Chapter VI: His First Year in Cambridge

What strikes a Catholic as the most singular feature in Protestant education is the want of special training for the clergyman. A dozen young men go to the University for a dozen different purposes, and there is the same rule, the same studies, the same moral discipline for all. Such, at least, was the rule in the days of Mr. Spencer's college life. It seems extraordinary to the Catholic student, who has to learn Latin and Greek only as subsidiary instruments to his higher studies; who has to read two years philosophy and four years theology, and pass severe examinations nine or ten different times in each, besides a general one in all, before he can be qualified to receive the priesthood. The clerical training with us is as different from that through which young Spencer had to pass as one thing can be from another.

His life for the first year may be very briefly told. He hears from Mr. Blomfield that he is to attend divinity lectures, and he forthwith begins. He is advised by a Professor Monk, afterwards Protestant Bishop of Gloucester, to stand for a scholarship, and he does so after getting Blomfield's consent. This makes him study very hard for some time, and though he did not succeed, the taste he had acquired by the preparation did not leave him till the end of the year, when he came out in the first class, having left his competitors, with one exception, far behind. He also spends some hours every day in athletic exercises, is very fond of riding, goes now and again to London and Althorp to amuse himself with attending the theatres, dining out, shooting partridge, and playing at Pope Joan. He relaxes {29} in his determination to avoid whist, and indulges so far that he puts a note of exclamation in his journal at having returned to his chambers one night without having had a game. This seems to be the regular course of his life at Cambridge, a course edifying indeed, if compared with the lives of his companions. He says:--

"I have observed before that the example and conversation of Mr.
Blomfield, while I remained with him, gave an impulse to my mind
towards the love of literary pursuits. I did not think, however, of
exerting myself particularly in that way till the end of the first
term, when I was persuaded by Mr. Monk, the Greek professor, now
Protestant Bishop of Gloucester, to be a candidate for a university
scholarship. Dr. Monk was four years senior to Mr. Blomfield, and I
understood from him that he had been of great service to him in the
same way, when at college, encouraging his exertions and studies. I
was told that I passed this examination creditably, but I did not
stand so high among the competitors as to make it desirable that I
should repeat the attempt afterwards, and the only honours that I
tried for were confined to Trinity College. I was thus stimulated
during this time to more than common exertions; it gave me a
disposition to study which continued through my time at Cambridge,
and was the only good disposition which was encouraged in me. I have
reason then to remember with gratitude those who helped me in this
way; though it is a lamentable thing that, being there professedly
as a student for the church, in what is the proper seminary for
ecclesiastics of the Church of England, I cannot call to mind one
word of advice given me by anyone among my superiors or companions
to guard me against the terrible dangers with which I was surrounded
of being entirely corrupted, or to dispose me towards some little
care of my spiritual concerns.

"My studies I followed with great zeal all the time I was at
Cambridge; but, as is generally the case there with those that aim
at places in the public examinations, I managed them without proper
distribution of time. By running through the journal I kept at the
time I find that, when {30} first I began to read hard, I have often
sat without moving from my table and read the clock round, that is,
from three or four in the afternoon to the same hour the next
morning, for the sake of doing what was counted an extraordinary
feat. There is no doubt that reading with regularity a smaller
number of hours every day would be more available for the attainment
of learning than these immoderate surfeits of study, as one may call
them; I only interposed a few days of amusement, when hardly any
work was done. In the long run, such a course as mine could not
answer, for it was sure to hurt the health and prevent the
attainment of the real end of all a young man's studies, which is,
acquiring knowledge to be turned to account in after life. Few young
men at Oxford or Cambridge, I suppose, have wisdom enough to
calculate this in advance. The object which they aim at is present
distinction, and outstripping their fellows in the race for college
prizes; and, as far as my experience goes, a glut of reading, if the
health does but stand it without breaking down, is the way to make
the most of one's chance at a public examination.

"The time of my being at Cambridge is one so interesting to me in
the recollection, that I cannot satisfy myself, when giving an
account of my progress through life, without dwelling at some length
upon it. My college course was not very long. At the time when I was
at Cambridge, honorary degrees were conferred on the sons of
noblemen at the end of two years' residence, by which they came to
the enjoyment of the rank and all the privileges of a Master of
Arts, which title was not to be attained, in the ordinary course, in
less than six or seven years. And what shortens the college life
much more is the extravagant length of the vacations; so that what
is reckoned one year at Cambridge is not more than five months'
actual residence in the University. Yet this is a most important and
critical period, and the short two years during which I was an
undergraduate at Cambridge were of immense importance in my destiny.
How vast is the good, of which I have learned the loss, but which I
might have gained, had I then known how to direct my views! On the
other hand, how {31} may I bless God for the quantity of evil from
which I have been preserved, and how wonderful has been my
preservation! When I remember how destitute I was of religion at
this time, I must say that I have to wonder rather at my being
preserved from so much evil, than at my having fallen into so much.
And how can I bless God for his exceeding goodness of which I am now
reminded, when I think how, against my own perverse will, against my
foolish, I must say mad wishes, I was prevented by his Providence
from being at this time irrevocably ruined and lost? What can I
return to Him for this blessing? One principal intention in my
present work is to record the sentiments of gratitude, however weak
and most unworthy, with which I at least desire my soul to be
inflamed, and which I hope will engage all the powers of my soul
throughout eternity. Most gladly, if it were for His honour and for
the edification of one soul which by the narrative might reap
instruction, I would enter before all the world into a more detailed
explanation of this my wonderful deliverance; but this I must not
do, for I must not be the means that others, hitherto in the
simplicity of holy ignorance, should be made acquainted with the
dark iniquity of which the knowledge has once infected my own
unhappy understanding. Be this enough to say on this point, which I
was obliged to touch, lest it should seem unreasonable that I should
speak of my case as one of most marvellous and almost unparalleled
mercy, when the circumstances which I may now detail, and what are
generally known among my most intimate companions, do not justify
such feelings in the review of it.

"By the great mercy of God, I had provided for me a refuge and, as
it were, a breathing time, between Eton and Cambridge. At Mr.
Blomfield's, my progress in evil was checked, and I had time to
prepare myself for the University with good resolutions, though I
knew not what sort of trials I should meet with there, nor had I
learnt how unavailing were my best resolutions to support me, while
yet I had not wholly put my confidence in God's grace. The vacation
which came between my leaving Dunton and going to Cambridge I spent
chiefly in the Isle of Wight, and my {32} soul was almost wholly
occupied that summer about cricket. I never became a great cricketer
myself; I had lost the best time for gaining the art while at Eton;
but, this summer, what perseverance and diligence could do to make
up for lost time, I think I did. Oh! that I might have the same
degree of zeal now in serving the Church of God, and collecting and
instructing a faithful flock, as I then had in seeking out, and
encouraging and giving and procuring instruction for my troop of
cricketers. The occupation of my mind on this subject was enough to
drive away any ardent attention to religion as well as to study. I
may say, in favour of this passion for cricket, that it was one of
the pursuits which I took to at the recommendation of my mother. I
remember generally that when anything in the way of amusement or
serious occupation was suggested to me by her, or anything else but
my own fancy, nothing more was required to make me have a distaste
for it. Otherwise, how many useful accomplishments might I have
gained which would now have been available to the great objects I
have before me. My dear mother wished me to learn fencing when I was
at Eton, and a good deal of time I spent, and a good deal of money
must have been paid by my father to Mr. Angelo, the fencing-master
who came to Eton. It might have been better for me to have gained
perfection in this exercise, by which it is related that St. Francis
of Sales acquired in part that elegance of manner and nobleness of
carriage through which he gained so many souls to Christ. While
other boys made fencing their amusement, I always would have it as a
task, and of course gained nothing by it. At a later period, when we
were at Naples, and I had a weakness in my eyes which made such an
employment suitable, my mother would have had me learn music. She
gave me a guitar, and would have paid for my lessons; but I could
not take to it, and have thus lost the advantage which, since I have
become a Catholic, I should have so much valued of understanding the
science of music, seeing that the trifling knowledge I do possess is
of so much use. There is the apology, then, for my cricket mania;
that she proposed my taking to it in the {33} summer I speak of. I
was surprised to find myself willing to acquiesce in the suggestion.
What I did take to I generally followed excessively, and she did not
calculate on the violence with which I followed up this. I got into
very little bad company by means of this pursuit, and perhaps, on
the whole, I rather gained than lost by it. It was manly and
healthful, and though, when in the heat of it, I thought it almost
impossible I should ever give it up, yet when I took Orders I did
give it up; and if it was in itself of no use, I hope that one
sacrifice, among the many I was obliged to make and, thank God, did
willingly make to more important objects, it was not without value.
Thus much for my cricketing; I mention it here as being the only
distinct cause to which I can attribute my losing before I went to
Cambridge the habits of serious thought and of regular prayer, which
I have observed I regained in a good degree towards the latter part
of my Dunton time.

"I nevertheless was full of good purposes. I desired and was
resolved to keep myself from giving countenance to immorality as
well as practising it, though after having once given way at Eton, I
hardly ever dared to say a word or even to give a look in
disapproval of whatever might be said or done before me by bold
profligates. I could not bear to appear out of the fashion; so that
when other boys at Eton used to talk of the balls and gay parties
which they had been to in their holidays, I was quite ashamed, when
asked what I had done, to say that I had been to no balls; for to my
mother I am greatly indebted for her wise conduct in this respect,
that she did not, as was done by others, make us men before our
time. So, although I detested and from my heart condemned the
fashionable immoralities of the young men with whom I came to be
associated about the time of my going to Cambridge, I hardly dared
declare my mind, except sometimes, almost in confidence, to one who
seemed to be like myself. Oh! what good might I have done had I then
known the value of God's grace, and, despising the world, boldly
stood up for the cause of virtue, at the same time continuing to be
gay and cheerful with my companions, and taking a leading part {34}
in all innocent and manly diversions, and in the objects of
honourable emulation which were set before me and my fellows. I know
how much I might have done by supporting others, weak like myself,
by acting at this time as I ought to have done, by what I felt
myself on one or two occasions when such support was given me. I
thank God that the memory of my brother Robert, who died in 1830,
commanding the _Madagascar_, near Alexandria, now rises before me to
claim my grateful acknowledgment as having twice given me such help
at a critical time. Never was a man more calculated than he to get
on, as it is said, in the world. He was brave and enterprising, and
skilled in all that might make him distinguished in his profession;
at the same time he was most eager in the pursuit of field sports
and manly amusements; and in society was one of the most agreeable
and popular men of his day. Once I remember complaining to him that
I was ashamed of having nothing to say before some ladies about
balls, when I was about sixteen. 'What a wretched false shame is
that!' said he to me. From that time I became more ashamed of my
shame than I had been before of my want of fashion. More important
yet was the service he did me when he was about to go on one of his
cruises as commander of the _Ganymede_. I was talking with him, the
last evening before he left London, about the Easter before I went
to Cambridge. He knew well what I should be exposed to better than I
did and charged me to take care never to laugh or look pleased when
I was forced to hear immoral conversation. What rare advice was this
from the mouth of a gay, gallant young officer; and if there were
more of his character who were not ashamed to give it to their young
brothers and friends, how many might be saved, who are now lost,
because they do not see one example to show how a manly, fashionable
character can be maintained with strict morality and modesty. These
few words from him were of infinite service to me. They made deep
impression on me at the time I heard them, and the resolution which
I then made continued with me till after I had been some time at
Cambridge, when the battle I had to bear against the universal
fashion {35} of iniquity once more, as formerly, at Eton, proved too
strong for me, and I again gave way. My fall now was gradual. I
began with the resolution to avoid all expenses which would
embarrass me with debts, and to keep from several fashionable
amusements which would engage too much time. For awhile, on this
account, I would not play at cards; but in less than half-a-year
this determination failed, and I wasted many an evening at whist of
my short college life. I soon grew careless, too, about my expenses,
and should have been involved in great embarrassments, had it not
been for my brother's (Lord Althorp's) generosity, who, hearing from
me at the end of my first year that I was in debt, gave me more than
enough to clear it all away; and, thus having enabled me to set my
affairs again in order, was the means of saving me from ever
afterwards going beyond my means extravagantly. I might, however,
have given way in some such resolutions as not playing at cards; I
might have entered into some expenses which I shunned at first,
without losing my peace of mind, and again defiling my conscience,
of which the good condition was partly restored; but these were not
the crying evils of the place. In the set with which I was now
associated in the University, gambling was not at that time much
practised, and not at all insisted on. There were occasional drunken
parties, and it was with difficulty that I kept out of them; but the
system of violently forcing people to drink, as well at the
Universities as throughout genteel society in England, had fallen
off before my time. There were some sets where drinking was
practised at Cambridge much more excessively than in what called
itself the best set of all. I could not help, without offending the
laws of society, being present at a considerable number of dinners
and suppers where men drank immoderately, but I was permitted to
keep myself sober without much difficulty; one or two gave me
countenance thus far, though any intimation of disapproving of what
others did, on religious or moral grounds, I felt would not have
been anyways tolerated; and so I ventured not. Swearing was among
them rather unfashionable than {36} not. Some undergraduates were
notorious for profane and impious language; and this was excused,
and tolerated, and made fun of, but it was not common, and many
among us made no difficulty of condemning it. I therefore never fell
into this habit. The crying, universal, and most frightful evil of
the place was open immorality. There was at Cambridge, in my time, a
religious set, who were sometimes called Simeonites, from Mr.
Simeon, one of the great leaders and promoters of the Evangelical
party in these latter days, who was minister of one of the small
churches in Cambridge, and for many years attracted into his
influence a certain number of young men. Among these open vice was
not countenanced; but not so the set to which I principally
belonged, and these were as distinct as if they had not belonged to
the same University. I was introduced to some few of these, and
rather valued myself on having an acquaintance with them, as well as
with many of the purely reading men; and my fashionable friends did
not altogether object to it, though I was generally a little ashamed
at being seen with any of them, and avoided any frequent intercourse
with them. I have wondered since that, if it were only from mere
curiosity, I should never once have gone to hear Simeon preach, but
so it was. I understood nothing whatever of what is in England
called Evangelical religion. Indeed, I thought nothing of religion;
had I paid any attention to it at this time, I could hardly have
escaped seeing how desperate was the course which I was following,
and I might perhaps have taken a strong resolution, and have joined
the serious party at once; but, very likely, I should have found the
power of fashion at that time too great, and, by knowing more of
religion, should only have made my conscience more guilty; and so I
believe it may be better that none ever spoke to me on the subject
all the time. I repeat it, that in our set, whatever other deviation
from the most established fashion was tolerated, any maintenance of
chastity or modesty was altogether proscribed. It was not long,
then, before I found myself beat out of the position I endeavoured
to maintain. During the first term I stood my ground rather better.
One reason for this was, {37} that among what were called the
freshmen--that is, those who entered with me on my college life,
there were several who were not initiated in vicious practices.
These, remaining for a time more or less in their simplicity, gave
me some countenance in not going at once in the way of the veteran
professors of evil. But as I saw some of them grow by degrees
shameless and bold, and soon beginning to join their older brethren
in upbraiding my weakness and folly for not being like the rest, I
found all my resolution failing, and, alas! many a deliberation did
I take whether I should not at length enter the same way with them.
I was still withheld, though it was not the fear of God which
restrained me. I knew that my entering a course of open profligacy
would not be tolerated by my parents. I had a character for
steadiness among the tutors and fellows of the college, which I was
ashamed to lose; though even before them I found it sometimes to
answer best not to appear different from other young men. Besides,
as I had resisted the first period of attacks, and established among
my companions a kind of character of my own, I felt that even they
would be astonished if I at last declared myself as one of their
sort. I could not bear the thought of their triumph, and the horrid
congratulations with which I should be greeted, if once I was found
going along with them in open feats of iniquity. Oh! how grievous is
the reflection that by such motives as these I was restrained. I was
longing often to be like them. I could not bear the taunts which
were sometimes made at me. Here again some of the old Etonians
perhaps would bring up the remembrance of my ancient propensity to
blush, and would take pleasure in putting me again to confusion.
Occasionally, by strange interpositions of Divine Providence, I was
hindered from accomplishing purposes of evil which I had, in a sort
of desperation, resolved by myself to perpetrate, by way of being
decided one way or other, like a man on the brink of a precipice
determining to throw himself down in order to escape the uneasy
apprehension of his danger. One way or another I was restrained, so
that it has afterwards appeared to me as if I had but barely stopped
short of {38} taking the last decisive steps by which I might be
irrevocably ranked among the reprobate. I never thought at the time
of this danger, otherwise I could hardly have borne my existence;
but, as it was, my mind at times was gloomy and miserable in the
extreme. To make me yet more so, at the end of my first year I began
to be afflicted with bilious attacks, arising, perhaps, from my
imprudent management in regard to study, to diet, and to hours; and
these occasioned exceeding depression of spirits, under which I used
to fancy myself the most unhappy of creatures. I had no knowledge of
the power of religion to set me free, and make me superior to all
external sensible causes of depression, and I knew no better than to
give myself up to my low feelings when they came upon me, till some
distraction removed them, or till the fit passed away of itself.
Many times at Cambridge, in order to hold up my head in a noisy
company after dinner, I drank wine to raise my spirits, though not
to great excess, yet enough to teach me by experience how mistaken
is the calculation of those who, when in sorrow, seek to cheer
themselves in that way, or in any way but by having recourse to God
by prayer and acts of resignation. I remember well once being told
by a good aunt of mine, that it was quite wrong to give way to my
depression, about which I one day complained to her, and that
religion would surely cure it; but the time was not come for me to
understand this truth, and I took no notice of her words.

"In the meantime I continued zealous about my studies. I did not
stop to ask _cui bono_ was I working in them. Had I seen how utterly
vain was a first-class place or a Trinity prize-book, which I had
set before me as the object of my labours, I should have found but
little consolation and refreshment to my melancholy reflections in
these pursuits. On the contrary, I should only have pined away with
a more complete sense of the truth of the Wise man's sentence which
Almighty God was teaching me in His own way, and in His own good
time: '_Vanity of vanities, and all is vanity_' but to serve Thee
only. I do not mean that if rightly followed, such academical
honours are worth nothing. I wish {39} I had followed them more
prudently and effectually. They were the objects set before me by my
superiors at the time, and I should say to another in my place that
he should do his best to gain the highest place in a spirit of
obedience, and for the honour of God, to whom we owe all the credit
and influence in the world which, by just and honourable exertions,
we can gain. In recollecting, therefore, how I exerted myself, and
succeeded in these attempts, I am dwelling on one of the most happy
points of view which that part of my life suggests to me; for though
I did not do this _as_ I ought, yet I was doing _what_ I ought, and
by doing so was preserved from much evil, and God knows how far the
creditable footing I gained at Cambridge in the studies of the place
may yet be available for a good end."

It is hard to believe young Spencer was so utterly devoid of religion as he here describes himself to be; we draw a more favourable inference from a journal he kept at the time. Noticing the death of the Princess Charlotte, he says: "It appears to be the greatest calamity that could have befallen us in public, and it is a deplorable event in a private point of view. It must be ascribed to the interposition of Providence, which must have some end in view beyond our comprehension." He speaks of the death of Mrs. Blomfield thus--"It is for her a happy event, after a life so well spent as hers has been." A few pages further on he has these words about the death of another friend of his. "I was extremely shocked to-day at hearing that James Hornby died last Friday of apoplexy. It was but a short time past that I was corresponding with him about the death of Mrs. Blomfield; and little he or I thought that he would be the next to go. The last year and a half I stayed at Eton I lived in the greatest intimacy with him, which had afterwards fallen away a little; but he was very clever and promising, and I always was fond of him. It must be a wise dispensation of Providence, and may be intended as a warning to us, in addition to those we have lately had in the deaths of Maitland and Dundas. God grant it may be an effectual one!"

These are not the spontaneous expressions of one altogether {40} a stranger to piety, though they may very well be put down as the transient vibration of chords that had long lain still in his heart, and which these rude shocks must have touched and made audibly heard once more. This conclusion is more in accordance with other remarks found scattered here and there in the same journal. He criticises sermons and seems to like none; he is regular at chapel and puts on his surplice on the days appointed; but he refuses to take the sacrament for no conceivable reason but that he does not care about it, and hears it is administered unbecomingly. He is shrewd and considerate in his remarks upon persons and things; yet there is scarcely a line of scandal or uncharitableness in the whole closely written volume. When he records a drunken fit or a row, he suppresses the names of the rioters; and if he says a sharp word about a person in one page, he makes ample amends for it in many pages afterwards; by showing how mistaken he was at first, and how agreeable it was to him to change his opinion upon a longer acquaintance. This might not appear very high praise; but let us take notice of his age and circumstances, and then perhaps it may have its value. He was a young man, just turned eighteen; he had been brought up in splendour at home, and in a poisonous atmosphere at school. That he was not the vilest of the vile is to be wondered at more than that he preserved as much goodness as he did. Where is the young man, of even excellent training, who will be able to contend, unaided and taunted, against a whole college of the finest youth of any country? His motives may be beneath a Christian's standard, but the fact that with this weak armour, the bare shadow of what it might be, he made such noble resistance and passed almost unscathed through the furnace into which he was cast, only shows what he would have done had he been imbued with the teachings of a higher order. The very human respect and worldly considerations that succeeded in keeping him from vice, acquire a respectability and a status in the catalogue of preservatives from the fact of their being successful in his case. His was a fine mind, and one is moved to tears at seeing this noble material for sanctity thus tossed {41} about and buffeted by a herd of capricious companions who could not see its beauty. Let us take up any young man's journal of his age and read some pages of it, what shall we find? Jokes played upon green freshmen, tricks for outdoing proctors, records of follies, or perchance pompous unreality put on to conceal all these or worse. His diary is the generous utterance of a noble mind; it is candid, true, conscientious, and puts a failing and a perfection of the writer side by side. It is no wonder that he was loved and courted, and that his companions had acquired an esteem for him in college, which years and toils have not succeeded in lessening. His keen grief at the deficiencies of his college life only shows to what height of sanctity he had reached, when what another might boast of wrung from him these lamentations.

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