Chapter I: Still Maintain My Opinion."

"Madam," he rejoined, "you may, if you please, _retain_ your opinion: but you cannot _maintain_ it." Another lady once opposing his opinions with more pertinacity than cogency of reasoning, concluded with the observation, "You know, Doctor,

IT IS THE PRIVILEGE OF WOMEN TO TALK NONSENSE."

"No, madam," he replied, "it is not their _privilege_, but their _infirmity_. Ducks would walk, if they could, but nature suffers them only to waddle."

After some persons, at a party where the Doctor made one, had expressed their regret that he had not written more, or something more worthy of his fame, a young scholar somewhat pertly called out to him, "Suppose, Dr. Parr, you and I were to write a book together!" "Young man," exclaimed the chafed lion, "if all were to be written in that book which I _do_ know, and which you _do not_ know, it would be a very large book indeed." The following are given by Field as his

REPROOFS OF IGNORANCE TALKING WITH THE CONFIDENCE OF KNOWLEDGE.

He was once insisting on the importance of discipline, established by a wise system, and enforced with a steady hand, in schools, in colleges, in the navy, in the army; when he was somewhat suddenly and rudely taken up by a young officer who had just received his commission, and was not a little proud of his "blushing honours." "What, sir," said he, addressing the Doctor, "do you mean to apply that word _discipline_ to the _officers_ of the army? It may be well enough for the _privates_." "Yes, sir, I do," replied the Doctor, sternly: "It is _discipline_ makes the scholar, it is _discipline_ makes the soldier, it is _discipline_ makes the gentleman, and the _want of discipline_ has made you what you are."

BEING MUCH ANNOYED

By the pert remarks of another tyro,--"Sir," said he, "your tongue goes to work before your brain; and when your brain does work, it generates nothing but error and absurdity." The maxim of men of experience, the Doctor might have added, is, "to think twice before they act once." To a third person, of bold and forward but ill-supported pretensions, he said, "B----, you have read _little_, thought _less_, and know _nothing_."

HE MATCHED A TRICK OF THE DEVIL.

Like the more celebrated scholars and divines, Clarke, Paley, Markland, &c., he would join an evening party at cards, always preferring the old English game of whist, and resolutely adhering to his early determination of never playing for more than a nominal stake. Being once, however, induced to break through it, and play with the late learned Bishop of Llandaff, Dr. Watson, for a _shilling_, which he won, after pushing it carefully to the bottom of his pocket and placing his hand upon it, with a kind of mock solemnity, he said, "There, my lord Bishop, this is a trick of the devil; but I'll match him; so now, if you please, we will play for a _penny_," and this was ever after the amount of his stake, though he was not the less ardent in pursuit of success, or less joyous on winning his rubber. Like our great moralist, Johnson, he had an aversion to _punning_, saying, it exposed the _poverty_ of a language. Yet he perpetrated the following

THREE CLASSICAL PUNS:

One day reaching a book from a shelf in his library, two others came tumbling down, including a volume of Hume, upon which fell a critical work of Lambert Bos: "See what has happened," exclaimed the Doctor, "_procumbit humi bos_." At another time, too strong a current of air being let into the room where he was sitting, suffering under the effects of a slight cold, "Stop! stop!" said he, "this is too much; at present I am only _par levibus ventis_." When he was solicited to subscribe to Dr. Busby's translation of Lucretius, published at _a high price_, he declined doing so, by observing, at the proposed cost it would indeed be "Lucretius _carus_."

HIS LAW ACT AT CAMBRIDGE.

On proceeding to the degree of LL.D. at Cambridge, in 1781, Dr. Parr delivered "in the law schools, before crowded audiences," says Field, "two theses, of which the subject of the first was, _Hæres ex delicto defuncti non tenetur_; and of the second, _Jus interpretandi leges privatis, perinde ac principi, constat_. In the former of these, after having offered a tribute of due respect to the memory of the late Hon. Charles Yorke (the Lord Chancellor,) he strenuously opposed the doctrine of that celebrated lawyer, laid down in his book upon 'the law of forfeiture;' and denied the authority of those passages which were quoted from the correspondence of Cicero and Brutus; because, as he affirmed, after that learned and sagacious (Cambridge) critic, Markland (in his Remarks on the Epistles of those two Romans,) the correspondence itself is not genuine. The same liberal and enlightened views of the natural and social rights of man pervaded the latter as well as the former thesis; and in both were displayed such strength of reasoning and power of language, such accurate knowledge of historical facts and such clear comprehension of legal principles bearing on the questions, that the whole audience listened with fixed and delighted attention. The Professor of Law himself, Dr. Hallifax, afterwards Bishop of St. Asaph, was so struck with the uncommon excellence of these compositions, as to make it his particular request that they should be given to the public; but with which request Dr. Parr could not be persuaded to comply.

"THERE IS A PLEASANT STORY

Reported of the Doctor," says Barker, in his Parriana, when on a visit to Dr. Farmer, at Emanuel Lodge. He had made free in discourse with some of the Fellow Commoners in the Combination-room, who, not being able to cope with him, resolved to take vengeance in their own way; they took his best wig, and thrust it into his boot: this indispensable appendage of dress was soon called for, but could nowhere be found, till the Doctor, preparing for his departure, and proceeding, to put on his boots, found one of them pre-occupied, and putting in his hand, drew forth the wig, with a loud shout--perhaps [Greek: eurêka]." "When the late Dr. Watson," adds the same writer, "presided in the divinity-schools, at

AN ACT KEPT BY DR. MILNER,

The reputation of whose great learning and ability caused the place to be filled with the senior and junior members of the University, one of the opponents was the late Dr. Coulthurst, and the debate was carried on with great vigour and spirit. When this opponent had gone through his arguments, the Professor rose, as usual, from his throne, and, taking off his cap, cried out--

'Arcades ambo
Et cantare pares, et respondere parati.'

We juniors, who happened to be present, were much pleased with the application. Soon after, being in the Doctor's company, I mentioned how much we were entertained with the whole scene, particularly with the close: he smiled, and said, 'It is Warburton's,' where I soon after found it."

* * * * *

EPIGRAM

On a Cambridge beauty, daughter of an Alderman, made by the Rev. Hans De Veil, son of Sir Thomas de Veil, and a Cantab:--

"Is Molly Fowle immortal?--No.
Yes, but she is--I'll prove her so:
She's fifteen now, and was, I know,
Fifteen full fifteen years ago."

* * * * *

NOVEL REVENGE.

Sir John Heathcote, a Cantab, and lessee of Lincoln church, being refused a renewal of the same on his own terms, by the Prebend, Dr. Cobden, of St. John's College, Cambridge, upon accepting the Prebend's terms, appointed his late Majesty, then Prince of Wales, to be one of the lives included in the lease, observing, "I will nominate one for whom the dog shall be obliged to pray in the daytime, wishing him dead at night."

* * * * *

THEY TAKE THEM AS THEY COME.

A person might very well conclude, from the observations of the enemies of our English Universities, that the governors of them had the power of selecting the youth who are to graduate at them, or that, of necessity, all men bred at either Oxford or Cambridge ought to be alike distinguished for superior virtue and forbearance, great learning, and great talents. They forget, that they must _take them as they come_, like the boy in the anecdote. "So you are picking them out, my lad," said a Cantab to a youth, scratching his head in the street. "No," said the arch-rogue, "I takes 'em as they come." Just so do the authorities at Oxford and Cambridge. I knew a son of Granta, and eke, too,

THE DARLING SON OF HIS MOTHER,

Whose mind, at twenty, was a chaos, and must from his birth have been, not as Locke would have supposed, a sheet of white paper, ready to receive impressions, but one smeared and useless. Yet Solomon in all his glory was not half so wise as was this scion in his mother's opinion. She, therefore, brought him to Cambridge, and having introduced him to the amiable tutor of St. John's College, smirkingly asked him, "If he thought her _darling_ would be _senior wrangler_?" "I don't know, madam," was his reply, in his short quick manner of speaking, pulling up a certain portion of his dress, in the wearing of which he resembled Sir Charles Wetherell, "I don't know, madam; that remains to be seen." Poor fellow, he never could get a degree, nor (after having been removed from Cambridge to the _Politechnique School_ at Paris, for a year or two) could he ever get over the _Pons Asinorum_ (as we Cantabs term the fifth proposition of the first book of Euclid.) Another

MISCALCULATING MAMMA,

And they are sure to miscalculate whenever they inter-meddle with such matters, declined entering her two sons at Cambridge in the same year, that, as she said, "They might not stand in each other's way." _Id est_, they were to be both _senior wranglers_. They, however, never caught sight of the _goal_. I recollect, on one occasion, the second son being _floored_ in his college mathematical examination. He was said to have afterwards carried home the paper (containing twenty-two difficult geometrical and other problems,) when one of his sisters snatched it out of his hand, exclaiming, "Give it to me," and, without the slightest hesitation (in good Cambridge phrase,) she "_floored_" the whole of them, to his dismay. This lady was one of a bevy of ten beauties whom their mamma compassionately brought to Cambridge to _dance_ with the young _gentlemen_ of the University at her parties, and after so officiating for some three or four years, notwithstanding they were all _Blues_, and had corresponding names, from _Britannia_ to _Boadicea_, the Cantabs suffered them all to depart _spinsters_. But Papas also sometimes overrate their sons' talents and virtues. A gentleman, a few years since, on

PRESENTING HIS FAVOURITE SON

To the sub-rector of a certain College in Oxford, as a new member, did so with the observation, "Sir, he is _modest_, _diffident_, and _clever_, and will _be an example to the whole College_." "I am glad of it," was the reply, "we want such men, and I am honoured, sir, by your bringing him here." Papa made his exit, well pleased with our Welshman's hospitality, for of that country our Sub-Rector, as well as the gentleman in question was. The former, too, had been a chaplain in Lord Nelson's fleet, in his younger days, and was not over orthodox in his language, when _irritated_, though a man with a better heart it would have puzzled the Grecian sage to have traced out by candle-light. A month had scarcely passed over, when Papa, having occasion to pass through Oxon, called on the Sub-Rector, of course, and naturally inquired, "How his son demeaned himself?" "You told me, sir," said the Sub-Rector, in a pet, and a speech such as the quarter-deck of a man-of-war had schooled him in; "you told me, sir, that your son was _modest_, but d--n his _modesty!_ you told me, sir, he was _diffident_, but d--n his _diffidence!_ you told me, sir, he was clever; he's the greatest dunce of the whole society! you told me, sir, he would prove an example to the whole college: but I tell you, sir, that he is neither _modest_, _diffident_ nor _clever_, and in three weeks," added the Sub-Rector, raising his voice to a becoming pitch, "he has ruined half the College by his example!" We can scarcely do better than add to this, by way of tail-piece, from that loyal Oxford scourge _Terræ Filius_ (ed. 1726)--(to be read, "cum grano," and some allowance for the excited character of the times in which it was written)--

ITER ACADEMICUM; OR, THE GENTLEMAN COMMONER'S MATRICULATION.

Being of age to play the fool,
With muckle glee I left our school
At _Hoxton_;
And, mounted on an easy pad,
Rode with my mother and my dad
To _Oxon_.
Conceited of my parts and knowledge,
They entered me into a college
_Ibidem_.
The master took me first aside,
Showed me a scrawl--I read, and cried
_Do Fidem_.
Gravely he took me by the fist,
And wished me well--we next request
A tutor.
He recommends a staunch one, who
In _Perkins'_ cause had been his Co-
Adjutor.
To see this precious stick of wood,
I went (for so they deemed it good)
In fear, Sir;
And found him swallowing loyalty,
Six deep his bumpers, which to me
Seemed queer, Sir.
He bade me sit and take my glass;
I answered, looking like an ass,
I can't, Sir.
Not drink!--You don't come here to pray!
The merry mortal said, by way
Of answer.
To pray, Sir! No, my lad; 'tis well!
Come, here's our friend _Sacheverell_;
Here's _Trappy_!
Here's _Ormond!_ _Marr!_ in short, so many
Traitors we drank, it made my _crani-
um_ nappy.
And now, the company dismissed,
With this same sociable Priest,
Or Fellow,
I sallied forth to deck my back
With loads of _stuff_, and gown of black
_Prunello_.
My back equipt, it was not fair
My head should 'scape, and so, as square
As _chess-board_,
A _cap_ I bought, my scull to screen,
Of cloth without, and all within
Of _paste-board_.
When metamorphosed in attire,
More like a parson than a squire
They'd dressed me.
I took my leave, with many a tear,
Of _John_, our man, and parents dear,
Who blest me.
The master said they might believe him,
So righteously (the Lord forgive him!)
He'd govern.
He'd show me the extremest love,
Provided that I did not prove
Too stubborn.
So far so good; but now _fresh fees_
Began (for so the custom is)
My ruin.
Fresh fees! with drink they knock you down;
You spoil your clothes, and your new gown
You sp-- in.
I scarce had slept--at six--tan tin
The bell goes--servitor comes in--
Gives warning.
I wished the scoundrel at old Nick;
I puked, and went to prayers d--d sick
That morning.
One who could come half drunk to prayer
They saw was entered, and could swear
At random;
Would bind himself, as they had done,
To statutes, tho' he could not un-
derstand 'em.
Built in the form of _pigeon-pye_,
A house[A] there is for rooks to lie
And roost in.
Their laws, their articles of grace,
_Forty_, I think, save half a brace,
Was willing
To swear to; swore, engaged my soul,
And paid the _swearing broker_ whole
_Ten shilling_.
Full half a pound I paid him down,
To live in the most p--d town
O' th' nation:
May it ten thousand cost _Lord Phyz_,
For never forwarding his vis-
itation.

[A] Theatre

* * * * *

A STORY

Is told, and, "in the days that are gone," is not at all improbable, that a youth being brought to Oxon, after he had paid the Tutor and other the several College and University fees, was told he must _subscribe to the Thirty-nine Articles_; "with all my heart," said our freshman, "pray how much is it?"

* * * * *

FRESHMEN OFTEN AFFORD MIRTH

To both tutors, scholars, scouts, gyps, and others, by their blunders. They will not unfrequently, upon the first tingle of the college bell (though it always rings a quarter of an hour, by way of warning, on ordinary occasions, and half an hour on saints' days, in Cambridge,) hurry off to hall or chapel, with their gowns the wrong side outwards, or, their caps reversed, walk unconsciously along with the hind part before, as I once heard a _soph_ observe, "the peak smelling thunder." They are also very apt to mistake characters and functionaries:--I have seen a freshman _cap_ the college-butler, taking him for _bursar_ at least. The persons to be so complimented are the Chancellor, the Vice-Chancellor, the Proctors, the head of your college, and your tutors. When the late Bishop Mansell was Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge, he one day met two freshmen in Trumpington-street, who passed him unheeded. The Bishop was not a man to '_bate_ an iota of his due, and stopped them and asked, "If they knew he was the Vice-Chancellor?" They blushingly replied, they did not, and begged his pardon for omitting to _cap_ him, observing they _were freshmen_. "How long have you been in Cambridge?" asked the witty Bishop. "Only eight days," was the reply. "In that case I must excuse you; puppies never see till they are _nine_ days old."

* * * * *

ANOTHER FRESHMAN

Was unconsciously walking beyond the University church, on a Sunday morning, which (at both Oxford and Cambridge) he would have been expected to attend, when he was met by the Master of St. John's College, Dr. Wood, who, by way of a mild rebuke, stopped him and asked him, "If the way he was going led to St. Mary's Church?" "Oh, no, sir," said he, with most lamb-like innocence, "this is the way," pointing in the opposite direction. "Keep straight on, you can't miss it." The Doctor, however, having fully explained himself, preferred taking him as a guide.

* * * * *

WE MUST DO SOMETHING FOR THE POOR LOST YOUNG MAN.

Lords Stowel and Eldon both studied at Trinity College, Oxford, with success, and, it is well known, there laid the foundation of that fame, which, from the humble rank of the sons of a Newcastle coal-fitter, raised them to the highest legal stations and the English peerage. The former first graduated, and was elected a Fellow and Tutor of All Soul's College (where he had the late Lord Tenterden for a pupil) and became Camden Professor. The latter afterwards graduated with a success that would have ensured him a fellowship and other University distinctions, but visiting his native place soon after he took A.B. he fell in love with Miss Surtees (the present Lady Eldon) daughter of a then rich banker, in Newcastle, who returned his affection, and they became man and wife. Her family were indignant, and refused to be reconciled to the young pair, because the lady had, as the phrase ran, "married below her station." Mr. Scott, the father, was as much offended at the step his son had taken, which at once shut him out from the chance of a fellowship, and refused them his countenance. In this dilemma the new married pair sought the friendship of Mr. William Scott (now Lord Stowell) at Oxford. His heart, cast in a softer mould, readily forgave them,--his amiable nature would not have permitted him to do otherwise. He received them with a brotherly affection, pitied rather than condemned them, and is said to have observed to some Oxford friends, "We must do something for the poor _lost_ young man!" What a lesson is there not read to mankind in the result! A harsher course might have led to ruin--the milder one was the stepping-stone to the _woolsack and a peerage_.

* * * * *

LIKE O' WHISSONSET CHURCH.

A Cantab visited some friends in the neighbourhood of Whissonset, near Fakenham, Norfolk, during the life of the late rector of that parish, who was then nearly ninety, and but little capable of attending to his duty, but having married a young wife, _she_ would not allow him a curate, but every Sunday drove him from Fakenham to the church. In short he was hen-pecked. His clerk kept the village public-house, and was not over-attentive to his duties. Our Cantab accompanied his friends to church at the usual time, arriving at which they found doors close; neither "Vicar or Moses" had arrived, nor did they appear till half an hour after. Under these circumstances our Cantab threw off the following epigram:

Like o' Whissonset church
In vain you'll search,
The Lord be thanked for't:
The parson is old,
His wife's a scold,
And the clerk sells beer by the quart.

The people who go
Are but so so,
And but so so are the singers;
They roar in our ears
Like northern bears,
And the devil take the ringers.

* * * * *

CUSTOM, WHIM, FASHION, AND CAPRICE,

Have been pretty nearly as arbitrary in our universities as with the rest of the world. When John Goslin was Vice-Chancellor, he is said to have made it

A HEAVY FINE TO APPEAR IN BOOTS.

A student, however, undertook, for a small bet, to visit him in them, and, to appease his wrath, he desired the doctor's advice for an hereditary numbness in his legs. So far was the Vice-Chancellor from expressing any anger, that he pitied him, and he won his wager. Another vice-chancellor is said to have issued his mandate for all members in statu pupillari, to appear in

YELLOW STOCKINGS.

The following singular order, as to dress and the excess thereof, was issued by the great statesman, Cecil, Lord Burleigh, as chancellor of the University of Cambridge, in the days of Elizabeth, which is preserved in the _Liber Niger_, or Black-book, extant in the Cambridge University Library. The paper is dated "from my house in Strand, this seventhe of May, 1588," and runs thus:--1. "That no hat be worne of anie graduate or scholler within the said universitie (except it shall be when he shall journey owte of the towne, or excepte in the time of his sickness.) All graduates were to weare square caps of clothe; and schollers, not graduates, round cloth caps, saving that it may be lawful for the sonnes of noblemen, or the sonnes and heirs of knights, to weare round caps of velvet, but no hats."

2. "All graduates shall weare abroade in the universitie going owte of his colledg, a gowne and a hoode of cloth, according to the order of his degree. Provided that it shall be lawful for everie D.D., and for the Mr. of anie coll. to weare a sarcenet tippet of velvet, according to the anciente customes of this realme, and of the saide universitie. The whiche gowne, tippet, and square caps, the saide Drs. and heads shall be likewise bound to weare, when they shall resorte eyther to the courte, or to the citie of London."

3. "And that the excesse of shirt bands and ruffles, exceeding an ynche and halfe (saving the sonnes of noblemen,) the fashion and colour other than white, be avoided presentlie; and no scholler, or fellowe of the foundation of anie house of learninge, do weare eyther in the universitie or without, &c., anie hose, stockings, dublets, jackets, crates, or jerknees, or anie other kynde of garment, of velvet, satin, or silk, or in the facing of the same shall have above a 1/4 of a yard of silke, or shall use anie other light kynde of colour, or cuts, or gards, of fashion, the which shall be forbidden by the Chancellor," &c.

4th. "And that no scholler doe weare anie long lockes of hair vppon his head, but that he be notted, pouled, or rounded, after the accustomed manner of the gravest schollers of the saide universitie." The penalty for every offence against these several orders being six shillings and eightpence: the sum in which offenders are mulcted in the present day.

THE FASHION OF THE HAIR

Has been not less varied, or less subject to animadversion, than the dress of the members of the universities. The fashion of wearing long hair, so peculiar in the reign of Charles II., was called the APOLLO. His Royal Highness the Duke of Gloucester, the present Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, "was an Apollo" during the whole of his residence at Trinity College, says the _Gradus ad Cant_. Indeed his royal highness, who was noted for his personal beauty at that time, was "the last in Cambridge who wore his hair after that fashion." "I can remember," says the pious Archbishop Tillotson, as cited by the above writer, discoursing on this HEAD, viz. _of hair_! "since the wearing the hair _below_ the ears was looked upon as _a sin of the first magnitude_; and when ministers generally, whatever their text was, did either find, or make, occasion to reprove the great _sin_ of long hair: and if they saw any one in the congregation guilty in that kind, they would point him out particularly, and _let fly_ at him with great zeal." And we can remember, since wearing the hair _cropt_, i. e. _above_ the ears, was looked upon, though not as "a sin," yet, as a very vulgar and RAFFISH sort of a thing; and when the _doers_ of newspapers exhausted all their wit in endeavouring to rally the new-raised corps of CROPS, regardless of the late noble Duke (of Bedford) who headed them; and, when the rude rank-scented rabble, if they saw any one in the streets, whether time or the tonsor had thinned his flowing hair, they would point him out particularly and "_let fly at him_," as the archbishop says, till not a shaft of ridicule remained! The tax upon hair-powder has now, however, produced all over the country very plentiful CROPS. Charles II., who, as his _worthy friend_ the Earl of Rochester, remarked,

---- never said a foolish thing;
Nor ever _did_ a wise one,

sent a letter to the University of Cambridge, forbidding the members to wear _periwigs_, smoke tobacco, and read their sermons!! It is needless to remark, that TOBACCO has not yet made its EXIT IN FUMO, and that _periwigs_ still continue to adorn "THE HEADS OF HOUSES." Till the present all-prevailing, all-_accommodating_ fashion of CROPS became general in the university, no young man presumed to dine in hall till he had previously received a handsome trimming from the hair-dresser (one of which calling was a special appointment to each college.) The following inimitable imitation of "The Bard" of Gray, is ascribed to the pen of the late Lord Erskine, when a fellow-commoner of Trinity College, Cambridge. Having been disappointed of the attendance of his college-barber, he was compelled to forego his _commons_ in hall. But determining to have his revenge, and give his hair-dresser a good DRESSING, he sat down and penned the following "Fragment of a Pindaric Ode," wherein, "in imitation of the despairing Bard of Gray, who prophesied the destruction of King Edward's race, he poured forth his curses upon the whole race of barbers, predicting their ruin in the simplicity of a future generation."

I.

Ruin seize thee, scoundrel Coe!
Confusion on thy frizzing wait;
Hadst thou the only comb below,
Thou never more shouldst touch my pate.
Club, nor queue, nor twisted tail,
Nor e'en thy chatt'ring, barber! shall avail
To save thy horse-whipp'd back from daily fears,
From Cantab's curse, from Cantab's tears!
Such were the sounds that o'er the powder'd pride
Of Coe the barber scattered wild dismay,
As down the steep of Jackson's slippery lane,
He wound with puffing march his toilsome, tardy way.

II.

In a room where Cambridge town
Frowns o'er the kennel's stinking flood,
Rob'd in a flannel powd'ring gown,
With haggard eyes poor Erskine stood;
(Long his beard and blouzy hair
Stream'd like an old wig to the troubled air;)
And with clung guts, and face than razor thinner,
Swore the loud sorrows of his dinner.
Hark! how each striking clock and tolling bell,
With awful sounds, the hour of eating tell!
O'er thee, oh Coe! their dreadful notes they wave,
Soon shall such sounds proclaim thy yawning grave;
Vocal in vain, through all this ling'ring day,
The grace already said, the plates all swept away.

III.

Cold is Beau * * tongue,
That soothed each virgin's pain;
Bright perfumed M * * has cropp'd his head:
Almacks! you moan in vain.
Each youth whose high toupee
Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-cropt head,
In humble Tyburn-top we see;
Esplashed with dirt and sun-burnt face;
Far on before the ladies mend their pace,
The Macaroni sneers, and will not see.
Dear lost companions of the coxcomb's art,
Dear as a turkey to these famished eyes,
Dear as the ruddy port which warms my heart,
Ye sunk amidst the fainting Misses' cries.
No more I weep--they do not sleep:
At yonder ball a slovenly band,
I see them sit, they linger yet,
Avengers of fair Nature's hand;
With me in dreadful resolution join,
To CROP with one accord, and starve their cursed line.

IV.

Weave the warp, and weave the woof,
The winding-sheet of barber's race;
Give ample room, and verge enough,
Their lengthened lanthorn jaws to trace.
Mark the year, and mark the night,
When all their shops shall echo with affright;
Loud screams shall through St. James's turrets ring,
To see, like Eton boy, the king!
Puppies of France, with unrelenting paws,
That crape the foretops of our aching heads;
No longer England owns thy fribblish laws,
No more her folly Gallia's vermin feeds.
They wait at Dover for the first fair wind,
Soup-meagre in the van, and snuff roast-beef behind.

V.

Mighty barbers, mighty lords,
Low on a greasy bench they lie!
No pitying heart or purse affords
A sixpence for a mutton-pye!
Is the mealy 'prentice fled?
Poor Coe is gone, all supperless to bed.
The swarm that in thy shop each morning sat,
Comb their lank hair on forehead flat:
Fair laughs the morn, when all the world are beaux,
While vainly strutting through a silly land,
In foppish train the puppy barber goes;
Lace on his shirt, and money at command,
Regardless of the skulking bailiff's sway,
That, hid in some dark court, expects his evening prey.

VI.

The porter-mug fill high,
Baked curls and locks prepare;
Reft of our heads, they yet by wigs may live,
Close by the greasy chair
Fell thirst and famine lie,
No more to art will beauteous nature give.
Heard ye the gang of Fielding say,
Sir John,[7] at last we've found their haunt,
To desperation driv'n by hungry want,
Thro' the crammed laughing Pit they steal their way.
Ye tow'rs of Newgate! London's lasting shame,
By many a foul and midnight murder fed,
Revere poor Mr. Coe, the blacksmith's[8] fame,
And spare the grinning barber's chuckle head.

VII.

Rascals! we tread thee under foot,
(Weave we the woof, the thread is spun;)
Our beards we pull out by the root;
(The web is wove, your work is done.)
"Stay, oh, stay! nor thus forlorn
Leave me uncurl'd, undinner'd, here to mourn."
Thro' the broad gate that leads to College Hall,
They melt, they fly, they vanish all.
But, oh! what happy scenes of pure delight,
Slow moving on their simple charms unroll!
Ye rapt'rous visions! spare my aching sight,
Ye unborn beauties, crowd not on my soul!
No more our long-lost Coventry we wail:
All hail, ye genuine forms; fair nature's issue, hail!

VIII.

Not frizz'd and frittered, pinned and rolled,
Sublime their artless locks they wear,
And gorgeous dames, and judges old,
Without their tetes and wigs appear.
In the midst a form divine,
Her dress bespeaks the Pennsylvania line;
Her port demure, her grave, religious face,
Attempered sweet to virgin grace.
What sylphs and spirits wanton through the air!
What crowds of little angels round her play!
Hear from thy sepulchre, great Penn! oh, hear!
A scene like this might animate thy clay.
Simplicity now soaring as she sings,
Waves in the eye of heaven her Quaker-coloured wings.

IX.

No more toupees are seen
That mock at Alpine height,
And queues, with many a yard of riband bound,
All now are vanished quite.
No tongs or torturing pin,
But every head is trimmed quite snug around:
Like boys of the cathedral choir,
Curls, such as Adam wore, we wear;
Each simpler generation blooms more fair,
Till all that's artificial expire.
Vain puppy boy! think'st thou you essenced cloud,
Raised by thy puff, can vie with _Nature's_ hue?
To-morrow see the variegated crowd
With ringlets shining like the morning dew.
Enough for me: with joy I see
The different dooms our fates assign;
Be thine to love thy trade and starve,
To wear what heaven bestowed be mine.
He said, and headlong from the trap-stairs' height,
Quick thro' the frozen street he ran in shabby plight.

[7] Sir John Fielding, the late active police magistrate.

[8] Coe's father, the well-known blacksmith and alderman, now
no more.

Whilst we are discussing the subject of hair, we ought not to forget that, according to Lyson's Environs of London,

THE FIRST PRELATE THAT WORE A WIG

was Archbishop Tillotson. In the great dining-room of Lambeth Palace, he says, there are portraits of all the Archbishops, from Laud to the present time, in which may be observed the gradual change of the clerical habit, in the article of wigs. Archbishop Tillotson was the first prelate that wore a wig, which then was not unlike the natural hair, and worn without powder. In 1633, 21 James 1st,

THE OXFORD SCHOLARS WERE PROHIBITED FROM WEARING BOOTS AND SPURS.

"Care was taken," says Wood, "that formalities in public assemblies should be used, which, through negligence, were now, and sometime before, left off. That the wearing of boots and spurs also be prohibited, 'a fashion' (as our Chancellor saith in his letters) rather befitting the liberties of the Inns of Court than the strictness of an academical life, which fashion is not only usurped by the younger sort, but by the Masters of Arts, who preposterously assume that part of the Doctor's formalities which adviseth them to ryde _ad prædicandum Evangelium_, but in these days implying nothing else but _animum deserendi studium_." It was therefore ordered, "that no person that wears a gown wear boots; if a graduate, he was to forfeit 2_s._ 6_d._ for the first time of wearing them, after order was given to the contrary; for the second time 5_s._, and so toties quoties. And if an

UNDERGRADUATE, WHIPPING,

Or other punishment, according to the will of the Vice-Chancellor and Proctors, for every time he wore them." And in 1608, when

ARCHBISHOP BANCROFT

Became Chancellor of Oxford, he decreed amongst other things, "that indecency of attire be left off, and academical habits be used in public assemblies, being now more remissly looked to than in former times. Also, that no occasion of offence be given, long hair was not to be worn; for whereas in the reign of Queen Elizabeth few or none wore their hair longer than their ears (for they that did so were accounted by the graver and elder sort swaggerers and ruffians,) now it was common even among scholars, who were to be examples of modesty, gravity, and decency."

* * * * *

WAKEFIELD'S EPIGRAM ON THE FLYING BARBER OF CAMBRIDGE,

Which his college friend, Dyer, has given in his Supplement, under the head "SERIA LUDO," with the happy, original motto--

With serious truths we mix a little fun,
And now and then we treat you with a pun.

The subject of the epigram, he says (the original of which Mr. W. sent to a friend,) "was Mr. Foster, formerly of Cambridge, who, on account of his rapidity in conversation, in walking, and more particularly in the exercise of his profession, was called (by the Cantabs) _the Flying Barber_. He was a great oddity, and gave birth to many a piece of fun in the university:--

Tonsor ego: vultus radendo spumcus albet,
Mappa subest, ardet culter, et unda tepet.
Quam versat gladium cito dextra, novacula levis,
Mox tua tam celeri strinxerit ora manu.
Cedite, Romani Tonsores, cedite Graii;
Tonsorem regio non habet ulla parem.
Imberbes Grantam, barbati accedite Grantam;
Illa polit mentes; et polit illa genas.

* * * * *

THE ISTHMUS OF SUEZ.

The men of St. John's College, Cambridge, like every other society in both Oxford and Cambridge, have their _soubriquet_. From what cause they obtained that of "Johnian Hogs" is yet scarcely settled, though much has been written thereon, extant in _The Gradus ad Cant., Facetiæ Cant._, and _The Cambridge Tart_. It proved of some service, however, to a wag of the society (and to them the merit of punning was conceded in the Spectator's time,) in giving him an idea for a name for the elegant one-arched covered bridge which joins the superb Gothic court they have lately added to the fine old college, after the designs of Messrs. Hutchinson and Rickman of Birmingham. The question was discussed at a wine party, and one proposed calling it the "Bridge of Sighs," as it led to most of the tutors' and deans' rooms, from whom issued all _impositions_ (punishments,) &c. "I have it!" exclaimed a wag, his eyes beaming brighter than his sparkling glass--"I have it! Call it the ISTHMUS OF SUEZ!" Id est _The Hog's Isthmus_, from the Latin word _sus_, a sow, which makes _suis_ in the genitive case, and proves our Johnian to be a punster worthy of his school.

* * * * *

YOU ARE TO PRAY AND FIGHT, NOT TO DRINK FOR THE CHURCH.

Mr. Jones, of Welwyn, relates, on the authority of Old Mr. Bunburry, of Brazen-nose College, that Bishop Kennett, when a young man, being one of the Oxford Pro-Proctors, and a very active one, about James the Second's reign, going his rounds one evening, found a company of gownsmen engaged on a _drinking bout_, to whom his then high church principles were notorious (though he afterwards changed them, sided with Bishop Hoadley, and obtained the _soubriquet_ of _weather-cock Kennett_.) When he entered the room, he reprimanded them for keeping such late hours, especially over the bottle, rather than over their studies in their respective colleges, and ordered them to disperse. One in the company, who knew his political turn, addressed him with, "Mr. Proctor, you will, I am sure, excuse us when I say, we were met to _drink prosperity to the church_, to which _you_ can have no objection." "Sir," was his answer, with a solemn air, "we are to _pray_ for the church, and to _fight_ for the church, not to _drink_ for the church." Upon which the company paid their reckoning and dispersed. There is a curious print in the Library of the Antiquarians, of an altar-piece, which the rector of Whitechapel, Dr. Walton, caused to be painted and put up in his church, representing Christ and his twelve apostles eating the passover, wherein Bishop Kennett (the "Traitor Dean," as his siding with Hoadley caused him to be designated) is painted as _Judas_.

* * * * *

SIGNS OF A GOOD APPETITE.

When a late master of Richmond School, Yorkshire, came, a _raw_ lad in his teens, to matriculate at Trinity College, Cambridge, he was invited to dinner by his tutor, and happened to be seated opposite some boiled fowls, which, having just emptied a plate of his _quantum_ of fish, he was requested to _carve_. He accordingly took one on his plate, but not being a _carver_, he leisurely ate the whole of it, _minus_ the bones, not at all disconcerted by the smiles of the other guests: and when the cheese appeared, and his host cut a plateful for him to pass round the table, he coolly set to and eat the whole himself. He, notwithstanding, proved a good scholar, and distinguished himself both in classics and mathematics, is now a canon residentiary of St. Paul's, and a very worthy divine, who has earned his reputation, preferments, and dignities by his merits only.

* * * * *

A COLLEGE QUIZ.

The following effusion of humour was the production of a very pleasant fellow, an Oxford scholar, now no more, who, says Angelo, in his Reminiscences, "was a great favourite among his brother collegians," and a humourist:--"Lost £10 this morning, May 15, 1808, in Peckwater Quadrangle, near No. 6. Any nobleman, gentleman, common student, or commoner, who will, as soon as possible, bring the same back to the afflicted loser, shall, with pleasure, receive _ten guineas_ reward; a suitor shall receive _five_ guineas; and a scout or porter, _one_ guinea. The notes were all Bank of England notes, I only received this morning from my father. My name is ----, and I lodge at ----, facing Tom Gate, where I am anxiously waiting for some kind friend to bring them to me.--_Vivant Rex et Regina_."

* * * * *

SUCKING THE MILK OF BOTH UNIVERSITIES

Is an epithet applied to those members who, after graduating at one proceeds to a like degree at the other. A party one day disputing as to whether Oxford or Cambridge was the more distinguished seat of learning,--"It can't affect me," exclaimed one of them, "for I was educated at both." Upon which a wag observed, "He reminded him of a calf that was suckled by two cows." "How so?" said the other. "Why, it turned out the greatest _calf_ I ever knew," was the retort.

* * * * *

Amongst the musical professors of Cambridge, and not the least, who was organist of King's College also, in the beginning of the eighteenth century, was Dr. Thomas Tudway. He was a notorious wag, and when several of the members of the University of Cambridge expressed their discontent at the paucity of the patronage, and the rigour of the government of the "proud Duke of Somerset," whose statue graces their senate house, he facetiously observed--

"_The Chancellor rides us all without a bit in our mouths._"

LIKE RABELAIS,

In him the passion for punning was strong in death, though less profane. When he laid dangerously ill of the quinsy (of which he soon after died,) his physician, seeing some hope, turned from his patient to Mrs. Tudway, who was weeping in despair at his danger, and observed, "Courage, madam! the Dr. will get up May-hill yet, he has swallowed some nourishment." Upon which Dr. Tudway said, as well as his disease would permit him to articulate, "Don't mind him, my dear: one swallow don't make a summer."

* * * * *

AMBASSADORS OF KING JESUS AT OXFORD.

The Rev. Charles Godwyn, B.D., Fellow of Baliol College, grandson to Dr. Francis G., Bishop of Hereford, in a letter, dated March 14, 1768, printed in Nichols's Anecdotes, says, "a very sad affair has happened" at Oxford. "The principal of Edmund Hall (Dr. George Dixon) has been indiscreet enough to admit into his hall, by the recommendation of Lady Huntingdon, seven London tradesmen, one a tapster, another a barber, &c. They have little or no learning, but all of them have a high opinion of themselves, as being _ambassadors of King Jesus_. One of them, upon that title conferred by himself, has been a preacher. Complaint was made to the Vice-Chancellor, Dr. David Durell (principal of Hertford College,) I believe, by the Bishop of Oxford; and he, in his own right, as Vice-Chancellor, had last week a visitation of the hall. Some of the preaching tradesmen were found so void of learning, that they were expelled from the hall."

* * * * *

A SURPRISING EFFORT OF INTELLECT.

Robert Austin, a Fellow of King's College, Cambridge, was amanuensis to the famous Arabic professor, Wheelock, who employed him in correcting the press of his _Persic Gospels_, the first of the kind ever printed, with a Latin translation and notes. Of this surprising young man, he says, "in the space of two months, not knowing a letter in Arabic or Persic at the beginning, he sent a letter to me in Norfolk, of peculiar passages, so that of his age I never met with the like; and his indefatigable patience, and honesty, or ingenuity, exceed, if possible, his capacity." But his immoderate application brought on a derangement of mind, and he died early in 1654.

* * * * *

JUDGMENT OF PROFESSOR HALLIFAX.

When Queen Elizabeth was questioned on the subject of her faith in the Sacrament, she dexterously avoided giving offence by replying--

"Christ was the word that spake it,
He took the bread and brake it,
And what his word did make it,
That I believe, and take it."

Scarcely less ingenious was the reply of Bishop Hallifax, when Regius Professor of Civil Law at Cambridge, upon Dr. Parr and the Rev. Joseph Smith (both resident at Stanmore) applying to him for his judgment on a literary dispute between them. His response was in the following official language, by which he dexterously avoided the imputation of partiality:--

"_Nolo interponere judicium meum._"

His name reminds me that he married a _Cooke_, the daughter of Dr. William Cooke, Provost of King's College, Cambridge, for whom George the Third had so great a regard, that he extended it to his children. The Bishop and his wife being at Cheltenham when the King was there, and some person asking why his Majesty paid Dr. Hallifax such marked respect, was answered, "Sir, he married a _Cooke_." This being in the presence of

THE CELEBRATED OXONIAN, DEAN TUCKER,

"I, too," he facetiously remarked, "have a claim to his Majesty's attention, for I married _a cook_," alluding to the fact, that his second wife originally held that rank in his domestic establishment.

* * * * *

OH! FOR A DISTICH.

A Pembrokian Cantab, named Penlycross, having written an Essay, a candidate for the Norrisian prize (which it was necessary he should subscribe with a Greek or Latin motto, as well as a sealed letter, enclosing his name, after being for a time at a loss for one,) and having an ominous _presentiment_ of its rejection, he seized his pen and subscribed the following on both:

"Distichon ut poscas nolente, volente, Minerva,
Mos sacer? Unde mihi distichon? En perago."

"Without a distich, vain the oration is;
Oh! for a distich! Doctor, e'en take this."

* * * * *

SKELETON SERMONS.

The author of the Pursuits of Literature ridicules the epithet "Skeleton Sermons," as "ridiculous and absurd," speaking of those of the Rev. Charles Simeon, M.A. now Senior Fellow of King's College. When, in 1796, that divine published his edition of _Claude's Essay on a Sermon, with an Appendix containing one hundred Skeleton Sermons_, the celebrated Dr. William Cooke, father of the late Regius Professor of Greek, was Provost of King's, and to him, as in duty bound, Mr. Simeon presented a copy. The Provost read it with his natural appearance of a proud and dignified humility, and, struck with the unfortunate and somewhat ludicrous title of _Skeleton Sermons_, "Skeletons! skeletons!" he exclaimed, in his significant way, "Shall these dry bones live?" What would the Provost have thought and said, had he lived to see an edition of them in ten volumes 4to. price ten guineas?

* * * * *