perhaps also of the independent spirit of the coming Puritanism, learned women should in some degree be leading the van of English civilisation. How long the Lady Frances had had the intention of founding a college, and what was the prompting motive, we do not know. In her will, however, which is dated December 6, 1588, the intention is clearly stated. After giving instructions as to her burial and making certain bequests, she proceeds to state "that since the decease of her late lord"--he had died five years previously--"she had yearly gathered out of her revenues so much as she conveniently could, purposing to erect some goodly and godly monument for the maintenance of good learning." In performance of the same, her charitable pretence, she directs her executors to employ the sum of £5000 (made up from her ready-money yearly reserved, a certain portion of plate, and other things which she had purposely left) together with all her unbequeathed goods, for the erection of a new college in the University of Cambridge, to be called the "Lady Frances Sidney Sussex College, and for the purchasing some competent lands for the maintaining of a Master, ten Fellows, and twenty Scholars, if the said £5000 and unbequeathed goods would thereunto extend." On her death in the following year her executors, the Earl of Kent and Sir John Harrington, at once attempted to carry out her wishes. Of them and their endeavour, Fuller, himself a Sidney man, has thus, as always, quaintly written:-- "These two noble executors in the pursuance of the will of this testatrix, according to her desire and direction therein, presented Queen Elizabeth with a jewel, being like a star, of rubies and diamonds, with a ruby in the midst thereof, worth an hundred and forty pounds, having on the back side a hand delivering up a heart into a crown. At the delivery hereof they humbly requested of her Highness a mortmain to found a College, which she graciously granted unto them"--though the royal license did not actually come until five years later. "We usually observe infants born in the seventh month, though poor and pitiful creatures, are vital; and with great care and good attendance, in time prove proper persons. To such a _partus septimestris_ may Sidney College well be resembled, so low, lean, and little at the birth thereof. Alas! what is five thousand pounds to buy the site, build and endow a College therewith?... Yet such was the worthy care of her honourable executors, that this Benjamin College--the least and last in time, and born _after_ (as he _at_) the death of his mother--thrived in a short time to a competent strength and stature."[92] Some delay ensued, for it was not until 1593 that, at the motion of the executors, an Act of Parliament was passed enabling Trinity College to sell or let at fee farm rent the site of the Grey Friars. The College charter is dated February 14, 1596. The building was commenced in the following May, and completed, with the exception of the chapel, in 1598. In the same year the original statutes were framed by the executors. They are largely copied from those of Emmanuel, and are equally verbose, cumbrous, and ill-arranged. One clause in them which speaks of the Master as one who "_Papismum, Hæreses, superstitiones, et errores omnes ex animo abhorret et detestatur_," testifies to the intentionally Protestant character of the College, a fact, however, which did not prevent James II., on a vacancy in the mastership, intruding on the society a Papist Master, Joshua Basset, of Caius, of whom the Fellows complained that he was "let loose upon them to do what he liked." They had, however, their revenge, for, although later he was spoken of as "such a mongrel Papist, who had so many nostrums in his religion that no part of the Roman Church could own him," in 1688 he was deposed. The architect of the College buildings was Ralph Simons, who had built Emmanuel and "thoroughly reformed a great part of Trinity College." It is interesting to note that more than half of the sum received from Lady Sidney's estate to found and endow the College was expended in the erection of the hall, the Master's lodge, and the hall court. These buildings formed the whole of the College when it was opened in 1598. How picturesque it must have been in those days, before the red brick of which it is built was covered with plaster, one can see by Loggan's print of the College, made about 1688. The buildings are simple enough, but quite well designed. The "rose-red" of the brick, at least, seems to have struck the poet, Giles Fletcher, when he wrote of Sidney in 1633 in his Latin poem on the Cambridge colleges:-- "Haec inter media aspicies mox surgere tecta Culminibus niveis roseisque nitentia muris; Nobilis haec doctis sacrabit femina musis, Conjugio felix, magno felicior ortu, Insita Sussexo proles Sidneia trunco." [Illustration: The Garden Front Sidney Sussex College] The arrangement of the hall, kitchen, buttery, and Master's lodge was much the same as at present. The hall had an open timber roof, with a fine oriel window at the dais end, but no music gallery. Fuller says that the College "continued without a chapel some years after the first founding thereof, until at last some good men's charity supplied this defect." In 1602, however, the old hall of the friars--Fuller calls it the dormitory, but there is little doubt that it was in reality the refectory--was fitted up as a chapel, and a second storey added to form a library. A few years later, about 1628, a range of buildings forming the south side of the chapel court was built. In 1747, the buildings having become ruinous, extensive repairs were carried out, and the hall was fitted up in the Italian manner. The picturesque gateway which had stood in the centre of the street wall of the hall court was removed, and a new one of more severe character was built in its place. This also at a later time was removed and re-erected as a garden entrance from Jesus Lane. Between 1777 and 1780 the old chapel was destroyed, and replaced by a new building designed by Essex, in a style in which, to say the least, there is certainly nothing to remind the modern student of the old hall of the Grey Friars' Monastery, where for three centuries of stirring national life the Franciscan monks had kept alive, let us hope, something of the mystic tenderness, the brotherly compassion, the fervour of missionary zeal, which they had learnt from their great founder, Saint Francis of Assisi. Of the old Fellows' garden, which in 1890 was partly sacrificed to provide a site for the new range of buildings and cloister--perhaps the most beautiful of modern collegiate buildings at either university--designed by Pearson, Dyer writes with enthusiasm:-- "Here is a good garden, an admirable bowling green, a beautiful summer house, at the back of which is a walk agreeably winding, with variety of trees and shrubs intertwining, and forming the whole length, a fine canopy overhead; with nothing but singing and fragrance and seclusion; a delightful summer retreat; the sweetest lovers' or poets' walk, perhaps in the University." To the extremely eclectic character of the College in its early days the Master's admission register testifies. Among its members were some of the stoutest Royalists and also some of the stoutest Republicans in the country. Among the former we find such names as those of Edward Montagu (afterwards first Baron Montagu of Boughton), brother of the first Master, a great benefactor of the College; of Sir Roger Lestrange, of Hunstanton Hall, in Norfolk, celebrated as the editor of the first English newspaper, "a man of good wit, and a fancy very luxuriant and of an enterprising nature," in early youth--his attempt to recover the port of Lynn for the King in 1644 is one of the funniest episodes in English history--a very Don Quixote of the Royalist party; and of Seth Ward, a Fellow of the college, who was ejected in Commonwealth times, but had not to live long, before he was able to write back to his old College that he had been elected to the See of Exeter, and that "the old bishops were exceeding disgruntled at it, to see a brisk young bishop, but forty years old, not come in at the right door, but leap over the pale." Among the Republican members of the College it is enough, perhaps, to name the name of Oliver Cromwell. And of him, at least, whatever our final verdict on his career may be, whatever dreams of personal ambition we may think mingled with his aim, we cannot surely deny, if at least we have ever read his letters, that his aim was, in the main, a high and unselfish one, and that in the career, which to our modern minds may seem so strange and complex, he had seen the leading of a divine hand that drew him from the sheepfolds to mould England into a people of God. And to some, surely, he seems the most human-hearted sovereign and most imperial man in all English annals since the days of Alfred. And no one, I trust, would in these days endorse the verdict of the words interpolated in the College books between the entry of his name and the next on the list:-- "_Hic fuit grandis ille impostor, carnifex perditissimus, qui, pientissimo rege Carolo primo nefaria cæde sublato, ipsum usurpavit thronum, et tria regna per quinque ferme annorum spatium sub protectoris nomine indomita tyrannide vexavit_," which may be Englished thus-- "This was that arch hypocrite, that most abandoned murderer, who having by shameful slaughter put out of the way the most pious King, Charles the First, grasped the very throne, and for the space of nearly five years under the title of Protector harassed three kingdoms with inflexible tyranny." Rather, as we stand in the College Hall and gaze up at the stern features, as depicted by Cooper,[93] in that best of all the Cromwell portraits, shall we not commemorate this greatest of Sidney men, in Lowell's words, as-- "One of the few who have a right to rank With the true makers: for his spirit wrought Order from chaos; proved that Right divine Dwelt only in the excellence of Truth: And far within old darkness' hostile lines Advanced and pitched the shining tents of Light. Nor shall the grateful Muse forget to tell That--not the least among his many claims To deathless honour--he was Milton's friend." Thomas Fuller, too, who was neither Republican nor Royalist, but loyal to the good men of both parties in the State, is a name of which Sidney College may well be proud. No one can read any of his books, full as they are of imagination, pathos, and an exuberant, often extravagant, but never ineffective wit, without heartily endorsing Coleridge's saying: "God bless thee, dear old man!" and recognising the truth of his panegyric, "Next to Shakespeare, I am not certain whether Thomas Fuller, beyond all other writers, does not excite in me the sense and emulation of the marvellous.... He was incomparably the most sensible, the least prejudiced great man in an age that boasted of a galaxy of great men." And with Fuller's name, indeed with Fuller's own words, in that benediction which, after eight years of residence, he gave to Sidney College, and which he himself calls his "Child's Prayer to His Mother," I may appropriately end this chapter. "Now though it be only the place of the parent, and proper to him (as the greater) to bless his child, yet it is of the duty of the child to pray for his parent, in which relation my best desires are due to this foundation, my mother (for the last eight years) in this University. May her lamp never lack light for oil, or oil for the light thereof. Zoar, is it not a little one? Yet who shall despise the day of small things? May the foot of sacrilege, if once offering to enter the gates thereof, stumble and rise no more. The Lord bless the labours of all the students therein, that they may tend and end at his glory, their own salvation, the profit and honour of the Church and Commonwealth." And not less appropriately, perhaps, may I end, not only this chapter, but this whole sketch of the story of Cambridge and its colleges--for to the memory of what more kindly, more sound-hearted, more pious soul could any Sidney man more fitly dedicate his book than to his--with the prayer in which, in closing his own History, he gracefully connects the name of Cambridge with that of the sister university, and commends them both to the charitable devotion of all good men. "O God! who in the creating of the lower world didst first make light (confusedly diffused, as yet, through the imperfect universe) and afterwards didst collect the same into two great lights, to illuminate all creatures therein; O Lord, who art a God of knowledge and dost lighten every man that cometh into the world; O Lord, who in our nation hast moved the hearts of Founders and Benefactors to erect and endow two famous luminaries of learning and religion, bless them with the assistance of Thy Holy Spirit. Let neither of them contest (as once Thy disciples on earth) which should be the greatest, but both contend which shall approve themselves the best in Thy presence.... And as Thou didst appoint those two great lights in the firmament to last till Thy servants shall have no need of the sun, nor of the moon to shine therein, for Thy glory doth lighten them; so grant these old lights may continue until all acquired and infused knowledge be swallowed up with the vision and the fruition of Thy blessed-making Majesty.--Amen." INDEX _Akeman Street_, old Roman road known as, 15 Alan de Walsingham, cathedral builder, 174 Alcock, Thomas, Bishop of Ely, founder of Jesus College, 185, 186; his plan of incorporating grammar-school with college, 187, 189 Alcwyne, departure of, from England, 52 Audley, Sir Thomas, conversion of Buckingham College into Magdalene by, 249; Fuller's account of, 249, 250; grant of suppressed monasteries made to, 251 Augustinian Friars, settlement of, on site of old Botanic Gardens, 72 Barnard Flower, King's glazier, 151 Barnwell, origin of name, 37; Augustinian priory of, 35, 36; foundation and further history of, 36, 37; rebuilding of, 38; present remains of, 38 _Barnwell Cartulary_, 18, 40 Barnwell Fair, 17, 18 Barrow, Dr. Isaac, Master of Trinity, his work in connection with, 260 Bateman, William, Bishop of Norwich, founder of Trinity Hall, 174 Bede, monastic school of, 51, 52; book on "The Nature of Things" by, 52 Benedictine Order, re-establishment of, under St. Dunstan, 53; discipline of, 75 Bentley, Dr. Richard, Master of Trinity, feud between Fellows and, 261-2; work of, in connection with college, 262 _Bibliotheca Pepysiana_, 252 Black Death, the, 103, 111, 134 Black Friars, arrival of, in England, 55; land and buildings belonging to, purchased for site of Emmanuel College, 268 Books, complaint by Roger Bacon of lack of, 57 _Brazen George Inn_, the scholars of Christ's lodged in, 220 British earthworks, 14 Buckingham College, description of, by Fuller, 248; foundation of, by Benedictine, 248; hall built in connection with, 248; lectures by Cranmer at, 249; semi-secular character of, 249; conversion of, into Magdalene College, 249 Burne-Jones, designs by, for Jesus Chapel, 203 Caius, John, founder of College, 114; design for famous three gates by, 114-19; death of, 119 _Camboritum_, 16, 17 Cambridge, verses on, by Lydgate, 2; legendary history of, 3-8; position of, 14; origin of name of, 15, 16; geographical position of, 17; early population of, 24; farm of, given as dower to the queen, 24; beginnings of municipal independence of, 27; "the borough," overflow of, incorporated with township of S. Benet, 28, 32; first charter of, 48 Cambridge Guilds, 120, 121, 122-26 Cambridge University, migration of masters and scholars from Paris to, 59, 60; royal writs concerning, 60; description of, in Middle Ages, 61, 62, 63; course of study pursued at, 63, ff.; learning at, in thirteenth century, 68-70; library, erected by Sir Gilbert Scott, 144 _Candle rent_, insurrection of towns-people on account of, 132, 133 Cantelupe, Nicholas, legendary history by, 4-7 Carmelites, settlement of, on present site of Queens', 72 Castle, old site of, 15; foundation of, by William the Conqueror, 22; use of, as prison, as a quarry, 23; gate-house of, demolished, 23 Castle Hill, ancient earthwork known as, 14, 15 Chaucer, tradition concerning, 106 Churches-- _Abbey_, the, 39 _All Saints by the Castle_, 34 _Holy Sepulchre_, one of the four round churches of England, 40, 43, 44 _S. Benedict_, 28, 29, 31, 125, 130-31 _S. Edward_, 176; independence of, with regard to pulpit teaching, 177, 178 _S. Giles_, 34, 35 _S. John Zachary_, 176 _S. Mary at Market_, afterwards _Great S. Mary_, 123 _S. Peter_, without the Trumpington Gate, afterwards called _Little S. Mary_, 86, 87 _S. Peter by the Castle_, 34 Close, Nicholas, architect of King's Chapel, 147, 148 Coleridge, S. T., scholar of Jesus, 208; poems written by, at College, 208 College, meaning of the term in olden times, 62 Colleges-- _Caius._ See _Gonville Hall_ _Christ's_, foundation of, 210, 215; _God's House_, taken as basis of, 215; Royal Charter of, 216; description of buildings of, 217, 218; hall of, rebuilt by Sir Gilbert Scott, 219; windows of, 219, 220; scholars of, lodged in the _Brazen George_, 220; _Rat's Hall_, erection of, 220; further buildings of, erected by Inigo Jones, 220; "re-beautifying the Chappell" of, 220, 221; John Milton and Charles Darwin members of, 221, 223; other distinguished members of, 223, 224 _Clare._ See _University Hall_ _Corpus Christi_, foundation of, 121, 127; building of, 126, 127; royal benefactors of, 128; distinguished men belonging to, 128, 129; library given by Matthew Parker to, 128; description of old buildings of, 129; new library of, 130; attack on, by townspeople, 132, 133 _Emmanuel_, foundation of, 265; design of Sir W. Mildmay in founding, 265; charter of, granted by Queen Elizabeth, 268; land and buildings of the Black Friars purchased for site of, 268; buildings of, erected, 269; offence given by the Puritanical observances of, 269; statement drawn up concerning the same, 270-71; tenure of fellowships at, 271-272; revision of terms concerning, 272; masters of other colleges elected from, 273; John Harvard, a graduate of, 274 _Gonville Hall_, first foundation of, 110; removal of, 111; statutes of, 111, 112; old buildings of, 112; bequest by John Household to, 112; strong support of reformed opinions at, 113; second foundation by John Caius, 114; architectural additions made by, 114; famous three gates designed by, 114-19 _Jesus_, foundation of, 180; number of society of at first, 187; grammar-school incorporated with, 187, 189; nunnery of S. Rhadegund converted into buildings of, 189, 190, 199, 200; "the chimney" at, 200; the chapel of, 201-203; constitution of, 203, 204; failure of plan for incorporating school with, 204; Cranmer and other famous men at, 204, 207, 208; King James's saying regarding, 209 _King's_, foundation of by Henry VI., 142; confiscation of alien priories for endowment of, 143; provision concerning the transference of Eton scholars to, 144; first site of, 144; description of old buildings of, 144; incorporation of, in new buildings of university library, 114; old gateway of, 145; ampler site obtained for, 146, 147; chapel of, 147-50; work in connection with stopped, 150; renewed, 151; windows of, 151, 152; screen and rood-loft, 153; further buildings of, 153, 154; Pope's bull granting independence of, 154; distinguished men belonging to, 157, 158; King James's saying regarding, 209 _King's Hall_, first establishment of, 97, 98; absorption of by Trinity, 97, 257; picture of collegiate life given in statutes of, 98, 99 _Magdalene_, Buckingham College converted into, 248; dissimilarity of original statutes of, with those of Christ's and S. John's, 251; Duke of Norfolk contributes to revenues of, 251; date of quadrangle of, 251; of chapel and library of, 251; chambers added to Monk's College for accommodation of scholars of, 252; new gateway of, 252; chapel of, "Italianised" and restored, 252; Pepysian Library of, 252; reference to same in Pepys' "Diary," 252; famous Magdalene men, 253 _Michaelhouse_, foundation of and early statutes, 97; absorption of, by Trinity, 97, 257 _Pembroke_, foundation of, 93; Countess of Pembroke, foundress of, 106, 107; charter of, 107; constitution of, 108; building of, 108, 109; remains of old buildings of, 110 _Peterhouse_, foundation of, 77; first code of statutes of, 79-81; hall of, 82-84; Fellows' parlour at, 85; Perne library at, 89, 90; building of present chapel of, 81; description of same, 92 _Queens'_, foundation of by Margaret of Anjou, 158-61; earliest extant statutes of, 161; change of name of from Queen's to Queens', 161; similarity of building of with that of Haddon Hall, 162; description of principal court of, 162, 165; Tower of Erasmus at, 165, 166; residence of Erasmus at, 165-71 _S. Catherine's Hall_, foundation of, 181; statutes of, 181; old buildings of, 181, 182; rebuilding of, 182; new chapel of, built on site of Hobson's stables, 182 _S. John's_, royal license to refound the Monastic Hospital of, 226; bequest of Lady Margaret lost to, through opposition of Court Party, 230; other revenues obtained for, by Bishop Fisher, 231; first Master of, 231; early and present buildings of, 231, 232; "Bridge of Sighs" at, 232; great gateway of, 235; old and new library of, 235, 236, 237; the Masters' gallery at, 236; lines on by Wordsworth, 237, 238; new chapel of, erected by Sir Gilbert Scott, 238, 241; famous men at, 241, 242 _Sidney_, foundation of, 265; desire of Lady Frances Sidney in the founding of, 266; Fuller's account of petition to Queen Elizabeth concerning, 275-76; granting of charter to, 276-77; original statutes of, 277; Papist master of, deposed, 278; buildings of, 278-79; poem by Giles Fletcher on, 278; old chapel of, destroyed, 279; old Fellows' garden at, 279; Royalist and Republican members of, 280; Oliver Cromwell and Thomas Fuller members of, 281; Fuller's "Child's Prayer to his Mother," and prayer at close of his history, 283 _Trinity Hall_, origin of, 174; buildings of, 175, 176; hall of, 176; chapel of, 176; beating the bounds by Fellows of, 178; old library of, 179; Garden and "Jowett's Plot" at, 180; King James's saying concerning, 209; example of change from mediæval to modern conception of learning furnished by, 253; King Henry's charter of foundation, 253; site of, 254 _Trinity College_, relation of old halls and hostels with present buildings of, 254-55; Dr. Thomas Neville's work in connection with, 258; building of new library at, 260; later additions to, 261; two minor halls at, replaced by Bishop's hostel, 261; feud between Master and Fellows of, 261; Dr. Bentley's work in connection with, 262; Isaac Newton at, 263; other famous men connected with, 263 _University Hall_, first foundation of, 93, 99; refoundation of, as Clare House, 99; statutes of, 100, 103, 104; dispute of with King's College, 104, 105; supposed identity of with Chaucer's "Soler-Halle," 105, 106; great men associated with, 106 Cornelius, Austin, wood-carver, 153 Cosin, Dr., Master of Peterhouse, building of College Chapel by, 91 Cranmer, entry of, into Jesus College, 204; fellowship at resigned by, 249; lectures given by, at Magdalene, 249 Crauden, John of, Prior of Ely, Hostel of, 174, 175; portrait bust of, 174 Cromwell, Oliver, member of Sidney College, 281-82; portrait of, by Cooper, 282; Lowell's verses on, 282 Danes, ravages of, 52, 53 Darwin, Charles, member of Christ's College, 221, 222, 225 _De Heretico Comburendo_, 136 Devil's Dyke, British earthwork known as, 14 Dokell, Andrew, founder of S. Bernard's Hostel, 160 Dominicans, introduction of the new philosophy by, 58, 59; settlement of, on site of Emmanuel, 72 Drayton, Michael, picture of Fenland by, 11-12 Elizabeth, Queen, visit of, to Cambridge, 251 Elizabeth de Burgh, Countess of Clare, University Hall refounded by, 99 Elizabeth Wydville, Queen to Edward IV., second foundress of Queen's College, 161 Ely, Lady Chapel, comparison of with King's, 149, 150 Ely, student monks of, Hostel for, provided by John Crauden, 174; transference of, to Monk's College, 175 Erasmus, residence of, at Queens', 165-68; "Paraclesis" of _Novum Testamentum_ written while there, 171; appointment of, to Lady Margaret chair, 211; his praise of Oxford teachers, 212; summoned to Cambridge to teach Greek, 214 Eton College, 141; connection of, with King's, 144 Fenland, changes in physical features of, 9-11; description of, in _Liber Eliensis_ and other works, 11-13 Fisher, John, Bishop of Rochester, founder of Christ's and S. John's, 185, 242; notice of Lady Margaret attracted by, 211; divinity professorship founded by, 212; literary revival at Cambridge promoted by, 214, 242; speech by, in Parliament, 250; funeral sermon on Lady Margaret by, 228, 229; sympathy of, with new spirit of Bible criticism, 242; friendship of, with Erasmus, 242; attachment of, to Papal cause, 242; character of, evidenced by his codes of statutes, 243; opposition of, to divorce of Henry VIII. and Catherine of Arragon, 243; description of trial and death of, by Froude and Mullinger, 244, 245 Fletcher, Giles, poem by, on Sidney College, 278 Franciscans, first habitation of, 55, 56; erection of house by, on site of Sidney College, 72 Friars, proselytising of students by, 72, 73 Friars of the Order of Bethlehem, 72; of the Sack, 72, 78 Frost, Henry, Burgess, founder of Hospital of S. John, 226 Fuller, Thomas, quotation from, concerning the Universities, 8; account of origin of Fair by, 17, 18; account of petition to Queen Elizabeth concerning Sidney College, 276-77; "Child's Prayer to his Mother," and prayer, at close of his History, by, 283 Gilbertines, settlement of, in Trumpington Street, 72 _God's House_, small foundation of latter as basis of Christ's, 215, 216, 217, 226 Grantebrigge, Norman village of, 32 _Great Bridge and Small Bridge_, 33 Grey Friars, arrival of, in England, 55 Guilds. _See_ under Cambridge Guild of Corpus Christi, 120, 125, 126; incorporation of, with Guild of S. Mary, 121, 126; the "good Duke," alderman of, 127; Queen Philippa and family enrolled as members of, 127; of Thegns, 122, 123; of S. Mary, 120, 121, 123, 125; of the Holy Sepulchre, first religious guild, 123 Harvard, John, graduate of Emmanuel, 274 Havens, Theodore, of Cleves, architect, 116 Henry VI., birth of, 137; description of, by Stubbs, 138; his love of letters, 142; and holiness, 143 Henry VII., visit of, to Cambridge, 151 Henry of Costessey, _Commentary on the Psalms_ by, 58 Hervey de Stanton, Bishop of Bath and Wells, founder of Michaelhouse, 97 High Street, old, 34 Hobson, Thomas, chapel built on site of stables belonging to, 182 Hostels, establishment of, 63; various, absorbed by Trinity, 254-55 _House of Benjamin_, 47, 48 Household, John, bequest by D. Gonville, 113 Hugh de Balsham, Bishop of Ely, founder of Peterhouse, 75, 76, 78, 79 Ingulph, story quoted from, 7 Jews, early establishment of, in Cambridge, 44; influence of, on academic history and material condition of town, 46, 47 Josselin, fellow of Queen's, account of the building of Corpus Christi College by, 126, 127 King's Ditch, the, old artificial stream known as, 32, 33 _King's Scholars_, 97; regulations concerning, 98, 99 Kingsley, Charles, description of Fenland by, 12, 13 Lancaster, Henry, Duke of, alderman of Corpus Christi Guild, 127, 128 Lanes, old, still surviving, 33 Langton, John, architect of King's Chapel, 147 Latimer, Hugh, sermon preached by, at S. Edward, 177 Learning, decline of, in fourteenth century, 95, 96 Lollardism in the university towns, 135, 136 Lydgate, John, verses on Cambridge by, 2, 3 Margaret, Countess of Richmond and Derby, foundress of Christ's College and S. John's, description of, by Fuller, 210; funeral sermon on, by Bishop Fisher, 210, 228, 229, 230; influence of Bishop Fisher upon, 212, 215; noble benefactions of, 216, 217; rooms at Christ Church of, 218, 219; characteristic story of, 218; death of, 228; monument to, 228 Margaret of Anjou, description of, by Shakespeare, 158; foundress of Queen's College, 158, 159, 160 Matthew Paris, description of Fenland by, 11 Mediæval students, dress of, 81-83 Merton, Walter de, exclusion of religious orders from his foundation by, 73; his _Regula Mertonensis_, 74, 75, 79 Mildmay, Sir Walter, founder of Emmanuel, 265; answer of, to Queen Elizabeth concerning same, 265 Milne Street, old, 34 Milton, John, member of Christ's, 221; description of rooms at, 221; mulberry tree planted by, 221; poems written by, as an undergraduate, 222; treatment of at college, 223 Monasteries, depression caused by suppression of, 246; advantages to universities arising from, 247, 248; King Henry's words with regard to, 247, 248 Monastic houses, early settlements of, 72 _Monk's College_, monks of Ely transferred to, 175 Monk's Hall, 175 More, Henry, member of Christ's, 224; as one of the Cambridge Platonists, 224, 225 Neville, Dr. Thomas, Master of Trinity, his work of building in connection with, 258-59 New Learning, the, 56, 57, 58, 183-85; encouragement of, at Cambridge, 211; renown of Oxford in connection with, 212; promoted at Cambridge by Bishop Fisher, 214; colleges of, 241; no regard shown to, in statutes of Magdalene, 251 Newton, Sir Isaac, at Trinity, 263; his _Principia_ written there, 263; statue of, by Roubiliac, 263 Parker, Matthew, Archbishop, library of MSS. belonging to, 128, 130, 131 Parker, Richard, translation of _Skeletos Cantabrigiensis_ by, 4 Pearson, Mr., old gateway of King's restored by, 145 Perne, Dr. Andrew, portrait of, 85; bequest of library to Peterhouse by, 89; account of, 89, 90; Latin verb invented in honour of, 89 Philippa, Queen, member of Corpus Christi Guild, 127, 128 "Poore Priestes," the, of Wycliffe, 135, 136 Preaching, art of, neglected, 212, 213; Lady Margaret's readership founded as a remedy for, 213, 214 Puritanism in England, 265-66 Reginald of Ely, architect of King's Chapel, 148 _Regula Mertonensis_ taken as model for rule of Peterhouse, 75, 79 Richard de Baden, Chancellor of the University, 99 Richard III., gift of land by, to King's College, 151 Richard of Bury, Bishop of Durham, application from Petrarch to, 95; description of Oxford by, 96 Rotherham, Thomas, Archbishop of York, college founded by, 187; purposes and provisions of same, 187, 188 S. Augustine, list of books brought to England by, 50 S. Bernard Hostel, 160; absorption of, in foundation of Queen's, 161 S. John, Hospital of, 76, 226; nucleus of S. John's College, 78; history and downfall of, 226, 228 S. Rhadegund, history of nuns of, 189-99; conversion of nunnery of, into college buildings, 199, 200 Scholars, secular endowment of, 76; dispute of, with regulars, 77; removal of, 77 Scholars of Ely, 78 _School of Pythagoras_, old Norman house known as, 27 Schools, monastic, of Northumbria and the South, 50, 51 Scott, Sir Gilbert, University library erected by, 144; hall of Christ's rebuilt by, 219; chapel of S. John's erected by, 238, 241 Sidney, Lady Frances, foundress of Sidney College, 266, 275-76; portrait of, 275 Simon, Montagu, Bishop of Ely, first code of statutes for Peterhouse by, 78 Spencer, Henry, Bishop of Norwich, revolt of towns-people quelled by, 133 _Star Chamber_, origin of name of, 46 Sterne, Laurence, portrait of, at Jesus, 207 Stourbridge Fair, earliest charter of, 18; comparison of, with Bunyan's "Vanity Fair," 19, 20 Symons, Ralph, architect of Emmanuel College, 269, 278 _Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs_, the Greek MS. of, 56 Tower of Erasmus, 165 Town and gown, ill feeling between, 132; riot arising from, 132, 133 Tusser, Thomas, residence of, at Trinity Hall, and verses by, 173 University, use of the term of, 60, 61 Venn, Henry, influence of, at Jesus, 208 _Via Devana_, or _Roman Way_, 15, 28, 32, 34 Walden, Abbey of, grant of, to Sir T. Audley, 252; association of, with Buckingham College, 252 Wharfs or river hithes, rights in regard to, 33 Wordsworth, William, lines by, on S. John's, 237, 238 Wren, Dr. Matthew, Master of Peterhouse, 90; chapel of, built by, 91 Wren, Sir Christopher, architect of library at Trinity Hall, 260; tables, chairs, and shelves designed by, 261 THE END Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. Edinburgh & London FOOTNOTES: [1] _Cf._ Baker MS. in the University Library. [2] See the very excellent map given in "Fenland Past and Present," by S. H. Miller and Sidney Skertchley (published, Longmans, 1878), a book full of information on the natural features of the Fen country, its geology, its antiquarian relics, its flora and fauna. [3] _Cf._ Paper by Professor Ridgway, _Proc. Cam. Antiq. Soc._, vii. 200. [4] _Cf._ Professor M'Kenny Hughes, _Proc. Cam. Antiq. Soc._, vol. viii. (1893), 173. _Cf._ also Freeman, "Norman Conquest," vol. i. 323, &c.; and also English Chronicle, under year MX. [5] The easiest way for those who are not much acquainted with phonetic laws to understand this rather difficult point is to observe the chronology of this place-name. It is thus condensed by Mr. T. D. Atkinson ("Cambridge Described and Illustrated," p. 4) from Professor Skeat's "Place-Names of Cambridgeshire," 29-30:--"The name of the town was _Grantebrycge_ in A.D. 875, and in Doomsday Book it is _Grentebrige_. About 1142 we first meet with the violent change _Cantebrieggescir_ (for the county), the change from _Gr_ to _C_ being due to the Normans. This form lasted, with slight changes, down to the fifteenth century. _Grauntbrigge_ (also spelt _Cauntbrigge_ in the name of the same person) survived as a surname till 1401. After 1142 the form _Cantebrigge_ is common; it occurs in Chaucer as a word of four syllables, and was Latinised as _Cantabrigia_ in the thirteenth century. Then the former _e_ dropped out; and we come to such forms as _Cantbrigge_ and _Cauntbrigge_ (fourteenth century); then _C[=a]nbrigge_ (1436) and _Cawnbrege_ (1461) with _n_. Then the _b_ turned the _n_ into _m_, giving _Cambrigge_ (after 1400) and _Caumbrege_ (1458). The long _a_, formerly _aa_ in _baa_, but now _ei_ in _vein_, was never shortened. The old name of the river, _Granta_, still survives. _Cant_ occurs in 1372, and _le Ee_ and _le Ree_ in the fifteenth century. In the sixteenth century the river is spoken of as the _Canta_, now called the _Rhee_; and later we find both _Granta_ and the Latinised form of _Camus_. _Cam_, which appears in Speed's map of 1610, was suggested by the written form _Cam-bridge_, and is a product of the sixteenth century, having no connection with the Welsh _Cam_, or the British _Cambos_, "crooked." [6] "The old spelling is Bernewell, in the time of Henry III. and later. Somewhat earlier is Beornewelle, in a late copy of a charter dated 1060 (Thorpe, _Diplom._, p. 383). So also in the Ramsey Cartulary. The prefix has nothing to do with the Anglo-Saxon _bearn_, 'a child,' as has often, I believe, been suggested; but represents _Beornan_, gen. of _Beorna_, a pet name for a name beginning with Beorn-.... The difference between the words, which are quite distinct, is admirably illustrated in the New Eng. Dict. under the words _berne_ and _bairn_."--SKEAT'S _Place-Names of Cambridgeshire_, p. 35. [7] "The Borough Boys" is a nickname still remembered as being applied to the men of the castle end by the dwellers in the east side of the river. A public-house, with the sign of "The Borough Boy," still stands in Northampton Street. [8] "Cambridge, Described and Illustrated," by T. D. Atkinson, p. 133. [9] _Cf._ "Customs of Augustinian Canons," by J. Willis Clark, p. xi. [10] _Lib. Mem._, Book i. chap. 9.--The principal authority for the history of Barnwell Priory is a manuscript volume in the British Museum (MSS. Harl. 3601) usually referred to as the "Barnwell Cartulary" or the "Barnwell Register." The author's own title, however, "Liber Memorandorum Ecclesiæ de Bernewelle," is far more appropriate, for the contents are by no means confined to documents relating to the property of the house, but consist of many chapters of miscellanea dealing with the history of the foundation from its commencement down to the forty-fourth year of Edward III. (1370-71). [11] At the time of the Dissolution, Dugdale states the gross yearly value of the estates to have been £351, 15s. 4d., that of Ely to have been £1084, 6s. 9d. [12] Such a small matter, for example, in the domestic economy of a modern college as the separate rendering of a "buttery bill" and a "kitchen bill," containing items of expenditure which the puzzled undergraduate might naturally have expected to find rendered in the same weekly account, finds its explanation when we learn that in the economy of the monastery also the roll of "the celererarius" and the roll of the "camerarius" were always kept rigidly distinct. So also more serious and important customs may probably be traced to monastic origin. [13] The others are: S. Sepulchre at Northampton, c. 1100-1127; Little Maplestead in Essex, c. 1300; The Temple Church in London, finished 1185. To these may be added the chapel in Ludlow Castle, c. 1120. [14] "Cambridge Described," by T. D. Atkinson, p. 164. [15] _Cf._ Neubauer's _Collectanea_, ii. p. 277 _sq._ [16] _Cf._ Rashdall's "Universities of Europe," vol. i. p. 347. [17] The earliest notice of this practice occurs in the University Accounts for 1507-8, when carpenters are employed to carry the materials used for the stages from the schools to the Church of the Franciscans, to set them up there, and to carry them back again to the schools. Similar notices are to be found in subsequent years. [18] _Cf._ "The Cambridge Modern History," vol. i. p. 584, &c. [19] Cooper's "Annals," i. 42. [20] Willis and Clark, "Architectural History of the University of Cambridge," Introduction, vol. i. p. xiv. [21] _Cf._ List of names given in "Willis and Clark," vol. i. pp. xxv.-xxvii. [22] Jubinal's "Rutebeuf," quoted by Wright in his _Biographia Britannica Litteraria_, p. 40. [23] Stubbs, "Lectures on Mediæval and Modern History," p. 166. [24] Anstey, _Munimenta Academica_, i. pp. 204-5. [25] "Commiss. Docts.," ii. 1. [26] "Documents," ii. 78. [27] The actual expression is, of course, _scholares_, but it is best to translate the word by the later title of _fellows_ to avoid the erroneous impression which would otherwise be given. That the _scholares_ were occasionally called _fellows_ even in Chaucer's day may be inferred from his lines-- "Oure corne is stole, men woll us fooles call, Both the warden and our fellowes all." [28] Document II. 1-42, quoted from Mullinger's "University of Cambridge," i. 232. [29] "Annals of the University," i. 95. [30] "Documents," ii. 72. [31] British Museum, Cole, MSS. xxxv. 112. [32] Prynne, "Canterbury's Doom," quoted from Willis a. d. Clark, i. 46. [33] _Philobiblon_, c. 9. [34] Cooper's "Memorials," ii. p. 196. [35] Cooper's "Memorials," vol. i. p. 30. [36] _Cf._ Rogers' "Six Centuries of Work and Wages," p. 224. "The disease made havoc among the secular and regular clergy, and we are told that a notable decline of learning and morals was thenceforward observed among the clergy, many persons of mean acquirements and low character stepping into the vacant benefices. Even now the cloister of Westminster Abbey is said to contain a monument in the great flat stone, which we are told was laid over the remains of the many monks who perished in the great death.... Some years ago, being at Cambridge while the foundations of the new Divinity Schools were being laid, I saw that the ground was full of skeletons, thrown in without any attempt at order, and I divined that this must have been a Cambridge plague pit." [37] _Cf._ Clarke, "Cambridge," pp. 85, 86. [38] _Cf._ Mullinger, "Cambridge," vol. i., footnote, p. 237. [39] The poet Gray, it is said, occupied the rooms on the ground floor at the west end of the Hitcham building. Above them are those subsequently occupied by William Pitt. [40] Cooper's "Memorials," i. p. 99. [41] "Cambridge Described," by T. D. Atkinson, p. 326. [42] Willis and Clark, i. 177. [43] Cooper's "Annals," 140. [44] Fuller's "History of the University," p. 255. [45] Fuller's "History of the University," p. 98. [46] _Cf._ Introduction by Professor Maitland to the "Cambridge Borough Charters," p. xvii. [47] Miss Mary Bateson, "Introduction to Cambridge Gild Records," published by Cambridge Antiquarian Society, 1903. [48] Josselin, _Historiola_, § 2. [49] Fuller's "History of Cambridge," p. 116. [50] Stubbs, "Constitutional History," vol. iii. p. 130. [51] Robert Bridges. [52] _Second Part of King Henry VI._, Act i. sc. 3. [53] J. W. Clark, "Cambridge," p. 145. [54] G. Gilbert Scott, "History of English Architecture," p. 181. [55] J. W. Clarke, "Cambridge," p. 171. [56] Fuller, "University of Cambridge," p. 161. [57] "History of Queens'," p. 154. [58] Erasmus, _Novum Instrumentum_, leaf aaa. 3 to bbb. [59] _Anglia Sacra_, i. 650. [60] In the Ely "Obedientary Rolls" I find, for example, the following entries for the expenses of these Cambridge Scholars of the Monastery in the account of the chamberlain: "20, Ed. III. scholaribus pro obolo de libra, 6-1/2d. 31, 32, Ed. III. fratri S. de Banneham scholari pro pensione sua 1/1-1/2. 40, Ed. III. Solut' 3 scholar' studentibus apud Cantabrig' 3/4-1/2. Simoni de Banham incipienti in theologia 2 3, viz. 1d. de libra. 9, Hen. IV. dat' ffratri Galfrido Welyngton ad incepcionem suam in canone apud cantabrig' 6/8. 4, Hen. V. ffratribus Edmundo Walsingham et Henry Madingley ad incepcionem 3/4." [61] Warren, Appendix cxvi. [62] "Care of Books," pp. 168-69. [63] Vol. ii. 30. [64] "Jesus College," by A. Gray, p. 32. [65] "History of Jesus," A. Gray, p. 16. [66] "History of Jesus," A. Gray, p. 18. [67] Willis and Clark's "Architectural History of Cambridge," vol. ii. p. 123. [68] Erasmus, _Roberto Piscatori_, Epist. xiv. [69] Mullinger, "History of the University of Cambridge," vol. i. p. 439. [70] Cooper's "Annals," vol. i. p. 273. [71] Mullinger, "History of the University," vol. i. p. 44. [72] Fuller's "History of Cambridge," p. 182. [73] Dr. Peile's "History of Christ's College," p. 29. [74] Cf. Milton's "Apology for Smectymnus," 1642. [75] It might almost be supposed that the officials who drew royal charters kept a "model form" to meet the case of a suppressed religious house, altering the name and place to fit the occasion. [76] Caxton, as he worked at his printing press in the Almonry, which she had founded, and who was under her special protection, said "the worst thing she ever did" was trying to draw Erasmus from his Greek studies at Cambridge to train her untoward stepson, James Stanley, to be Bishop of Ely. [77] Mullinger's "History of S. John's College," p. 17. [78] Froude's "History of England," vol. ii. p. 266. [79] Mullinger's "History of the University," vol. i. p. 628. [80] Edition of Furnivall, p. 88. [81] "English Universities," vol. i. p. 307. [82] Fuller, "History of Cambridge," p. 196. [83] This absurdity is traceable to that _Skeletos Cantabrigiensis_ by Richard Parker, to which I drew attention in my first chapter. [84] Nichol's "Progress of Queen Elizabeth," v. i. p. 182. [85] Cooper's "Memorials," v. ii. p. 135. [86] Fuller's "History of Cambridge," p. 236. [87] "Tom Quad," the great court of Christ Church, Oxford, has an area of 74,520 square feet. [88] "National Dictionary of Biography," vol. iv. p. 312. [89] MSS. Barker, vi. 85; MSS. Harl. Mus. Brit., 7033; quoted, Willis and Clark, ii. 700. [90] "Documents," iii. 524, quoted by Mullinger, i. 314. [91] Mullinger, vol. i. p. 318. [92] Fuller's "History of Cambridge," p. 291. [93] This portrait in crayons by Samuel Cooper (1609-72) was presented to the College in January 1766 by Thomas Hollis. In Hollis's papers underneath his memorandum of his present to the College are three lines of Andrew Marvell-- "I freely declare it, I am for old Noll; Though his government did a tyrant resemble, He made England great, and her enemies tremble." Mr. Hollis also gave to Christ's College four copies of the "Paradise Lost," two of them first editions. In 1761 he sent to Trinity his portrait of Newton. He also presented books to the libraries of Harvard, Berne and Zurich: chiefly Republican literature of the seventeenth century. * * * * * Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: thus serve to mark=> thus serves to mark {pg 43} his death in 1509=> his death in 1589 {pg 89} four widows=> four windows {pg 151} Rennaisance=> Renaissance {pg 267} great exent frustrated=> great extent frustrated {pg 272} 
46274	----	OXFORD AND ITS STORY [Illustration: OXFORD CASTLE (_Photogravure_)] OXFORD AND ITS STORY BY CECIL HEADLAM, M.A. AUTHOR OF "NUREMBERG," "CHARTRES," ETC. ETC. [Illustration] WITH TWENTY-FOUR LITHOGRAPHS AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS BY HERBERT RAILTON THE LITHOGRAPHS BEING TINTED BY FANNY RAILTON 1912 LONDON J. M. DENT & SONS, LTD. NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO. _First Edition_, 1904 _Second and Cheaper Edition_, 1912 _All rights reserved_ ALMAE MATRI FILIUS INDIGNUS HAUD INGRATUS PREFACE The Story of Oxford touches the History of England, social and political, mental and architectural, at so many points, that it is impossible to deal with it fully even in so large a volume as the present. Even as it is, I have been unavoidably compelled to save space by omitting much that I had written and practically all my references and acknowledgments. Yet, where one has gathered so much honey from other men's flowers not to acknowledge the debt in detail appears discourteous and ungrateful; and not to give chapter and verse jars also upon the historical conscience. I can only say that, very gratefully, _J'ai pris mon bien où je l'ai trouvé_, whether in the forty odd volumes of the Oxford Historical Society, the twenty volumes of the College Histories, the accurate and erudite monographs of Dr Rashdall ("Mediæval Universities") and Sir Henry Maxwell Lyte ("History of the University of Oxford to the year 1530") or innumerable other works. Where so much has been so well done by others in the way of dealing with periods and sections of my whole subject, my chief business has been to read, mark, digest, and then to arrange my story. But to do that thoroughly has been no light task. Whether it be well done or ill-done, the story now told has the great merit of providing an occasion, excuse was never needed, for the display of Mr Herbert Railton's art. CONTENTS .....PAGE PREFACE.....vii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.....xi CHAPTER I ST FRIDESWIDE AND THE CATHEDRAL.....1 CHAPTER II THE MOUND, THE CASTLE AND SOME CHURCHES.....22 CHAPTER III THE ORIGIN OF THE UNIVERSITY.....61 CHAPTER IV THE COMING OF THE FRIARS.....93 CHAPTER V THE MEDIÆVAL STUDENT.....148 CHAPTER VI OXFORD AND THE REFORMATION.....240 CHAPTER VII THE OXFORD MARTYRS.....276 CHAPTER VIII ELIZABETH, BODLEY AND LAUD.....291 CHAPTER IX THE ROYALIST CAPITAL.....312 CHAPTER X JACOBITE OXFORD--AND AFTER.....349 INDEX.....357 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS OXFORD CASTLE (_Photogravure_)..... _Frontispiece_ _TINTED LITHOGRAPHS_ MAGDALEN TOWER FROM THE WATER WALKS....._Facing page...4_ CHRIST CHURCH....."...20 CORNMARKET STREET....."...26 ENTRANCE FRONT, PEMBROKE COLLEGE....."...46 ARCHWAY AND TURRET, MERTON COLLEGE....."...62 UNIVERSITY COLLEGE....."...78 GARDEN FRONT, S. JOHN'S COLLEGE....."...90 WADHAM COLLEGE, FROM THE GARDENS....."...104 ORIEL COLLEGE AND MERTON TOWER....."...122 BALLIOL COLLEGE....."...130 S. MARY'S PORCH....."...148 S. ALBAN HALL, MERTON COLLEGE....."...174 QUADRANGLE, BRASENOSE COLLEGE....."...202 BELL TOWER AND CLOISTERS, NEW COLLEGE....."...220 THE FOUNDER'S TOWER, MAGDALEN COLLEGE....."...230 FRONT QUADRANGLE, CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE....."...250 CLOISTERS, CHRIST CHURCH....."...262 GRAMMAR HALL, MAGDALEN COLLEGE....."...274 PRESIDENT'S LODGE, TRINITY COLLEGE....."...286 QUADRANGLE, JESUS COLLEGE....."...294 THE GARDENS, EXETER COLLEGE....."...302 ORIEL WINDOW, S. JOHN'S COLLEGE....."...308 THE CLOISTERS, NEW COLLEGE....."...330 QUADRANGLE AND LIBRARY, ALL SOULS' COLLEGE....."...340 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS _BLACK AND WHITE ILLUSTRATIONS_ .....PAGE OXFORD CATHEDRAL (INTERIOR)....._Facing 8_ OXFORD CATHEDRAL (EXTERIOR).....13 HALL STAIRWAY, CHRIST CHURCH.....17 ABINGDON ABBEY.....24 THE BASTION AND RAMPARTS IN NEW COLLEGE....._Facing 30_ CITY WALLS.....31 CHAPEL OF OUR LADY.....32 BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF OXFORD (1578)....._Facing 32_ OXFORD CASTLE.....35 S. PETER'S IN THE EAST....._Facing 42_ THE "BISHOP'S PALACE," S. ALDATE'S.....50 THE RADCLIFFE LIBRARY, FROM BRASENOSE COLLEGE.....85 GABLES IN WORCESTER COLLEGE.....103 GATEWAY, WORCESTER GARDENS.....106 ORIEL COLLEGE....._Facing 108_ DOORWAY, REWLEY ABBEY.....109 OLD GATEWAY, MERTON COLLEGE.....117 MONASTIC BUILDINGS, WORCESTER COLLEGE.....127 ORIEL WINDOW, LINCOLN COLLEGE.....147 THE HIGH STREET.....151 S. MARY'S SPIRE FROM GROVE LANE.....155 GABLES AND TOWER, MAGDALEN COLLEGE.....195 OPEN AIR PULPIT, MAGDALEN COLLEGE.....199 MAGDALEN COLLEGE....._Facing 210_ IN NEW COLLEGE.....223 KEMP HALL....._Facing 228_ MAGDALEN BRIDGE AND TOWER.....233 NICHE AND SUNDIAL, CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE.....248 SOUTH VIEW OF BOCARDO.....281 CHAPEL IN JESUS.....298 COOKS BUILDINGS, S. JOHN'S....._Facing 300_ FROM THE HIGH STREET.....314 COURTYARD TO PALACE....._Facing 320_ VIEW FROM THE SHELDONIAN THEATRE.....337 ORIEL WINDOW, QUEEN'S LANE.....342 OXFORD & ITS STORY CHAPTER I S. FRIDESWIDE AND THE CATHEDRAL "He that hath Oxford seen, for beauty, grace And healthiness, ne'er saw a better place. If God Himself on earth abode would make He Oxford, sure, would for His dwelling take." DAN ROGERS, _Clerk to the Council of Queen Elizabeth_. "Vetera majestas quædam et (ut sic dixerim) religio commendat." QUINTILIAN. It is with cities as with men. The manner of our meeting some men, and the moment, impress them upon our minds beyond the ordinary. And the chance of our approach to a city is full also of significance. London approached by the Thames on an ocean-going steamer is resonant of the romance of commerce, and the smoke-haze from her factories hangs about her like folds of the imperial purple. But approach her by rail and it is a tale of mean streets that you read, a tale made yet more sad by the sight of the pale, drawn faces of her street-bred people. Calcutta is the London of the East, but Venice, whether you view her first from the sea, enthroned on the Adriatic, or step at dawn from the train into the silent gondola, is always different yet ever the same, the Enchanted City, Queen of the Seas. And many other ports there are which live in the memory by virtue of the beauty of the approach to them: Lisbon, with the scar of her earthquake across her face, looking upon the full broad tide of the Tagus, from the vantage ground of her seven hills; Cadiz, lying in the sea like a silver cup embossed with a thousand watch towers; Naples, the Siren City; Sidney and Constantinople; Hong-Kong and, above all, Rio de Janeiro. But among inland towns I know none that can surpass Oxford in the beauty of its approach. Beautiful as youth and venerable as age, she lies in a purple cup of the low hills, and the water-meads of Isis and the gentle slopes beyond are besprent with her grey "steeple towers, and spires whose silent finger points to heaven." And all around her the country is a harmony in green--the deep, cool greens of the lush grass, the green of famous woods, the soft, juicy landscapes of the Thames Valley. You may approach Oxford in summer by road, or rail, or river. Most wise and most fortunate perhaps is he who can obtain his first view of Oxford from Headington Hill, her Fiesole. From Headington has been quarried much of the stone of which the buildings of Oxford, and especially her colleges, have been constructed. Oxford owes much of her beauty to the humidity of the atmosphere, for the Thames Valley is generally humid, and when the floods are out, and that is not seldom, Oxford rises from the flooded meadows like some superb Venice of the North, centred in a vast lagoon. And just as the beauty of Venice is the beauty of coloured marbles blending with the ever-changing colour of water and water-laden air, so, to a large extent, the beauty of Oxford is due to this soft stone of Headington, which blends with the soft humid atmosphere in ever fresh and tender harmonies, in ever-changing tones of purple and grey. By virtue of its fortunate softness this stone ages with remarkable rapidity, flakes off and grows discoloured, and soon lends to quite new buildings a deceptive but charming appearance of antiquity. Arriving, then, at the top of Headington Hill, let the traveller turn aside, and, pausing awhile by "Joe Pullen's" tree, gaze down at the beautiful city which lies at his feet. Her sombre domes, her dreaming spires rise above the tinted haze, which hangs about her like a delicate drapery and hides from the traveller's gaze the grey walls and purple shadows, the groves and cloisters of Academe. For a moment he will summon up remembrance of things past; he will fancy that so, and from this spot, many a mediæval student, hurrying to learn from the lips of some famous scholar, first beheld the scene of his future studies; this, he will remember, is the Oxford of the Reformation, where, as has been said,[1] the old world and the new lingered longest in each other's arms, like mother and child, so much alike and yet so different; the Oxford also of the Catholic reaction, where the young Elizabethan Revivalists wandered by the Isis and Cherwell framing schemes for the restoration of religion and the deliverance of the fair Mary; the loyal and chivalrous Oxford of the Caroline period, the nursery of knights and gentlemen, when camp and court and cloister were combined within her walls; the Oxford of the eighteenth century, still mindful of the King over the water, and still keeping alive in an age of materialism and infidelity some sparks of that loftier and more generous sentiment which ever clings to a falling cause. It is the Oxford, again, of the Tory and High Churchman of the old school; the home of the scholar and the gentleman, the Wellesleys, the Cannings, the Grenvilles and the Stanleys. But the Wesleys call her Alma Mater also, and, not less, Newman. Methodism equally with the High Church movement originated here. Old as the nation, yet ever new, with all the vitality of each generation's youth reacting on the sober wisdom of its predecessor, Oxford has passed through all these and many other stages of history, and the phases of her past existence have left their marks upon her, in thought, in architecture and in tradition. To connect events with the traces they have left, to illustrate the buildings of Oxford by her history, and her history by her buildings, has been the ideal which I have set before myself in this book. Let our traveller then at length descend the hill and passing over Magdalen Bridge, beneath the grey tower of ever-changing beauty, the bell-tower of Magdalen, enter upon the "stream-like windings of that glorious street," the High. So, over Shotover, down a horse path through the thick forest the bands of mediæval scholars used to come at the beginning of each term, and wend their way across the moor to the east gate of the city. There is no gate to stop you now, no ford, no challenge of sentinels on the walls. The bell-towers of S. Frideswide and Osney have long been levelled to the dust, but the bells of Christ Church and Magdalen greet you. But not altogether unfortunate, though perhaps with less time to ruminate, will he be who first approaches Oxford by means of the railway. If he is wise, he will choose at Paddington a seat on the off side of the carriage, facing the engine. After leaving Radley the train runs past low-lying water-meadows, willow-laden, yellow with buttercups, purple with clover and the exquisite fritillary, and passing the reservoir ere it runs into the station, which occupies the site of Osney Abbey, it gives the observant traveller a splendid view of the town; of Tom Tower, close at hand, and Merton Tower; of the spires of the Cathedral and S. Aldate's; of S. Mary's and All Saints'; of Radcliffe's Dome and the dainty Tower of Magdalen further away; of Lincoln Spire and S. Michael's Tower, and of S. Martin's at Carfax. And at last, very near at hand, the old fragment of the Castle: "There, watching high the least alarms, The rough, rude fortress gleams afar Like some bold veteran, grey in arms And marked with many a seamy scar." Of the approaches to Oxford so much may be said; and as to the time when it is most fit to visit her, all times are good. But best of all are the summer months. In the spring or early summer, when the nightingales are singing in Magdalen walks and the wild flowers [Illustration: Magdalen Tower from Addison's Walk] spring in Bagley Woods, when the meadows are carpeted with purple and gold: "The frail, white-leaved anemony, Dark blue-bells drenched with dews of summer eves, And purple orchises with spotted leaves;" in June, in Eights' Week, when the University is bravely ploughing its way through a storm of gaiety and athleticism into the inevitable maelstrom of examinations, when the streets are crowded with cricketers, oarsmen, and their sisters, when the Schools and College quads are transformed into ball-rooms and many a boat lingers onward dreamily in the golden light of the setting sun beneath the willows that fringe the Cherwell--at these times Oxford seems an enchanted city, a land where it is always afternoon. But you will come to know her best, and to love her perhaps more dearly, if you choose the later summer months, the Long Vacation. Then all the rich meadow-lands that surround her are most tranquil, green and mellow, and seem to reflect the peace of the ancient city, freed for a while from the turmoil of University life. Then perhaps you will best realise the two-sided character of this Janus-City. For there are two Oxfords in one, as our story will show, upon the banks of the Isis--a great county town besides a great University. And as to the mood in which you shall visit her, who shall dictate a mood in a place so various? Something of the emotion that Wordsworth felt may be yours: "I could not print Ground where the grass had yielded to the steps Of generations of illustrious men Unmoved. I could not always pass Through the same gateways, sleep where they had slept, Wake where they waked, range that inclosure old, That garden of great intellects, undisturbed;" or something of the charming fancifulness of Charles Lamb which may lead you to play the student, or fetch up past opportunities, and so "pass for nothing short of a Seraphic Doctor." Or it may please you best to spend not all your time among the bricks and stone and mortar, ever-changing as they are in hue and aspect, or amid the College groves and gardens, rich as is their beauty, perfect as is their repose. The glories of the surrounding country may tempt you most. You may wander many happy miles through cool green country, full of dark-leaved elms and furzy dingles, with the calm, bright river ever peeping at you through gaps in woods and hedges, to Godstow, where Rosamund Clifford lived and died; to Cumnor, the warm green-muffled Cumnor Hills, and those oaks that grow thereby, on which the eyes of Amy Robsart may have rested. You may choose to track the shy Thames shore "through the Wytham flats, Red loosestrife and blond meadow-sweet among, And darting swallows and light water-gnats--" and, with the poet, learn to know the Fyfield tree, the wood which hides the daffodil: "What white, what purple fritillaries The grassy harvest of the river-fields, Above by Ensham, down by Sandford, yields, And what sedged brooks are Thames's tributaries." Whichever way you choose you will turn now and again to look back upon the spires and towers of Oxford and Radcliffe's dome, clustering together among rich gardens and noble trees, watered by the winding, willow-fringed Cherwell and the silver stream of Isis, "rivulets," as Wood quaintly phrases it, "which seem to the prying spectator as so many snakes sporting themselves therein." And so gazing you will let your fancy roam and think of her past history and her future influence on thought and the affairs of State. * * * * * Within fifty years of their first landing the Northern hordes had conquered the greater part of Britain. Mercia, the border kingdom of the marches, had been formed, embracing the site of Oxford; its heathen King Penda had lived and died, the Mercians had embraced Christianity, and Dorchester had become the seat of a Christian bishop. But it was not till the eighth century A.D. that the vill of Oxford, an unfortified border town on the confines of the kingdoms of Mercia and Wessex, came into existence; it was not till the year 727, one hundred and thirty years after S. Augustine's mission to England, that a religious community settled there. The history of that settlement is bound up with the story of S. Frideswide--Fritheswithe, "the Bond of Peace." For although the details of the legend are evidently in part due to the imagination of the monastic chroniclers, yet there is no reason to doubt the main facts of time and place. That Frideswide, the daughter of an under-king named Didan, founded a nunnery at a spot where a bank of gravel ran up from what is now Christ Church Meadow, and offered a dry site, raised above the wandering, unbarred streams, set amid lush meadows untainted as yet by human dwellings, and fringed by the virgin forests that clad the surrounding hills, we need not hesitate to believe, or that here Didan presently built a little church, some traces of which yet remain in Christ Church Cathedral. For the rest, how Frideswide escaped by a miracle to Binsey and lived there in the woods, in dread of the hot courtship of a young and spritely prince; how that prince was miraculously deprived of his sight when about to assault the city in revenge for his disappointment, and how from that time forward disaster dogged the footsteps of any king who entered Oxford; how the virgin Frideswide returned at last to Oxford, and, after performing many miracles there, died and was buried in her church--are not all these things told at length in the charming prose of Anthony Wood? The Lady Chapel of the Cathedral, on the north side of the choir aisle, is the architectural illustration of this story in Oxford. It was enlarged in the thirteenth century, and has the early English pillars and vaulting of that period, but the eastern wall carries us back to S. Frideswide's day. And on the floor is a recent brass which marks the spot where the bones of the virgin Saint are now supposed to rest. Here too is the Shrine of S. Frideswide--that shrine which used to be visited twice a year by the Vice-Chancellor and the principal members of the University in solemn procession "to pray, preach and offer oblations at her shrine in the Mother Church of University and town." This is the site of S. Frideswide's first church. The Lady Chapel is in a line with what was the ancient nave, the central apse of that church, and there, at the east end of it and of the adjoining aisle, are the rough rag-stone arches which were built for her, and which led, according to the ancient Eastern plan, into three apses. And inseparably connected with S. Frideswide too is the adjacent Latin Chapel, by virtue of that window designed by Sir E. Burne-Jones, one of the earliest and one of the most beautiful of the artist's designs, so lovely in its conception that, if you take each picture separately, it seems like some perfect poem by Rossetti translated into colour by a mediæval craftsman. But take it as a whole and the effect is quite other than this. It is so full of subjects and dabs of bright colour that it is dazzling and almost unintelligible. Burne-Jones had not grasped, even if he had studied the glazier's art. Apart from the fact that the great predominance of fiery reds offends the eye, the design is essentially one that has been made on paper and not in glass, drawn with pencil and brush and not in lead. Worked out on a flat, opaque surface the fussy effect of the window would not be foreseen; but the overcrowded and broken character of the design is painfully obvious when set up as a window. The scenes here depicted form an illustrated history of the story of S. Frideswide. The splendid fourteenth-century glass of the Latin Chapel contains also, besides figures of S. Catherine, the patroness of students in divinity, two representations of S. Frideswide. This chapel was built on to the rest at two periods; the first bay from [Illustration: Oxford Cathedral (Interior)] the west is part of the transept aisle, the second bay belongs to the thirteenth century, the third and fourth were added in the fourteenth, from which period the decorated vaulting, with its bosses of roses and water-lilies, dates. The chapel was used till recently as a lecture-room by the Regius Professor of Divinity. The carved wood-work of the stalls and desks should be noticed. Didan's or S. Frideswide's Church was burnt on S. Brice's Day, 1002, when the general massacre of Danes, which Æthelred the Unready, in a fit of misguided energy, had ordered to take place on that day throughout the country, was carried out at Oxford. The Danes in their extremity rushed to S. Frideswide's Church, burst open the doors, and held the tower as a fortress against their assailants. The citizens failed to drive them out. As a last resource they set fire to the wooden roof and burned the church, "together with the ornaments and books thereof." The Danes perished in the burning. Nothing now remains, save the parts that I have mentioned, of the church which was then gutted. But after the massacre the King made a vow that he would rebuild S. Frideswide's, and the church he then began to erect forms the main part of the Cathedral as we see it to-day. Those arches, so plain and massive, over the western bays of the north choir aisle and Lady Chapel, were part of Æthelred's transept aisle; the south transept aisle, now S. Lucy's Chapel; the walls of the south choir aisle; the pillars of the choir and the open triforium of the south transept--these are the chief portions of the Cathedral which are thought to be unrestored parts of Æthelred's work. It is now generally admitted that the Saxons, at the date of the Conquest, were more advanced than the Normans in the fine arts. Their sculpture was more highly finished and their masonry more finely jointed. We need not therefore be surprised at the excellence and ornamentation of the work in Oxford Cathedral, which is attributed to this date, nor, when we remember that Æthelred was the brother-in-law of Richard-le-bon, the great church-builder of Normandy, need we wonder at the unwonted magnificence of Æthelred's plans for this church. The Danes soon took ample revenge for that treacherous massacre. They ravaged Berkshire and burned Oxford (1009). The climax came when Sweyn arrived. The town immediately submitted to him, and "he compelled the men of Oxford and Winchester to obey his laws" (Saxon Chronicle). Æthelred's work was interrupted by the coming of Sweyn, and the King's flight to Richard's court in Normandy. In the south-east pier of the Cathedral tower there is a noticeable break in the masonry, which marks, it is supposed, the cessation of building that coincided with the close of Anglo-Saxon rule. When Sweyn died Æthelred returned, and for three years held Cnut in check. The work at S. Frideswide's was probably resumed then. The richly carved, weather-beaten capitals of the choir, with their thick abaci and remarkable ornamentation, partly Saxon and partly Oriental in character, are eloquent of the exile of Æthelred and of the influence of the Eastern monks whom he met at the court of his brother in Normandy. And they speak not only of Byzantine influence, passing through Normandy into England, but also, through the existing traces of exposure to rain and wind, of the ruinous state into which the church had fallen when "whether by the negligence of the Seculars or the continuall disturbance of the expelled Regulars, it was almost utterly forsaken and relinqueshed, and the more especially because of that troublesome warre betweene King Harold and William the Conqueror." For the nunnery which S. Frideswide founded had soon ceased to be a nunnery. By the irony of fate, soon after her death, the nuns were removed, and the priory was handed over to a chapter of married men, the Secular Canons, whom S. Dunstan, in his turn, succeeded in suppressing. But the nuns never came back, for, after many vicissitudes, the priory was finally restored, under Henry I. (1111), as a house of the Canons Regular of S. Augustine. Some have thought that Guimond, the first prior (1122), was responsible for the building of the whole church, but he more probably found enough to do in re-establishing order and restoring the monastic buildings. His successor, Robert of Cricklade, perhaps it was who restored Æthelred's church on the old plan and inserted most of the later Norman work, especially the clerestory and presbytery. The triforium and clerestory in the nave (roofed in with sixteenth-century wood-work) give us an interesting example of the latest Norman or Transitional style. The clerestory consists of a pointed arch enriched with shafts at the angles, and supported on either side by low circular arches which form the openings of a wall passage. The arrangement of the triforium is remarkable. The massive pillars of the nave are alternately circular and octagonal. From their capitals, which are large, with square abaci, spring circular arches with well-defined mouldings. These are, in fact, the arches of the triforium, which is here represented by a blind arcade of two arches set in the tympanum of the main arch. The true arches of the nave spring from half capitals, set against the pillars, and are plain, with a circular moulding towards the nave. The crown of these arches is considerably below the main capitals of the pillars, from which the upper or triforium arches spring. The half capitals assist in carrying the vaulting of the aisles. The whole arrangement, rare on the Continent, is extremely unusual in England, but occurs, for instance, in the transept of Romsey Abbey. The pillars of the choir date, as has been said, from Æthelred's day; the rest is twelfth-century restoration, save the rich and graceful pendent roof, which accords so strangely well with the robust Norman work it crowns. The clerestory was converted into Perpendicular, and remodelled to carry this elaborate vaulting, which should be compared with that of the old Divinity School, or Henry VII.'s Chapel at Westminster, and attributed, not in accordance with tradition to the time of Wolsey, but to the close of the fifteenth century. The very effective east end is a conjectural restoration of the old Norman design, and was the work of Sir Gilbert Scott, who also opened the lantern-story and made many other sweeping changes and restorations, necessitated by the previous restorations of seventeenth-century Dean Duppa, and the neglect of his successors. When Cricklade's restoration was finished, or nearly so, it was decided, in order to revive the once so famous memory of S. Frideswide, to translate her relics from their obscure resting-place (probably the southernmost of the three Saxon apses) to some notable place in the church. The King, the Archbishop, many bishops, and many of the nobility and clergy gathered together to take part in this great ceremony. The bones of the Saint were taken up, set in a rich gilt coffin and placed on the north side of the choir. Miracles were wrought at the new shrine, and pilgrims crowded thither. The money brought in by these means was badly needed, both for the purpose of the restoration which had been in process, and which was further necessitated by the great fire which destroyed a large part of Oxford in 1190, and, whilst damaging the church, much injured the monastic buildings. The fine old Norman doorway of the Chapter house, which is attributed to Prior Guimond (1122), still bears the red marks of that fire. The Chapter house itself is a very perfect chamber of the early English period. The rich and graceful carving of the capitals, the bosses of the roof, and the curious corbels, the superb glass in the side windows, the beautiful arcade of five arches, pierced for light, which fills the entire east end, complete and confirm, so pure are they in style, so excellent in detail, the just proportions of this noble room. Early in the thirteenth century was built also the upper portion of the tower, and that lowly spire was added, which appears scarce [Illustration: Oxford Cathedral] peeping above the College buildings, modestly calling attention to the half-concealed site of the smallest cathedral in England. Oxford is a city of towers, and domes, and steeples, all of which possess their own peculiar character and beauty. As different as possible from the perfect proportions of Magdalen Tower or the ornate magnificence of the elaborate spire of the University Church, this spire is low and simple--squat almost in appearance. Its lowliness is easily explained. It was perhaps the very first spire built in England. The masons were cautious, afraid of their own daring in attempting to erect so lofty a construction, octagonal, upon the solid base of the Norman lower story. In this first effort they did not dream of the tapering elegance of the soaring spire of Salisbury, any more than of the rich ornamentation, the profusion of exuberant pinnacles, the statues and buttresses, gargoyles, crockets and arabesques, with which their successors bedecked S. Mary's or the Clocher Neuf of Chartres. Strength and security was their chief aim here, though the small turrets, terminating in pyramidal octagons, which surmount the angles of the tower, are the forerunners of that exuberant ornamentation. In 1289 the bones of S. Frideswide were again translated. They were put in a new and more precious shrine, placed near where the old one stood. Fragments of the marble base of this shrine have been found, pieced together and set up in the easternmost arch between the Lady Chapel and the north choir aisle. These fragments of a beautiful work are themselves beautiful; they are adorned with finely carved foliage, intended to symbolise S. Frideswide's life when she took refuge in the woods. The story of the destruction of the shrine is a strange one. Before the Reformation the Church of S. Frideswide and her shrine had enjoyed a high reputation as a place of sanctity. Privileges were conceded to it by royal authority. Miracles were believed to be wrought by a virtue attaching to it; pilgrims from all parts resorted to it--among them Queen Catherine of Aragon. Such practices and privileges seemed to the zealous Reformers to call for summary interference. The famous shrine was doomed to destruction, and was actually destroyed. The fragments were used either at the time, or not long afterwards, to form part of the walls of a common well. The reliques of the Saint, however, were rescued by some zealous votaries, and carefully preserved in hope of better times. Meantime Catherine (the wife of Peter Martyr, a foreign Protestant theologian of high repute, who had been appointed Regius Professor of Theology) died, and was buried near the place lately occupied by the shrine. Over her grave sermons were preached, contrasting the pious zeal of the German Protestant with the superstitious practices that had tarnished the simplicity of the Saxon Saint. Then came another change. The Roman Church, under Mary Tudor, recovered a brief supremacy. The body of Peter Martyr's wife was, by order of Cardinal Pole, contemptuously cast out of the church, and the remains of S. Frideswide were restored to their former resting-place. But it does not appear that any attempt was made to restore the shrine. Party zeal still prevailed. Angry contests continued between the adherents of the two parties even after the accession of Elizabeth. At length the authorities of Christ Church were commissioned to remove the scandal that had been caused by the inhuman treatment of Catherine Martyr's body. On January 11th, 1562, the bones of the Protestant Catherine and the Catholic S. Frideswide were put together, so intermingled that they could not be distinguished, and then placed together in the same tomb: "Iam coeunt pietas atque superstitio." Under the easternmost arch, between the Lady Chapel and the Latin Chapel, is the fine chantry tomb, an elaborately wrought and very beautiful example of Perpendicular workmanship, which is supposed to have been the third and more splendid shrine of S. Frideswide, or else to have served as a "Watching Chamber," as it is [Illustration: Hall Stairway Christchurch Herbert Railton Oxford] commonly called, to protect the gold and jewels which hung about the earlier shrine. Under the Prior Guimond there was certainly a school connected with the convent. Whatever the origin of the University may have been--and there are those who maintain that it sprang from the schools of S. Frideswide as naturally as that of Paris from the schools of Notre Dame--it is pleasant to remember, when you stand in the middle of Tom Quad, that you are on the site of this, the first educational institution of Oxford, just as when you stand in the Lady Chapel of the Cathedral you are on the site of the old priory, the mother church of the University and town. Another faint echo of the priory days may be traced in the annual Cakestall in S. Olds, which is a survival of the Fair of S. Frideswide that used to last seven days. During that time the keys of the city passed from mayor to prior, and the town courts were closed in favour of the Pie-Powder Court,[2] held by the steward of the priory for the redress of all disorders committed during the fair. The entrance to the Cathedral is through the two arches in the cloisters, directly opposite to you as you pass into Tom Quad beneath Tom Tower. This curious entrance reminds you at once of the peculiar position of the Cathedral as three parts College chapel. Tom Quad is the largest quadrangle in Oxford (264 by 261 feet), and was begun by Wolsey on a scale which is sufficient evidence of the extreme magnificence of his plans for "Cardinal's College." It was begun, but has never been finished. The shafts and marks of the arches, from which the vaults of the intended cloister were to spring, are, however, plainly visible. Of the old cloister of the monastery no trace remains save the windows and door of the chapter house; the fifteenth-century cloisters that do exist are not to be compared with those of New College or Magdalen. One side of them was destroyed by Wolsey to make room for the College Hall. On the south side of the cloister is the old library, which was formerly the refectory of the monastery. With the chapter house doorway it survives as a relic of the old conventual buildings, in quiet contrast to the splendour of the superb kitchen, and the still more magnificent hall, with its valuable collection of portraits. The vaulted chamber, which contains the staircase by which this hall is approached, is one of the most beautiful things in Oxford. The lovely fan-tracery of the vault and the central pillar were the work of "one Smith, an artificer from London," and were built as late as 1640, in the reign of Charles II. It affords a striking instance of the fact in architectural history, that good Gothic persisted in Oxford long after the influence of Italian work had destroyed it elsewhere. To make room for this magnificent quadrangle of his the Cardinal also destroyed the three western bays of the Church of S. Frideswide. He had intended to build a new chapel along the north side of Tom Quad which should rival the chapel of King's College at Cambridge. But this work was interrupted by his fall. The foundations of the chapel have been traced, and they show that the west end ran in a line with the octagonal turrets in S. Aldate's Street, and the walls reached nearly to Fell's passage into Peckwater. For its massive walls Wolsey used some of the stones from the demolished Osney Abbey. The building at the time of his fall had risen some feet above the ground. Dean Fell, it is supposed, used it as a quarry for the construction of his own quadrangle. Now, there had been constructed a new straight walk in the Meadows, and Fell, anxious to improve it, carted the chippings from his own work to lay on it. The chippings were white, so the walk got the name of White. This was corrupted at the end of the eighteenth century to Wide Walk, and hence to Broad [Illustration: Christ's Church] Walk--its present name--which really describes it now better than the original phrase. The destruction of the western bays of the church by Wolsey accounts for the shortened aspect of the nave, slightly relieved though it is by the new western bay which serves as a sort of ante-chapel to the nave and choir which now form the College Chapel of Christ Church. But the appearance of the Cathedral owes something of its strangeness to the fact that it represents, in general plan, the design of King Æthelred's Church reared upon the site of S. Frideswide's. CHAPTER II THE MOUND, THE CASTLE AND SOME CHURCHES The property of S. Frideswide's Nunnery formed one of the chief elements in the formation of the plan of Oxford. The houses of the population which would spring up in connection with it were probably grouped on the slope by the northern enclosure wall of the nunnery, and were themselves bounded on the north by the road which afterwards became the High Street, and on the west by that which was afterwards named Southgate Street, then Fish Street, and is now known as S. Aldate's. This road, giving access from Wessex to Mercia, was probably one of the direct lines from the north-west to London in the tenth century. It led down to the old fords over the shallows which once intersected the meadows of South Hincksey, and gave, as some suppose, its name to the town.[3] The fords were superseded by the old Grand Pont, and Grand Pont in turn by Folly Bridge. Folly Bridge, as it now stands, was built a little south of Grand Pont, the old river-course to the north having been filled up by an embankment. The river now marks the Shire boundary which was once marked hereabouts by the Shire Ditch. Crossing the bridge to the Berkshire shore, the road, wherein you may still trace the piers of the old Grand Pont "linked with many a bridge," leads up to Hincksey. There the modern golf-links are, and the "lone, sky-pointing tree" that Clough and Arnold loved. And this road it was which, in the poetic imagination of Matthew Arnold, was haunted by the scholar gipsy. The main road leads over the hill, which is crowned by Bagley Wood, to Abingdon. That charming village, where once the great monastery stood, was separated in early days from the city by a great oak forest. Wandering therein, book in hand, a certain student, so the story runs, was met by a ferocious wild boar, which he overcame by thrusting his Aristotle down the beast's throat. The boar, having no taste for such logic, was choked by it, and his head, borne home in triumph, was served up, no doubt, at table in the student's hall with a sprig of rosemary in its mouth. The custom of serving a boar's head on Christmas Day at Queen's College, whilst the tabarder sang: "The Boar's Head in hand bear I Bedecked with bays and rosemary, And I pray you masters merry be-- Quotquot estis in convivio. Chorus--_Caput apri defero_ _Reddens laudes Domino_," _etc._, is said to have originated in that incident. S. Aldate's Road, after leaving the river, skirted the enclosure of S. Frideswide, and gradually ascended the sloping gravel bank in a northerly direction. Here it was met by another road which, coming from the east, connected Oxford with the Wallingford district. The crossing of these roads came to be known as the Four Ways, Quadrifurcus, corrupted into Carfax. And Carfax was the second of the chief elements in the formation of Oxford. For at this point, as if to mark its importance in the history of the town, was erected S. Martin's Church, which has always been the city church, and in the churchyard of which Town Councils (Portmannimotes) perhaps were held. It was founded under a Charter of Cnut (1034) by the wealthy and vigorous Abbey of Abingdon, which, together with the foundation at Eynsham, seems to have thrown the Monastery of S. Frideswide very much into the shade both as to energy and influence. [Illustration: Abingdon Abbey] The tower, restored by Mr T. G. Jackson, is the only remaining fragment of the old church. A modern structure was wisely removed in 1896 to broaden the thoroughfare. Two quaint figures, which in bygone days struck the quarters on the old church, have been restored to a conspicuous position on the tower. Shakespeare, who on his way to Stratford used to stop at the Crown Inn, a house then situated near the Cross in the Cornmarket, is said to have stood sponsor in the old church to Sir William Davenant in 1606. John Davenant, father of the poet and landlord of the Inn, was Mayor of Oxford. His wife was a very beautiful woman. Scandal reported that Shakespeare was more than godfather to Sir William. But if the tower be all that remains of the original structure, "S. Martin's at Carfax" still commands the High Street, and, serene amidst the din of trams, of skurrying marketers and jostling undergraduates, recalls the days when the town was yet in the infancy of its eventful life. The third element in the formation of the place was the Mound. Mediæval towns usually began by clustering thickly round a stronghold, and there is reason to believe that at the beginning of the tenth century Oxford was provided with a fortress. In the year 912 Oxford is mentioned for the first time in authentic history. For there is an entry in the Saxon Chronicle to the effect that "This year died Æthelred, ealdorman of the Mercians, and King Edward took possession of London and Oxford and of all the lands which owed obedience thereto." The Danes were ravaging the country. Mercia had been over-run by them the year before. The Chronicle for several years presents a record of the Danes attacking various places, and either Eadward or his sister Æthelflæd defending them and building fortresses for their defence. They fortified, for instance, Tamworth and Warwick and Runcorn, and at each of these places the common feature of fortification is a conical mound of earth. Take a tram from Carfax to the railway station, and stop at the County Courts and Gaol on your way. The County Gaol you need not visit, or admire its absurd battlements, but within the sham façade is the tower that remains from the Castle of Robert D'Oigli, and beside the tower is just such a conical mound of earth--the Castle Mound. Against raids and incursions Oxford was naturally protected on three sides. For the Thames on the west and south and the Cherwell on the east cut her off from the attack of land forces, whilst even against Danes coming up the Thames from Reading, marsh lands and minor streams within the belt of these outer waters protected her. For in those early days, when Nature had things almost entirely her own way, there were many more branches of the river, many minor tributary streams flowing where now you see nothing but houses and streets. The Trill Mill stream, for instance, which left the main stream on the west of what is now Paradise Square, is now covered over for the greater part of its course; whilst the main stream, after passing beneath the road some seventy yards outside South Gate, gave off another stream running due south, parallel with the road to Folly Bridge, but itself evidently continued its own course across Merton Fields by the side of what is now Broad Walk, and finally found its way into the Cherwell. And besides this stream, which ran under S. Frideswide's enclosure, there were, on the east, the minor streams which now enclose the Magdalen Walks. But what Oxford needed to strengthen her was some wall or fosse along the line occupied afterwards by the northern wall of the city, along the line, that is, of George Street, Broad Street and Holywell, and also some _place d'armes_, some mound, according to the fashion of the times, with accompanying ditches. With these defences it seems probable that she was now provided. Thus fortified Oxford becomes the chief town of Oxfordshire, the district attached to it. And during the last terrible struggle of England with the Danes its position on the borders of the Mercian and West-Saxon realms seems for the moment to have given it a political importance under Æthelred and Cnut strikingly analogous to that which it acquired in the Great Rebellion. After Sweyn's death Oxford was chosen as the meeting-place of the great gemot of the kingdom. The gemots, which were now and afterwards held at Oxford, were probably held about the Mound, where houses were erected for the royal residence. In one of these Æthelweard, the King's son, breathed his last; one was the scene of another dastardly murder of Danes, when Eadric (1015) ensnared Sigeferth and Morkere into his chamber, and there slew them. And here it was, according to Henry of Huntingdon, that King Edmund, who had been making so gallant a struggle against the conquering Cnut, was murdered by Eadric's son. Eadric, we know, was a traitor, and well-skilled in murders at Oxford. He, when his son had stabbed Edmund by his directions, came to Cnut and [Illustration: Cornmarket Street] "saluted him, saying, 'Hail, thou art sole king.' When he had laid bare the deed done, the King answered, 'I will make thee on account of thy great deserts higher than all the tall men of England.' And he ordered him to be beheaded and his head to be fixed on a pole on the highest tower of London. Thus perished Edmund, a brave king." And Cnut, the Dane, reigned in his stead. Beneath the shadow of the Mound, built to repel the Danish incursions, the Danish King now held an assembly of the people. At this gemot "Danes and Angles were unanimous, at Oxford, for Eadgar's law." The old laws of the country were, then, to be retained, and his new subjects were reconciled to the Danish King. But these subjects, the townsmen of those days, are but dim and shadowy beings to us. It is only by later records that we see them going on pilgrimage to the shrines of Winchester, or chaffering in their market-place, or judging and law-making in their husting, their merchant-guild regulating trade, their reeve gathering his King's dues of tax or honey, or marshalling his troop of burghers for the King's wars, their boats floating down the Thames towards London and paying the toll of a hundred herrings in Lent-tide to the Abbot of Abingdon by the way. For the river was the highway, and toll was levied on it. In Edward the Confessor's time, in return for the right of making a passage through the mead belonging to Abingdon, it was agreed that all barges that passed through carrying herrings during Lent should give to the cook of that monastery a hundred of them, and that when the servant of each barge brought them into the kitchen the cook should give him for his pains five of them, a loaf of bread and a measure of ale. In the seventeenth century the river had become so choked that no traffic was possible above Maidenhead till an Act was passed for the re-opening of it. It was at Oxford that a great assembly of all the Witan was held to elect Cnut's successor Harold, and at Oxford, so pernicious a place for kings, that Harold died. At Oxford again when the Northumbrian rebels, slaying and burning, had reached it (1065), the gemot was held which, in renouncing Tostig, came to the decision, the direct result of which was to leave England open to the easy conquest of William of Normandy when he landed in the following year. Five years later we find Robert D'Oigli in peaceful possession of Oxford, busy building one of those Norman castles, by which William made good his hold upon England, strongholds for his Norman friends, prisons for rebellious Englishmen. The river he held by such fortresses as this at Oxford, and the Castles of Wallingford and Windsor. Oxford had submitted without resistance to the Conqueror. There is no evidence that she suffered siege like Exeter or York, but many historians, Freeman among them, state that she was besieged. They have been misled by the error of a transcriber. Savile printed _Urbem Oxoniam_, for _Exoniam_, in his edition of "William of Malmesbury," and the mischief was done. A siege at this time has been supposed to explain a remarkable fact which is recorded in the Domesday Survey. "In the time of King Edward," so runs the record of Domesday Book: "Oxeneford paid for toll and gable and all other customs yearly--to the king twenty pounds, and six measures of honey, and to Earl Algar ten pounds, besides his mill within the [city]. When the king went out to war, twenty burgesses went with him in lieu of the rest, or they gave twenty pounds to the king that all might be free. Now Oxeneford pays sixty pounds at twenty-pence to the ounce. _In the town itself, as well within the wall as without, there are 243 houses that pay geld, and besides these there are 478 houses unoccupied and ruined (tam vastæ et destructæ) so that they can pay no geld._ The king has twenty wall mansions, which were Earl Algar's in the time of King Edward, paying both then and now fourteen shillings less twopence; and one mansion paying sixpence, belonging to Shipton; another paying fourpence, belonging to Bloxham; a third paying thirty pence, belonging to Risborough; and two others paying fourpence, belonging to Twyford in Buckinghamshire; one of these is unoccupied. They are called wall mansions because, if there is need and the king command it, they shall repair the wall.... All the burgesses of Oxeneford hold in common a pasture outside the wall that brings in six shillings and eightpence.... If any stranger who chooses to live in Oxeneford, and has a house, dies there without relatives, the king has all that he leaves." The extraordinary proportion of ruined and uninhabited houses enumerated in this record, however, was probably due not to any siege by the Normans and not mainly to harsh treatment at their hands, but to the ravaging and burning of that rebellious band of Northumbrians who had come upon Oxford "like a whirlwind" in 1065. Robert D'Oigli himself is recorded to have had "forty-two inhabited houses as well within as without the wall. Of these sixteen pay geld and gable, the rest pay neither, on account of poverty; and he has eight mansions unoccupied and thirty acres of meadow near the wall and a mill of ten shillings. The whole is worth three pounds and for one manor held he holds with the benefice of S. Peter...." (sentence incomplete). These houses belonged wholly to Holywell Manor,[4] and the mill referred to is no doubt that known as _Holywell Mill_, supplied with water from the Cherwell. Thus Domesday Book gives us a glimpse of a compact little town within a vallum, half a mile from east to west, and a quarter of a mile south to north. We may think of the gravel promontory as covered with houses and their gardens, and inhabited by some thousand souls. A market-place there would have been at or near Carfax, and fairs must have been held there, though we have no mention of them till the reign of Henry I. The "wall" of the enceinte, which, according to Domesday Book, the inhabitants of the mural mansions were compelled to repair, was probably a vallum of earth faced with stone, protected by a deep ditch in front, and surmounted by wood-work to save the soldiers from arrows. D'Oigli, we may presume, put the existing fortifications of the town in order. The fortifications, which were constructed in the reign of Henry III., followed in the main the line of the vallum repaired by D'Oigli. They consisted of a curtain wall and outer ditch, protected by a parapet and by round towers placed at regular intervals and advanced so as to command besiegers who might approach to attack the wall. There were staircases to the top of the towers. A good idea of them and the general scheme of the fortifications may be obtained by a visit to the fragment of the city wall which yet remains within the precincts of New College. The Slype, as it is called, forms a most picturesque approach to New College Gardens, and the old-bastioned wall forms part of the boundary between the New College property and Holywell Street. It is indeed owing to this fact that the wall still remains there intact, for the licence to found a College there was granted to William of Wykeham on condition of keeping the city wall in repair and of allowing access to the mayor and burgesses once in three years to see that this was done, and to defend the wall in time of war. From New College the city wall ran down to the High Street.[5] The East Gate Hotel, facing the new schools, marks the site of the old entrance to the city hereabouts. It is a recent construction in excellent taste by Mr E. P. Warren. From this point the wall ran on to Merton, and thence to Christ Church. The south wall of the Cathedral chapter house is on the line of the old city wall. It is said that some of the old wall was taken down for the erection [Illustration: The Bastion and Ramparts in New College] of the College Hall. Along the north side of Brewer Street (Lambard's Lane, Slaying Lane or King's Street) are here and there stones of the city wall, if not remnants of the walling. At the extreme end of Brewer Street the arch of Slaying Lane Well is just visible, once described as "under the wall." [Illustration: City Walls] The south gate spanned S. Aldate's, close to the south-west corner of Christ Church; Little Gate was at the end of Brewer Street, and the west gate was in Castle Street, beyond the old Church of S. Peter-le-Bailly. From the south gate faint traces in "The Friars" indicate its course, and the indications are clear enough by New Inn Hall Street, Ship Inn Yard and Bullock's Alley. Cornmarket Street was crossed by S. Michael's Church, where stood the north gate. The gate house of the north gate was used as the town prison. It rejoiced in the name of Bocardo, jestingly so called from a figure in logic; for a man once committed to that form of syllogism could not expect to extricate himself save by special processes. Old bastions and the line of the ditch are found behind the houses opposite Balliol College. The site of Balliol College was then an open space, and Broad Street was Canditch. This name was derived by Wood from Candida Fossa, a ditch with a clear stream running along it. Wood's etymology is not convincing. Mr Hurst has suggested a more likely derivation in Camp Ditch. As a street name it reached from the angle of Balliol to Smith Gate. An indication of the old fosse, filled up, is to be found in the broad gravel walk north of the wall near New College. From Bocardo the wall ran towards the Sheldonian Theatre. The outer line of the passage between Exeter Chapel and the house to the north of it was the line of the south face of the old city wall. A bastion was laid bare in 1852 in the north quad of Exeter. The wall passed in a diagonal line across the quadrangle south of the Clarendon Building, turned northwards in Cat's Street, and ran up to the octagonal Chapel of Our Lady by Smith Gate. The remains of this little chapel, with a beautiful little "Annunciation" in a panel over the south entrance, have recently been revealed to the passer-by by the new buildings of Hertford College, between which and the feeble mass of the Indian Institute it seems strangely out of place. [Illustration: CHAPEL OF OUR LADY.] From Smith Gate the wall returned to New College, and so completed the circuit of the town. A reference to the map will elucidate this bare narration of mine. But to return to Robert D'Oigli, the Conqueror's Castellan. From what little we know of him, he would appear to have been a typical Norman baron, ruthless, yet superstitious, strong to conquer and strong to hold. Very much the rough, marauding soldier, but gifted with an instinct for government and order, he came over to the conquest of England in the train of William the Bastard and in the company of Roger D'Ivry, his sworn brother, to whom, as the chronicler tells us, he was "iconfederyd and ibownde by faith and sacrament." Oxfordshire was committed to his charge by the Conqueror, to reduce to final subjection and order. He seems to have ruled it in rude soldierly fashion, enforcing order, tripling the taxation of the town and pillaging without scruple the religious houses of the neighbourhood. For it was only by such ruthless exaction that the work which William had [Illustration: BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF OXFORD BY RALPH AGAS (1578): FROM THE ENGRAVING BY WHITTLESEY (1728).] set him to do could be done. He had indeed been amply provided for, so far as he himself was concerned, by the Conqueror, chiefly through a marriage with a daughter of Wiggod of Wallingford, who had been cupbearer to Edward the Confessor; but money was needed for the great fortress which was now to be built to hold the town, after the fashion of the Normans, and by holding the town to secure, as we have said, the river. "In the year 1071," it is recorded in the Chronicle of Osney Abbey, "was built the Castle of Oxford by Robert D'Oigli." And by the Castle we must understand not the mound which was already there, nor such a castle as was afterwards built in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, but at least the great tower of stone which still exists and was intended to guard the western approach to the Castle. S. George's tower, for so it was called because it was joined to the chapel of S. George's College within the precincts, was upon the line of the enceinte. The walls are eight feet four inches thick at the bottom, though not more than four feet at the top. The doorway, which is some twelve feet from the ground, was on the level of the vallum or wall of fortification, and gave access to the first floor. There are traces of six doorways above the lead roof, which gave access to the "hourdes." These were wooden hoardings or galleries that could be put up outside. They had holes for the crossbows, and holes for the pouring down of stones, boiling pitch or oil on to the heads of threatening sappers. They were probably stored in the top room of the tower, which is windowless. The construction of the staircase of the tower is very peculiar. Ascend it and you will obtain a magnificent view of Oxford, of Iffley and Sandford Lock, Shotover and the Chiltern Hills, Hincksey, Portmeadow, Godstow, Woodstock and Wytham Woods. On the mound close at hand there was, after D'Oigli's day, a ten-sided keep built in the style of Henry III. To reach the mound you go within the gaol, and pass by a pathetic little row of murderers' graves, sanded heaps, distinguished by initials. Under the mound is a very deep well, covered over by a groined chamber of Transitional design. Five towers were added later to the Castle, as Agas' map (1568) shows us. After the Civil War, Colonel Draper, Governor of Oxford, "sleighted," as Wood expresses it, the work about the city, but greatly strengthened the Castle. But in the following year (1651), when the Scots invaded England, he, for some reason, "sleighted" the Castle works too. The five towers, shown in Agas' map, and other fortifications then disappeared. S. George's tower alone survives. Stern and grim that one remaining fragment of the old Castle stands up against the sky, a landmark that recalls the good government of the Norman kings. But the most romantic episode connected with it occurred amidst the horrors of the time when the weakness and misrule of Stephen, and the endeavours of Matilda to supplant him, had plunged the country into that chaos of pillage and bloodshed from which the Norman rule had hitherto preserved it. After the death of his son, Henry I. had forced the barons to swear to elect his daughter Matilda as his successor. But they elected Stephen of Blois, grandson of the Conqueror, whose chief claim to the Crown, from their point of view, was his weak character. In a Parliament at Oxford (1135) he granted a charter with large liberties to the Church, but his weakness and prodigality soon gave the barons opportunities of revolt. Released from the stern control of Henry they began to fortify their castles; in self-defence the great ministers of the late King followed their example. Stephen seized the Bishops of Salisbury and Lincoln at Oxford, and forced them to surrender their strongholds. The King's misplaced violence broke up the whole system of government, turned the clergy against him and opened the way for the revolt of the adherents of Matilda. The West was for her; London and the East supported Stephen. Victory at Lincoln placed Stephen a captive in the hands of Matilda, and the [Illustration: Oxford Castle] land received her as its "Lady." But her contemptuous refusal to allow the claims of the Londoners to enjoy their old privileges, and her determination to hold Stephen a prisoner, strengthened the hand of her opponents. They were roused to renew their efforts. Matilda was forced to flee to Oxford, and there she was besieged by Stephen, who had obtained his release. Stephen marched on Oxford, crossed the river at the head of his men, routed the Queen's supporters, and set fire to the city. Matilda shut herself up in the Castle and prepared to resist the attacks of the King. But Stephen prosecuted the siege with great vigour; every approach to the Castle was carefully guarded, and after three months the garrison was reduced to the greatest straits. Provisions were exhausted; the long-looked-for succour never came; without, Stephen pushed the siege harder than ever. It seemed certain that Matilda must fall into his hands. Her capture would be the signal for the collapse of the rebellion. But just as the end seemed inevitable, Matilda managed to escape in marvellous wise. There had been a heavy fall of snow; so far as the eye could see from the Castle towers the earth was hidden beneath a thick white pall. The river was frozen fast. The difficulty of distinguishing a white object on this white background, and the opportunity of crossing the frozen river by other means than that of the guarded bridge, suggested a last faint chance of escape. Matilda's courage rose to the occasion. She draped herself in white, and with but one companion stole out of the beleaguered Castle at dead of night, and made her way, unseen, unheard through the friendly snow. Dry-footed she stole across the river, and gradually the noise of the camp faded away into the distance behind her. For six weary miles she stumbled on through the heavy drifts of snow, until at last she arrived in safety at Wallingford. The bird had flown, and the Castle shortly afterwards surrendered to the baffled King (_Gesta Stephani_). During this siege the people were deprived of the use of the Church of S. George, and to supply their spiritual needs a new church sprang into existence. It was dedicated to S. Nicholas, and afterwards to S. Thomas a Becket. Of the original church, just opposite the L. & N.W. Railway Station, part of the chancel remains. The tower is fifteenth century. The Castle mill is mentioned in the Domesday Survey. The present mill no doubt occupies the same site; its foundations may preserve some of the same masonry as that which is thus recorded to have existed hereabouts before the Conquest. You will notice that the Castle occupies almost the lowest position in the town, and remembering all the other Norman castles you have seen, Windsor or Durham, Lincoln or William the Bastard's own birth-place at Falaise, the Oxford site may well give you pause, till you remember that the position of the old tenth-century fort had been chosen as the one which best commanded the streams against the Danes, whose incursions were mainly made by means of the rivers. If Carfax had been clear, D'Oigli would have built his castle at Carfax; but it was covered with houses and S. Martin's; and, shrinking from the expense that would have been involved, and the outcry that would have been raised, if he had cleared the high central point of the town, he was content to modify and strengthen the old fort. But as the descent of Queen Street from Carfax threatened the Castle, if the town were taken, there was no regular communication made between the Castle and the town. A wooden drawbridge across the deep ditches that defended the Castle led to the town, somewhere near Castle Street. This would be destroyed in time of danger. No other entrance to the town was allowed on this side. "All persons coming across the meadows from the West and all the goods disembarked at the Hythe from the barges and boats would have to be taken in at the North Gate of the town, the road passing along the North bank of the City ditch and following, probably, exactly the same course as that followed by George Street to-day" (Parker). And round about the Castle itself an open space was preserved by the policy of the Castellan, and known as the Bailly (ballium, outer court). The Church of S. Peter le Bailly recalls the fact. Study the history of most cathedrals and you will discover that, like Chartres or Durham, "half house of God, half castle 'gainst the Scot," they have served and were intended to serve at some period of their career as fortresses as well as churches. When Bishop Remigius removed the see from Dorchester to Lincoln, as he did at this time (1070), Henry of Huntingdon writes: "He built a church to the Virgin of Virgins, strong in a strong position, fair in a fair spot, which was agreeable to those who serve God and also, as was needful at the time, impregnable to an enemy." The tower of S. Michael's at North Gate is a good example of this mingling of the sacred with the profane, and the architectural feature of it is that it combines the qualities of a campanile with those of the tower of the Castle. It was a detached tower, and not part and parcel of the church which stood at the North Gate, as it is now. In the fifteenth century the city wall was extended northwards so as to include the church. The tower is placed just where we should expect to find that the need of fortification was felt. South and East, Oxford was now protected by the Thames and the Cherwell as well as by her "vallum," and on the west was the Castle. But the North Gate needed protection, and D'Oigli built the tower of S. Michael's to give it, spiritual and temporal both. At a later date there was erected a chapel, also dedicated to S. Michael, near the South Gate, and with reference to this church and chapel and the Churches of S. Peter in the East and in the West, there is a mediæval couplet which runs as follows: "Invigilat portæ australi boreæque Michael, Exortum solem Petrus regit atque cadentem." "At North Gate and at South Gate too S. Michael guards the way, While o'er the East and o'er the West S. Peter holds his sway." The military character of S. Michael's tower is marked by that round-headed doorway, which you may perceive some thirty feet from the ground on the north side. Just as the blocked-up archways at the top of the Castle tower once gave access to the wooden galleries which projected from the wall, so this doorway opened on to a lower gallery which guarded the approach to the adjoining gateway. On the south side of the tower you will find traces of another doorway, the base of which was about twelve feet from the level of the ground. It is reasonable to suppose that the tower projected from the north side of the rampart, and that this doorway was the means of communication between them. The other doorway, on the west side, level with the street, gave access from the road to the basement story of the tower. Architecturally the tower may be said to be a connecting link between the romanesque and Norman styles. The system of rubble, with long-and-short work at the angles, has not yet given place to that of surface ashlar masonry throughout, and the eight pilaster windows, it should be observed, of rude stone-work carved with the axe, present the plain, pierced arches, with mid-wall shafts, which preceded the splayed Norman window and arches with orders duly recessed. The church itself adjoining the tower is of various periods, chiefly fourteenth century. It was, together with S. Mildred's, united (in 1429) to All Saint's Church, which then was made a collegiate parish church by the foundation of Lincoln College adjoining. Not only was Robert D'Oigli a builder of walls and towers, but, in the end, of churches also. The Chronicle of Abingdon Abbey records the story of his conversion. "In his greed for gain, says the Chronicler, he did everywhere harass the churches, and especially the Abbey of Abingdon. Amongst other evil deeds he appropriated for the use of the Castle garrison a meadow that lay outside the walls of Oxford and belonged to the Abbey. Touched to the quick the brethren assembled before their Altar and cried to Heaven for vengeance. Meantime, whilst day and night they were thus calling upon the Blessed Mary, Robert fell into a grievous sickness in which he continued many days impenitent, until one night he dreamed that he stood within the palace of a certain great King. And before a glorious lady who was seated upon a throne there knelt two of the monks whose names he knew and they said 'Lady, this is he who seizes the lands of your church.' After which words were uttered she turned herself with great indignation towards Robert and commanded him to be thrust out of doors and to be led to the meadow. And two youths made him sit down there, and a number of ruffianly lads piled burning hay round him and made sport of him. Some tossed haybands in his face and others singed his beard and the like. His wife, seeing that he was sleeping heavily, woke him up and on his narrating to her his dream she urged him to go to Abingdon and restore the meadow. To Abingdon therefore he caused his men to row him and there before the altar he made satisfaction." There are two points to be noted in this story. First, that the meadow in question was doubtless that which bears the name of _King's Mead_ to this day; second, that the river was a much used highway in those and in much later times, ere money and Macadam, and afterwards George Stephenson, had substituted roads and rails and made the water-way slow and no safer. To return to our Chronicler. "And after the aforesaid vision which he had seen, how that he was tortured by evil demons at the command of the Mother of God, not only did he devote himself to the building of the Church of S. Mary of Abingdon but he also repaired at his own expense other parish churches that were in a ruined state both within and without the walls. A great bridge, also, was built by him on the North side of Oxford (High or Hythe (= Haven) Bridge). And he dying in the month of September was honourably buried within the Presbytery at Abingdon on the north side, and his wife lies in peace buried on his left." Together with his sworn friend, Roger D'Ivry, he founded the "Church of S. George in the Castle of Oxenford." This church stood adjacent to the Castle tower, but it was removed in 1805 to make room for the prison buildings.[6] Probably, also, D'Oigli founded a church, dedicated to S. Mary Magdalen, situated just without the North Gate, and intended to supply the spiritual wants of travellers and dwellers without the walls. The church was on the site of the present Church of S. Mary Magdalen; but no trace of the original work has been left by the early Victorian restorers. It passed with the Church of S. George to Osney Abbey, and then with its patron to the successors of the canons of S. Frideswide's, the prebends or canons of Christ Church. D'Oigli probably built also the Church of S. Michael at the North Gate and S. Peter's within the East Gate; and as for his restorations, they may have included the parish church, S. Martin's, and also S. Mary's and S. Ebbe's, which latter may possibly have been built in the time of Edward the Confessor. How very literally S. Peter's guarded the east may be gathered by inspecting the two turrets at the east end of the church. There were small openings in these whence a watch could be kept over the streams and the approach to East Gate. Whether the crypt of this church, as we now have it, dates entirely from D'Oigli's time is a moot point. It may be that it does, but the actual masonry, it will be noticed, the ashlar work, capitals and arches, are superior to that of the Castle and S. Michael's. The plan of the original crypt of S. George's in the Castle shows that it had, in accordance with the general rule of eleventh-century work in this country, an apsidal termination. The crypt of S. Peter's, as built in D'Oigli's day, was, it is suggested, no exception. It had an apsidal termination which did not extend so far towards the east as the present construction. But, as happened again and again in the history of innumerable churches and cathedrals at [Illustration: S. Peter's in the East] home and abroad, of Chartres, Rochester, Canterbury, for instance, the crypt was presently extended eastwards. The extension in the present case would enable the small apse to be changed into a larger choir with a rectangular east end. The result is, that looking eastwards, and noticing that there is no apparent break between the wall of the crypt and the wall of the chancel above, which evidently belongs to the middle of the twelfth century, you would be inclined to attribute the whole crypt to that date, if you did not notice the small doorways on either side and at the western end. Looking westward, you see work which carries you back to the days when S. Michael's and the Castle tower were being built. For the three western arches, two of them doorways now blocked up and the central one open, indicate a type of crypt which is generally held not to have been used later than the beginning of the twelfth century. The essential features of this type were that the vault of the crypt was raised some feet above the level of the floor of the nave, and that both from the north and south side of the nave steps led down into the crypt. And in some cases there were central steps as well, or at least some opening from the nave. Here then, as at Repton, you have indications of this type, for behind each of the blocked-up doorways is a passage leading to some steps or clear traces of steps, and the central archway may have provided originally an opening to the nave, through which a shrine may have been visible, or else a communication by central steps. The entrance to this remarkable crypt, with its vaulting of semi-circular arches of hewn stone, is from the outside. The crypt has capitals of a peculiar design to several of the shafts, and four of the bases ornamented with spurs formed by the heads of lizard-shaped animals. The chancel and the south doorway afford remarkably rich examples of the late Norman style. The fifteenth-century porch, with a room over it, somewhat hides, but has doubtless protected the latter. The early decorated tower, the exterior arcading of the chancel, the unique groining of the sanctuary ("S. Peter's Chain,") and the two beautiful decorated windows on the north, and the early English arcade of the nave, are all worthy of remark in this interesting church. Of the old Church of S. Ebbe (S. Æbba was the sister of S. Oswald), which was rebuilt in 1814 and again partially in 1869, nothing now remains save the stone-work of a very rich late Norman doorway, which was taken down and built into the south wall of the modern building. The other church which is mentioned at this period is S. Aldate's. Now, nothing is known of the Saint to whom this church is supposed to have been dedicated, and from whom, as we have seen, the street which runs from Carfax to Folly Bridge borrows its name. In no ancient martyrology or calendar does S. Aldate appear. It is quite possible that there was such a Saint, and if there was, he would not be the only one who survives in our memory solely by virtue of the churches dedicated to him. But the corruption--S. Told's--S. Old's is found in thirteenth-century chartularies and in popular parlance to-day. This corruption is curious, and may be significant. S. Aldate's Church at Oxford lies just within the old South Gate of the town; the only other church of the same name lies just within the old North Gate of Gloucester. In an old map of Gloucester this latter church is called S. Aldgate's; in an old map of Oxford the same spelling occurs. At Oxford the street now known as S. Aldate's was once called South Gate Street. It seems likely, therefore, that Aldate represents a corruption from Old Gate = Aldgate = Aldate, and that the name, when it had become so far corrupted, was supposed to be that of a Saint. But the true meaning, as so often happens, lived on, when men spoke with unconscious correctness of S. Old's. The church itself, as it now stands, is chiefly the product of a restoration in 1863,[7] but the south aisle was built in 1335 by Sir John Docklington, a fishmonger who was several times mayor. Over it there used to be an upper story which served as a library for the use of students in Civil Law who frequented the neighbouring hall, Broadgates Hall, which became Pembroke College in 1624, when Thomas Tesdale endowed it and named it after Lord Pembroke the Chancellor, and King James assumed the honours of founder. In the library the refectory of the old hall survives. The rest of the front quadrangle was added in the seventeenth century and Gothicised in the eighteenth. It was in a room over the gateway that Dr Johnson lived, when Pembroke was "a nest of singing birds." The eighteenth-century chapel, decorated (1884) by Mr Kempe, and the new hall should tempt the visitor into the back quadrangle. In the days of Robert D'Oigli, then, Oxford was provided with no less than eight churches, dedicated to S. Frideswide, S. Martin, S. George, S. Mary Magdalen, S. Mary the Virgin, S. Peter, S. Michael and S. Ebbe. By the end of the reign of Henry I. this number had been more than doubled. And seeing that much church building is and always was a sign of prosperity and security, the fact that eight new churches sprang up within so short a time after the Norman Conquest may be taken to prove that under her sheriffs and portreeves Oxford enjoyed good government and made rapid progress in population and wealth. Of these eight or ten new churches no trace remains of S. Mildred's, save the pathway across the old churchyard which survives in the modern Brasenose Lane; and the church dedicated to S. Eadward the martyr, which lay between S. Frideswide's and the High, has likewise disappeared; the exact sites of the church of S. Budoc, the Chapel of the Holy Trinity and of S. Michael at the South Gate, cannot be identified; the Chapel of S. Clement, on the other side of Magdalen Bridge, gave way to a fourteenth-century church, and was wholly cleared away at the beginning of the nineteenth century; All Saint's and S. Peter's, in the bailey of the Castle, were entirely rebuilt in the eighteenth century, and the latter re-erected on another site in the nineteenth. The old chancel arch in the Church of S. Cross (Holywell) dates from the end of the eleventh century, and this church was probably founded about this time by Robert D'Oigli or his successors for the benefit of the growing population on Holywell Manor. The present Church of S. Clement, on the Marston Road, near the new Magdalen and Trinity Cricket Grounds, is an early Victorian imitation of Norman style, and well described as the "Boiled Rabbit." The Castle tower, the tower of S. Michael's, the crypt of S. Peter's in the East, Holywell and the Castle mill, the chancel of S. Cross, these are all landmarks that recall the days when D'Oigli governed Oxford, and the servants of William surveyed England and registered for him his new estate. But there is one other item in the Domesday record which deserves to be noticed: "All burgesses of Oxford hold in common a pasture without the wall which brings in 6s. 8d." How many Oxford men realise, when they make their way to Port Meadow to sail their centre-boards on the upper river, that this ancient "Port" (or "Town") Meadow is still set apart for its ancient purpose, that the rights of the freemen of Oxford to have free pasture therein have been safeguarded for eight hundred years by the portreeve or shire-reeve (sheriff), annually appointed to fulfil this duty by the Portmannimot (or Town Council)? Robert D'Oigli died childless. He was succeeded by his nephew, the second Robert, who had wedded Edith, a concubine of Henry I. She, dwelling in the Castle, was wont to walk in the direction of what is now the Great Western Railway Station and the cemetery, being attracted thither by the "chinking rivulets and shady groves." [Illustration: Entrance Front Pembroke College] And it is said that there one evening, "she saw a great company of pyes gathered together on a tree, making a hideous noise with their chattering, and seeming, as 'twere, to direct their chatterings to her." The experience was repeated, and the Lady sent for her confessor, one Radulphus, a canon of S. Frideswide's, and asked him what the reason of their chattering might be. Radulphus, "the wiliest pye of all," Wood calls him, explained that "these were no pyes, but so many poor souls in purgatory that do beg and make all this complaint for succour and relief; and they do direct their clamours to you, hoping that by your charity you would bestow something both worthy of their relief, as also for the welfare of yours and your posterity's souls, as your husband's uncle did in founding the College and Church of S. George." These words being finisht, she replied, "And is it so indeed? now de pardieux, if old Robin my husband will concede to my request, I shall do my best endeavour to be a means to bring these wretched souls to rest." And her husband, as the result of her importunities, "founded the monastery of Osney, near or upon the place where these pyes chattered (1129), dedicating it to S. Mary, allotting it to be a receptacle of Canon Regulars of S. Augustine, and made Radulphus the first Prior thereof." Osney was rebuilt in 1247. The Legate proclaimed forty days' indulgence to anyone who should contribute towards the building of it. The result was one of the most magnificent abbeys in the country. "The fabric of the church," says Wood, "was more than ordinary excelling." Its two stately towers and exquisite windows moved the envy and admiration of Englishmen and foreigners alike. When, in 1542, Oxford ceased to belong to the diocese of Lincoln, and the new see was created, Robert King, the last Abbot of Osney, was made first Bishop of Osney. But it was only for a few years that the bishop's stool was set up in the Church of S. Mary. In 1546 Henry the VIII. moved the see to S. Frideswide's, and converted the priory, which Wolsey had made a college, into both college and cathedral. And the Abbey of Osney was devoted to destruction. "Sir," said Dr Johnson when he saw the ruins of that great foundation, stirred by the memory of its splendid cloister and spacious quadrangle as large as Tom Quad, its magnificent church, its schools and libraries, the oriel windows and high-pitched roofs of its water-side buildings, and the abbot's lodgings, spacious and fair, "Sir! to look upon them fills me with indignation!" Agas' map (1568) represents the abbey as still standing, but roofless; the fortifications in 1644 accounted for the greater part of what then remained. The mean surroundings of the railway station mark the site of the first Cathedral of Oxford. The Cemetery Chapel is on the site of the old nave. A few tiles and fragments of masonry, the foundations of the gateway and a piece of a building attached to the mill, are the only remains that will reward you for an unpleasant afternoon's exploration in this direction. Better, instead of trying so to make these dead stones live, to go to the Cathedral and there look at the window in the south choir aisle, which was buried during the Civil War and, thus preserved from the destructive Puritans, put up again at the Restoration. This painted window, which is perhaps from the hand of the Dutchman Van Ling (1634), represents Bishop King in cope and mitre, and among the trees in the background is a picture of Osney Abbey already in ruins. The bishop's tomb, it should be added, of which a missing fragment has this year been discovered, lies in the bay between the south choir aisle and S. Lucy's Chapel. But there is one other survival of Osney Abbey of which you cannot long remain unaware. You will not have been many hours in the "sweet city of the dreaming spires" before you hear the "merry Christ Church bells" of Dean Aldrich's[8] well-known catch ring out, or the cracked B flat of Great Tom, booming his hundred and one strokes, tolling the hundred students of the scholastic establishment and the one "outcomer" of the Thurston foundation, and signalling at the same time to all "scholars to repair to their respective colleges and halls" and to all the Colleges to close their gates (9.5 P.M.). And these bells, Hautclerc, Douce, Clement, Austin, Marie, Gabriel et John, as they are named in the hexameter, are the famous Osney bells, which were held to be the finest in England in the days when bell-founding was a serious art and a solemn rite, when bells were baptized and anointed, exorcised and blessed by the bishop, so that they might have power to drive the devil out of the air, to calm tempests, to extinguish fire, and to recreate even the dead. They are hung within the Bell-Tower (above the hall-staircase of Christ Church), which Mr Bodley has built about the wooden structure which contains them, and which he intended to surmount with a lofty and intricate wooden superstructure. But Tom is placed in his own tower, over the entrance from S. Aldate's into the great Quad to which he has given his name. The lower story of Tom Tower was built by Wolsey (the Faire Gate it was called, and the cardinal's statue is over the gateway), but the octagonal cupola which gives to it its characteristic appearance was added by Sir Christopher Wren. Tom weighed 17,000 pounds, and bore the inscription:-- _In Thomæ laude resono Bim Bom sine fraude_, but he was re-cast in 1680 (7 ft. 1 in. in diameter, and weighing over 7 tons). The inscription records:-- _Magnus Thomas Clusius Oxoniensis renatus, Ap. 8, 1680._ Translated here, he has rung out, since the anniversary of the Restoration on the 29th of May 1684, nightly without intermission, save on that night some years ago when the undergraduates of Christ Church cut the rope as a protest when they were not allowed to attend the ball given at Blenheim in honour of the coming of age of the Duke of Marlborough, and curfew did not ring that night. There is one other monument in Oxford which is connected by popular tradition with the last Abbot of Osney, and that is the exceedingly picturesque old house[9] in S. Aldate's. Richly and quaintly carved, this old timber mansion is known as the Bishop's Palace, and is said to have been the residence of Bishop King, after the See was transferred from Osney to Christ Church. [Illustration: Gables in St Aldate's] The town, we have seen, had been ruined, and very many of the houses were "waste," when the Normans conquered England. But in the new era of prosperity and security which their coming gave to the land, in the sudden development of industry and wealth which the rule of the conquerors fostered, Oxford had her full share. The buildings of which remnants or records remain bear witness to the new order of things. Such works as those which we have described could not then or now be done without money. The transformation of Oxford at this period, from a town of wooden houses, in great part uninhabited, to a town of stone houses, with a castle and many churches of stone, is an indication of wealth. And that wealth was a product not only of the new régime of order and security, but also of the new policy of the foreign kings. The erection of stately castles and yet statelier Abbeys which followed the Conquest, says Mr Green, the rebuilding of almost every cathedral and conventual church, mark the advent of the Jewish capitalist. From this time forward till 1289 the Jew was protected in England and his commercial enterprise fostered. He was introduced and protected as a chattel of the King, and as such exempt from the common law and common taxation of Englishmen. In Oxford, as elsewhere, the Jews lived apart, using their own language, their own religion and laws, their own peculiar commerce and peculiar dress. Here the Great and Little Jewries extended along Fish Street (S. Old's) to the present Great Gate of Christ Church, and embraced a square of little streets, behind this line, which was isolated and exempt from the common responsibilities and obligations of the town. The church itself was powerless against the Synagogue, which rose in haughty rivalry beside the cloister of S. Frideswide. Little wonder if the Priory and Jewry were soon at deadly feud. In 1185 we find Prior Phillip complaining of a certain Deus-cum-crescat (Gedaliah) son of Mossey, who, presuming upon his exemption from the jurisdiction of any but the King, had dared to mock at the Procession of S. Frideswide. Standing at his door as the procession of the saint passed by, the mocking Jew halted and then walked firmly on his feet, showed his hands clenched as if with palsy and then flung open his fingers. Then he claimed gifts and oblations from the crowd who flocked to S. Frideswide's, on the ground that such recoveries of limb and strength were quite as real as any Frideswide had wrought. But no earthly power, ecclesiastic or civil, ventured to meddle with Deus-cum-crescat. The feud between Jewry and Priory lasted long. It culminated in 1268 in a daring act of fanaticism, which incidentally provides a curious proof of the strong protection which the Jews enjoyed, and of the boldness with which they showed their contempt for the superstitions around them. As the customary procession of scholars and citizens was returning on Ascension Day from S. Frideswide's, a Jew suddenly burst from the group of his friends in front of the synagogue, and snatching the crucifix from its bearer, trod it underfoot. But even in presence of such an outrage, the terror of the Crown shielded the Jewry from any burst of popular indignation. The King condemned the Jews of Oxford to make a heavy silver crucifix for the University to carry in the processions, and to erect a cross of marble where the crime was committed; but even this punishment was in part remitted, and a less offensive place was allotted for the cross in an open plot by Merton College. But the time of the Jews had almost come. Their wealth and growing insolence had fanned the flames of popular prejudice against them. Protected by the kings whose policy it was to allow none to plunder them but their royal selves, they reaped a harvest greater than even the royal greed could reap.[10] Their position as chattels of the King, outside the power of clergy or barons, and as citizens of little towns within towns in whose life they took no part except to profit by it, stirred the jealousy of the various classes. Wild stories were circulated then, as on the Continent still, of children carried off to be circumcised or crucified. The sack of Jewry after Jewry was the sign of popular hatred and envy during the Barons' war. Soon the persecution of the law fell upon these unhappy people. Statute after statute hemmed them in. They were forbidden to hold real property, to employ Christian servants, and to move through the streets without two tell-tale white tablets of wool on their breasts. Their trade, already crippled by the competition of bankers, was annihilated by the royal order which bade them renounce usury, under the pain of death. At last Edward, eager to obtain funds for his struggle with Scotland, yielded to the fanaticism of his subjects and bought the grant of a fifteenth from the clergy and laity at the price of driving the Jews from his realm. From the time of Edward to that of Cromwell no Jew touched English soil. There is no reason to suppose with many historians that the Jews of Oxford contributed through their books, seized at this time, to the cultivation of physical and medical science, or that it was through the books of the Rabbis that Roger Bacon was enabled to penetrate to the older world of research. The traces which they have left in Oxford, save in the indirect manner I have suggested, are not many. The rising ground, now almost levelled, between the Castle and Broken Hayes, on the outer edge of the Castle ditch on the north side, was long known as the Mont de Juis, but being the place of execution, the name may more likely be derived from justice than from Jews. A more interesting reminiscence is provided by the Physic Garden opposite Magdalen College. Henry II. had granted the Jews the right of burial outside of every city in which they dwelt. At Oxford their burial place was on the site where S. John's hospital was afterwards built, and was then transferred to the place where the Physic Garden now stands. This garden, the first land publicly set apart for the scientific study of plants, was founded by Henry, Earl of Danby (1632), who gave the land for this purpose. Mr John Evelyn visiting it a few years later was shown the Sensitive Plant there for a great wonder. There also grew, he tells us, canes, olive trees, rhubarb, but no extraordinary curiosities, besides very good fruit. Curious, however, the shapes of the clipped trees were, if we may believe Tickell, who writes enthusiastically: "How sweet the landskip! where in living trees, Here frowns a vegetable Hercules; There famed Achilles learns to live again And looks yet angry in the mimic scene; Here artful birds, which blooming arbours shew, Seem to fly higher whilst they upwards grow." The gateway was designed by Inigo Jones, and the figures of Charles I. and II. were added later, the expense being defrayed out of the fine levied upon Anthony Wood for his libel upon Clarendon. About the same time that Osney Abbey was finished the palace which Henry Beauclerk had been building at Beaumont, outside the north gate of the city, was finished also. To satisfy his love of hunting he had already (1114) constructed a palace and park at Woodstock. Within the stone walls of the enclosure there he nourished and maintained, says John Rous, lions, leopards, strange spotted beasts, porcupines, camels, and such like animals, sent to him by divers outlandish lords. The old palace at Beaumont lay to the north-east of Worcester College. Its site, chosen by the King "for the great pleasure of the seat and the sweetness and delectableness of the air," is indicated by Beaumont Street, a modern street which has revived the name of the palace on the hill,--Bellus mons. When not occupied with his books or his menagerie, the Scholar-King found time to grant charters to the town, and he let to the city the collective dues or fee-farm rent of the place. Henry II. held important councils at Beaumont. The one romance of his life is connected with Woodstock and Godstow. One of the most charming of the many beautiful excursions by road or river from Oxford takes you to the little village of Godstow, "Through those wide fields of breezy grass Where black-winged swallows haunt the glittering Thames." To sail here from Folly Bridge or the Upper River, to fish here, to play bowls or skittles here, to eat strawberries and cream here, has for centuries been the delight of Oxford students. "So on thy banks, too, Isis, have I strayed A tasselled student, witness you who shared My morning walk, my ramble at high noon, My evening voyage, an unskilful sail, To Godstow bound, or some inferior port, For strawberries and cream. What have we found In life's austerer hours delectable As the long day so loitered?" Just opposite the picturesque old Trout Inn and the bridge which spans the river here you may see an old boundary wall, enclosing a paradise of ducks and geese, at one corner of which is a ruined chapel with a three-light perpendicular window. These are the only remaining fragments of the once flourishing Nunnery, which was the last home of Rosamund, Rosa Mundi, the Rose of the World. During his residence at Oxford, Henry granted the growing city an important charter, confirming the liberties they had enjoyed under Henry I., "and specially their guild merchant, with all liberties and customs, in lands and in goods, pastures and other accessories, so that any one who is not of the guildhall shall not traffic in city or suburbs, except as he was wont at the time of King Henry, my grandfather. Besides I have granted them to be quit of toll and passenger tax, and every custom through all England and Normandy, by land, by water, by sea-coast, _by land and by strand_. And they are to have all other customs and liberties and laws of their own, which they have in common with my citizens of London. And that they serve me at my feast with those of my Butlery, and do their traffic with them, within London and without, and everywhere." Oxford then (1161) enjoyed customs and liberties in common with London; her charter was copied from that of the Londoners, and on any doubtful matter she was bound to consult the parent town. She was soon provided with aldermen, bailiffs, and chamberlains, whose titles were borrowed from the merchant guild, and with councilmen who were elected from the citizens at large. The Mayor was formally admitted to his office by the Barons of the Exchequer at Westminster, and on his return thence, he was met always by the citizens in their liveries at Trinity Chapel, without Eastgate, where he stayed to return thanks to God for his safe return, and left an alms upon the altar. The merchant guild was originally distinct from the municipal government, though finally the Guildhall became the common hall of the city. In practice the chief members of the merchant guild would usually be also the chief members of the Court-leet. The business of the merchant guild was to regulate trade. Its relation to the craft guilds is analogous to that which exists between the University and the Colleges. The Crafts, to which, as to the freedom of the city, men obtained admission by birth, apprenticeship, or purchase, were numerous, flourishing and highly organised. Every trade from cordwainers to cooks, from tailors, weavers, and glovers to butchers and bakers, was a brotherhood, with arms and a warden, beadle, and steward of its own, and an annually elected headmaster. The various Guilds had special chapels in the different churches where they burnt candles and celebrated mass, on particular days. The glovers held mass on Trinity Monday in All Saints' Church; the tailors in the same church, and they also founded a chantrey in S. Martin's. "A token of this foundation is a pair of tailor's shears painted in the upper south window of the south aisle" (Wood). The cooks celebrated their chief holiday in Whitsun week, when they showed themselves in their bravery on horseback. The tailors had their shops in Wincheles Row, and they had a custom of revelling on the vigil of S. John the Baptist. "Caressing themselves with all joviality in meats and drinks they would in the midst of the night dance and take a circuit throughout all the streets, accompanied by divers musical instruments, and using some certain sonnets in praise of their profession and patron." But such customs led to disturbances and were finally prohibited. The barbers, a company which existed till fifty years ago, maintained a light in Our Lady's Chapel at S. Frideswide's. Some of the regulations by which they bound themselves when they were incorporated by order of the Chancellor in 1348 are typical. The barbers, it should be added, were the mediæval physicians too. Their ordinances provided that no person of that craft should work on a Sunday or shave any but such as were to preach or do a religious act on Sundays. No servant or man of the craft should reveal any infirmity or secret disease he had to his customers or patients. A master of the craft was to be chosen every year, to whom every one of his craft should be obedient during his year of office. Every apprentice that was to set up shop after his time was expired should first give the master and wardens with the rest of the society a dinner and pay for one pound of wax, and that being done, the said master and wardens with three other seniors of the craft should bring him to the chancellor upon their shoulders, before whom he was to take his oath to keep all the ordinations and statutes of the craft, and pay to Our Lady's box eightpence and the like sum to the chancellor. The same procedure must be observed by any foreigner that had not been prenticed in Oxford but desired to set up a shop to occupy as barber, surgeon, or waferer or maker of singing bread. All such as were of the craft were to receive at least sixpence a quarter of each customer that desired to be shaved every week in his chamber or house. If any member of the craft should take upon him to teach any person not an apprentice, he should pay 6s. 8d., whereof 3s. 4d. should go to the craft, 1s. 8d. to the chancellor, and 1s. 8d. to the proctors. Rules are also given for the observance of the barbers' annual holiday and the election of their master. Stimulated by the presence of the kings without its walls and the growth of the university within, trade flourished so greatly that it was soon necessary to regulate it by minute provisions. In the reign of Edward II. (1319) the mayor and bailiffs were commanded to "prevent confusion in the merchandising of strangers, and those who were not free of any guild from thrusting out those who were." All traders and sellers who came to Oxford on market days--Wednesdays and Saturdays--were to know each one their places. "The sellers of straw, with their horses and cattle that bring it," so ran the regulation, "shall stand between East Gate and All Saints' Church, in the middle of the King's Highway. The sellers of wood in carts shall stand between Shidyard (Oriel) Street and the tenement of John Maidstone and the tenement on the east side of the Swan Inn (now King Edward's Street, the ugly row of smug, commonplace houses which has been erected on the site of Swan Yard). The sellers of bark shall stand between S. Thomas' Hall (Swan Inn) and S. Edward's Lane (Alfred Street). The sellers of hogs and pigs shall stand between the churches of S. Mary and All Saints; the ale sellers between S. Edward's Lane and the Chequer Inn; the sellers of earthen-pots and coals by the said lane of S. Edward on the north side of the High Street. The sellers of gloves and whitawyers (dresses of white leather) shall stand between All Saints' Church and the house on the west side of the Mitre Inn; the furriers, linen and woollen drapers by the two-faced pump (which perhaps stood on the site of the later conduit at Carfax. This conduit was erected in 1616 and water brought to it from the hill springs above North Hincksey. It was removed in 1787 and presented to Earl Harcourt, who re-erected it at Nuneham Park some five miles from Oxford, where it may still be seen, on a slope commanding an extensive view of the Thames Valley between Abingdon and Oxford.) "The bakers," the regulation continued, "shall stand between Carfax and North Gate, and behind them the foreign sellers of fish and those that are not free or of the guild. The tanners shall stand between Somner's Inn and Carfax; the sellers of cheese, milk, eggs, beans, new peas and butter from the corner of Carfax towards the Bailly; the sellers of hay and grass at the Pillory; the cornsellers between North Gate and Mauger Hall (the Cross Inn)." Besides these market-stands the permanent trades and resident guilds had distinct spheres allotted to them. The cutlers, drapers, cooks and cordwainers had their special districts; the goldsmiths had their shops in All Saints' parish, the Spicery and Vintnery[11] lay to the south of S. Martin's; Fish Street extended to Folly Bridge, the Corn Market stretched away to North Gate, the stalls of the butchers ranged in their Butchers' Row along the road to the Castle (Queen's Street). As for the great guild of weavers, there was a wool market in Holywell Green. Part of the ground since included in Magdalen College Grove was known as Parry's Mead, and here twenty-three looms were working at once, and barges came up to it on the Cherwell. Thus then Oxford had attained to complete municipal self-government. She stood now in the first rank of municipalities. Her political importance is indicated by the many great assemblies that were held there. The great assembly under Cnut had closed the struggle between Englishman and Dane; that under Stephen ended the conquest of the Norman, whilst that under Henry III. begins the regular progress of constitutional liberty. In 1265, Simon de Montfort issued writs from Woodstock summoning the famous parliament to which towns sent members for the first time. Oxford no doubt was among the number, but the sheriff's returns are lost and it is not till 1295 that the names of two burgesses elected to represent her in the national council are recorded. The University did not obtain members until the first Parliament of James I. (1609), although her advice had often been consulted by kings and parliaments before.[12] So far, then, we have followed the growth of a town of increasing political and commercial importance. We have now to trace the growth within its borders of a new and rival body, which was destined, after a century or more of faction and disorder, to humble her municipal freedom to the dust. CHAPTER III THE ORIGIN OF THE UNIVERSITY The chroniclers of every mediæval town like to begin from Jove--or Genesis. The Oxford historians are no exception. Famous antiquaries of ancient days carried back the date of the city to fabulous years. Wood gives the year 1009 B.C. as the authentic date, when Memphric, King of the Britons, built it and called it Caer Memphric. But these famous antiquaries, as we shall see, had an axe to grind. Whatever the origin of Oxford may have been, a few bronze weapons and some pottery, preserved in the Museum, are the only remains of the British period that have been discovered. Great as were the natural advantages of the place, lying as it does on the banks of the chief river of the country at a point where a tributary opens up a district to the north, it would yet seem that there was no British settlement of importance at Oxford, for it was dangerous borderland between the provinces into which Britain was divided, liable to frequent hostile incursions, and therefore left uninhabited. And this would seem to be the reason why, when the road-making Romans were driving their great streets through the neighbourhood, they left this seductive ford severely alone. The first chronicler to associate Oxford with the name of King Memphric was John Rous, an imaginative historian, no respecter of facts, who died, full of years and inventions, in 1491. Hear him discourse in his fluent, pleasantly circumstantial style: "About this time Samuel the servant of God was Judge in Judea, and King Magdan had two sons, that is to say Mempricius and Malun. The younger of the two having been treacherously slain by the elder, the fratricide inherited the kingdom. In the twentieth year of his reign, he was surrounded by a large pack of very savage wolves, and being torn and devoured by them, ended his existence in a horrible manner. Nothing good is related of him except that he begot an honest son and heir, Ebrancus by name, and built one noble city which he called from his own name Caer-Memre, but which afterwards in course of time was called Bellisitum, then Caerbossa, at length Ridohen, and last of all Oxonia, or by the Saxons Oxenfordia, from a certain egress out of a neighbouring ford. There arose here in after years an universal and noble seat of learning, derived from the renowned University of Grek-lade. "It is situated between the rivers Thames and Cherwell which meet there. The city, just as Jerusalem, has to all appearance been changed; for as Mount Calvary, when Christ was crucified, was just outside the walls of the city, and now is contained within the circuit of the walls, so also there is now a large level space outside Oxford, contiguous to the walls of the town, which is called Belmount, which means beautiful mount, and this in a certain way agrees with one of the older names of the city before named and recited; that is to say Bellisitum; whence many are of opinion that the University from Greklade was transferred to this very Bellus Mons or Bellesitum before the coming of the Saxons and while the Britons ruled the island, and the Church of S. Giles, which was dedicated under the name of some other saint, was the place for the creation of graduates, as now is the Church of S. Mary, which is within the walls...." The origin of the city is, of course, not the same thing as the origin of the University, and John Rous, it will be observed, has adopted the story according to which the University was said to have been transplanted to Oxford from "Grekelade." This story is found in its earliest form in the Oxford _Historiola_, the account of the University prefixed to the official registers of the chancellor and proctors. It was probably written towards the end of the reign of Edward III., somewhere in the third quarter of the fourteenth century. The sound of Greek in the name Cricklade is quite [Illustration: The Turret Quad Merton College] enough, in the minds of those who have studied mediæval chronicles--histories "farct with merry tales and frivolous poetry"--to account for the origin of the myth as to the Greek philosophers. Do you not find for instance, the name of Lechelade suggesting Latin schools (Latinelade) at that place by an analogous etymological conceit? Saith the _Historiola_, then, after premising that the University is the most ancient, the most comprehensive, the most orthodox and the most richly endowed with privileges:-- "Very ancient British histories imply the priority of its foundation, for it is related that amongst the warlike Trojans, when with their leader Brutus they triumphantly seized the island, then called Albion, next Britain, and lastly England, certain philosophers came and chose a suitable place of habitation upon this island, on which the philosophers who had been Greek bestowed the name which they have left behind them as a record of their presence, and which exists to the present day, that is to say Grekelade...." The grounds of the other statements quoted from John Rous are yet more fanciful. The assertion that the University was transferred from without to within the city walls is a vague echo of a worthless story, and the name given to the town Bellesitum is obviously a confusion arising from the latinised form of Beaumont, the palace which Henry I. built on the slope towards S. Giles. The names of Caer-bossa and Ridochen (Rhyd-y-chen) are equally unhistorical, and are based upon the fantastic Welsh equivalents of Oxenford, invented by the fertile genius of Geoffrey of Monmouth for the purposes of his romance (twelfth century). It would scarcely have been worth while to mention even so briefly the ingenious myths of the early chroniclers if it had not been for the fact that they have swamped more scientific history and that they were used with immense gusto by the champions in that extraordinary controversy which broke out in the days of Elizabeth, and lasted, an inky warfare of wordy combatants, almost for centuries. It was a controversy in which innumerable authorities were quoted, and resort was had even to the desperate device of forgery. It arose from the boast of the Cambridge orator, who on the occasion of a visit of Elizabeth to Cambridge, declared: "To our great glory all histories with one voice testify that the Oxford University borrowed from Cambridge its most learned men, who in its schools provided the earliest cradle of the _ingenuæ artes_, and that Paris also and Cologne were derived from our University." With that assertion the fat was in the fire. Assertions were issued, and counter-assertions, commentaries and counter-commentaries. It is impossible to follow the course of the controversy here. Suffice it to say that when the war had been waged for some years, it seemed evident that the victory would lie with the Oxonians, who claimed Alfred as their founder, if they could prove their claim. And the claim appeared to be proved by a passage attributed to Asser, the contemporary historian of Alfred's deeds, and surreptitiously inserted into his edition of that author by the great Camden. But that passage occurs in none of the manuscripts of Asser, and certainly not in the one which Camden copied. It was probably adopted by him on the authority of an unscrupulous but interested partisan who, having invented it, attributed it to a "superior manuscript of Asser." The University cannot, then, claim Alfred the Great either as her founder or restorer. All the known facts and indications point the other way. It was not till 912, some years after Alfred's death, that Edward the Elder obtained possession of Oxford, which was outside Alfred's kingdom; Asser knew nothing of this foundation. It was not till the days of Edward III., that Ralph Higden's _Polychronicon_ apparently gave birth to the myth with the statement that Alfred-- "By the counsel of S. Neot the Abbot, was the first to establish schools for the various arts at Oxford; to which city he granted privileges of many kinds." And from that time the myth was repeated and grew. But if King Alfred did not found the University who did? or how did it come into existence? Briefly the case stands thus. Before the second half of the twelfth century--the age of Universities--there are no discoverable traces of such a thing at Oxford, but in the last twenty years of that century references to it are frequent and decided. The University was evidently established, and its reputation was widely spread. There abounded there, contemporaries inform us, "men skilled in mystic eloquence, weighing the words of the law, bringing forth from their treasures things new and old." And the University was dubbed by the proud title "The Second School of the Church." She was second, that is, to Paris, as a school of Theology, and to Paris, the researches of modern experts like Dr Rashdall lead us to believe, she owed her origin. The Universities, the greatest and perhaps the most permanent of Mediæval Institutions, were a gradual and almost secret growth. For long centuries Europe had been sunk in the gloom of the Dark Ages. The light of learning shone in the cloister alone, and there burned with but a dim and flickering flame. In Spain not one priest in a thousand about the age of Charlemagne could address a common letter of salutation to another. Scarcely a single person could be found in Rome who knew the first elements of letters; in England, Alfred declared that he could not recollect one priest at the time of his accession who understood the ordinary prayers. Learning lay buried in the grave of Bede. At Court, emperors could not write, and in the country contracts were made verbally for lack of notaries who could draw up charters. But towards the end of the eleventh century Europe began to recover from this state of poverty and degradation. Christendom had gained a new impulse from the Crusades. Trade revived and began to develop, some degree of tranquillity was restored, and the growing wealth of the world soon found expression in an increasing refinement of manners, in the sublime and beautiful buildings of the age of Cathedrals, and in a greater ardour for intellectual pursuits. A new fervour of study arose in the West from its contact with the more cultured East. Everywhere throughout Europe great schools which bore the name of Universities were established. The long mental inactivity of Europe broke up like ice before a summer's sun. Wandering teachers, such as Lanfranc or Anselm, crossed sea and land to spread the new power of knowledge. The same spirit of restlessness, of inquiry, of impatience with the older traditions of mankind, either local or intellectual, that had hurried half Christendom to the tomb of its Lord, crowded the roads with thousands of young scholars, hurrying to the chosen seats where teachers were gathered together. A new power, says an eloquent historian, had sprung up in the midst of a world as yet under the rule of sheer brute force. Poor as they were, sometimes even of a servile race, the wandering scholars, who lectured in every cloister, were hailed as "Masters" by the crowds at their feet. This title of "Master" suggests, of course, the nomenclature of the Guilds. A University, in fact, was a Guild of Study. The word implies[13] a community of individuals bound together for any purpose, in this case for the purpose of teaching. It was applied to the whole body of students frequenting the "studium," and hence the term came to be used as synonymous with "studium" to denote the institution itself. The system of academical degrees dates from the second half of the twelfth century. After the manner of mediæval craftsmen in other trades, the profession of teaching was limited to those who had served an apprenticeship in a University or Guild of Study and were qualified as Masters of their Art. Nobody was allowed to teach without a licence from such a Guild, just as no butcher or tailor was allowed to ply his trade without having served his proper term and having been approved by the Masters of his Guild. A University degree, therefore, was originally simply a diploma of teaching, which afterwards came to be regarded as a title, when retained by men who had ceased to lecture or teach. "Bachelor" was the term applied to students who had ceased to be pupils but had not yet become teachers. The word was generally used to denote an apprentice or aspirant to Knighthood, but in the Universities came to have this technical signification. The degree of Bachelor was in fact an important step on the way to the higher degree of Master or Doctor. One of the first symptoms of the twelfth century renaissance may be traced in the revival in Italy of the study of jurisprudence as derived from the laws of Justinian. For early in the twelfth century a professor named Irnerius opened a school of civil law at Bologna, and Lombardy was soon full of lawyers. Teachers of that profitable art soon spread from Bologna throughout Europe, and their University was the first to receive from Frederic Barbarossa the privileges of legal incorporation. It presently became known as the special University of young archdeacons, whose mode of life gave rise to the favourite subject of debate "Can an archdeacon be saved?" But it was the school of philosophy at Paris which chiefly attracted the newly-kindled enthusiasm of the studious. The tradition of the schools of Charlemagne may have lingered there, although no direct connection between them and the University which now sprang into being can be proved. As early as 1109 William of Champeaux opened a school of logic, and it was to his brilliant and combative pupil, Peter Abelard, that the University owed its rapid advancement in the estimation of mankind. The multitude of disciples who flocked to his lectures, and listened with delight to his bold theories and his assertion of the rights of reason against authority, showed that a new spirit of enquiry and speculation was abroad. The poets and orators of antiquity were, indeed, beginning to be studied with genuine admiration, and the introduction into Europe of some of the Arabian writings on geometry and physics was opening the door to the development of mathematical science. But the flower of intellectual and scientific enquiry was destined to be nipped in the bud by the blighting influence of scholasticism. Already among the pupils of Abelard was numbered Peter Lombard, the future author of "The Sentences," a system of the doctrines of the Church, round which the dogmatic theology of the schoolmen, trammelled by a rigid network of dialectics, was to grow up. It was the light before a dawn which never broke into day. But as yet the period was one of awakening and promise. Students from all parts crowded to Paris, and the Faculty[14] of Arts in the University was divided into four "nations"--those of France, Picardy, Normandy and England. John of Salisbury became famous as one of the Parisian teachers. Becket wandered to Paris from his school at Merton. After spending twelve years at Paris, John of Salisbury, the central figure of English learning in his time, finally returned to England. S. Bernard recommended him to Archbishop Theobald, and in the archbishop's household at Canterbury he found in existence a very School of Literature, where scholars like Vacarius came to lecture on civil law, where lectures and disputations were regularly held, and men like Becket and John of Poictiers were trained. "In the house of my Lord the Archbishop," writes Peter of Blois, "are most scholarly men, with whom is found all the uprightness of justice, all the caution of providence, every form of learning. They after prayers and before meals, in reading, in disputing, in the decision of causes constantly exercise themselves. All the knotty questions of the realms are referred to us...." This archiepiscopal school was in fact a substitute for the as yet undeveloped Universities. Besides this school there were, in England, schools in connection with all the great Cathedral establishments and with many of the monasteries as well as the houses of the nobles. There were, for instance, great schools at S. Alban's and at Oxford. But these _studia_ were not _studia generalia_; they were schools merely, not Universities. It was perhaps to the school which had sprung up in connection with S. Frideswide's monastery that Vacarius lectured, if he lectured at Oxford at all. It was in such a monastic school, in connection with S. Frideswide's, Osney, or S. George's in the Castle, that Robert Pullen of Paris lectured on the Bible for five years (1133), and Theobaldus Stampensis taught. Henry Beauclerc endeavoured to retain the services of the former by offering him a bishopric, but he refused it and left England; Stephen, on the other hand, bade Vacarius cease from lecturing, since the new system of law, which he taught and which had converted the Continent, was inconsistent with the old laws of the English realm. As to Theobaldus Stampensis, he styles himself Magister Oxenefordiæ, and letters from him exist which show that he, a Norman ecclesiastic who had taught at Caen, taught at Oxford before 1117. An anonymous reply to a tractate in which he attacked the monks, is responsible for the statement that this former Doctor of Caen had at Oxford "sixty or a hundred clerks, more or less." But one school or one lecturer does not make a University. It has, however, been held, that just as the University of Paris developed from the schools of Notre Dame, so the University of Oxford grew out of the monastic schools of S. Frideswide's. Such a growth would have been natural. But if this had been the real origin of the University, it may be regarded as certain that the members of it would have been subjected to some such authority as that exercised by the Chancellor of Notre Dame over the masters and scholars of Paris. But at Oxford, the masters and scholars were never under the jurisdiction of the Prior or Abbot of S. Frideswide's or Osney. If they had been, some trace or record of their struggle for emancipation must have survived. The Chancellor, moreover, when he is first mentioned, proves to be elected by the masters and scholars and to derive his authority, not from any capitular or monastic body in Oxford, but from the Bishop of Lincoln. And the University buildings themselves, in their primitive form, bear silent witness to the same fact, that the schools or studium in connection with which the University grew up were in no way connected with conventual churches and monasteries. For the schools were not near S. Frideswide's but S. Mary's. The independence of the Oxford masters from any local ecclesiastical authority is a significant fact. Combined with another it seems to admit of but one explanation. That other fact is the suddenness with which the reputation of Oxford sprang up. Before 1167 there is, as we have shown, no evidence of the existence of a _studium generale_ there, but there are indications enough that in the next few years students began to come, clerks from all parts of England. The account of the visit of Giraldus Cambrensis (1184-5) reveals the existence of a Studium on a large scale, with a number of Masters and Faculties. It is a Studium Generale by that time without a doubt. And in 1192 Richard of Devizes speaks of the clerks of Oxford as so numerous that the city could hardly feed them. What, then, is the explanation of this so sudden development? Probably it lies in a migration of scholars to Oxford at this time. The migratory habits of mediæval masters and scholars are familiar to everyone who has the smallest acquaintance with the history of the Universities. The Universities of Leipzig, Reggio, Vicenza, Vercelli, and Padua, for instance, were founded by migrations from one University or another. The story of Oxford itself will furnish instances in plenty of the readiness of the University to threaten to migrate and, when hard pressed, to fulfil their threat. Migrations to Cambridge, Stamford, and Northampton are among the undoubted facts of our history. Such a migration then would be in the natural course of things, though it would not satisfy the pride of the inventors of the Alfred myth. But a migration of this kind did not take place without a cause. A cause however is not to seek. At this very period the quarrel of Henry II. with Thomas a Becket was the occasion for a migration from Paris, the ordinary seat of higher education for English ecclesiastics. A letter from John of Salisbury to Peter the Writer in 1167 contains this remark: "France, the most polite and civilised of all nations, has expelled the foreign students from her borders." This, as Dr Rashdall suggests, may possibly have been a measure of hostility aimed by the French King against the oppressor of Holy Church and against the English ecclesiastics, who as a body sided with their King against their not yet canonised primate. Henry II., on the other hand, took the same measures to punish the partisans of Becket. All clerks were forbidden to go to or from the Continent without leave of the King, and all clerks who possessed revenues in England were summoned to return to England within three months, "as they love their revenues." This would produce an exodus from Paris. A large number of English masters and scholars must have been compelled to return home. According to the usual procedure of mediæval students they were likely to collect in some one town and set up under their old masters something of their old organisation. These ordinances were promulgated between the years 1165 and 1169. The ports were strictly watched in order to enforce this edict. The migrating scholars would land at Dover and lodge, perhaps, for a night or two at the Benedictine Priory there, before going on to Canterbury. Here, if they had been so minded, they might have stayed, and swelled the great literary circle, with its teachers and libraries, which had been formed there. But they left Gervase at Canterbury to write his history, and Nigel to compose his verses and polish his satires. Passing northwards, they might, had they come a little later, have been absorbed at Lambeth, and the scheme of Archbishop Baldwin for setting up a College there, which should be a centre of ecclesiastical learning, emancipated from monastic restrictions, might then have been realised. Or, if they had wished to attach themselves to any existing establishment, the monastic schools of St Alban's might have welcomed them. But they chose otherwise. It may be that their experience of Paris led them to choose a place which was neither a capital nor a See-town. At any rate the peculiar position of Oxford, which was neither of these and yet an important commercial and political centre, made it admirably suited for the free development of a University, unharassed by bishops and unmolested by lord mayors. At Oxford, too, was the Palace of the King, and Henry II. was a champion of literary culture by his very descent. His grandfather had earned the title of Henry Beauclerk, the scholar King; and Fulk the Good, who had told King Lothar that an unlearned king is a crowned ass, was a lineal ancestor of his. And apart from his own hereditary tastes, the position of Henry as the most powerful king of the West, and the international correspondence which that position involved, tended to make the Court a centre of literary activity. Learning was sought not for itself only, but as a part of the equipment of a man of the world. For whatever reason, whether they were influenced by a desire, springing from experience of Paris, to establish themselves where they might be most independent, or by the physical advantages of Oxford, or the hope of favour from the King who had recalled them, and who at his Court and about his Palace of Beaumont had gathered round him all that was enlightened and refined in English and Norman society, or whether they were directed by mere chance, settling for a session and staying for centuries, it was to Oxford they came. Here ready to receive them they would find a town which stood in the front rank of municipalities, commanding the river valley along which the commerce of Southern England mainly flowed. The mitred Abbey of Austin Canons, the Priory of S. Frideswide, the Castle of the D'Oiglis, and the Royal Palace without the Vallum marked the ecclesiastical and political importance of the place; the settlement of one of the wealthiest of the English Jewries in the very heart of the town indicated, as it promoted, the activity of its trade. It was still surrounded on all sides by a wild forest country. The moors of Cowley and Bullingdon fringed the course of the Thames; the great woods of Shotover and Bagley closed the horizon on south and east. But Oxford was easy of access, for there were the great roads that crossed at Carfax and there was the thoroughfare of the Thames. And facility of communication meant regularity of supplies, a matter of great importance to a floating population of poor students. Here, then, the migrating masters and scholars set up their schools, and within a very short time the reputation of the University was established throughout the length and breadth of the land. Giraldus Cambrensis, a Welshman, who had achieved fame as a lecturer at Paris, has given us an interesting account of his visit to Oxford in 1187. He came there with the purpose of reading aloud portions of his new work, as Herodotus read his history at the Panathenaic festival at Athens or at the National Games of Greece. Giraldus had written a book on Ireland--Topographia--and he chose this method of publishing and advertising it. He writes of himself in the third person, without any excessive modesty. You might almost think he was a modern author, asking his critics to dinner and writing his own "Press notices." "In course of time, when the work was finished and revised, not wishing to hide his candle under a bushel, but wishing to place it in a candlestick so that it might give light, he resolved to read it before a vast audience at Oxford, where the clergy in England chiefly flourished and excelled in clerkly lore. And as there were three distinctions or divisions in the work, and each division occupied a day, the readings lasted three successive days. On the first day he received and entertained at his lodgings all the poor people of the whole town; on the second all the doctors of the different faculties, and such of their pupils as were of fame and note; on the third the rest of the scholars with the milites of the town, and many burghers. It was a costly and noble act, for the authentic and ancient times of the poets were thus in some measure renewed; and neither present nor past time can furnish any record of such a solemnity having ever taken place in England." It is evident from this passage that the Schools at Oxford were by this time of considerable note and size. There was a University here now in fact if not in name or by charter. A few years later the records reveal to us the first known student in it. He was a clerk from Hungary named Nicholas, to whom Richard I. who had been born in the Palace of Beaumont, made an allowance of half a mark weekly for his support during his stay at Oxford for the purpose of study. Thus, then, by the beginning of the reign of King John, we may be sure that there was established at Oxford a University, or place of general study, and this University had attracted to itself an academic population, which was estimated by contemporaries at no less than three thousand souls. And now, just as the country won its Great Charter of Liberties from that oppressive and intolerable Angevin monarch, so documentary evidence of the independent powers of the University was first obtained, as the result of a series of events, in which the citizens of Oxford had been encouraged to commit an act of unjust revenge by their reliance on John's quarrel with the pope and the clergy. The pope had laid the whole country under an interdict; the people were forbidden to worship their God and the priests to administer the sacraments; the church-bells were silent and the dead lay unburied on the ground. The King retaliated by confiscating the land of the clergy who observed the interdict, by subjecting them in spite of their privileges to the Royal Courts, and often by leaving outrages on them unpunished. "Let him go," he said, when a Welshman was brought before him for the murder of a priest, "he has killed my enemy." Such were the political conditions, when at Oxford a woman of the town was found murdered in circumstances which pointed to the guilt of a student. The citizens were eager for vengeance, and they took the matter into their own hands (1209). The offender had fled, but the mayor and burgesses invading his hostel arrested two innocent students who lodged in the same house. They hurried them outside the walls of Oxford, and, with the ready assent of John, who was then at Woodstock, hung them forthwith. This was a defiance of ecclesiastical liberty. For it was a chief principle of the Church that all clerks and scholars, as well as all higher officials in the hierarchy, should be subject to ecclesiastical jurisdiction alone. For this principle Becket had died, and in defence of this principle a quarrel now arose between the University and the town which bade fair to end in the withdrawal of the former altogether from Oxford. In protest the masters and scholars migrated from the town, and transferred their schools to Paris, to Reading and to Cambridge. It is, indeed, to this migration that the Studium Generale on the banks of the Cam may owe its existence. The halls of Oxford were now deserted, the schools were empty. So they remained as long as John's quarrel with the pope endured. But when the King had knelt before the Papal Legate, Pandulf (1213), and sworn fealty to the pope, the Church succeeded in bringing the citizens, who had no doubt found their pockets severely affected in the meantime, to their senses. A Legatine ordinance of the following year is the University's first charter of privilege. The citizens performed public penance; stripped and barefooted they went daily to the churches, carrying scourges in their hands and chaunting penitential psalms. When they had thus obtained absolution, and the University had returned, the Legate issued a decree by which the townsmen were bound in future, if they arrested a clerk, to deliver him up on demand to the Bishop of Lincoln, the Archdeacon of Oxford or his official, to the Chancellor set over the scholars by the bishop, or some other authorised representative of the episcopal power. And thus was established that immunity from lay jurisdiction which, under slightly different conditions, is still enjoyed by every resident member of the University. This is the first allusion in any authentic document to the existence of the chancellorship. Among the minor penalities to which the townsmen were now subjected was the provision that for ten years one-half the rent of existing hostels and schools was to be altogether remitted, and for ten years more rents were to remain as already taxed before the secession by the joint authority of the town and the masters. Further, the town was forever to pay an annual sum of fifty-two shillings to be distributed among poor scholars on the feast of S. Nicholas, the patron of scholars, and at the same time to feast a hundred poor scholars on bread and beer, pottage and flesh or fish. Victuals were to be sold at a reasonable rate, and an oath to the observance of these provisions was to be taken by fifty of the chief burgesses, and to be annually renewed at the discretion of the bishop. The payment of the fine was transferred by an agreement with the town to the Abbey of Eynsham in 1219, and by an ordinance of Bishop Grossetete the money was applied to the foundation of a "chest." The size and importance of the University was shortly afterwards increased by a somewhat similar disturbance which took place in Paris (1229). A brawl developed into a serious riot, in which several scholars, innocent or otherwise, were killed by the Provost of Paris and his archers. The masters and students failing to obtain redress departed from Paris in anger. Henry seized this opportunity of humiliating the French Monarchy by fomenting the quarrel and at the same time inviting "the masters and the University of scholars at Paris" to come to study in England, where they should receive ample liberty and privileges. A migration to Oxford was the result of this royal invitation, which was highly appreciated not only by the English students at Paris but also by many foreigners. Two years later the King was able to boast that Oxford was frequented by a vast number of students, coming from various places over the sea, as well as from all parts of Britain. The University remained till well towards the end of the thirteenth century a customary rather than a legal or statutory corporation. And in its customs it was a reproduction of the Society of Masters at Paris. The privileges and customs of Paris were, in fact, the type from which the customs and privileges of all the Universities which were now being founded in Europe were reproduced, and according to which they were confirmed by bulls and charters. Thus in 1246 Innocent V. enjoined Grossetete to see that in Oxford nobody exercised the office of teaching except after he had qualified according to the custom of the Parisians. Whilst then the idea of a University was undoubtedly borrowed from the Continent, and Oxford, so far as her organisation was concerned, was framed on the Continental models, yet the establishment of a University in England was an event of no small importance. Teaching was thereby centralised, competition promoted, and intellectual speculation stimulated. At a University there was more chance of intellectual freedom than in a monastic school. If such was the origin of the University, Alfred did not found it, still less did he found University College. University College, "the Hall of the University," may undoubtedly claim with justice to be the earliest University endowment. But it was at one time convenient to that College, in the course of a lawsuit in which their case was a losing one, to claim, when forgeries failed them, to be a royal foundation. The Alfred myth was to hand, and they used it with unblushing effrontery and a confident disregard of historical facts and dates. Their impudence for the time being fulfilled its purpose, and it also left its mark on the minds of men. The tradition still lingers. The College Chapel was dedicated at the end of the fourteenth century to S. Cuthbert, Durham's Saint, but the seventeenth-century Bidding Prayer still perpetuates the venerable fiction, and first among the benefactors of the "College of the great Hall of the University," the name of King Alfred is cited. In 1872 the College even celebrated, by the English method of a dinner, the supposed thousandth anniversary of its existence. At that dinner the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Robert Lowe (Lord Sherbrooke), wittily upheld the tradition of his College. For, he argued, if Oxford was in the hands of the Danes at the time when Alfred founded the University, that fact only strengthened their case. For King Alfred was a man so much in advance of his age that it is not surprising to find that he had anticipated the modern political doctrine, which teaches us that the surest way to earn popularity, is to give away the property of our opponents. [Illustration: University College] The story of the lawsuit will be found to be instructive if discreditable. In 1363 the College by two purchases obtained possession of considerable property in land and houses which had been the estate of Philip Gonwardy and Joan his wife. After the College had been in possession some fourteen years, however, a certain Edmund Francis and Idonea his wife came forward to dispute the right to it. They maintained that Philip Gonwardy and his wife had had no true title to the estate, for it, or part of it, had been bequeathed to them by one John Goldsmith in 1307. And he, they asserted, had by a later document settled the same property upon them. The case was tried at Westminster; transferred to Oxford, where the College obtained a verdict in their favour, and then taken back on appeal to Westminster. It was at this point that the document known as the French petition--it is written in the Court French of the day--was filed. Finding, apparently, that the case was going against them, the College determined to use the myth about Alfred, claim to be a royal foundation and thus throw the matter, and their liberties along with it, into the King's hands, leaving the case to be decided by the Privy Council. "To their most excellent and most dread and most sovereign Lord the King," so ran the petition, "and to his most sage council, shew his poor orators, the master and scholars of his College, called Mickle University Hall in Oxenford, which College was first founded by your noble progenitor, King Alfred, whom may God assoil, for the maintenance of twenty-six divines for ever; that whereas one Edmund Francis, citizen of London, hath in virtue of his great power commenced a suit in the King's Bench, against some of the tenants of the said masters and scholars, for certain lands and tenements, with which the College was endowed ... and from time to time doth endeavour to destroy and utterly disinherit your said College of the rest of its endowment.... That it may please your most sovereign and gracious Lord King, since you are our true founder and advocate, to make the aforesaid parties appear before your very sage council, to show in evidences upon the rights of the aforesaid matter, so that upon account of the poverty of your said orators your said College be not disinherited, having regard, most gracious Lord, that the noble saints, John of Beverley, Bede, and Richard Armacan (Fitzralph, Archbishop of Armagh), and many other famous doctors and clerks, were formerly scholars in your said College, and commenced divines therein, and this for God's sake, and as a deed of charity." This deed, then, and others, these mere children in litigation did deliberately forge, attaching the Chancellor's seal thereto, in order to substantiate their absurd, but profitable, pretension. The device was successful for a time, although the very petition contains within itself glaring historical contradictions, which either show supreme ignorance on the part of the masters and scholars or a cynical assumption of the historical ignorance of lawyers. If the College was founded by King Alfred who came to the throne in 872, it would seem a little unwise to instance as famous scholars of that foundation "noble Saints" like John of Beverley, who was Archbishop of York in 705, and the venerable Bede who died in 735. As to the real founder of University College all the evidence points to William, Archdeacon of Durham, who is mentioned as one of the five distinguished English scholars who left Paris in 1229, in consequence of the riots between the townsfolk and the University. Henry's invitation to the Paris masters to come and settle at Oxford was immediately accepted by the other four. Their example was probably soon followed by William, after a sojourn at Angers. He was appointed Rector of Wearmouth, and is said to have "abounded in great revenues, but was gaping after greater." Some litigation with the Bishop of Durham led him to appeal to the Papal Court. His appeal was successful, but it availed him little, for on his journey home he died at Rouen (1249). His bones are said by Skelton to lie in the Chapel of the Virgin in the Cathedral there. He left 310 marks in trust to the University to invest for the benefit and support of a certain number of masters. It was actually the first endowment of its kind, but it is to Alan Basset, who died about 1243, that the credit of providing the first permanent endowment for an Oxford scholar is due. For he conceived the idea of combining a scholarship with a Chantry. He left instructions in his will in accordance with which his executors arranged with the Convent of Bicester for the payment of eight marks a year to two chaplains, who should say mass daily for the souls of the founder and his wife, and at the same time study in the schools of Oxford or elsewhere. This was a step in the direction of founding a College, and indeed the original plan of William was hardly more imposing. The University placed Durham's money in a "Chest," and used it partly on their own business and partly in loans to others, barons in the Barons' War for instance. Such loans were seldom repaid, and only 210 marks remained. This sum was expended in purchasing houses. The first house bought (1253) by the University was at the corner of School Street and St Mildred's Lane (_tenementum angulare in vico scholarum_). The site of this the first property held by the University for educational purposes[15] is now included in the front, the noisy, over-decorated front, of Brasenose College. It was called, naturally enough, first the Hall of the University and afterwards the little Hall of the University. A second purchase was made in 1255, when a tenement called Drogheda Hall, the then first house in the High Street on the north side, was bought. It stands almost opposite to the present Western Gate of the College. Brasenose Hall was the next purchase under William's bequest (1262), and (1270) a quit rent of fifteen shillings, charged on two houses in S. Peter's parish, was the last. William of Durham had not founded a College. There is nothing to show that the purchase of houses by the University was originally made with any other object than that of securing a sound investment of the trust money. There is nothing to show, that is, either that the houses were bought originally and specifically as habitations for the pensioned masters (though they _may_ have lodged there), or that it was originally intended, either by the University or the founder, that they should form a community. Statutes were not granted to the masters admitted to the benefits of this foundation until the year 1280, and by that time a precedent had been created. From the year 1280, then, may be dated the incorporation of what is now known as University College. A very small society of poor masters were, according to the revised plan, to live together on the bounty of William of Durham and devote themselves to the study of theology. And this idea of association was evidently adopted from the rule for Merton Hall laid down by Merton six years before. The revenue from the fund increased rapidly, so that by 1292, the society was increased from "four poor masters" to one consisting of two classes of scholars, the seniors receiving six and eightpence a year more than the juniors, and having authority over them. Other clerks of good character, not on the foundation, were permitted to hire lodgings in the Hall, prototypes of the modern commoner. Funds and benefactions accrued to the Hall. A library was built, and the society gradually enlarged. Members of it were enjoined to live like Saints and to speak Latin. In the election of new Fellows a preference was given to those "born nearest to the parts of Durham." And a graduated fine was imposed, according to which a scholar who insulted another in private was to pay a shilling, before his fellows two shillings, and if in the street, in church or recreation ground, six and eightpence. For the administration of the College funds a bursar was annually appointed, whose accounts were subsequently approved and signed by the Chancellor. This practice of University supervision was maintained till 1722. Yet another body of statutes was promulgated in 1311. The study of theology and the preference given to those who hailed from Durham were emphasised in accordance with the founder's wishes. The Senior Fellow was required to be ordained, but any Fellow who was appointed to a benefice of five marks a year now forfeited his election. This latter regulation, which occurs in substance in most of the fourteenth century foundations--by the Statutes of Queens, indeed, a Fellow who refused a benefice forfeited his fellowship--shows that fellowships were intended not as mere endowments of learning but as stepping-stones to preferment. It does not, on the other hand, show that the founders did not contemplate the existence of life-fellows. I think that it is tolerably clear Walter de Merton did. The office of Master of the College grew out of the position of the Senior Fellow; his authority was asserted by new statutes given in 1476. It was in 1332 that the scholars of William of Durham moved from the corner house on the north side of the High Street, if that was where they abode, to the site of their present College, bounded by Logic Lane and Grove Street, and forming in the southern curve of the High Street, one of the most effective and noble features in that splendid sweep which embraces, on the other side, Queen's, All Souls', St Mary's, Brasenose, and All Saints'. The society had received large benefactions from a generous donor, Philip Ingleberd of Beverley, and they now purchased Spicer's (formerly Durham's) Hall, the first house in St Mary's parish, which stood near the present western gateway of University College. Further benefactions made further purchases possible. White Hall and Rose Hall in Kybald Street were bought, and Lodelowe Hall, on the east of Spicer's Hall (1336). Spicer's Hall soon came to be known as the University Hall; the hall next to it, when acquired, was distinguished as Great University Hall. The reversion to the remainder of the High Street frontage, between Lodelowe Hall and the present Logic Lane, was not secured till 1402, when the munificence of Walter Skirlaw, Bishop of Durham, enabled the society to extend their property and their numbers. The tenements thus acquired were called Little University Hall and the Cock on the Hoop. The next purchase of the College involved them in that lawsuit which has had so curious a result upon the imaginations of its subsequent members. Thus, then, the foundation of William had become a College, "the first daughter of Alma Mater." Being the first "Hall" acquired by the University it came to be spoken of as "The Hall of the University," and the members of the foundation, as "Scholars of University Hall." Their proper title, "Scholars of the Hall of William of Durham," gradually fell out of use. Strangers to the University system usually find themselves confused by the relations of the University and the Colleges. The University, then, let it be said, is a corporation existing apart from the Colleges; the Colleges are separate incorporated foundations, independent though practically subordinate to it. The old thatched halls of wood and clay were used till it became necessary to rebuild in 1632. A smaller version of the seventeenth century quadrangle then constructed was finished in 1719. For in 1714 had died Dr John Radcliffe, a famous and witty doctor, whose skill had secured him the post of court physician and whose wit had deprived him of it. For he offended William III. by remarking to that dropsical monarch, that he would not have his two legs for his two kingdoms. It had long been known that the worthy doctor intended to make his College and his University his heirs. His munificence was rewarded by a public funeral of unexampled splendour and a grave in the nave of St Mary's. The bulk of his fortune he devoted to specific purposes benefiting the University, but he left a large sum to University College "for the [Illustration: Radcliffe Library from Brasenose Quad.] building of the front down to Logic Lane, answerable to the front already built, and for building the master's lodging therein, and chambers for his two travelling Fellows," whom he endowed. The Radcliffe Quadrangle commemorates his benefaction to his College; the Radcliffe Infirmary (Woodstock Road, 1770), the Radcliffe Observatory, built 1772-1795, on a site given by George, Duke of Marlborough; and last, but not least the Radcliffe Library, or as it is more usually termed the Camera Bodleiana (James Gibbs, architect, 1737-1749) stand forth in the city as the noble monuments of his intelligent munificence. The magnificent dome of the latter forms one of the most striking features among Oxford buildings.[16] * * * * * Neither the University of Oxford nor University College can justly claim to be connected with the name of Alfred the Great. But there are relics of Alfred and Alfred's time preserved at Oxford which should be of interest to the visitor. In the Bodleian may be seen certain coins which have led historians to assume that Alfred set up a mint at Oxford, and to argue from this supposed fact that his rule was firmly established over Mercia. The coins in question, which were all found in Lancashire, are variations of the type bearing these letters;-- _Obverse._ ORSNA, then in another line ELFRED, and in the third line FORDA. _Reverse_ BERNV + + + ALDNº It is assumed that these words indicate that Bernwald was a moneyer who was authorised by Alfred to strike coins at Oxford. But why Oxford should be written Orsnaforda and why, instead of the usual practice of abbreviation, the name of the place of the mint should have been written wrongly and at excessive length is not explained. I do not think there is any sufficient reason to connect the Orsnaforda coins with Oxford at all. Whether Alfred's sceptre held sway over Mercia so that it can be stated definitely that "Wessex and Mercia were now united as Wessex and Kent had long been united by their allegiance to the same ruler" (Green) or not, the fact is not to be deduced from an imaginary mint at Oxford, any more than from the forged documents in the archives of University College or from the presence of what is known as King Alfred's jewel in the University galleries, (Beaumont Street). This beautiful specimen of gold enamelled work was found in Somersetshire in 1693 and added to the Ashmolean collections a little later. The inscription "Aelfred mee heht gevvrcan" (Alfred ordered me to be made) which it bears has earned it its title. * * * * * The promotion of Edmund Rich, the Abingdon lad who was first made an archbishop and then a saint, to the degree of Master of Arts, is the earliest mention of that degree in Oxford. The story of his life there gives the best illustration we have of the early years and growth of the University. In the ardour of knowledge and the passionate purity of youth he vowed himself to a life of study and chastity. In the spirit of mystical piety which was ever characteristic of him, secretly as a boy he took Mary for his bride. Perhaps at eventide, when the shadows were gathering in the Church of S. Mary and the crowd of teachers and students were breaking up from the rough schools which stood near the western doors of the church in the cemetery without, he approached the image of the Virgin and slipped on Mary's finger a gold ring. On that ring was engraved "that sweet Ave with which the Angel at the Annunciation had hailed the Virgin." Devout and studious, the future saint was not without boyish tastes. He paid more attention to the music and singing at S. Mary's, we are told, than to the prayers. On one occasion he was slipping out of the church before the service was finished in order to join the other students at their games. But at the north door a divine apparition bade him return, and from that time his devotion grew more fervent. It is recorded with astonishment by his biographers as a mark of his singular piety, that when he had taken his degree as Master he would attend mass each day before lecturing, contrary to the custom of the scholars of that time, and although he was not yet in orders. For this purpose he built a chapel to the Virgin in the parish where he then lived. His example was followed by his pupils. "So study," such was the maxim he loved to impress upon them, "as if you were to live for ever; so live as if you were to die to-morrow." How little the young scholar, to whom Oxford owes her first introduction to the Logic of Aristotle, cared for the things of this world is shown by his contemptuous treatment of the fees which the students paid to the most popular of their teachers. He would throw down the money on the window-sill, and there burying it in the dust which had accumulated, "dust to dust, ashes to ashes," he would cry, celebrating its obsequies. And there the fee would lie till a student in joke or earnest theft ran off with it. So for six years he lectured in Arts. But even knowledge brought its troubles. The Old Testament, which with the copy of the Decretals long formed his sole library, frowned down upon a love of secular learning, from which Edmund found it hard to wean himself. The call came at last. He was lecturing one day in Mathematics, when the form of his dead mother appeared to him. "My son," she seemed to say, "what art thou studying? What are these strange diagrams over which thou porest so intently?" She seized Edmund's right hand, and in the palm drew three circles, within which she wrote the names of the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost. "Be these thy diagrams henceforth, my son," she cried. And so directed, the student devoted himself henceforth to Theology. This story, Green observes, admirably illustrates the latent opposition between the spirit of the University and the spirit of the Church. The feudal and ecclesiastical order of the old mediæval world were both alike threatened by the new training. Feudalism rested on local isolation. The University was a protest against this isolation of man from man. What the Church and Empire had both aimed at and both failed in, the knitting of Christian nations together into a vast commonwealth, the Universities of the time actually did. On the other hand, the spirit of intellectual inquiry promoted by the Universities, ecclesiastical bodies though they were, threatened the supremacy of the Church. The sudden expansion of the field of education diminished the importance of those purely ecclesiastical and theological studies, which had hitherto absorbed the whole intellectual energies of mankind. For, according to the monastic ideal, theology was confined to mere interpretation of the text of Scripture and the dicta of the Fathers or Church. To this narrow science all the sciences were the handmaids. They were regarded as permissible only so far as they contributed to this end. But the great outburst of intellectual enthusiasm in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries created a momentary revolution in these matters. The whole range of science as revealed by the newly discovered treasures of Greek thinkers and Roman Jurists was now thrown open to the student. And this faint revival of physical science, this temporary restoration of classical literature, a re-discovery as it were of an older and a greater world, and contact with a larger, freer life, whether in mind, in society or politics, introduced a spirit of scepticism, of doubt, of denial, into the realms of unquestionable belief. But the Church was alive to the danger. Fiercely she fought [Illustration: Garden Front S John's College] the tide of opposition, and at last won back the allegiance of the Universities. Through the Schoolmen ecclesiasticism once more triumphed, and the reign of Theology was resumed. Soon scholasticism absorbed the whole mental energy of the student world. The old enthusiasm for knowledge died down; science was discredited, and literature in its purer forms became extinct. The scholastic philosophy, so famous for several ages, has passed away and been forgotten. We cannot deny that Roscelin, Anselm, Abelard, Peter Lombard, Albertus Magnus, Thomas Aquinas, Duns Scotus and Ockham were men of acute and even profound understanding, the giants of their own generation. But all their inquiries after truth were vitiated by two insurmountable obstacles--the authority of Aristotle and the authority of the Church. For Aristotle, whom the scholastics did not understand, and who had been so long held at bay as the most dangerous foe of mediæval faith, whom none but Anti-Christ could comprehend, was now turned, by the adoption of his logical method in the discussion and definition of theological dogma, into its unexpected ally. It was this very method which led to that "unprofitable subtlety and curiosity" which Lord Bacon notes as the vice of the scholastic philosophy. Yet the scholastic mode of dispute, admitting of no termination and producing no conviction, was sure in the end to cause scepticism, just as the triviality of the questions on which the schoolmen wasted their amazing ingenuity was sure at last to produce disgust. What could be more trifling than a disquisition about the nature of angels, their means of conversing, and the morning and evening states of their understanding, unless perhaps it were a subtle and learned dispute as to whether a chimæra, buzzing in a vacuum, can devour second intentions? John of Salisbury observed of the Parisian dialecticians in his own time, that after several years absence he found them not a step advanced, and still employed in urging and parrying the same arguments. His observation was applicable to the succeeding centuries. After three or four hundred years the scholastics had not untied a single knot or added one equivocal truth to the domain of philosophy. Then men discovered at last that they had given their time for the promise of wisdom, and had been cheated in the bargain. At the revival of letters the pretended science had few advocates left, save among the prejudiced or ignorant adherents of established systems. And yet, in the history of education and of the historical events which education directs, the discussions of the schoolmen hold a place not altogether contemptible. Their disputes did at least teach men to discuss and to define, to reason and to inquire. And thus was promoted the critical spirit which was boldly to challenge the rights of the Pope, and to receive and profit by the great disclosures of knowledge in a future age. Of the early schools and the buildings which sprang into existence to mark the first beginnings of the University, no trace remains. The church of S. Giles in north Oxford, which, as we have seen, is the church claimed by Rous as the S. Mary's of his imaginary University in Beaumont Fields, is the only architectural illustration of this period. It was consecrated by S. Hugh, the great Bishop of Lincoln, and is of interest as affording one of the earliest examples of lancet work in England (1180-1210?). The high placed windows in the north wall of the nave are Norman; the tower is in the Transition style. CHAPTER IV THE COMING OF THE FRIARS Scarcely had the University established itself in Oxford, when an immigration into that city took place, which was destined to have no inconsiderable influence on its history. Bands of men began to arrive and to settle there, members of new orders vowed to poverty and ignorance, whose luxury in after years was to prove a scandal, and whose learning was to control the whole development of thought. In the thirteenth century the power of the priesthood over Christendom was at its height, but it was losing its religious hold over the people. The whole energy of the Church seemed to be absorbed in politics; spiritually the disuse of preaching, the decline of the monastic orders into rich landowners, the non-residence and ignorance of parish priests combined to rob her of her proper influence. Grossetete issued ordinances which exhorted the clergy, but in vain, not to haunt taverns, gamble or share in drinking bouts, and in the rioting and debauchery of the barons. It was in these circumstances that Dominic and Francis, men so strangely different in other ways, were moved to found orders of New Brethren, who should meet false sanctity by real sanctity; preaching friars who should subsist on the alms of the poor and carry the Gospel to them. The older monasticism was reversed; the solitary of the cloister was exchanged for the preacher, the monk for the friar. Everywhere the itinerant preachers, whose fervid appeal, coarse wit and familiar stories brought religion into the market-place, were met with an outburst of enthusiasm. On their first coming to Oxford, the Dominicans or Black Friars were received with no less enthusiasm than elsewhere. Lands were given to them in Jewry; buildings and a large school were erected for them by benefactors like Walter Malclerk, Bishop of Carlisle, and Isabel de Boulbec, Countess of Oxford, or the friendly Canons of St Frideswide. So greatly did they flourish that they soon outgrew their accommodation. They sold their land and buildings, and with the proceeds built themselves a house and schools and church "on a pleasant isle in the south suburbs," which was granted them by Henry III. (1259). The site of their new habitation at the end of Speedwell Street (Preachers' Lane) is indicated by the Blackfriars Road and Blackfriars Street in the parish of St Ebbe. Their library was large and full of books; the church was dedicated to S. Nicholas. It was situated near Preachers' Bridge, which spanned the Trill Mill Stream. The Grey Friars followed hard on the heels of the Black. For in the year 1224 nine Franciscans arrived at Dover. Five of them went to Canterbury, four to London, whence two of them made their way to Oxford--Richard of Ingeworth and Richard of Devon. Their journey was eventful. Night drew on as they approached Oxford. The waters were high and they were fain to seek shelter in a grange belonging to the monks of Abingdon "in a most vast and solitary wood" (Culham?). "Humbly knocking at the door, they desired the monks for God's love to give them entertainment for that night. The porter who came to the door looked upon them (having dirty faces, ragged vestments, and uncouth speech) to be a couple of jesters or counterfeits. The Prior caused them to be brought in that they might quaff it and show sport to the monks. But the friars said they were mistaken in them; for they were not such kind of people, but the servants of God, and the professors of an apostolic life. Whereupon the expectation of the monks being thus frustrated, they vilely spurned at them and caused them to be thrust out of the gate. But one of the young monks had compassion on them and said to the porter: 'I desire thee for the love thou bearest me that when the Prior and monks are gone to rest thou wouldest conduct those poor people into the hayloft, and there I shall administer to them food.' Which being according to his desire performed, he carried to them bread and drink, and remaining some time with them, bade them at length a good night, and devoutly commended himself to their prayers. "No sooner had he left them, solacing their raging stomachs with refreshment, but he retired to his rest. But no sooner had sleep seized on him, than he had a dreadful dream which troubled him much. He saw in his sleep Christ sitting upon His throne calling all to judgment; at length with a terrible voice He said: 'Let the patrons of this place be called to me.' When they and their monks appeared, came a despised poor man in the habit of a minor friar, and stood opposite them saying to Christ these words: 'O just Judge, the blood of the minor friars cryeth to thee, which was the last night by those monks standing there endangered to be spilt; for they, when they were in great fear of perishing by the fury of hunger and wild beasts, did deny them lodging and sustenance--those, O Lord, who have leaved all for thy sake and are come hither to win souls for which thou dying hast redeemed--have denied that which they would not to jesters.' These words being delivered, Christ with a dreadful voice said to the Prior: 'Of what order art thou?' He answered that he was of the order of S. Benedict. Then Christ, turning to S. Benedict said, 'Is it true that he speaks?' S. Benedict answered, 'Lord, he and his companions are overthrowers of my religion, for I have given charge in my rule that the Abbot's table should be free for guests, and now these have denied those things that were but necessary for them.' Then Christ, upon this complaint, commanded that the Prior before mentioned should immediately be hanged on the elm-tree before the cloister. Afterwards the sacrist and cellarer being examined did undergo the same death also. These things being done, Christ turned Himself to the young monk that had compassion on the said friars, asking him of what order he was. Who thereupon, making a pause and considering how his brethren were handled, said at length, 'I am of the order that this poor man is.' Then Christ said to the poor man, whose name was as yet concealed, 'Francis, is it true that he saith, that he is of your order?' Francis answered, 'He is mine, O Lord, he is mine; and from henceforth I receive him as one of my order.' At which very time as those words were speaking, Francis embraced the young monk so close that, being thereupon awakened from his sleep, he suddenly rose up as an amazed man; and running with his garments loose about him to the Prior to tell him all the passages of his dream found him in his chamber almost suffocated in his sleep. To whom crying out with fear, and finding no answer from him, ran to the other monks, whom also he found in the same case. Afterwards the said young monk thought to have gone to the friars in the hayloft; but they fearing the Prior should discover them, had departed thence very early. Then speeding to the Abbot of Abingdon, told him all whatsoever had happened. Which story possessing him for a long time after with no small horror, as the aforesaid dream did the said young monk, did both (I am sure the last) with great humility and condescension come afterwards to Oxon, when the said friars had got a mansion there, and took upon them the habit of S. Francis." This quaint story of the first coming of the Grey Friars to Oxford illustrates very plainly the hostility between the old orders of the friars and the new; the opposition of the parochial priesthood to the spiritual energy of the mendicant preachers, who, clad in their coarse frock of grey serge, with a girdle of rope round their waist, wandered barefooted as missionaries over Asia, battled with heresies in Italy and Gaul, lectured in the Universities and preached and toiled among the poor. The Grey Friars were hospitably received by the Black, till Richard le Mercer, a wealthy burgess, let them a house in St Ebbe's parish, "between the church and water-gate (South-gate), in which many honest bachelors and noble persons entered and lived with them." Perhaps it was this increase in their numbers which compelled them to leave their first abode somewhere by the east end of Beef Lane, and to hire a house with ground attached from Richard the Miller. This house lay between the wall and Freren Street (Church Street). All sorts and conditions of men flocked to hear them. Being well satisfied, it is said, as to their honest and simple carriage and well-meaning as also with their doctrine, they began to load them with gifts and to make donations to the city for their use. One of their benefactors, Agnes, the wife of Guy, for instance, gave them "most part of that ground which was afterwards called Paradise" (_cf._ Paradise Square). A small church was built, and bishops and abbots relinquishing their dignities and preferments became Minorites. They scorned not "the roughness of the penance and the robe," but "did with incomparable humility carry upon their shoulders the coul and the hod, for the speedier finishing this structure." The site chosen by the Grey Friars for their settlement is not without significance. The work of the friars was physical as well as moral. Rapid increase of the population huddled within the narrow circle of the walls had resulted here as elsewhere in overcrowding, which accentuated the insanitary conditions of life. A gutter running down the centre of unpaved streets was supposed to drain the mess of the town as well as the slops thrown from the windows of the houses. Garbage of all sorts collected and rotted there. Within the houses the rush-strewn floors collected a foul heritage of scraps and droppings. Personal uncleanliness, encouraged by the ascetic prohibitions and directions of a morbid monasticism, which, revolting from the luxury of the Roman baths and much believing in the necessity of mortifying the flesh, regarded washing as a vice and held that a dirty shirt might cover a multitude of sins, was accentuated by errors of diet, and had become the habit of high and low. Little wonder that fever or plague, or the more terrible scourge of leprosy, festered in the wretched hovels of the suburbs of Oxford as of every town. Well, it was to haunts such as these that S. Francis had pointed his disciples. At London they settled in the shambles of Newgate; at Oxford they chose the swampy suburb of S. Ebbe's. Huts of mud and timber, as mean as the huts around them, rose within the rough fence and ditch that bounded the Friary; for the Order of St Francis fought hard, at first, against the desire for fine buildings and the craving for knowledge which were the natural tendencies of many of the brethren. In neither case did the will of their founder finally carry the day. "Three things," said Friar Albert, Minister General, "tended to the exaltation of the Order--bare feet, coarse garments, and the rejecting of money." At first the Oxford Franciscans were zealous in all those respects. We hear of Adam Marsh refusing bags of gold that were sent him; we hear of two of the brethren returning from a Chapter held at Oxford at Christmas-time, singing as they picked their way along the rugged path, over the frozen mud and rigid snow, whilst the blood lay in the track of their naked feet, without their being conscious of it. Even from the robbers and murderers who infested the woods near Oxford the barefoot friars were safe. But it was not long before they began to fall away from "the Rule," and to accumulate both wealth and learning. Under the ministry of Agnellus and his successor the tendency to acquire property was rigorously suppressed, but under Haymo of Faversham (1238) a different spirit began to prevail. Haymo preferred that "the friars should have ample areas and should cultivate them, that they might have the fruits of the earth at home, rather than beg them from others." And under his successor they gained a large increase of territory. By a deed dated Nov. 22, 1244, Henry III. granted them "that they might enclose the street that lies under the wall from the Watergate in S. Ebbe's to the little postern in the wall towards the castle, but so that a wall with battlements, like to the rest of the wall of Oxford, be made about the dwelling, beginning at the west side of Watergate, and reaching southward to the bank of the Thames, and extending along the bank westward as far as the land of the Abbot of Bec in the parish of S. Bodhoc, and then turning again to the northward till it joins with the old wall of the borough, by the east side of the small postern." In 1245 he made a further grant. "We have given the Friars Minor our island in the Thames, which we bought of Henry, son of Henry Simeon, granting them power to build a bridge over the arm of the Thames (Trill stream) which runs between the island and their houses, and enclose the island with a wall." When it was completed, then, the Convent of the Grey Friars could compare favourably with any convent or college in Oxford, except perhaps S. Frideswide's or Osney. On the east side of it, where the main entrance lay, at the junction of the present Littlegate Street and Charles Street, was the road leading from Watergate to Preacher's Bridge; on the South side, Trill Mill stream; on the West, the groves and gardens of Paradise; on the North, as far as West-gate, ran the City wall. "Their buildings were stately and magnificent; their church large and decent; and their refectory, cloister and libraries all proportionable thereunto." The traditional site of this church is indicated by Church Place as it is called to-day. The cloisters probably lay to the south of the church, round "Penson's Gardens." As the Franciscans fell away by degrees from the ideal of poverty, so also they succumbed to the desire of knowledge. "I am your breviary, I am your breviary," S. Francis had cried to a novice who had asked for a Psalter. The true Doctors, he held, were those who with the meekness of wisdom show forth good works for the edification of their neighbours. But the very popularity of their preaching drove his disciples to the study of theology. Their desire not only to obtain converts but also to gain a hold on the thought of the age had led the friars to fasten on the Universities. The same purpose soon led them to establish at Oxford a centre of learning and teaching. Their first school at Oxford was built by Agnellus of Pisa, and there he persuaded Robert Grossetete, the great reforming bishop of Lincoln, to lecture. Agnellus himself was a true follower of S. Francis and no great scholar. "He never smelt of an Academy or scarce tasted of humane learning." He was indeed much concerned at the results of Grossetete's lectures. For one day when he entered this school to see what progress his scholars were making in literature, he found them disputing eagerly and making enquiries whether there was a God. The scandalised Provincial cried out aloud in anger, "Hei mihi! Hei mihi! Fratres! Simplices coelos penetrant, et literati disputant utrum sit Deus!" The miracles which were afterwards reputed to be performed at the grave of this same excellent friar caused the church of the Grey Friars to be much frequented. The friars now began to accumulate books and we soon find mention of two libraries belonging to them. The nucleus of them was formed by the books and writings of Grossetete, which he bequeathed to the brethren. And they collected with great industry from abroad Greek, Hebrew and mathematical writings, at that time unknown in England. The fate of this priceless collection of books was enough to make Wood "burst out with grief." For, when the monasteries had begun to decay, and the monks had fallen into ways of sloth and ignorance and were become "no better than a gang of lazy, fat-headed friars," they began to sell their books for what they would fetch and allowed the remainder to rot in neglect. Meanwhile the teaching of such scholars as Grossetete and Adam Marsh (de Marisco), the first of the Order to lecture at Oxford, was not without result. From the school of the Franciscans came forth men who earned for the University great fame throughout Europe. Friars were sent thither to study, not only from Scotland and Ireland, but from France and Acquitaine, Italy, Spain, Portugal, and Germany; while many of the Franciscan schools on the Continent drew their teachers from Oxford. Duns Scotus and William Ockham were trained by these teachers; Roger Bacon, the founder of modern scientific enquiry, ended his days as one of the Order. His life, which stretched over the greater portion of the thirteenth century, was passed for the most part at Oxford; his aspirations and difficulties, his failures and achievements form an epitome, as it were, of the mental history of his age. It was only when he had spent forty years and all his fortune in teaching and scientific research that, having gained the usual reward of scholarship, and being bankrupt in purse, bankrupt in hope, he took the advice of Grossetete, and became a Friar of the Order of S. Francis. "Unheard, buried and forgotten," as a member of an Order which looked askance on all intellectual labour not theological, he was forbidden to publish any work under pain of forfeiture, and the penance of bread and water. Even when he was commanded by the Pope to write, the friars were so much afraid of the purport of his researches that they kept him in solitude on bread and water, and would not allow him to have access even to the few books and writings available in those days. Science, they maintained, had already reached its perfection; the world enjoyed too much light; why should he trouble himself about matters of which enough was known already? For as an enquirer Bacon was as solitary as that lone sentinel of science, the Tuscan artist in Valdarno. From the moment that the friars settled on the Universities, scholasticism had absorbed the whole mental energy of the student world. Theology found her only efficient rivals in practical studies such as medicine and law. Yet, in spite of all difficulties and hindrances, so superhuman was Bacon's energy, and so undaunted his courage, that within fifteen months the three great works, the Opus Majus, the Opus Minus, and the Opus Tertium were written. If this had been true of the Opus Majus alone, and if that work had not been remarkable for the boldness and originality of its views, yet as a mere feat of industry and application it would have stood almost if not quite unparalleled. For the Opus Majus was at once the Encyclopædia and the Novum Organum of the thirteenth century. Of the Opus Minus the only MS. of the work yet known is a fragment preserved in the Bodleian Library (Digby, No. 218). The amazing friar met with no reward for his labours. According to one story, indeed, his writings only gained for him a prison from his Order. His works were sold, allowed to rot, or nailed to the desks that they might do no harm. For Bacon's method of study exposed him to the charge of magic. It was said that he was in alliance with the Evil One, and the tradition arose that through spiritual agency he made a brazen head and imparted to it the gift of speech, and that these magical operations were wrought by him while he was a student at Brazen Nose Hall. Necromancy, you see, _was_ practised by the more daring students, for was there not a certain clerk in Billyng Hall who, when he had summoned the Devil into his presence by his art, observed with astonishment that he did reverence when a priest carrying the sacrament passed without. "Thereupon the student was much disturbed and came to the conclusion that God was much the greater and that Christ should be his Lord...." And later, was not Dr Thomas Allen of Gloucester Hall, the astrologer and mathematician to whom Bodley left his second best gown and cloak--a common sort of bequest in those days--suspected by reason of his figuring and conjuring, so that his servitor found a ready audience when, wishing to impose upon Freshmen and simple people, he used to say that sometimes he would meet the spirits coming up his master's stairs like bees? Apart from the tradition of the Brazen Nose, Bacon's long residence in Oxford left other marks on the nomenclature of the place. Wood tells us that in his day a fragment of the ruined Friary was pointed out as the room where the great wizard had been wont to pursue his studies. And at a later time tradition said that Friar Bacon was wont to use as an observatory the story built over the semi-circular archway of the gate on the south bridge, and it was therefore known as Friar Bacon's Study. The little "gate-house" must have resembled Bocardo. It was leased to a citizen named Welcome, who added a story to it, which earned it the name of "Welcome's Folly." So the bridge came to be called Folly Bridge, and though gate and house have disappeared, the new bridge still retains the name. [Illustration: Gables in Worcester College] The Black and the Grey Friars were followed to Oxford some years later by the White or Carmelite Friars. Nicholas de Meules or Molis, sometime governor of the castle, gave them a house on the west side of Stockwell Street,[17] now part of Worcester College. They would seem, like the other Orders, soon to have forgotten their traditional austerity. Lands accrued to them; they erected suitable buildings with planted groves and walks upon a large and pleasant site. But not content with this, they presently obtained from Edward II. the royal Palace of Beaumont. Thus they presented the curious paradox of an Order of monks who derived their pedigree in regular succession from Elijah, and trod in theory in the footsteps of the prophets who had retired into the desert, living at Oxford in the palace of a king. "When King Edward I. waged war with the Scots (1304) he took with him out of England a Carmelite friar, named Robert Baston, accounted in his time the most famous poet of this nation, purposely that he should write poetically of his victories. Again, when King Edward II. maintained the same war after the death of his father, he entertained the same Baston for the same purpose. At length the said king encountering Robert Bruce, was forced with his bishops to fly. In which flight Baston telling the king that if he would call upon the Mother of God for mercy he should find favour, he did so accordingly, with a promise then made to her that if he should get from the hands of his enemies and find safety, he would erect some house in England to receive the poor Carmelites.... Soon after, Baston and some others were not wanting to persuade him to give to the Carmelites his palace at Oxford" (1317), where Richard Coeur de Lion had been born. Beaumont Palace, whilst it remained in the hands of the Carmelites, was used not merely as a convent for the habitation of twenty-four monks, but also as a place of education for members of this Order throughout England; as well as for seculars who lived there as "commoners." Cardinal Pole is said to have been educated in this seminary. The library and the church of the White Friars were unusually fine. The Austin Friars (or Friars eremite of S. Augustine) came also to Oxford and gradually acquired property and settled "without Smith Gate, having Holywell Street on the south side of it and the chief part of the ground on which Wadham College now stands on the north." The Austin Friars were famous for their disputations in grammar, and soon drew to themselves much of the grammatical training of the place. They engaged also in violent philosophical controversies with the other Orders, so that at last they were even threatened with excommunication if they did not desist from their quarrelling. It was in their convent that the weekly general disputations of Bachelors, known for centuries after as "Austins," were held. [Illustration: Wadham College, from the Gardens] In 1262 the Penitentiarian Friars or Brothers of the Sack, so called because they wore sackcloth, obtained from Henry III. a grant of land which formed the parish of S. Budoc and lay to the west of the property of the Franciscans. The Order was soon afterwards suppressed and the Franciscans acquired their house and lands. The brethren of the Holy Trinity also made a settlement in Oxford (1291). Their house, afterwards known as Trinity Hall, was situated outside the East Gate (opposite Magdalen Hall). They also acquired the old Trinity Chapel adjoining and the surrounding land. The Trinitarians had, besides, a chapel within the East Gate, which was purchased by Wykeham to make room for New College. The Crossed or Cruched Friars, after one or two moves, settled themselves in the parish of S. Peter's in the East. The older religious Orders were presently stimulated by the example and the success of the friars to make some provision for the education of their monks. But they never aimed at producing great scholars or learned theologians. Historians of their Order and canonists who could transact their legal business were the products which the monastic houses desired. A Chapter-General held at Abingdon in 1279 imposed a tax on the revenues of all the Benedictine monasteries in the province of Canterbury with a view to establishing a house at Oxford where students of their Order might live and study together. John Giffard, Lord of Brimsfield, helped them to achieve their object. Gloucester Hall, adjoining the Palace of Beaumont, had been the private house of Gilbert Clare, Earl of Gloucester, who built it in the year 1260. It passed to Sir John Giffard, who instituted it a "nursery and mansion-place solely for the Benedictines of S. Peter's Abbey at Gloucester." The buildings were afterwards enlarged to provide room for student-monks from other Benedictine abbeys. Of the lodgings thus erected by the various abbeys for their novices, indications may still be traced in the old monastic buildings which form the picturesque south side of the large quadrangle of Worcester College. For over the doorways of these hostels the half-defaced arms of different monasteries, the griffin of Malmesbury or the Cross of Norwich, still denote their original purpose. [Illustration: Gateway, Worcester Gardens] At the dissolution, the college was for a short while made the residence of the first bishop of Oxford. After his death it was purchased by Sir Thomas White, and by him converted into a hall for the use of his College of S. John. Gloucester Hall, now become S. John Baptist Hall, after a chequered career, was refounded and endowed in 1714 as Worcester College out of the benefaction of Sir Thomas Cookes. In the latter half of the eighteenth century the hall, library and chapel were built and the beautiful gardens of "Botany Bay" were acquired. The Benedictines also held Durham Hall, on the site of the present Trinity College, having secured a property of about ten acres with a frontage of about 50 feet (including Kettell Hall) on Broad Street, and 500 feet on the "Kingis hye waye of Bewmounte." It was here that Richard de Bury, Bishop of Durham, founded the first public library in Oxford. Bury had studied at Oxford and was the tutor of Edward III.; statesman and churchman, he was above all Gateway in Garden of Worcester College things a book-lover. He had more books, it is recorded, than all the other bishops put together and, wherever he was residing, so many books lay about his bed-chamber that it was hardly possible to stand or move without treading upon them. In the _Philobiblon_ the bishop describes his means and methods of collecting books. In the course of his visitations he dug into the disused treasures of the monasteries, and his agents scoured the Continent for those "sacred vessels of learning." The collection of books so made he intended for the use of scholars, not merely for himself alone. "We have long cherished in our heart of hearts," he writes, "the fixed resolve to found in perpetual charity a hall in the reverend University of Oxford, and to endow it with the necessary revenues, for the maintenance of a number of scholars; and, moreover, to enrich the hall with the treasures of our books, that all and every one of them should be in common as regards their use and study, not only to the scholars of the said hall, but by their means to all the students of the aforesaid University for ever." And he proceeds to lay down strict regulations based on those of the Sorbonne, for the use and preservation of his beloved books and the catalogue he had made of them. Richard of Hoton, prior of Durham Monastery, had begun in 1289 the erection of a college building to receive the young brethren from that monastery, whom his predecessor, Hugh of Darlington, had already begun to send to Oxford to be educated. This colony of Durham students it was apparently Richard de Bury's intention to convert into a body corporate, consisting of a prior and twelve brethren. And in gratitude for the signal defeat of the Scots at Halidon Hill, Edward III. took the proposed college under his special protection. Bury, however, died, and died in debt, so that he himself never succeeded in founding the hall he intended. His successor, Bishop Hatfield, took up the scheme, and entered into an agreement with the prior and convent of Durham for the joint endowment of a college for eight monks and eight secular scholars. This project was completed, by agreement with his executors, after his death (1381). But what became of the books of the bishop and bibliophile, Richard de Bury? Some of them, indeed, his executors were obliged to sell, but we need not distrust the tradition which asserts that some of them at least did come to Oxford. There, it is supposed, they remained till Durham Hall was dissolved by Henry VIII., when they were dispersed, some going to Duke Humphrey's library, others to Balliol College, and the remainder passing into the hands of Dr George Owen, who purchased the site of the dissolved college. Whatever happened to Bury's books, it is certain that the room which still serves as a library was built in 1417, and it may be taken to form, happily enough, the connecting link between the old monastic house and the modern Trinity College. Some fragments of the original "Domus et clausura" may also survive in the Old Bursary and Common Room. The stimulating effect of the friars upon the old Orders is shown also by the foundation of Rewley Abbey, of which the main entrance was once north-west of Hythe Bridge Street. Rewley (_Locus Regalis_ in North Osney) was built for the Cistercians. Richard, Earl of Cornwall, brother of Henry III., who like the King had often been at Oxford, directed in his will that a foundation should be endowed for three secular priests to pray for his soul. His son Edmund, however, founded an Abbey of regulars instead, Cistercian monks from Thame. He gave sixteen acres to the west of the Abbey for walks and for private use. To represent the twenty-one monks of the foundation, twenty-one elm-trees were planted within the gates, and at the upper end a tree by itself to represent the abbot. It was to this Abbey, then, that the Cistercian monks came up to study, till Archbishop Chichele founded S. Bernard's for them (1437). The college which Chichele founded for the Bernardines, the "Black" Cistercians who followed the reformed rule of S. Bernard, was built on the east side of S. Giles', "after the same [Illustration: Oriel College] mode and fashion for matters of workmanship as his college of All Souls." It is the modern college of S. John Baptist. But a large part of the buildings date from Chichele's foundation, and the statue of S. Bernard still stands in its original niche to recall to the modern student the Bernardines whom he has succeeded. The Abbey was dissolved by Henry VIII., who gave the site to the Cathedral of Christ Church. The ruins were still standing in Wood's day, "seated within pleasant groves and environed with clear streams." Only a fragment of a wall and doorway now remain. A memorial stone, purchased from the site of Rewley by Hearne the Antiquarian for half a crown, is preserved in the Ashmolean. It bears the name of Ella Longepée, the benevolent Countess of Warwick, "who made this chapel." In addition to the numerous parish churches and convents and colleges, there were now innumerable smaller religious foundations in Oxford. There was the House of Converts; there were several hospitals and hermitages and "Ancherholds"--solitary little cells and cabins standing in the fields and adjoining abbeys or parish churches. [Illustration: Doorway, Rewley Abbey] The House of Converts was founded by Henry III. (1234), and here "all Jews and infidels converted to the Christian faith were ordained to have sufficient maintenance." After the expulsion of the Jews and when the number of converts began to fail, it was used as a Hall for scholars and known as Cary's Inn. Later it was the magnificent old Inn, the Blue Boar, which spanned the old south boundary of Little Jewry, Blue Boar, Bear or Tresham Lane. The whole of its site is occupied by the modern Town Hall. The hospital of S. Bartholomew, which lay about half a mile to the east of the city, was founded by Henry I. for leprous folk. It consisted of one master, two healthful brethren, six lepers and a clerk. The chapel and buildings were given in 1328 by Edward III. to Oriel College. In the fourteenth century forty days' indulgence or pardon of sins was granted by the Bishop of Lincoln to all who would pay their devotions at the chapel of S. Bartholomew, on the feast of that saint, and give of their charity to the leprous alms-folk. The result was that multitudes resorted there, and the priests and poor people benefited considerably. But after the Reformation the custom died out. Later, it was revived, for charitable reasons, by the Fellows of New College. They changed the day to May-day, and then "after their grave and wonted manner, early in the morning, they used to walk towards this place. They entered the chapel, which was ready decked and adorned with the seasonable fruits of the year. A lesson was read, and then the fellows sung a hymn or anthem of five or six parts. Thereafter one by one they went up to the altar where stood a certain vessel decked with Tuttyes, and therein offered a piece of silver; which was afterwards divided among the poor men. After leaving the chapel by paths strewn with flowers, they in the open space, like the ancient Druids, the Apollinian offspring, echoed and warbled out from the shady arbours harmonious melody, consisting of several parts then most in fashion." And Wood adds that "the youth of the city would come here every May-day with their lords and ladies, garlands, fifes, flutes, and drums, to acknowledge the coming in of the fruits of the year, or, as we may say, to salute the great goddess Flora, and to attribute her all praise with dancing and music." The income of the hospital had previously been much augmented by the relics which it was fortunate enough to possess. S. Edmund the Confessor's comb, S. Bartholomew's skin, as well as his much revered image, the bones of S. Stephen and one of the ribs of S. Andrew the apostle, all helped to draw to this shrine without the walls the worship and the offerings of the sick and the devout. It is difficult to realise with what reverential awe men regarded the jaw-bone of an ancient cenobite, the tooth or even the toe-nail of a saint or martyr. Charms, in those days, were considered more efficacious than drugs, and the bones of saints were the favourite remedies prescribed by the monkish physicians. Comb your hair with this comb of Saint Edmund, then, and you would surely be cured of frenzy or headache; apply the bones of S. Stephen to your rheumatic joints, and your pains would disappear. So it was most firmly believed; and faith will remove mountains. There was a saint for every disease. To touch the keys of S. Peter or to handle a relic of S. Hubert was deemed an effectual mode of curing madness. S. Clare, according to monkish leechcraft, cured sore eyes; S. Sebastian the plague, and S. Apollonia the toothache. The teeth of S. Apollonia, by the way, were by a fortunate dispensation almost as numerous as the complaint which she took under her charge was common. It is said that Henry VI., disgusted at the excess of this superstition, ordered all who possessed teeth of that illustrious saint to deliver them to an officer appointed to receive them. Obedient crowds came to display their saintly treasures, and lo! a ton of the veritable teeth of S. Apollonia were thus collected together. Were her stomach, says Fuller, proportionate to her teeth, a country would scarce afford her a meal. The relics at S. Bartholomew's were so highly prized that Oriel College thought it desirable to remove them to their church of S. Mary--where more people might have the benefit of them. S. Bartholomew's hospital was used as a common pest-house for the plague in 1643, and shortly after was completely demolished. The chapel fared no better, for it was put to base uses by the Parliamentarians, and the roof, which was of lead, was melted down to provide bullets for "the true Church Militant." The buildings and chapel were, however, restored by the patrons, Oriel College. If you follow the Cowley Road towards Cowley Marsh, you will find on your left, opposite the College cricket grounds, and just short of the Military College and barracks, a ruined building which is the old chapel of S. Bartholomew, and contains the screen put up in the time of the Commonwealth. The letters O. C., 1651, mark it. They stand for Oriel College, not Oliver Cromwell, we must suppose. There was a hospital in Stockwell Street, at the back of Beaumont Palace; there was a hospital of Bethlehem at the north end of S. Giles' Church and Alms-house Place in Holywell. Of hermitages we may mention that known as S. Nicholas Chapel on the west side of South Bridge. The hermits who lived there successively were called the hermits of Grand Pont. They passed their lives, we are told, in continual prayer and bodily labour--"in prayer against the vanities of the world, for poor pilgrims and passengers that steered their course that way, receiving of them something of benevolence for that purpose; in bodily labour by digging their own graves and filling them up again, as also in delving and making highways and bridges." "Our Lady in the wall" was the name of another hermitage near S. Frideswide's Grange, which was in great repute at one time for the entertainment of poor pilgrims who came to be cured by the waters of S. Edmund's well (Cowley Place). The hospital of S. John Baptist was founded some time before the end of the thirteenth century for the relief of poor scholars and other miserable persons. Among the property granted or confirmed to it by Henry III. in a very liberal charter, was the mill known as King's Mill at the Headington end of the path now called Mesopotamia, because it runs between the two branches of the river. As a site for rebuilding the hospital the brethren were given (1231) the Jews' Garden, outside the East Gate of Oxford, but it was provided that a space should be reserved for a burial-ground for the Jews. This ground formed part of the present site of Magdalen College, and part of the site of the Physic Garden, which lies on the other side of the High Street, facing the modern entrance to that college. The latter site was that reserved for the Jews' cemetery; the hospital buildings were erected on the other portion. When Waynflete began to enlarge and remodel his foundation of Magdalen Hall (1456), he obtained a grant from the king whereby the hospital (which had ceased to fulfil its purpose) and its possessions were assigned to the President and Fellows of the Hall. Two years later a commission was appointed by the Pope, which confirmed the suppression of the hospital and its incorporation in the college which Waynflete had been licensed to found, "whereby he proposed to change earthly things to heavenly, and things transitory to things eternal, by providing in place of the Hospital a College of a President, secular scholars and other ministers for the service of God and the study of theology and philosophy; of whom some are to teach these sciences without fee at the cost of the College." Of the buildings which were once part of the old hospital very little remains. In the line of the present college, facing the street, a blocked-up doorway to the west of the tower marks one of the entrances to the hospital. And Wood was probably correct in saying that the college kitchen was also part of the original fabric. There is a little statue of a saint over a doorway inside the kitchen which appears to bear out this statement. * * * * * The various religious Orders were, then, well represented at Oxford. Their influence on the University was considerable; their relations with it not always amicable. At first, doubtless, they did much to stimulate mental activity, whilst the friendship which Grossetete, who as Bishop of Lincoln exercised a sort of paternal authority over the University, manifested towards his "faithful counsellor," Adam Marsh, and the Franciscans in general, helped to reconcile their claims with the interests of the University. But the University was always inclined to be jealous of them; to regard them bitterly, and not without reason, as grasping bodies, who were never tired of seeking for peculiar favours and privileges and always ready to appeal to the Pope on the least provocation. Before long, indeed, it became evident that their object was to gain control of the University altogether. And this endeavour was met by a very strenuous and bitter campaign against them. For, as at Paris, the friars soon outlived their welcome, and as at Paris, it was deemed advisable to set a limit to the number of friar doctors and to secure the control of the University to the regular graduates.[18] The friars who were sent up to Oxford had usually completed their eight years' study of Arts in the Friars' schools, and were probably chosen for the promise they had shown in the course of their earlier studies. Their academic studies were confined to the Faculty of Theology, in its wide mediæval sense, and of Canon Law, the hand-maid of theology. But though the regulars were for the most part subject to the same regulations as the secular students in these faculties, yet the Orders were bound before long to find themselves in antagonism with the customs of the University. The rules of the Preaching Friars forbade them to take a degree in Arts; the University required that the student of theology should have graduated in Arts. The issue was definitely raised in 1253, and became the occasion of a statute, providing that for the future no one should incept in Theology unless he had previously ruled in Arts in some University and read one book of the Canon, or of the Sentences, and publicly preached in the University. This statute was challenged some fifty years later by the Dominicans, and gave rise to a bitter controversy which involved the Mendicant Orders in much odium. The Dominicans appealed first to the King and then to the Pope, but the award of the arbitrators appointed upheld the statute. The right of granting dispensations, however, or graces to incept in Theology, to those who had not ruled in Arts, was reserved to the Chancellor and Masters. A clause which prohibited the extortion of such "graces" by means of the letters of influential persons was inserted, but was not altogether effective. Certain friars who had used letters of this kind are named in a proclamation of the year 1358. "These are the names of the wax-doctors who seek to extort graces from the University by means of letters of lords sealed with wax, or because they run from hard study as wax runs from the face of fire. Be it known that such wax-doctors are always of the Mendicant Orders, the cause whereof we have found; for by apples and drink, as the people fables, they draw boys to their religion, and do not instruct them after their profession, as their age demands, but let them wander about begging, and waste the time when they could learn in currying favour with lords and ladies." From an educational point of view no doubt the University was right in insisting on the preliminary training in Arts. Roger Bacon speaks with contempt of the class that was springing up in his day--people who studied theology and nothing but theology, "and had never learnt anything of real value. Ignorant of all parts and sciences of mundane philosophy, they venture on the study of philosophy which demands all human wisdom. So they have become masters in theology and philosophy before they were disciples." The tendency and the danger of our modern educational system is to specialise, not in theology but in science, without any proper previous training in the humanities. Whilst the University was engaged in desperate combat with the friars in defence of its system, the regulars had succeeded in securing almost a monopoly of learning. The same fight and the same state of affairs prevailed at Paris. And just as at Paris in order to save the class of secular theologians from extinction, Robert de Sorbonne established his college (1257) for secular clerks, so now at Oxford, Walter de Merton took the most momentous step in the history of our national education by founding a college for twenty students of Theology or Canon Law, who not only were not friars or monks, but who forfeited their claims to his bounty if they entered any of the regular Orders. And that his object was achieved the names of Walter Burley, the Doctor Perspicuus, Thomas Bradwardine, the profound doctor, and perhaps John Wycliffe stand forth to prove. As an institution for the promotion of academical education under a collegiate discipline but secular guidance, the foundation of Merton College was the expression of a conception entirely new in England. It deserves special consideration, for it became the model of all other collegiate foundations, and determined the future constitution of both the English Universities. Walter de Merton was born at Merton in Surrey. He studied at Oxford and won such high honour with the King that he was made Chancellor of the kingdom. Ranged on the side opposite to that of Simon de Montford, he was enabled perhaps by the very success of his opponent and the leisure that so came to him, to perfect the scheme which he had early begun to develop. At first he set aside his estates of Malden, Farleigh and Chessington to support eight of his young kinsmen in study at the University. But in 1263 he made over his manor-house and estate of Malden to a "house of Scholars of Merton," with the object of supporting twenty students preferably at Oxford. The first statutes were granted in the following year. The scholars in whom the property of this house was vested were not allowed to reside within its walls for more than one week in the year, at the annual audit. The house was to be occupied by a Warden and certain brethren or Stewards. It was their business to [Illustration: Old Gateway, Merton College Herbert Railton Oxford] administer the estate and pay their allowances to the scholars. The scholars themselves were all originally nephews of the founder. Their number was to be filled up from the descendants of his parents, or failing them, other honest and capable young men, with a preference for the diocese of Winchester. They were to study in some University where they were to hire a hall and live together as a community. It was in the very year of the secession to Northampton that the statutes were issued, and it would have been obviously inexpedient to bind the students to one University or one town. The Studium might be removed from Oxford or the scholar might find it desirable to migrate from that University, to Stamford, Cambridge, or even Paris. The founder, indeed, in view of such a possibility did acquire a house at Cambridge for his college (Pythagoras Hall). The little community thus established at Oxford was to live simply and frugally, without murmuring, satisfied with bread and beer, and with one course of flesh or fish a day. A second body of statutes given to the community in 1270 fixed their abode definitely at Oxford and regulated their corporate life more in detail. A sub-warden was now appointed to preside over the students in Oxford, as well as one to administer at Malden. Strict rules of discipline were laid down. At meals all scholars were to keep silence save one, who was to read aloud some edifying work. All noisy study was forbidden. If a student had need to talk, he must use Latin. In every room one Socius, older and wiser than the others, was to act as Præpositus, control the manners and studies of the rest and report on them. To every twenty scholars a monitor was chosen to enforce discipline. One among so many was not found to suffice, and by the final statutes of Merton one monitor to ten was appointed. Thus originated the office of Decanus (Dean). A new class of poor students--"secondary scholars"--was also now provided for. They were to receive sixpence a week each from Michaelmas to Midsummer, and live with the rest at Oxford. In these secondary scholars may be seen the germ of the distinction, so characteristic of English colleges, between the full members of the society, afterwards known as Fellows or Socii, and the scholars or temporary foundationers. Socii originally meant those who boarded together in the same hall. It was the founder of Queen's who first used the word to distinguish full members of the society from foundationers, who were still later distinguished as "scholares." Wykeham followed his example, distinguishing the _verus et perpetuus socius_ from the probationer. And from these secondary scholars it is probable that a century later Willyot derived his idea of the institution of a separate class of _Portionistae_, the Merton Postmasters. They originally received a "stinted portion," compared with the scholars. Merton became Chancellor once more on the death of Henry. He was practically Regent of the Kingdom till the return of Edward from the Crusades. As soon as he resigned the seals of office in 1274, he set himself to revise the statutes of his college at Oxford, before taking up his duties as Bishop of Rochester. The wardens, bailiffs and ministers of the altar were now transferred from Malden to Oxford, which was designated as the exclusive and permanent home of the scholars. The statutes now given remained in force till 1856, and are, to quote the verdict of the late warden, "a marvellous repertory of minute and elaborate provisions governing every detail of college life. The number and allowances of the scholars; their studies, diet, costume, and discipline; the qualifications, election and functions of the warden; the distribution of powers among various college officers; the management of the college estates and the conduct of the college business are here regulated with remarkable sagacity. The policy which dictates and underlies them is easy to discern. Fully appreciating the intellectual movement of his age, and unwilling to see the paramount control of it in the hands of the religious Orders--the zealous apostles of papal supremacy--Walter de Merton resolved to establish within the precincts of the University a great seminary of secular clergy, which should educate a succession of men capable of doing good service in Church and State. "The employment of his scholars was to be study--not the _claustralis religio_ of the older religious Orders, nor the more practical and more popular self-devotion of the Dominicans and Franciscans. He forbade them ever to take vows; he enjoined them to maintain their corporate independence against foreign encroachments; he ordained that all should apply themselves to studying the liberal arts and philosophy before entering on a course of theology; and he provided special chaplains to relieve them of ritual and ceremonial duties. He contemplated and even encouraged their going forth into the great world. No ascetic obligations were laid on them, but residence and continual study were strictly prescribed, and if any scholar retired from the college with the intention of giving up study, or even ceased to study diligently, his salary was no longer to be paid. If the scale of these salaries and statutable allowances was humble, it was chiefly because the founder intended the number of scholars to be constantly increased as the revenues of the house might be enlarged." In this foundation Walter De Merton was the first to express the only true idea of a college. Once expressed, it was followed by every succeeding founder. The collegiate system revolutionised University life in England. Merton was never tired of insisting upon the one great claim which his community should have to the loyalty, affection and service of its members. It was this idea which has produced all that is good in the system. To individual study in the University schools was added common life; to private aims the idea of a common good. "The individual is called to other activities besides those of his own sole gain. Diversities of thought and training, of taste, ability, strength and character, brought into daily contact, bound fast together by ties of common interest, give birth to sympathy, broaden thought, and force enquiry, that haply in the issue may be formed that reasoned conviction and knowledge, that power of independent thought, to produce which is the great primary aim of our English University education" (Henderson). The founder, who had long been busy acquiring property in Oxford, had impropriated the Church of S. John the Baptist for the benefit of the college, and several houses in its immediate neighbourhood were made over to the scholars. The site thus acquired (1265-8) became their permanent home and was known henceforth as Merton Hall. Of the buildings which were now erected and on which the eyes of the founder may have rested in pride and hope, little now remains. The antique stone carving over the college gate, the great north door of the vestibule of the Hall, with its fantastic tracery of iron, perhaps the Treasury and Outer Sacristy are relics of the earliest past. But Chapel, Hall, Library and Quadrangle are later than the Founder. As if to emphasise the ecclesiastical character of the English college, he had begun at once to rebuild the parish church as a collegiate church. The high altar was dedicated in the year of his death, 1277; the rest of the chapel is of later dates. The choir belongs to the end of the thirteenth century (1297), (Pure Decorated); the transepts (Early Decorated, with later Perpendicular windows and doors) were finished in 1424, but begun perhaps as early as the choir; and the massive tower, with its soaring pinnacles, a fine specimen of Perpendicular work, was completed in 1451. It will be noticed that the chapel has no nave, but that, probably in imitation of William of Wykeham's then recently finished naveless chapel at New College, the nave which had evidently been intended was omitted at Merton (after 1386). Two arches blocked with masonry in the western wall and the construction of the west window indicate this original intention of adding a nave. The old thirteenth century glass in the Geometrical windows of the chancel is of great interest. The arms of Castile and the portrait [Illustration: Oriel College] of Elinor of Castile (d. 1290) will be noticed. Merton Chapel is very rich both in glass and brasses. On entering the college you are struck at once by the fact that Merton is not as other colleges arranged on a preconceived plan. But the irregular and disconnected arrangement of the buildings of the quadrangle are themselves suggestive of the fact that it was from Merton and the plans of its founder that the college quadrangles may trace their origin; as it is from Merton that they derive their constitution. The hall, the chapel, the libraries and the living rooms, as essentials for college life, were first adopted here, and these buildings were disposed in an unconnected manner about a quadrangular court after the fashion of the outer Curia of a monastery. The regular disposition of college quadrangles was first completed by Wykeham, and whilst other colleges have conformed to the perfected shape, Merton remains in its very irregularity proudly the prototype, the mother of colleges. Of the college buildings the most noteworthy is the library, the oldest example of the mediæval library in England. It was the gift of William Rede, Bishop of Chichester (1377). The dormer and east windows and the ceiling are later, but the library as it is, though enriched by the improvements of succeeding centuries, beautiful plaster-work and panelling, noble glass and a sixteenth century ceiling, is not very different from that in which the mediæval student pored over the precious manuscripts chained to the rough sloping oaken desks which project from the bookcases. These bookcases stand out towards the centre of the room and form, with a reader's bench opposite to each of the narrow lancet windows, a series of reader's compartments. How the books were fastened and used in those days, you may gain a good idea by examining the half case numbered forty-five. It was in this library that the visitors of Edward VI. took their revenge on the schoolmen and the popish commentators by destroying in their stupid fanaticism not only innumerable works of theology, but also of astronomy and mathematical science. "A cart-load," says Thomas Allen, an eye-witness, "of such books were sold or given away, if not burnt, for inconsiderable nothings." In this library Anthony Wood was employed in the congenial occupation of "setting the books to rights," and here is preserved, according to tradition, the very astrolabe which Chaucer studied. And, for a fact, a beautiful copy of the first Caxton edition of his works is stored in the sacristy--a building which up till 1878 was used as a brew-house. The charming inner quadrangle, in which the library is, rejoices in the name "Mob" Quad--a name of which the derivation has been lost. Like the Treasury, it probably dates from about 1300. The high-pitched roof of the latter, made of solid blocks of ashlar, is one of the most remarkable features of Merton. The outer sacristy is on the right of the main entrance passage to Mob Quad, and thence an old stone staircase leads to the Treasury or Muniment room. Another passage from the front quadrangle leads to Patey's Quad. The Fellows' Quadrangle was begun in 1608, and the large gateway with columns of the four orders (Roman-Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, and Composite) is typical of the architectural taste of the times. The quadrangle itself, very similar to that of Wadham, is one of the most beautiful and charming examples of late Gothic imaginable. It would have been a fortunate thing if this had been the last building added to Merton. But it was destined that the taste of the Victorian era should be painfully illustrated by the new buildings which were erected in 1864 by Mr Butterfield. The architect was eager and the college not disinclined at that time to destroy part of the library and the Mob Quad. The abominable building which replaced the beautiful enclosure known as the Grove, combines with the new buildings of Christ Church to spoil what might have been one of the most beautiful effects of water, wood and architecture in the world--the view of Oxford from the Christ Church and Broad Walks. Inspired by the example of Merton and a similar dislike of monks and friars, Walter de Stapeldon, the great Bishop of Exeter, ordained that the twelve scholars whom he originally endowed (1314) should not study theology or be in orders. The society, afterwards known as Exeter College, was housed at first in Hart Hall and Arthur Hall, in the parish of S. Peter in the East, and was intended by the founder to be called Stapeldon Hall. In the following year he moved his scholars, eight of whom, he stipulated, must be drawn from Devonshire and four from Cornwall, to tenements which he had bought between the Turl and Smith Gate, just within the walls. The founder added a rector to their number and gave them statutes, based on those of Merton, which clearly indicated that his object was to give a good education to young laymen. The college was practically refounded in 1566 by Sir William Petre, a successful servant of the Tudors. Of the pre-reformation buildings, nothing unhappily remains save a fragment of the tower. The rest is seventeenth century or nineteenth, the front on Turl Street dating from 1834, and the unlovely "modern Gothic" front on Broad Street from 1854. Sir Gilbert Scott, who designed the latter, destroyed the old chapel and replaced it with a copy of the Sainte Chapelle. Ten years later another daughter of Merton was born. For in 1324 Adam de Brome, Almoner of Edward II. and Rector of S. Mary's, obtained the royal licence to found a college of scholars, Bachelor Fellows, who should study theology and the Ars Dialectica. The statutes of this "Hall of the Blessed Mary at Oxford," afterwards known as King's Hall and Oriel College, were copied almost verbatim from those of Merton. Tackley's Inn, on the south side of High Street (No. 106), and Perilous Hall, on the north side of Horsemonger, now Broad Street, were purchased for the College. But in 1326 it was refounded by the King, endowed with the advowson and rectory of the Church of S. Mary, and ordered to be governed by a Provost, chosen by the scholars from their own number. The first Provost was the founder, who was also Rector of S. Mary's, and the society now established itself in the Rectory House on the south side of the High Street (St Mary Hall), at the north end of Schidyard (Oriel) Street. The college gradually acquired property stretching up to St John's (now Merton) Street, and in so doing became possessed of the tenement at the angle of Merton and Oriel Street called /p, or, for some uncertain reason, but probably on account of its possessing one of the architectural features indicated by that word, La Oriole. It was here, then, that the society fixed its abode and from this hall it took its name. The present front quadrangle, resembling the contemporary front quadrangles of Wadham and University, and endowed with a peculiar charm by the weather-stained and crumbling stone, stands on the site of La Oriole and other tenements. It was completed in the year of the outbreak of the Civil War, _Regnante Carolo_, as the legend on the parapet between the hall and chapel records, and the statue of Charles I. above it indicates. The Garden Quadrangle was added in the eighteenth century. The monks and friars have gone their way and the place of their habitation knows them no more. But they have left their mark upon Oxford in many ways. Though their brotherhoods were disbanded by Henry VIII. and most of their buildings demolished, the quadrangles and cloisters of many colleges recall directly the monastic habit, and the college halls the refectory of a convent. Whilst the College of S. John dates back from the scholastic needs of the Cistercians, and the Canterbury Quad and gate at Christ Church keep alive by their names the recollection of the Canterbury college founded by Archbishop Islip (1363) for the Benedictines of Canterbury, the old hostels, which were once erected to receive the Benedictine students from other convents, survive in those old parts of Worcester which lie on your left as you approach the famous gardens of that college. Trinity College occupies the place of Durham, and Wadham has risen amid the ruins of a foundation of Augustines, whose disputative powers were kept in memory in the exercises of the University schools down to 1800. The monks of S. Frideswide's Priory, S. George's Church, the Abbey of Osney, have all disappeared with the friaries. But Christ Church is a magnificent monument to the memory of the abbots and canons regular whom it has succeeded. The very conception of an academical college was no doubt largely drawn from the colleges of the regular religious Orders, which, unlike those of the Mendicants, were entirely designed as places of study. [Illustration: Monastic Buildings, Worcester College] We have seen how the foundation of Merton, and therefore of Exeter and Oriel, was directly due to the coming of the friars. And it is to their influence that yet another great and once beautiful college, beautiful no longer, but greater now and more famous than ever by virtue of the services in politics and letters of its successful alumni, owes its origin. For it was under the guidance of a Franciscan friar, one Richard de Slikeburne, that the widow of Sir John de Balliol carried out her husband's intention of placing upon a thoroughly organised footing his house for poor scholars. He, the Lord of Barnard Castle, father of the illustrious rival of the Bruce, having about the year 1260 "unjustly vexed and enormously damnified" the Church of Tynemouth and the Church of Durham, was compelled by the militant bishop whose hard task it was to keep peace on the Border, to do penance. He knelt, in expiation of his crime, at the door of Durham Abbey, and was there publicly scourged by the bishop. He also undertook to provide a perpetual maintenance for certain poor scholars in the University. Balliol's original scheme of benefaction had little in common with the peculiarly English college-system inaugurated by Walter de Merton. It was drawn up on the lines of the earlier foundations of Paris. For the Hall of Balliol was originally a college for Artists only who lost their places when they took a degree in Arts. Their scholarships meanwhile supplied them only with food and lodging of a moderate quality. But these youthful students, according to the democratic principles on which the halls were carried on, made their own statutes and customs, and it was in accordance with this code that the Principal was required to govern them. Balliol's scholars were established in Oxford by June 1266, and were at first supported by an annual allowance from him. He granted them a commons of eightpence a week. The hostel in which he lodged them was a house he hired in Horsemonger Street (Broad Street), facing the moat and city wall. But before he had made any provision for the permanent endowment of his scholars Balliol died. A close connection had apparently from the first been established between the hall and the Franciscans. One of the agents by whom Balliol's dole had been distributed was a Franciscan friar. Now, under the guidance and probably at the instigation of the friar Richard of Slikeburne, whom she appointed her attorney in the business, Lady Dervorguilla of Galloway, the widow of John of Balliol, set herself to secure the welfare of her husband's scholars. Since his death the very existence of the newly formed society had been in jeopardy. The Lady Dervorguilla, then, addressed a letter to the procurators or agents of Balliol's dole, instructing them to put in force a code of statutes which was no doubt in great part merely a formal statement of customs already established at the Old Balliol Hall. She next fitted up the north aisle of the parish church (S. Mary Magdalen) for the use of her scholars; she endowed them with lands in Northumberland, and purchased for their dwelling-place three tenements east of Old Balliol Hall. These tenements, which were south-west of the present front quadrangle, and faced the street, were soon known as New Balliol Hall or Mary Hall. The whole of the site of the front quadrangle was acquired by the Society as early as 1310. A few years later (1327) the scholars built themselves a chapel, part of which, said to be preserved in the dining-room of the Master's House, forms an interesting link between the original scholars of Balliol and the modern Society which is connected with the name of Dr Jowett. The statutes, which had been much tinkered by subsequent benefactors and bishops, were finally revised by Bishop Fox, the enlightened and broad-minded founder of C.C.C. Fox gave Balliol a constitution, not altogether in harmony with his own ideals as expressed in the statutes of Corpus, but such as he thought best fitted to fulfil the intentions of the founders. He divided the Society into two halves:--ten juniors, _Scholastici_, and ten Fellows, _Socii_, each of whom had a definite duty. In their hands the whole government of the College was placed. According to the new regulations the scholars or servitors of Balliol were to occupy a position humbler than that of the younger students at any other College. They were to wait upon the Master and the graduate Fellows and to be fed with the crumbs that should fall from the table of their superiors. They were to be nominated by the Fellow whom they were to serve, to be from eighteen to twenty-two years of age, and if they proved themselves industrious and well-behaved they were to be eligible to Fellowships even though they had not taken the degree of B.A. Commoners, as in most other Colleges, were to be allowed to lodge within the walls of the College, and to take their meals with the members of the Society. The Fellowships, which entitled the holder to a "commons" of 1s. 8d. a week, were thrown open to competition, candidates being required, however, to be Bachelors of Arts, of legitimate birth, good character, proficient in their studies, and in need of assistance, for any cure of souls, or a private income of more than 40s. a year, was accounted a reason for disqualification. Fox had a weakness for metaphors. In the statutes of Corpus he "spoke horticulturally; his metaphor was drawn from bees." On the present occasion he uses a metaphor as elaborate and appropriate. The College is described as a human body. The Master was the head, endued with the five senses of seeing clearly, hearing discreetly, smelling sagaciously, tasting moderately, and touching fitly; the senior Fellow was the neck; the Deans were the shoulders; the two priests the sides; the Bursars the arms and hands; the Fellows the stomach; the scholars the legs; and the servants the feet, whose function it is to go whithersoever they are bidden. Just as the body when sick would require a physician, so it was said would the College sometimes require a visitor. The Master and Fellows were given the unusual privilege of choosing their own visitor. In the fifteenth century the whole quadrangle was rebuilt; the Old Hall, the Old Library, the Master's House, and the block of buildings and gateway facing Broad Street being then erected. Of these the shell of the Master's House, the Old Hall, now converted into an undergraduates' library, and the Old Library, much defaced by Wyatt, survive. The east wall of the library was used to form the west end of the chapel, which was built in 1529 to replace the old oratory. The sixteenth century chapel was removed and the present building erected as a memorial to Dr Jenkins, under whom Balliol had begun to develop into a College of almost national importance. Mr Butterfield, the architect who had done his best to ruin Merton, and who perpetrated Keble, was entrusted with this unfortunate method of perpetuating the worthy Master's memory. [Illustration: Balliol College] Mr Waterhouse is responsible for the present front of the College, the east side of the first quadrangle, the north side of the Garden Quadrangle and the new Hall therein (1867-1877). Not content with fighting the University, the Oxford Friars soon began to fight each other. Rivalries sprang up between the Orders; enormous scandals of discord, as Matthew Paris phrases it. Jealousy found its natural vent in politics as in the schools. Politically, the Oxford Franciscans supported Simon de Montfort; the Dominicans sided with the King. The Mad Parliament met in the Convent of the Black Friars. In philosophy the Franciscans attacked the doctrine of the Dominican, S. Thomas Aquinas, who had made an elaborate attempt to show that natural and revealed truth were complementary the one of the other. In order to establish this thesis and to reconcile human philosophy and the Christian faith, the Angelic Doctor, for so he was commonly termed, had written an encyclopædia of philosophy and theology, in which he advanced arguments on both sides of every question and decided judicially on each in strict accordance with the tenets of the Church. The light of this "sparkling jewel of the clergy, this very clear mirror of the University of Paris, this noble and illuminating candlestick," was somewhat dimmed, however, when the great Franciscan hero, the "subtle doctor," Duns Scotus, took up the argument, and clearly proved that the reasoning of this champion of orthodoxy was itself unorthodox. The world of letters was divided for generations into the rival camps of Scotists and Thomists. But the two doctors have fared very differently at the hands of posterity. Thomas was made a Saint, judged to be a "candlestick," and awarded by Dante a place high in the realms of Paradise. Duns Scotus, on the other hand, whose learning and industry were as great and his merit probably not much inferior, survives chiefly in the English language as a "dunce." The name of the great Oxford scholar stands to the world chiefly as a synonym for a fool and a blockhead. For when the Humanists, and afterwards the Reformers, attacked his system as a farrago of needless entities and useless distinctions, the Duns men, or Dunses, on their side railed against the new learning. The name of Dunce, therefore, already synonymous with cavilling sophist or hair-splitter, soon passed into the sense of dull, obstinate person, impervious to the new learning, and of blockhead, incapable of learning or scholarship. Such is the justice of history. Duns Scotus had carried the day and the Church rallied to the side of the Franciscans. But such a successful attack involved the Orders in extreme bitterness. The Dominicans retorted that these Franciscans, who claimed and received such credit throughout Europe for humility and Christlike poverty, were really accumulating wealth by alms or bequests. The charge was true enough. The pride and luxury of the Friars, their splendid buildings, their laxity in the Confessional, their artifices for securing proselytes, their continual strife with the University and their endeavours to obtain peculiar privileges therein had long undermined their popularity. They were regarded as "locusts" who had settled on the land and stripped the trees of learning and of life. Duns Scotus held almost undisputed sway for a while. His works on logic, theology and philosophy were text-books in the University. But presently there arose a new light, a pupil of his own, to supplant him. William of Ockham, the "singular" or "invincible" doctor, revived the doctrine of Nominalism. At once the glory and reproach of his Order, he used the weapons of Scholasticism to destroy it. But if in Philosophy the "invincible doctor" was a sceptic, in Theology he was a fanatical supporter of the extreme Franciscan view that the ministers of Christ were bound to follow the example of their Master, and to impose upon themselves absolute poverty. It was a view which found no favour with popes or councils. But undeterred by the thunders of the Church, Ockham did not shrink from thus attacking the foundations of the papal supremacy or from asserting the rights of the civil power. Paris had been, as we have seen, the first home of Scholasticism, but with the beginning of the fourteenth century, Oxford had taken its place as the centre of intellectual activity in Europe. The most important schoolmen of the age were all Oxonians, and nearly all the later schoolmen of note were Englishmen or Germans educated in the traditions of the English "nation" at Paris. And when the old battle between Nominalism and Realism was renewed, it was fought with more unphilosophical virulence than before. "It was at this time that Philosophy literally descended from the schools into the street, and that the _odium metaphysicum_ gave fresh zest to the unending faction fight between north and south at Oxford, between Czech and German at Prague" (Rashdall). Yet this was not without good results. For Scholasticism began now to come in contact with practical life. The disputants were led on to deal with the burning questions of the day, the questions, that is, as to the foundations of property, the respective rights of king and pope, of king and subject, of priest and people. The day was now at hand when the trend of political events, stimulated by the influence of the daring philosophical speculations of the Oxford schoolmen, was to issue in a crisis. The crisis was a conflict between the claims of papal supremacy and the rights of the civil power, and for this crisis Oxford produced the man--John Wycliffe. Born on the banks of the Tees, he, the last of the great schoolmen, was educated at Balliol, where he probably resided till he was elected master of that College in 1356. In 1361 he accepted a College living and left Oxford for a while, but was back again in 1363, and resided in Queen's College. He combined his residence there and his studies for a degree in theology with the holding of a living at Ludgershall in Bucks. Some suppose that he was then appointed Warden of Canterbury Hall,[19] but this supposition is probably incorrect. At any rate he was already a person of importance, not only at Oxford, but at the Court. When Parliament decided to repudiate the annual tribute to the Pope which John had undertaken to pay, Wycliffe officially defended this repudiation. He continued to study at Oxford, developing his views. That he was in high favour at Court is shown by the fact that he was nominated (1374) by the Crown to the Rectory of Lutterworth and appointed one of the Royal Commissioners to confer with the papal representatives at Bruges. But he continued lecturing at Oxford and preaching in London. Politically he threw in his lot with the Lancastrian party. For he had been led in the footsteps of his Italian and English predecessors, Marsiglio and Ockham, to proclaim that the Church suffered by being involved in secular affairs, and that endowments were a hindrance to the proper spiritual purpose of the Church. So it came about that the "Flower of Oxford," as he was called, the priest who desired to reform the clergy, found himself in alliance with John of Gaunt, the worldly statesman, who merely desired to rob them. He soon found himself in need of the Duke's protection. The wealthy and worldly churchmen of the day were not likely to listen tamely to his lectures. He was summoned before Bishop Courtenay of London to answer charges of erroneous teaching concerning the wealth of the Church (1377). The Duke of Lancaster accepted the challenge as given to himself. He stood by Wycliffe in the Consistory Court at S. Paul's, and a rude brawl between his supporters and those of Courtenay, in which the Duke himself is said to have threatened to drag the Bishop out of the church by the hair of his head, put an end to the trial. Papal bulls were now promulgated against Wycliffe. The University was directed to condemn and arrest him, if he were found guilty of maintaining certain "conclusions" extracted from his writings. The Oxford masters, however, were annoyed at the attack made upon a distinguished member of their body, and they resented, as a threatened infringement of their privileges, the order of the Archbishop and Bishop of London, which commanded the Oxford divines to hold an enquiry and to send Wycliffe to London to be heard in person. What they did, therefore, was simply to enjoin Wycliffe to remain within the walls of Black Hall, whilst they, after considering his opinions, declared them orthodox, but liable to misinterpretation. But Wycliffe could not disobey the Archbishop's summons to appear at Lambeth. There he proved the value of a Schoolman's training. The subtlety of "the most learned clerk of his time" reduced his opponents to silence. The prelates were at a loss how to proceed. They were relieved from their dilemma by the arrival of a Knight from the Court, who brought a peremptory message from the Princess of Wales, mother of Richard II., forbidding them to issue any decree against Wycliffe. The session was dissolved by an invasion of the London crowd. Wycliffe escaped scot-free. Then followed the scandal of the Great Schism, when two, or even three, candidates each claimed to be the one and only Vicar of Christ. It is the Great Schism which would appear to have converted Wycliffe into a declared opponent of the papacy. Pondering on the problems of Church and State which had hitherto occupied his energies, he was now forced to the conclusion that the papal, and therefore the sacerdotal power in general must be assailed. It was a logical deduction from his central thesis, the doctrine of "dominion founded on grace." He organised a band of preachers who should instruct the laity in the mother tongue and supply them with a Bible translated into English. Thus under his auspices Oxford became the centre of a widespread religious movement. There the poor or simple priests, as they were called, had a common abode, whence, barefooted and clad in russet or grey gowns which reached to their ankles, they went forth to propagate his doctrines. And since the Friars, who owed their independence of the bishops and clergy to the privilege conferred upon them by the popes, were strong supporters of the papal autocracy, Wycliffe attacked them, by his own eloquence and that of his preachers, and that at a time when their luxurious and degenerate lives laid them open to popular resentment. Already (1356) Richard Fitzralph, Archbishop of Armagh, who like Wycliffe had been a scholar of Balliol and in 1333 had held the office of Vice-Chancellor, had attacked the Friars for their encroachments upon the domain of the parish priests; their power, their wealth, their mendicancy, he maintained, were all contrary to the example and precepts of Christ and therefore of their founder. He charged them also with encroaching upon the rights of parents by making use of the confessional to induce children to enter their convents and become Friars. This was the reason, he asserted, why the University had fallen to one-fifth of its former numbers, for parents were unwilling to send their sons thither and preferred to bring them up as farmers. This attack furnished Wycliffe with a model for his onslaught. In his earlier days he had treated the Friars with respect and even as allies--"a Franciscan" he had said, "is very near to God"--for then he had been attacking the endowments of the Church, and it was the monks or "possessioners" and the rich secular clergy to whom he was opposed. In theory the Mendicant Orders were opposed to these by their poverty and in practice by their interests. But the Friars were the close allies and chief defenders of the Pope. Now, therefore, when Wycliffe passed from political to doctrinal reform, his attitude towards the Mendicant Orders becomes one of uncompromising hostility. He and his followers denounced them with all the vehemence of religious partisanship and all the vigour of the vernacular. Iscariot's children, they called them, and irregular Procurators of the Fiend, adversaries of Christ and Disciples of Satan. Wycliffe indeed went so far as to attribute an outbreak of disease in Oxford to the idleness and intellectual stagnation of the Friars. "Being inordinately idle and commonly gathered together in towns they cause a whole sublunary unseasonableness." Finally, Wycliffe aimed at undermining the power of the priesthood by challenging the doctrine of Transubstantiation. According to this doctrine the priest had the power of working a daily miracle by "making the body of Christ." Wycliffe, in the summer of 1381, first publicly denied that the elements of the sacrament underwent any material change by virtue of the words uttered by the priest. The real presence of the body and blood of Christ he maintained, but that there was any change of substance he denied. The heresy was promulgated at Oxford. An enquiry was immediately held by the Chancellor (William Berton) and twelve doctors, half of them Friars, and the new "pestiferous" doctrines were condemned. The condemnation and injunction forbidding any man in future to teach or defend them in the University was announced to Wycliffe as he was sitting in the Augustinian Schools, disputing the subject. He was taken aback, but at once challenged chancellor or doctor to disprove his conclusions. The "pertinacious heretic," in fact, continued to maintain his thesis, and made a direct appeal, not to the Pope, but to the King. The University rallied to his side and tacitly supported his cause by replacing Berton with Robert Rygge in the office of Vice-Chancellor. Rygge was more than a little inclined to be a Wycliffite. And Wycliffe meanwhile appealed also to the people by means of those innumerable tracts in the English tongue, which make the last of the schoolmen the first of the English pamphleteers. Whilst he was thus entering on his most serious encounter with the Church, suddenly there broke out the Peasant Revolt. The insurrection blazed forth suddenly, furiously, simultaneously and died away, having spent its force in a fortnight. It was a sporadic revolt with no unity of purpose or action except to express the general social discontent. But the upper classes were seriously frightened and some of the odium was reflected on the subversive doctrines of Wycliffe, whose Lollard preachers had doubtless dabbled not a little in the socialism which honey-combed the Middle Ages. When order was again restored, Courtenay, now become Archbishop, began to take active measures to repress the opinions of Wycliffe. He summoned a synod at the Blackfriars in London to examine them. The first session was interrupted by an earthquake, which was differently interpreted as a sign of the divine approval or anger. The Earthquake Council had no choice but to condemn such doctrines as those they were asked to consider, that God ought to obey the devil, for instance, or that no one ought to be recognised as Pope after Urban VI. When these doctrines were condemned, Wycliffe does not appear to have been present, nor was any action at all taken against him personally. It is supposed that his popularity at Oxford rendered him too formidable a person to attack. He was left at peace and the storm fell upon his disciples. The attack was made on "certain children of perdition," who had publicly taught the condemned doctrines, and "who went about the country preaching to the people, without proper authority." All such preachers were to be visited with the greater excommunication. As Oxford, however, was the centre of the movement a separate mandate was sent thither. The Archbishop sent down a commissary, Peter Stokes, a Carmelite friar, to Oxford, to prohibit the teaching of incorrect doctrines, but avoiding any mention of the teacher's name. The University authorities were by no means pleased at this invasion, so they held it, of their ancient privileges. The Chancellor Rygge had just appointed Nicholas Hereford, a devoted follower of Wycliffe, to preach before the University; he now appointed a no less loyal follower, Philip Repyngdon to the same office. His sermon was an outspoken defence of the Lollards. Stokes reported that he dared not publish the Archbishop's mandate, that he went about in the fear of his life; for scholars with arms concealed beneath their gowns accompanied the preachers and it appeared that not the Chancellor only, but both the Proctors were Wycliffites, or at least preferred to support the Wycliffites to abating one jot of what they considered the privileges of the University. And for once the Mayor was of the same opinion as the rulers of the University. Still, when the Chancellor was summoned before the Archbishop in London, he did not venture to disobey, and promptly cleared himself of any suspicion of heresy. The council met again at the Blackfriars, and Rygge submissively took his seat in it. On his bended knees he apologised for his disobedience to the Archbishop's orders, and only obtained pardon through the influence of William of Wykeham. Short work was made of the Oxford Wycliffites; they were generally, and four of them by name, suspended from all academical functions. Rygge returned to Oxford, with a letter from Courtenay which repeated the condemnation of the four preachers, adding to their names the name of Wycliffe himself. The latter was likened by the Archbishop to a serpent which emits noxious poison. But the Chancellor protested he dared not execute this mandate, and a royal warrant had to be issued to compel him. Meanwhile he showed his real feeling in the matter by suspending a prominent opponent of the Wycliffites who had called them by the offensive name of Lollards ("idle babblers"). But the council in London went on to overpower the party by stronger measures.[20] Wycliffe had apparently retired before the storm burst upon Oxford. John of Gaunt was appealed to by the preachers named. But the great Duke of Lancaster had no desire to incur the charge of encouraging heresy. He pronounced the opinions of Hereford and Repyngdon on the nature of the eucharist utterly detestable. The last hope of Lollardism was gone. Wycliffe himself retired unmolested to Lutterworth, where he died and was buried. "Admirable," says Fuller "that a hare so often hunted with so many packs of dogs should die at last quietly sitting in his form." Just as he owed his influence as a Reformer to the skill and fame as a schoolman which he had acquired at Oxford, so now his immunity was due to his reputation as the greatest scholastic doctor in the "second school of the Church." The statute "De haeretico Comburendo" did its work quickly in stamping out Lollardy in the country. The tares were weeded out. In Oxford alone the tradition of Wycliffe died hard. A remarkable testimonial was issued in October 1406 by the Chancellor and Masters, sealed with the University seal. Some have thought it a forgery, and at the best it probably only represented, as Maxwell Lyte suggests, the verdict of a minority of the Masters snatched in the Long Vacation. But it is in any case of considerable significance. It extols the character of John Wycliffe, and his exemplary performances as a son of the University; it extols his truly Catholic zeal against all who blasphemed Christ's religion by voluntary begging, and asserts that he was neither convicted of heretical pravity during his life, nor exhumed and burned after death. He had no equal, it maintains, in the University as a writer on logic, philosophy, theology or ethics. Here then, Archbishop Arundel (1407) an Oriel man, who with his father had built for that College her first chapel, found it necessary to take strong steps. He held a provincial council at Oxford and ordered that all books written in Wycliffe's time should pass through the censorship, first of the University of Oxford or Cambridge, and secondly of the Archbishop himself, before they might be used in the schools. The establishment of such a censorship was equivalent to a fatal muzzling of genius. If it silenced the Wycliffite teaching, it silenced also the enunciation of any original opinion or truth. Two years later Arundel risked a serious quarrel with the University in order to secure the appointment of a committee to make a list of heresies and errors to be found in Wycliffe's writings. He announced his intention of holding a visitation of the University with that object. He met with violent opposition. The opponents of the Archbishop were not all enthusiastic supporters of Wycliffe's views. Not all masters and scholars were moved by pure zeal either for freedom of speculation or for evangelical truth. The local patriotism of the north countryman reinforced the religious zeal of the Lollard. The chronic antipathy of the secular scholars to the friars, of the realists to the nominalists, of the artists to the higher faculties, and the academic pride of the loyal Oxonians--these were all motives which fought for Wycliffe and his doctrines. Least tangible but not least powerful among them was the last, for when civil or ecclesiastical authority endeavoured to assert itself over corporate privileges in the Middle Ages, a very hornet's nest of local patriotism and personal resentment was quickly roused. The Oxford masters were impatient of all interference ecclesiastical as well as civil. They had thrown off the yoke of the Bishop of Lincoln and the Archdeacon of Oxford. And, with a view to asserting their independence of the Primate, they had succeeded in obtaining a bull from Boniface IX. in which he specifically confirmed the sole jurisdiction of the Chancellor over all members of the University whatever, Priests and Monks and Friars included. The University, however, was compelled to renounce the bull, and to submit to the visitation of the Archbishop. But the submission was not made without much disturbance and bitterness of feeling. The Lollards, the younger scholars and the northerners, with their lawless allies the Irish, were in favour of active resistance. The behaviour of three Fellows of Oriel will show how the University was divided against itself. These men, so runs the complaint against them, "are notorious fomenters of discord." "They lead a band of ruffians by night, who beat, wound, and spoil men and cause murder. They haunt taverns day and night, and do not enter college before ten or eleven or twelve o'clock, and even scale the walls to the disturbance of quiet students, and bring in armed strangers to spend the night. Thomas Wilton came in over the wall at ten and knocked at the Provost's chamber, and woke up and abused him as a liar, and challenged him to get up and come out to fight him. Against the Provost's express orders, on the vigil of S. Peter, these three had gone out of college, broken the Chancellor's door and killed a student of law. The Chancellor could neither sleep in his house by night nor walk in the High Street by day for fear of these men." The arrival of the Archbishop at Oxford then, to hold a visitation at S. Mary's was a signal for an outbreak. S. Mary's was barricaded and a band of scholars armed with bows, swords and bucklers awaited the Primate. Notwithstanding the interdict laid on the Church, John Birch of Oriel, one of the Proctors, took the keys, opened the doors, had the bell rung as usual, and even celebrated High Mass there. S. Mary's, it will be remembered, belonged to Oriel. Hence, perhaps, the active resistance of these Oriel Fellows and of the Dean of Oriel, John Rote, who asked "why should we be punished by an interdict on our church for other people's faults?" And he elegantly added, "The Devil go with the Archbishop and break his neck." The controversy was at last referred to the king. The Chancellors and Proctors resigned their office. The younger students who had opposed the Archbishop were soundly whipped, much to the delight of Henry IV. The bull of exemption was declared invalid; the University acknowledged itself subject to the See of Canterbury, thanks to the mediation of the Prince of Wales, mad-cap Harry, and the Archbishop Arundel made a handsome present of books to the public library of Oxford. The committee desired by Arundel was eventually constituted. Two hundred and sixty-seven propositions were condemned and the obnoxious books solemnly burnt at Carfax. Not long after, a copy of the list of condemned articles was ordered to be preserved in the public libraries, and oaths against their maintenance were enjoined upon all members of the University on graduation. The methods of the Archbishop met with the success which usually attends a well-conducted persecution. History notices the few martyrs who from time to time have laid down their lives for their principles, but it often fails to notice the millions of men who have discarded their principles rather than lay down their lives. So the Wycliffite heresy was at length dead and buried. But the ecclesiastical repression which succeeded in bringing this about succeeded also in destroying all vigour and life in the thought of the University. Henceforth the Schoolmen refrained from touching on the practical questions of their day. They struck out no new paths of thought, but revolved on curves of subtle and profitless speculation, reproducing and exaggerating in their logical hair-splitting all the faults without any of the intellectual virtues of the great thinkers of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. It was against these degenerate dullards that the human mind at last rebelled, when intellect was born again in the New Birth of letters. What wonder then if, suddenly freed from the dead weight of their demoralising stupidities, men broke out in the exuberance of their spirits into childish excesses, confused the master with his foolish and depressing pupils, strewed the quadrangle of New College with the leaves of Dunce, and put them to the least noble of uses, as though they had been the Chronicles of Volusius. The Archbishop's right of Visitation was confirmed in Parliament and with it the suppression of Lollardy, of free speech and thought, in the schools and pulpits of Oxford. The issue of the struggle practically closes the history of Lollardism as a recognised force in English politics, and with it the intellectual history of mediæval Oxford. Up to that time the University had shown itself decidedly eager for reform, and for a few years the same spirit survived. Oxford had consistently advocated the summoning of a General Council to settle the claims of the rival popes and to put an end to the schism which was the scandal of Christendom. But for fifteen years such pacific designs were eluded by the arts of the ambitious pontiffs, and the scruples or passions of their adherents. At length the Council of Pisa deposed, with equal justice, the Popes of Rome and Avignon. In their stead, as they intended, but in addition to them as events were to prove, the conclave, at which the representatives of Oxford and Cambridge were present, unanimously elected Peter Philargi. This Franciscan friar from Crete, who had taken his degree of Bachelor of Theology at Oxford, assumed the title of Alexander V., and remains the only wearer of the tiara who has graduated at Oxford or Cambridge. He was shortly afterwards succeeded by John XXIII., the most profligate of mankind. It remained for the Council of Constance to correct the rash proceedings of Pisa, and to substitute one head of the Church in place of the three rival popes (1414). But before the opening of this Council the University of Oxford had drawn up and presented to the King a document of a very remarkable character. It consisted of forty-six articles for the reformation of the Church. The Oxford masters suggested that the three rival popes should all resign their claims; they complained of the simoniacal and extortionate proceedings of the Roman Court, and of the appointment of foreigners to benefices in England; they accused the Archbishops of encroaching on the rights of their suffragans, and charged the whole Order of prelates with nepotism and avarice. Abbots, they contended, should not be allowed to wear mitres and sandals as if they were bishops, and monks should hot be exempt from ordinary episcopal jurisdiction. Friars should be restrained from granting absolution on easy terms, from stealing children, and from begging for alms in the house of God. Secular canons should be made to abandon their luxurious style of living, and masters of hospitals to pay more regard to the wants of the poor. Parish priests, who neglected the flocks committed to their care, are described as ravening wolves. The Masters also complained of the non-observance of the Sabbath and of the iniquitous system of Indulgences. Shades of the founder of Lincoln College, what a document is this! It is Wycliffism alive, rampant and unashamed. Not perhaps altogether unashamed or at least not indiscreet, for the Masters go out of their way to call for active measures against the Lollards. But the whole of this manifesto is a cry from Oxford, in 1414, for reformation; it is a direct echo of the teaching and declamation of Wycliffe, and an appeal for reformation as deliberate and less veiled than "the vision of William Langland concerning Piers Plowman," that sad, serious satirist of those times, who, in his contemplation of the corruption he saw around him in the nobility, the Government, the Church and the Friars, "all the wealth of the world and the woe too," saw no hope at all save in a new order of things. Oxford's zeal for reformation at this time was made very clear also by her representatives at Constance, where a former Chancellor, Robert Halam, Bishop of Salisbury, and Henry Abingdon, a future Warden of Merton, very greatly distinguished themselves. Yet it was by a decree of this very Council of Constance (1415) that the remains of Wycliffe were ordered to be taken up and cast out far from those of any orthodox Christian. This order was not executed till twelve years later, when Bishop Fleming, having received direct instructions from the Pope, saw to it. Wycliffe's remains were dug up, burnt and cast into the Swift, but, as it has been said, the Swift bore them to the Avon, the Avon to the Severn, and the Severn to the sea to be dispersed unto all lands: which things are an allegory. For though in England the repression of his teaching deferred the reformation, which theologically as well as politically Wycliffe had begun, for more than a hundred years, yet abroad, in Bohemia, the movement which he had commenced grew into a genuine national force, destined to react upon the world. Bishop Fleming, who had been proctor in 1407, seems to have thought that the snake was scotched but not killed. For though he had been a sympathiser with the Lollards in his youth, in his old age he thought it worth while to found a "little college of theologians," who should defend the mysteries of the sacred page "against these ignorant laics, who profaned with swinish snout its most holy pearls." The students in this stronghold of orthodox divinity were to proceed to the degree of B.D. within a stated period; they must swear not to favour the pestilent sect of Wycliffites, and if they persisted in heresy were to be cast out of the College "as diseased sheep." It was in 1427 that Fleming obtained a charter permitting him to unite the three parish churches of All Saints', S. Michael's, and S. Mildred's into a collegiate church, and there to establish a "collegiolum," consisting of a rector and seven students of Theology, endowed with the revenue of those churches. No sooner had he appointed the first rector, purchased a site and begun to erect the buildings just south of the tower, than he died. The energy of the second rector, however, Dr John Beke, secured the firmer foundation of the College. He completed the purchase of the original site, which is represented by the front quadrangle and about half the grove; and thereon John Forest, Dean of Wells, completed (1437) the buildings as Fleming had planned them, including a chapel and library, hall and kitchen, and rooms. Modern Lincoln is bounded by Brasenose College and Brasenose Lane, the High Street and the Turl,[21] the additional property between All Saints' Church and the front quadrangle having been bestowed upon the College during the period 1435-1700. Of Forest's buildings the kitchen alone remains untouched, and a very charming fragment of the old structure it is. The foundation of Lincoln was remodelled and developed by Thomas Rotherham, Chancellor of Cambridge, and afterwards Archbishop of York. His benefactions to the cause of learning were munificent and unceasing, and, so far as Lincoln is concerned, he may fairly be called the College's second founder. The origin of his interest in the College arose from a picturesque incident. When he visited the College as bishop of the diocese in 1474, the rector, John Tristrope, urged its claims in the course of a sermon. He took for his text the words from the psalm, "Behold and visit this vine, and the vineyard which thy right hand hath planted," and he earnestly exhorted the bishop to complete the work begun by his predecessor. For the College was poor, and what property it had was at this time threatened. So powerful and convincing was his appeal that, at the end of the sermon, the bishop stood up and announced that he would grant the request. He was as good as his word. He gave the College a new charter and new statutes (1480)--a code which served it till the Commission of 1854; he increased its revenues and completed the quadrangle on the south side. There is a vine which still grows in Lincoln, on the north side of the chapel quadrangle, and this is the successor of a vine which was either planted alongside the hall in allusion to the successful text, or, being already there, suggested it. [Illustration: Oriel Window, Lincoln College] CHAPTER V THE MEDIÆVAL STUDENT "A clerk ther was of Oxenford also, That unto logik hadde longe ygo.... For him was lever have at his beddes heed Twenty bokes, clad in blak or reed, Of Aristotle and his philosophye Than robes riche, or fithele or gay sautrye. But al be that he was a philosophre, Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre; But al that he mighte of his freendes hente, On bokes and on lerninge he it spente, And bisily gan for the soules preye Of hem that yaf him wherwith to scoleye. Of studie took he most cure and most hede. Noght o word spak he more than was nede, And that was seyd in forme and reverence, And short and quik, and ful of hy sentence. Souninge in moral vertu was his speche, And gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche." As you drive into Oxford from the railway station, you pass, as we have seen, monuments which may recall to mind the leading features of her history and the part which she took in the life of the country. The Castle Mound takes us back to the time when Saxon was struggling against Dane; the Castle itself is the sign manual of the Norman conquerors; the Cathedral spire marks the site upon which S. Frideswide and her "she-monastics" built their Saxon church upon the virgin banks of the river. Carfax, with the Church of S. Martin, was the centre [Illustration: The Porch & Gate S. Mary the Virgins.] of the city's life and represents the spirit of municipal liberty which animated her citizens, and the progress of their municipal freedom. The bell which swung in Carfax Tower summoned the common assembly to discuss and to decide their own public affairs and to elect their own mayor. And this town-mote of burghers, freemen within the walls, who held their rights as burghers by virtue of their tenure of ground on which their tenement stood, met in Carfax Churchyard. Justice was administered by mayor and bailiff sitting beneath the low shed, the "penniless bench"[22] of later times, without its eastern wall. And around the church lay the trade guilds, ranged as in some vast encampment. Carfax Church, with all its significance of municipal life, stands at the top of High Street, the most beautiful street in the world. Still, by virtue of the splendid sweep of its curve comparable only to the Grand Canal of Venice or the bend of Windermere, and by virtue of the noble grouping of its varied buildings, the most beautiful street in the world; in spite of modern tramways and the ludicrous dome of the Shelley Memorial, "a thing resembling a goose pye," as Swift wrote of Sir John Vanburgh's house in Whitehall; in spite of the disquieting ornamentation of Brasenose new buildings and the new schools; in spite even of the unspeakably vulgar and pretentious façade of Lloyd's Bank, a gross, advertising abomination of unexampled ugliness and impertinence, which has done all that was possible to ruin the first view of this street of streets. Let us leave it behind us with a shudder and pass down the High till we find on our left, at what was once the end of "Schools Street," the lovely twisted columns of the porch which forms the modern entrance to S. Mary's Church. What Carfax was to the municipal life of Oxford, S. Mary's was to the University. It was the centre of the academical and ecclesiastical life of the place. And the bell which swung in S. Mary's tower summoned the students of the University sometimes to take part in learned disputations among themselves, sometimes to fight the citizens of the town. Here then, between the Churches of S. Martin and S. Mary, the life of this mediæval University town ebbed and flowed. In the narrow, ill-paved, dirty streets, streets that were mere winding passages, from which the light of day was almost excluded by the overhanging tops of the irregular houses, crowded a motley throng. The country folks filled the centre of the streets with their carts and strings of pack-horses; at the sides, standing beneath the signs of their calling, which projected from their houses, citizens in varied garb plied their trades, chaffering with the manciples, but always keeping their bow-strings taut, ready to promote a riot by pelting a scholar with offal from the butchers' stall, and prompt to draw their knives at a moment's notice. To and fro among the stalls moved Jews in their yellow gaberdines; black Benedictines and white Cistercians; Friars black, white and grey; men-at-arms from the Castle, and flocks of lads who had entered some grammar school or religious house to pass the first stage of the University course. Here passed a group of ragged, gaunt, yellow-visaged sophisters, returning peacefully from lectures to their inns, but with their "bastards" or daggers, as well as their leather pouches, at their waists. Here a knot of students, fantastically attired in many-coloured garments, whose tonsure was the only sign of their clerkly character, wearing beards, long hair, furred cloaks, and shoes chequered with red and green, paraded the thoroughfare, heated with wine from the feast of some determining bachelor. Here a line of servants, carrying the books of scholars or doctors to the schools, or there a procession of colleagues escorting to the grave the body of some master, and bearing before the corpse a silver cross, threaded the throng. Here hurried a bachelor in his cape, a new master in [Illustration: The High Street On the left University College. On the right All Saints' Church, Brasenose College, Church of S. Mary the Virgin, All Souls' & Queen's Colleges.] his "pynsons" or heelless shoes, a scholar of Exeter in his black boots, a full-fledged master with his tunic closely fastened about the middle by a belt and wearing round his shoulders a black, sleeveless, close gown. Here gleamed a mantle of crimson cloth, or the budge-edged hood of a doctor of law or of theology. And in the hubbub of voices which proceeded from this miscellaneous, parti-coloured mob, might be distinguished every accent, every language, and every dialect.[23] For French, German and Spanish students jostled in these streets against English, Irish, Scottish and Welsh; Kentish students mingled with students from Somersetshire or Yorkshire, and the speech of each was quite unintelligible to the other. S. Mary's Church was the only formal meeting place of these students, thus drawn together in the pursuit of knowledge from various parts of Europe. It was here that all University business, secular and religious, was transacted, till the building of the Divinity school and the Sheldonian theatre allowed the church to be reserved for sacred purposes. Then at last it ceased to be the scene of violent altercations between Heads of Houses or the stage where the Terræ Filius of the year should utter his scurrilous banalities.[24] But still every Sunday morning during term the great bell of S. Mary's rings out and summons the University to assemble in formal session there to hear a sermon. The bedels of the four faculties with their silver staves lead the way; and the Vice-chancellor is conducted to his throne, the preacher to his pulpit; the doctors of the several faculties in their rich robes follow and range themselves on either side of their official head; below them the proctors, representatives of the Masters of Arts, wearing the white hoods of their office, take their seats. The masters and bachelors fill the body of the church, the undergraduates are crowded into the galleries. We must not think of S. Mary's as merely a meeting-house for University business or as merely a parish church. For centuries it has been the centre of Christian Oxford; where each successive movement in English theology has been expounded and discussed. From the old stone pulpit, of which a fragment is fixed over the southern archway of the tower, Peter Martyr delivered his testimony and Cole sent Cranmer to the stake; from its nineteenth century successor, John Keble began the Oxford movement; Dr Pusey preached a sermon for which he was suspended, and Newman (vicar 1831) entered on the path to Rome. The church is mentioned in Domesday Book, and the north wall of the Lady Chapel, commonly known as Adam de Brome's Chapel because the tomb of the founder of Oriel is therein, may have been part of the church as it stood at the time of the Domesday survey. The tower and the spire date from the early fourteenth century. S. Mary's as we have it now is very much a Tudor building. When William of Wykeham built New College Chapel he set a fashion which soon converted Oxford into a city of pinnacles.[25] In the perpendicular style pinnacles were erected on Merton tower and transept, on All Souls' Chapel, on Magdalen Chapel, hall and tower; nearly a hundred pinnacles decorated the Schools and Library; the nave, aisles and chancel of S. Mary's received the same ornaments, and pinnacles in the same style were added to the clusters of the fourteenth century tower and spire. These were not high but observed a true proportion. It was the grave fault of the excessively lofty pinnacles (beautiful no doubt in themselves) which were added in 1848,[26] that they destroyed the true beauty of proportion and the effect of gradual transition which the fourteenth century builders had succeeded in giving to the tower and spire, and with which the ancient statues in [Illustration: S. Mary's Spire from Grove Lane] their canopied niches were in perfect harmony. For the massive tower-buttresses are crowned with turrets, showing canopied niches containing twelve over-life-size statues and decorated with ball-flower ornament. Two of the statues on the buttresses facing south are modern; nine others are copies (1895) of the old statues, stored now in the ancient Congregation House, which still exhibit the carefully calculated gestures and the studied designs of the original fourteenth century workers. They form a series which recalls that on the west front of Wells Cathedral, a rare example of English sculpture in a _genre_ which is so plentifully and superbly illustrated by the French cathedrals. On the face of the south buttress of the west front stood the statue, beautifully posed, of the Virgin with the Infant Christ, the Lady of the Church thus occupying the most important angle of the tower; on the left, S. John the Evangelist with the cup. Between the Evangelist and S. John the Baptist, patron saint of the Chapel of Merton, Walter of Merton looks out towards the College he founded. These three are from new designs by Mr Frampton. On the N.W. angle of the tower is S. Cuthbert of Durham, facing northwards. He holds in his hand the head of S. Oswald, the Christian King slain by Penda, and looks towards his own north country and Durham, the great diocese so intimately connected through its bishops and monastery with the early collegiate foundations of the Universities. Northwards, too, towards his cathedral church of Lincoln, faces S. Hugh, with the wild swan of Stowe nestling to him as was his wont, with its neck buried in the folds of his sleeve. This statue is on the eastern buttress at the N.E. angle, and on the eastern face of the same buttress is an equally noble statue of Edward the Confessor. On the S.E. angle stands, it may be, the murdered Becket, and among the other figures Edmund Rich may perhaps be counted. The chancel and nave are, it will be seen, splendid examples of late perpendicular. The chancel, in fact, began to be rebuilt in 1462 and the nave 1487-1498. For the church "was so ruinated in Henry VII. reign that it could scarce stand," and though it was and is really a parish church, yet so closely was it bound up with the life and procedure of the University that the University at length took measures to collect money for its repair. They begged, after the approved manner of the great church-builders of the Middle Ages, from the archbishop downwards, and their begging was so successful that they built the nave, as we now have it, and the chancel. In order to secure an appearance of uniformity, the architect unfortunately altered Adam de Brome's chapel, encasing the outer walls in the new style, and inserting larger windows. Not content with this, he likewise converted the old House of Congregation by substituting a row of large for two rows of small windows, giving thereby a false impression from the outside, as if the upper and lower stories were one. The University had no right to the use of S. Mary's. The church was merely borrowed for sermons and meetings of Congregation, just as S. Peter's in the East was borrowed for English sermons and S. Mildred's for meetings of the Faculty of Arts. For the University in its infancy had little or no property of its own. It could not afford to erect buildings for its own use. The parish churches, therefore, were used by favour of the clergy, and lectures were delivered in hired schools. The need for some University building was, however, severely felt. At last it was provided for in a small way. "That memorable fabric, the old Congregation House," and the room above it were begun in 1320 by the above-mentioned Adam de Brome, at the expense of Thomas Cobham, Bishop of Worcester. The latter had undertaken to enlarge the old fabric of S. Mary's Church by erecting a building two stories high immediately to the east of the tower, on the very site, that is, on which the University had previously endeavoured to found a chantry. He intended that the lower room should serve primarily as a meeting-place for the Congregations of regent-masters, and at other times for parochial purposes. The upper room was to be used partly as an oratory, and partly as a general library. But the good bishop's books, which were to form the nucleus of this library, met with the same fate as Richard de Bury's. His executors pawned them to defray the expenses of his funeral, and to pay his debts. Oriel College at their suggestion redeemed the books, and being also the impropriating rectors of the church, they claimed to treat both building and library as their own property. But the masters presently asserted their supposed rights by coming "with a great multitude" and forcibly carrying away the books from Oriel, "in autumn, when the fellows were mostly away." They lodged the books in the upper chamber, and Oriel presently acknowledged the University's proprietary rights. The old University library, then, found its home in the upper room of the old Congregation House, and there remained until the books were moved to Duke Humphrey's library (1480). From that time till the erection of Laud's Convocation House, the upper room was used as a school of law, and also as another Congregation House, distinguished by the name of "Upper." Meantime a salary was provided for a librarian, who, besides taking care of the books in the upper chamber, was to pray for the soul of the donors. Other books were acquired by the University, either by purchase, bequest, or as unredeemed pledges. Some of these were kept in chests, and loaned out on security like cash from the other chests, whilst others were books given or bequeathed to the University, which were kept chained in the chancel of the church, where the students might read them. Others, in the upper room, were secured to shelves by chains that ran on iron bars. These shelves, with desks alongside, would run out from the walls, between the seven windows, in a manner clearly shown by such survivals of mediæval libraries as exist at the Bodleian, Merton and Corpus. The catalogue was in the form of a large board suspended in the room. At first these books were open for the use of all students at the specified times, but by later statutes (1412), made when the library had been increased by further donations and time had brought bitter experience, the use of them was stringently limited to graduates or religious of eight years' standing in Philosophia. These regulations were intended to provide against the overcrowding of the small library, the disturbance of readers and the destruction of books by careless, idle and not over-clean boy students. With the object of preserving the books, a solemn oath was also exacted from all graduates on admission to their degree, that they would use them well and carefully. The lower room fulfilled its founder's intention, and here the Congregation of regents met, whilst the Convocation, or Great Congregation of regents and non-regents, was held in the chancel of the church. Here, then, we may imagine the Chancellor sitting, surrounded by doctors and masters of the Great Congregation as the scene was formerly depicted in the great west window of S. Mary's, and is still represented on the University seal. I have referred to the "chests" which were kept in the upper chamber. This was in fact the treasure-house of the University, and here were stored in great chests doubly and trebly locked, like the "Bodley" chest in the Bodleian, the books and money with which the University had been endowed for the benefit of her scholars. Mr Anstey (_Munimenta Academica_) has given a brilliant little sketch of the scene which the fancy may conjure up when the new guardians of the chests were appointed and the chests opened in their presence. It is the eve of the Festival of S. John at the Latin Gate, in the year of Grace 1457. To-morrow is the commemoration day of W. de Seltone, founder of the chest known by his name. Master T. Parys, Principal of S. Mary Hall, and Master Lowson are the new guardians, the latter the north countryman of the two. High mass has just been sung with commemoration collects, and solemn prayers for the repose of the souls of W. de Seltone and all the faithful departed. It is not a reading (legible) day, so the church is full. But now all have left, except a few ragged-looking lads, who still kneel towards the altar, and seem to be saying their Pater Nosters and Ave Marias, according to their vow, for their benefactor. Master Parys and Master Lowson, however, have left earlier; they have passed out of the chancel and made their way into the old Congregation House for their first inspection of the Seltone Chest. Each of the guardians draws from beneath his cape a huge key, which he applies to the locks. At the top lies the register of the contents, in which is recorded particulars, dates, names and amounts of the loans granted. The money remaining in one corner of the chest is carefully counted and compared with the account in the register. Here and there among valuable MSS. lie other pledges of less peaceful sort but no less characteristic of a mediæval student's valuable possessions. Here perhaps are two or three daggers of more than ordinary workmanship, and there a silver cup or a hood lined with minever. That man in an ordinary civilian's dress, who stands beside Master Parys, is John More, the University stationer, and it is his office to fix the value of the pledges offered, and to take care that none are sold at less than their real value. It is a motley group that stands around; there are several masters and bachelors, but more boys and young men in every variety of coloured dress, blue, red, medley or green. Many of these lads are but scantily clothed, and all have their attention riveted on the chest, each with curious eye watching for his pledge, his book or his cup, brought from some country village, perhaps an old treasure of his family, and now pledged in his extremity. For last term he could not pay the principal of his hall seven and sixpence due for the rent of his miserable garret, or the manciple for his battels, but now he is in funds again. The remittance, long delayed on the road, has arrived, or perhaps he has succeeded in earning or begging a sufficient sum to redeem his pledge. He pulls out the coin from the leathern money-pouch at his girdle. But among the group you may see one master, whose bearing and dress plainly denote superior comfort and position. He is wearing the academical costume of a master, cincture and biretta, gown and hood of minever. Can it be that he too has been in difficulties? He might easily have been, for the post was irregular, and rents were not always punctual in those days. But in this case it is Master Henry Sever, Warden of Merton, who has lately been making some repairs in the College, and he has borrowed from the Seltone Chest the extreme sum permitted by the ordinance, sixty shillings, for that purpose. The scholars plainly disapprove of his action. They are jealous of his using the funds of the chest which, they think, were not intended for the convenience of such as he. Master Sever, however, is filled with anxiety at the present moment. He has pledged an illuminated missal which far exceeds in value the sum he has borrowed, and this he omitted to redeem at the proper time. It is not in the chest. He inquires, and is told that it has been borrowed for inspection by an intending purchaser, who has left a silver cup in its place, of more intrinsic value by the stationer's decision, but not in Mr Sever's opinion. Satisfied that he will be able to effect an exchange, he departs with the cup in search of the owner. Other cases are now considered. Some redeem their pledges, some borrow more monies, some are new customers, and they sorrowfully deposit their treasures and slink sadly away, not without a titter from the more hardened bystanders. But before the iron lid closes again, and the bolts slide back, "Ye shall pray," says Master Parys, addressing the borrowers, "for the soul of W. de Seltone and all the faithful departed." We may pass from this scene in the old Convocation House to another not less typical of the mediæval University. The Chancellor's court is being held, and the Chancellor himself is sitting there, or, in his absence, his commissary. The two proctors are present as assessors, and these three constitute the court. It is before this tribunal that every member of the "Privilege" must be tried. For it was only in a University court that they could be sued in the first instance. Here then, if we attend this court and glance through the records of ages, we shall find the Chancellor administering justice, exercising the extensive powers which he holds as a Justice of the Peace and as almost the supreme authority over members of the University. True, he had not the power of life and death, but he could fine or banish, imprison and excommunicate. And as to the townsmen, he exercised over them a joint jurisdiction with the mayor and civic authorities. The accused was entitled to have an advocate to defend him, and he could appeal to the Congregation of Masters, and thereafter to the Pope. No spiritual cause terminable within the University could be carried out of it. But in all temporal cases the ultimate appeal was to the King. The truculent student, however, was often inclined to appeal to force. Master John Hodilbeston, it is recorded in the Acts of the Chancellor's Court (1434), when accused of a certain offence, was observed to have brought a dagger into the very presence of the Chancellor, contrary to the statutes, "wherefore he lost his arms to the University and was put in Bocardo." The next case on the list of this mediæval police court is that of Thomas Skibbo. He is not a clerk, but he too finds his way to Bocardo, for he has committed many crimes of violence. Highway robbery and threats of murder were nothing to him, as a scholar of Bekis-Inn comes forward to depose, and, besides, he has stolen a serving boy. After the scholar and the ruffian, the Warden of Canterbury College steps forward. He has come to make his submission to the commissary, whom he had declared to be a partial judge, and whose summons he had refused to obey. Also, he has added injury to insult by encouraging his scholars to take beer by violence in the streets. The commissary graciously accepts his apology and his undertaking to keep the peace in future. The Master of the Great Hall of the University now comes forward. Evil rumours have been rife, and he wishes to clear his character of vile slanders that have connected his name with those of certain women. He brings no charge of slander, but claims the right of clearing himself by making an affidavit. This was the system of compurgation, by which a man swore that he was innocent of a crime, and twelve good friends of his swore that he was speaking the truth. In this case the Master was permitted to clear himself by oath before the commissary in Merton College Chapel, and Mistress Agnes Bablake and divers women appeared and swore with him that rumour was a lying jade. On another occasion the Principal of White Hall wished to prove his descent from true English stock. He insisted on being allowed to swear that he was not a Scotsman. A discreditable rumour to that effect had doubtless got abroad, without taking tangible form. But he was, he maintained, a loyal Englishman. "It was greatly to his credit" doubtless. _Qui s'excuse, s'accuse_, we are inclined to think in such cases. The appalling penalties which awaited the perjurer probably gave the ceremony some force at one time. But Dr Gascoigne enters his protest in the Chancellor's book (1443) against the indiscriminate admission of parties to compurgation. National feeling and clan feeling ran high. Gascoigne says that he has known many cases in which people have privately admitted that they have perjured themselves in public. Moreover, he added, no townsman ventures to object to a person being admitted to compurgation, for fear of being murdered or at least maimed. No good end, therefore, can be answered by it. But what is the cause of Robert Wright, Esquire-Bedel? He has some complaint against the master and fellows of Great University Hall (1456). The Chancellor listens for a moment, and then suggests, like a modern London police magistrate, that they should settle their quarrel out of court. They decide to appoint arbitrators, and bind themselves to abide by their award. The commissary is frequently appointed arbitrator himself, and his award is usually to the effect that one party shall humbly ask pardon of the other, pay a sum of money and swear to keep the peace. Other awards are more picturesque. Thus, when Broadgates and Pauline Halls decided to settle their quarrel in this way, the arbitrators ordered the principals mutually to beg reconciliation from each other for themselves and their parties, and to give either to the other the kiss of peace and swear upon the Bible to have brotherly love to each other, under a bond of a hundred shillings. David Phillipe, who struck John Olney, must kneel to him and ask and receive pardon. As an earnest of their future good-will, it is often decreed that the two parties shall entertain their neighbours. Two gallons of ale are mentioned sometimes as suitable for this purpose; a feast is recommended at others, and the dishes are specified. As thus:--(1465) The arbiter decides that neither party in a quarrel which he has been appointed to settle, shall in future abuse, slander, threaten or make faces at the other. As a guarantee of their mutual forgiveness and reconciliation, they are commanded to provide at their joint charges an entertainment in S. Mary's College. The arbiter orders the dinner; one party is to supply a goose and a measure of wine, the other bread and beer. Many and minute are the affairs of the Chancellor. At one time he is concerned with the taverners. He summons them all before him, and makes them swear that in future they will brew wholesome beer, and that they will supply the students with enough of it; at another he imprisons a butcher who has been selling "putrid and fetid" meat, or a baker who has been using false weights; at another banishes a carpenter for shooting at the proctors, or sends a woman to the pillory for being an incorrigible prostitute or to Bocardo for the mediæval fault of being a common and intolerable scold. Next he fines the vicar of S. Giles' for breaking the peace, and confiscates his club. Then he dispatches the organist of All Souls' to Bocardo, for Thomas Bentlee has committed adultery. But the poor man weeps so bitterly, that the Warden of that college is moved to have good hope of the said Thomas, and goes surety for him, and the "organ-player" is released after three hours of incarceration. The punishment of a friar who is charged with having uttered a gross libel in a sermon, and has refused to appear when cited before the Chancellor's court, is more severe. He is degraded in congregation and banished. The jurisdiction which we have seen the Chancellor wielding in this court had not been always his, and it was acquired not without dust and heat. At the beginning of the thirteenth century he was both in fact and in theory the delegate of the bishop of the diocese; not the presiding head, but an external authority who might be invoked to enforce the decrees of the Masters' Guild. Before that time the organisation of the University extended at least so far as to boast of a "Master of the Schools," who was probably elected by the masters themselves, and whose office was very likely merged into that of the Chancellor. As an ecclesiastical judge, deriving his authority from the Bishop of Lincoln, the Chancellor exercised jurisdiction over students by virtue of their being "clerks," not members of the University. Over laymen he exercised jurisdiction only so far as they were subject to the authority of the ordinary ecclesiastical courts. At Oxford he had no prison or Cathedral dungeon to which he could commit delinquents. He was obliged to send them either to the King's prison in the Castle, or to the town prison over the Bocardo Gate. But from this time forward by a series of steps, prepared as a rule by conflicts between town and gown, the office of Chancellor was gradually raised. First it encroached on the liberties of the town, and then shook itself free of its dependence on the See of Lincoln. The protection of the great, learned and powerful Bishop of Lincoln and the fact that, in the last resort, the masters were always ready to stop lecturing and withdraw with all the students to another town, for the University, as such, had not yet acquired any property to tie them to Oxford, were weapons which proved of overwhelming advantage to the University at this early stage of its existence. Again and again we find that, when a dispute as to police jurisdiction or authority arose between the University and the town, pressure was brought to bear in this way. The masters ceased to lecture; the students threatened to shake the dust of Oxford off their feet; the enthusiastic Grossetete, throwing aside the cares of State, the business of his bishopric, and the task of translating the Ethics of Aristotle, came forward to intervene on behalf of his darling University and to use his influence with the King. The Pope, Innocent IV. (1254), was also induced to take the University under his protection. He confirmed its "immunities and liberties and laudable, ancient and rational customs from whomsoever received," and called upon the Bishops of London and Salisbury to guard it from evil. Against the combined forces of the Church, the Crown, and the evident interests of their own pockets, it was a foregone conclusion that the citizens would not be able to maintain the full exercise of their municipal liberty. It was in 1244 that the first important extension of the Chancellor's jurisdiction was made. Some students had made a raid upon Jewry and sacked the houses of their creditors. They were committed to prison by the civil authorities. Grossetete insisted on their being handed over to the ecclesiastical jurisdiction. As the outcome of this riot Henry III. presently issued a decree of great importance. By it all disputes concerning debts, rents and prices, and all other "contracts of moveables," in which one party was an Oxford clerk, were referred to the Chancellor for trial. This new power raised him at once to a position very different from that which he had hitherto enjoyed as the mere representative of the Bishop of Lincoln. "He was invested henceforth with a jurisdiction which no Legate or Bishop could confer and no civil judge could annul." A charter followed in 1248, which authorised the Chancellor and proctors to assist at the assaying of bread and beer by the mayor and bailiffs. On admission to office the latter were required to swear to respect the liberties and customs of the University, and the town, in its corporate capacity, was made responsible for injuries inflicted on scholars. The Chancellor's jurisdiction was still further extended in 1255. To his spiritual power, which he held according to the ordinary ecclesiastical law and to the civil jurisdiction conferred upon him in 1244, a new charter now added the criminal jurisdiction even over laymen, for breach of the peace. By this charter Henry III. provided that, "for the peace, tranquillity and advantage of the University of scholars of Oxford, there be chosen four aldermen and eight discreet and legal burghers associated with them, to assist the Mayors and Bailiffs to keep the peace and hold the Assizes and to seek out malefactors and disturbers of the peace and night-vagabonds, and harbourers of robbers. Two officers shall also be elected in each parish to make diligent search for persons of suspicious character, and every one who takes a stranger in under his roof for more than three nights must be held responsible for him. No retail dealer may buy victuals on their way to market or buy anything with the view of selling again before nine in the morning, under penalty of forfeit and fine. If a layman assault a clerk, let him be immediately arrested, and if the assault prove serious, let him be imprisoned in the Castle and detained there untill he give satisfaction to the clerk in accordance with the judgment of the Chancellor and the University. If a clerk shall make a grave or outrageous assault upon a layman, let him be imprisoned in the aforesaid Castle untill the Chancellor demand his surrender; if the offence be a light one, let him be confined in the town prison untill he be set free by the Chancellor. "Brewers and bakers are not to be punished for the first offence (of adulteration or other tradesman's tricks); but shall forfeit their stock on the second occasion, and for the third offence be put in the pillory." (One of these "hieroglyphic State machines" stood opposite the Cross Inn at Carfax; another, with stocks and gallows, at the corner of Longwall and Holywell Streets. In the former one Tubb was the last man to stand (1810), for perjury, though not the last to deserve it.) "Every baker," the charter continues, "must have his own stamp and stamp his own bread so that it may be known whose bread it is; every one who brews for sale must show his sign, or forfeit his beer. Wine must be sold to laymen and clerks on the same terms. The assay of bread and ale is to be made half yearly, and at the assay the Chancellor or his deputy appointed for that purpose must be present; otherwise the assay shall be invalid." A few years later a Royal Writ of Edward I. (1275) conferred on the Chancellor the cognizance of all personal actions whatever wherein either party was a scholar, be he prosecutor or defendant. And in 1290, by judgment of King and Parliament, after a conflict between the town and University, when a bailiff had resisted the authority of the Chancellor in the students' playground, Beaumont Fields, which embraced the University Park and S. Giles', the Chancellor obtained jurisdiction in case of all crimes committed in Oxford, where one of the parties was a scholar, except pleas of homicide and mayhem. His jurisdiction over the King's bailiffs was affirmed, but leave was granted them to apply to the King's court if aggrieved by the Chancellor's proceedings. From this time forward the authority of the Chancellor was gradually increased and extended. It was, indeed, not long before the office shook itself free from its historical subordination to the Bishop of Lincoln. After a considerable struggle over the point, the bishop was worsted by a Papal Bull (1368), which entirely abrogated his claim to confirm the Chancellor elect. Since that time the University has enjoyed the right of electing and admitting its highest officer without reference to any superior authority whatever (Maxwell Lyte). The precinct of the University was defined in the reign of Henry IV. as extending to the Hospital of S. Bartholomew on the east, to Botley on the west, to Godstow on the north, and to Bagley Wood on the south. These were the geographical limits of the University, and within them the following classes of people were held (1459) to be "of the privilege of the University":--The Chancellor, all doctors, masters and other graduates, and all students, scholars and clerks of every order and degree. These constituted a formidable number in themselves when arrayed against the town, for there were probably at least 3000 of them at the most flourishing periods. The Archbishop of Armagh indeed stated confidently at Avignon (1357) that there had once been 30,000, but that must have been a rhetorical exaggeration. There can never have been more than 4000. But in addition to this army of scholars, all their "daily continual servants," all "barbers, manciples, spencers, cokes, lavenders," and all the numerous persons who were engaged in trades ancillary to study, such as the preparation, engrossing, illumination and binding of parchment, were "of the privilege" and directly controlled by the University. In what was afterwards known as Schools Street all these trades were represented as early as 1190. Over these classes, and within the limits defined, the jurisdiction of the Chancellor was by the end of the fifteenth century established supreme. Citizens and scholars alike had now to be careful how they lived. The stocks, the pillory and the cucking stool awaited offenders among the townsmen, fines or banishment the students who transgressed. Local governments in the Middle Ages were excessively paternal. They inquired closely into the ways of their people and dealt firmly with their peccadilloes. Did a man brew or sell bad beer he was burnt alive at Nürnberg; at Oxford he was condemned to the pillory; if a manciple was too fond of cards he was also punished by the Chancellor's court. A regular tariff was framed of penalties for those breaches of the peace and street brawls, in which not freshmen only but heads of houses and vicars of parishes were so frequently involved. Endeavours were made to promote a proper standard of life by holding "General Inquisitions" at regular intervals. The town was divided into sections, and a Doctor of Theology and two Masters of Arts were told off to inquire into the morals of the inhabitants of each division. Juries of citizens were summoned, and gave evidence on oath to these delegate judges who sat in the parish churches. The characters of their fellow-townsmen were critically discussed. Reports were made to the Chancellor, who corrected the offenders. Excommunication, penance or the cucking stool were meted out to "no common" scolds, notorious evil-livers and those who kept late hours. It had formerly been enacted (1333) that since the absence of the Chancellor was the cause of many perils, his office should become vacant if he were to absent himself from the University for a month during full term. But in the course of the fifteenth century the Chancellor changed from a biennial and resident official to a permanent and non-resident one. He was chosen now for his power as a friend at court, and by the court, as it grew more despotic and ecclesiastically minded, he was used as an agent for coercing the University. To-day the Chancellorship is a merely honorary office, usually bestowed on successful politicians. The Chancellor appoints a Vice-Chancellor, but usage compels him to appoint heads of houses in order of seniority. This right of appointment dates from the time when the Duke of Wellington, as Chancellor, dispensed with the formality of asking convocation for its assent to the appointment of his nominee. Having sketched thus far the development of the office which represents the power and dignity of the University, we may now turn to consider the position of the young apprentices from their earliest initiation into this guild of learning. The scholars of mediæval Universities were your true cosmopolitans. They passed freely from the University of one country to that of another by virtue of the freemasonry of knowledge. Despising the dangers of the sea, the knight-errants of learning went from country to country, like the bee, to use the metaphor applied by S. Athanasius to S. Anthony, in order to obtain the best instruction in every school. They went without let or hindrance, with no passport but the desire to learn, to Paris, like John of Salisbury, Stephen Langton or Thomas Becket, if they were attracted by the reputation of that University in Theology; to Bologna, if they wished to sit at the feet of some famous lecturer in Civil Law. Emperors issued edicts for their safe conduct and protection when travelling in their dominions--even when warring against the Scots, Edward III. issued general letters of protection for all Scottish scholars who desired to repair to Oxford or Cambridge--and when they arrived at their destination, of whatever nationality they might be, they found there as a rule little colonies of their own countrymen already established and ready to receive them. Dante was as much at home in the straw-strewn Schools Street in Paris as he would have found himself at Padua or at Oxford, had he chanced to study there. It has indeed been suggested that he did study there in the year 1313. Like Chaucer, he may have done so, but probably did not. There is certainly a reference to Westminster in the "Inferno" (xii. 119); but it is not necessary to go to Oxford in order to learn that London and Westminster are on the banks of the Thames. In attending lectures at a strange University the mediæval students had no difficulty in understanding the language of their teachers. For all the learned world spoke Latin. Latin was the Volapuk of the Middle Ages. Mediæval Latin, with all its faults and failing sense of style, is a language not dead, but living in a green old age, written by men who on literary matters talked and thought in a speech that is lively and free and fertile in vocabulary. The common use of it among all educated men gave authors like Erasmus a public which consisted of the whole civilised world, and it rendered scholars cosmopolitan in a sense almost inconceivable to the student of to-day. That was chiefly in the earlier days of Universities. Gradually, with the growth of national feeling and the more definite demarcation of nations and the ever-increasing sense of patriotism, that higher form of selfishness, cosmopolitanism went out of fashion. Nowadays only two classes of cosmopolitans survive--in theory, free traders, and in practice, thieves. I have spoken of the dangers of the sea; they were very great in those days of open sailing boats, when the compass was unknown; but the dangers of land-travelling were hardly less. The roads through the forests that lay around Oxford were notoriously unsafe, not only in mediæval days but even a hundred years ago. Armed therefore, and if possible in companies, the students would ride on their Oxford pilgrimage. If they could not afford to ride, the mediæval pedagogue, the common carrier, would take them to their destination for a charge of fivepence a day. For there were carriers who took a regular route at the beginning of every University year for the purpose of bringing students up from the country. They would have a mixed company of all ages in their care. For though students went up to Oxford as a rule between the ages of thirteen and sixteen, many doubtless were younger and many older. It was indeed a common thing for ecclesiastics of all ages to obtain leave of absence from their benefices in order to go up to the University and study Canon Law or Theology there. You can fancy, then, this motley assembly of pack-horses and parish priests, of clever lads chosen from the monasteries or grammar schools, and ambitious lads from the plough, all very genuine philosophers, lovers of learning for its own sake or its advantages, working their way through the miry roads, passed occasionally by some nobleman's son with his imposing train of followers, and passing others yet more lowly, who were just trudging it on foot, begging their way, their bundles on their shoulders. You can fancy them at last coming over Shotover Hill, down the "horse path" past S. Clement's, and so reaching safely their journey's end. Once in Oxford, they would take up their abode in a monastery to which they had an introduction; in a college, if, thanks to the fortune of birth or education, they had been elected to share in the benefits of a foundation; as menials attached to the household of some wealthier student, if they were hard put to it; in a hall or house licensed to take in lodgers, if they were foreigners or independent youths. On taking up his residence in one of these halls, the mediæval student would find that Alma Mater, in her struggles with the townsmen, had been fighting his battles. Lest he should fall among thieves, it had been provided that the rents charged should be fixed by a board of assessors; lest the sudden influx of this floating population should produce scarcity, and therefore starvation prices, the transactions of the retailers were carefully regulated. They were forbidden to buy up provisions from the farmers outside the city, and so establish a "corner"; they were forbidden even to buy in Oxford market till a certain hour in the morning. The prices of vendibles were fixed in the interests of the poor students. Thus in 1315 the King ordained that "a good living ox, stalled or corn-fed, should be sold for 16s., and no higher; if fatted with grass for 14s. A fat cow, 12s. A fat hog of two years old, 3s. 4d. A fat mutton, corn-fed or whose wool is not grown, 1s. 8d. A fat mutton shorn, 1s. 2d. A fat goose, 2d. A fat hen or two chickens, one penny. Four pigeons or twenty-four eggs, one penny." The halls were, at any rate originally, merely private houses adapted to the use of students. A common room for meals, a kitchen and a few bedrooms were all they had to boast. Many of them had once belonged to Jews, for they were large and built of stone. And the Jews, being wealthy, had introduced a higher standard of comfort into Oxford, and at the same time, being a common sort of prey, they probably found that stone houses were safer as well as more luxurious. Moysey's Hall and Lombard's Hall bore in their names evident traces of their origin. Other halls derived their names from other causes. After the great fire in 1190 the citizens, in imitation of the Londoners, and the Jews, had rebuilt their houses of stone. [Illustration: S. Alban's Hall Merton College] "Such tenements," says Wood, "were for the better distinction from others called Stone or Tiled halls. Some of those halls that were not slated were, if standing near those that were, stiled Thatched halls. Likewise when glass came into fashion, for before that time our windows were only latticed, that hall that had its windows first glazed was stiled, for difference sake, Glazen hall. In like manner 'tis probable that those that had leaden gutters, or any part of their roofs of lead were stiled Leaden hall, or in one instance Leaden porch. Those halls also that had staples to their doors, for our predecessors used only latch and catch, were written Staple halls." Other halls were called after their owners (Peckwater's Inn, Alban Hall, etc.), or from their position in the street or town, or the patron Saint of a neighbouring church (S. Edward's Hall, S. Mary's Entry); many from other physical peculiarities besides those we have mentioned. Angle Hall, Broadgates Hall, White Hall and Black Hall explain themselves easily enough, whilst Chimney Hall is a name which recalls the days when a large chimney was a rarity, a louvre above a charcoal fire in the middle of the room being sufficient to carry off the smoke. Other halls, again, were named after signs that hung outside them, or over their gateways, like ordinary inns or shops. The towering and barbaric inn-signs always struck foreigners, when first visiting England, with astonishment not unmingled with dismay. They were thus probably thrown into a proper state of mind to receive their bills. The Eagle, the Lion, the Elephant, the Saracen's Head, the Brazen Nose and the Swan were some of the signs in Oxford. There are a few survivals from this menagerie. The Star Inn, now the Clarendon, was built on the site of one of these old Halls, and the richly-carved wooden gables were visible in the house next to it. The Roebuck was once Coventry Hall. The Mitre preserved traces of Burwaldscote Hall. The Angel had similar traces, but the Angel itself has now given place to the New Schools. Many students, however, lodged singly in private houses. Chaucer's _poor scholar_ lodged with a carpenter who worked for the Abbot of Osney. "A chamber had he in that hostelrie, Alone, withouten any compagnie, Ful fetisly ydight with herbes sote."... Halls, it will have been observed, were known also by the name of entries and inns or (deriving from the French) hostels. And that in fact is what they were. The principal, who might originally have been the senior student of a party who had taken a house in which to study, or the owner of the house himself, derived a good income from keeping a boarding-house of this kind. He was responsible to the University for the good conduct of his men, and to his men, one must suppose, for their comfort. The position of principal was soon much sought after, and the ownership of a good hostel, with a good connection, would fetch a price like a public-house to-day. It was found necessary, however, to decree that the principal of a hall should be a master, and should not cater for the other inmates. Payments for food were therefore made by the students to an upper servant, known as a manciple, whose duty it was to go to market in the morning and there buy provisions for the day, before the admission of the retail-dealers at nine o'clock. The amount which each student contributed to the common purse for the purchase of provisions was known as "Commons." It varied from eight to eighteen pence a week. Extra food obtained from the manciple to be eaten in private was called "Battels." The principal could only maintain his position and fill his hall if he satisfied the students. The government of these halls was therefore highly democratic. A new principal could only succeed if he was accepted by the general opinion of the inmates and received their voluntary allegiance. On coming up to Oxford the student, however little he might intend to devote his life to the Church, adopted, if he had not done so before, clerical tonsure and clerical garb. By so doing he became entitled to all the immunities and privileges of the clerical order. He was, now, so long as he did not marry, exempt from the secular courts, and his person was inviolable. No examination or ceremony of any kind seems to have been required in order to become a member of the University. Attendance at lectures, after a declaration made to a resident master to the effect that the student purposed to attend them, was enough to entitle him to the privileges of that corporation. The germ of the modern system of matriculation may perhaps be traced in the statute (1420), which required that all scholars and scholars' servants, who had attained years of discretion, should swear before the Chancellor that they would observe the statutes for the repression of riots and disorders. Among the students themselves, however, some form of initiation probably took place, comparable to that of the Bejaunus, or Yellow-bill, in Germany, or of the young soldier, the young Freemason, or the newcomer at an _atelier_ in Paris to-day. Horseplay at the expense of the raw youth, and much chaff and tomfoolery, would be followed in good time by a supper for which the freshman would obligingly pay. Initiation of this kind is a universal taste, and, if kept within bounds, is not a bad custom for testing the temper and grit of the new members of a community. At Oxford, then, freshmen were subject to certain customs at the hands of the senior scholars, or sophisters, on their first coming. So Wood tells us, but he cannot give details. He compares the ceremony, however, to the "salting" which obtained in his own day. Of this salting, as it was practised at Merton, he gives the following account:-- "On Feast days charcoal fires were lit in the Hall of Merton, and between five and six in the afternoon the senior undergraduates would bring in the Freshmen, and make them sit down on a form in the middle of the Hall. Which done, everyone in order was to speak some pretty apothegm or make a jest or bull or speak some eloquent nonsense, to make the company laugh. But if any of the Freshmen came off dull, or not cleverly, some of the forward or pragmatical seniors would _tuck_ them, that is, set the nail of their thumb to their chin just under the lower lip, and by the help of their other fingers under the chin, would give him a mark which would sometimes produce blood." On Shrove Tuesday a brass pot was set before the fire filled with cawdle by the College Cook at the Freshmen's expense. Then each of them had to pluck off his gown and band and if possible make himself look like a scoundrel. 'Which done they were conducted each after the other to the High Table, made to stand upon a form and to deliver a speech.' Wood gives us the speech he himself made on this occasion, a dreary piece of facetiousness. As a 'kitten of the Muses and meer frog of Helicon he croaked cataracts of plumbeous cerebrosity.' "The reward for a good speech was a cup of cawdle and no salted drink, for an indifferent one some cawdle and some salted drink, and for a bad one, besides the tucks, nothing but College beer and salt. "When these ceremonies were over the senior cook administered an oath over an old shoe to those about to be admitted into the fraternity. The Freshman repeated the oath, kissed the shoe, put on his gown and band and took his place among the seniors." When the freshmen of the past year were solemnly made seniors, and probationers were admitted fellows, similar ceremonies took place. At All Souls', for instance, on 14th January, those who were to be admitted fellows were brought from their chambers in the middle of the night, sometimes in a bucket slung on a pole, and so led about the college and into the hall, whilst some of the junior fellows, disguised perhaps, would sing a song in praise of the mallard, some verses of which I give: "The griffin, bustard, turkey and capon, Let other hungry mortals gape on, And on their bones with stomachs fall hard, But let All Souls' men have the mallard. Hough the blood of King Edward, by the blood of King Edward, It was a swapping, swapping mallard. "The Romans once admired a gander More than they did their best commander, Because he saved, if some don't fool us, The place that's named from the scull of Tolus. Hough the blood of King Edward, by the blood of King Edward, It was a swapping, swapping mallard. "Then let us drink and dance a galliard In the remembrance of the mallard, And as the mallard doth in the pool, Let's dabble, dive and duck in bowle.[27] Hough, etc." In any attempt to appreciate the kind and character of the mediæval students and the life which they led, it is necessary first of all to realise that the keynote of the early student life was poverty. It was partly for the benefit of poor scholars and partly for the benefit of their founders' souls, for which these scholars should pray, that the early colleges and chantries were founded. Morals, learning and poverty were the qualifications for a fellowship on Durham's foundation. Poverty, "the stepmother of learning," it is which the University in its letters and petitions always and truly represents as the great hindrance to the student "seeking in the vineyard of the Lord the pearl of knowledge." Books these poor seekers could not afford to buy, fees they could scarce afford to pay, food itself was none too plentiful. But the pearl for which the young student as he sat, pinched and blue, at the feet of his teacher in the schools, and the Masters of Arts, "When, in forlorn and naked chambers cooped And crowded, o'er the ponderous books they hung," alike were searching, was a pearl of great price. For learning spelt success. There was through learning a career open to the talents. The lowliest and neediest might rise, by means of a University education, to the highest dignity which the Church, and that was also the world, could offer. For all great civilians were ecclesiastics. The Church embraced all the professions; and the professors of all arts, of medicine, statesmanship or architecture, of diplomacy and even of law, embraced the Church. And the reward of success in any of them was ecclesiastical promotion and a fat benefice. The University opened the door to the Church, with all its dazzling possibilities of preferment, and the University itself was thrown open to the poorest by the system of the monastic houses and charitable foundations. Promising lads, too, of humble origin were often maintained at the schools by wealthy patrons. From a villein one might rise to be a clerk, from a clerk become a master of the University--a fellow, a bursar, a bishop and a chancellor, first of Oxford, then of England. At the University, of course, the students were not treated with the same absolute equality that they are now, regardless of birth or wealth. Sons of noblemen did not study there, unless they had a strong bent in that direction. The days were not yet come when a University training was valuable as a social and moral as well as an intellectual education: when noblemen, therefore, did attend the schools, more was made of them. They wore hoods lined with rich fur, and enjoyed certain privileges with regard to the taking of degrees. Like those idyllic islanders who lived by taking in each other's washing, the masters supported themselves on the fees paid by the students who attended their lectures, whilst the poorest students earned a livelihood by waiting on the masters, or wealthier students. Servitors, who thus combined the careers of undergraduates with those of "scouts," continued in existence till the end of the eighteenth century. They were sent on the most menial errands or employed to transcribe manuscripts, and five shillings was deemed an ample allowance for their services. Whitfield was a servitor, and the father of the Wesleys also. Such students, lads of low extraction, drawn from the tap-room or the plough, but of promising parts, would be helped by the chests which we have described, and which were founded for their benefit. When Long Vacation came, they would turn again from intellectual to manual labour. For Long Vacation meant for them, not reading-parties, but the harvest, and in the harvest they could earn wages. But there was another method of obtaining the means to attend lectures at the University which was popularised in the Middle Ages by the Mendicants, by the theory of the poverty of Christ and by the insistence of the Church on the duty of charity. This was begging on the highway. "Pain por Dieu aus escoliers" was a well-known "street cry" in mediæval Paris, and in England during vacations the wandering scholar, "Often, starting from some covert place, Saluted the chance comer on the road, Crying, 'An obolus, a penny give To a poor scholar.'" And as they made their way along the high-road a party of such begging scholars would come perhaps to a rich man's house, and ask for aid by prayer and song. Sometimes they would be put to the test as to their scholarship by being commanded to make a couplet of Latin verses on some topic. They would scratch their heads, look wistfully at one another and produce a passable verse or two. Then they would receive their reward and pass on. So popular, indeed, did this system become, that begging students had to be restricted. Only those licensed by the Chancellor and certified as deserving cases, like the scholars of Aristotle's Hall in 1461, were presently permitted to beg. Where poverty was so prevalent, the standard of comfort was not likely to be high. The enormous advance in the general level of material comfort, and even luxury, which has taken place in this country during the last hundred years, makes it difficult to describe the comfortless lives of these early students without giving an exaggerated idea of the sacrifices they were making and the hardships they were enduring for the sake of setting their feet on the first rung of this great ladder of learning. But it should be remembered that, as far as the ordinary appliances of decency and comfort, as we understand them, are concerned, the labourer's cottage in these days is better supplied than was a palace in those when princes "At matins froze and couched at curfew time," and when "Lovers of truth, by penury constrained Bucer, Erasmus or Melancthon, read Before the doors or windows of their cells By moonshine, through mere lack of taper light." If we realise that this was the case, we shall not be surprised to find that the rooms in which these students and masters lived, so far from being spacious and luxurious, were small, dingy, overcrowded and excessively uncomfortable. It was rare for a student to have a room to himself--"alone, withouten any compagnie." The usual arrangement in halls and colleges would seem to have been that two or more scholars shared a room, and slept in that part of it which was not occupied by the "studies" of the inhabitants. For each scholar would have a "study" of his own adjoining the windows, where he might strain to catch the last ray of daylight. A "study" was a movable piece of furniture, a sort of combination of book-shelf and desk, which probably survives in the Winchester "toys." The students shared a room, and they frequently shared a bed too. The founder of Magdalen provided that in his college Demies under the age of fifteen should sleep two in a bed. And in addition to their beds and lodgings, the poorest students were obliged to share an academical gown also. Friends who had all things in common, might sleep at the same time, but could only attend lectures one by one, for lack of more than one gown amongst them. To these straits, it is said, S. Richard was reduced. But such deprivation accentuates rather than spoils the happiness of student life, as anyone who is acquainted with the Quartier Latin will agree. When the heart is young and generous, when the spirit is free and the blood is hot, what matters hardship when there are comrades bright and brave to share it; what matters poverty when the riches of art and love and learning are being outspread before your eyes; what matters the misery of circumstance, when daily the young traveller can wander forth, silent, amazed, into "the realms of gold?" During the many centuries that the mansions of the wealthy and the palaces of princes were totally unprovided with the most indispensable appliances of domestic decency, it is not to be expected that the rooms of students should prove to be plentifully or luxuriously furnished. We know the stock-in-trade of Chaucer's poor student: "His Almageste and bokes grete and smale His astrelabie, longinge for his art, His augrim-stones layen faire apart On shelves couched at his beddes heed; His presse y-covered with a falding reed. And al above ther lay a gay sautrye On which he made a nightes melodye So swetely, that all the chambre rong; And Angelus ad virginem he song." We can supplement Chaucer's inventory of a poor student's furniture by an examination of old indentures. Therein we find specified among the goods of such an one just such a fithele or "gay sautrye" as Chaucer noted, an old cithara or a broken lute, a desk, a stool, a chair, a mattress, a coffer, a tripod table, a mortar and pestle, a sword and an old gown. Another student might boast the possession of a hatchet, a table "quinque pedum cum uno legge," some old wooden dishes, a pitcher and a bowl, an iron twister, a brass pot with a broken leg, a pair of knives, and, most prized of all, a bow and twenty arrows. Few could boast of so many "bokes at his beddes heed" as Chaucer's clerk of Oxenford. Manuscripts were of immense value in those days, and we need hardly be surprised if that worthy philosopher, seeing that he had invested his money in twenty volumes clad in black and red, had but little gold remaining in his coffer. The books that we find mentioned in such indentures, are those which formed the common stock of mediæval learning, volumes of homilies, the works of Boethius, Ovid's _De remedio amoris_ and a book of geometry. These and other books, as articles of the highest intrinsic value, were always mentioned in detail in the last will and testament of a dying scholar. But, as the modern artist, on his death-bed in the Quartier Latin, summoned his dearest friend to his side and exclaimed, "My friend, I leave you my wife and my pipe. Take care of my pipe"; so the mediæval student would often feel that though his books might be his most valuable legacy in some eyes, his bow and arrows, his cap and gown or his mantle, "blodii coloris," these were the truest pledges of affection that he could bequeath to the comrade of his heart. Only the wealthier students, or the higher officials of the University, rejoiced in such luxuries as a change of clothes, or could reckon among their furniture several forms or chairs, a pair of snuffers and bellows. For of what use to the ordinary student were candlesticks and snuffers, when candles cost the prohibitive price of twopence a pound; or what should he do with bellows and tongs when a stove or fire was out of the question, save in the case of a Principal? To run about in order not to go to bed with cold feet was the plan of the mediæval student, unless he anticipated the advice of Mr Jorrocks and thought of ginger. From his slumbers on a flock bed, in such quarters as I have described, the mediæval student roused him with the dawn. For lectures began with the hour of prime, soon after daybreak. He was soon dressed, for men seldom changed their clothes in those days, and in the centuries when the manuals of gallantry recommended the nobleman to wash his hands once a day and his face almost as often, when a charming queen like Margaret of Navarre, could remark without shame that she had not washed her hands for eight days, it is not to be expected that the ablutions of a mere student should be frequent or extensive. Washing is a modern habit, and not widespread. To attend a "chapel" or a "roll-call" is the first duty of the modern undergraduate, but a daily attendance at mass was not required till the college system had taken shape; the statutes of New College, in fact, are the first to enforce it. All therefore that the yawning student had to do, before making his way to the lecture-room in the hall of his inn or college, or in the long low buildings of Schools Street, was to break his fast, if he could afford to do so, with a piece of bread and a pot o' the smallest ale from the "Buttery." As a lecture lasted, not the one hour of a "Stunde," but for two or three hours, some such support would be highly desirable, but not necessary. Our forefathers were one-meal men, like the Germans of to-day. Civilisation is an advance from breakfast to dinner, from one meal a day to several. Late dinner is the goal towards which all humanity presses. For dinner-time, as De Quincey observed, has little connection with the idea of dinner. It has travelled through every hour, like the hand of a clock, from nine or ten in the morning till ten at night. But at Oxford it travelled slowly. Hearne growls at the colleges which, in 1723, altered their dinner hour from eleven to twelve, "from people's lying in bed longer than they used to do." Happily for him he did not live to see the beginning of the nineteenth century, when those colleges which had dined at three advanced to four, and those that had dined at four to five; or the close of it, when the hour of seven became the accepted time. The mediæval student took his one meal at ten or eleven in the morning. Soup thickened with oatmeal, baked meat and bread was his diet, varied by unwholesome salt fish in Lent. These viands were served in hall on wooden trenches and washed down by a tankard of college beer. During the meal a chapter of the Bible or of some improving work in Latin was read aloud, and at its conclusion the founder's prayer and a Latin grace would be said. Conversation, it was usually ordained, might only be carried on in Latin; the modern student, on the contrary, is "sconced" (fined a tankard of beer) if he speaks three words of "shop" in hall. After dinner perhaps some disputations or exercises, some repetition and discussion of the morning's lecture would be held in hall, or the students would take the air, walking out two and two, as the founders directed, if they were good; going off singly, or in parties to poach or hawk or spoil for a row, if they were not. Lectures or disputations were resumed about noon. Seated on benches, or more usually and properly, according to the command of Urban V., sitting on the rush-strewn floors of the school-room, the young seekers after knowledge listened to the words of wisdom that flowed from the regent master, who sat above them at a raised desk, dressed in full academical costume. Literally, they sat at the feet of their Gamaliels. In the schools they were enjoined to "sit as quiet as a girl," but they were far from observing this injunction. Old and young were only too ready to quarrel or to play during lectures, to shout and interrupt whilst the master was reading the Sentences of Peter Lombard, and bang the benches with their books to express their approval or disapproval of his comments thereon. Supper came at five, and after that perhaps a visit to the playing fields of Beaumont or a tavern, where wine would be mingled with song, and across the oaken tables would thunder those rousing choruses that students ever love: "Mihi est propositum in taberna mori Vinum sit appositum morientis ori, Ut dicant, quum venerint, angelorum chori, 'Deus sit propitius huic potatori.'" When curfew rang at length, all the students would assemble in hall and have a "drinking" or "collation." Then, before going to bed, they would sing the Antiphon of the Virgin (Salve Regina), and so the day was finished. A dull, monotonous day it seems to us, varied only by sermons--and there was no lack of them--at S. Mary's or S. Peter's in the East, with the chance excitement of hearing a friar recant the unorthodox views he had expressed the previous Sunday; but it was a day that was bright and social compared with the ordinary conditions of the time. In this daily round, so far as one has been able to reconstruct it, the absence of any provision for physical recreation is a noticeable thing to us, who have exchanged the mediæval enthusiasm for learning for an enthusiasm for athletics. Both are excellent things in their way, but as the governor of an American State remarked when defending the practice of smoking over wine, both together are better than either separate. And nowadays in some cases the combination is happily attained. But in an age which inherited the monkish tradition of the vileness of the body and the need of mortifying it, games of all sorts were regarded as a weakness of the flesh. So far were founders from making any provision for recreation, that they usually went out of their way to prohibit it. Games with bat and ball, and tennis, that is, or fives, were strictly forbidden as indecent, though in some cases students were permitted to play with a soft ball in the college courts. But "deambulation in the College Grove" was the monastic ideal. Nor did the founders frown only on exercise; amusements of the most harmless sort were also under their ban. On the long, cold, dark winter evenings the students were naturally tempted to linger in the hall after supper, to gather round the fire, if there was one, in the middle of the room, beneath the louvre, to tell tales there and sing carols, to read poems, chronicles of the realm or wonders of the world. But it was only on the eve of a festival that William of Wykeham would allow this relaxation in his foundation. The members of Trinity College were allowed to play cards in hall on holidays only, "but on no account for money." Mummers, the chief source of amusement among the mediævals, were only permitted to enter New College once a year, on Twelfth Night. It was not till the dawn of the Renaissance that plays began to be acted in the colleges and halls, and to bring the academic intellect into touch with the views and literature of the people. Not only was it forbidden to play marbles on the college steps, but even the hard exercise of chess was prohibited as a "noxious, inordinate and unhonest game." And the keeping of dogs and hawks was anathema. By a survival of this mediæval view, the undergraduate is still solemnly warned by the statute book against playing any game which may cause injury to others; he is urged to refrain from hunting wild beasts with ferrets, nets or hounds, from hawking, "necnon ab omni apparatu et gestatione bombardarum et arcubalistarum." In the same way he is forbidden still to carry arms of any sort by day or night, unless it be bows and arrows for purposes of honest amusement. But to these injunctions, I fear, as to the accompanying threat of punishment at the discretion of the Vice-Chancellor, he does not pay over much attention. He does not consider them very seriously when he plays football or hunts with the "Bicester," takes a day's shooting or runs with the Christ Church beagles. The restrictions which I have quoted above were mostly introduced by the founders of colleges. So far as the University was concerned, the private life of the student was hardly interfered with at all. The offence of night-walking, indeed, was repressed by the proctor who patrolled the streets with a pole-axe and bulldogs (armed attendants), but the student might frequent the taverns and drink as he pleased. His liberty was almost completely unrestricted, except as to the wearing of academic dress, the attendance of lectures and the observance of the curfew bell. Offences against morality and order were treated as a rule, when they were dealt with at all, with amazing leniency. Murder was regarded as a very venial crime; drunkenness and loose-living as hardly matters for University police. A student who committed murder was usually banished, and banishment after all meant to him little more than changing his seat of learning. The punishment, though it might cause inconvenience, did not amount to more than being compelled to go to Cambridge. Fines, excommunication and imprisonment were the other punishments inflicted for offences; corporal punishment was but seldom imposed by the University. But with the growth of the college system the bonds of discipline were tightened. Not only did the statutes provide in the greatest detail for the punishment of undergraduate offences, stating the amount of the fine to be exacted for throwing a missile at a master and missing, and the larger amount for aiming true, but also the endowment of the scholar made it easy to collect the fine. The wardens and fellows, too, were in a stronger position than the principal of a hall, who owed his place to his popularity with the students, who, if he ceased to please them, might leave his hall and remove to another house where the principal was more lenient and could be relied upon to wink at their follies and their vices, even if he did not share them. Thus the founders of the early colleges were enabled to enforce upon the recipients of their bounty something of the rigour and decency of monastic discipline. As the system grew the authority entrusted to the heads of colleges was increased, and the position of the undergraduate was reduced to that of the earlier grammar-school boy. The statutes of B.N.C. (1509) rendered the undergraduate liable to be birched at the discretion of the college lecturer. He might now be flogged if he had not prepared his lessons; if he played, laughed or talked in lecture; if he made odious comparisons, or spoke English; if he were unpunctual, disobedient or did not attend chapel. Wolsey allowed the students of Cardinal College to be flogged up to the age of twenty. Impositions by a dean were apparently a sixteenth-century invention. Then we find offending fellows who had played inordinately at hazard or cards, or earned a reputation for being notorious fighters or great frequenters of taverns, being ordered to read in their college libraries for a fortnight from 6 to 7 A.M. And the loss of a month's commons occasionally rewarded the insolence of undergraduates who did not duly cap and give way to their seniors, or who, yielding to that desire to adorn their persons which the mediæval student shared with his gaudy-waistcoated successors, wore "long undecent[28] hair," and cloth of no clerical hue, slashed doublets and boots and spurs beneath their gowns. As to the academic career of the mediæval student; the course of his studies and "disputations" in the schools; the steps by which the "general sophister" became a "determining bachelor" and the bachelor, if he wished to teach, took a master's degree, first obtaining the Chancellor's licence to lecture, and then, on the occasion of his "inception," when he "commenced master" and first undertook his duty of teaching in the schools, being received into the fraternity of teaching masters by the presiding master of his faculty--of these ceremonies and their significance and the traces of them which survive in modern academic life, as of the high feastings and banquetings with which, as in the trade guilds, the new apprentices and masters entertained their faculties, I have no space here to treat. The inceptor besides undertaking not to lecture at Stamford, recognise any University but Oxford and Cambridge, or maintain Lollard opinions, was also required to swear to wear a habit suitable to his degree. As an undergraduate he had had no academical dress, except that, as every member of the University was supposed to be a clerk, he was expected to wear the tonsure and clerical habit. The characteristic of this was that the outer garment must be of a certain length and closed in front. It was the cut and not the colour of the "cloth" which was at first considered important. But later regulations restricted the colour to black, and insisted that this garment must reach to the knees. In the colleges, however, it was only parti-coloured garments that were regarded as secular, and the "liveries" mentioned by the founders were usually clothes of the clerical cut but of uniform colour. The fellows of Queen's, for instance, were required to wear blood-red. The colour of the liveries was not usually prescribed by statute, but differences of colour and ornament still survive at Cambridge as badges of different colleges. The masters at first wore the cappa, which was the ordinary out-door full-dress of the secular clergy. And this "cope," with a border and hood of minever, came to be the official academical costume. The shape of the masters' cappa soon became stereotyped and distinctive; then a cappa with sleeves was adopted as the uniform of bachelors. As to the hood, it was the material of which it was made--minever--which distinguished the master, not the hood itself; for a hood was part of the ordinary clerical attire. Bachelors of all faculties wore hoods of lamb's-wool or rabbit's-fur, but undergraduates were deprived of the right of wearing a hood in 1489--nisi liripipium consuetum ... et non contextum--the little black stuff hood, worn by sophisters in the schools till within living memory. The cappa went out of use amongst the Oxford M.A.'s during the sixteenth century. The regents granted themselves wholesale dispensations from its use. Stripped of this formal, outer robe, the toga was revealed, the unofficial cassock or under-garment, which now gradually usurped the place of the cappa and became the distinctively academical dress of the Masters of Arts. But it was not at first the dull prosaic robe that we know. The mediæval master was clad in bright colours, red or green or blue, and rejoiced in them until the rising flood of prejudice in favour of all that is dull and sombre and austere washed away these together with almost all other touches of colour from the landscape of our grey island. The distinctive badge of mastership handed to the inceptor by the father of his faculty, was the biretta, a square cap with a tuft on the top, from which is descended our cap with its tassel. Doctors of the superior faculties differentiated themselves by wearing a biretta (square cap) or pilea (round) as well as cappas, of bright hues, red, purple or violet. Gascoigne, indeed, in his theological dictionary, declares that this head-dress was bestowed by God himself on the Doctors of the Mosaic Law. Whatever its origin, the round velvet cap with coloured silk ribbon, came to be, and still is, the peculiar property of the Doctors of Law and Medicine. The Oxford gowns of the present day have little resemblance to their mediæval prototypes. For the ordinary undergraduate or "commoner" to-day, academical dress, which must be worn at lectures, in chapel, in the streets at night, and on all official occasions, consists of his cap, a tattered "mortar-board," and a gown which seems a very poor relation of the original clerical garb. The sleeves have gone, and the length; only two bands survive, and a little gathering on the shoulders, and this apology for a gown is worn as often as not round the throat as a scarf, or carried under the arm. Some years ago it was a point of honour with every undergraduate to wear a cap which was as battered and disreputable as possible. Every freshman seized the first opportunity to break the corners of his "mortar-board" and to cut and unravel the tassel. Yet once the tufted biretta, when it was the badge of mastership, was much coveted by undergraduates. First, they obtained the right of wearing a square cap without a tassel, like those still worn by the choristers of Oxford colleges, and then they were granted the use of a tassel. The tuft in the case of the gentlemen commoners took the form of a golden tassel. Snobs who cultivated the society of these gilded youths for the sake of their titles or their cash, or tutors, "Rough to common men, But honeying at the whisper of a Lord," gained from this fact the nick-name of tuft-hunters. The commoner, it should be explained, is one who pays for his commons, a student not on the foundation. The colleges were, in most cases, intended originally only for the fellows and scholars on the foundation. The admission of other students as commoners or boarders was a subsequent development, and various ranks of students came to be recognised--noblemen, gentlemen commoners, commoners, fellow-commoners, battelers, or servitors. These grades are now practically obsolete, the only distinction drawn among the undergraduates being between the scholars or students on the foundation and commoners, the ordinary undergraduates, who do not enjoy any scholarship or exhibition. The scholar, who must wear a larger gown with wide sleeves, is known by various names at various colleges. At Merton he is a post-master, at Magdalen a demy, so-called because he was entitled to half the commons of a fellow. The history of the commoner, the growth of an accretion that now forms the greater part of a college, may be illustrated by the records of the latter foundation. The statutes of New College had not made any provision for the admission of _commensales_, but William of Waynflete, in drawing up the statutes of Magdalen, was the first definitely to recognise the system that had grown up by which men who were not on the foundation lived as members of the college. Waynflete limited the number of non-foundationers to twenty. They were to live at the charges of their own kindred; they were to be vouched for by "creancers"; and the privilege of admission was to be reserved for the sons of noble and powerful friends of the college. But within a hundred years the number of the commoners or battelers increased far beyond that allowed by the statutes. The position of these commoners was anomalous and led to "disorder and confusion," as certain fellows did most bitterly complain to the Visitor. No provision, it appears, was made either for the instruction or the discipline of these supernumeraries. They were, in fact, regarded as the private pupils of the President or of one of the fellows. In attendance upon the wealthier of them or upon other members of the college came numerous "poore scholars," acting as their servants and profiting in their turn from such free teaching as the Grammar School and the college lecturers might afford. The system, however, was already justified to some extent by the fact that among the pupils of the President were numbered Bodley, Camden, Lyly and Florio. The Visitor, therefore, contented himself with enforcing the observation of the limits imposed by the statutes. The poor scholars were in future not to be more than thirteen in number, and were to be attached to the thirteen senior fellows. Before long, however, the matriculations of non-foundationers began to increase very rapidly. A new block of buildings even was erected near the Cherwell for their accommodation by 1636. This is that picturesque group of gables which nestles under the great tower and forms so distinct a feature of the view from Magdalen Bridge. The number of "poore scholars" had also increased--servitors whose office forestalled that of the college "scout." They bridged the days when the junior members of a foundation "did" for themselves and the modern days of an [Illustration: Gables and Tower Magdalen College.] organised college service. It was decided, and this is where the scout has the advantage of his forerunners, that they should be required to attend the Grammar School, and afterwards to perform all disputations and exercises required of members of the foundation. All commoners, also, "the sonnes of Noblemen and such as are of great quality only excepted" were to be "tyed to the same rules." Little more than a hundred years later Edward Gibbon matriculated at Magdalen (1752) as a "gentleman commoner," and as a youth of fifteen commenced those fourteen months which he has told us were the most idle and unprofitable of his whole life. There are prigs of all ages. Gibbon must have been intolerable in a common room. One can forgive the "Monks of Magdalen" for not discussing the Early Fathers with him after dinner, but one has no inclination on the other hand to revere the men who had already (1733), in their enthusiasm for the Italian style, begun the "New Buildings," and were still threatening to pull down the cloisters and to complete a large quadrangle in the same style, of which the New Buildings were to form one end. The damage done by the succeeding generation was directed chiefly against the chapel and the hall, where under the guidance of the outrageous James Wyatt, plaster ceilings were substituted for the old woodwork. The generosity of a late fellow has enabled Mr Bodley, with the aid of Professor Case, to repair this error by an extraordinarily interesting and successful restoration (1903). Magdalen Hall is now worthy of its pictures, its "linen-fold" panelling and splendid screen. Bitter as is the account which Gibbon has left us, it cannot be denied that there was much reason in his quarrel with the Oxford of his day. I say Oxford, for the state of Magdalen was better rather than worse than that of the University at large. It should, however, in fairness be pointed out that as a gentleman commoner in those days he was one of a class which was very small and far from anxious to avail itself of the intellectual advantages of a University training. The commoners at Magdalen were now very few in number. The founder's limitation was now so interpreted as to restrict them to the particular class of gentlemen commoners, sons of wealthy men, at liberty to study, but expected to prefer, and as a matter of fact usually preferring, to enjoy themselves. But the efforts of the more liberal-minded fellows were at length crowned with success. By the first University Commission the college was allowed to admit as many non-foundationers as it could provide with rooms. The last gentleman commoner had ceased to figure in the _Calendar_ by 1860. The system of licensed lodgings introduced by the University soon caused the numbers of the ordinary commoners to increase, so that in 1875 one-third of the resident undergraduates were living in lodgings outside the college. It was clearly time for the college to provide accommodation for as many of these as possible within its own walls. The change which took place in Magdalen during the last century, a change "from a small society, made up almost wholly of foundation-members and to a great extent of graduates, to a society of considerable numbers, made up of the same elements, in about the same proportion as most of the other Colleges," is recorded therefore in the architecture of Oxford. For it was to lodge the commoners that the buildings which are known as S. Swithun's (so-called from the statue in a niche on the west side of the tower which is placed at the entrance of these buildings, and which reminds one that S. Swithun was buried in Winchester Cathedral close to the beautiful shrine of William of Waynflete) were designed by Messrs Bodley & Garner and completed in 1884. They face the High Street, and you will pass them on your left as you come down to the new entrance gateway, which is in the line of the outer wall, parallel to the High. The old gateway, which was designed by Inigo Jones, stood almost at right angles to the site of the present gateway and lodge, looking west. It was removed in 1844, and a new one designed by A. W. Pugin erected in its stead. The present gateway (1885) follows the lines of the old design of Pugin, and the niches are filled with statues of S. John the Baptist, S. Mary Magdalen and of the founder, William of Waynflete. S. John the Baptist was the patron Saint of the old hospital, and after S. John the quadrangle into which you now enter is called. Opposite to you are the President's lodgings, built by Messrs Bodley & Garner in 1887 on the site of the old President's lodgings. With the exquisite architecture of the chapel and cloisters on the right to guide them, these famous architects have not failed to build here something that harmonises in style and treatment with the rest. One might wish that S. Swithun's were a little quieter. There is a slight yielding to the clamorous desire for fussy ornamentation which is so typical of this noisy age. But the President's lodgings are perfect in their kind. As you stand, then, in S. John's Quadrangle you have, in the chapel and founder's tower, and the cloisters on your right, and in the picturesque old fragment of the Grammar School, known as the Grammar Hall, facing you on your left, an epitome, as it were, of the old college foundations of Oxford; and in those buildings of S. Swithun and the gateway, which faces in a new direction, an epitome of the new Oxford that has been grafted on the old. On the extreme right you see a curious open-air pulpit of stone, from which the University sermon used to be preached on S. John the Baptist's Day. On that occasion the pulpit, as well as the surrounding buildings, was strewn with rushes and boughs in token of S. John's preaching in the wilderness. [Illustration: Open Air Pulpit Magdalen] In the Middle Ages the chief executive officers of the University were the Proctors, who are first mentioned in 1248. The origin of their office is obscure. They were responsible for the collection and expenditure of the common funds of the University, and as a record of this function they still retain in their robes a purse, a rudimentary organ, as it were, atrophied by disuse, but traceable in a triangular bunch of stuff at the back of the shoulder. Apart from this duty and that of regulating the system of lectures and disputations, their chief business was to keep order. One can imagine that a Proctor's life was not a happy one. He had to endeavour not only to keep the peace between the students and the townsmen, but also between the numerous factions among the scholars themselves. The Friars and the secular clergy, the Artists and the Jurists, the Nominalists and the Realists, and, above all, the Northerners and Southerners were always ready to quarrel, and quarrels quickly led to blows, and blows to a general riot. For the rivalry of the nations was a peculiar feature of mediæval Universities. At Bologna and Paris the Masters of Arts divided themselves into "Four Nations," with elective officers at their head. At Oxford the main division was between Northerners and Southerners, between students, that is, who came from the north or the south of the Trent. Welshmen and Irishmen were included among the Southerners. And over the northern and southern Masters of Arts presided northern and southern Proctors respectively, chosen by a process of indirect election, like the rectors of Bologna and Paris. Contests and continual riots arising out of the rivalry of these factions took the place of modern football matches or struggles on the river. In 1273, for instance, we read of an encounter between the Northerners and the Irish, which resulted in the death of several Irishmen. So alarming, apparently, was this outbreak that many of the leading members of the University departed in fear, and only returned at the stern command of the King. The bishops, too, issued a notice, in which they earnestly exhorted the clerks in their dioceses to "repair to the schools, not armed for the fight, but rather prepared for study." But the episcopal exhortation had about as much effect as a meeting of the Peace League in Exeter Hall would have now. Quarrel after quarrel broke out between the rival nations. They plundered each others' goods and broke each others' heads with a zest worthy of an Irish wake. In spite of their reputation for riotousness, however, the Irish students were specially exempted by royal writ from the operation of the statute passed by Parliament in 1413, which ordered that all Irishmen and Irish clerks, beggars called Chamberdekens, should quit the realm. Graduates in the schools had been exempted in the statute. This exemption does not appear to have conduced to the state of law and order painfully toiled after by the mere Saxon. For a few years later, in the first Parliament of Henry VI., the Commons sent up a petition complaining of the numerous outrages committed near Oxford by "Wylde Irishmen." These turbulent persons, it was alleged, living under the jurisdiction of the Chancellor, set the King's officers at defiance, and used such threatening language, that the bailiffs of the town did not dare to stir out of their houses for fear of death. The Commons therefore prayed that all Irishmen, except graduates in the schools, beneficed clergy, professed monks, landowners, merchants and members of civic corporations, should be compelled to quit the realm. It was also demanded that graduates of Irish extraction should be required to find security for their good behaviour, and that they should not be allowed to act as principals of halls. This petition received the royal assent. But it was stipulated that Irish clerks might freely resort to Oxford and Cambridge, if they could show that they were subjects of the English king. It was in vain that students were compelled to swear that they would not carry arms; in vain were seditious gatherings and leagues for the espousal of private quarrels forbidden. In vain, after one great outbreak in 1252, were formal articles of peace drawn up; in vain were the combatants bound over to keep the peace, and to give secret information to the Chancellor if they heard of others who were preparing to break it. In vain was the celebration of the national festivals forbidden, and the masters and scholars prohibited, under pain of the greater excommunication, from "going about dancing in the churches or open places, wearing masks or wreathed and garlanded with flowers" (1250). In vain was it decreed that the two nations should become one and cease, officially, to have a separate existence (1274). Though the Faculty of Arts might vote from this time forward as a single body, yet one Proctor was always a Borealis and the other an Australis; and when, in 1320, it was decreed that one of the three guardians of the Rothbury Chest should always be a Southerner and another a Northerner, the University admitted the existence of the two rival nations within its borders once more. Only a few years after this, in fact (1334), its very existence was threatened by the violence of the factions. The Northerners gave battle to the Southerners, and so many rioters were arrested that the Castle was filled to overflowing. Many of the more studious clerks resolved to quit this riotous University for ever, and betook themselves to Stamford, where there were already some flourishing schools. They were compelled at last to disperse or to return by the King, who refused to listen to their plea, that their right to study in peace at Stamford was as good as that of any other person whatever who chose to live there. So serious was this secession, and so much was the rivalry of Stamford feared, that all candidates for a degree were henceforth (till 1827) required to swear that they would not give or attend lectures there "as in a University." It was on the occasion of this migration that the members of Brasenose Hall, which adjoined S. Mary's Entry, Salesbury Hall, Little University Hall and Jussel's Tenement, carried with them, as a symbol of their continuity, the famous Brazen Nose Knocker to Stamford. There the little society settled; an archway of the hall they occupied there still exists, and now belongs to Brasenose College. The knocker itself was brought back in 1890 to a place [Illustration: Quadrangle Brasenose] of honour in the college hall. For in the meantime the old hall, after a career of over two hundred years, had been converted into a college, founded by William Smyth, Bishop of Lincoln, and Master Sotton, very much as a protest against the new learning which was then being encouraged at Corpus Christi. The continuity of the society is indicated by the fact that the first Principal of the college was the last Principal of the old "Aula Regia de Brasinnose." The foundation stone was laid in 1509, as the inscription in the old quadrangle, to which a story was added in the time of James I., records. They were a turbulent crew, these Oxonian forbears of ours. Dearly they loved a fight, and they rose in rebellion against the masters when they were bringing in new statutes for the preservation of the peace. Several were slain on both sides. Nor was it easy to punish the unruly students. Sometimes, after a brawl in which they were clearly in the wrong, the delinquents would flee to Shotover, and there maintain themselves in the forest. At other times, when they had gone too far, and the thunder of the Chancellor's sentence of excommunication had fallen on their heads as a punishment for attempting to sack the Abbey of Abingdon, or defiling the Church of S. Mary with bloodshed, for sleeping in a tavern, or fighting with the King's foresters, they would simply leave the University altogether and get away scathless. For the Chancellor's jurisdiction did not extend beyond Oxford. A joust or tourney was a certain cause of riot. The passions are easily roused after any athletic contest, whether it be a football match or a bull-fight. Remembering this, we shall best be able to understand why the King found it necessary to forbid any joust or tournament to be held in the vicinity of Oxford or Cambridge (1305). "Yea, such was the clashing of swords," says Fuller, "the rattling of arms, the sounding of trumpets, the neighing of horses, the shouting of men all day time with the roaring of riotous revellers all the night, that the scholars' studies were disturbed, safety endangered, lodging straitened, charges enlarged. In a word, so many war-horses were brought thither that Pegasus was himself likely to be shut out; for where Mars keeps his terms, there the Muses may even make their vacation." Any excuse, indeed, was good enough to set the whole town in an uproar. A bailiff would hustle a student; a tradesman would "forestall" and retail provisions at a higher price than the regulations allowed; a rowdy student would compel a common bedesman to pray for the souls of certain unpopular living townsmen on the score that they would soon be dead. The bailiffs would arrest a clerk and refuse to give him up at the request of the Chancellor; the Chancellor, when appealed to by the townsmen to punish some offending students, would unsoothingly retort: "Chastise your laymen and we will chastise our clerks." The records of town and University are full of the riots which arose from such ebullitions of the ever-present ill-feeling; of the appeals made by either party; and of the awards given by the King, who might be some English Justinian, like Edward I., or might not. The answer of the townsmen (1298) to the Chancellor's retort quoted above was distinctly vigorous. They seized and imprisoned all scholars on whom they could lay hands, invaded their inns, made havoc of their goods and trampled their books under foot. In the face of such provocation the Proctors sent their bedels about the town, forbidding the students to leave their inns. But all commands and exhortations were in vain. By nine o'clock next morning, bands of scholars were parading the streets in martial array. If the Proctors failed to restrain them, the mayor was equally powerless to restrain his townsmen. The great bell of S. Martin's rang out an alarm; ox-horns were sounded in the streets; messengers were sent into the country to collect rustic allies. The clerks, who numbered three thousand in all, began their attack simultaneously in various quarters. They broke open warehouses in the Spicery, the Cutlery and elsewhere. Armed with bows and arrows, swords and bucklers, slings and stones, they fell upon their opponents. Three they slew, and wounded fifty or more. One band, led by Fulk de Neyrmit, Rector of Piglesthorne, and his brother, took up a position in High Street between the Churches of S. Mary and All Saints, and attacked the house of a certain Edward Hales. This Hales was a long-standing enemy of the clerks. There were no half measures with him. He seized his crossbow, and from an upper chamber sent an unerring shaft into the eye of the pugnacious rector. The death of their valiant leader caused the clerks to lose heart. They fled, closely pursued by the townsmen and country-folk. Some were struck down in the streets, and others who had taken refuge in the churches were dragged out and driven mercilessly to prison, lashed with thongs and goaded with iron spikes. Complaints of murder, violence and robbery were lodged straightway with the King by both parties. The townsmen claimed three thousand pounds' damage. The commissioners, however, appointed to decide the matter, condemned them to pay two hundred marks, removed the bailiffs, and banished twelve of the most turbulent citizens from Oxford. Then the terms of peace were formally ratified. Following the example of their Chancellor, who was gradually asserting his authority more and more in secular matters, and thought little of excommunicating a mayor for removing a pillory without his leave (1325), the clerks became continually more aggressive. Quarrels with the townsmen were succeeded by quarrels with the Bishop of Lincoln, when the latter, in his turn, tried to encroach upon the jurisdiction of the Chancellor. Peace, perfect peace, it will be seen, had not yet descended upon the University. The triumph of Dulness had not arrived, when the enraptured monarch should behold: "Isis' elders reel, their pupils sport, And Alma Mater lie dissolved in port." Certainly the elders gave their pupils sport enough after their kind, but the intellectual quarrels of the schoolmen, the furious controversies of the Dominicans and the Franciscans, the Scotists and the Thomists, the Nominalists and the Realists, were a part of it. When the excitement of local riots, theological disputes and political dissension failed, there were the exactions of a Papal representative to be resisted. And when such resistance led to the citation of the Chancellor and Proctors and certain masters to appear within sixty days before the Cardinal appointed by the Pope to hear the case at Avignon, there was the whole principle that no Englishman should be dragged across the seas to judgment to be fought for (_circa_ 1330). For every man was a politician in those days, and the scholars of Oxford not least. Their quarrels and riotings were therefore not without political significance. Thus when the Mad Parliament met in the "new house of the Black Friars at Oxford," the behaviour of the barons was reflected by that of students. The "nations" pitched their field in "Beaumont," and after a fierce fight in battle array, divers on both sides were slain and pitifully wounded. The Northerners and Welshmen were at last acknowledged to be conquerors. The position of the students with regard to the country, is indicated by the old rhyme: "Mark the Chronicles aright When Oxford scholars fall to fight Before many months expired England will with war be fired." It was Oxford, the centre of English ecclesiasticism, which, by the riot that hounded the Papal Legate out of the city, gave the signal for a widespread outbreak of resistance to the wholesale pillage of excessive Papal taxation. Regardless of the gathering storm, the Legate Cardinal Otho had arrived at Oxford with his retinue of Italians, and taken up his abode at Osney. Some members of the University, having sent him some delicacies for his table, went to pay their respects in person, and to ask of him a favour in return. The doorkeeper, however, a suspicious Italian, absolutely refused to admit them to the guests' hall. Irritated by this unexpected rebuff, they collected a great number of their comrades, and made a determined attack on the foreigners, who defended themselves with sticks, swords and flaming brands plucked from the fire. The fury of the clerks reached its height when the Legate's chief cook took up a cauldron full of boiling broth, and threw its contents in the face of a poor Irish chaplain, who had been begging for food at the kitchen door. A student thereupon drew his bow, and shot the cook dead on the spot, whilst others tried to set fire to the massive gates which had been closed against them. The terrified Legate, hastily putting on a canonical cope, fled for refuge to the belfry of the abbey, and there lay hid for several hours, while the clerks assailed the building with bows and catapults. News of the fray soon reached Henry III., who happened to be staying at Abingdon, and he lost no time in despatching some soldiers to the rescue. Under their powerful escort the Legate managed to ford the river by night, accompanied by the members of his suite. Still as he galloped away, he seemed to hear the shouts of his adversaries ringing in his ears, "Where is that usurer, that simoniac, that spoiler of revenues, and thirster after money, who perverts the King, overthrows the realm, and enriches strangers with plunder taken from us?" It was not long before the Papal Legate was forbidden the English shores, and his bulls of excommunication were flung into the sea. Simon de Montfort was the friend of Adam Marsh, and the confidant of Grossetete, and it was appropriately enough at Oxford that the great champion of English freedom secured the appointment of a council of twenty-four to draw up terms for the reform of the State. Parliament met at Oxford; the barons presented a long petition of grievances, the council was elected, and a body of preliminary articles known as the Provisions of Oxford was agreed upon. In the following year Henry repudiated the Provisions; civil war ensued, and ended by placing the country in the hands of Simon de Montfort. The struggle between Henry and the barons then did not leave Oxford unaffected. For any disturbance without was sure to be reflected in a conflict between clerks and laymen, in a town and gown row, of some magnitude. In the present case the appearance of Prince Edward with an armed force--he took up his quarters at the King's Hall--in the northern suburb gave occasion for an outbreak. The municipal authorities closed the gates against him, and he resumed his march towards Wales. The scholars now thought it was time that they should be allowed to go out of the city, and finding themselves prevented by the closed wooden doors of Smith Gate, they hewed these down and carried them away, like Samson, into the fields, chanting over them the office of the dead: "A Subvenite Sancti fast began to sing As man doth when a dead man men will to pit bring." The mayor retorted by throwing some of them into prison, in spite of the Chancellor's protest. Further arrests were about to be made by the irate townsmen, but a clerk saw them advancing in a body down the High Street, and gave the alarm by ringing the bell of S. Mary's. The clerks were at dinner, but hearing the well-known summons they sprang to arms and rushed out into the street to give battle. Many of the foe were wounded; the rest were put to flight. Their banners were torn to pieces, and several shops were sacked by the victorious students, who, flushed with victory, marched to the houses of the bailiffs and set them on fire. "In the South half of the town, and afterwards the Spicery They brake from end to other, and did all to robberie." The mayor, they then remembered, was a vintner. Accordingly a rush was made for the vintnery; all the taps were drawn, and the wine flowed out like water into the streets. Their success for a moment was complete, but retribution awaited them. The King was appealed to, and refused to countenance so uproarious a vindication of their rights. When they saw how the wind blew, they determined to leave Oxford. It was a question whither they should go and where pitch their scholastic tents. Now it happened that at Cambridge, a town which had ceased to be famous only for eels and could boast a flourishing University of its own, similar disturbances had recently occurred with similar results. Many masters and scholars had removed to Northampton, and to Northampton accordingly, to aid them in their avowed intention of founding a third University, the disconsolate Oxford scholars departed. The situation was evidently serious. But the King induced the Oxonians to return by promising that they should not be molested if they would only keep the peace. They returned, but almost immediately all scholars were commanded by a writ from the King to quit the town and stay at home until he should recall them after the session of Parliament then about to be held at Oxford. The King, it was officially explained, could not be responsible for the conduct of the fierce and untamed lords who would be assembled together there and would be sure to come into conflict with the students. Perhaps the more urgent motive was fear lest the students should openly and actively side with the barons, with whom, it was known, the majority of them were in sympathy. The fact was that in the great struggle against the Crown in which England was now involved, the clergy and the Universities ranged themselves with the towns on the side of Simon de Montfort. Ejected from Oxford, many of the students openly joined his cause and repaired at once to Northampton. For a time all went well with the King. As if to demonstrate his faith in the justice of his cause, he braved popular superstition and passing within the walls of Oxford paid his devotions at the shrine of S. Frideswide. The meeting of Parliament failed to bring about any reconciliation. Reinforced by a detachment of Scottish allies--"untamed and fierce" enough, no doubt--Henry left Oxford and marched on Northampton. Foremost in its defence was a band of Oxford students, who so enraged the King by the effective use they made of their bows and slings and catapults, that he swore to hang them all when he had taken the town. Take the town he did, and he would have kept his oath had he not been deterred by the reminder that he would by such an act lose the support of all those nobles and followers whose sons and kinsmen were students. But the victorious career of the King was almost at an end. The vengeance of S. Frideswide was wrought at the battle of Lewes. Simon de Montfort found himself head of the State, and one of his first acts was to order the scholars to return to their University. Such keen, occasionally violent, interest in politics seems, in these days, characteristic of the German or Russian rather than the English University student. Nowadays the political enthusiasm of the undergraduate is mild, and his discussion of politics is academic. In the debating hall of the Union, or in the more retired meeting-places of the smaller political clubs, like the Canning, the Chatham, the Palmerston or the Russell, he discusses the questions of the day. But his discussions lack as a rule the sense of reality, and they suffer accordingly. Occasionally, when a Cabinet Minister has been persuaded to dine and talk with one or other of these clubs, or when the speaker is one who is deliberately practising for the part he means to take in after-life, the debates are neither uninteresting nor entirely valueless. And at the worst they give those who take part in them a facility of speech and some knowledge of political questions. But it is not so that the University exercises any influence on current events. Nor, except in so far as they warn practical men to vote the other way, are those [Illustration: Magdalen College.] occasional manifestoes, which a few professors sign and publish, of any great importance. But it is through the press and through Parliament that the voice of young Oxford is heard. It is through the minds and the examples of those statesmen and administrators, who have imbibed their principles of life and action within her precincts, and have been trained in her schools and on her river or playing-fields, that the influence of the University is reflected on the outer world. Nor is it only the men like Lord Salisbury, Lord Rosebery and Mr Gladstone, who guide the country at home, or like Lord Milner and Lord Curzon, who give their best work to Greater Britain, that are the true sons of the University; it is the plain, hard-working clergymen and civilians, also, who, by their lives of honest and unselfish toil, hand on the torch of good conduct and high ideals which has been entrusted to them. Oxford had some share in the events which led to the deposition of Edward II. The King wrote to the Chancellor, masters and scholars calling upon them to resist his enemies. On the approach of Roger de Mortimer, a supporter of the Queen, he wrote again enjoining them not to allow him to enter the city, but to keep Smith Gate shut, lest he should enter by that way. But when the King was a refugee in Wales, the Queen came to Islip. She would not come to Oxford till "she saw it secure." But when the burghers came to her with presents she was satisfied. She took up her residence at the White Friars, and the Mortimers theirs at Osney. And a sermon was preached by the Bishop of Hereford, who demonstrated from his text, "My head grieveth me," that an evil head, meaning the King, not otherwise to be cured, must be taken away. The majority of scholars apparently agreed with him. The terrible scourge of the Black Death, which carried off half the population of England, fell hardly on Oxford. Those who had places in the country fled to them; those who remained behind were almost totally swept away. The schools were shut, the colleges and halls closed, and there were scarcely men enough to bury the dead. The effect upon learning was disastrous. There were not enough students forthcoming to fill the benefices, and the scarcity of students affected the citizens severely. The disorder of the time, which was to issue in Wat Tyler's Rebellion, was shadowed forth at Oxford by the extraordinary riot of S. Scholastica's Day (1355). The story of this riot, which was to bear fruit in further privileges being vouchsafed to the University at the expense of the town, has been recorded with infinite spirit by Wood. "On Tuesday, February 10, being the feast of S. Scholastica the Virgin, came Walter de Springheuse, Roger de Chesterfield, and other clerks to the Tavern called Swyndlestock (the Mermaid Tavern at Quatervoix), and there calling for wine, John de Croydon, the vintner, brought them some, but they disliking it, as it should seem, and he avouching it to be good, several snappish words passed between them. At length the vintner giving them stubborn and saucy language, they threw the wine and vessel at his head. The vintner therefore receding with great passion, and aggravating the abuse to those of his family and neighbourhood, several came in, who out of propensed malice seeking all occasions of conflict with the scholars, and taking this abuse for a ground to proceed upon, caused the town bell at S. Martin's to be rung, that the commonalty might be summoned together in a body. Which being begun, they in an instant were in arms, some with bows and arrows, others with divers sorts of weapons. And then they, without any more ado, did in a furious and hostile manner suddenly set upon divers scholars, who at that time had not any offensive arms, no, not so much as anything to defend themselves. They shot also at the Chancellor of the University, and would have killed him, though he endeavoured to pacify them and appease the tumult. Further, also, though the scholars at the command of the Chancellor did presently withdraw themselves from the fray, yet the townsmen thereupon did more fiercely pursue him and the scholars, and would by no means desist from the conflict. The Chancellor, perceiving what great danger they were in, caused the University bell at S. Mary's to be rung out, whereupon the scholars got bows and arrows, and maintained the fight with the townsmen till dark night, at which time the fray ceased, no one scholar or townsman being killed, or mortally wounded, or maimed. "On the next day albeit the Chancellor of the University caused public proclamation to be made in the morning both at S. Mary's church in the presence of the scholars there assembled in a great multitude, and also at Quatervois among the townsmen, that no scholar or townsman should wear or bear any offensive weapons, or assault any man, or otherwise disturb the peace (upon which the scholars, in humble obedience to that proclamation, repaired to the Schools, and demeaned themselves peaceably till after dinner) yet the very same morning the townsmen came with their bows and arrows, and drove away a certain Master in Divinity and his auditors, who were then determining in the Augustine Schools. The Baillives of the town also had given particular warning to every townsman, at his respective house, in the morning, that they should make themselves ready to fight with the scholars against the time when the town bell should ring out, and also given notice before to the country round about, and had hired people to come in and assist the townsmen in their intended conflict with the scholars. In dinner time the townsmen subtily and secretly sent about fourscore men armed with bows and arrows, and other manner of weapons into the parish of S. Giles in the north suburb; who, after a little expectation, having discovered certain scholars walking after dinner in Beaumont, issued out of S. Giles's church, shooting at the same scholars for the space of three furlongs: some of them they drove into the Augustine Priory, and others into the town. One scholar they killed without the walls, some they wounded mortally, others grievously, and used the rest basely. All which being done without any mercy, caused an horrible outcry in the town: whereupon the town bell being rung out first, and after that the University bell, divers scholars issued out armed with bows and arrows in their own defence and of their companions, and having first shut and blocked up some of the gates of the town (lest the country people, who were then gathered in innumerable multitudes, might suddenly break in upon their rear in an hostile manner and assist the townsmen who were now ready prepared in battle array, and armed with their targets also) they fought with them and defended themselves till after Vesper tide; a little after which time, entered into the town by the west gate about two thousand countrymen, with a black dismal flag, erect and displayed. Of which the scholars having notice, and being unable to resist so great and fierce a company, they withdrew themselves to their lodgings: but the townsmen finding no scholars in the streets to make any opposition, pursued them, and that day they broke open five inns or hostels of scholars with fire and sword. Such scholars as they found in the said halls or inns they killed or maimed, or grievously wounded. Their books and all their goods which they could find, they spoiled, plundered and carried away. All their victuals, wine and other drink they poured out; their bread, fish, &c. they trod under foot. After this the night came on and the conflict ceased for that day, and the same even public proclamation was made in Oxen, in the King's name, 'that no man should injure the scholars or their goods under pain of forfeiture.' "The next day being Thursday (after the Chancellor and some principal persons of the University were set out towards Woodstock to the King, who had sent for them thither) no one scholar or scholar's servant so much as appearing out of their houses with any intention to harm the townsmen, or offer any injury to them (as they themselves confessed) yet the said townsmen about sun rising, having rung out their bell, assembled themselves together in a numberless multitude, desiring to heap mischief upon mischief, and to perfect by a more terrible conclusion that wicked enterprize which they had begun. This being done, they with hideous noises and clamours came and invaded the scholars' houses in a wretchless sort, which they forced open with iron bars and other engines; and entering into them, those that resisted and stood upon their defence (particularly some chaplains) they killed or else in a grievous sort maimed. Some innocent wretches, after they had killed, they scornfully cast into houses of easement, others they buried in dunghills, and some they let lie above ground. The crowns of some chaplains, viz. all the skin so far as the tonsure went, these diabolical imps flayed off in scorn of their clergy. Divers others whom they had mortally wounded, they haled to prison, carrying their entrails in their hands in a most lamentable manner. They plundered and carried away all the goods out of fourteen inns or halls, which they spoiled that Thursday. They broke open and dashed to pieces the scholars' chests and left not any moveable thing which might stand them in any stead; and which was yet more horrid, some poor innocents that were flying with all speed to the body of CHRIST for succour (then honourably carried in procession by the brethren through the town for the appeasing of this slaughter) and striving to embrace and come as near as they could to the repository wherein the glorious Body was with great devotion put, these confounded sons of Satan knocked them down, beat and most cruelly wounded. The Crosses also of certain brethren (the friers) which were erected on the ground for the present time with a 'procul hinc ite profani,' they overthrew and laid flat with the cheynell. This wickedness and outrage continuing the said day from the rising of the sun till noon tide and a little after without any ceasing, and thereupon all the scholars (besides those of the Colleges) being fled divers ways, our mother the University of Oxon, which had but two days before many sons, is now almost forsaken and left forlorn." The casualty list was heavy. Six members of the University were killed outright in the fray; twenty-one others, chiefly Irishmen, were dangerously wounded, and a large number was missing. The Bishop of Lincoln immediately placed the town under an interdict. The King sent a commission to inquire into the cause of the riot. The sheriff was summarily dismissed from his office, two hundred of the townsmen were arrested, and the mayor and bailiffs committed to the Tower. With a view to settling the deep-rooted differences, which, it was perceived, were the origin of this bloody combat, the University and the city were advised to surrender their privileges into the King's hands. Edward III. restored those of the University in a few days. The town was kept some time in suspense, whilst the King and the Archbishop were striving to induce the scholars to return to Oxford. In the end all their ancient rights were restored to the citizens, with the exception of those which had been transferred to the University. For by the new charter the King granted to the latter some of the old liberties of the town. This charter (27th June 1355) granted a free pardon to all masters and scholars and their servants who had taken part in the great riot. The University, the King declared, was the main source and channel of learning in all England, more precious to him than gold or topaz. To the Chancellor, then, or his deputy, was granted the assay of bread and ale, the supervision of weights and measures, the sole cognisance of forestallers, retailers and sellers of putrid meat and fish; the power of excommunicating any person who polluted or obstructed the streets, and of assessing the tax to be paid by scholars' servants. It was also decreed that the sheriff and under-sheriff of the county should henceforth swear, on taking office, to uphold the privileges of the University. In compensation for the damage done in the recent riot, the city had to restore the goods and books of all scholars wherever found, and to pay down £250 in cash. Such was the price, in money and rights, that the commonalty had to pay before they could satisfy the civil authorities. From that time forth the University practically governed the town. The wrath of the Church was not so soon appeased. It was not till 1357 that the interdict was removed, nor were the offences of the citizens against the Holy Church forgiven even then, except at the price of further humiliation. The mayor and bailiffs, and sixty of the chiefest burghers, such were the conditions, were to appear personally, and defray the expenses of a mass to be celebrated every year in S. Mary's on S. Scholastica's Day, when prayers should be said for the souls of the clerks and others slain in that conflict. The mayor and these sixty substantial burghers were also to offer on that occasion one penny each at the great altar. Forty pence out of this offering were to be given by the proctors to forty poor scholars, and the remainder to the curate. So humiliating did this condition appear, that it gave rise to the popular saying and, perhaps, belief that the mayor was obliged, on the anniversary of the riot, to wear round his neck a halter or, at best, a silken cord. It may well be imagined that the procession, as it took its way to S. Mary's, did not escape the taunts and jeers of the jubilant clerks. Under Elizabeth, when prayer for the dead had been forbidden, this function was changed for a sermon, with the old offering of a penny. The service was retained in a modified form down to the time of Charles II. The political and religious divisions introduced by the Lollard doctrines found their expression, of course, in students' riots. For the Northerners sided with Wycliffe, himself a Yorkshireman, and the Southerners, supported by the Welsh, professed themselves loyal children of the Church. A general encounter took place in 1388; several persons were killed, and many Northerners left Oxford. The Chancellor was deposed by Parliament for failing to do his duty in the matter. The strife was renewed at the beginning of Lent next year. A pitched battle was arranged to be fought between the contending parties in the open country. This was only prevented by the active interference of the Duke of Gloucester. Some turbulent Welshmen were expelled. But this banishment only gave rise to a fresh outbreak. For as the Welshmen knelt down to kiss the gates of the town, they were subjected to gross indignities by their exultant adversaries. And a party of Northerners, headed by a chaplain named Speeke, paraded the streets in military array, threatening to kill anyone who looked out of the window, and shouting, "War, war. Slay the Welsh dogs and their whelps." Halls were broken open, and the goods of Welsh scholars who lodged there were plundered. The Welshmen retaliated, and the University only obtained peace, when, on the outbreak of Owen Glendower's rebellion, the Welsh scholars returned to Wales. The effect of the lawlessness of these mediæval students upon the history of the University was considerable. It is reflected in the statute book. It came to be recognised that their riotous behaviour was not only scandalous but also a veritable danger, which threatened the very existence of Oxford as a seat of learning. Politically, too, their behaviour was intolerable. Each outbreak, therefore, and each revelation of the licence of unattached students, who were credited with the chief share in these brawls, were arguments in favour of the college system inaugurated by the founder of Merton College. As early as 1250 it had been found necessary to provide that every scholar should have his own master, on whose roll his name should be entered, and from whom he should hear at least one lecture daily. And in 1420 Henry V. issued some ordinances for academical reform, with the object of tightening the bonds of discipline. They were reduced to a statute of the University immediately. Fines were imposed for threats of personal violence, carrying weapons, pushing with the shoulder or striking with the fist, striking with a stone or club, striking with a knife, dagger, sword-axe or other warlike weapon, carrying bows and arrows, gathering armed men, and resisting the execution of justice, especially by night. All scholars and scholars' servants, it was enacted, were, on first coming to Oxford, to take the oath for keeping the peace, which had hitherto been taken by graduates only; they were no longer to lodge in the houses of laymen, but must place themselves under the government of some discreet principal, approved by the Chancellor and regents. Chamberdekens were to lodge at a hall where some common table was kept. Thus the "unattached student," who has been recently revived, was legislated out of existence. It is not, then, surprising to find that, whilst the thirteenth century saw the beginning of the college system, the fourteenth was the era which saw its great development. Already, sixteen years after the foundation of Oriel, a North Country priest, Robert Eglesfield, chaplain of Queen Philippa, had anticipated in conception the achievement of William of Wykeham by proposing to establish a college which should be a Merton on a larger scale. But the ideas of the founder of Queen's were greater than his resources. In the hope of assistance, therefore, and not in vain, he commended his foundation to the Queen and all future Queens-consort of England. He himself devoted his closing years and all his fortune to the infant society, for whose guidance he drew up statutes of an original character. His aim seems to have been to endow a number of students of Theology or Canon Law; to provide for the elementary education of many poor boys, and for the distribution of alms to the poor of the city. The ecclesiastical character of the college was marked by the endowment of several chaplains, and by precise directions for the celebration of masses, at which the "poor boys" were to assist as choristers, besides being trained in Grammar and afterwards in Logic or Philosophy. The bent of Eglesfield's mind is further indicated by the symbolism which pervades his ordinances. The fellowships, which were tenable for life and intended to be well endowed, were practically restricted to natives of the North Country. And as there had been twelve apostles, so it was ordained that there should be twelve fellows, who should sit in hall on one side of the High Table, with the provost in their centre, even as Christ and His apostles, according to tradition, sat at the Last Supper. And, as a symbol of the Saviour's blood, they were required to wear mantles of crimson cloth. The "poor boys," who were to sit at a side-table clad in a distinctive dress, from which they derived their name of tabarders, and who were to be "opposed" or examined by one of the fellows at the beginning of every meal, symbolised the Seventy Disciples. Some traces of the symbolism which pleased the founder still survive at Queen's. The students are still summoned to hall, as the founder directs, by the blasts of a trumpet; still on Christmas Day the college celebrates the "Boar's Head" dinner (see p. 23); still on 1st January the bursar presents to each guest at the Gaudy a needle and thread (aiguille et fil = Eglesfield), saying, "Take this and be thrifty." And the magnificent wassail cup given to the college by the founder is still in use. But of the original buildings scarcely anything remains. The old entrance in Queen's Lane has been supplanted by the front quadrangle opening on the High (1710-1730), in which Hawksmoor, Wren's pupil, achieved a fine example of the Italian style. Wren himself designed the chapel. The magnificent library in the back quadrangle (late seventeenth century) is housed in a room, which, with its rich plaster ceiling and carving by Grinling Gibbons, is a remarkable specimen of the ornate classical style. Eglesfield had attempted a task beyond his means. Forty years later William of Wykeham adopted his ideas, developed them and carried them out. It is the scale on which he founded S. Mary College, or New College, as it has been called for five hundred years to distinguish it from Oriel, the other S. Mary College, and the completeness of its arrangements that mark an era in the history of college foundations. Son of a carpenter at Wickham, William had picked up the rudiments of education at a grammar school and in a notary's office. Presently he entered the King's service. He was promoted to be Supervisor of the Works at Windsor; and made the most of his opportunity. _Hoc fecit Wykeham_ were the words he inscribed, according to the legend, on the walls of the castle at Windsor; and it is equally true that he made it and that it made him, for so, to stop the mouths of his calumniators, he chose to translate the phrase. The King marked the admirable man of affairs; and rewarded him, according to custom, with innumerable benefices. Wykeham became the greatest pluralist of his age. He grew in favour at court, until soon "everything was done by him and nothing was done without him." He was "so wise of building castles," as Wycliffe sarcastically hinted, that he was appointed Bishop of Winchester and Chancellor of England. Yet in the midst of the cares of these offices he found time (1370) to set about establishing his college. His great genius as an architect, and his astonishing powers of administration under two kings, point him out as one of the greatest Englishmen of the Middle Ages. He has left his mark on his country, not only in such architectural achievements as Windsor and Queenborough Castles, the reconstruction of the nave of Winchester Cathedral (where is his altar tomb) or the [Illustration: The Bell Tower & Cloisters New College.] original plan of his Collegiate Buildings, but also as the founder of the public school system and the new type of college. It was as a lawyer-ecclesiastic that he had succeeded. But it was against the administration of ecclesiastical statesmen that the discontent of the time was being directed by the Wycliffites and John of Gaunt. Himself a staunch supporter of the old régime in Church and State, Wykeham set himself to remedy its defects and to provide for its maintenance as well as for his own soul's health after death. Oxford had reached the height of its prosperity in the fourteenth century. Then the Black Death, the decadence of the Friars, the French Wars, the withdrawal of foreign students and the severance of the ties between English and foreign Universities, commenced a decay which was accelerated by the decline of the ecclesiastical monopoly of learning, by the Wycliffite movement and, later, by the Wars of the Roses. Wykeham marked some of these causes and their effect. He believed in himself, and therefore in the Canon Law and lawyer-ecclesiastics; he noted the falling off in the number of the students, and therefore of the clergy, caused by the Black Death; he knew the poverty of those who wished to study, and the weak points in the system of elementary education. He wished to encourage a secular clergy who should fight the Wycliffites and reform the Church. Therefore he determined to found a system by which they might be trained, and by which the road to success might be opened to the humblest youths--a system which should pay him in return the duty of perpetual prayers for his soul.[29] As early as 1370, then, he began to buy land about the north-eastern corner of the city wall; and ten years later, having obtained licence from Richard II., he enclosed a filthy lane that ran alongside the north wall and began to build a home for the warden, seventy scholars, ten stipendiary priests or chaplains, three stipendiary clerks and sixteen chorister boys of whom his college was to be composed. Eglesfield had proposed to establish seventy-two young scholars on his foundation. Wykeham borrowed and improved upon the idea. He provided a separate college for them at Winchester, and in so doing he took a step which has proved to be of quite incalculable consequence in the history of the moral and intellectual development of this country. For he founded the first English public school. From the scholars of Winchester, when they had reached at least the age of fifteen years, and from them only the seventy scholars of "S. Marie College" were to be chosen by examination. A preference was given to the founder's kin and the natives of certain dioceses. These young scholars, if they were not disqualified by an income of over five marks or by bodily deformity, entered at once upon the course in Arts, and, after two years of probation and if approved by examination, might be admitted true and perpetual fellows. Small wonder if golden scholars became sometimes silver bachelors and leaden masters! A fellow's allowance was a shilling a week for commons and an annual "livery." But it was provided that each young scholar should study for his first three years under the supervision of one of the fellows, who was to receive for each pupil five shillings. This was a new step in the development of the college system. Though designed merely to supplement the lectures of the regents in the schools, the new provision of tutors was destined to supplant them. Another step of far-reaching consequence taken by Wykeham was the acquisition of benefices in the country, college livings to which a fellow could retire when he had resided long enough or failed to obtain other preferment. The government of the college was not entrusted to the young fellows, but to the warden, sub-warden, five deans, three bursars and a few senior fellows. But even the youngest of the fellows was entitled to vote on the election of a warden. [Illustration: In New College] The warden of this new foundation was to be a person of no small importance. Wykeham intended him to live in a separate house, with a separate establishment and an income (£40) far more splendid than the pittance assigned to the Master of Balliol or even the Warden of Merton. The buildings of Merton had been kept separate; only by degrees, and as if by accident, had they assumed the familiar and charming form of a quadrangle. The genius of Wykeham adopted and adapted the fortuitous plan of Merton. At New College we have for the first time a group of collegiate buildings, tower-gateway (the tower assuredly of one "wise of building castles!") chapel, hall, library, treasury, warden's lodgings, chambers, cloister-cemetery, kitchen and domestics offices, designed and comprised in one self-sufficing quadrangle (1380-1400). Just as the statutes of New College are the rule of Merton enormously elaborated, so the plan of the buildings is that of Merton modified and systematised. The type of New College served as a model for all subsequent foundations. The most noticeable features in this arrangement are that the hall and chapel are under one roof, and that the chapel consists of a choir, suitable to the needs of a small congregation, and of a nave of two bays, stopping short at the transepts, and forming an ante-chapel which might serve both as a vestibule and as a room for lectures and disputations. The chapel, which contains much very beautiful glass and the lovely if inappropriate window-pictures of Sir Joshua Reynolds, must have been in Wykeham's day, when it was adorned with a magnificent reredos and "works of many colours," a thing of even greater beauty than it now is. The chapels of Magdalen, All Souls' and Wadham were directly imitated from it. But, with the hall, it suffered much at the hands of Wyatt and Sir Gilbert Scott. The latter was also responsible for the atrocious New Buildings. The proportions of the front quadrangle were spoilt by the addition of a third story and the insertion of square windows in the seventeenth century. The importance of the chapel architecturally, dominating the quadrangle as it does and absorbing the admiration of the visitor or the dweller in those courts, is indicative of the ecclesiastical aspect of the new foundation, which the great opponent of Wycliffe intended to revivify the Church by training secular priests of ability. This ecclesiastical aspect is still more prominent in the case of All Souls', which, like Magdalen, may fitly be described as a daughter of New College, so much do they both owe, as regards their rule and their architectural design, to the great foundation of Wykeham. The deterioration and ignorance of the parochial clergy were amongst the most serious symptoms of the decadence of the fifteenth century. Himself a Wykehamist and a successful ecclesiastical lawyer, the great Archbishop Chichele therefore followed Wykeham's example and founded a college which might help to educate and to increase the secular clergy. Out of the revenues of the suppressed alien priories he endowed a society consisting of a warden and forty fellows, of doctors and masters who were to study Philosophy, Theology and Law. His college was not, therefore, and happily is not (though now it takes its full share of educational work), a mere body of teachers, but of graduate students. The prominence given to the study of Law and Divinity resulted in a close connection with the public services which has always been maintained. But "All Souls'" was a chantry as well as a college. As head of the English Church and a responsible administrator of the Crown, Chichele had devoted all his powers to the prosecution of that war with France, for which Shakespeare, following Hall, has represented him as being responsible. The college is said to have been the Archbishop's expiation for the blood so shed. Whatever his motive, his object is stated clearly enough. It was to found a "College of poor and indigent clerks bounden with all devotion to pray for the Souls of the glorious memory of Henry V., lately King of England and France, the Duke of Clarence and the other lords and lieges of the realm of England, whom the havoc of that warfare between the two realms hath drenched with the bowl of bitter death, and also for the souls of all the faithful departed." Chichele had already undertaken the foundation of S. Bernard's College. He now (September 1437) purchased Bedford Hall, or Charleton's Inn, at the corner of Cat Street,[30] directly opposite the eastern end of S. Mary's Church. On this site, in the following February, was laid the foundation stone of the college afterwards incorporated under the title of "The Warden and All Soulen College," or "The Warden and College of All Faithful Souls deceased at Oxford." As Adam de Brome had persuaded Edward II. to be the foster-founder of Oriel, so Chichele asked Henry VI. to be the nominal founder of his college. The royal patronage proved advantageous in neither case. The front quadrangle of All Souls' remains very much as the founder left it; the hall and the noble Codrington Library in the Italian style, the cloister of the great quadrangle and the odd twin towers belong to the first half of the eighteenth century. The latter are curious specimens of that mixture of the Gothic and Renaissance styles (Nicholas Hawksmoor), of which the best that can be said is that "the architect has blundered into a picturesque scenery not devoid of grandeur" (Walpole). The political and social troubles of the fifteenth century brought about a period of darkness and stagnation in the University. The spirit of independence and reform had been crushed by the ecclesiastics. Oxford had learnt her lesson. She took little part in politics, but played the time-server, and was always loyal--to one party or the other. She neglected her duties; she neither taught nor thought, but devoted all her energies and resources to adorning herself with beautiful colleges and buildings. And for us the result of this meretricious policy is the possession of those glorious buildings which mark the interval between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. For the University now built herself schools that were worthy of her dower of knowledge. There was a vacant spot at the end of Schools Street belonging to Balliol College, lying between the town wall on the north and Exeter College on the west. On this site it was determined to erect a School of Divinity (1424). Donations flowed in from the bishops and monasteries. But in spite of all economy funds ran short. The building had to be discontinued for a while (1444). The gift of 500 marks from the executors of Cardinal Beaufort, a former Chancellor, enabled the graduates to proceed with their work. They made strenuous efforts to raise money. They put a tax on all non-resident masters and bachelors; they offered "graces" for sale; they applied to the Pope and bishops for saleable indulgences. In return for a contribution of one hundred pounds from the old religious orders, they agreed to modify the ancient statutes concerning the admission of monks to academical degrees. Some of these methods of raising the necessary monies are doubtless open to criticism, but we cannot cavil when we look upon the noble building which the graduates were thus enabled to raise. The Divinity School, to which, Casaubon declared, nothing in Europe was comparable, was, with its "vaulting of peculiar skill," used, though not completed, in 1466. It remained to construct an upper story where the books belonging to the University might be kept and used. For generous gifts of books (1439-1446) by Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, uncle of Henry VI., had greatly increased the University Library. The fashion of large and gorgeous libraries was borrowed by the English from the French princes. The duke had taken his opportunity during his campaigns in France. He seized the valuable collection of books at the Louvre, and many of them had now found their way to Oxford. They were stored at first in the Cobham Library, but more room was needed. Accordingly, in 1444, the University addressed a letter to the duke in which they informed him of their intention to erect a new building suitable to contain his magnificent gift, and on a site far removed from the hum of men. Of this building, with that gratitude which is in part at least a lively sense of favours to come, they asked permission of the very learned and accomplished duke to inscribe his name as founder. The Duke Humphrey Library forms now the central portion of the great Reading Room of the Bodleian Library. It still answers, by virtue of its position and the arrangement of its cubicles, to the description and intention of the promotors--to build a room where scholars might study far removed _a strepitu sæculari_, from the noise of the world. The three wheat-sheaves of the Kempe shield, repeated again and again on the elaborate groined roof of the Divinity School, commemorate the bounty of Thomas Kempe, Bishop of London, who (1478) promised to give 1000 marks for the completion of the school and the library. A grateful University rewarded him with anniversary services; his name is still mentioned in the "bidding prayer" on solemn occasions. Nor was Duke Humphrey forgotten. His name still heads the list of benefactors recited from time to time in S. Mary's. Religious services were instituted also for his benefit. He was more in need of them, perhaps, than the bishop. For the "Good Duke Humphrey" was good only so far as his love of learning and his generosity to scholars may entitle him to be considered so. The patron of Lydgate and Occleve, and the donor of hundreds of rare and polite books to the University was as unscrupulous in his political intrigues as immoral in his private life. But in his case the good he did lived after him. The "Good Duke" was a reader as well as a collector. It was not merely the outsides of books or the title-pages which attracted him. "His courage never doth appal To study in books of antiquity." So wrote Lydgate, who knew. Even when he presented his books to the University, he took care to reserve the right of borrowing them, for were they not, according to the inscription which he was wont to insert lovingly in them, all his worldly wealth (_mon bien mondain_)? It is perhaps not surprising to find from the list of books which he gave to the University, that the duke's taste in literature was for the Classics, for the works of Ovid, Cato, Aulus Gellius and Quintilian, for the speeches of Cicero, the plays of Terence and Seneca, the works of Aristotle and Plato, the histories of Suetonius and Josephus, of Beda and Eusebius, Higden and Vincent of Beauvais. A fancy for medical treatises and a pretty taste in Italian literature are betrayed by the titles of other books, for the duke gave seven volumes of Boccaccio, five of Petrarch and two of Dante to the University. Duke Humphrey promised to give the whole of his collection to the University, together with a hundred pounds to go towards the [Illustration: Kemp Hall] building of the library. But he died suddenly, and the University never, as it appears, received full advantage of his generosity. It was not till 1488 that the books were removed from S. Mary's. For the completion of the library was delayed by an order from Edward IV. The workmen employed upon the building were summoned by him to Windsor, where he had need of them, to work at S. George's Chapel. Those who were not employed on the chapel were handed over to William of Waynflete, who restored them to the University along with some scaffolding which had been used in the building of Magdalen. William Patten or Barbour of Waynflete, an Oxford man, who had been master of the school at Winchester, had been appointed first master and then Provost of Eton by the founder, Henry VI., and was rewarded for his success there by the Bishopric of Winchester. In 1448 he had founded a hall for the study of Theology and Philosophy, situated between the present schools and Logic Lane, and called it, probably after the almshouse at Winchester, of which he had been master, the Hall of S. Mary Magdalen. When he became Lord Chancellor he immediately took steps to enlarge this foundation, transferred it to the site of the Hospital of S. John, and styled it the College of S. Mary Magdalen (September 1457). Waynflete resigned the Chancellorship just before the battle of Northampton. After some years, during which he was "in great dedignation with Edward IV.," he received full pardon from his late master's conqueror. The Yorkist monarch (whose fine statue is over the west doorway of the chapel) also confirmed the grants made to Waynflete's College in the last reign. After an interval, then, the foundation stone of the most beautiful college in the world, "the most absolute building in Oxford," as James I. called it when his son matriculated there, was laid "in the midst of the High Altar" (5th May 1474). Already enclosing walls had been built about the property, which was bounded on the east by the Cherwell, on the south by the High Street, on the west by what is now Long Wall Street, and on the north by the lands of Holywell. The "Long Wall" bounded the "Grove," famous, since the beginning of the eighteenth century, for its noble timber and herd of deer. Most of the trees in the present grove are elms planted in the seventeenth century, but there are two enormous wych elms, measured by Oliver Wendell Holmes in 1886, which would have dwarfed that venerable oak which stood near the entrance into the water-walk, and was blown down "into the meadow" in 1789. It was over seven hundred years old (girth 21 ft. 9 in., height 71 ft. 8 in.), and thought to be the same as that named by the founder for a northern boundary. In the arrangement of his buildings Waynflete followed Wykeham. Chapel, hall and library were designed on the same plan. But the beautiful "Founder's Tower," rendered now still more lovely by the drapery of creepers which hangs about it, formed the principal entrance into cloisters, which were part of the buildings of the main quadrangle, carried an upper story of chambers, and were adorned with grotesques symbolical of the Vices and Virtues. The entrance now used was originally meant to serve only as the entrance from the cloister to the chapel. It was adorned (_circa_ 1630) with a gateway similar to that designed by Inigo Jones for the main entrance to the college. The statutes were based on those of New College, but, in addition to those of which we have already had occasion to speak, there were certain notable improvements. The society was to consist of a President and seventy scholars besides four chaplains, eight clerks and sixteen choristers. Forty of these scholars were fellows forming one class, and thirty were demies, forming another, whose tenure was limited and who were given half the allowance of the fellows. They had no special claim to promotion to fellowships. For their instruction a Grammar Master and an usher were provided; when they were well skilled in Grammar, they were to [Illustration: The Founder's Tower Magdalen College] be taught Logic and Sophistry by the college lecturers, whilst three "Readers," in Natural and Moral Philosophy and Theology, chosen out of the University, were to provide the higher teaching in Arts and Theology. And all this teaching, in Theology and Philosophy and also in Grammar, was to be given free to all comers at the expense of the college. In 1481 Waynflete, full of pride in his new foundation, "the most noble and rich structure in the learned world," persuaded Edward IV. to come over from Woodstock and see it. The King came at a few hours' notice. But as the royal cavalcade drew near the North Gate of the town, a little after sunset, it was met by the Chancellor and the masters of the University and a great number of persons carrying lighted torches. The King and his courtiers were hospitably received at Magdalen. On the morrow the President delivered a congratulatory address, and the King made a gracious reply; then he and his followers joined in a solemn procession round the precincts and the cloisters of the college. Two years later Richard III. was very similarly welcomed by the University and entertained at Magdalen. On this occasion the King was regaled with two disputations in the hall. Richard declared himself very well pleased; and it is just possible that he was. For one of the disputants was William Grocyn, who was rewarded with a buck and three marks for his pains. The University continued its policy of political time-serving, and, after the battle of Bosworth Field, congratulated Henry VII. as fulsomely as it had congratulated Richard III. a few months before. Henry retorted by demanding the surrender of Robert Stillington, Bishop of Bath and Wells, who was staying within the limits of the University. This prelate was accused of "damnable conjuracies and conspiracies," which may have included complicity in the rebellion of Lambert Simnel. For the future scullion was a native of Oxford. The University prevaricated for a while; and at last, when hard pressed, they explained that they would incur the sentence of excommunication if they used force against a prelate of the Catholic Church. The King then took the matter into his own hands, and committed the offender to prison at Windsor for the remainder of his life. He soon afterwards visited Oxford, offered a noble in the chapel of Magdalen College, and, by way of marking his approval of the University, undertook the maintenance of two students at Oxford. In 1493 he established at University College an obit for the widow of Warwick the king-maker. Some years later, in 1504, he endowed the University with ten pounds a year in perpetuity for a religious service to be held in memory of him and his wife and of his parents. On the anniversary of his burial a hearse, covered with rich stuff, was to be set up in the middle of S. Mary's Church before the great crucifix, and there the Chancellor, the masters and the scholars were to recite certain specified prayers. Among the articles in the custody of the verger of the University is a very fine ancient pall of rich cloth of gold, embroidered with the arms and badges of Henry VII., the Tudor rose and the portcullis, that typify the union of the houses of York and Lancaster. Penurious in most matters, Henry VII. showed magnificence in building and in works of piety. In Westminster Abbey he erected one of the grandest chantries in Christendom; and it was for the exclusive benefit of the monks of Westminster that he established at Oxford three scholarships in Divinity, called after his name, and each endowed with a yearly income of ten pounds (Maxwell Lyte). Of Henry's parents, his mother, the Lady Margaret, Countess of Richmond,[31] took a warm interest in Oxford as in Cambridge, where she founded two colleges. It was she who founded the [Illustration: Magdalen Bridge & Tower] two Readerships in Divinity at Oxford (1497) and Cambridge, the oldest professorial chairs that exist in either University. His characteristically frugal offering was not the only sign of his favour which Henry vouchsafed to Magdalen. He sent his eldest son, Prince Arthur, frequently to Oxford. When there the boy stayed in the President's lodgings and the purchase of two marmosets for his amusement is recorded in the college accounts. One of the old pieces of tapestry preserved in the President's lodgings represents the marriage of the prince with Catherine of Aragon. It was probably presented to the President (Mayhew) by him. It is possible that Henry VII. also contributed to the cost of building that bell tower, which is the pride of Magdalen and the chief ornament of Oxford. The tower was built between the years 1492 and 1505. Wolsey was a junior fellow when the tower was begun, and though popular tradition ascribes to him the credit of the idea and even the design of that exquisite campanile, the fact that not he, but another senior fellow (Gosmore by name) was appointed to superintend the work, is evidence, so far as there is any evidence, that Wolsey had no particular share in the design. He was, however, senior bursar in 1499. But the story that he left the college because he had wrongly applied some of its funds to the building of the tower, is not borne out by any evidence in the college records. He ceased to be a fellow of Magdalen about 1501, having been instituted to the Rectory of Lymington. But he had filled the office of Dean of Divinity after his term as senior bursar was over. We have referred to the close connection of the house of Lancaster with Waynflete's foundation. By a curious freak of popular imagination the name of Henry VII. as well as that of the future cardinal has been intimately connected with this tower. Besides other benefactions, he granted a licence for the conveyance to the college of the advowsons of Slymbridge and of Findon. In return the college undertook to keep an obit for him every year. This celebration was originally fixed on the 2nd or 3rd of October, but it has been held on the 1st of May since the sixteenth century. The coincidence of this ceremony with the most interesting and picturesque custom of singing on Magdalen Tower has given rise to the fable that a payment made to the college by the Rectory of Slymbridge was intended to maintain the celebration of a requiem mass for the soul of Henry VII. And the hymn that is now sung is the survival, says the popular myth, of that requiem. For in the early morning of May Day all the members of Waynflete's foundation, the President and fellows and demies with the organist and choir, clad in white surplices ascend the tall tower that stands sombre, grey and silent in the half-light of the coming day. There are a few moments of quiet watching, and the eye gazes at the distant hills, as the white mists far below are rolled away by the rising sun. The clock strikes five, and as the sound of the strokes floats about the tower, suddenly from the throats of the well-trained choir on the morning air rises the May Day hymn. The hymn is finished, and a merry peal of bells rings out. The tower rocks and seems to swing to the sound of the bells as a well made bell tower should. And the members of the college having thus commemorated the completion of their campanile, descend once more to earth, to bathe in the Cherwell, or to return to bed. For a repetition of an inaugural ceremony is what this function probably is, and it has nothing to do, so much can almost certainly be said, with any requiem mass. The hymn itself is no part of any use. It was written by a fellow of the college, Thomas Smith, and set to music as part of the college "grace" by Benjamin Rogers, the college organist, towards the end of the seventeenth century. Whether or no the origin and meaning of the singing was to commemorate the completion of the tower, the singing itself would appear to have borne originally a secular character. "The choral ministers of this house," says Wood, "do, according to an ancient custom, salute Flora every year on the First of May, at four in the morning, with vocal music of several parts. Which having been sometimes well performed, hath given great content to the neighbourhood, and auditors underneath." The substitution of a hymn from the college grace for the "merry concert of both vocal and instrumental music, consisting of several merry ketches, and lasting almost two hours," which was the form the performance took in the middle of the eighteenth century, was made on one occasion when the weather was very inclement. Once made it was found easier and more suitable to continue it, and the observance came to be religious.[32] Magdalen Tower is one of those rarely beautiful buildings, which strike you with a silent awe of admiration when first you behold them, and ever afterwards reveal to your admiring gaze new aspects and unsuspected charms. It is changeable as a woman, but its changes are all good and there is nothing else about it that is feminine. It conveys the impression that it is at once massive and slender, and its very slenderness is male. The chaste simplicity of the lower stories carries the eye up unchecked to the ornamented belfry windows, the parapet and surmounting pinnacles, and thus enhances the impression of perfect and reposeful proportion. The growth of the colleges had influenced the halls. Statutes imposed by the authority of the University, began to take the place of the private rule of custom and tradition approved and enforced by the authority of the self-governing scholars. The students quickly ceased to be autonomous scholars and became disciplined schoolboys. The division between don and undergraduate began to be formed and was rapidly accentuated. Thus, at the close of the mediæval period, a change had been wrought in the character of the University, which rendered it an institution very different from that which it had been in the beginning. The growth of Nationalism, the separation of languages and the establishment of the collegiate system--these and similar causes tended to give the Universities a local and aristocratic character. The order introduced by the colleges was accompanied by the introduction of rank, and of academical power and influence stored in the older, permanent members of the University. Learning, too, had ceased to be thought unworthy of a gentleman; it became a matter of custom for young men of rank to have a University education. Thus, in the charter of Edward III., we even read that "to the University a multitude of nobles, gentry, strangers and others continually flock"; and towards the end of the century we find Henry of Monmouth, afterwards Henry V., as a young man, a sojourner at Queen's College. But it was in the next century that colleges were provided, not for the poor, but for the noble. Many colleges, too, which had been originally intended for the poor, opened their gates to the rich, not as fellows or foundation students, but as simple lodgers, such as monasteries might have received in a former age. This change has continued to be remarkably impressed upon Oxford and Cambridge even down to this day. The influence of other political classes was now also introduced. Never, as Newman said, has a learned institution been more directly political and national than the University of Oxford. Some of its colleges came to represent the talent of the nation, others its rank and fashion, others its wealth; others have been the organs of the Government of the day; while others, and the majority, represented one or other division, chiefly local, of opinion in the country. The local limitation of the members of many colleges, the West Country character of Exeter, the North Country character of Queen's or University, the South Country character of New College, the Welsh character of Jesus College, for instance, tended to accentuate this peculiarity. The whole nation was thus brought into the University by means of the colleges, which fortunately were sufficiently numerous, and no one of them overwhelmingly important. A vigour and a stability were thus imparted to the University such as the abundant influx of foreigners had not been able to secure. As in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, French, German and Italian students had flocked to Oxford, and made its name famous in distant lands; so in the fifteenth all ranks and classes of the land furnished it with pupils, and what was wanting in their number or variety, compared with the former era, was made up by their splendour or political importance. The sons of the nobles came up to the University, each accompanied by an ample retinue; the towns were kept in touch with the University by means of the numerous members of it who belonged to the clerical order. Town and country, high and low, north and south, had a common stake in the academical institutions, and took a personal interest in the academical proceedings. The degree possessed a sort of indelible character which all classes understood; and the people at large were more or less partakers of a cultivation which the aristocracy were beginning to appreciate. Oxford, in fact, became the centre of national and political thought. Not only in vacations and term time was there a stated ebbing and flowing of the academical youth, but messengers posted to and fro between Oxford and all parts of the country in all seasons of the year. So intimate was this connection, that Oxford became, as it were, the selected arena for the conflicts of the various interests of the nation. CHAPTER VI OXFORD AND THE REFORMATION In 1453 Christendom was shocked by the news that the Turks had taken Constantinople. The home of learning and the citadel of philosophy was no more. The wisdom of Hellas, so it seemed to contemporary scholars like Æneas Sylvius, was destined likewise to perish. In fact, it was but beginning to be diffused. Scholars fled with what MSS. they could save to the hospitable shores of Italy. And at the very time that these fugitives were hastening across the Adriatic, it is probable that the sheets of the Mazarin Bible were issuing from the press at Maintz. Thus whilst Italy was rescuing from destruction the most valuable thought of the ancient world, Germany was devising the means for its diffusion in lands of which Strabo never heard, and to an extent of which the Sosii never dreamed. The Italians acquired the Greek language with rapidity and ardour. The student flung aside his scholastic culture; cast away the study of an Aristotle that had been conformed to Christian Theology, and the Sentences in which that theology was enshrined, and tried to identify himself in feeling with the spirit of cultivated paganism. The cowl and the gown were discarded for the tunic and the toga. But the New Learning did not make its way at once to England. And when at length the Englishmen who had travelled and studied in Italy brought back with them something of the generous enthusiasm with which they had been fired, their ideas were but coldly welcomed by the followers of Thomas or the disciples of Duns. At Oxford the New Movement took but a momentary hold of only a small part of the University, and then was shaken off by the massive inertness of the intellectual stagnation characteristic of the country. "They prefer their horses and their dogs to poets," wrote Poggio; "and like their horses and their dogs they shall perish and be forgotten." The majority of Englishmen are always slow to accept new ideas. They move ponderously and protestingly in the wake of the Continent. The New Learning was as unwelcome at Oxford as if it had been a motor car. The schoolmen were still busily chopping their logic, when the Medicis were ransacking the world for a new play, when Poggio was writing his "Facetiæ" or editing Tacitus, and Pope Nicholas was founding the Vatican Library at Rome. And the Renaissance, when it did begin to work in England, took the form of a religious reformation; the religious genius of the nation led it to the worship, not of Beauty, but of Truth. The English were equally late in adopting the new German art of printing. When Caxton introduced it, it had almost reached its perfection abroad. Block books--books printed wholly from carved blocks of wood--had come in and gone out. Arising out of them, the idea of movable types had long been invented and developed on the Continent. The Bamberg and Mazarin Bibles, the first two books to be printed from movable type, had been produced by Gutenberg, Fust and Schöffer as early as 1453. But it was not till 1477 that Caxton set up his press at Westminster. A year later the first book was issued from an Oxford press. This was the famous small quarto of forty-two leaves, "Exposicio sancti Jeronimi in simbolum apostolorum," written by Tyrannius Rufinus of Aquileia. The colophon of this book, however, distinctly states that it was printed in 1468: "Impressa Oxonie et ibi finita anno domini M.CCCC.LXVIIJ, XVIJ die decembris." But there is every reason to suppose that an X has been omitted from this date and that the true year was 1478. Such a misprint is not uncommon. Exactly the same error occurs in books published at Venice, at Barcelona and at Augsburg. The workmanship is very much the same as, but slightly inferior to, that of the next two books which came from the Oxford Press in 1479. And in the library of All Souls' there is a copy of each of these, which were originally bound up together. A break of eleven years between the production of the first and subsequent books is both inconceivable and inexplicable. The press from which these books and twelve others were issued at Oxford during the eight years, 1478-1486, was apparently set up by one Theodore Rood of Cologne. The first three books, however, namely the "Exposicio" mentioned, the "Ægidius de originali peccato," and "Textus Ethicorum Aristotelis per Leonardum Aretinum translatus," bear no printer's name, but the type was either brought from Cologne or directly copied from Cologne examples. It strongly resembles that used by Gerard ten Raem de Berka or Guldenschaff. Still, it cannot be proved that Rood printed these first three books, or that he ever used the type in which they alone are printed. The colophon of the fourth book, a Latin commentary on the "De Anima" of Aristotle by Alexander de Hales, a folio printed from new type, gives the name of the printer, Theodore Rood, and bears the date 1481. A copy of it was bought in the year of publication for the library of Magdalen, where it still remains. The price paid was thirty-three shillings and fourpence. A very beautiful copy of the next book, "Commentary on the Lamentation of Jeremiah," by John Lattebury, 1482, is in the library of All Souls'. Four leaves survive in the Bodleian and four in the Merton Library, of the "Cicero pro Milone," the first edition of a classic printed in England. Two leaves of a Latin grammar are to be found in the British Museum. Rood went into partnership with an Oxford stationer named Thomas Hunt, and together they produced eight other books with a type more English in character than the preceding ones. One of these books, "Phalaris," 1485 (Wadham and Corpus Libraries), has a curious colophon in verse, which describes the printers and their ambition to surpass the Venetians in their work. The partners ceased to produce books after 1486. Rood probably returned to Cologne, and the German art found no exponents in Oxford for the remainder of the century. Subsequently we find Leicester advancing money to set up Joseph Barnes with a new press. Laud and Fell were other great patrons of the University Press. Meantime the return of the Pope to Rome had attracted many foreign travellers and students to Italy, who could not fail to be impressed by the new birth of art and intellectual life that was taking place in that country. Among the pupils of Guarino of Verona at Ferrara the names of at least five students from Oxford occur. Of these, Robert Fleming, a relative of the founder of Lincoln College, was an author of some distinction, and he compiled a Græco-Latin dictionary at a time when Greek was almost unknown in England. He brought back from his travels in Italy many precious books, which he gave to the library of Lincoln College. William Grey, another of Guarino's pupils, enriched the library of Balliol with many fine manuscripts redolent of the New Learning. John Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester, was another scholar who, before paying for his share in politics with his head, presented to the University the valuable collection of manuscripts, which he had made in the course of his travels. William Selling, a member of the recent foundation of All Souls', was perhaps the earliest Englishman of influence to catch from Italy the inspiration of the Greek muse. On his return from that country, he was appointed to the conventual school at Canterbury. His knowledge of Greek, and his enthusiasm for Greek literature, became the germ of the study in England. Thomas Linacre was one of his pupils, who, after studying at Oxford under Vitelli, journeyed to Italy with Selling. He was introduced to Politian at Florence. Thence he proceeded to Rome, and there perhaps formed his taste for the scientific writings of Aristotle and his devotion to the study of medicine, which afterwards found expression in the foundation of the College of Physicians and of the two lectureships at Merton, now merged into the chair which bears his name. Linacre returned to Oxford and lectured there awhile before being appointed Physician to Henry VIII. His translation of five medical treatises of Galen was, Erasmus declared, more valuable than the original Greek. We have said that he studied under Vitelli. It was Cornelio Vitelli who, some time before 1475, first "introduced polite literature to the schools of Oxford," by a lecture as prelector of New College, upon which the warden, Thomas Chandler, complimented him in a set Latin speech. This was probably that Cornelius who, in company with two other Italians, Cyprian and Nicholas by name, dined with the President of Magdalen on Christmas Day, 1488. And from the lips of this pioneer William Grocyn himself learned Greek. Grocyn was a fellow of New College (1467-1481), but he afterwards removed to Magdalen as Reader in Theology. He completed his study of Greek and Latin by a sojourn of two years (1488) at Florence, under Demetrius Chalcondylas and Politian. On his return to Oxford he took rooms in Exeter College (1491), and gave a course of lectures on Greek. A few years later (1496-7) the first step in the revolution against the system under which the study of the Bible had been ousted by the study of the Sentences was taken. A course of lectures by John Colet on the Epistles of S. Paul was the first overt act in a movement towards practical Christian reform. It was from Grocyn and Linacre that Thomas More and Erasmus learnt Greek. For Gibbon's epigram that Erasmus learned Greek at Oxford and taught it at Cambridge is true, if we qualify it by the reminder that he knew a little before he came to England and learned more in the years which intervened between the time when, much to the chagrin of Colet, he left Oxford and went to Cambridge as an instructor in that language. Erasmus had taught at Paris. He went to Oxford (1498) to learn and to observe. His return home from London had been delayed unexpectedly. He determined to use the opportunity of paying a visit to Oxford. The reputation of the learned men there attracted him more than the company of "the gold-chained courtiers" of the capital. He was received as an inmate of S. Mary's College, which had been built as a house for students of his own Augustinian order (1435). This house, when it was dissolved (1541), was converted into a hall for students, and then into a charitable institution (Bridewell). The site, on the east side of New Inn Hall Street, is occupied by a house and garden, now called Frewen Hall, which was chosen in 1859 as the residence of the Prince of Wales during his studies at Oxford. The west gateway, a few remains of groining and the wall facing the street north of the gate are practically all that remains of the building as Erasmus saw it, unless we reckon the roof of the chapel of B.N.C., which is said to have been taken from the chapel of S. Mary's College. Erasmus had nothing to complain of in his welcome to Oxford. He found the prior of his college, Richard Charnock, an intelligent companion and useful friend. Colet, having heard from Charnock of his arrival, addressed to him a letter of welcome, which in the midst of its formal civility has a characteristic touch of Puritan sincerity. To this Erasmus replied in his own rhetorical fashion with a letter of elaborate compliment. His wit, his learning and the charm of his brilliant conversation soon won him friends. Delightful himself, he found everybody delightful. The English girls were divinely pretty, and he admired their custom of kissing visitors. Erasmus made a fair show in the hunting-field, and was charmed with everything, even with our English climate. "The air," he wrote from Oxford, "is soft and delicious. The men are sensible and intelligent. Many of them are even learned, and not superficially either. They know their classics and so accurately that I seem to have lost little in not going to Italy. When Colet speaks I might be listening to Plato. Linacre is as deep and acute a thinker as I have ever met. Grocyn is a mine of knowledge, and Nature never formed a sweeter and happier disposition than that of Thomas More. The number of young men who are studying ancient literature here is astonishing." In one of his letters he gives a very lively picture of a gathering of witty divines at the house of his "sweet and amiable friend" Colet, when the latter "spoke with a sacred fury" and Erasmus himself, finding the conversation growing too serious for a social gathering, entertained the company with a happily invented tale. At Oxford, then, the great centre of theological study, he was learning something of the methods of the theologians. They were not strange to him, for he knew Paris. But the Oxford school was in his mind when he poured forth his shafts of ridicule upon scholastic divines in his brilliant satire, "The Praise of Folly." Yet it was at Oxford that Colet had taught him to detest the authority of Thomas Aquinas, and to apply to the study of the New Testament the knowledge and methods indicated by the study of Greek literature. His "Moria" and his "Novum Instrumentum," therefore, the books which prepared the way for the Reformation, were his protest, and the protest of the Christian laity along with him, against the authority of the clergy and against the popular theology which was based on the errors of the Vulgate. Erasmus laid the egg and Luther hatched it--a very different bird, as the former declared. The fact was that throughout Europe the growing intelligence of the educated class was slowly but surely developing in antagonism, not merely to specific doctrines, but to the whole spirit of mediæval theology. The Old Learning was threatened with destruction. It rose in arms against Greek and heresy. Bishops fulminated. The clergy cried Antichrist, and clamoured for sword and faggot. The Universities forbade the sale of Erasmus's writings, and, seeing what came of the study of Greek, declared that they would have no more of it. Oxford divided itself into two bodies, who called themselves Greeks and Trojans, the Trojans enormously preponderating. The "Greeks," the adherents of the New Learning, were assailed with every kind of ridicule. They were openly derided in the streets and abused from the pulpit. In after years Tyndale, who had been a student at Magdalen Hall, could recall how "The old barking curs, Duns' disciples and like draff called Scotists, the children of darkness, raged in every pulpit against Greek, Latin and Hebrew, and what sorrow the schoolmasters that taught the true Latin tongue had with them, some beating the pulpit with their fists for madness, and roaring out with open and foaming mouth, that if there were but one Terence or Vergil in the world, and that same in their sleeve, and a fire before them, they would burn them therin, though it should cost them their lives." News of what was going on reached the court at Abingdon. At the King's command, More wrote to the governing body of the University to rebuke the intemperance of the Trojan clique. But the Heads of Houses were sleeping over a volcano, and More's letter could not rouse them from their slumber. For the present the result was that the little band of pioneers in the New Learning one by one departed out of their coasts. "The Cardinal of York," More writes, "will not permit these studies to be meddled with." Wolsey, of course, as well as the King, More and Archbishop Warham, the Chancellor, was on the side of the New Learning. He defrayed the expenses of many lectures, for which the University repeatedly thanked him. He engaged a famous Spanish scholar, Juan Luis Vives, to occupy his new Chair of Rhetoric; and he sent a rising English scholar, Thomas Lupset, from Paris to lecture on the Classics at Oxford. Vives was the first Professor of Humanity (or Latin) at Corpus Christi, the first of the Renaissance colleges. His special function it was to banish all "barbarism" from the "bee-hive," as the founder fondly called his college, by lecturing daily on the Classics. Tradition says that the professor was welcomed to his new home by a swarm of bees, which, to signify the incomparable sweetness of his eloquence, settled under the leads of his chambers. [Illustration: Niche & Sundial, Corpus Christi College] The founder of C.C.C., Richard Foxe, Bishop of Winchester, was a prelate, statesman, architect, soldier, herald and diplomatist, who, in the very encyclopædic nature of his talents, was a typical product of the Renaissance. He had been Bishop of Exeter, of Bath and Wells and of Durham before he was translated to Winchester; he had been Keeper of the Privy Seal and Secretary of State, and had played an important part in the history of his country; he had been Chancellor of Cambridge and Master of Pembroke College there; but it was chiefly upon Oxford that he lavished the wealth he had acquired. Having bought some land between Merton and S. Frideswide's, he proposed at first to establish a college, after the manner of Durham College, directly in connection with the Monastery of S. Swithun at Winchester. But before the building was completed, he determined to make it a college for secular students. Holinshed gives us the words in which Hugh Oldham, Bishop of Exeter, who was intimately associated with him in the work--his arms are to be seen in various places in the existing buildings--persuaded him to this course. "What, my Lord, shall we build houses and provide livelihood for a company of bussing monks, whose end and fall we ourselves may live to see? No, no. It is more meet a great deal that we should have care to provide for the increase of learning, and for such as by their learning shall do good in the Church and Commonwealth." The broad-minded founder accepted this view. He drew up statutes, by means of which he hoped to train men who should help the Church to recognise, to lead and to control the New Movement. The verdict of his contemporaries with regard to his work and intentions is expressed by Erasmus, who wrote that "Just as Rhodes was once famous for the Colossus, and Caria for the tomb of Mausolus, so the new College at Oxford dedicated to the most profitable literature would be recognised throughout the civilised world as one of the chief ornaments of Britain." The influence of the Renaissance is writ large over Foxe's statutes. What is remarkable in them is the provision he made for the teaching of the New Learning. As he furnished his students with a library, rich in classical MSS. and books in Greek, Latin and Hebrew, a "Bibliotheca trilinguis" which Erasmus declared would attract more students than Rome had done hitherto; so also, in addition to the twenty fellows and twenty scholars of his college, he endowed three Readers, in Greek, in Latin, and in Theology. Natives of Greece and Italy were to be specially eligible for these offices; Greek as well as Latin might be spoken in hall, and some acquaintance with the works of Roman poets, orators and historians, no less than with Logic and Philosophy, was to be required of candidates for scholarships, who must also prove their fitness by ability to compose verses and write letters in Latin. Cicero, Sallust, Valerius Maximus, Suetonius, Pliny, Livy and Quintilian are enumerated in the statutes as the prose writers, and Vergil, Ovid, Lucan, Juvenal, Terence and Plautus as the poets to be expounded by the Professor of Humanity. The works of Lorenzo Valla, Aulus Gellius and Politian are recommended as suitable subjects of study during the three vacations. The Professor of Greek, an officer unknown in any earlier college, was required to lecture, and to lecture to the whole University, not only on Grammar, but also on the works of Isocrates, Lucian, Philostratus, Aristophanes, Theocritus, Euripides, Sophocles, Pindar, Hesiod, Demosthenes, Thucydides, Aristotle and Plutarch. The third "Reader" appointed by Foxe was to expound the Old Testament and the New in alternate years. He was not, however, to be content with the comments of the schoolmen, but was "to follow so far as possible the ancient and holy doctors both Latin and Greek." It will be seen that these statutes form, as it were, at once a charter and a corpus of the New Learning. Patristic theology was to be restored to the place of honour whence the quibbles of the schoolmen had banished it; the masterpieces of the ancient world were, in future, to be studied instead of the second-rate philosophers and slovenly writers of the Dark Ages. Apart from the fascinating hall and library, the buildings of Corpus are less distinguished than her history. The curious sundial, surmounted by a pelican vulning herself in piety, which stands in the centre of the front quadrangle, was erected by a fellow in 1581. As at All Souls' and elsewhere, the name of the college is indicated by sculpture over the gateway--a group of angels bearing a pyx, the receptacle of the sacramental host, the body of Christ (Corpus Christi). The pastoral staff, a chalice and paten, which belonged to the founder, are still preserved. They rank among the finest examples of the work of English mediæval silversmiths. The connection between Magdalen and C.C.C. was always close. Foxe, indeed, is said to have been at Magdalen, and to have [Illustration: First Quadrangle Corpus Christi College.] left Oxford on account of a pestilence. It is at any rate noteworthy that he makes special provision against plagues in his statutes. The severity and frequency of plagues of one sort or another were a serious obstacle to the prosperity of the University, and therefore of the city, throughout this century. The causes are not far to seek. For centuries filth and garbage had been allowed to accumulate in the ill-made, unswept streets. And though the King might write to the burghers and command them to remove the nuisances of this sort from before their doors, the efforts to deal with them were only spasmodic. Brewers and bakers, again, were forbidden by the King's edict (1293) to make use of the foul waters of Trill Mill Stream for the making of their bread and ale. But police was inefficient, and the health of the scholars frequently suffered from a renewal of this insanitary practice. Regrators, who burned before their doors stinking fat and suet, were also forbidden by Edward III. to pursue their habits, and the citizens were enjoined to repair the pavements in front of their houses. But in spite of regulations and restrictions butchers persisted in slaughtering their beasts in their homes and fouling the Trill Mill Stream with offal. Inundations from the Cherwell and the Thames, not yet regulated and confined by the Conservancy Board, occasionally swamped even the cloisters of Magdalen and left behind a legacy of mud, damp and malaria. Sweating sickness--a kind of rheumatic fever--struck Oxford hard in 1517. In the following years other loathsome diseases, attributed to the noisome smells which arose from the marshy grounds around the city and the obstructed state of the Thames, manifested themselves and caused the students to fly. Frequent instances are recorded of fellows obtaining permission to leave Oxford on account of the pestilence. In 1513 most of the members of Oriel removed to a farm at Dean; in 1522 the inmates of New College fled on the outbreak of some illness, and the fellows of University College dispersed on the same account in 1525. From Magdalen, in unhealthy seasons, there were frequent migrations of a large portion of the society to Witney or to Brackley, where the hospital had been indicated by the founder as a place to which such migrations might be made. But it was in 1528 that the sweating sickness broke out in its severest form. Many persons died within a few hours of being attacked by the disease; public business was postponed, and the lecture rooms were closed. The Festival of S. John was stopped. It was decreed that all clerks who thought themselves in danger might be absent until October. It might almost have been the influenza (1894). The plague broke out in 1571, so that the University term had to be deferred. It broke out again in the following years, and culminated, in 1577, in the "Black Assizes." Rowland Jencks, a bookbinder, had been seized and sent to London for railing against the Commonwealth and the established religion. His house was searched for "bulls, libels, and suchlike things against the Queen and religion." He was returned to Oxford to be committed to prison. At the Assizes, held in the Court House at the Castle-yard, he was condemned to lose his ears. No sooner was the prisoner removed from the crowded court than, as Wood tells us, "there arose such an infectious damp or breath among the people, that many there present, to the apprehensions of most men, were then smothered and others so deeply infected that they lived not many hours after. Above 600 sickened in one night; and the day after, the infectious air being carried into the next villages, sickened there an hundred more. The number of persons that died in five weeks' space were 300 in Oxford, and 200 and odd in other places; so that the whole number that died in that time were 510 persons, of whom many bled till they expired." The description of the disease given by Wood reminds one of Thucydides' account of the plague at Athens. The outbreak was attributed by some to the Roman Catholics, who were said to have used magic to revenge themselves for the cropping of Jencks' ears, but the explanation suggested by a remark of Bacon is more probable. "The most pernicious infection next to the plague," he says, "is the smell of the Jail, when prisoners have been long and close nastily kept." In 1582 the plague again threatened. This time measures were taken to improve the sanitary conditions of the place. Regulations were introduced, which do not greatly differ from the precautions of modern legislation. It was, for instance, ordained that-- "No person shall cast or lay any donge, dust, ordure, rubbish, carreyne or any other thing noyant into any the waters ryvers or streams or any the streets, wayes or lanes. But every person shall swepe together & take up the said things noyant out of the channel of the street so far as their ground reacheth and cause the same to be carried away twice every week. All privies & hogsties set or made over upon or adjoining to any the waters or streames leading to any brew-house shall be removed & taken away. No person shall keep any hogs or swine within the said City but only within their own several backsides; no butcher shall keep any slaughter house or kill any oxen kyne shepe or calves within the walls. All pavements shall be made and amended in places defective and all chimneys occupied with fire shall from henceforth be swept four times every year." These ordinances, it will be seen, provided against the customary crying evils of a mediæval town. Similar provisions against similar evils are to be found in the archives of most cities in England or France in the sixteenth century. But ordinances are one thing and effective street-police is another. A hundred years later S. James's Square was still the receptacle for all offal and cinders, for all the dead cats and dead dogs of Westminster, whilst Voltaire's scathing description of the streets of Paris was no exaggeration. It was a state of affairs on which the Plague of London was the grimmest of all possible commentaries. Another outbreak of plague in 1593 produced an order against plays, which were said to bring too many people, and the plague with them, from London. Regulations were also passed against overcrowding in the houses. At the beginning of the reign of James I., however, the infection spread once more from London to Oxford. Term was prorogued; the colleges broke up; and the citizens were so hard hit that they petitioned the University for aid. A weekly contribution from the colleges alleviated the distress that arose from this doleful sickness. The town was almost deserted; the shops were closed; and only the keepers of the sick or the collectors of relief appeared in the streets--"no not so much as dog or cat." The churches were seldom opened, and grass grew in the common market-place. Next year and the next plague broke out again, by which time some arrangements had been made for a system of isolation. Yet the mediæval attitude of mind towards medicine and sanitation would seem to have lasted on through the Age of Reason. For in 1774, when small-pox had many times scourged the town, all attempts at inoculation were formally forbidden by the Vice-Chancellor and Mayor. Foxe had aided the rise and rejoiced in the success of Wolsey. But that success was not universally popular. In spite of his benefactions to learning, and the University, it was an Oxford Laureate, one of our earliest satirists, who, when the Cardinal was at the height of his power, more monarch than the King himself, attacked him with the most outspoken virulence. A crown of laurel would seem to have been the outward sign and symbol of a degree in Rhetoric, and rhetoricians were occasionally styled Poets Laureate. John Skelton, who was perhaps Court Poet to Henry VIII., was certainly tutor to Prince Henry and Laureate of both Universities. He was very proud of this distinction, and, not being troubled by any excess of modesty, he wrote a poem of 1600 lines in praise of himself: "A Kynge to me myn habite gave; At Oxforth the Universyte, Auvaunsed to that degre By hole consent of theyr Senate, I was made Poete Laureate." So he says; and Cambridge apparently followed suit and admitted him (1493) to a corresponding degree, and likewise encircled his brows with a wreath of laurel. Skelton jeered at the Cardinal's pride and pomp; at his low birth (his "greasy original") and his lack of scholarship. There was more truth in Shakespeare's description of him as a "scholar and a right good one," for the "Boy Bachelor" had taken his degree of B.A. at fifteen years of age, "a rare thing and seldom seen." He held a fellowship at Magdalen, and was bursar for a short while, as we have seen; for six months he acted as master of Magdalen School, and in 1500 he was instituted to the Rectory of Lymington, thanks to the favour of the Marquis of Dorset, whose three sons had been his pupils at the school. It is not every man who is given even one chance in life, but at last to Wolsey, as to Wykeham, the opportunity came. He pleased the King by the speed with which he performed the first errand on which he was dispatched; and from that time he never ceased to advance in power and the confidence of his sovereign. The account of that episode, which he gave after his fall to George Cavendish, is one of the most profitable lessons in history. It is the secret of success as recorded by a bankrupt millionaire. Wolsey never allowed his ecclesiastical and political work and honours to make him forget the University which had given him his start in life. In 1510 he took his degree of Bachelor of Divinity. By the University the need for the codification of its statutes, and the unification of the mass of obscure customs and contradictory ordinances of which they were by this time composed, had long been felt. Some efforts had indeed already (1518) been made in this direction, but they had come to nothing. Graduates who swore to obey the statutes now found themselves in the awkward position of being really unable to find their way through the labyrinth of confused and contradictory enactments. Now it happened that an outbreak of the sweating sickness in 1517 drove the King and his court from London to Abingdon. Queen Catherine availed herself of the opportunity to pay a visit to Oxford, to dine at Merton and to worship at the shrine of S. Frideswide, whilst Wolsey, who escorted her from Abingdon, attended a solemn meeting of the graduates at S. Mary's and informed them of his design to establish certain daily lectures for the benefit of the University at large. For this purpose it was necessary to alter existing regulations. The graduates seized the opportunity of inviting the Cardinal, their "Mæcenas," whom they even came to address as "His Majesty," to undertake a complete revision of their statutes. In so doing they disregarded the wishes of their Chancellor, the Archbishop Warham. But their action was fruitless, for the Cardinal had no time to examine and codify the chaotic enactments of the mediæval academicians. It was at Wolsey's request that a charter was granted to the University (1523) which placed the greater part of the city at its mercy. It was now empowered to incorporate any trade, whilst all "members of the privilege" were exempted from having to apply to the city for permission to carry on business. Many minor rights and immunities were granted to the Chancellor, and no appeal was allowed from his court. "Any sentence, just or unjust, by the Chancellor against any person, shall be holden good, and for the same sentence, so just or unjust, the Chancellor or his deputy shall not be drawn out of the University for false judgment, or for the same vexed or troubled by any written commandment of the King." Prior to the issue of this charter there had been grievances arising from the favour shown by the Crown to the University, as, for instance, when, a few years back, the colleges and other places of the University had been exempted from the subsidies charged upon the town. The jealousy which had been slumbering now burst into flames. The bailiffs flatly refused to summon a jury under the new terms. They were imprisoned. A writ was issued to enforce the University charter and for the appearance of the mayor and corporation to answer a suit in chancery. The same year (1529) the University, not being able to obtain the assistance of the bailiffs, ordered the bedels to summon a jury for their leet. The city bailiffs closed the door of the Guildhall, so that the court thus summoned could not be held. This device they adopted repeatedly. On one occasion Wolsey proposed to submit the question to the arbitration of More. But the city perceived their danger and unanimously refused, "for," they remarked, "by such arbitrements in time past, the Commissary & procters & their officers of the University hath usurped & daily usurpeth upon the town of divers matters contrary to their compositions." The struggle passed through several stages. The mayor, one Michael Hethe by name, refused to take the customary oath at S. Mary's to maintain the privileges of the University. Proceedings were instituted against him. His answer, when he was summoned to appear at S. Mary's Church and show cause why he should not be declared perjured and excommunicate, was couched in very spirited terms: "Recommend me unto your master and shew him, I am here in this town the King's Grace's lieutenant for lack of a better, and I know no cause why I should appear before him. I know him not for my ordinary." The court pronounced him contumacious, and sentenced him to be excommunicated. He was obliged to demand absolution, but he did not abate the firmness of his attitude when he obtained it, for he flatly refused to promise "to stand to the law and to obey the commands of the Church," though that promise was proposed as a necessary condition of absolution being granted. Before the end of this year (1530) the town made a direct petition to the King against the University, in which the chief incidents in the hard-fought battle are recounted in detail. Complaint is made, for instance, that the commissary "Doth take fourpence for the sale of every horse-lode of fresh salmon, & one penny of every seme of fresshe herrings, which is extorcyon": and again "Another time he sent for one William Falofelde & demanded of him a duty that he should give him a pint of wine of every hogshead that he did set a-broach, for his taste. And the said William answered and said that he knew no such duty to be had, if he knew it he would gladly give it. And thereupon the said Commissary said he would make him know that it was his duty & so sent him to prison: and so ever since, for fear of imprisonment, the said William Falofelde hath sent him wine when he sent for it, which is to the great losse and hindrance of the said William Falofelde." In order to compel submission on the part of the city, the mayor and twenty of the citizens were discommoned in 1533, so that "no schollar nor none of their servants, should buy nor sell with none of them, neither eat nor drink in their houses, under pain of for every time of so doing to forfeit to the Commissary of 6s. and 8d." For twenty years the quarrel dragged on, till at last both parties grew weary. In 1542 arbitrators were called in, and Wolsey's charter was repealed. But under Elizabeth, when in Leicester they had elected a Chancellor of sufficient power to represent their interests, the University began to endeavour to regain the privileges and franchises which, as they maintained, had only been in abeyance. An Act of Parliament was procured which confirmed the old obnoxious charter of 1523, but with a clause of all the liberties of the mayor and town. This clause led the way to fresh acts of aggression on either side, and renewed recriminations and disputes until, on the report of two judges, a series of orders was promulgated by the Privy Council (1575), intended to set at rest the differences between the two bodies for ever. But the result fell short of the intention. The opposition at this time had been led by one William Noble, who lived in the old house known as Le Swynstock. Smarting under the sting of false imprisonment, Noble commenced suits in the Star Chamber against the University, and presented petitions both against that body and the mayor and citizens. His popularity was such that he was elected Member of Parliament for the city. Wolsey, as we have seen, had taken some steps towards establishing public lectureships in the University. But he provided no permanent endowment for these chairs. His designs developed into a grander scheme. He determined to found a college which, in splendour and resources, should eclipse even the noble foundations of Wykeham and Waynflete, a college where the secular clergy should study the New Learning and use it as a handmaid of Theology and in the service of the old Church. And as Wykeham had established in connection with his college a school at Winchester, so Wolsey proposed to found at his birth-place, Ipswich, and at Oxford, two sister-seats of learning and religion. Through the darkness and stagnation of the fifteenth century a few great men had handed on the torch of learning and of educational ideals. The pedigree of Christ Church is clearly traceable through Magdalen and New College back to Merton. Wolsey at Magdalen had learnt to appreciate, in the most beautiful of all the homes of learning, something of the aims of the great school-master bishop, Waynflete. And Waynflete himself, can we doubt? had caught from Wykeham the enthusiasm for producing "rightly and nobly ordered minds and characters." At Oxford, at Winchester and at Windsor he had lived under the shadow of the great monuments of Wykeham's genius, and learned to discern "the true nature of the beautiful and graceful, the simplicity of beauty in style, harmony and grace." So that in the architecture of his college--and Architecture, as Plato tells us, as all the other Arts, is full of grace and harmony, which are the two sisters of goodness and virtue--he was enabled to fulfil the Platonic ideal and to provide the youth whom he desired to benefit with a home where they might dwell "in a land of health and fair sights and sounds, and receive the good in everything, and where beauty, the effluence of fair works, might flow into the eye and ear like a health-giving breeze from a purer region, and insensibly draw the soul from earliest years into likeness and sympathy with the beauty of reason." Inspired by such examples, Wolsey set himself to build a college which should eclipse them, "Though unfinished, yet so famous, So excellent in art and yet so rising, That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue." Indeed, says Fuller, nothing mean could enter into this man's mind. Immense as were his private resources, they could not bear the strain of his magnificent plans. He therefore seized upon the idea of appropriating the property of the regular clergy and applying it to the foundation and endowment of Cardinal's College. The time was ripe for some such conversion. Monasticism was outworn. Whatever the merits of some few monasteries might be, whatever the piety of an occasional Abbot Samson, or the popularity of a monkish institution which did its duty of charity and instruction in this or that part of the country, the monks as a rule had ceased to live up to their original standard. They had accumulated wealth and lost their hold on the people. And where they were popular, it was in many cases with the people they had pauperised. To a statesman with so keen an insight and so broad a mind as Wolsey, it must have seemed both wise and safe to take this opportunity of suppressing some of the English priories. Had not Chicheley, when the alien priories had been suppressed on political grounds, secured some of their lands for the endowment of his foundation, All Souls' College? His first step was to obtain a bull from the Pope and the assent of the King, authorising him (1524) to suppress the Priory of S. Frideswide and transfer the canons to other houses of the Augustinian order. Their house and revenues, amounting to nearly £300, were assigned to the proposed college of secular clerks. The scale of that college is indicated by the fact that it was to consist of a dean and sixty canons, forty canons of inferior rank, besides thirteen chaplains, twelve lay clerks, sixteen choristers and a teacher of music, for the service of the Church. Six public professors were to be appointed in connection with the college. A few months later another bull, which premised that divine service could not be properly maintained in monasteries which contained less than seven professed members, empowered Wolsey to suppress any number of such small religious houses all over the country. This he proceeded to do, and to transfer the inmates to other monasteries. Their revenues, to an amount not exceeding 3000 golden ducats, were to be devoted to the new college. The plan of thus concentrating the resources of the small and scattered religious houses was both economical and statesmanlike. But, in its execution, it gave rise to fear and irritation, of which Wolsey's political enemies were quick to avail themselves. The perturbation of the monks is well expressed in Fuller's happy metaphor: "His proceedings made all the forest of religious foundations in England to shake, justly fearing the King would finish to fell the oaks, seeing the Cardinal began to cut the underwood." Wolsey found it necessary to write to his royal master more than once to contradict the mis-representations of his opponents. The King had been informed that monks and abbots had been turned out to starve. Wolsey declared that what he had done was "to the full satisfaction, recompense and joyous contentation" of all concerned. The King complained that some of the monasteries would not contribute to his necessities as much as they had contributed to the Cardinal's scheme. Wolsey replied that he had indeed received "from divers mine old lovers and friends right loving and favourable aids towards the edifying of my said College," but added that these had been justly obtained and exaggerated in amount. But he promised in future to take nothing from any religious person. Meantime he had set about building Cardinal's College with extraordinary energy and on an enormous scale. The foundation stone was laid on 15th July 1525. Whilst the Chapter-house and refectory of the old monastery were kept, the western bays of the church were removed to make way for the great quadrangle. The Chapel of S. Michael at South Gate was demolished, and part of the old town wall was thrown down. Room was thus made for the buildings on the south side of the quadrangle. These, the first portion of the college to be finished, were the kitchen and that hall which, in its practical and stately magnificence, can scarcely be equalled in England or surpassed in Europe. But the fact that it was the kitchen and dining-room which first reached completion gave an opportunity to the wits. "Egregium opus. Cardinalis iste instituit Collegium, et absolvit popinam." So runs one epigram, which being freely translated is: "The Mountains were in labour once, and forth there came a mouse;-- Your Cardinal a College planned, and built an eating-house!" It was part of Wolsey's design to gather into his college all the rising intellect of Europe. In pursuance of this plan, he induced certain scholars from Cambridge to migrate thither. But they it was, so men afterwards complained, who first introduced the taint of heresy into Oxford. For at first the University was as strictly orthodox as her powerful patron, who hated "the Hellish Lutherans," could wish. When Martin Luther (1517) nailed his ninety-five theses on the church door of Wittenberg, in protest against what Erasmus had called "the crime of false pardons," the [Illustration: Cloisters, Christ Church] sale of indulgences, his protest found no echo here. On the contrary, the masters in convocation gladly elected three representative theologians who attended Wolsey's conference in London, and condemned the noxious doctrines of the German reformer. A committee of theologians was also held at Oxford, and their condemnation of Luther's teaching won the warm approval of the University. But the leaven of Lutheranism had already been introduced. The Cambridge students whom Wolsey had brought to be canons of Cardinal College, began to hold secret meetings and to disseminate Lutheran treatises. They made proselytes; they grew bolder, and nailed upon the church doors at nights some famous "libels and bills." Archbishop Warham presently found himself obliged to take notice of the growing sect. He wrote to Wolsey invoking his aid, "that the captains of the said erroneous doctrines be punished to the fearful example of all other. One or two cankered members," he explains, "have induced no small number of young and incircumspect fools to give ear unto them," and he proposes that the Cardinal should give "in commission to some sad father which was brought up in the University to sit and examine them." Active measures were now taken to stamp out the heresy in Oxford. Wolsey ordered the arrest of a certain Thomas Garret of Magdalen, a pernicious heretic who had been busy selling Tyndale's Bible and the German reformer's treatises, not only to Oxford students, but even to the Abbot of Reading. His friends managed to get him safely out of Oxford, but for some reason or other he returned after three days. The same night he was arrested in bed in the house of one Radley, a singing-man, where it was well known that the little Lutheran community was wont to meet. Garret was not detained in Bocardo, but in a cellar underneath the lodgings of the commissary, Dr Cottisford, Rector of Lincoln. Whilst the commissary was at evensong he managed to escape, and made his way to the rooms of Anthony Dalaber, one of the "brotherhood," at Gloucester College. Dalaber has left an account--it is a most tearful tale--of the events which ensued. He had previously had some share in getting Garret away from Oxford, and was greatly surprised to see him back. He provided him with a coat in place of his tell-tale gown and hood, and sent him off with tears and prayers to Wales, whence he hoped to escape to Germany. After reading the tenth chapter of S. Matthew's Gospel with many a deep sigh and salt tear, Dalaber went to Cardinal College to give Master Clarke, a leading brother, notice of what had occurred. On his way he met William Eden, a fellow of Magdalen, who with a pitiful countenance explained to him that they were all undone. Dalaber was able to give him the joyful news of Garret's escape, and proceeded to S. Frideswide's. "Evensong," he says, "was begun, and the Dean and the other Canons were there in their grey amices; they were almost at Magnificat before I came thither. I stood at the Choir door and heard Master Taverner play, and others of the Chapel there sing, with and among whom I myself was wont to sing also. But now my singing and music were turned into sighing and musing. As I thus and there stood, in cometh Dr Cottysford, as fast as ever he could go, bareheaded, as pale as ashes--I knew his grief well enough, and to the Dean he goeth into the Choir, where he was sitting in his stall, and talked with him very sorrowfully." Dalaber describes the interview which followed, outside the choir, between these two and Dr London, the Warden of New College, "puffing, blustering and blowing, like a hungry and greedy lion seeking his prey." The commissary was so much blamed, that he wept for sorrow. Spies were sent out in every direction; and when Dalaber returned to his rooms next morning, he found that they had been thoroughly searched. He had spent the night with the "brethren," supping at Corpus ("at which supper we were not very merry"), sleeping at S. Alban Hall, consulting together and praying for the wisdom of the serpent, and the harmlessness of the dove. This request would appear to have been in some measure vouchsafed to him, for, when he was interrogated by the prior as to his own movements and those of Garret, he was enabled to furnish forth a tale full of circumstantial detail but wholly untrue. "This tale," he observes, "I thought meetest, but it was nothing so." Although it were nothing so, he repeated his convincing narrative on oath, when he was examined at Lincoln College by Cottisford, Higdon (Dean of Cardinal's College) and London. He had sworn on a great Mass book laid before him to answer truly, but, as he complacently observes, "in my heart nothing so meant to do." Nor, perhaps, did he mean to betray twenty-two of his associates, and the storehouse of Garret's books, when examined by Dr London, whom he calls the "rankest, papistical Pharisee of them all"--at any rate he omits to mention the fact in his narrative. Of Garret himself, however, no trace could be found; and the commissary, being "in extreme pensyfness," consulted an astrologer, who made a figure for him, and told him, with all the cheerful certainty of an eastern astrologer in these days, that Garret, having fled south-eastward in a tawny coat, was at that time in London, on his way to the sea-side. Consulting the stars was strictly forbidden by the Catholic Church, but the Warden of New College, though a Doctor of Divinity, was not ashamed to inform the bishop of the astrologer's saying, or afraid to ask him to inform the Cardinal, Archbishop of York, concerning it. Luckily for him the commissary did not rely wholly on the information either of Dalaber or the astrologer. The more practical method of watching the seaport towns resulted a few days later in Garret's recapture near Bristol. Many of the Oxford brotherhood were also imprisoned and excommunicated. Garret, who had written a piteous letter to Wolsey, praying for release, not from the iron bonds which he said he justly deserved, but from the more terrible bonds of excommunication, and who had also made a formal recantation of all his heresies, was allowed to escape. But first he took part in a procession, in which most of the other prisoners also appeared, carrying faggots from S. Mary's Church to S. Frideswide's, and on the way casting into a bonfire made at Carfax for the purpose certain books which had most likely formed part of Garret's stock. At least three of the prisoners, however, died in prison without having been readmitted to Communion, either from the sweating sickness then raging, or, as Foxe asserts, from the hardships they endured. For they were kept, he says, for nearly six months in a deep cave under the ground, on a diet of salt fish. By Higdon's orders they did at least receive a Christian burial. The heretics were crushed in Oxford, but elsewhere the movement grew apace. The printing press scattered wide-cast books and pamphlets which openly attacked the corruption of the Church and the monastic orders. Henry determined to proscribe all books that savoured of heresy. A joint committee of Oxford and Cambridge theologians was summoned to meet in London. They examined and condemned the suspected books which were submitted to them. The publication of English treatises upon Holy Scripture without ecclesiastical sanction was forbidden by royal proclamation. Versions of the Bible in the vulgar tongue were at the same time proscribed. Yet this orthodox king, to whom as "Defender of the Faith," Leo X. had sent a sword still preserved in the Ashmolean, was on the brink of a breach with Rome. For Henry, with his curious mania for matrimony, had determined to marry Anne Boleyn, but he failed to obtain from the Papal Legates in England a decree for the dissolution of his marriage. It was a failure fraught with enormous consequences. The fortunes of Oxford were involved in it. The King gladly availed himself of the suggestion of a Cambridge scholar, Thomas Cranmer, that the Universities should be called on for their judgment. They were thus placed in a position analogous to that of an oecumenical council with power to control a pontifical decree. For the Pope's predecessor had granted a dispensation for Henry's marriage with Catherine, his brother's wife. Every learned man in Europe, but for bribery or threats, would have condemned Henry's cause on its merits. But it was evident that the question would not be decided on its merits. From a packed commission at Cambridge a decision favourable to a divorce was with difficulty extorted; but even so it was qualified by an important reservation. The marriage was declared illegal, if it could be proved that Catherine's marriage with Prince Arthur had been consummated. Cambridge was praised by the King for her "wisdom and good conveyance." Yet that reservation, if the testimony of the Queen herself was to go for anything, amounted to a conclusion against the divorce. It was not expected that a favourable verdict would be obtained so easily from Oxford. At the end of his first letter, in which the King called upon the University to declare their minds "sincerely and truly without any abuse," a very plain threat is added, which left no doubt as to the royal view of what could be considered "sincere and true": "And in case ye do not uprightly according to divine learning handle yourselves herein, ye may be assured that we, not without great cause, shall so quickly and sharply look to your unnatural misdemeanour therein that it shall not be to your quietness and ease hereafter." It was proposed that the question should be referred to a packed committee. But the Masters of Arts refused to entrust the matter wholly to the Faculty of Theology. They claimed to nominate a certain number of delegates. Their attitude provoked sharp reproval and further threats from the imperious monarch. The youths of the University were warned not to play masters, or they would soon learn that "it is not good to stir up a hornets' nest." Persuasion was used by the Archbishop and the Bishop of Lincoln. The example of Paris and Cambridge was quoted. The aid of Dr Foxe, who had proved his skill by obtaining the decree at Cambridge, was called in. Learned arguments were provided by Nicholas de Burgo, an Italian friar. But there was no doubt about the popular feeling on the question. Pieces of hemp and rough drawings of gallows were affixed to the gate of the bishop's lodging; both he and Father Nicholas were pelted with stones in the open street; the women of Oxford supported Catherine with such vehemence, that thirty of them had to be shut up in Bocardo. The King had dispatched two of his courtiers to Oxford: the Duke of Suffolk and Sir William Fitzwilliam. The former imprisoned the women; the latter distributed money to the more venal of the graduates. "No indifferency was used in the whole matter." Threats and bribes at last prevailed. A committee carefully packed was appointed with power to decide in the name of the University. A verdict was obtained which corresponded to the Cambridge decree. The important reservation, "if the marriage had been consummated," was added to the decision that marriage with the widow of a deceased brother was contrary to the divine and human law. Cranmer, who had succeeded Warham as Archbishop of Canterbury, pronounced the King's marriage with Catherine null and void. In the following year the University was asked to concur in the foregone decision in favour of separation from Rome. The authority of the Pope in England was abolished, and the monasteries were rendered liable to visitation by commission under the Great Seal. The Act of Supremacy followed. Bishop Fisher and Sir Thomas More were executed for denying the royal supremacy, and Thomas Cromwell was appointed Vicar-General of England. His failure to procure a decree invalidating Henry's marriage meant the downfall of Wolsey. His downfall involved the fortunes of his college. It was rumoured at once that the buildings were to be demolished, because they bore at every prominent point escutcheons carved with the arms of the proud Cardinal. Wolsey had "gathered into his College whatsoever excellent thing there was in the whole realm." The rich vestments and ornaments with which he had furnished S. Frideswide's Church were quickly "disposed" by the King. The disposal of this and other property, lands, offices, plate and tapestries forfeited under the statute of Praemunire, and carefully catalogued for his royal master by the fallen minister, had obvious pecuniary advantages. And as in London, York Place, the palace which the Cardinal had occupied and rebuilt as Archbishop of York, was confiscated and its name changed to Whitehall; so, when "bluff Harry broke into the spence," he converted Cardinal's College into "King Henry VIII.'s College at Oxford" consisting of a dean and twelve canons only (1532). Henry had been besought to be gracious to the college; but he replied that it deserved no favour at his hands, for most of its members had opposed his wishes in the matter of the divorce. The prospect of the dissolution of his college at Oxford, foreshadowed by that of his great foundation at Ipswich, caused Wolsey infinite sorrow. To Thomas Cromwell he wrote that he could not sleep for the thought of it, and could not write unto him for weeping and sorrow. He appealed with all the passion of despair to the King and those in power, that the "sharpness and rigour of the law should not be visited upon these poor innocents." In response to a petition from the whole college, Henry replied that he would not dissolve it entirely. He intended, he said, to have an honourable college there, "but not so great or of such magnificence as my Lord Cardinal intended to have, for it is not thought meet for the common weal of our realm. Yet we will have a College honourably to maintain the service of God and literature." The purely ecclesiastical foundation of 1532 was not calculated to maintain the service of literature. It was surrendered twelve years afterwards to the King, whose commissioners received on the same day the surrender of the Cathedral Church of Christ and the Blessed Virgin Mary at Osney, the new cathedral body formed at the ancient abbey upon the creation of the see and diocese of Oxford (1542). The way was thus cleared for the final arrangement by which (4th November 1546) the episcopal see was transferred from Osney and united with the collegiate corporation under the title it bears to-day, Ecclesia Christi Cathedralis Oxon; ex fundatione Regis Henrici Octavi. Thus S. Frideswide's Church became the Cathedral Church of Christ in Oxford, and also the chapel of the college now at last called Christ Church. The foundation now consisted of a dean, eight canons, eight chaplains, sixty scholars and forty children, besides an organist, singing men, servants and almsmen. It was still, then, a foundation of extraordinary magnificence. Yet there were not wanting "greedy wretches to gape after the lands belonging to the Colleges." They urged Henry to treat them as he had treated the monasteries. But the King refused. "Ah, sirrah," he replied to one, "I perceive the Abbey lands have fleshed you, and set your teeth on edge, to ask also those Colleges. And wheras we had a regard only to pull down sin by defacing the monasteries, you have a desire also to overthrow all goodness by subversion of Colleges. I tell you, sirs, that I judge no land in England better bestowed than that which is given to our Universities; for by their maintenance our realm shall be well governed when we be dead and rotten.... I love not learning so ill that I will impair the revenues of any one house by a penny, wherby it may be upholden." Henry, in fact, may be credited with a genuine desire for the promotion of learning. He had, besides, no reason to quarrel with the University. It had proved subservient to his will; the colleges were nurseries of the secular clergy, who adopted the new order of things. They could not be regarded like the monks, as mercenaries of a foreign and hostile power. But academic enthusiasm was not to be promoted by the despotic methods of Henry. The arbitrary restrictions of the Six Articles, "that sure touchstone of a man's conscience," struck at the root of intellectual liberty. The revival of academic life which had resulted from the stimulus of the Catholic Renaissance, was suddenly and severely checked by the early developments of the Reformation. The monasteries had been dissolved, and the poor students whom they had supported trudged a-begging. Another outbreak of plague helped to increase the depopulation of the University. The town suffered severely from both causes. The halls and hostels stood empty; very few degrees were taken. Religious controversy usurped the place of education. The University became a centre of politics and ecclesiasticism. The schools were deserted or occupied by laundresses; and, whilst commissioners were busy applying tests, expelling honest fellows, destroying MSS. and smashing organs, men began to discover that, through the invention of printing, it had become possible for them to educate themselves. They no longer needed to go to a monastery or college library to obtain a book; teaching needed no longer to be merely oral. The multiplication of books decentralised learning. With the monopoly of manuscripts and the universality of Latin were taken almost at a moment's notice two of the chief assets of mediæval Universities. A man might now read what he liked, and where he liked, instead of being obliged to listen to a master in the schools teaching set subjects that did not interest him. And no "test" was required of the independent reader. No wonder that, as one preacher dismally exclaimed, the Wells of Learning, Oxford and Cambridge, were dried up. The King had taken the charters of both University and town into his own hands in 1530. He did not restore them till 1543. Two years later Parliament made over all colleges and chantries to the King, "who gave them very good counsel." Meanwhile, in 1535, a Visitation of the University had been held. Dr London and Richard Layton were the chief Visitors. Their object was to establish ecclesiastical conformity, to supplant the old scholastic teaching and to promote classical learning. They confirmed the public lectures in Greek and Latin which they found, and established others, at Magdalen, New College, and C.C.C., and they settled other lectures of the kind at Merton and Queen's. The other colleges, they found, could not afford to have such lectures, and accordingly they directed the students of these to attend the courses at the others daily. The study of Aristotle and the Holy Scriptures was enjoined, and the King founded Regius Professorships in Divinity, Hebrew, Greek, Medicine and Civil Law. The University meantime was rewarded for its compliance by being exempted from the payment of tithes. At the same time the professors of the Old Learning were ousted from the academic chairs. Duns Scotus was dragged from his pedestal with an ignominy which recalled the fate of Sejanus. "We have set Duns in Bocardo," wrote Layton, "and have utterly banished him Oxford for ever with all his blind glosses.... The second time we came to New College, after we had declared your injunctions we found all the great Quadrant Court full of the leaves of Dunse, the wind blowing them into every corner. And there we found one Mr. Greenfield, a gentleman of Buckinghamshire gathering up part of the same book leaves, as he said, to make him sewells or blawnshers to keep the deer within his wood, therby to have the better cry with his hounds." That day the downfall of scholasticism in England was at last complete. During the minority of Edward VI. "there was great expectation in the University what religion would be professed." It was soon evident which way the wind was to blow. Young men began to "protest" in Magdalen Chapel. In 1548 the Protector Somerset and Cranmer determined to reform the University in the interests of the new Anglican Church. Theologians were invited from the Continent, and in default of Melancthon, Peter Martyr arrived and lectured in the Divinity Schools on the Epistles of S. Paul and the Eucharist. His teaching roused protest from the Roman Catholics, and polemical divinity, if no other study, flourished for a while in Oxford. But a commission was now appointed with large powers, which proceeded to draw up a code of statutes calculated to eliminate all popery from the constitution of the University. These "Edwardine statutes," as they were called, remained nominally in force till the "Laudian" statutes replaced them. The commissioners dealt severely with the colleges. Many of the fellows who had opposed the Reformation fled forthwith; others they ejected and replaced by rigid Calvinists. "All things," the Roman Catholics thought, "were turned topsy turvy." The disciplinary injunctions and acts of the commissioners were wholly admirable. Unfortunately their fanaticism in other directions was of the deplorably iconoclastic sort. The ancient libraries were rifled; many MSS., guilty of no other superstition than red letters in their titles, were condemned to the fire. "Treatises on scholastical divinity were let loose from their chains and given away or sold to mechanics for servile uses, whilst those wherein angles or mathematical diagrams appeared were destroyed because accounted Popish or diabolical or both." The works of the schoolmen were carried about the city "by certain rude young men" on biers and finally burnt in the market-place, a proceeding which they styled the funeral of Scotus and Scotists. Some of the books from monasteries were sold at this time to grocers and soapsellers, and some by shiploads to bookbinders abroad, "to the wondering of foreign nations," says Bale. From wall and window, the order had gone forth giving sanction to the popular movement, every picture, every image commemorating saint or prophet or apostle was to be extirpated. Painted glass, as at New College, survives to show that the order was imperfectly obeyed. But everywhere the statues crashed from their niches, rood and rood-loft were laid low and the sun-light stared in white and stainless on the whitened aisles. At Magdalen the high altar and various images and paintings were destroyed, the organ burnt and the vestments sold. At Christ Church the dean and chapter decided that all altars, statues, images, tabernacles, missals and other matters of superstition and idolatry should be removed out of the Cathedral; and the other colleges and churches followed this example. The magnificent reredos in the chapel of All Souls', of which the present work is a conjectural restoration, was smashed; most of the stained glass there was broken, and the altars were removed together with "the thing they call an organ." The Edwardine commissioners proposed to abolish the grammar schools founded in connection with the colleges. The city, however, immediately petitioned the King on behalf of the schools: "Where your poor orators have always had received and enjoyed by the means of your Colleges founded by your grace's most noble progenitor's singular treasure, help & commodity for the education of their sons, and especially the more part of us being not otherwise able to bring up our children in good learning and to find them at grammar.... There be in danger to be cast out of some college thirty, some other forty or fifty, some other more or fewer, & the most part of them children of your poor orators, having of the said college meat, drink, cloth & lodging & were verie well brought up in learning in the common grammar scoole at the College of S. Marie Magdalen, & so went forward & attained to logicke & other faculties at the charges of the said College & likewise of other houses and little or nothing at the charge of their parents, after their admission into any of the said colleges, wh. thing hath always heretofore been a great succour unto your said poor orators." The petition was successful, though some schools were suppressed. Magdalen College School, thus preserved, was intended by the [Illustration: The Grammar Hall Magdalen College] founder to be to Magdalen what Winchester was to New College. It had been housed in his life-time in a building (1480), a picturesque fragment of which yet remains, in what is known as the Grammar Hall. The Grammar School buildings stood outside the west gate of the college, on the ground between the modern S. Swithun's buildings and the present "Grammar Hall," which belonged in part to this school building and in part (including the south portion and the little bell-tower) to other buildings that were added to it (1614). All these buildings, save the fragment that remains to be used as undergraduates' rooms, were removed in 1845 together with the houses that faced the gravel walk between them and Long Wall. The present school-room, facing the High, was erected shortly afterwards (Buckler), in the Perpendicular style, and recently (1894), across the bridge, on the site once occupied by Turrel's Hall, a handsome house for the master and fifty boarders has been built (Sir Arthur Blomfield). At the same time the ground by the river below the bridge was converted into gardens and a cricket ground for the choristers and schoolboys, a conversion which has greatly improved the aspect of the bridge. CHAPTER VII THE OXFORD MARTYRS The sufferings of the Protestants had failed to teach them the value of religious liberty. The use of the new liturgy was enforced by imprisonment, and the subscription to the Articles of Faith was demanded by royal authority from all the clergy and schoolmasters. The excesses of the Protestants led to a temporary but violent reaction. The married priests were driven from their churches; the images were replaced, the new prayer book was set aside, the mass restored. Ridley and the others who had displaced the deposed bishops were expelled; Latimer and Cranmer were sent to the Tower. After the failure of Wyatt's rebellion and the defeat of the Protestants, Mary set herself to enforce the submission of England to the Pope. With the restoration of the system of Henry VIII. the country was satisfied. But Mary was not content to stop there. The statutes against heretics were revived. The bigotry of Mary knew no restraint. She ferreted out Protestants all over the country, and for three and a half years England experienced a persecution which was insignificant if judged by continental standards, but which has left an indelible impression on the minds of men. Nearly three hundred Protestants were burnt at the stake, and among them Latimer, Ridley and Cranmer--all Cambridge men--at Oxford. The accession of Mary had caused much dismay in the hearts of the Protestants in that city. The Queen's proclamation as to religion on 18th August 1553, was followed two days after by letters to the Chancellors of Oxford and Cambridge enjoining the full observance of the ancient statutes. A special letter from the Queen was sent to Magdalen annulling the ordinances made contrary to the statutes since the death of Henry VIII. Prudent Protestants who had made themselves prominent in their colleges now wisely took leave of absence from Oxford. Peter Martyr left the country; and his place was soon afterwards taken by a Spanish friar from the court of Philip and Mary. Commissioners arrived, and were shocked to find that at Magdalen, for example, there was no priest to say mass, and no fellow who would hear it; there was no boy to respond, no altar and no vestments. Visitors were sent by Stephen Gardiner to New College, Magdalen and C.C.C. Many fellows were ejected, and mass was restored. The work of death had now begun. Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, Nicholas Ridley, Bishop of London, and Hugh Latimer, Bishop of Worcester, were removed from the Tower in March and placed in the custody of the mayor and bailiffs of Oxford. For preparations had been made to examine them before a commission appointed from both the Universities. They were lodged at first in Bocardo, the town prison, now become, as Ridley observed, "a very College of Quondams." Shortly afterwards Ridley was removed to the house of an alderman, and Latimer elsewhere, in order that they might not confer together. Presently "a solemn Convocation was held in S. Mary's Chancel concerning the business forthwith to be taken in hand; which being concluded all the Doctors and Masters went in a solemn procession to Carfax and thence to Christ Church, where they heard Divine service, and so they went to dinner;[33] afterwards they with some others, in number thirty-three, that were to dispute with the Bishops, met in Our Lady's Chapel on the North side of S. Mary's Church, and thence going into the Chancel, placed themselves in a semi-circle by the High Altar." To support the platform where they sat the finials of the stalls are said to have been then levelled. "Soon after was brought in Cranmer (with a great number of rusty billmen), then Ridley, and last of all Latimer, to subscribe to certain articles then proposed. They all denied them." On Monday, the 16th April, the Vice-Chancellor and proctors met at Exeter College and thence went to the Divinity School, there to dispute with the bishops on the nature of the Eucharist. The Oxford and Cambridge doctors took their places, and the Moderator of the schools presided in his lofty chair. Cranmer was brought in and set opposite to the latter in the respondent's place. By his side was the mayor of the city, in whose charge he was. Next day it was Ridley's turn, and on the third Latimer's. So the solemn farce of the disputations, punctuated by "opprobrious checks and reviling taunts," was gone through; the bishops were pronounced no members of the Church, Cranmer was returned to Bocardo, Ridley taken to the sheriff's house and Latimer to the bailiff's. The judicial sentence followed the academical judgment. In September 1555 a commission was sent down from London, and sat in the Divinity School. The two bishops had looked death steadily in the face for two years, expecting it every day or hour. It was now come. Ridley was urged to recant, but this he firmly refused to do or to acknowledge by word or gesture "the usurped supremacy of Rome." His cap, which he refused to remove at the mention of the Cardinals and the Pope, was forcibly taken off by a beadle. Latimer when examined was equally firm. He appeared "with a kerchief on his head and upon it a night cap or two and a great cap such as townsmen use, with two broad flaps to button under the chin, wearing an old threadbare Bristol frieze gown, girded to his body with a penny leather girdle, at the which hanged by a long string of leather his Testament and his spectacles without a case, depending about his neck upon his breast." Bread was bread, the aged bishop boldly declared when asked for his views on transubstantiation, and wine was wine; there was a change in the Sacrament it was true, but the change was not in the nature but the dignity. The two Protestants were reprieved for the day and summoned to appear next morning at eight o'clock in S. Mary's Church. There, after further examination, the sentence of condemnation was pronounced upon them as heretics obstinate and incurable. And on 16th October the sentence was fulfilled. Ridley and Latimer were led out to be burnt, whilst Cranmer, whose execution had been delayed, since it required the sanction of Rome, remained in Bocardo, and ascending to the top of the prison house, or, as an old print represents it, to the top of S. Michael's Tower, kneeled down and prayed to God to strengthen them. On the evening of the 15th there had been a supper at the house of Irish, the mayor, whose wife was a bigoted and fanatical Catholic. Ridley, as we have seen, was in their charge, and the members of his family were permitted to be present. He talked cheerfully of his approaching "marriage"; his brother-in-law promised to be in attendance and, if possible, to bring with him his wife, Ridley's sister. Even the hard eyes of Mrs Irish softened to tears as she listened and thought of what was coming. The brother-in-law offered to sit up through the night, but Ridley said there was no occasion; he "minded to go to bed and sleep as quietly as ever he did in his life." In the morning he wrote a letter to the Queen. As Bishop of London he had granted renewals of certain leases on which he had received fines. Bonnor had refused to recognise them; and he entreated the Queen, for Christ's sake, either that the leases should be allowed, or that some portion of his own confiscated property might be applied to the repayment of the tenants. The letter was long; by the time it was finished the sheriff's officers were probably in readiness. Bocardo, the prison over the North Gate, spanned the road from the ancient tower of S. Michael's, and commanded the approach to Broad Street. Thither, to a place over against Balliol College, "those special and singular captains and principal pillars of Christ's church" were now led. The frontage of Balliol was then much further back than it is now; beyond it lay open country, before it, under the town wall, ran the water of the tower-ditch. Some years ago a stake with ashes round it was found on the site which is marked by a metal cross in the roadway, at the foot of the first electric lamp, as the site of the martyrs' death.[34] To this spot then came the two bishops. Lord Williams of Thame was on the spot by the Queen's order; and the city guard was under arms to prevent disturbance. Ridley appeared first. He wore "a fair black gown furred and faced with foins, such as he was wont to wear being Bishop, and a tippet of velvet furs likewise about his neck, a velvet nightcap upon his head and a corner cap upon the same, going in a pair of slippers to the stake." He walked between the mayor and aldermen, and Master Latimer followed him in the same shabby attire as that which he had worn on the occasion of his examination. As they passed towards Bocardo they looked up in the hope of seeing Cranmer at the little glass window. It was from this window[35] that the Bocardo [Illustration: South View of Bocardo Herbert Railton] prisoners used to let down an old hat and cry, "Pity the Bocardo Birds." For prisoners in those days depended for their daily sustenance on the charity of strangers, even as the prisoners in Portugal or Morocco do to-day, and "Bread and meat for the prisoners" was a well-known cry in the London streets. The Parisian version was, "Aux prisonniers du Palais." Cranmer's attention at this moment was engrossed by a Spanish friar, who was busy improving the occasion, and the martyr could not see him. But Ridley spied Latimer hobbling after him. "Oh, be ye there?" he exclaimed. "Yea," answered the old man. "Have after as fast as I can follow!" When he reached the stake Ridley ran to Latimer, "and with a wondrous cheerful look embraced and kissed him" and comforted him, saying, "Be of good heart, brother, for God will either assuage the fury of the flame, or else strengthen us to abide it." With that he went to the stake, kneeled down by it, kissed it and effectually prayed, and behind him Master Latimer kneeled, as earnestly calling upon God as he. The martyrs had now to listen to a sermon from Dr Smith, who denounced them as heretics, and exhorted them to recant. The Lord Williams of Thame, the Vice-Chancellor and other commissioners sat upon a form close at hand. The martyrs asked leave of them to reply, but the bailiffs and the Vice-Chancellor ran up to Ridley and stopped his mouth with their hands. The martyrs now commended their souls and their cause to God, and stripped themselves for the stake, Ridley giving away to the eager crowd his garments, dials, napkins and nutmegs, whilst some plucked the points off his hose; "happy was he that might get any rag of him." They were chained to the stakes, and gunpowder was hung about their necks, thanks to the humane care of Ridley's brother-in-law. Then men brought a faggot kindled with fire, and laid the same down at Dr Ridley's feet, to whom Master Latimer spake in this manner: 'Be of good comfort, Master Ridley, and play the man. We shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out.' Then Latimer crying aloud, "O Father of Heaven, receive my soul," bathed his hands in the flame that blazed up about him, and stroked his face. The powder exploded, and he "soon died with very little pain or none." Ridley was less fortunate, for the fire being lit beneath and the faggots heaped above, the flames burnt his legs slowly away, and did not ignite the gunpowder round his neck. Amid cries to heaven of "Lord, Lord, receive my soul," and "Lord have mercy upon me," he screamed in his agony to the bystanders to let the fire come unto him. His brother-in-law with awkward kindness threw on more wood, which only kept down the flame. It was not till the lower part of his body had been burned away that he fell over, "and when the flame touched the gunpowder he was seen to stir no more." The lot of Cranmer was still more pathetic, and made a yet deeper impression upon the popular mind. He, like the others, had been examined in S. Mary's (7th September 1555). He had appeared, clad in a fair black gown with his hood on his shoulders, such as Doctors of Divinity used to wear, and in his hand was a white staff. The aged Archbishop confronted there the Pope's Legate, who sat on a raised dais ten feet high, with cloth of state, very richly and sumptuously adorned, at the east end of the church. Summoned to answer to a charge of blasphemy, incontinency and heresy, he refused as firmly as the others to recognise the authority of the Bishop of Rome within this kingdom. "I protest," he said, "I am no traitor. I have made an oath to the King and I must obey the King by God's law. By the Scripture the King is chief and no foreign person in his own realm above him. The Pope is contrary to the Crown. I cannot obey both, for no man can serve two masters at once. You attribute the keys to the Pope and the sword to the King. I say the King hath both." Before further proceedings were taken against the Archbishop, it was necessary to obtain sanction of the Pope. It was not till the middle of the following February that the Papal breve arrived and a new commission came down to Oxford. Sitting before the high altar in the choir of Christ Church, Thirlby and Bonnor announced that Cranmer had been tried at Rome, where, according to the preamble of the Papal sentence, he had been allowed every opportunity to answer for himself. "O Lord!" commented Cranmer, "what lies be these!" They were directed, the commissioners continued, to degrade him, excommunicate him and deliver him up to the secular power. The form of degradation was begun when Cranmer appealed to the next Free General Council. The appeal was refused; the degradation was continued. Cranmer was stripped of his vestments, his hair was shorn, the sacred unction scraped from his finger-tips, and he was then dressed in a poor yeoman-beadle's gown, full bare and nearly worn, and handed over to the secular power. "Now are you lord no longer!" cried Bonnor when the ceremony was finished. "All this needed not," the Archbishop replied; "I myself had done with this gear long ago." Cranmer had been three years in prison; he was an old man, and his nerve may well have been upset by the prolonged delay and fear of death and the recent degradation which he had undergone. There is no authentic account of what happened to him during the next few hours. But Protestant tradition relates that he was taken from the Cathedral to the Deanery of Christ Church, where he was entertained at his ease and exposed to the arguments and exhortations of Soto, the Spanish friar. He was warned at the same time that the Queen's mind was so set, that she would either have Cranmer a Catholic or else no Cranmer at all. He was taken back to his cell that night, and there his constancy at last gave way. He signed a series of recantations. But the Queen refused to relent; she had humiliated her enemy, and now he must die. She fixed the 25th of March for the day of his execution. But first he was called upon to make a public confession of his recantation. It was a foul and rainy day when he was brought out of Bocardo to S. Mary's Church. Peers, knights, doctors, students, priests, men-at-arms and citizens thronged the narrow aisles, and through their midst passed the mayor and next the aldermen in their place and degree; after them came Cranmer between two Spanish friars, who, on entering the church, chanted the _Nunc Dimittis_. A stage was set over against the pulpit--the ledge cut for it may still be seen in the pillar to the left of the Vice-Chancellor's chair--and here Cranmer was made to stand in his bare and ragged gown, and old square cap, whilst Dr Cole, the Warden of New College, preached his funeral sermon, and justified the sentence that had been passed, by which, even though he had recanted, he was condemned to die. Cole gave this reason and that, and added that there were others which had moved the Queen and Council "which were not meet and convenient for every one to understand." He congratulated the Archbishop on his conversion, and promised him that a dirge should be sung for him in every church in Oxford. Finally, he called upon the whole congregation to kneel where they were and to pray for him. When the prayer was finished the preacher called upon the Archbishop to make the public confession of his faith. "Brethren," cried he, "lest any man should doubt of this man's earnest conversion and repentance, you shall hear him speak before you." But the spirit of revenge had overreached itself. Cranmer's enemies had hoped to humiliate him to the uttermost; instead, they gave him the opportunity of redeeming his fame and adding his name to the roll of martyrs. "The tongues of dying men Enforce attention, like deep harmony.... More are men's ends marked than their lives before." To the astonishment of friends and foes alike, Cranmer stood up before the congregation, and chanted the palinode of his forsworn opinions; he recanted his recantation. Face to face with that cruel [Illustration: The President's Lodge Trinity College] death, which in his weakness he had so desperately striven to avoid, he made the declaration of his true belief. "And now I come," he concluded, "to the great thing which so much troubleth my conscience, more than anything that ever I did or said in my whole life, and that is the setting abroad of a writing contrary to the truth; which now here I renounce and refuse as things written with my hand, contrary to the truth which I thought in my heart, and written for fear of death, and to save my life if it might be;... And forasmuch as my hand offended, writing contrary to my heart, my hand shall first be punished therefore; for, may I come to the fire, it shall be first burned. As for the Pope I utterly refuse him, as Christ's enemy and Anti-Christ, with all his false doctrine; and as for the Sacrament, I believe as I have taught in my book against the Bishop of Winchester." So far he was allowed to proceed before, amidst the infuriated cries of his enemies, he was pulled down from the stage and borne away to the stake. "Priests who did rue to see him go so wickedly to his death, ran after him exhorting him, while time was, to remember himself." But Cranmer had remembered himself at last. He had done with recantations at the bidding of Spanish priests and "bloody" Bonnor. He approached the stake with a cheerful countenance, we are told, undressed in haste and stood upright in his shirt. The Spanish friars finding they could do nothing with him, exclaimed the one to the other, "Let us go from him, for the devil is in him." "Make short," cried Lord Williams, and "Recant, recant," cried others. The wood was kindled. "This was the hand that wrote it," Cranmer said, extending his right arm, "therefore it shall suffer first punishment." He held his hand so steadfast and immovable in the flame that all men might see it burned before his body was touched. And so holding it he never stirred nor cried till the fire reached him and he was dead. A portrait of Cranmer hangs in the Bodleian. But the chief monument to the Protestant martyrs was raised in 1841. The Martyrs' Memorial in S. Giles', opposite the west front of Balliol College, was happily designed by Sir Gilbert Scott in imitation of the beautiful crosses which Edward I. raised in memory of Queen Eleanor. The statues of the martyrs are by Weekes. The north aisle of the neighbouring Church of S. Mary Magdalene was restored at the same time in memory of the same event. Cranmer had atoned for his inconstancy, and crowned the martyrdoms of the English Reformation. From that moment the cause of Catholic reaction was hopeless. Cranmer's career had not been that of a saint or a martyr. He was a weak man with a legal rather than a religious cast of mind. Nothing in his life became him like the leaving of it. Others more constant to their belief, and more noble in character, had died at the stake. But the very weakness of the man and the pathos of the humiliation of one so highly placed, appealed to the crowd who could not rise to heights of unshaken constancy. More easily understood by the people than the triumphant cry of heroic sufferers like Latimer, the dramatic end of the Archbishop filled every independent mind with sympathetic dread. In vain did Mary heap rewards on the University. In vain did Cardinal Pole institute a fresh visitation, hunt all heretics from the University, burn in the common market-place all English Bibles and Protestant books that could be found. In vain did he revise the University and college statutes. His work was undone as soon as finished. The lesson of Cranmer's death had gone home to a thousand hearts. England refused to be a province of Spain and of Rome. The news of Mary's death was received in Oxford with the ringing of bells and other signs of discreet delight. The Catholic Reaction is marked in Oxford history by the institution of two colleges, Trinity and S. John's, both founded on the sites of old monastic houses by wealthy citizens of London who were lovers of the old order and adherents of the old religion. In 1555 Sir Thomas Pope, a faithful servant of the Tudors, who had acquired large tracts of abbey lands in Oxfordshire, bought the site and vacant buildings of Durham College, which were then "mere dog-kennels," and the half of the grove which had not been included in the grant of S. Bernard's College to Christ Church. Here he founded the College of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, consisting of a president, twelve fellows and eight scholars. And in drawing up his statutes he availed himself of the advice both of Elizabeth and Cardinal Pole. The hall was completed in 1620. In 1665 the decay of the old Durham buildings made reconstruction imperative. Wren was the architect. He wished to build a long range in the upper part of the grove, but the quadrangular form was preferred; and he designed the garden quadrangle, a block in the Renaissance style which was spoilt by additions and alterations in 1802. The chapel (1691), which boasts some magnificent carving by Grinling Gibbons, is, in style, closely akin to the advanced palladian of Dean Aldrich's Church of All Saints. He certainly made some suggestions for it, and so did Wren. The President's house and New Buildings, by T. G. Jackson (1883), form, with the iron railings and old halls, including the old Perilous or Kettle Hall (1615), that face "the Broad," a new and handsome quadrangle. It was in 1555, also, that Sir Thomas White, a rich merchant tailor who had twice been Lord Mayor of London, chose the site of the suppressed College of S. Bernard for his foundation, being guided thereto, as tradition asserts, by a dream which warned him to build near a place where there was a triple elm having three trunks issuing from one root. Between his college and the Merchant Taylors' School in London White established a connection similar to that between Winchester and New College. The treasure of ecclesiastical vestments preserved in the library, and the fact that Edmund Campion, the Jesuit poet and conspirator, after whom the new Jesuit Hall in Oxford is called, was the fellow chosen to preach the founder's funeral sermon, indicate the Roman Catholic sympathies of the institution. Yet it was an alumnus of this college, William Laud, whose body was laid in the chapel (1530), and whose ghost, it is said, still haunts the library he built and the quadrangle which owes its completion (1635) to his munificence, who fixed the University in its sympathy with the High Church party of the Anglican Church. The classical colonnades and the charming garden front, wherein Inigo Jones combined the Oxford Gothic with the style which he had recently learned to love in Italy, form a fitting background to the most perfect of Oxford gardens (1750). CHAPTER VIII ELIZABETH, BODLEY AND LAUD The University had declined sadly under Mary. Affairs were not at first greatly improved when Elizabeth ascended the throne. "Two religions," says Wood, "being now as it were on foot, divers of the chiefest of the University retired and absented themselves till they saw how affairs would proceed." It was not long, however, before Queen Elizabeth appointed a body of Visitors to "make a mild and gentle, not rigorous reformation." The Edwardine system was for the most part restored; the ejected fellows were brought back, whilst those who refused to comply with the new Act of Supremacy were expelled in their turn. Of these the largest number were New College men. The loss of these scholars did not improve the state of learning at Oxford. But in 1564 the Earl of Leicester became Chancellor, and it is in some part due to him that order was restored and a regular course of studies once more established. Queen Elizabeth had been imprisoned at Woodstock during her sister's reign, and some of the needlework which she did when she was there is preserved at the Bodleian. The University had dispatched a deputation to her, with a present of gloves and a congratulatory address upon her accession; she now (31st August 1566) paid to Oxford a long-promised visit. She was welcomed by a deputation from the University at Godstow Bridge and at Bocardo by the civic authorities, who there yielded up to her the city mace, and presented her with a gilt cup and forty pounds of gold. A Latin oration at the North Gate and a Greek oration at Carfax were delivered. The Queen thanked the orator in Greek, and was then escorted to Christ Church. For three days Disputations were held in the royal presence in S. Mary's Church. Elizabeth was a good scholar, one remembers, taught by Roger Ascham, and she really seems to have enjoyed this learned function. On the last day, at any rate, so keen was the argument and the Queen's interest in it, that the disputants "tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky," so that the lights had to be lit in the church. At the end of the Disputations a Latin oration was delivered in praise of the Queen and her victories over the hosts of Spain and the Pope. "Tuis auspiciis," the peroration ran, "Hispania Anglum non vidit nisi victorem, Anglia Hispanum nisi captivum." Loud cries of "Vivat Regina" resounded through the church. Elizabeth was pressed to reply. She pretended to hesitate, suggesting that the Spanish Ambassador, or Leicester, or Cecil should speak for her. The courtiers were wise enough to bow dissent. At length she rose, and her opening words contained a happy allusion to the growing darkness: "Qui male agit odit lucem"; "Dominus illuminatio mea," she might have added. Some relaxation was provided for Her Majesty in the shape of Latin and English plays which were acted in Christ Church Hall "upon a large scaffold erected, set about with stately lights of wax variously wrought." The Latin play was entitled "Marcus Geminus and Progne"; the English play "Palamon and Arcite," written by Mr Richard Edwards, and acted, we are told, with very great applause. "In the said play was acted a cry of hounds in the Quadrant upon the train of a fox in the hunting of Theseus, with which the young scholars who stood in the windows were so much taken, supposing it was real, that they cried out 'Now, now. There, there. He's caught! He's caught!' All which the Queen merrily beholding said 'O excellent! Those boys in very troth are ready to leap out of the window, to follow the hounds.'" The play, indeed, was considered to surpass "Damon and Pythias," than which they thought nothing could be better. The acting of plays of this kind and in this manner at the Universities as at the Inns of Law on occasions of high festivity throws considerable light on the development of the Elizabethan drama. The University Wits, as they were called, began at this period to lay the foundations of English fiction in their "Tales"; the early English drama received its classical tone and form from them also. For John Lyly, George Peele, Thomas Lodge and others were Oxford men. The Bohemian extravagance of the life of the "University Wits" in London will help us to understand why it was that Henry Savile, Warden of Merton (1586), the austere and accomplished scholar, could not abide wits. He preferred the plodding scholar, and used to say that if he wanted wits he would look for them in Newgate. Neither Wits nor their plays, which were often scurrilous enough, were acceptable to the Puritans, and within a few years both city and University began to restrict the performances of plays. Queen Elizabeth bade farewell to Oxford on 6th September, and on that day the walls of S. Mary's, All Souls' and University were hung with innumerable copies of verses bemoaning her departure. By Magdalen College she took leave of the civic authorities; the University officials attended her to Shotover, and there, at the conclusion of a speech from the Provost of Oriel, "she gave him her hand to kiss, with many thanks to the whole University, speaking then these words, as 'tis reported, with her face towards Oxford. 'Farewell the worthy University of Oxford; Farewell my good subjects there; Farewell my dear scholars and pray God prosper your studies. Farewell. Farewell.'" No wonder she won universal homage by "her sweet, affable and noble carriage." The name of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, lover of Elizabeth, is inseparably connected with Oxford, not only by his chancellorship, but also by the fact that it is here that his ill-fated wife, Amy Robsart, is buried. She was found dead at the foot of the stairs in Cumnor Place. After the inquest her body was brought to Gloucester Hall, and lay there till it was buried with full heraldic ceremonial on 22nd September 1560 in the choir of S. Mary's Church. The funeral sermon was preached by one of Dudley's chaplains, who had just been transferred from the mastership of Balliol to the rectorship of Lincoln. He, fumbling for a phrase to express her violent death, "tripped once or twice by recommending to his auditors the virtues of that Lady, so pitifully _murdered_." But there is no evidence that Amy Robsart was murdered, with or without the connivance of Leicester. The story which Sir Walter Scott has used in "Kenilworth" is the baseless invention of political enemies. What happened to the unfortunate lady was either accident or suicide. The influence of Leicester and the interest which as Chancellor he took in the University, is marked by various Acts which had an important effect upon the course of its development. In 1571 the Chancellor, masters and scholars received the right of perpetual succession, and were thus relieved of the necessity of obtaining a new charter from each succeeding king. In this year too an Act was passed, supplemented by further enactments in 1575, by which one-third part at least of the rents to be reserved in college leases is required to be payable in corn or in malt. The continual rise in prices which has resulted ever since from the increase, and therefore depreciation, of the precious metals, has thus only impoverished the colleges so far as rents were fixed in money, but corn having more or less kept its value, the one-third of the rents so wisely reserved came to exceed the remainder by far. Leicester revived the practice of nominating the Vice-Chancellor, and by an Act of the University passed at his instigation (1569) a great step was taken in the direction of establishing the monopoly [Illustration: The Chapel Quad Jesus College] of the colleges in the government of the University. The preliminary deliberations of the Black Congregation, consisting of resident masters, were henceforth to be conducted by the Vice-Chancellor, Doctors, Heads of Houses and Proctors. Leicester earned the reputation of being meddlesome, and he certainly used his position as Chancellor in the dispensing of patronage. But many of his reforms were statesmanlike, and his endeavours to raise the standard of discipline and learning were evidently genuine. One of his chief aims was to prevent the possibility of Romanising priests obtaining a foothold once more in the University. With this object he introduced among other provisions a test which was destined to have the most potent influence on the history of the place. Every student above sixteen years of age was now required to subscribe on his matriculation to the Thirty-nine Articles and the royal supremacy. Intended to exclude the Romanising party only, this rule affected in the future mainly the descendants of the Puritans who enacted it. Thenceforth, Mr Brodrick remarks, the University, once open to all Christendom, was narrowed into an exclusively Church of England institution and became the favourite arena of Anglican controversy, developing more and more that special character, at once worldly and clerical, which it shares with Cambridge alone among the Universities of Europe. The country, meanwhile, was filled with the Jesuits' propaganda. There was Robert Parsons, for instance, who had been compelled to resign his fellowship at Balliol and had since joined the Society of Jesus. Disguised as a soldier and armed with a secret printing press, he wandered about the country disseminating Romanist literature. He finally brought off an extraordinary _coup_ at Oxford. In a wood near Henley he printed copies of a tract by Campian, a fellow Jesuit, and on Commemoration Day (1580) every member of the University found a copy of it in his seat at S. Mary's when he came there to listen to the University sermon. Proceedings against the Roman Catholics became more severe as the struggle continued. Fellows were ejected from colleges; priests were hung, drawn and quartered. In the reign of James I. George Napier of Corpus, a seminary priest convicted of high treason, was so treated, parts of his quartered body being set over the gates of the city and over the great gate of Christ Church. Puritan Oxford, however, was not distinguished for learning or discipline, in spite of Leicester's fatherly exhortations. For the Chancellor rated the University for its deficiency in sermonising and lecturing, its lack of religious instruction and education of youth. And as to discipline, he finds fault with the prevailing excess in apparel "as silk and velvet, and cut doublets, hose, deep ruffs and such like, like unto or rather exceeding both Inns of Court men and Courtiers." The streets, he complains, are more full of scholars than of townsmen, and the ordinary tables and ale-houses, grown to great number, are overcrowded day and night with scholars tippling, dicing, carding, tabling and perhaps worse. Ministers and deacons were presently solemnly forbidden to go into the field to play at football or to wear weapons to maintain any quarrel under penalty of expulsion. Plays acted by common stage players were forbidden, and scholars were not allowed, under pain of imprisonment, to sit on bulks or penniless bench or other open places, or to gad up and down the streets. Leicester, however, made a reservation in favour of the "Tragedies and Comedies used to be set forth by University men," and he himself was entertained (1585) at Christ Church and at Magdalen with pleasant comedies. The students, indeed, had shown themselves so unruly that the affrays and riots of the Middle Ages seemed to have been revived. The times were unsettled. Not only were the Roman Catholics and the Calvinists at feud alike with each other and the moderate party of the Reformed Church, whom the Queen favoured, but the old quarrels between North and South and the Welsh broke out again. And the old disputes between the town and the University had been reopened by a series of orders put forth by the Privy Council in 1575 which were intended to settle them for ever. The lack of discipline resulting from these causes is vividly brought before us by the attack made on the retinue of Lord Norreys by some scholars of Magdalen who wished to revenge themselves for the punishment inflicted on one of their number for stealing deer in Shotover forest. They were repulsed and "beaten down as far as S. Mary's"; but when Lord Norreys was leaving the town, the scholars "went up privately to the top of their tower and sent down a shower of stones that they had picked up, upon him and his retinew, wounding some and endangering others of their lives. It is said that upon the foresight of this storm, divers had got boards, others tables on their heads, to keep them from it, and that if the Lord had not been in his coach or chariot he would certainly have been killed." Some progress, one hopes, had been made in the restoration of order when Elizabeth paid her final visit "to behold the change and amendment of learning and manners that had been in her long absence made." She was received with the same ceremonies as before, but this time, at the Divinity Disputations in S. Mary's, she did not hesitate to send twice to a prosy bishop and bid him "cut it short." The fact was that she was anxious to make a Latin speech herself. But the bishop either could not or would not sacrifice his beloved periods, and the Queen was obliged to keep her speech for the Heads of Houses next morning. In the middle of her oration she noticed the old Lord Treasurer, Burleigh (Cecil), standing on his lame feet for want of a stool. "Whereupon she called in all haste for a stool for him, nor would she proceed in her speech till she saw him provided with one. Then fell she to it, as if there had been no interruption. Upon which one that knew he might be bold with her, told her, that she did it on purpose to show that she could interrupt her speech, unlike the Bishop, and not be put out." In her speech she, "the only great man in her kingdom," gave some very good advice to the University, and took the opportunity of rebuking the Romanising and the Puritan factions of the Church, counselling moderation on all sides. On her departure she again expressed her love for the place. "Farewell, farewell, dear Oxford," she exclaimed as she viewed its towers and spires from the heights of Shotover. "God bless thee and increase thy sons in number, holiness and virtue!" [Illustration: Chapel in Jesus] Some outward and visible signs there certainly were that the Queen's encouragement of learning and her policy of selecting for her service "eminent and hopeful students" had borne fruit. In 1571 Jesus College, the first of the Protestant colleges, had been founded by Hugh ap Rees, a Welsh Oxonian, at a time when the increase of grammar schools in Wales was likely to produce an influx of Welsh students into the University. The statutes were free from any local or national restriction, but Welshmen always predominated, and Jesus soon came to be regarded, in Wales, as the National College. Elizabeth figured as a nominal foundress; and the college, the front of which in Turl Street dates from her time, the rest being mainly seventeenth-century Gothic, possesses a famous portrait of her by Zucchero. A still more noble memorial of Elizabethan times exists in Bodley, as the great library is called after its founder, "whose single work clouds the proud fame of the Egyptian Library and shames the tedious growth o' the wealthy Vatican." Scarcely had the Duke of Gloucester's library been completed than it began to be depleted of its treasures. Three volumes only out of that splendid collection now remain in the Bodleian; one volume has found its way to Oriel College, another to Corpus Christi; six others may be seen at the British Museum. The rest had by this time been lost through the negligence of one generation or the ignorant fanaticism of another. For scholars borrowed books on insufficient pledges, and preferred to keep the former and sacrifice the latter. The Edwardine commissioners, as we have seen, appointed to reform the University, visited the libraries in the spirit of John Knox. All the books were destroyed or sold. In Convocation (1556) "venerable men" were chosen to sell the empty shelves and stalls, and to make a timber-yard of Duke Humphrey's treasure-house! But the room remained; and it was destined, in its very emptiness and desolation, to work upon the imagination of one Thomas Bodley, an accomplished scholar, linguist and diplomatist, who believed with Bury that a "library of wisdom is more precious than all wealth." Born at Exeter, he accompanied his father when he fled to Germany from the Papist persecutions. Whilst other Oxonian Protestants were "eating mice at Zurich," he studied at Geneva, learning Hebrew under Chevalerius, Greek under Constantinus, and Divinity under Calvin. Queen Mary being dead and religion changed, young Bodley was sent to Magdalen. There, he tells us, he took the degree of Bachelor of Arts (1563). In the following year he was admitted fellow of Merton College, where he gave public Greek lectures, without requiring any stipend. He was elected proctor in 1569, and was subsequently University orator and studied sundry Faculties. He next determined to travel, to learn modern languages and to increase his experience in the managing of affairs. He performed several important diplomatic missions with great ability and success. On his return from the Hague Burleigh marked him out for the Secretaryship, but grew jealous of the support he received from Essex. Bodley found himself unsuited for party intrigue and, weary of statecraft and diplomacy, decided to withdraw into private life. But whilst refusing all subsequent offers of high office, he felt that he was called upon "to do the true part of a profitable member in the State." All his life, whether immersed in affairs of State at home or lying abroad for the good of his country, he had never forgotten that ruined library at Oxford. That there once had been one, he has to remind the University, was apparent by the room itself remaining. "Whereupon, examining exactly for the rest of my life what course I might take, and having sought, as I thought, all the ways to the wood, to select the most proper, I concluded at the last to set up my staff at the Library door in Oxford." He wrote accordingly, offering (1597-8) to restore the place at his own charge. The offer was gratefully accepted. Bodley had married a rich widow, and his "purse-ability" was such that he was able to bear the expense of repairing the room, collecting books and endowing the library: a work, says Casaubon, rather for a king than a private man. Two years were spent in fitting up the room and erecting its superb heraldic roof. The ceiling is divided into square compartments, on each of which are painted the arms of the University, the open Bible with seven seals (I Rev. v. I) between three ducal crowns, on the open pages of which are the words, so truly fitting for a Christian school: "Dominus Illuminatio mea." [Illustration: Cooks Buildings S. John's] On bosses which intervene between each compartment are painted the arms of Bodley himself. Bodley now began to solicit his great store of honourable friends to present books to the library. His proposal was warmly supported by his countrymen in Devonshire, where, as a contemporary records, "every man bethought himself now how by some good book or other he might be written in the scroll of benefactors." This scroll was the register which Bodley had provided for the enrolment of the names of all benefactors, with particulars of their gifts. It consists of two large folios, ornamented with silver-gilt bosses on their massy covers, which lie on a table of the great room. Bodley's own donations were large, and he employed a London bookseller to travel on the Continent and collect books for the library. Besides numerous private benefactors like Lord Buckhurst and the Earl of Essex in the early years, the Stationers Company agreed to give Bodley a copy of every book which they published on condition that they might borrow the books thus given if needed for reprinting. This arrangement, in making which Bodley said he met with many rubs and delays, was the precursor of the obligation of the Copyright Acts, by which a copy of every book published has to be presented to the Bodleian and the British Museum. In 1603 Sir Walter Raleigh made a donation of fifty pounds, and he no doubt had some share in influencing the bestowal of many of the books which had once belonged to the library of Bishop Hieron. Ossorius, and were carried off from Faro in Portugal, when that town was captured by the English fleet under Essex. Raleigh, an Oriel man, was a captain in the squadron. The library was opened with full solemnity in 1603, and in the following year King James granted letters patent naming the library after its founder. That was an honour most richly deserved, for Bodley was "the first practically public library in Europe; the second, that of Angelo Rocca at Rome, being opened only in this same year." To this library, two years later, James, the pedant, who seemed determined to prove that a learned king, too, could be a crowned ass, paid a visit. After making an excessively feeble pun anent the bust of the founder in the large room, which had been sent there by the Earl of Dorset, Chancellor of the University, he looked at the book shelves, and remarked that he had often had proof from the University of the fruits of talent and ability, but had never before seen the garden where those fruits grew, and whence they were gathered. He examined various MSS. and discoursed wisely on them; took up the treatise by Gaguinus entitled "De puritate conceptionis Virginis Mariæ," and remarked that the author had so written about purity, as if he wished that it should only be found on the title of his book. The opportunity of thus displaying his learning was so grateful to the King, that he was moved to an astonishing act of generosity. He offered to present from all the libraries of the royal palaces whatever precious and rare books Sir T. Bodley might choose to carry away. It does not appear that the number or importance of books so granted was in the event very great. Upon leaving the room the King exclaimed, probably with sincerity, that were he not King James he would be a University man; and that were it his fate at any time to be a captive, he would wish to be shut up, could he but have the choice, in this place as his prison, to be bound with its chains, and to consume his days among its books as his fellows in captivity. To this library came James' ill-starred son, and here, it is said, he was tempted by Lord Falkland to consult the "Sortes Virgilianæ." The passage which first met his eye runs thus in Dryden's translation: "Let him for succour sue from place to place Torn from his subjects and his son's embrace. And when at length the cruel war shall cease On hard conditions may he buy his peace." Lord Falkland then opened the Virgil in his turn, hoping that his "lot" might remove the gloomy impression of this bad omen. [Illustration: The Gardens Exeter College] But the passage on which he lit dealt with the untimely death of Pallas: "O curst essay of arms, disastrous doom, Prelude of bloody deeds and fights to come." To this library Bacon sent his new book, "The Advancement of Learning," and here Milton, leaving the allegro of Horton or Forest Hill for the penseroso of Oxford's cloisters, made friends with the librarian, and added his own poems to those treasures which were soon to be defended by the "unshaken virtue" of his friend, Fairfax, and increased by the Chancellor, Oliver Cromwell. This is not the place to catalogue the list of those treasures, the wealth of European literature and the MSS. of the nearer and the farther East; the great collections which immortalise the names of the donors, like Laud and Selden, Rawlinson, Gough, Douce and Sutherland; the books which belonged to Queen Elizabeth and Queen Margaret, to Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, Addison and Shelley; the curios and _objets-d'art_, princely gifts, like the Arundel and Selden marbles, coins and portraits, minor curiosities, like stuffed alligators and dried negro boys, or the lantern of Guy Fawkes, which have all found a resting-place in "this goodly Magazine of witte, This Storehouse of the choicest furniture The world doth yeelde, heere in this exquisite And most rare monument, that doth immure The glorious reliques of the best of men."[36] In such a place, with such a history, it would be strange indeed if we did not feel something of the charm that breathes from the very stones of Bodley. From the hot and noisy street you pass into the peaceful Schools' quadrangle, lying beneath the shade of that curious tower, which, as it were an academic conceit in stone, blends the five orders of classic architecture with Gothic turret and pinnacle. Architecturally the "Schools" are plain and poor, but you remember that Bodley conceived the idea of rebuilding them, and that it was the day after his body had been put to rest in Merton Chapel (29th March 1613) that the first stone was laid. The Bodleian forms the west side of this quadrangle. The east wing of the great library, built (1610-1613) by Bodley when already there was "more need of a library for the books than of books for the library," is panelled like the Divinity School, and stretches over the entrance to it, the Proscholium or "Pig Market," where candidates for degrees were obliged to wait. The west wing extends over Laud's late Gothic Convocation House (1634-1640); the books have usurped the third story of the Schools and the Clarendon building; they are filling the mighty camera beyond and overflowing into the Ashmolean. But the entrance to the heart of this grand collection is a modest portal. It opens on a long winding stair, so long and so wearisome that you seem to have trodden the very path by which true knowledge is gained ere you pass through a simple green baize door and see the panorama of all learning, lit by the glass of the east window, outspread before your eyes. So to approach it, and passing by the outer library through the yielding wicket, into Duke Humphrey's gallery, there to turn into one of the quiet recesses, and calling for book after book, to summon spirits from the deep of the past, to hold quiet converse with them, while the breeze and sunlight flow gently in across Wren's huge buttresses from the green garden of Exeter, till Bodley's own solemn bell calls them back to their resting-place; this, as has been well said, is the very luxury, or rather the very poetry of study. "What a place," exclaimed Elia, "What a place to be in is an old library! It seems as though all the souls of all the writers, that have bequeathed their labours to these Bodleians, were reposing here, as in some dormitory, or middle state. I do not want to handle, to profane the leaves, their winding-sheets. I could as soon dislodge a shade. I seem to inhale learning, walking amid their foliage; and the odour of their old moth-scented coverings is fragrant as the first bloom of those sciential apples which grew amid the happy orchard." The growth of the Puritan feeling in Oxford is shown by the formation of the first Baptist society under Vavasour Powell of Jesus College, whom John Bunyan once accompanied to this city. The growth of the Puritan tendency to preach is also indicated by the strange case of Richard Haydock, a physician of New College, who obtained some notoriety about this time by preaching at night in his bed. Sermons, he said, came to him by revelation in his sleep, and he would take a text in his slumbers and preach on it, "and though his auditory were willing to silence him by pulling, haling and pinching, yet would he pertinaciously persist to the end and sleep still." He was not a married fellow evidently. King James sent for him, and he preached to the monarch in his sleep, but James made him confess that he was a fraud, who had adopted this curious means of advertising himself. The King and Queen and Prince Henry visited Oxford in 1605, and were welcomed very much as Elizabeth had been. The King, we are told, showed himself to be of an admirable wit and judgment. The scholars welcomed him by clapping their hands and humming, which, it was explained to him, signified applause. The presence of King James' court, however, was responsible, if we may believe Wood, for a serious change in manners. For he traces the rise of that "damnable sin of drunkenness" to this time. "For wheras in the days of Elizabeth it was little or nothing practiced, sack being then taken rather for a cordial than a usual liquor, sold also for that purpose in apothecaries' shops, and a heinous crime it was to be overtaken with drink, or smoke tobacco, it now became in a manner common, and a laudable fashion." The vice in fact grew so prevalent in Oxford, as in the rest of England, that a statute was passed forbidding members of the University to visit any tavern and there "sit idly, drink, or use any unlawful play." The use of the Latin tongue, attendance at lectures and the wearing of academical dress was also insisted on by the new Chancellor, Archbishop Bancroft, who added an injunction that long hair was not to be worn: long hair in those days being accounted a sign not of a poet but of a swaggerer and ruffian. A few years later it was provided, as a measure directed against the still increasing vice of drunkenness, that no scholar should lodge without his college or hall, and that no citizen should entertain a scholar in his house. The Gunpowder Plot led to more stringent measures being taken to root out the Roman Catholics from the University. It is possibly to the deep impression made by that event that the foundation of Wadham College is due. The founder of that college (1609), Nicholas Wadham, is said to have intended to endow a Roman Catholic college at Venice, but to have decided to endow a number of non-clerical and terminable fellowships at Oxford instead. His widow, Dorothy, carried out his plans, and, after Gloucester Hall had refused the benefaction, purchased the site of the suppressed settlement of Augustinian Friars and built the front quadrangle with hall and chapel as, externally, we have them to-day. For the interior of the chapel was dealt with by the Gothic revivalists (1834). The Wadhams were West Country folk, and the majority of workmen engaged were Somersetshire men. It is suggested that the extraordinarily fine Perpendicular character of the chapel choir is due to this fact; and that the masons reproduced, in the seventeenth century, the style of their county churches. The choir is a copy of fifteenth-century work; the ante-chapel and the rest of the quadrangle, so charming in its unadorned simplicity, are beautiful examples of the survival in Oxford of the Gothic tradition. Quadrangles at Merton and Wadham are the most notable examples of this debased and nondescript style, redeemed by most excellent composition, proportioned like some Elizabethan manor. James had been inclined at first to favour the Puritans, but when he finally cast in his lot with the High Church party, the University, which he, like Elizabeth, had done his best to conciliate as the educational centre of the national clergy, supported him loyally. In the year of his accession he had granted letters patent to both Universities, empowering them each to choose two grave and learned men, professing the civil law, to serve as burgesses in the House of Parliament; and the Universities were again indebted to him when they were called upon to furnish scholars for the great task of preparing the Authorised Version of the Bible. Thus Oxford had its share in giving the Book to the people. From this time forward every Englishman was more than ever a theologian, and at the Universities, as at Westminster, theological controversy absorbed all energies. Literature, says Grotius (1613), has little reward. "Theologians rule, lawyers find profit, Casaubon alone has a fair success, but he himself thinks it uncertain, and not even he would have had any place as a literary man--he had to turn theologian." Oxford, in return, declared itself on the side of passive obedience. The Church embraced the doctrine of the Divine Right of Kings; the University burned the books of Paræus in S. Mary's Churchyard, and solemnly decreed that it was not lawful for the subject to resist his sovereign by force of arms, or to make war against him, either offensive or defensive (1622). Thus it is evident that the influence of Calvin had died away at Oxford, and that the University had adopted, by the end of James' reign, the reactionary creed of Laud, and was ready to support the Stuart claim to absolutism. The Divine Right of Kings and the Divine Right of Bishops, as it was indicated by James' own phrase, "No Bishop, no King," was to be for more than a generation the official creed of Oxford schooled by Laud. For meanwhile one William Laud, B.D. of S. John's College, had filled the office of proctor and had been censured by the Vice-Chancellor for letting fall in a sermon at S. Mary's divers passages savouring of Popery. But he survived the reproof. President of S. John's from 1611-1621, he set himself to reform the discipline of the University and to undo the work of Leicester. In 1630 he was elected Chancellor in opposition to the younger brother of the late Chancellor, Lord Pembroke, who was supported by the Calvinists. Preaching on the points in dispute between Calvin and Arminius was at once forbidden. This, with Laud as Chancellor, meant that the Puritans, who regarded Laud's "High Church" views as little better than Popery in disguise and as exposing the country to a danger which was too near and too deadly to be trifled with, were muzzled or driven from the country; but their opponents, if they preached against the practices of Geneva, met only with the mildest kind of rebuke. Laud's experience of the University had convinced him of the necessity of revising and codifying the statutes "which had long lain in a confused heap." As Chancellor he at once set about that difficult task. The Caroline or Laudian Statutes were based on the old statutes and customs as collected, transcribed and drawn up by the antiquarian, Brian Twyne, fellow of C.C.C. Laud rewarded him with the office of Custos Archivorum. It was from the vast and scholarly collections of Brian Twyne that Wood quarried freely, and, it must be said, without due acknowledgment. But Wood succeeded in a task beyond Twyne's powers. He achieved immortality by clothing the dry bones of antiquarian fact or fancy in prose at times so racy and at times so musical. Already (1629) Laud had been responsible for the introduction of the cycle, which put an end to the riots that had hitherto attended the election of proctors. Free election by the academical democracy had resulted in frequent abuses. The cycle invented [Illustration: Oriel Window S. John's College] by Peter Turner of Merton assigned to each college in turn, and in proportion to its size and dignity, the right of nominating proctors. The system, modified in 1856 and 1887, still obtains. His care for discipline led the Chancellor to make some much-needed reforms in the direction of diminishing the number of ale-houses and enforcing a proper system of licensing in the town. By his own proclamation he named a toll-gatherer for the market; he obtained an order from Council for the destruction of cottages which the townsmen had erected round about the wall and ditch; and, in spite of a protest from the citizens, the Caroline Charter was obtained, confirming the rights of the University over the town. When the labours of Twyne were finished and the Delegacy had at last succeeded in codifying the laws and customs, the code was placed in the hands of Laud. He corrected the draft, and in 1636 the Corpus Statutorum was promulgated, confirmed by the King and gratefully accepted by the University. The new code was destined to govern it for two hundred years and more. Though to a great extent a digest of statutes already in force, the Laudian Statutes completed and stereotyped the changes which had long been taking place. The old order changes; the academic commonwealth becomes an oligarchy; the University is henceforth to be governed by a "Hebdomadal Board," and all power is definitely concentrated in the hands of the colleges and the Heads of Houses. The old scholastic disputations were superseded by a system of public examinations; the studies required for a degree were organised and defined; the tutorial system was emphasised by the regulation which required the student to enter under a tutor resident in the same college. The code was received with effusive gratitude. The popularity of Laud was not merely due to the vigour with which he had been enforcing his views of orthodoxy, and compelling all, whether Roman Catholics or Puritans, to recant if ever in their sermons they controverted the Arminian doctrines, which the Stuarts had adopted as the fundamental principles of their policy in Church and State. For apart from his narrow Church policy Laud was, in University matters, both an earnest reformer and a great benefactor. He presented the library with a magnificent collection of Oriental MSS.; he founded and endowed the Professorship of Arabic, and, most valuable of all, he obtained for the University the right of printing Bibles, which is one of the most valuable endowments of that insufficiently endowed institution to-day. Besides his buildings at S. John's College, the building of the Convocation House, adjoining the Divinity School (1634-1638), with the extension of the Bodleian above it, mark the chancellorship of Laud, and as the seat of Oxford's government fitly recall the age of its great lawgiver. The Botanic Gardens were also founded at this period, and the porch of S. Mary's was erected in 1637 by the Archbishop's chaplain, Dr Owen. The beautiful twisted columns of this, the south-west porch, are surmounted by a fine statue of the Virgin, crowned, with the Child in her arms. This statue gave such offence to the Puritans, that it actually figured in the articles of impeachment against the Archbishop. Under Laud the University had quite recovered its popularity. There were no less than four thousand students; many men of learning and piety were numbered among its alumni; discipline was to a great extent established. But the coming struggle soon began to upset the new régime. For the Civil War was inevitably approaching. The chancellorship of Laud was crowned by a visit from the King and Queen in 1636. But though the University and town went out, as was their custom, towards Woodstock to meet their royal visitors, and though speeches and ceremonies were performed as usual, Wood notes that in the streets "neither scholars nor citizens made any expressions of joy or uttered as the manner is, Vivat Rex!" The visit lasted three days. The Elector Palatine and Prince Rupert received honorary M.A. degrees. Charles paid special attention to S. John's College, out of compliment to Laud, who entertained the royal party there, and drew attention to the library he had enlarged and the quadrangle he had built, mainly out of the stones obtained from the old Carmelite Convent in Beaumont Palace--once the Palace of Kings. From that time forward S. John's was the most royalist of colleges. One of its most treasured possessions was the portrait of the Royal Martyr, "which has the whole of the book of Psalms written in the lines of the face and the hair of the head." Of this picture, as of other things, the story is told that Charles II. begged it of the college, and promised in return to grant them any request they might make. They gave the picture, and requested His Majesty to give them--the picture back again. Comedies were performed at S. John's and Christ Church. The play at S. John's, "The Hospital of Lovers" was "merry and without offence," but that at Christ Church, by William Strode, the public orator, called the "Floating Island," had more of the moralist than poet in it. The scenery was realistic, but Lord Carnarvon declared the piece to be the worst he ever saw, except one at Cambridge. Another play at Christ Church, "The Royal Slave," by William Cartwright, was more successful. The scenery of the interludes was arranged by Inigo Jones. The Queen was so pleased with this piece, that she borrowed the Persian dresses and the scenery of the piece and had it repeated at Hampton Court, but "by all men's confession, the players came short of the University actors." Charles, in this matter at least, was more fortunate than his father. For James had suffered much boredom from a play called "Technogamia, or the Marriage of the Arts," in which "there was no point and no sense but non-sense." He was with difficulty induced to stay to the end. "At Christ Church 'Marriage,' done before the King, Lest that those mates should want an offering, The King himself did offer--what, I pray? He offered twice or thrice to go away." CHAPTER IX THE ROYALIST CAPITAL Charles I. had matriculated at Oxford in 1616; his brother Henry had been a student at Magdalen. On his accession to the throne, an outbreak of plague in London led to the meeting of Parliament at Oxford. For the accommodation of members, the colleges and halls "were ordered to be freed from the Fellows, Masters of Arts and students." Christ Church was prepared for the reception of the Privy Council by the same process. The Houses sat in the Divinity Schools. And some said that they caught the theological infection of the place, and that ever after that the Commons thought that the determining of all points and controversies in Divinity belonged to them. Parliament returned the compliment by infecting Oxford with the plague, which they had fled from London to avoid. The coming struggle was foreshadowed by conflicts between town and gown. Once more the alarm bells of S. Mary's and S. Martin's rang out and summoned the opposing parties to the fray; once more it was true that when Oxford drew knife England would soon be at strife. Nothing, Laud had noted, could be transacted in the State, without its being immediately winnowed in the parliament of scholars. Windows were broken, proctors jostled; books were burnt by order of Parliament; young Puritans from New Inn Hall or Lincoln were forced to eat their words. Prynne's ears had been cut off, but the Puritans multiplied their conventicles in Oxford. But it was not till after Laud's impeachment, and his short pathetic resignation of his chancellorship, dated from the Tower, 1641, that they grew so bold as to preach and discourse as they listed. Then the Puritan feeling grew rapidly not only among the townsmen but also in the colleges. A maypole set up in Holywell in derision of a certain Puritan musician was pulled down by the scholars of New Inn and Magdalen Hall. The report that the Mitre Inn was a meeting-place for recusants, gave occasion for the enemies of Laud to allege in the House of Commons that through his influence the University was infected with Popery. A certificate was accordingly drawn up by the Heads of Houses to the effect that "they knew not any one member of this University guilty of or addicted to Popery." Parliament, however, requisitioned the records of the University in order to obtain evidence against Laud. Some of his regulations, such as the encouraging of the use of copes and of Latin prayers in Lent, were indeed used to support the charge of high treason against him. The Puritans, however, remained in the minority at Oxford. The part which she would take in the Civil War was never doubtful. Laud had filled the chief posts of the University with carefully chosen High Churchmen of great ability. Oxford was committed to the doctrines of passive obedience, and fast rooted in the tenets of the Anglican Church. The University pressed upon Parliament the duty of maintaining Episcopacy and the Cathedrals. The contemptuous treatment their arguments met with was contrasted with the reply of Charles, that "he would rather feed on bread and water than mingle any part of God's patrimony with his own revenues." Learning and studies, he maintained, must needs perish if the honours and rewards of learning were destroyed; nor would the monarchy itself stand long if the hierarchy perished. "No Bishop, no King!" Parliament, it was felt, had shown unfriendly feeling towards the University. The town, headed by Alderman John Nixon, had most unmistakably shown that its sympathies were with the Parliament. It is not surprising therefore to find that in the coming struggle the University is always unreservedly on the side of the King. Royalist colleges like New College and Christ Church took the lead, and Puritan establishments like Lincoln and Magdalen followed unprotestingly. When (1642) a letter from the King at York, asking for contributions to his necessary defence, was laid before Convocation, it was unanimously resolved that whatever money the University was possessed of, should be lent to the King. The colleges and private persons were equally loyal. University College set an example which was freely followed. The bulk of the college plate was pawned, and the sum advanced on it was immediately dispatched to the King. [Illustration: From the High Street] The Parliament retorted in vain with prohibitory letters, and demanded the surrender of the chief champions of the King--Prideaux, Rector of Exeter; Fell, Dean of Christ Church; Frewen, President of Magdalen; and Potter, Provost of Queen's. Since there was a strong report that divers troops of soldiers were constantly passing hard by the city on their march to secure Banbury and Warwick for the Parliament, the University began to put itself in a posture of defence. Masters and scholars rallied together on 18th August to drill in Christ Church Quadrangle, and marched from the Schools up the High Street to the number of three hundred and thirty or more, making ready to defend the city. "On the Saturday following they met at the Schools again in the forenoon. Thence they marched through Holywell and so through the Manor Yard by the Church where by their commanders they were divided into four squadrons of which two were musketeers, the third pikes, the fourth halberds. After they had been reasonably instructed in the words of command, and in their postures, they were put into battle array, and skirmished together in a very decent manner. They continued there till about two of the clock in the afternoon, and then they returned into the city by S. Giles' Church, and going through the North Gate, went through the market-place at Quatervois, and so down the High Street, that so both the city and country might take notice thereof, it being then full market, to the Schools, from which place they were soon after dismissed and sent to their respective Colleges to their devotions." Among the array are mentioned some divines and a Doctor of Civil Law from New College, who served with a pike. As for drums and colours, those belonging to the Cooks' Corporation served their turn for the present. Meantime the highway "at the hither end of East Bridge, just at the corner of the Chaplain's Quadrangle of Magdalen College," was blocked up with long timber logs to keep out horsemen, and a timber gate was also erected there and chained at night. Some loads of stones were carried up to the top of Magdalen Tower, to be flung down on the enemy at their entrance. Two posts were set up at Smith Gate, with a chain to run through them to bar the way; a crooked trench in the form of a bow was made across the highway at the end of S. John's College walks; and measures were taken to provide the scholars with barbed arrows. A strict watch was kept at nights. Charles raised his standard at Nottingham, and on 28th August Sir John Byron rode in at the head of one or two hundred troopers to secure Oxford for the King. The scholars "closed with them and were joyful for their coming. Yet some Puritanical townsmen out of guilt fled to Abingdon, fearing they should be ill-used and imprisoned." On 1st September twenty-seven senior members of the University, with the Vice-Chancellor, Prideaux, and the proctors, formed themselves into what the scholars nicknamed a Council of War, to arrange with Byron for the safety of the University. Drilling went on steadily in the quadrangles of Christ Church and Corpus Christi, of New College and Magdalen. Attempts were also made to take up Osney Bridge and to substitute a drawbridge. But the townsmen and their train-bands, which had assembled in Broken Hayes, objected, and the scholars and troopers were forced to desist. But a strong Parliamentary force lay at Aylesbury. It was evident that, with the best will in the world, a few hundred troopers and enthusiastic scholars could not hold the city, which lay at present so far from the King's quarters. The townsmen were by no means eager Royalists. They made fair pretences of joining with the University and King's troops, but they informed Parliament that all they had done for the King was at the instigation of the University. The University accordingly sent to Aylesbury to inform the threatening Parliamentarians there that they would lay down their arms and dismiss the troopers. Dr Pink, however, Warden of New College and Deputy Vice-Chancellor, who had gone to make his peace at Aylesbury, was seized and committed to prison in the gate-house at Westminster. On 10th September Byron rode away. About a hundred volunteers from the University accompanied him, and most of them made their way to Worcester before the siege. Two days later Colonel Arthur Goodwin rode into the city with a troop of Parliamentarians. Goodwin was lodged at Merton, and his troopers picketed their horses in Christ Church meadows. The college gates were kept open, and the soldiers wandered in to see the cathedral and painted windows, "and much admired at the idolatry of them." Lord Say, the Parliamentarian Lord Lieutenant of Oxford, a New College man, arrived on 14th September, and immediately ordered that the works and trenches of the scholars should be demolished. The colleges were searched for arms and plate. The Christ Church plate was hidden by the staunch Dr Fell. It was found hidden in the walls behind the wainscot and in the cellar. The plate of University College was found in the house of Mr Thomas Smith. This Say adjudged to be lawful prize, but he told the fellows that as long as they kept their plate in places fit for plate, the treasury or buttery, it should remain untouched. The city was mustered at Broken Hayes, and the arms of the train-bands were shown to Lord Say, who shortly afterwards left the place with his men, for both sides were now massing their forces. Little damage had been done, but "his Lordship caused divers Popish books and pictures, as he called them, which he had taken out of churches, and especially the houses of Papists here in Oxford and in the country, to be burned in the street, against the Star Inn," where he had lodged. And as they were leaving the town, one of the London troopers, when passing S. Mary's Church, discharged a brace of bullets at the "very scandalous image" of Our Lady over the porch, striking off her head and the head of the Child, which she held in her right arm. Another fired at the image of Our Saviour over All Souls' gate, and would have defaced all the work there, if he had not been remonstrated with by the citizens. He retorted that they had not been so well entertained at Oxford as they expected. Say made a disastrous miscalculation in thus evacuating Oxford. For within a few weeks it was destined to become and to remain the headquarters of the King. Many Royalists who had been wounded at Edgehill were brought into Oxford. On 29th October the King, with the Duke of York, Prince Charles and Rupert, rode in with the army at the North Gate. The colours taken from the enemy were carried in triumph; the King was received by the mayor with a present of money at Pennilesse Bench, and the heavy ordnance, twenty-seven pieces in all, were driven into Magdalen College Grove. The princes and many of the court took their degrees. Charles stayed but a short while, for, after having recruited his army and having been presented by the colleges with all the money they had in their treasuries, he presently left the city to make an advance on London. For Reading had surrendered to the Royalists, and Rupert's daring capture of Brentford now threatened the capital. But the junction of the train-bands of London with the army of Essex forced Charles to fall back on his old quarters at Oxford. There the fortification of the town was giving him a firm hold on the Midland counties. A plan of fortifications had been prepared by one Rallingson, a B.A. of Queen's College. A series of earthworks, with sharp angles flanking each other, was to be thrown up outside the town. On 5th December 1642 the University bellman had gone about the city warning all privileged persons that were householders to send some of their families next day to dig at the works. The citizens, however, who were set to work north of S. Giles', were not enthusiastic. The King found only twelve of them working where there should have been one hundred and twenty-two, "of which neglect his majesty took notice and told them in the field." The trench and rampart thus begun by the privileged men and workmen paid by the colleges, ran from the Cherwell at Holywell Mill, passing by Wadham and S. John's gardens and S. Giles' Church up to the branch of the Thames at Walton Bridge. Next, similar earthworks were made to cover S. Clement's, the east suburb. As time was pressing, and the city and county were not eager workers, the King called upon the University to help in February. The members of the various colleges were set to work on the line which ran from Folly Bridge across Christ Church meadow in front of Merton. (The bastion traceable in Merton Gardens dates from this time.) In the following June every person resident in a college or hall between sixteen and sixty was required to give a day's work a week with pick and spade, or to pay for a substitute, if unable or unwilling to anticipate the labours of Mr Ruskin. Finally (January 1644), the colleges were commanded to raise the sum of forty pounds a week for twenty weeks to complete the works. Before leaving for Reading, the King had reviewed the regiment of scholars in Christ Church meadows. They were armed with helmets and back and breast pieces. The regiment, which consisted at first of four companies only, soon grew, as enthusiasm waxed, to eight or nine companies. The gown was exchanged for the military coat, and square caps for the helmet. Meanwhile arms and provisions had been accumulated, and ammunition, "the want wherof all men looked upon with great horror," had been thrown into the town. The New College cloister and tower were converted into a magazine for muskets, bullets and gunpowder; corn was stored in the Law and Logic School, and victuals in the Guildhall. Clothes for the army were stowed in the Music and Astronomy Schools. The mill at Osney was used as a powder factory. The King now established his court at Christ Church. Never perhaps has there existed so curious a spectacle as Oxford presented in these days. A city unique in itself, so the author of "John Inglesant" has described it, became the resort of a court under unique circumstances, and of an innumerable throng of people of every rank, disposition and taste, under circumstances the most extraordinary and romantic. The ancient colleges and halls were thronged with ladies and gentlemen of the court, some of whom found themselves like fishes out of water (as one of them expressed it), when they were obliged to be content with "a very bad bed in a garret of a baker's house in an obscure street, and one dish of meat a day, and that not the best ordered, no money and no clothes." Soldiers were quartered in the college gates and the kitchens. Yet, amidst all this confusion, there was maintained both something of a courtly pomp and something of a learned and religious society. The King dined and supped in public, and walked in state in Christ Church meadow and Merton Gardens and the Grove of Trinity, which the wits called Daphne. A parliament sat from day to day. For (1644) the members of both Houses who had withdrawn from Westminster were summoned to meet at Oxford. The King received them very graciously in Christ Church Hall, made them a speech, and asked them to consult together in the Divinity Schools and to advise him for the good of the kingdom. About three hundred commons and sixty peers thus sat at Oxford, and a hundred commons and ten or a dozen peers at Westminster, so that the country enjoyed the felicity of two parliaments at once, each denying the right of the other to exist. The branch at Westminster rejected overtures of peace from the branch at Oxford. The latter devoted themselves to finding funds for the war. Contributions were called for, and the members themselves headed the list. A mint was established at New Inn Hall, and all plate that was brought in was coined.[37] At Westminster, on the other hand, the system of an excise upon beer, wine and spirits was invented. And whilst Parliament sat in the Divinity Schools, service was sung daily in all the chapels; books both of learning and poetry were printed in the city, and the distinctions which the colleges had to offer were conferred with pomp on the royal followers, as almost the only rewards the King had to bestow. Men of every opinion flocked to Oxford, and many foreigners came to visit the King. Christmas interludes were enacted in hall, and Shakespeare's plays performed; the groves and walks of the colleges, and especially Christ Church meadow and the Grove at Trinity, were the resort of a brilliant throng of gay courtiers and gayer ladies; the woods were vocal with song and music; love and gallantry sported themselves along the pleasant river banks. [Illustration: Courtyard to Palace] "Many times," Aubrey of Trinity tells us, "my lady Isabella Thynne would make her entry into our grove with a lute or theorbo played before her. I have heard her play on it in the grove myself; for which Mr Edmund Waller hath in his poems for ever made her famous." But old Dr Kettell of Trinity had no feeling for this sort of thing. He lectured Lady Isabella and her friend Mrs Fanshawe in no mincing terms when they attended chapel one morning "half dressed, like angels." "Madam," he cried by way of peroration, "get you gone for a very woman!" The poets and wits vied with each other in classic conceits and parodies, wherein the events of the day and every individual incident were portrayed and satirised. Wit, learning and religion, joined hand in hand, as in some grotesque and brilliant masque. The most admired poets and players and the most profound mathematicians became "Romancists" and monks, and exhausted all their wit and poetry and learning in furthering their divine mission, and finally, as the last scenes of this strange drama came on, fell fighting on some hardly-contested grassy slope, and were buried on the spot, or in the next village churchyard, in the dress in which they played Philaster, or the court garb in which they wooed their mistress, or the doctor's gown in which they preached before the King, or read Greek in the schools. This gaiety was much increased when the Queen joined Charles on 14th July 1643. Two thousand foot, one thousand horse, six pieces of cannon and two mortars, which formed her escort, proved a welcome addition to the cause. The Queen, who had entered the city in great state and had been loyally welcomed, held her court at Merton, where, ever since, the room over the archway into the Fellows' Quadrangle has been known as the Queen's Chamber. From it a passage was constructed through Merton Hall and its vestibule, crossing the archway over Patey's Quadrangle, and descending to the sacristy, thence by a door into the chapel, and so to the grove and the gardens of Corpus. Hence a door, still traceable, was opened in the garden wall, and the private way was continued till it reached the royal apartments in Christ Church. Well might the classic wits compare the scene to the marriage of Jupiter and Juno of old, for here indeed wisdom and folly, vice and piety, learning and gaiety, terrible earnest even unto death and light frivolity jostled each other in the stately precincts of Parnassus and Olympus. Meantime, the war was going more and more in favour of the King. Parliament redoubled its endeavours. Essex, whose army had been freshly equipped, was ordered to advance upon Oxford. But he did not care to risk his raw forces, and contented himself with recapturing Reading. The King was ready to "give him battle about Oxford if he advanced; and in the meantime, encamped his foot upon the downs, about a mile from Abingdon, which was the head-quarters for his horse." At Westminster it was believed that Charles could not withstand a resolute attack on Oxford. Disease, however, thinned the ranks of Essex, and his inaction gave the Queen an opportunity of dispatching to Oxford a much-needed convoy of arms and ammunition. Charles now felt that he could resist any attack, and even afford to send part of his small force from Oxford to aid the rising in the west. At last, to quiet his supporters in London, Essex advanced towards Thame. His presence there, and the information given him by Colonel Hurry, a Scottish deserter, provided Rupert with an opportunity for making one of those daring raids which have immortalised the name of that dashing cavalry leader. Essex had made a futile endeavour to capture Islip. The same afternoon, with a force of about a thousand men, Rupert sallied out, hoping to cut off a convoy which was bringing £21,000 from London to Essex's army. An hour after midnight the tramp of his band was heard by the sentinels at Tetsworth; two hours later, as the sky was whitening before the dawn, he surprised a party of the enemy at Postcombe. He then proceeded to Chinnor, within two miles of Thame, and again successfully surprised a force of the enemy. It was now time to look out for the convoy. The alarm, however, had been given. The drivers were warned by a countryman, and they turned the heads of their team into the woods, which clothed the sides of the Chiltern Hills. Rupert could not venture to follow. Laden with prisoners and booty the Royalists were returning to Oxford, when, about eight o'clock in the morning, they found themselves cut off by the cavalry who had been dispatched by Essex. Rupert had just passed Chalgrove Field and was entering the lane which led to Chiselhampton Bridge, where a regiment of foot had been ordered to come out to support his return, when the enemy's horse was found to be overtaking him. He immediately ordered the guard with the prisoners to make their way to the bridge, whilst he with his tired troopers drew up on Chalgrove Field. The Parliamentarians hoped to hold him till succour arrived from headquarters. It was a dangerous game to play with Rupert. "This insolence," he cried, "is not to be borne." He was the first to leap the hedge behind which the enemy was drawn up. The Roundheads fought that day as they had never fought before. They were put to flight at last, but not before Hampden himself, who had slept that night at Wallington and had ridden out as a volunteer at the sound of the alarm, had been seen "to ride off the field before the action was done, which he never used to do, with his head hanging down, and resting his hands upon the neck of his horse." He was indeed mortally wounded, and his death seemed an omen of the ruin of the cause he loved. Disaster followed disaster. Essex fell back towards London; Bristol was surrendered into Rupert's hands, and the flight of six of the few peers who remained at Westminster to the camp at Oxford proved the general despair of the Parliament's success. But the discontent and jealousy which were always rife among the soldiers and courtiers in Charles' camp, broke out afresh when the King returned to Oxford after his failure to take Gloucester. From this moment, indeed, the firmness of Parliament and the factiousness and foolishness of the King's party began slowly to reverse the fortunes of the war. Parliament obtained the assistance of Scotland, and Charles negotiated with the Irish Catholics. The alliance was fatal to his cause. Many of Charles' supporters left him; the six peers fled back to Westminster. The covenant was concluded. A Scotch army crossed the border and co-operated with Fairfax and Leven in the north; Essex watched the King at Oxford, and was presently supported by Waller, who had been holding Prince Maurice in check in the west. The Queen, who was _enceinte_, and afraid of being besieged, now insisted on leaving Oxford (April 1644). She made her way safely to Exeter. The Royalists abandoned Reading and fell back on Oxford, where measures were being taken for defence. Regiments were enlisted; trees were felled in Magdalen walks, and means were provided for flooding the meadows beyond. Batteries were erected at suitable points. One of these, at the north-east corner of the walks, was called Dover Pier (Dover's Peer?), probably after the Earl of Dover, who commanded the new University Regiment. This regiment mustered for the first time on 14th May 1644 in Magdalen College Grove, and, along with the City Regiment, was reviewed on Bullingdon Green a few days later. The rise in the ground at the end of Addison's Walk, which is still noticeable, is probably due to the high and strong causeway which we know led from the walks to the battery in the river. The Parliamentarians advanced, Abingdon was evacuated by the Royalist army under Wilmot, and occupied by Essex. Charles was forced to withdraw all his forces to the north of Oxford. The King's position was now so serious, that it was confidently reported in London that Oxford was taken and the King a prisoner. Another rumour ran that the King had decided to come to London, or what Parliament chiefly feared, to surrender himself to Essex. Presently, indeed, his own supporters advised this course, but His Majesty indignantly rejected the suggestion, saying that possibly he might be found in the hands of Essex, but he would be dead first. As no help could be looked for from north or west, he determined to stay in Oxford and watch for an opportunity of fighting Waller or Essex separately. With this object in view he disposed his army so as to prevent the rebels from crossing the Cherwell or Isis, the foot holding the former and the horse and dragoons the latter. A series of smart skirmishes ensued. Some of Waller's forces attempted to pass the Isis at Newbridge, but were repulsed. The next day (29th May), however, Essex crossed the Thames at Sandford Ferry with his whole army and quartered himself at Islip. On his way thither he halted on Bullingdon Green, "that the city might take a full view of his army and he of it." He himself rode up within cannon shot, whilst parties of his horse skirmished about the gates, and gave the scholars and citizens an opportunity of trying their prowess. "It gave some terror to Oxon," says Wood, "and therefore two prayers by his Majesty's appointment were made and published, one for the safety of his Majesty's person and the other for the preservation of the University and City, to be used in all the churches." But there was no intention of making an assault upon the town. Essex was merely covering the passage of his baggage train. Whilst he was thus occupied and the scholars were making a sortie, Charles and Rupert ascended Magdalen Tower and watched the movements of the enemy. Next morning a determined effort was made by Essex to pass over the Cherwell at Gosworth Bridge, but he was repulsed by the musketeers with considerable loss. Essex being now on the east side of the river and cut off from communication with Waller, the King strove to avail himself of the opportunity of retaking Abingdon and engaging Waller singly. But after an unsuccessful move against Abingdon, the design was abandoned, and the Royalist forces were once more concentrated on the north side of Oxford. Sir Jacob Ashley, Major-General of the Foot, himself took command at Gosworth Bridge, where, he perceived, Essex intended to force a passage. There he threw up breastworks and a redoubt, and succeeded in repulsing the enemy, who renewed their attacks from day to day and even brought up cannon to their support without avail. Meanwhile, however, Waller effected the passage of the Isis at Newbridge, quartered his van at Eynsham, and threatened the rear of the King's army. Ashley was compelled to retire. Essex immediately threw his men across the Cherwell, and quartered them that night at Bletchington. His horse advanced to Woodstock. The King seemed to be enveloped by the opposing armies. But after making a demonstration against Abingdon, Charles slipped out of Oxford on the night of 3rd June. Marching out with six thousand men by S. John's Road, he made his way along a rough crooked lane and got clear away to the north of the city. He left the Duke of York in the town, and promised, if the place was besieged, to do all he could to relieve it before it was reduced to extremity. But the town had scarcely enough provisions to stand a month's siege. A series of brilliant successes rewarded the perseverance of the King, for he now waited till Essex marched to attack Prince Maurice at Lyme, then turning on Waller, crushed his army at Copredy Bridge on the Cherwell, fourteen miles north of Oxford. After two days' rest at Oxford, he followed up his success by pursuing Essex into Cornwall and gaining a complete victory over him there. But in the midst of these successes came the news of the disaster in the north. The star of Cromwell had risen where Rupert's had begun to set, at Marston Moor. The battle of Newbury checked the King's advance on London, and he withdrew once more to winter at Oxford (27th October 1644). He was much pleased with the progress that had been made with the fortifications. In order to carry on his operations against Waller and Essex, he had been obliged to denude Oxford of troops. But before leaving it he had provided for its safety. For Parliament had a strong garrison at Reading and another at Abingdon, and the danger of a siege seemed imminent. The inhabitants were therefore commanded to provide themselves with corn and victuals for three months, or to leave the town "as persons insensible of their own dangers and the safety of the place." The safety of the place having been secured, the garrison had felt themselves strong enough to send out a force to the relief of Basing-House. The objections of the governor, Sir Arthur Aston, who had succeeded Sir William Pennyman in that office, were overruled. Colonel Gage made a dash from Oxford, relieved the Marquis of Winchester and returned safely to Oxford after having performed one of the most brilliant of the minor feats of arms that occurred during the war. Charles, on his return, appointed him Governor of Oxford, in place of Sir Arthur Aston, who had broken his leg. Gage, who is buried in the Cathedral, was killed shortly afterwards at Culham Bridge in an attempt to surprise Abingdon. In the spring of 1645 Oliver Cromwell appeared in the parts about Oxford. He was in command of some cavalry, and the object of his movements, in conjunction with those of Sir Thomas Fairfax, was to prevent Prince Maurice from removing heavy guns from Oxford to Hereford, and thereby to disarrange Charles' plan for an early campaign. Cromwell routed Northampton at Islip. A party of the defeated Cavaliers took refuge at Bletchington House. Cromwell called upon the governor, Windebanke, to surrender. Deceived by the sheer audacity of the demand, and moved, it is said, by the timorous entreaties of a party of ladies from Oxford whom he was entertaining at Bletchington, he yielded. Windebanke paid dearly for his weakness. He was shot in the Castle garden on his return to Oxford. Cromwell swept round the city and defeated Sir Henry Vaughan at Bampton. The Parliamentarians had now achieved their object. They moved away from Oxford. In a few weeks they were back again, and the new fortifications of the city were at length put to the test. The siege was heralded by the appearance of some scattered horse near Cowley on 19th May. Thence they, with other horse and foot, passed over Bullingdon Green to Marston, and showed themselves on Headington Hill. On the 22nd Fairfax sat down before Oxford. He threw up a breastwork on the east side of Cherwell, and constructed a bridge near Marston, across which he passed some regiments. Cromwell was commanding at Wytham and Major Browne at Wolvercote. The most considerable incident that occurred during the fifteen days' siege was a successful sortie in the direction of Headington Hill, which was made by Colonel William Legge, the governor of the town. Then Fairfax raised the siege and moved north; a few weeks later the fateful battle of Naseby was fought. Thereafter the King finally made his way to Oxford from Newark. Here for a while he was safe; but in the spring Fairfax marched upon Oxford. The King was driven from his last refuge. At three in the morning of 27th April, disguised as a servant, with his beard and hair closely trimmed, he passed over Magdalen Bridge in apparent attendance upon John Ashburnham and a scholar, one Hudson, "who understood the byeways as well as the common, and was indeed a very skilful guide." "Farewell, Harry," Glenham called out to his sovereign, as he performed the governor's duty of closing the gates behind him. Charles' departure was kept so secret that Fairfax, who arrived before Oxford on the fifth day after, sat down before the city, and made his circumvallation before he knew of it. The Duke of York and all the King's Council remained shut up in Oxford. Fairfax found the city well prepared for a siege. "The rising ground to the north was protected by many strong bulwarks flanking one another. Round about the line, both upon the bulwarks and the curtain, was strongly set with storm poles. Outside the ditch was a strong palisade beyond which were many pits dug so that a single footman could not without difficulty approach to the trench. Within the city were 5000 foot, and the place was well supplied with stores. All this strength being apprehended and considered by Sir Thomas Fairfax, he concluded that this was no place to be taken at a running pull, but likely rather to prove a business of time, hazard and industry." Accordingly he proceeded to make a fortified camp on Headington Hill, to make a bridge over the Cherwell near Marston, and establish a post between the Cherwell and Isis on the north for the main body of his troops. Lines were drawn from Headington to S. Bartholomew's common road, and from thence to Campus pits. A memento of the siege, a cannon shot which is said to have struck the gateway tower of S. John's College, is preserved in the library of that college. Little progress, however, had been made with the siege, though the defence was for a lost cause, when Charles, who had been handed over by the Scots to a Committee of the House, sent orders to the governor to make conditions and surrender the place to Fairfax. Honourable terms were granted. Fairfax had expressed his earnest desire to preserve a place "so famous for learning from ruin." His first act, for he was a scholar as well as a soldier, was to protect the Bodleian. A clause to the effect that all churches, colleges and schools should be preserved from harm was inserted in the Articles of Surrender. The liberties and privileges of the city and the University were guaranteed, and on 24th June the garrison, some three thousand strong, marched out in drenching rain over Magdalen Bridge, colours flying and drums beating, between files of Roundhead infantry. So ended the Great Rebellion. And the history of it remained to be written by Edward Hyde, the Earl of Clarendon, who came to the task equipped with a wisdom that is born of a large experience of men and affairs. A moderate but faithful adherent of the Royalist cause, he could say of himself that he wrote of events "quorum pars magna fui." He had been one of the King's most trusted advisers at Oxford. There he lived in All Souls' College, and the King wished to make him Secretary of State. "I must make Ned Hyde Secretary of State, for the truth is I can trust nobody else," wrote the harassed monarch to his Queen. In his great history, so lively yet dignified in style, so moderate in tone and penetrating in its portrayal of character, he built for himself a monument more durable than brass. A monument not less noble has been raised for him in Oxford out of the proceeds of that very book. For the copyright of the history was presented to the University by his son, and partly out of the funds thus arising the handsome building north-east of the Sheldonian Theatre was erected, from designs by Sir John Vanbrugh (1713). Here the University Press was transferred from the Sheldonian Theatre, where it had found its first permanent and official home. The "Clarendon" Press was removed in 1830 to the present building in Walton Street, when it had outgrown the accommodation of the Clarendon building. Like Sir Harry Vane, Clarendon had been educated at Magdalen Hall. The chair in which he wrote his history is preserved at the Bodleian, and there too may be seen many of the notes which his royal master used to throw him across the table at a Council meeting. There had been another inhabitant of Oxford in these stirring days much affected by these events, a youth endowed with unbounded antiquarian enthusiasm and an excellent gift of observation. This "chiel amang them taking notes" was Anthony Wood, to whose work every writer on Oxford owes a debt unpayable. Born in the Portionists' Hall, the old house opposite Merton and next door to that fine old house, Beam Hall, where, he says, the first University press was established, Wood was carried at the age of four to see the entry of Charles and Rupert, and was a Royalist ever after. Educated first at a small Grammar School near S. Peter le Bailey and then at New College School, he became familiar [Illustration: The Cloisters New College] with the aspect of old Oxford as it was before the changes wrought by the siege, and he was able to transcribe into his notebooks many old inscriptions and memorials just before a period of wanton destruction. When the war broke out there was much ado to prevent his eldest brother, a student at Christ Church, from donning the armour with which his father decked out the manservant. The New College boys grew soldier-struck as they gazed from their school in the cloister upon the train-bands drilling in the quadrangle. They were presently turned out of their school to make room for the munitions of war. But I have no space to write of the vicissitudes of "A. W.'s" life; of the fate which befell his biographies of Oxford writers; of his quarrels with Dean Fell, that staunch Royalist and stern disciplinarian of whom every child learns to lisp in numbers: "I do not like thee, Dr Fell; The reason why I cannot tell. But only this I know full well, I do not like thee, Dr Fell." The first step taken for the "reformation" of Oxford was a Parliamentary order (July 1646) suspending elections in the University and colleges, and forbidding the granting or renewing of leases. The University petitioned Fairfax to obtain the recall of this order, on the ground that it was contrary to the Articles of Surrender. The prohibition was not enforced. But the condition of the University was deplorable. The quadrangles were empty, the courts overgrown with grass. Scholars ceased to come up, and those who were in residence were utterly demoralised by the war. Before the changes and chances of war and religion, learning shrank in dismay and discipline disappeared. Six Presbyterian preachers were now sent down to supersede the Royalist preachers, to beat the pulpit, drum ecclesiastic, and convince the University. All they succeeded in doing was to rouse the Independents among the garrison who had already been practising in the schools and lecture-rooms. The Military Saints now set themselves, "with wry mouths, squint eyes, screwed faces, antic behaviours, squeaking voices and puling tones," to out-preach the proselytising Presbyterians. Royalist Oxford rocked with laughter and congratulated itself prematurely that the revolution had begun to devour its own children. But a commission was appointed to visit the University in May 1647. Sir Nathaniel Brent, Warden of Merton, was chairman, and Prynne a member. Their proceedings were delayed by an absurd trick. The University had been summoned to appear before them in the Schools between nine and eleven. But the preliminary sermon in S. Mary's was of such length that eleven had struck and the University had dispersed before the commissioners could get to work. The University appointed a delegacy to act on its behalf, which drew up a very able and moderate series of reasons for not submitting to the tests that were to be proposed. The authority of the Visitors was challenged. Time was thus gained, and the struggle that was going on between the Presbyterians and the Independents paralysed the Visitors. A committee of the Lords and Commons, however, presently armed them with fresh powers. After three hours of preliminary prayer, "a way" says Wood, "by which they were wont to commence their actions for all sorts of wickednesses," they proceeded to inquire "into the behaviour of all Governors, Professors, Officers and members." Dr Fell and the majority of the University offered a firm resistance. Fell was seized and imprisoned. The action of the Visitors, however, was still paralysed by the lack of constitutional authority. They were once more strengthened by the London Committee. The business of deprivation began. Sentence was passed upon half a dozen Heads of Houses, "but not a man stirred from his place." The University, in fact, continued to ignore the proceedings of the Visitors. Even after the arrival of the Chancellor, Lord Pembroke, and of Fairfax's troops, whom the Visitors were empowered to use, the expelled Heads refused to leave their colleges. Mrs Fell held the deanery of Christ Church valiantly. When the Chancellor, with some soldiers, appeared there and desired Mrs Fell to quit her quarters, "she refused that kind proposal, had very ill language given to her by him, and then she was carried into the quadrangle in a chair by soldiers," and her children on boards. The buttery book was then sent for and Fell's name dashed out. Passive resistance of this kind and the use of every legal device to delay the action of the Visitors were adopted everywhere. The University fought every inch of the ground, standing firmly on the vantage ground of constitutional right. But the gown usually has to yield to arms. New Heads were appointed, new M.A.'s created, and the Visitors proceeded to purge the colleges. Every fellow, student and servant was asked, "Do you submit to the authority of Parliament in this present Visitation?" Those who did not submit were turned out. Presently the Negative Oath was tendered, and subscription to "the Engagement" was required. Rather than submit to these tests over four hundred fellows preferred to be ejected. Puritans, men for the most part of real learning and piety, were substituted, though those who suffered described "the new plantation of saints" as an illiterate rabble, "swept up from the plough-tail and scraped out of Cambridge." At New College a very large proportion of the fellows were expelled: fifty at the lowest computation. The inquisition even extended its investigations to the college servants. The organist, sexton, under-butler, manciple, porter, groom and basket bearer were all outed, when they could not in conscience submit. At Merton Wood refused to answer, but by the goodwill of the warden and Arch Visitor, a friend of his mother, "A. W. was connived at and kept in his place, otherwise he had infallibly gone to the pot." The Visitors acted, on the whole, in the spirit of genuine reformers. Apart from imposing a system of Puritan morals, they worked with a sincere desire to make the colleges fruitful nurseries of learning. What they did, and still more what they wished to do, with regard to the discipline of the place was on the right lines of educational advance. In July an attempt was made to recapture the guard and magazine in New College. The conspiracy was revealed by a boozing and boastful conspirator. Two years later a mutiny of the garrison, in protest against excise, tithes and lawyers, was checked by the vigilance of Colonel Ingoldsby, the governor. Fairfax and Cromwell visited Oxford to see how the reformation was progressing (17th May 1649), and lodged at All Souls'. They dined at Magdalen, where they had "good cheer and bad speeches, and afterwards played at bowls in the College Green." They both received a D.C.L. degree, and Cromwell assured the University that he meant to encourage learning. Next year he became Chancellor, and besides presenting some MSS. he resisted the proposal to reduce the academical endowments which Milton supported. Learning and discipline were never popular; long sermons, compulsory attendance at innumerable religious exercises, and catechisms in the tutors' rooms were not more so. As the sands of the Commonwealth ran out the approaching Restoration found a welcome at Oxford. It was a sign of the times that, when Richard Cromwell was proclaimed Protector, the mayor and the troopers were pelted with turnip-tops by the scholars in front of S. Mary's. Without waiting for a formal proclamation of the new order, men reverted to it by a kind of spontaneous instinct. Six weeks or more before the Restoration, a bold man read the Common Prayer in S. Mary Magdalen Church in surplice and hood, and that church was always "full of young people purposely to hear and see the novelty." At the news of the Restoration all England "went mad with joy"; at Oxford the rejoicing "lasted till the morning." And when Coronation Day came, "Conduit ran a hogshead of wine." Common Prayer was restored and surplices; Puritan preaching went out of fashion; the organs of Magdalen, New College and Christ Church sounded once more; plays were performed and the Solemn League and Covenant was burnt. Yet the prejudice against surplice and organ was deep. Many still denounced organ-music as the whining of pigs. At Magdalen men clad in surplices, with hands and faces blackened, paraded the cloisters at twilight to encourage the story that Satan himself had appeared and adopted the surplice. Filthy insults and ribald abuse were heaped upon the innocent garment. A Royal Commission visited the University to eject the intruders and restore those whom Parliament had expelled. The Presbyterians took the Oath of Allegiance and Supremacy, and were allowed to hold their places unless some ejected fellow or scholar appeared to claim them. But at Lincoln, where the Independent faction was strong, several fellows were turned out, George Hitchcock among them. He defied the bedel who was sent to arrest him when he refused to go. With a drawn sword and a sported oak Hitchcock remained master of the situation until the arrival of the military who, undaunted, stormed the Independent's castle and marched him off to jail. Life at Oxford resolved itself at last to peace and quiet study. "The tumult and the shouting dies, The Captains and the Kings depart"-- and the groves and quadrangles that had echoed with the clash of arms, the loud laugh of roystering Cavaliers, or the gentle rustle of sweeping trains, or the whining of a Puritan, now resounded with the noise of the bowling-green and tennis-court, or the chamber music of such scholarly enthusiasts as Anthony Wood with his fiddle, and Edmund Gregory with his bass viol. With the Restoration a new kind of student came into prominence. Very different from his mediæval brother was the new type of rich "young gentleman" so wittily satirised by Dr Earle, as one who came to Oxford to wear a gown and to say hereafter that he had been at the University. "His father sent him thither because he heard that there were the best fencing and dancing schools.... Of all things he endures not to be mistaken for a scholar." For it was now the fashion for students to live like men of the world, to keep dogs and horses, to swash it in apparel, to wear long periwigs. They discussed public affairs and read the newsletters in the coffee-houses. For Canopus, the Cretan, had set the example of drinking coffee, and in 1651 Jacob the Jew opened a coffee-house at the Angel. Four years later Arthur Tillyard, "an apothecary and great Royalist, sold coffee publicly in his house against All Souls' College. He was encouraged to do so," says Wood, "by some royalists and by the company of 'Vertuosi,' chiefly All Souls' men, amongst whom was numbered Christopher Wren." With the Restoration, too, the study of mere Divinity began to go out of fashion, and a humane interest in letters began to manifest itself. Plays, poems and drollery, the old-fashioned scholars complained, were in request. Science, too, suddenly became fashionable. Charles and the Duke of Buckingham took a keen interest in chemistry; Prince Rupert solaced his old age with the glass drops which are called after his name. At Oxford many scholars already had private laboratories. Robert Boyle and Peter Sthael had for some time been lecturing on chemistry at the Ram Inn (113 High Street) to the curious, John Locke included. The King now gave its title to the Royal Society, which had its origin in the inquiries of a little group of scientific students in London before the end of the Civil War. It was now divided into two by the removal of its foremost members, Dr Wilkins, Warden of Wadham, and Dr Wallis, Savilian Professor of Geometry, to Oxford. The Oxford branch of the [Illustration: View from the Sheldonian Theatre.] society was strengthened by such men as Sir William Petty, the first of English economists, Dr Ward, the mathematician, Robert Boyle and Christopher Wren. In the lodgings of Wilkins or Petty they would meet and discuss the circulation of the blood or the shape of Saturn, the Copernican hypothesis, the improvement of telescopes or Nature's abhorrence of a vacuum--any subject, in fact, which did not lead them into the bogs of theology or politics. "That miracle of a youth," Dr Christopher Wren, was one of those deputed by the University (1667) to take a letter of thanks to Henry Howard, heir to the Duke of Norfolk, for his princely gift of the Arundel Marbles to the University. This gift the University owed to the kindly offices of John Evelyn, the diarist. The marbles were laid in the Proscholium till the Sheldonian Theatre was finished. Ingeniously designed by Wren to accommodate the University at the "Act" or "Encænia," this theatre was consecrated by Archbishop Sheldon (1669), at whose cost it was erected. Sheldon was a warden of All Souls', put out under the Commonwealth and afterwards restored, before being promoted to the Primacy. Wren left many other marks of his genius upon Oxford. The chapel of B.N.C. is said to be from his design, and may be, for it reveals the struggle that was going on (1656) between the Oxford Gothic, as the beautiful fan-tracery of the ceiling and the windows bear witness, and the Italian style of the rest of the building. Wren migrated from Wadham to All Souls', presenting on his departure a clock (now in the ante-chapel) to the college where he had been a fellow-commoner. In the college of which he, with Sydenham, was made a fellow under the Commonwealth, he made the great and accurate sun-dial, with its motto "Pereunt et Imputantur," that adorns the back quadrangle. His pupil Hawksmoor it was who designed the twin towers of All Souls' and the quadrangle at Queen's, whilst Wren himself designed the chapel, which he reckoned one of his best works. At Trinity he gave advice to Dean Aldrich, made suggestions which were not taken, and actually designed the north wing of the garden quadrangle, one of the first Italian buildings in Oxford. At Christ Church he added, as we have seen, the octagonal cupola to Wolsey's Tower. The buttresses in Exeter Garden which support the Bodleian are also the result of his advice. The beautifully proportioned building close to the Sheldonian was presently built (1683, Wood, architect) by the University to house the valuable collection of curiosities presented to it by Elias Ashmole. When the plague broke out in London, Charles and his court fled to Oxford (September 1665), where, since July, a watch had been set to keep out infected persons flying from London. The King and Duke of York lodged at Christ Church; whilst, all under the rank of master at Merton having been sent to their homes, the Queen took up her abode there till the following February. Once more courtiers filled the college instead of scholars; the loose manners of the court were introduced into the college precincts; the King's mistress, Lady Castlemaine, bore him a bastard in December, and libels were pinned up on the doors of Merton concerning that event. It is sadly recorded that founders' prayers had to be recited in English, because there were more women than scholars in the chapel. And as for the courtiers, though they were neat and gay in their apparel, yet were they, so says the offended scholar, "very nasty and beastly; rude, rough, whoremongers; vain, empty and careless." The House of Lords sat in the Geometry School, the House of Commons in the Convocation House, whilst the Divinity School and the Greek School were employed as a committee room and the Star Chamber. After sitting for a month and passing the Act which prohibited dissenting ministers from coming within five miles of any city, Parliament broke up in October. When this Act was suspended in 1672 and Nonconformists were allowed to meet in towns, provided they took out a licence, the Independents [Illustration: Quadrangle & Library All Souls' College.] and Baptists set up meeting-houses in Oxford, the Baptists meeting first in Magdalen Street and then in S. Ebbe's Parish. The Nonconformist chapels were destroyed in the Jacobite riot of 1715, but in 1720 a new chapel was built behind the present chapel in the New Road by the Baptists and Presbyterians in common. The _Oxford Gazette_ made its first appearance during Charles' visit, the first number coming out on 7th November 1665. Again, in 1681, Parliament was summoned by Charles II. to meet at Oxford on 21st March. He had written in January choosing Merton, Corpus and Christ Church to house him, his Queen, his Court[38] and his Parliament. The scholars as usual departed, but in a week the King dissolved the wicked, or week-ed, Parliament, and the collegians returned to their quarters and the use of their silver plate, which they had wisely hidden from their guests. "We scholars were expelled awhile to let the Senators in, But they behaved themselves so ill that we returned again," sang the poet of the day. For the rest of his reign the monarch was nearly absolute. "Now I am King of England, and was not before," he remarked; and he signalised his victory over the Exclusionist Party, who wished to guard against the danger of a Catholic king, by procuring, at Oxford, the condemnation of Stephen College, a Protestant joiner, who was forthwith hung in the Castle-yard. The sudden influx of so many persons into the town was calculated to send up the price of provisions. The Vice-Chancellor accordingly took the precaution of fixing a limit to the market prices. A pound of butter, for instance, sweet and new, the best in the market, was not to cost more than 6d.; six eggs 2d.; or a fat pig, the best in the market, 2s. 6d.; whilst not more than 2s. 8d. was to be charged in every inn for a bushel of the best oats. [Illustration: Oriel Windows Queen's Lane.] Meantime the University was not in too flourishing a state. "All those we call Whigs," Wood complains, "will not send their sons for fear of their turning Tories, and because the Universities are suspected of being Popish." And Stephen Penton, the Principal who built the chapel and library of S. Edmund's Hall (1680), thought it expedient to write that charming little book, "The Guardian's Instruction," in answer to the "rash and uncharitable censure of the idle, ignorant, debauched, Popish University." But the manners of the place are indicated by such facts as these: "The Act was put off because 'twas said the Vice-Chancellor was sickish from bibbing and smoking and drinking claret a whole afternoon." In 1685 the mayor and aldermen, who had been splendidly entertained by the Earl of Abingdon in return for their election of his brother to represent them in Parliament, "came home most of them drunk and fell off their horses." About the same time three masters of All Souls' came drunk to the Mitre in the middle of the night, and because the landlady refused to get up and prepare them some food, they called her "strange names and told her she deserved to have her throat cut, whereupon being extremely frighted, she fell into fits and died." The masters were examined by the Vice-Chancellor and compelled to "recant in the Convocation." A few months later a debauched Master of Arts of New Inn was expelled for biting a piece off the nose of a B.N.C. B.A. At Balliol the buildings were literally falling to pieces, and it was the solace of Dr Bathurst's old age to sit on his garden wall--he was President of Trinity--and throw stones at the few windows that still contained any glass, "as if happy to contribute his share in completing the appearance of its ruin." This was the same Dr Bathurst, who as Vice-Chancellor, according to Prideaux' story, had already done his best to encourage the "men of Belial" to deserve the nickname bestowed upon them by Nicholas Amherst.[39] "There is," wrote Prideaux, "over against Balliol a dingy, horrid, scandalous ale-house, fit for none but draymen and tinkers. Here the Balliol men continually lie and by perpetual bubbing add art to their natural stupidity to make themselves perfect sots." The master (Dr Goode, a good, honest old toast, and sometime a Puritan) remonstrated with them and "informed them of the mischiefs of that hellish liquor called ale. But one of them, not willing to be preached so tamely out of his beloved liquor, made reply that the Vice-Chancellor's men drank ale at the Split Crow and why should they not too? The old man, being nonplussed with this reply, immediately packeth away to the Vice-Chancellor, formerly an old lover of ale himself," who informed him that there was no hurt in ale. Accordingly the master told his men that since the Vice-Chancellor said there was no hurt in ale, though truly he thought there was, he would give them leave to drink it. "So now," Prideaux concludes, "they may be sots by authority." In 1682, Wood notes, "fighting occasioned by drunkenness fell out in S. John's common chamber." Common rooms, it may be observed, which were regarded as a luxurious innovation, had been introduced into Oxford in 1661 by Merton, where the room over the kitchen, with the cock-loft over it, was turned into a room "for the common use of the Fellows." Other colleges quickly followed an example which had been set eleven years before in the Combination Room of Trinity at Cambridge. The accession of James II. was hailed at Oxford with many expressions of loyalty. A large bonfire was lit at Carfax and five barrels of beer broached in the Town Hall, to be drunk by all comers. There were bonfires in all the colleges, where the respective societies drank a health, kneeling, to the King and Royal Family. At Merton, Wood tells us, "the gravest and greatest seniors of the house were mellow that night, as at other Colleges." And the coronation was celebrated by a sermon and bonfire at S. Mary's and "great extraordinaries in eating and drinking in each College." But there were many townsmen who had been ready (1683) to shout for "a Monmouth! a Monmouth! no York!" and after Monmouth's Rebellion, when the University raised a regiment, whose uniforms at any rate were gallant, several of the citizens were arrested as rebels. It was not long before the bigotry and tyranny of James drove the University itself into that resistance to the royal authority which was so alien to its teaching and tradition. For James set himself to convert the training-place of the English clergy into a Roman Catholic seminary. The accession of a sovereign attached to the Roman Church had been the signal for many who had hitherto concealed their opinions to avow their devotion to that communion. The Master of University College was one of those who had conformed to the rites of the Anglican Church whilst supporting so far as he dared, in the pulpit and the press, the doctrines of Rome. He now openly avowed his conversion and did his utmost to promote the Roman Catholic cause. Ave Maria Obadiah, as he was nicknamed from an academic catch of the time, was authorised by the King to appropriate some college rooms for a chapel under the Roman ritual. He had already been absolved by a royal dispensation from the duty of attending the services of the Church of England, and from taking the Oaths of Allegiance and Supremacy. Walker's doings were at first received with ridicule and then with indignation. But secure of the King's favour, he continued on his Romanising way. He erected a press at the back of the college, and published, under royal licence, a series of controversial books maintaining Romish doctrines. The University was disgusted and alarmed at this deliberate attempt to undermine the National Church in the very centre of its chief stronghold. A pamphlet war ensued, but it was a war in which the King made it evident on the occasion of a visit to Oxford in 1687 that he was on the side of Obadiah. A statue of the monarch was set up over the gateway of the large quadrangle of University College to commemorate the visit of the royal "reformer of heresy." At Christ Church, meanwhile, Massey, a convert and creature of Walker, had been appointed dean by the Crown and installed without protest by the Chapter. The old refectory of Canterbury College was fitted up as a private chapel for the dean's use, and James attended mass there. At All Souls', too, the fellows had admitted as warden the nominee planted on them by the royal prerogative. But James was not to have it all his own way with the colleges. Men had stiffer backs at Magdalen. The office of President was vacant. The King recommended for election Anthony Farmer, a disreputable Cantab of notoriously bad character, who had migrated to Oxford, and who, never having been fellow either of Magdalen or New College, had no qualification for the presidentship. But he was reputed to be inclined to Romanism. This virtue was apparently sufficient in James' eyes; he ignored the objections stated by the fellows. The fellows in turn ignored the mandate of James and elected Dr Hough, a man to whom there could be no objection. Cited to appear before the Ecclesiastical Commission on complaint that they had disregarded the King's mandate, the Vice-President and fellows, through their delegates, justified their action by reference to their statutes and the character of Farmer. Jefferies, who presided, had to admit that Farmer was proved to the court to be "a very bad man." The college was commanded to elect another tool of the King's, Parker, Bishop of Oxford. The college held that the place of President was already filled. To enforce obedience, James now came over from Woodstock (3rd September) in person. The King wore a scarlet coat, and an old beaver hat edged with a little lace, not worth a groat, as some of the people shouted. He proceeded very slowly to the North Gate, where he found eight poor women all clad in white, some of whom strewed the way before the King with herbs, "which made a very great smell in all the street, continuing so all the night till the rain came. When he came to Quatervois he was entertained with the wind music or waits belonging to the city and University, who stood over the Penniless Bench--all which time and after the Conduit ran claret for the vulgar." The fellows of Magdalen were summoned to the royal presence in Christ Church Hall, where they were rudely reprimanded and bidden to go to their chapel and elect the bishop forthwith or they should know what it was to feel the weight of a king's hand. "Is this your Church of England loyalty?" James cried. "Get you gone. I am King. I will be obeyed!" Curious to think that William Penn, who had formerly been sent down from Christ Church for Nonconformity, was present at this scene; and a servitor of Exeter, the father of the Wesleys, quitted it, "resolved to give the tyrant no kind of support." The fellows protested their loyalty, but declared that it was not in their power to do what the King required. Penn, the courtly Quaker, endeavoured to bring about a compromise, but seems to have been convinced at last that an agreement was impossible. Hough's comment on these negotiations was, "It is resolved that the Papists must have our College. All that we can do is, to let the world see that they take it from us, and that we do not give it up." A commission was appointed. Hough, who refused to surrender his lodgings, was declared contumacious, and his name was struck off the books. His lodgings were broken open; Parker was introduced. Twenty-five of the fellows were expelled, and were declared incapable of ecclesiastical preferment. The demies, who refused to recognise Parker, were not interfered with by the commission; they remained in the college holding chapel services and disputations among themselves and ignoring the Papist fellows who were being introduced. When they refused to obey the officers nominated by the King, eighteen of them were expelled. Parker died, and Gifford, a Papist of the Sorbonne, was appointed. All but two of the original fellows were now ejected, and their places were being filled up with Roman Catholics when it was brought home to James that he had been going too fast. He began to bid desperately for the support he had alienated. He restored the ejected fellows, but they had scarcely returned when William's supporters, under Lord Lovelace, entered Oxford in force. They were received at the East Gate by the mayor and magistrates in their black gowns, who went with them up the High Street amid the shouts and congratulations of the people. Meantime the Master of University had fled to London with his nominee, the Dean of Christ. He was captured by the mob and thrown into the Tower on a charge of high treason. And at Oxford "trade," to use the judicious metaphor of an Oxford priest, "declined." The Jesuits, who had been "in a very hopeful way and had three public shops (chapels) open" there, found all their schemes frustrated. The intrigue and plotting of years were brought to nought. The Coronation of William and Mary was observed by a special Act ceremony, in which one of the pieces recited was "Magdalena Ridens," Magdalen smiling in triumph at the flight of her oppressor. October 25, 1688, was the day on which James had restored the ejected fellows. Ever since the college has observed that day, and yearly the members pledge each other in a loving-cup, _Jus suum cuique_. CHAPTER X JACOBITE OXFORD--AND AFTER Among the demies elected at Magdalen the year after the expelled fellows returned was Joseph Addison, whose name is traditionally connected with the northern part of the Magdalen walks, where the kingfisher "flashes adown the river, a flame of blue," and Henry Sacheverell, his friend and chamber-fellow. The former outlined the pacific policy of the Hanoverians in the Freeholder; for the latter, when he hung out his "bloody flag and banner of defiance" against the existing order, as for Atterbury, Oxford was loud with the cheers of "honest" men. For during the first half of the eighteenth century Oxford was violently Jacobite. John Locke, who had been suspected of complicity in Shaftesbury's design against the succession, and had been removed (1684) from his student's place at Christ Church in accordance with the directions of a royal mandate, had warned William that the good effects of the revolution would be lost if no care was taken to regulate the Universities. But the Hanoverians avoided oppressive measures. The Tory Wine Club, under the cabalistic name of High Borlace, to which no member of a Whig college like Wadham, Christ Church, Exeter or Merton might belong, was allowed to meet annually at the King's Head Tavern on 18th August to toast the King across the water and drink confusion to the rival Constitution Club. But the triumph of the Whigs at the accession of George I. and the disappointment of "honest" men, led to a great riot on the first anniversary of the birthday of the new sovereign. "Mobs paraded the streets, shouting for the Pretender and putting a stop to every kind of rejoicing. The Constitution Club had gathered to commemorate the day at the King's Head. The windows were illuminated and preparations made for a bonfire. Tossing up their caps and scattering money among the rabble that flocked to the front of the hotel, the Jacobite gownsmen egged them on with shouts of 'No George,' 'James for ever,' 'Ormond,' or 'Bolingbroke!' The faggots were torn to pieces, showers of brickbats were thrown into the clubroom. The Constitutioners were glad to escape with their lives by a back-door. Thus baffled the mob rolled on to attack all illuminated houses. Every Whig window was smashed. The meeting house was entered and gutted.... At last the mob dispersed for the night, publicly giving out that 'the glorious work' was left unfinished till to-morrow. The twenty-ninth of May was associated with too significant reminiscences to be allowed to pass in quiet. Sunday though it was, the streets were filled with people running up and down with oak-boughs in their hats, shouting, 'King James, the true King. No usurper! The Good Duke of Ormond.' The streets were brilliantly illuminated, and wherever disregard was shown to the mob's fiat, the windows were broken.... The crowds grew thicker and noisier towards even. A rumour had got abroad that Oriel had given shelter to some of the Constitutionalists. The mob rushed to the attack and threatened to break open the closely-barred gates. At this moment a shot from a window wounded one of the ringleaders, a gownsman of Brasenose, and the crowd fled in confusion to break fresh windows, gut the houses of dissenters, and pull down the chapels of Anabaptists and Quakers" (Green). The omission of rejoicings on the birthday of the Prince of Wales led to further disturbance. The major of a recruiting party then in Oxford drew out his regiment to celebrate the day. They were attacked by the crowd, and were obliged to have resource to blank cartridges. The matter was made the occasion of a grand debate in the House of Lords. But in the meantime the Government had shown its appreciation of the dangerous disloyalty of Oxford by dispatching Major-General Pepper thither with a number of dragoons, on the outbreak of Mar's Rebellion. Martial law was at once proclaimed, and suitable measures were taken "to overawe the University." The Crown had recently purchased Bishop Moore's magnificent library and presented it to Cambridge. The difference in the treatment of the two Universities inspired Dr Trapp, the first Professor of Poetry, to write the famous epigram: "The King, observing with judicious eyes The wants of his two Universities, To Oxford sent a troop of horse; and why? That learned body wanted loyalty. To Cambridge books he sent, as well discerning How much that loyal body wanted learning." To which the Cambridge wit, Sir Thomas Browne, retorted with still greater neatness and point: "The King to Oxford sent a troop of horse For Tories own no argument but force; With equal care to Cambridge books he sent, For Whigs admit no force but argument." The famous county election of 1754, when the Jacobite rioters held the approach to Broad Street, but the Whigs managed to slip through Exeter College and so gain the polling booths, shows that Oxford had not changed its sentiments, but when Tory principles mounted the throne with George III., Jacobitism disappeared like a dream. The reign of Toryism did little to promote the cause of learning or conduct. During the eighteenth century examinations for a degree were little better than a farce; "E'en Balaam's ass If he could pay the fee, would pass," sang the poet. Lecturers ceased to lecture; Readers did not read. In many colleges scholars succeeded to fellowships almost as a matter of course, and tutors were as slow to enforce, as "Gentlemen Commoners" would have been swift to resent, any study or discipline as part of the education of a Beau or Buck. Though Oriel produced Bishop Butler, for Oxford was still the home of genius as well as of abuses, the observance of religion dwindled down to a roll-call. And corrupt resignations of fellowships, by which the resigning fellow nominated his successor, in return for a fee, were paralleled in the city by wholesale corruption at elections. The mayor and aldermen in 1768 even had the effrontery to propose to re-elect their representatives in Parliament for £7500, the amount of the municipal debt! This bargain, in spite of a reprimand from the Speaker and a committal to Newgate for five days, they succeeded in striking with the Duke of Marlborough and Lord Abingdon. For the rest, it was the age of periwigs and patches, of coffee-houses and ale, of wine and common rooms, of pipes and newsletters, of a University aping the manners of London and Bath in Merton College Gardens or the race-course of Woodstock. Bucks and Bloods were succeeded by the Smarts, whose beautiful existences Terræ Filius has described for us. Called by the servitor at six, they tumbled out of bed, their heads reeling with the last night's debauch, to attend a chapel service. For the habit of early rising was still in vogue, and though a Smart might rise late, his lateness seems early to us. For it was held disgraceful to be in bed after seven, though carried there over-night drunk but not disgraced. But the Smart's breakfast was scarce over by ten; a few notes on the flute, a glance at the last French comedy, and in academic undress he is strolling to Lyne's coffee-house. There he indites a stanza or a billet-doux to the reigning Sylvia of the town; then saunters for a turn in the park or under Merton wall, while the dull regulars, as Amherst has it, are at dinner in hall according to statute. Dinner in his rooms and an hour devoted to the elaborate business of dress, and the Smart is ready to sally forth in silk-lined coat with laced ruffles at breast and wrist, red stockings and red-topped Spanish leather shoes, and laced hat or square cap most rakishly cocked. So emerging from his rooms, with tripping gait and jaunty dangle of his clouded amber-headed cane, he is about to pay a visit to the coffee-house or parade before the windows of a Toast when he stops to jeer at some ragged servitor of Pembroke, a Samuel Johnson perhaps, going round shamefacedly in worn-out shoes to obtain second-hand the lectures of a famous Christ Church tutor, or a George Whitefield, wrestling with the devil in Christ Church walks, or hesitating to join the little band of Methodists who, with Charles and John Wesley of Christ Church and Lincoln at their head, are making their way through a mocking crowd to receive the Sacrament at S. Aldate's, S. George's in the Castle or S. Mary's. But the Smart cares for none of these things. Sublimely confident in his own superiority he passes on; drinks a dram of citron at Hamilton's, and saunters off at last to chapel to show how genteelly he dresses and how well he can chaunt. Next he takes a dish of tea with some fair charmer, with whom he discusses, with an infinite nicety of phrase, whether any wears finer lace or handsomer tie-wigs than Jack Flutter, cuts a bolder bosh than Tom Paroquet, or plays ombre better than Valentine Frippery. Thereafter he escorts her to Magdalen walks, to Merton or Paradise gardens; sups and ends the night, loud in song, deep in puns, put or cards, at the Mitre. Whence, having toasted his mistress in the spiced cup with the brown toast bobbing in it, he staggers home to his college, "a toper all night as he trifles all day." Meantime certain improvements were taking place in the city. Under the Commissioners Act (1771) the streets were widened and paved, and most of the walls and gates removed--Bocardo along with them. Turnpike Roads and the Enclosures Acts led to the disappearance of the highwaymen, by whom coaches, ere railways took the place of the "flying coach," which first went to London in one day "with A. W. in the same coach" (1669), had so frequently been held up near Oxford. Curiously enough highwaymen were most popular with the fair sex, and the cowardly ruffians occasionally returned the compliment so far as to allow them to ransom their jewels with a kiss. Dumas, the prince of highwaymen, after capturing a coachful of ladies, was satisfied with dancing a coranto with each in turn upon the green. He was executed at Oxford. He had maintained his nonchalance to the end; played "Macheath" in the prison, and threw himself off at the gallows without troubling the hangman. It was not death, he declared, but being anatomised that he feared. And, lest their hero should be put to so useful a purpose, a large body of bargemen surrounded the scaffold, carried off the body in triumph to the parish church and buried it in lime forthwith. At length, after the Age of Reason and Materialism, came the Age of Revival and Romance. The spirit of mediævalism summoned up by Sir Walter, was typified in Oxford architecture by Sir Gilbert Scott and Pugin. In the University the beginning of a new order of things, which was to end in throwing open the Universities to the whole Empire and rendering them on every side efficient places of education, was begun in 1800 by the system of Honours Lists, long advocated by reformers like John Eveleigh of Oriel and brought into being by the energy of Cyril Jackson, Dean of Christ Church, and Parsons, Master of Balliol. The work of nationalising the Universities was developed by the two University Commissions and by that "Extension" movement, of which the pioneer was William Sewell, a remarkable tutor of Exeter, who, in 1850, urged that "It may be impossible to bring the masses to the University, but may it not be possible to carry the University to the masses?" This development of the University, which must ever be closely connected with the name of Dr Jowett, Master of Balliol, and has received a further significance from the last testament of Cecil Rhodes, of Oriel, is illustrated on every side by new buildings; by the Indian Institute, the Nonconformist colleges, Mansfield and Manchester, the Women's Halls, the Science Buildings and the new foundation of Hertford College, grafted on that of old Hart Hall and Magdalen Hall by Mr Baring. Intellectually the spirit of revolt produced by the French Revolution at the beginning of this period, is illustrated by the careers of Shelley and Landor, and the musical lyrics of Swinburne; the deep questionings prompted by the Tractarian Movement are voiced in the poems of Clough, Keble and Arnold. For in the first half of the nineteenth century there was a revival of spirituality, and men followed the lead, not of a Wycliffe, an Erasmus or a Wesley, but of Keble, Pusey and Newman. Oriel College, whose fellowships were confined neither to members of the college nor, in most cases, to candidates from certain places, was the centre whence men like Hurrell Froude, Keble's pupil, preached their doctrine of reaction; men who, finding the Church of England in a very parlous state, counselled a return to what was best in mediævalism, and, protesting against the Protestantism of the English Church, taught Newman to look with admiration towards the Church of Rome. The name of Keble and the impulse which he gave to Anglicanism are commemorated in Keble College; the prominence of the chapel, which contains Holman Hunt's "Light of the World," and the arrangement of the buildings emphasise the fact that it was founded to provide the poorer members of the Church of England with higher education on Church lines. The revival of mediævalism in Religion was echoed by a revival of mediævalism in Art. John Ruskin, who had matriculated at Christ Church in 1836, lectured intermittently as Slade Professor of Art from 1870 till 1884. William Morris, "poet, artist, paper-hanger and socialist," came up to Exeter in 1853 and there, in intimate friendship with Sir Edward Burne-Jones, looked out upon "the vision of grey-roofed houses and a long winding street and the sound of many bells," which was, for him, Oxford. The two friends have left behind them signs of their genius in the famous tapestry at Exeter Chapel and in the windows of the Cathedral; whilst at Corpus and in the Schools the great teacher gathered round him a circle of enthusiastic young men, and like an Abelard, Wycliffe, Wesley or Newman in the religious world, so advised and inspired them with his social and artistic gospel, that when, in pursuance of the old monastic principle "laborare est orare," he called upon them to mend a farmer's road at Hincksey, they laid aside their bats and oars, and marched, with the professor at their head, to dig with spade and shovel. Out of such inspiration grew the various University Settlements in the East End of London, inaugurated by Arnold Toynbee. Oxford owes much to the stimulating if incoherent teaching and the generosity of John Ruskin,[40] but architecturally his influence was responsible for several bad buildings in the would-be Venetian style--the Christ Church New Buildings and the Natural History Museum in the parks, for instance, proving deplorably enough that the critic was no creator. Last, but not least, it is good to be able to record that City and University have gradually settled their differences. The new Municipal Buildings and the Town Hall in S. Aldate's would seem, by their deliberate variety of styles, to give municipal sanction to every style of architecture that can be found in the University, and to look back upon the history of the town, and of the learned institution with which for good and evil it has been so closely connected, with no ungracious feeling. INDEX Abelard, Peter, 68 Abingdon, village of, 23; toll of herrings paid to monastery of, 27 Act of Supremacy, 268 Addison, Joseph, demy at Magdalen, 349 Æthelred, the Unready, building of S. Frideswide by, 9-11 Agnellus of Pisa, builder of first school of Grey Friars, 99, 100 Alfred, King, claim of, as founder of University, 64, 65; relics of, 87, 88 Allen, Dr Thomas, astrologer, 102 Arthur, Prince, son of Henry VII., at Oxford, 235 Bacon, Roger, 100-102 Balliol, Sir John de, founder of Balliol Hall, 127, 128; intended work of, carried out by widow, 127, 128 Bancroft, Archbishop, Chancellor, prohibition by, of long hair, and other reforms instituted by, 306 Barbers, regulations concerning, 57, 58 Barnes, Joseph, new press at Oxford set up by, 243 Barons, struggle of, with King, and effect of at University, 208 _seq._ Basset, Alan, first endowment for Oxford scholar provided by, 81 Beaumont, palace at, built by Henry Beauclerk, 54; site of, 54; grant of, to Carmelite Friars, 103, 104 _Bedford Hall_, or Charleton's Inn, purchased for site of All Souls', 225 Bells, famous Osney, 49 Bible, Authorised Version, 307 ---- Bamberg, 241 ---- Mazarin, 240, 241 _Black Assizes_, the, 252, 253 _Black Death_, the, 211; effect of, on learning, 212; provisions against, in statutes of Corpus Christi, 251; causes of, 251; outbreaks of, 252, 253, 254, 271, 340; regulations concerning, 253 _Blue Boar_, the, old inn known as, 109 _Bocardo_, old gate house, used as prison, called, _passim_ Bodley, Thomas, founder of library, 299-301 Bodleian Library, formation of, 300 _seq._; visit of James I. to, 301; of Charles I. and Falkland, 301; some rare books and treasures belonging to, 302; building, and description, of, 303, 304; extension of, by Laud, 310; preservation of, from injury by Fairfax, 329 Botanic Gardens, foundation of, 310 _Botany Bay_, gardens known as, 106 _Brasenose Hall_, purchased by University, 81 Brazen Nose Knocker, carried to Hamford and back to Oxford, 202, 203 Brethren of the Holy Trinity, settlement of, in Oxford, 105 _Broad Walk_, origin of name of, 20, 21 Brome, Adam de, foundation of hall, afterwards King's Hall, and Oriel College by, 125 Burne-Jones, E., works of, at Oxford, 8, 355 Bury, Richard de, founder of first public library in Oxford, 106, 107, 108; dispersion of books of, 108; college proposed by, taken under Edward III.'s protection, 107 Campion, Edmund, Jesuit poet, funeral sermon of founder of S. John's preached by, 289 _Canditch_, origin of name, 31 Canterbury, early school of literature at, 69 Carfax, origin of name, 23, 24 ---- Tower, 149 Cathedral (see also under S. Frideswide) ---- Lady Chapel of, 7, 8, 9 ---- portions of, remains of S. Frideswide's, 9 ---- restoration of parts of, by Sir Gilbert Scott, 12 Cathedral, Latin Chapel of, 8, 9 ---- Chapter-house of, 12 ---- spire of, 12, 15 Catholic reaction, the, 276 _seq._; two colleges due to, 288; decrease of, after Cranmer's death, 288 _Cat Street_, now S. Catherine's, 225 Caxton, press set up in Westminster by, 241 Champeaux, William of, 68 Chancellor, jurisdiction of, 163 _seq._; extension of jurisdiction of, 167-169; jurisdiction of, supreme over certain classes, 170; penalties imposed by, 170, 171; office of, made permanent and non-resident, 171 Chancellor's Court, as held in mediæval times, 162, 163 ---- cases brought before, 163, 164, 165 Chancellorship, first mention of, 76 Charles I., entertainment of, at S. John's, 311; portrait of, 311; plays performed in honour of, 311; court held by, at Oxford, 319 _seq._; return to Oxford of, after failing to take Gloucester, 323; desertion of, by his supporters, 324; serious position of, 324; rejection of advice to surrender by, 324; disposition of army of, 325, 326; unsuccessful move of, against Abingdon, 325; escape from Oxford of, 326; successes against Essex of, 326; defeat of, at Newbury, 326; retirement of, to Oxford, 326; escape in disguise from Oxford of, 328; handing over of, by the Scots, 329; order to Oxford to surrender sent from, 329 Charles II., keen interest in chemistry taken by, 336; conferring of title on Royal Society by, 336; refuge in Oxford from plague taken by, 340; Parliament convened by, at, 341; victory of, over Exclusionist party, 341 Chichele, Archbishop, colleges founded by, 108, 109, 224, 225 ---- prosecution of war with France by, 225 _Chests_, kept in old Congregation House, 159; ceremony in connection with, 160-162 Church property, seizure of, by Wolsey, 260, 261 Churches, number of, in D'Oigli's time, 45; increase in number of, in Henry I.'s time, 45; old, of which no trace remains, 45 S. Aldate, 44, 45 Carfax, 149 S. Clement, "boiled rabbit," 46 S. Ebbe, remains of, 44 S. Frideswide, first site of, 8; burning of, 9; rebuilding of, by Æthelred, 9-11; restoration of, by Robert of Cricklade, 11; description and date of architecture, 11, 12; damage of, by fire, 12; Chapter-house of, 12; school connected with, 19; western bays of, destroyed by Cardinal Wolsey, 20, 21; conversion of, into Cathedral Church of Christ, 270 S. Giles', 92 S. Martin's, 24 S. Mary's, 149, 150; University business transacted at, 153; famous sermons preached at, 154; older portions of, 154; pinnacles added to, 154, 157; buttresses and statues of, 157; chancel and nave of, 157, 158; Convocation held in chancel of, 160; erection of porch of, 310 S. Nicolas, 94 S. Peter's, crypt of, 42, 43; chancel, porch, etc., of, 43, 44 Cobham, Thomas, Bishop of Worcester, enlargement of S. Mary's designed by, 158, 159; books of, pawned for funeral expenses, 159; dispute concerning same between Oriel and the University, 159 Colet, John, course of lectures by, on Epistles of S. Paul, 244; letter to Erasmus from, 245 Colleges and Halls-- _All Souls'_, first foundation of, 224; prominence to study of law and divinity given at, 225; Bedford Hall purchased for site of, 225; quadrangle of, 226; Codrington Library, etc., of, 226 _Balliol_, first foundation of, 127, 128, 129; regulations concerning scholars at, 129; fellowships at, 130; erection of buildings of, in fifteenth century, 130; present chapel of, 130; manuscripts brought to, by William Grey from Italy, 243 _Brasenose Hall_, purchase of, 81; conversion of, into college, 203; famous knocker of, 202, 203; foundation stone of college laid, 203 _Christ Church_, founding of, by Wolsey, 259, 260; suppression of religious houses to procure the funds for, 260, 261; laying of foundation stone of, 262; hall, and other buildings of, 262; migration of Cambridge students to, 262, 263; introduction of Lutheran tenets by same, 263; fortunes of, involved in fall of Wolsey, 268, 269; opposition of members of, to King's divorce, 269; answer of King to Wolsey concerning, 269; later foundation of, 270; court established at, by Charles I., 317; residence at, of Charles II., 340 _Corpus Christi_, first of the Renaissance colleges, 248; foundation of, by Richard Foxe, Bishop of Winchester, 248, 249; statutes of, 249; provisions of, for teaching of New Learning, 249, 250; curious sun-dial at, 250; sculpture over gateway at, 250; connection of, with Magdalen, 250 _Exeter_, first foundation of, 125; statutes of, 125; refounding of, 125; modern buildings of, 125 _Jesus_, first Protestant college, foundation of, by Hugh Rees, 296; Elizabeth, nominal foundress of, 296; statutes of, 296 _King's Hall_, 125 _Lincoln_, first founding of, 146; buildings of, as planned by Bishop Fleming and finished by John Forest, Dean of Wells, 146; remodelling of foundation of, 147; famous sermon preached on behalf of, 147; valuable book brought by Robert Fleming from Italy to, 243 _Magdalen_ (S. Mary Magdalen), first foundation of, 229; statutes of, 193-194; laying foundation stone of, 229; wonderful old trees in "grove" at, 230; arrangement of buildings of, 230; "Founder's Tower" at, 230; statutes of, based on those of New College, 230, 231; visit of Edward IV. to, 231; of Richard III., 231; of Henry VII., 232; old pieces of tapestry at, 235; bell tower of, 235, 237; Wolsey's share in design of, 235; obit for Henry VII. kept by, 236; ceremony at, on May Day, 236, 237; school of, 274, 275; restoration of ejected fellows of, by James I., 347; ceremony in commemoration of, 348; refusal of, to accept President chosen by James II., 345 _seq._ _Merton_, first foundation and statutes of, 116; regulations of, 118, 119; "secondary scholars" of, 119, 120; revision of statutes of, by Walter de Merton, 120, 121; remains of old buildings of, 122; chapel of, 122, 123; quadrangles of, 123, 124; mediæval library of, 123, 124; valuable books in possession of, 124; "Mob" Quad. at, 124; "poore scholars" at, 194; buildings provided for commoners at, known as S. Swithun's, 198, 199; court held at, by Henrietta Maria, 319, 320; residence at, of Charles II.'s queen, 340 _New_, first foundation of, 220; provisions of, as drawn up by William of Wykeham, 221, 222; plan of buildings of, 223, 224; chapel windows of, 224; ecclesiastical aspect of, 224; cloisters of, converted into powder magazine, 317 _Oriel_, first foundation of, 125, 126; buildings bought for, 125 _S. John Baptist_, foundation of, by Sir Thomas White, on site of old College of S. Bernard, 108, 109, 289; munificence of Laud to, 290; buildings at, by Laud, 310; loyalty of, to King, 311; history of precious relic preserved at, 311; colonnades of, 290 _S. Mary's_, Erasmus at, 245; dissolution of and conversion of building to other purposes, 245; remains of ancient building of, 245; present house on site of, 245 _University_, earliest endowment, 78; legend of foundation of, 78, 79; lawsuit in connection with, 79, 80; _French Petition_, 79; real founder of, 80; incorporation of, 82; statutes of, 82, 83; removal of scholars of, to present abode, 83; purchases of houses made by, 83, 84; tenements acquired by, known as Great and Little University Hall, and _Cock on the Hoop_, 83, 84; fortune left to, by Dr John Radcliffe, 84, 85 _Wadham_, foundation of, by Nicholas Wadham, 306; Somersetshire men employed as builders on, 306; style of building of, 306 _Worcester_, Gloucester Hall, afterwards S. John Baptist Hall, refounded as, 106; hall, library and chapel of, 106; beautiful gardens of, 106 Colleges and chantries made over to the King by Parliament, 271, 272 _Commons and battels_, explanation of terms of, 176 _Commoners_, explanation of term of, 193; increase in number of, 193 _seq._; system of, first definitely recognised, 193-194 Congregation House, old, 158 _seq._; University library first lodged there, 159; description of scene in, on appointment of new guardians of "chests," 160-162 Convocation, or Great Congregation, held in chancel of S. Mary's, 160 Convocation House, building of, by Laud, 310 Constantinople, fall of, 240 Crafts and Guilds, market stands appointed to different, 58, 59 Cranmer, Archbishop, imprisonment and martyrdom of, 284-287; portrait of, 287 Cromwell, Thomas, Vicar-general of England, 268, 269 Cromwell, Oliver, appearance of, near Oxford, 327; defeat of Northampton by, 327; of Sir Henry Vaughan by, 327; surrender of Cavaliers at Bletchington House to, 327; visit to Oxford of, to watch progress of Reformation, 334 _Crown Inn_, old, 24 Danes, massacre of, 9; ravages of, 10, 25 Davenant, John, 24 ---- Sir William, Shakespeare sponsor to, 24 _De haeretico Comburendo_, 140 Divinity, decline of study of, after Restoration, 336 Divinity School, and Library, erection of, 226, 227; gifts towards, from Cardinal Beaufort and Thomas Kempe, Bishop of London, 226, 227, 228 Divinity Schools, Parliament sitting at, 320 D'Oigli, Robert, remains of castle of, 25; possession of Oxford by, 28; houses owned by, 29; restoring of fortifications by, 30; description of, 32; marriage of, 33; Castle of Oxford built by, 33; S. Michael's Tower built by, 39; story of conversion of, 40, 41; churches founded by, 41, 42; landmarks left of time of, 46; death of, and successor to, 46 D'Oigli, Robert, nephew of above, 46; story of wife of, 46, 47 Dress, regulations for, of different members of the University, 191, 192, 193 _Drogheda Hall_, 81 Drunkenness, rise of, 305; increase of, 306 Dudley, Robert, Earl of Leicester, reforms instituted by, as Chancellor, 294, 295 Dumas, highwayman, execution of, at Oxford, 354 _Durham Hall_, 106-108; dissolution of, by Henry VIII., 108 Durham Monastery, students sent to Oxford from, 107 Edmund, King, death of, 26, 27 Edmund, Earl of Cornwall, Abbey of Regulars founded by, 108 Edward II., share of Oxford in deposition of, 211 Edward IV., visit of, to Magdalen, 231 Eglesfield, Robert, foundation of Queen's by, 218, 219; statutes drawn up by, 219 Elizabeth, Queen, accession of, 291; needlework of, preserved in Bodleian, 291; deputation from University to, 291; reception of, at Oxford, 291, 292, 293; leave-taking of, 293; second visit of, to Oxford, 297; speech by, 295, 296; departure of, 296, 297, 298 Erasmus, visit of, to Oxford, 245; reception of, 245; description by, of Oxford and scholars, 246; works of, 246 Essex, advance upon Oxford of, 322, 323; occupation of Abingdon by, 324; defeat of, at Gosworth Bridge, 325; defeat of, in Cornwall, 326 Fairfax, Sir Thomas, investment of Oxford by, 328; withdrawal of, 328; renewal of siege by, 329; camp of, on Headington Hill, 329; surrender of Oxford to, 329; visit of, to Oxford to watch progress of Reformation, 334 Fellows, ceremony gone through at All Souls' previous to admittance as, 178, 179 Fleming, Bishop, "Collegiolum," beginning of Lincoln College, founded by, 146 ---- Robert, compiler of Græco-Latin Dictionary, 243 _Folly Bridge_, 22, 23, 103 Foxe, Richard, Bishop of Winchester, founder of Corpus Christi College, 248, 249 ---- provision for teaching of New Learning made by, 249, 250 Friars, coming of the, 93, 94; influence of, 113; academic studies of, 114; conflict of, with University regarding Degree of Arts, 115, 116 ---- Austin, settlement of, in Oxford, 104 ---- Black, lands and buildings granted to, 94 ---- Carmelite, first coming of, 103; Palace of Beaumont granted to, 103, 104 ---- library and church of, 104 ---- Crossed, or Cruched, settlement of, in Oxford, 105 ---- Grey, story of arrival of, in Oxford, 94-96; benefactors of, 96, 97; site chosen by, for settlements, 97; _Rule_ of, 98; grant of Henry III. to, 98, 99; convent of, 99; first school of, 99; libraries of, 100; eminent men from schools of, 100, 101 ---- Penitentiarian, or Brothers of the Sack, arrival of, in Oxford, and early suppression of, 105 Garret, Thomas, Lutheran, account of escape and arrest of, 263-266 Gibbon, Edward, historian, "Gentleman Commoner" at Magdalen, 197 Giraldus Cambrensis, visit to Oxford of, 70, 71; account of same by, 74 _Gloucester Hall_, history of, 105, 106 (see Worcester College) Godstow village, and remains of nunnery of, 55 Great schism, the, 135 Greek, introduction of study of, into England, 243 _Greeks and Trojans_, representatives of Old and New Learning so called, 247 Grey, William, manuscripts brought from Italy by, 243 Grinling Gibbons, carvings by, in Queen's library, 220; in Trinity Chapel, 289 Grossetete, Robert, 99, 100; authority of, over University, 113; intervention of, on behalf of University, 167 Guarino of Verona, pupils of, from Oxford, 243 Gunpowder Plot, 304 Halls, origin of old names of, 175 Hampden, death of, 323 Hanoverians, pacific policy of, 349 Harold, Cnut's successor, death of, at Oxford, 27 Hawksmoor, Nicholas, architect, 219, 226, 339 Haydock, Richard, pretence of, to miraculous preaching, 305 Henry Beauclerk, 54, 69 Henry II., 55; quarrel of, with Becket, 71, 72; encouragement to literary culture given by, 72, 73 ---- III., support given to, by Oxford Dominicans, 131; struggle of, with Barons, 208 _seq._ ---- V. at Queen's College, 238 ---- VII., visit to Oxford of, 232; endowment of University by, in return for memorial service, 232; munificence of, 232; gift of, towards Magdalen bell tower, 235; obit established by, for widow of Warwick, the king-maker, 232; obit kept for, by Magdalen, 236 ---- VIII., call on University for judgment concerning divorce by, 266, 267; marriage of, declared void, 268; refusal of, to despoil the colleges, 270 Hermitage of "Our Lady in the Wall," 112 _High Street_, 149 _Holywell Manor_, 29 Hospitals and Hermitages, various, in Oxford, 112 Hostels, halls practically, 176; regulations concerning, 176 Hoton, Richard of, Prior of Durham Monastery, erection of college by, 107 _House of Converts_, foundation of, by Henry III., 109; later converted into "Blue Boar," 109; site of, occupied by modern Town Hall, 109 Houses, built of stone by Jews, and after Great Fire, 174; description of, by Wood, 175; names of, according to structure, 175 Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, acquisition by University of library of, 227, 228, 229; death of, 228; three books only of remaining in Bodleian Library, 299; loss and destruction of remaining ones, 299 Hyde, Edward, Earl of Clarendon, historian of the Great Rebellion, 329, 330 Inigo Jones, gateway of Physic Garden, designed by, 54; colonnades and garden front of S. John's by, 290; scenery of Interludes arranged by, 311 Inns, Old, 175, 176 Irishmen, statute ordering, to quit the realm, 201; exemption of Irish students from, 201; complaints against, 201 Jackson, T. G., architect, 289 James I., visit of, to Bodleian, and gift of, to Library, 301-2; visit of, to Oxford with Queen and Prince Henry, 305; letters patent to University, granted by, 307; play performed in honour of, 311 ---- II., accession of, 344; endeavour of, to transform the University into a Roman Catholic Seminary, 344 _seq._; election of President of Magdalen by, 345; visit to Oxford of, to enforce obedience from Fellows of Magdalen, 346; change of policy of, and restoration of ejected fellows by, 347 Jewry, deadly feud of, with Priory of S. Fridewide, 51, 52 Jewries, Great and Little, boundaries of, 51 Jews, protection enjoyed by, 51, 52; wealth and insolence of, 52; persecution and banishment of, 53; place of burial granted to, 53 Jousts, or tourneys, reason for forbidding, 203, 204 Jurisprudence, revival of study of, 67 Kempe, Thomas, Bishop of London, gift towards completion of Divinity School and Library from, 227, 228 _King's Mead_, 41 Laud, William, Archbishop, election of, as chancellor, 308; statutes of, 308; University reforms of, 308, 309; suppression of Puritanism by, 308; general reforms of, 309; munificence of, in gifts, endowments, etc., 310 Learning, state of, during early Middle Ages, 65, 66 Lewes, battle of, 210 Linacre, Thomas, 244 Lollardism, centre of, at Oxford, 138, 139; stamping out of, 140; continued support of, in Oxford, and final suppression of, 140-143; students' riots in connection with, 217 Lutheranism, introduction of, by Cambridge students, 263; measures taken to stamp out, 263; arrest of adherents of, 263-266; proscription of heretical books, 266 _Mad Parliament_, the, meeting of, in Convent of Black Friars, 131 Margaret, Countess of Richmond, foundation of Colleges by, 232; of Readerships at Oxford and Cambridge, 235 Marsh (de Marisco) Adam, 100, 113 Marston Moor, battle of, 326 Martyr, Catherine, wife of Peter, 16 _Martyrs' Memorial_, 288 Mary, Queen, prosecution of Protestants by, 276 _seq._ Master of Arts, first mention of degree of, 88 Matilda, Queen, besieged by Stephen, 37; escape of, from Oxford Castle, 37 Merton, Walter de, founder of Merton College, 116 _seq._; statutes of, 120, 121 More, Thomas, 244, 246; execution of, 268 Morris, William, 355, 356 Naseby, battle of, 328 New Learning, the, at Oxford, 240, 241; Oxford students attracted to Italy by, 243; opposition of Old Learning to, 247; King and Wolsey supporters of, 247, 248 Northampton, defence of, by students during Wars of the Barons, 210 _Northerners_ and _Southerners_, main division of students into, 200; encounters between, 200-202; respective attitudes of, towards Lollardism, 217 Old Learning, rise of, against Greek and Heresy, 247 Osney, Monastery of, tale in connection with foundation of, 46, 47; beauty of, 47; destruction of, 47, 48; picture of, in old window, 48; famous bells of, 48, 49; mill at, used for powder factory, 319 _Our Lady in the Wall_, old hermitage known as, 112 Oxford, town of, legend of origin of, 61, 62 ---- vill. of, early existence of, 7; first religious community at, 7; first mention of, 22; old boundaries and roads of, 22; old tower of castle mound of, 25; natural defences of, 25, 26; gemots held at, 26, 27; assembly held at, to appoint Cnut's successor, 27; death of Harold at, 27; submission of, to Conqueror, 28; record of, in Domesday Book, 28, 29; old wall of fortification of, 30, 32; old entrance to, 30 ---- castle of, 33; additions to, and remains of, 34; romantic episode connected with, 34, 35; position of, 38, 39 ---- Charter granted to, by Henry II., 55, 56; crafts and guilds of, 56-59 ---- quarrel of town of, with University, and penalty imposed on, for usurping jurisdiction, 75, 76, 77; insanitary condition of, in early times, 97; description of streets of, in mediæval times, 150; penalties incurred by citizens of, after riot on S. Scholastica's Day, 216; charter of, taken from and restored to, by Henry VIII., 271; reforms at, as to licensing, etc., introduced by Laud, 309; sympathies of, with Parliaments, 313, 314; entry into, of Parliamentary troops, 316, 317; evacuation of, by same, 317; entry into, of Royalist troops, 317; plan of defences at, 318; court established at, 319; description of spectacle presented by, at this time, 319-321; sitting of Parliaments at, 320; gaieties at, 320, 321; mustering of Royalists at, 324; siege of, by Fairfax, 328, 329; surrender of, 329; honourable terms granted to, by Fairfax, 329; Parliament convened at, 341; rise in price of provisions at, 341; Jacobite riots at, 349-351; later improvement at, 353, 354 _Oxford Gazette_, first appearance of, 341 Oxford, University of, possible origin of, 19; origin of, as given by Rous, and in Historica, 62, 63; controversy as to priority of, 63, 64; Alfred as founder of, 64, 65; independence of, 70; account of, by Giraldus Cambrensis, 70, 71; migration to, of scholars from Paris, 71, 72, 73; quarrel of, with town regarding Ecclesiastical Jurisdiction, 75, 76; penalty imposed on, 76, 77; second migration to, of scholars from Paris, 77; privileges and customs of, 77, 78; first houses bought by, 81, 82; spirit of, as opposed to spirit of Church, 90; rise of scholastic philosophy at, 91; support of Lollardism by, 138 _seq._; articles drawn up by, for reform of Church, 144, 145; representatives of, at Constance, 145; precincts of, as defined in reign of Henry IV., 169; classes held to be "of the privilege of," 169, 170; number of scholars at, 170; attitude of, during Barons' War, 209; during struggle between Edward II. and the supporters of the Queen, 211; further privileges secured by, after riot on S. Scholastica's Day, 212, 215, 216; effect of lawlessness of students upon, 217; reforms adopted by, 218; causes of decay in prosperity of, 221; stagnation at, in fifteenth century, 226; political time-serving of, 231; gifts to, by Henry VII., 232; change in character of, at close of Middle Ages, 238; charter granted to, at request of Wolsey, 256; grievances arising from favour shown by crown to, 256, 257; struggle arising from grant of charter to, 257, 258; repeal of same, 258; confirmation of old charter of, and fresh disturbances at, 258, 259; called on to decide in favour of separation from Rome, 268; learning at, checked by early development of Reformation, 271; charter of, taken over by King, and restored, 271; visitation of, in 1535, 272; enforcement of "Edwardian Statutes" at, 273; reception of Queen Elizabeth by, 291, 292; feuds at, between Roman Catholics and Calvinists, 296; letters patent granted to, by James I., 307; support of Absolutism by, 307; revision of statutes of, by Laud, 308; recovery of popularity by, under Laud, 310; support of Royalists' cause by, 313 _seq._; defence of city undertaken by, 314, 315; council of war formed by, 315; offer of, to laydown arms, 316; escape of volunteers belonging to, before the siege, 316; liberties and privileges guaranteed to, by Fairfax, 329; elections suspended at, by Parliament, 331; deplorable condition of, 331; Parliamentary Commission to, 332 _seq._; Royal Commission to, 335; gift of Arundel marbles to, 337; drunkenness and general degeneracy at, 343; resistance of, to James I.'s policy, 346; depreciation of learning at, during reign of Toryism, 351, 352; description of life at, 352, 353; revival of new order of things at, 354; development of, 354, 355; revival of spirituality at, 355; of mediævalism, 355 Papal Legate, arrival of, at Oxford, 206; flight of, 207; English shores forbidden to, 207 Paris, University at, 67; famous scholars at, 68, 69; development from schools of Notre Dame of, 70; migration from, owing to King's quarrel with Becket, 71, 72; further migration from, of scholars, 77 Parsons, Robert, dissemination of Romanist literature by, 295 Peasant Revolt, 137, 138 _Perilous Hall_, bought by Oriel, 125 Penn, William, endeavour of, to bring about a compromise between James I. and fellows of Magdalen, 346 Philargi, Peter (Alexander V.), only graduate of Oxford or Cambridge who became Pope, 144 Physic garden, first land set apart for study of plants, 53, 54; trees, etc., grown in, 54 _Pie-powder Court_, 19 Plays, first acting of, in colleges and halls, 188; performed in honour of royalty, 311 Poets Laureate, rhetoricians so styled, 254 Popery, enforcement of Edwardian Statutes against, 273, 274, 276 _Port Meadow_, 46 Printing, lack of encouragement of, at Oxford, 241, 243 Proctors, first mention of, 199; office of, 200 Protestantism (see also under Lutheranism), enforcement of, at Oxford under Edwardian Statutes, 273, 274; reaction against, 276 Pullen, Robert, lectures of, on Bible, 69 Puritanism, growth of, in Oxford, 305; suppression of, by Laud, 308; struggle of, with High Church party, 312, 313 Radcliffe, Dr John, court physician, 84 Radcliffe Quadrangle, Infirmary, Observatory, and Library, 87 Rede, William, Bishop of Chichester, gift of library to Merton by, 123 Reynolds, Sir Joshua, windows by, 224 Rich, Edmund, story of, 88-90 Richard III., visit of, to Magdalen, 231 Richard, Earl of Cornwall, foundation endowed by, 108 Ridley and Latimer, martyrdom of, 276-282 Robert of Cricklade, restoration of S. Frideswide by, 11 Robsart, Amy, death of, 294 Roger de Mortimer, 211 Roman Catholics, proceedings against, 296, 306 Rood, Theodore, of Cologne, first Oxford press set up by, 242, 243 Rotherham, Thomas, Chancellor of Cambridge and Archbishop of York, foundation of Lincoln remodelled by, 147 Rous, John, old chronicler, account of origin of Oxford by, 62 _Rowley Abbey_, foundation of, by Friars, 108; dissolution and remains of, 109 Royal Society, the, 336, 339; title conferred on, by Charles II., 336 Rufinus, Tyrannius, work by, being the first book issued from the Oxford Press, 241 Rupert, Prince, daring raid of, 322, 323; surrender of Bristol to, 323; defeat of, at Marston Moor, 326; solace of, in old age, 336 Ruskin, John, revival of mediævalism in art by, 355; indebtedness of Oxford to, 356; influence of, on architecture, 356 Saint Aldate's Road, 22, 23; old house in, 50 Saint Bartholomew, Hospital of, foundation of, by Henry I., 110; ceremony on May Day at, 110; relics preserved at, 110, 111; base use of, by Parliamentarians, 111; restoration of, 111, 112; remains of, 112 Saint Frideswide, legend of, 7 Saint Frideswide, Shrine of, 8; destruction of, 15, 16; new shrine of, 16 ---- illustration of tale of, in window by Burne-Jones, 8; translation of relics of, 12 ---- Priory of, suppression through Wolsey's agency of, 260, 261 ---- Fair of, revival of, 19 _Saint George's Tower_, old castle of Oxford known as, 33 _S. John the Baptist_, hospital of, 112, 113 _S. Michael's Tower_, 39, 40 Say, Lord, Parliamentary Lord Lieutenant of Oxford, enters town with troops, 316; evacuation of town by, 317 Science, propagation of, at University after Restoration, 336 Scholastic philosophy, methods of, 91, 92; schools of, 131-133; final downfall of, 272, 273 _Scotists_ and _Thomists_, rival camps of, 131, 132 Scott, Sir Gilbert, 12, 125, 224, 354 Selling, William, introduction of study of Greek by, 243; pupils of, 244 Shakespeare, as sponsor to Sir William Davenant, 24. Simnal, Lambert, 231 Simon de Montfort, support by Oxford Franciscans of, 131; terms of reform drawn up by, 207, 208; country in hands of, 208; espousal by Universities of cause of, 209; rise of, to head of the State, 210 Skelton, John, poet, 254, 255; attitude of, towards Wolsey, 54, 255; position in court held by, 255 _Spicer Hall_, known later as University Hall, 83 Stamford, migration of scholars to, 202; famous Brazen Nose knocker carried to, 202 Stampensis, Theobaldus, lecturer, 69 Stapleton, Walter de, Bishop of Exeter, foundation of hall, afterwards Exeter College, by, 125 Stephen of Blois, election of, as king, 34; Oxford besieged by, 37 Stillington, Bishop, submission to Henry VII.'s demands by, 231 _Stockwell Street_, 103 Students, mediæval, studies of, carried on at different centres, 171, 172; journey to, and arrival in Oxford, 173, 174; rents and prices regulated in favour of, 174; entrance into University life of, 177; ceremony of initiation among, 177, 178; daily life of, 179 _seq._; one meal a day of, 186; restrictions on amusements of, 187, 188, 203; punishments inflicted on, 189, 190; dress of, 191, 192; different grades of, 193; main division between, 200; revolt of, against masters, 203; conflicts of, with citizens, 204 _seq._; political significance of riotings of, 206; resistance to Papal interference of, 207; disturbances among, during Barons' war, 208 _seq._; espousal of de Montford's cause by, 209; defence of Northampton by, 210; terrible riot of, with citizens on S. Scholastica's Day, 212-215; religious conflicts between, 217; effect of lawlessness of, on University, 217; reforms necessitated by, 218 Students, new class of, introduced after the Restoration, 335, 336 Sweating sickness, 251, 252, 256 _Tackley's Inn_, bought by Oriel, 125 Tapestry, old piece of, at Magdalen, 235 Thames, old branches of, 25, 26 Tiptoft, John, Earl of Worcester, present of MSS. from, 243 _Tom, Great_, bell called, 48, 49 _Tom Quad_, 19, 20 _Tom Tower_, building of, 49; cupola of, by Wren, 49 _Town_ and _gown_, riots between, 204 _seq._; riot between, on S. Scholastica's Day, 212-215 Travelling, dangers of, in old times, 174 Tristrope, John, famous sermon on behalf of Lincoln College by, 147 _Turl_, the, origin of name, 146 University (see under Oxford) ---- Library, lodged in _Old Congregation House_, 159; removal of, to Duke Humphrey's Library, 159; methods of securing and preserving books belonging to, 159, 160; catalogue of, 159; statutes concerning, 159, 160; gift to, by Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, 227; books and manuscripts from Italy brought to, 243; gift of manuscripts from Laud to, 310 Vacarius, lectures on civil law given by, in England, 69; order to cease from lecturing received by, from Stephen, 69 Vitelli, Cornelio, introduction of polite literature into schools of Oxford by, 244 Vives, Juan Luis, first Professor of Humanity at Corpus Christi, 247, 248 Waller, 325; army of, crushed at Copredy Bridge, 326 Waterhouse, Mr, architect, 131 Waynflete, William Patten, or, Barbour of, Bishop of Winchester, foundation of Hall of S. Mary Magdalen by, 229; resignation of Chancellorship by, 229; statutes drawn up by, 193-194 William, Archdeacon of Durham, founder of University College, 80, 81, 82 William of Wykeham, fashion of erection of pinnacles set by, 154; foundation of S. Mary, or New College, by, 220; life and works of, 220 _seq._ Wolsey, Thomas, Cardinal, building of _Tom Quad_ by, 19, 20; destruction of western bays of S. Frideswide by, 20, 21; fellow and senior bursar of Magdalen, 235; attacks on, by Skelton, 254, 255; charter to University granted at request of, 256; foundation of Christ Church by, 259; seizure of Church property for same, 260, 261; downfall of, 268, 269; appeal of, to King, concerning his college, 269 Wood, Anthony, historian of Oxford, 330, 331; quotations from, _passim_ Woodstock, palace and park, construction of, by Henry Beauclerk, 54 Wren, Sir Christopher, cupola of Tom Tower by, 49; architect of Trinity, 289; deputed to carry letter of thanks to Henry Howard for gift of Arundel Marbles, 339; marks of his genius left on Oxford, 339, 340 Wycliffe, John, 133 _seq._; position of, at Oxford and at court, 134; alliance of, with Lancastrian party, 134; summons to, for erroneous teaching, 134, 135; opposition to Papacy declared by, 135; religious movement started by, 135, 136; attack on friars by, 136, 137; heretical doctrines of, and conflict of, with Church, 137 _seq._; death of, 140; remains of, dug up and burnt, 145 PRINTED BY TURNBULL AND SPEARS, EDINBURGH FOOTNOTES: [1] _Cornhill Magazine._ [2] Pie-Powder Court--a Summary Court of Justice held at fairs, when the suitors were usually country clowns with dusty feet--(_pied poudré_). [3] The earliest mention of Oxford occurs in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle under the year 912. It is there spelt Oxnaforda and Oxanforda, and in Domesday Book it is spelt Oxeneford. Coins from Eadward's day onwards show that Ox at least was regarded as an essential element in the word, and it is most easy to assume that the place was called after the Ford of the Oxen in the river here. But the easiest explanation is seldom the best. And a rival theory explains the name as a corruption of Ouse-ford, or Ousen-ford, _i.e._, the Ford over the River. For the evidence is strongly in favour of the probability that the name Ouse was at one time applied to the Thames, which indeed has one of the dialectic forms of the word Ouse retained in it, viz. Tam-_ese_, though the theory that the junction of the Isis or Ouse and Thame made Tamisis = Thames, is fanciful. The other form of the word is retained in the Oseneye of Osney Abbey, and a tributary stream retains the hardened form Ock. Therefore Ousen-ford or Oxen-ford may mean the River-ford. There is no certainty in these matters, but the latter derivation commends itself most. [See Parker's "Early Oxford" (O.H.S.), to which I have been frequently indebted in the first part of this chapter.] [4] The manor took its name from a well that lay to the north side of the Church of S. Cross. The manor-house, itself (near the racquet courts) was recently used as a public-house, called the Cock-pit, because there was a pit where the citizens of Oxford fought their mains. It was afterwards converted into a Penitentiary, a home for fallen women. Traces of the Holy Well have recently been discovered beneath the new chapel. [5] The wall is clearly traceable between 57 and 58 High Street. The passage by No. 57 is a piece of the old Royal Way under the walls. This way can be traced in King's Street from its western edge to the gardens of the small houses facing the New Examination Schools. It occurs again in Ship Street, from Jesus College stables to the rear of the houses facing them, and again between the Divinity School and the west front of the Theatre. (See Hurst, "Topography.") [6] The crypt, which had been beneath the apse of the chapel, was afterwards replaced approximately in its position, north-east of the tower. The capitals of the four dwarf pillars which support the groining are interesting, and should be compared and contrasted with those in S. Peter's in the East. [7] The original crypt is preserved and a Norman arcade, east of the north aisle. [8] Aldrich was a man of remarkable and versatile talents. The author of admirable hand-books on logic, heraldry and architecture, he was equally skilled in chemistry and theology. In music he earned both popularity and the admiration of musicians by his catches, services and anthems; and as an architect he has left his mark on Oxford, in Peckwater Quadrangle (Ch. Ch.) and All Saint's Church. As a man of sense he loved his pipe, and wrote an amusing catch to tobacco; as a wit he gave five good reasons for not abstaining from wine: "A friend, good wine, because you're dry Because you may be, by and bye;-- Or any other reason why." It was under Aldrich that the Battle of the Books arose, the great literary controversy, which began with the immature work of a Christ Church student and ended with the masterpieces of Swift and Bentley. [9] It was probably built for him. Some of the original Tudor work remains, but the greater part of the visible portions are rough Jacobean imitation, of the year 1628. [10] During the restoration of the Cathedral in 1856 a remarkable crypt was discovered beneath the paving of the choir. It was but seven feet long by five and a half, and contained lockers at each end. It has been most reasonably supposed that this was a secret chamber, where the University Chest was deposited. This crypt, situated between the north and south piers of the tower, was covered up after investigation. The site of it recalls the time when charitable people were founding "chests" to help the education of the poor. Grossetete in 1240 issued an ordinance regulating S. Frideswide's Chest, which received the fines paid by the citizens. From this and other charitable funds loans might be made to poor scholars on security of books and so forth, no interest being charged. Charity thus entered into competition with the usury of the Jews, who had to be restrained by law from charging _over 43 per cent._ on loans to scholars (1244). [11] The Vintnery, the quarter of taverns and wine cellars, which was at the north end of S. Aldate's, flourished mightily. The students, for all their lust of knowledge, were ever good samplers of what Rabelais calls the holy water of the cellar. You might deduce that from the magnificent cellars of the Mitre Inn or Bulkley Hall (corner of S. Edward's Street) and above all from those of the old Vintnery. For the houses north of the Town Hall have some splendid cellars, which connect with another under the street, and so with others under the first house on the west side of S. Aldgate's, the famous old Swindlestock (Siren or Mermaid Inn). These are good specimens of early fifteenth century vaults. It is supposed that when these cellars were dug, the earth was thrown out into the street and there remained in the usual mediæval way. This, it is maintained, accounts for the hill at Carfax. Certainly the earliest roadway at Carfax is traceable at the unexpected depth of eleven feet seven inches below the present high road, which is some three and a half feet below what it should be according to the average one foot per hundred years observed by most mediæval towns as their rate of deposit. [12] Wycliffe, we know, appeared before Parliament, and there is a writ of Edward I. requiring the Chancellor to send "quattuor vel quinque de discretioribus et in jure scripto magis expertes Universitatis" to Parliament. [13] "Universitas est plurium corporum collectio inter se distantium uno nomine specialiter eis deputata" is the well-known definition of Hugolinus. The term "studium generale" or "studium universale" came into use, so far as documents are any guide, in the middle of the thirteenth century (Denifle). Earlier, and more usually however, the word "studium" was used to describe a place where a collection of schools had been established. The epithet "generale" was used, apparently, to distinguish the merely local schools of Charlemagne from those where foreign students were permitted and even encouraged to come, as they were, for instance, at Naples by Frederick II. So that a University or seat of General study was a place whither students came from every quarter for every kind of knowledge. [14] This term faculty, which originally signified the capacity (facultas) to teach a particular subject, came to be applied technically to the subject itself or to the authorised teachers of it viewed collectively. A University might include one or all of the "Faculties" of Theology, Law, Medicine and the Liberal Arts, although naturally enough each of the chief Universities had its own particular department of excellence. A complete course of instruction in the seven liberal arts, enumerated in the old line "Lingua, tropus, ratio, numerus, tonus, angulus, astra," was intended as a preparation for the study of theology--the main business of Oxford as of Paris University. The Arts were divided into two parts, the first including the three easier or "trivial" subjects--Grammar, Rhetoric and Logic; the second the remaining four--Arithmetic, Geometry, Music and Astronomy. [15] The example of William of Durham as the first Englishman to bequeath funds to enable the secular clergy to study theology was soon followed by others. William Hoyland, one of the Bedels of the University, left his estate to the University, and (1255) Walter Gray, Archbishop of York, also bequeathed his property to it. [16] A portrait of Dr Radcliffe, by Sir Godfrey Kneller, hangs over the doorway. The building was used at first to house works on Natural History, Physical Science and Medicine, for it was Radcliffe's object to encourage these studies. The Library was therefore known as the Physic Library. This has been removed to the University Museum, and the Camera, or "the Radcliffe" as it is familiarly called, is now used as a reading-room in connection with the Bodleian. It is open for the use of students daily from ten to ten. Visitors to Oxford are recommended to climb to the roof and obtain the magnificent panoramic view of the city and neighbourhood which it commands. [17] Worcester Street--Stockwell Street (Stoke-Well, the Well which afterwards rejoiced in the name of Plato's, as opposed to Aristotle's Well, half a mile off). East of the Well was the rough land known till quite recently as Broken Hayes. [18] It was enacted (1302) that the Regents in two Faculties, with a majority of the Non-Regents, should have the power to make a permanent statute binding on the whole University. This system was calculated to drown the friars. It was confirmed by the arbitrators (1313), who ordered, however, that the majority should consist of three Faculties instead of two, of which the Faculty of Arts must be one. [19] Founded in 1361 by Simon Islip, Archbishop of Canterbury, to be a nursery for "that famous College of Christ Church in Canterbury." The Doric Gateway--Canterbury Gate--which leads from Merton Street into the Canterbury Quad. of Christ Church, in which Mr Gladstone once had rooms, recalls the name of this Benedictine foundation. The old buildings were removed in 1770; the present gateway was designed by Wyatt, chiefly at the expense of Dr Robinson, Archbishop of Armagh. [20] "Wycliffe, and movements for Reform." Poole. [21] Called after the "famous postern gate" (Twirl-gate), pulled down in 1722. [22] Pennilesse Bench. This was a row of stalls and seats erected outside the church for the convenience of the market folk. A church, in mediæval days, was always the centre of commerce; stalls and even dwellings were frequently built on to the outside walls of a famous fane. Visitors to Nuremberg will remember the Bratwurstglöcklein there. ("Story of Nuremberg," p. 198.) [23] Vid. _Quarterly Review_, Jan. 1892. [24] Two M.A.'s who were taking part in the final exercise for their degree were chosen, one by each proctor, to make a Latin speech, one on the Saturday of the Act, the other on the Monday. These speeches were supposed to be humorous and were more often merely exhibitions of scurrilous buffoonery. [25] See Professor Case's admirable "Enquiry concerning the Pinnacled Steeple of the University Church." [26] The present ones (1895) are a compromise, and repeat the fault. [27] "When that is done," Hearne adds, "they knock at all the Middle Chambers where most of the Seniors lodge, of whom they demand crowns apiece, which is readily given, then they go with twenty or thirty torches upon the leads of the College, where they sing their song as before. This ended they go into their Common Rooms and make themselves merry with what wine every one has a mind to." According to tradition, a mallard was found in a drain when the foundations of the college were laid, and Prof. Burrows has ingeniously explained the origin of this tradition as arising from the discovery of a seal with the impression of a griffin, _Malardi Clerici_, when a drain was being dug. [28] Old Dr Kettell of Trinity used to carry a pair of scissors in his muff, and snip off the long locks of his scholars with these, or with a bread knife on the buttery hatch. [29] His pastoral staff of silver gilt, adorned with fine enamels, survives, and is carried before the Bishop of Winchester whenever he comes to visit the college. A good portrait of the founder hangs in the warden's lodgings. [30] This is the old name (cattorum vicus) of the street which has now been made over to S. Catherine. A similar instance of the "genteel" tendency to eschew monosyllables and not to call things by their proper names is afforded by the attempts to call Hell Passage, S. Helen's. This is not due to a love of Saints, but to the "refinement" of the middle classes, who prefer white sugar to brown. In the Middle Ages men called a spade a spade. The names of the old streets in London or Paris would set a modern reader's hair on end. But they described the streets. At Oxford the Quakers (1654) first settled in New Inn Hall Street, but it was then known as the Lane of the Seven Deadly Sins. [31] It was after this patroness of learning that Lady Margaret's Hall was called. It was founded at the same time as Somerville Hall (opened 1879, Woodstock Road) as a seminary for the higher education of women. Lady Margaret's Hall and S. Hugh's Hall are in Norham Gardens. The latter, like S. Hilda's (the other side of Magdalen Bridge), is also for female students, who have been granted the privilege of attending University lectures and of being examined by the University examiners. [32] _Cf._ "Magdalen College." H. A. Wilson. [33] Among the accounts of the Vice-Chancellor is found the following item: "In wine & marmalade at the great disputations Xd." & again, "In wine to the Doctors of Cambridge 11s." [34] In 1875 stakes and ashes, however, were found also immediately opposite the tower gateway of Balliol, and this spot was marked in the eighteenth century as the site of the martyrdom. Another view is that the site was, as indicated by Wood, rather on the brink of the ditch, near the Bishop's Bastion, behind the houses south of Broad Street. There were possibly two sites. I do not think that there is anything to show that Latimer and Ridley were burned on exactly the same spot as Cranmer. If Cranmer died opposite the college gateway, the site marked, but more probably the third suggested site, near the Bishop's Bastion, may be that where Ridley and Latimer perished. [35] The door of the Bishops' Hole is preserved in S. Mary Magdalen Church. [36] Most of the pictures and works of art have been transferred to the University Galleries, opposite the Randolph Hotel (Beaumont Street); the natural science collections, including the great anthropological collection of General Pitt Rivers, to the Science Museum in the parks (1860). [37] "The crown piece struck at Oxford in 1642 has on the reverse, RELIG. PROT. LEG. ANG. OR ANG. LIBER. PAR, in conformity with Charles' declaration that he would 'preserve the Protestant religion, the known laws of the land, and the just privileges and freedom of Parliament.' But the coin peculiarly called the Oxford crown, beautifully executed by Rawlins in 1644, has underneath the King's horse a view of Oxford" (Boase). [38] On this occasion Lady Castlemaine lodged in the rooms of Dr Gardiner, who built the fountain afterwards known as Mercury in Tom Quad, from the statue set up there by Dr Radcliffe. [39] Terræ Filius, 1733. [40] See the Ruskin Art School in the Art Museum with the collection of Turner's drawings and water colours. * * * * * Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: facade=> façade {pg 25} anyrate=> any rate {pg 72} Rewly=> Rewley {pg 108, 109} succeeeding=> succeeeding {pg 121} fomerly=> formerly {pg 160} wherin=> wherein {pg 273} by a a kind=> by a kind {pg 334}