Chapter II: The Eighteenth-Century Fresher

First arrival--Footpads and “easy pads”--Farewell to parents--A
forlorn animal--Terrae Filius’s advice--Much prayers--“Hell has no
fury like a woman scorned”--The disadvantages of a conscience.

The beginning of our university career is marked, unless we be Stoics, by mixed feelings of elation and a sinking at the pit of the stomach which we afterwards learn to recognise as “needle.” The train journey may have seemed long, but at this first breathless moment when the porter receives our goods and chattels into his arms from the top of the moribund hansom, we could almost wish that we were back in the train again. A sense of isolation, and of having to stand or fall by ourselves, sweeps over like a tidal wave, leaving us momentarily chilled and nervous.

How different was the fresher’s arrival in the eighteenth century. He boarded a coach in the early morning in London. His baggage was placed in the boot, and the traveller, armed to the teeth with blunderbuss and pistols, took his seat. With a clattering of hoofs, yelling of ostlers and merry tooting on the horn, the coach dashed out of the yard and wound merrily along throughout the day by field, village, and town. If the journey were a lucky one, the travellers arrived at Oxford without let or hindrance about six o’clock in the evening, when they were able to catch a first glimpse of the top of Radcliffe’s Library. They then jolted in over Magdalen Bridge--in those days the new bridge--and so made their way to their respective colleges.

Wrapped up in thick coats and with ice-cold feet tapping the side of the coach to restore circulation, the excited fresher had ample time for cogitation. The lets and hindrances, over and above the ordinary accidents to horse or vehicle, such as casting a shoe or breaking a strap, were little excitements in the form of footpads and highwayman, who infested the district on the look-out for a fat and likely college bursar laden with fat and likely money-bags. At the first hint of the approach of one of these gentlemen of the road, blunderbusses were whipped out and fired in all directions, while the horses were lashed and the coach leaned and rocked and swayed in its efforts to get away. Afterwards, ensconced behind a tankard in the Tuns among his somewhat condescending senior friends, the newcomer warmed up under the influence of hot toddy and genial society, and described the awful onslaught made upon them by at least fifty mounted desperadoes.

Did he come from nearer places than London, then he made his entrance on a sedate horse, in the fashion of the gentleman-commoner who sent the following account to Terrae Filius:--

“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.”

This merry bard was not exempt from the pangs of loneliness. He, too, felt the wave of depression when his mother and dad kissed him and slowly disappeared down the street again on their easy pads. For, after an amusing description of purchasing gown and square, he burst into tears.

“I sallied forth to deck my back
With loads of Tuft and black
Prunello.
My back equipt, it was not fair
My head should ’scape, and so as square
As chessboard
A cap I bought, my scull to screen,
Of cloth without and all within
Of pasteboard
When metamorphos’d in attire
More like a parson than a squire
th’ had dressed me
I took my leave with many a tear
Of John our man, and parents dear
Who blessed me....”[2]

and there he was, poor lad, probably no more than fifteen years old--of age to play the fool--left, lachrymose and solitary, to fight his own battles and win his M.A. spurs before coming to grips with the world.

George Colman the younger, who matriculated at the House in 1780, and who would most certainly have been instantly elected to the Bullingdon Club had he gone up to-day, wrote most feelingly on the question of the lonely fresher. “A Freshman, as a young academician is call’d on his admission at Oxford,” he said “is a forlorn animal. It is awkward for an old stager in life to be thrown into a large company of strangers, to make his way among them, as he can--but to the poor freshman everything is strange--not only College society, but any society at all--and he is solitary in the midst of a crowd. If, indeed, he should happen to come to the University (particularly to Christ Church) from one of the great publick schools, he finds some of his late school fellows, who, being in the same straggling situation with himself, abridge the period of his fireside loneliness, and of their own, by forming a familiar intercourse--otherwise he may mope for many a week; at all events, it is generally some time before he establishes himself in a set of acquaintance.”[3]

To-day when we have conquered Smalls and our rooms have been assigned in college or in the house of some licensed landlady, it is customary for our “parents dear” to lead us gently by the buttonhole into the study, and there, with their coat tails spread wide to the blazing logs, to hold forth in rounded periods what is termed sound advice. When it is over they shake hands with us, both of us swallowing absurdly, and we go forth better friends than ever. In the first number of any one of the ’varsity “rags” for the new academic year it is safe to conclude that the “leader” will be a word of explanation, advice, friendship, or welcome to the newcomer. It is always facetious and invariably has a gentle dig at the fresher’s expense, though the writer, once a fresher himself, should know better. The following is a specimen of how these things were done in the old days:--

“_Wednesday, May 1, 1721._

“To all gentlemen School-Boys, in his majesty’s dominions, who are
design’d for the University of Oxford, Terrae Filius sends greetings;

“MY LADS,--I am so well acquainted with the variety and malapertness
of you sparks, as soon as you get out of your schoolmaster’s hands,
that I know I shall be called a fusty old fellow, and a thousand
ridiculous names besides, for presuming to give advice, which I would
not, say you, take, if I was a young fellow myself. But being a very
public-spirited person, and a great well wisher to my fellow subjects
(whatever you may think of me) I am resolved, whether you mind what I
am going to say, or not, to lay you down some rules and precautions
for your conduct in the university, on the strict observation or
neglect of which your future good or ill fortune will depend; and, I
am sure that you will thank me, six or seven years hence, for this
piece of service, however troublesome and impertinent you may think it
now....

“I observe, in the first place, that you no sooner shake off the
authority of the birch, but you affect to distinguish yourselves from
your dirty school-fellows by a new suit of drugget, a pair of prim
ruffles, a new bob wig, and a brazen-hilted sword; in which tawdry
manner you strut about town for a week or two before you go to
College, giving your selves airs in coffee-houses and booksellers’
shops, and intruding your selves into the company of us men; from all
which, I suppose you think your selves your own master, no more
subject to controul or confinement--alas! fatal mistake! soon will you
confess that the tyrrany of a school is nothing to the tyrrany of a
college; nor the grammar-pedant to the academical one; for, what
signifies a smarting back-side to a bullied conscience? What was Busby
in comparison to D-e-l-ne?

“And now, young gentlemen, give me leave to put on my magisterial
face, and to instruct you how you are to demean yourselves in the
station you are entered into, and what sort of behaviour is expected
from you, according to the oaths and these subscriptions.

“I know very well that you go thither prepossessed with a sanguine
(but ignorant) opinion, that you are to hold fast your principles,
whatever they are; that you are to follow, what in your conscience you
think right, and to desclaim what you think wrong, that this is the
only way to thrive in the world, and to be happy in the next, just as
your silly mothers and superstitious old nurses have taught you: in
the first place, therefore, I advise you to disengage your selves from
all such scrupulous notions; for you may take my word for it, that
otherwise it is a million to one that you miscarry.

“For, it is a maxim as true as it is common, so many men, so many
minds: but amongst all the different opinions of mankind there is
never, at any one time, but one of those opinions which is call’d
orthodox; if, therefore, you give your fancy the reins and let your
own judgment determine your opinions, what infinite odds is it,
whether you happen to hit upon that single, individual opinion, which
is, at that particular crisis of time, in vogue, and which is
therefore your interest to espouse? But if with all your diligence and
sincerity, you should miss this _rara avis_, this happy phœnix
opinion, then farewell to all your future prospects, to your ease,
your reputation and good name for ever afterwards; I mean, if you are
so weak, and so much bigotted with education, as to think it your duty
to profess what you cannot help believing.

“Your only safe way therefore is to carry along with you consciences
_chartes blanches_, ready to receive any impression that you please to
stamp upon them; for I would not have you adopt any particular system,
however popular and prevailing it may seem to be at present, because
it may alter, and then will prove fatal to you; for as much as they
talk of steadiness and immutability of principles at Oxford, every
body knows that Popery was for many ages the orthodox religion there;
that protestantism (with much difficulty, and sorely against their
wills) succeeded it; that, not long ago, they were almost all Whigs,
and now almost all Tories, and for ought we know, will e’re long be
Whigs again--never therefore explain your opinion but let your
declarations be, that you are churchmen, and that you believe as the
church believes....

“I will only advise you to suppress, as much as possible, that busy
spirit of curiosity, which too often fatally exerts itself in youthful
breasts; but if (notwithstanding all your non-inquisitiveness), the
strong beams of truth will break upon your minds, let them shine
inwardly; disturb not the publick peace with your private discoveries
and illuminations; so, if you have any concern for your welfare and
prosperity, let Aristotle be your guide in philosophy, and Athanasius
in religion....

“To call yourself a Whig at Oxford, or to act like one, or to lie
under the suspicion of being one, is the same as to be attainted and
outlaw’d; you will be discouraged and brow beaten in your own college
and disqualified for preferment in any other; your company will be
avoided, and your character abused; you will certainly lose your
degree and at last, perhaps, upon some pretence or other, be
expelled....

“Leave no stone unturned to insinuate yourselves into the favour of
the Head, and senior-fellows of your respective colleges....

“Whenever you appear before them, conduct yourselves with all specious
humility and demureness; convince them of the great veneration you
have for their persons by speaking very low and bowing to the ground
at every word: whenever you meet them jump out of the way with your
caps in your hands and give them the whole street to walk in, let it
be as broad as it will. Always seem afraid to look them in the face,
and make them believe that their presence strikes you with a sort of
awe and confusion; but above all be very constant at chapel; never
think that you lose too much time at prayers, or that you neglect your
studies too much, whilst you are showing your respect to the church. I
have heard indeed that a former president of St John’s College (a
whimsical, irreligious old fellow) would frequently jobe his students
for going constantly three or four times a day to chapel, and
lingering away their time, and robbing their parents, under a pretence
of serving God. But as this is the only instance I ever met with of
such an Head, it cannot overthrow a general rule.... Another thing
very popular in order to grow the favourites of your Heads, is first
of all to make your selves the favourites of their footmen, concerning
whose dignity and grandeur I have spoken in a former paper. You must
have often heard, my lads, of the old proverb, “Love me, and love my
Dog”; which is not very foreign in this case; for if you expect any
favour from the master, you must shew great respect to his servant.

“Have a particular regard how you speak of those gaudy things which
flutter about Oxford in prodigious numbers, in summer-time, call’d
toasts; take care how you reflect on their parentage, their condition,
their virtue, or their beauty; ever remembering that of the poet,

‘Hell has no fury like a woman scorned,’

especially when they have spiritual bravoes on their side and old
lecherous bully-backs to revenge their cause on every audacious
contemner of Venus and her altars....

“I have but one thing more to mention to you, which is, not to give
into that foolish practice, so common at this time in the university,
of running upon tick, as it is called.... How many hopeful young men
have been ruin’d in this manner, cut short in the midst of their
philosophical enquiries, and for ever afterwards render’d unable to
pursue their studies again with a chearful heart, and without
interruption?...

“My whole advice, in a few words, is this:--

“Let your own interest, abstracted from any whimsical notions of
conscience, honour, honesty or justice, be your guide; consult always
the present humour of the place and comply with it; make yourselves
popular and beloved at any rate; rant, roar, rail, drink, wh--re,
swear, unswear, forswear; do anything, do everything that you find
obliging; do nothing that is otherwise; nor let any considerations of
right and wrong flatter you out of those courses, which you find most
for your advantage. I have only to add, that if you follow this
advice, you will spend your days there not only in peace and plenty,
but with applause and reputation; if you have any secret good
qualities they will be pointed out in the most glaring light, and
aggravated in the most exquisite manner; if you have ever so many ugly
ones, they will be either palliated or jesuitically interpreted into
good ones. Whereas, on the contrary, if you despice and reject these
wholesome admonitions, violence, disrest, and an ill name will be the
rewards of your folly and obstinacy; it will avail you nothing, that
you have enrich’d your minds with all sorts of useful and commendable
knowledge; and that, as to vulgar morality, you have preserved an
unspotted character before men; these things will rather exasperate
the holy men against you, and excite all their cunning and artifice
for your destruction; the least frailties, humanity is prone to, will
be magnify’d into the grossest of all wickedness; and the best
actions, our nature is capable of, will be debased and vilified away.
And now do even as it shall seem good unto you. Farewell.

TERRAE FILIUS.”