Chapter III: Preface

Prefaces written to explain the objects and meaning of a book, or to make any appeal, _ad miseracordiam_ or other, in its favor, are, in my opinion, nuisances. Any book worth reading will explain its own objects and meaning, and the more it is criticized and turned inside out, the better for it and its author. Of all books, too, it seems to me that novels require prefaces least--at any rate, on their first appearance. Notwithstanding which belief, I must ask readers for three minutes' patience before they make trial of this book.

The natural pleasure which I felt at the unlooked for popularity of the first part of the present story, was much lessened by the pertinacity with which many persons, acquaintance as well as strangers, would insist (both in public and in private) on identifying the hero and the author. On the appearance of the first few numbers of the present continuation in Macmillan's Magazine, the same thing occurred, and, in fact, reached such a pitch, as to lead me to make some changes to the story. Sensitiveness on such a point may seem folly, but if the readers had felt the sort of loathing and disgust which one feels at the notion of painting a favorable likeness of oneself in a work of fiction, they would not wonder at it. So, now that this book is finished and Tom Brown, so far as I am concerned, is done with for ever, I must take this, my first and last chance of saying, that he is not I, either as boy or man--in fact, not to beat about the bush, is a much braver, and nobler, and purer fellow than I ever was.

When I first resolved to write the book, I tried to realize to myself what the commonest type of English boy of the upper middle class was, so far as my experience went; and to that type I have throughout adhered, trying simply to give a good specimen of the genus. I certainly have placed him in the country, and scenes which I know best myself, for the simple reason, that I knew them better than any others, and therefore was less likely to blunder in writing about them.

As to the name, which has been, perhaps, the chief "cause of offense," in this matter, the simple facts are, that I chose the name "Brown," because it stood first in the trio of "Brown, Jones, and Robinson," which had become a sort of synonym for the middle classes of Great Britain. It happens that my own name and that of Brown have no single letter in common. As to the Christian name of "Tom," having chosen Brown, I could hardly help taking it as the prefix. The two names have gone together in England for two hundred years, and the joint name has not enjoyed much of a reputation for respectability. This suited me exactly. I wanted the _commonest_ name I could get, and did not want any name which had the least heroic, or aristocratic, or even respectable savor about it. Therefore I had a natural leaning to the combination which I found ready to my hand. Moreover, I believed "Tom" to be a more specially English name than John, the only other as to which I felt the least doubt. Whether it be that Thomas a Beckett was for so long the favorite English saint, or from whatever other cause, it certainly seems to be the fact, that the name "Thomas," is much commoner in England than in any other country. The words, "tom-fool,"

"tom-boy," etc., though, perhaps not complimentary to the "Tom's" of England, certainly show how large a family they must have been. These reasons decided me to keep the Christian name which had been always associated with "Brown"; and I own that the fact that it happened to be my own, never occurred to me as an objection, till the mischief was done, past recall.

I have only, then, to say, that neither is the hero a portrait of myself, nor is there any other portrait in either of the books, except in the case of Dr. Arnold, where the true name is given. My deep feeling of gratitude to him, and reverence for his memory, emboldened me to risk the attempt at a portrait in his case, so far as the character was necessary for the work. With these remarks, I leave this volume in the hands of readers.

T. Hughes

Lincoln's Inn,

October, 1861

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTORY

I--ST. AMBROSE'S COLLEGE

II--A ROW ON THE RIVER

III--A BREAKFAST AT DRYSDALE'S

IV--THE ST. AMBROSE BOAT CLUB; ITS MINISTRY--AND THEIR BUDGET

V--HARDY, THE SERVITOR

VI--HOW DRYSDALE AND BLAKE WENT FISHING

VII--AN EXPLOSION

VIII--HARDY'S HISTORY

IX--"A BROWN BAIT"

X--SUMMER TERM

XI--MUSCULAR CHRISTIANITY

XII--THE CAPTAIN'S NOTIONS

XIII--THE FIRST BUMP

XIV--A CHANGE IN THE CREW AND WHAT CAME OF IT

XV--A STORM BREWS AND BREAKS

XVI--THE STORM RAGES

XVII--NEW GROUND

XVIII--ENGLEBOURN VILLAGE

XIX--A PROMISE OF FAIRER WEATHER

XX--THE RECONCILIATION

XXI--CAPTAIN HARDY ENTERTAINED BY ST. AMBROSE

XXII--DEPARTURES EXPECTED AND UNEXPECTED

XXIII--THE ENGLEBOURN CONSTABLE

XXIV--THE SCHOOLS

XXV--COMMEMORATION

XXVI--THE LONG WALK IN CHRISTCHURCH MEADOWS

XXVII--LECTURING A LIONESS

XXVIII--THE END OF THE FRESHMEN'S YEAR

XXIX--THE LONG VACATION LETTER BAG

XXX--AMUSEMENTS AT BARTON MANOR

XXXI--BEHIND THE SCENES

XXXII--A CRISIS

XXXIII--BROWN PATRONUS

XXXIV--[Greek text] MEHDEN AGAN

XXXV--SECOND YEAR

XXXVI--THE RIVER SIDE

XXXVII--THE NIGHT WATCH

XXXVIII--MARY IN MAYFAIR

XXXIX--WHAT CAME OF THE NIGHT WATCH

XL--HUE AND CRY

XLI--THE LIEUTENANT'S SENTIMENTS AND PROBLEMS

XLII--THIRD YEAR

XLIII--AFTERNOON VISITORS

XLIV--THE INTERCEPTED LETTER BAG

XLV--MASTER'S TERM

XLVI--FROM INDIA TO ENGLE BOURN

XLVII--THE WEDDING DAY

XLVIII--THE BEGINNING OF THE END

XLIX--THE END

L--THE POSTSCRIPT

TOM BROWN AT OXFORD

By Thomas Hughes (1822-96)

CHAPTER INTRODUCTORY

In the Michaelmas term after leaving school, Tom Brown received a summons from the authorities, and went up to matriculate at St. Ambrose's College, Oxford. He presented himself at the college one afternoon, and was examined by one of the tutors, who carried him, and several other youths in like predicament, up to the Senate House the next morning. Here they went through the usual forms of subscribing to the articles, and otherwise testifying their loyalty to the established order of things, without much thought perhaps, but in very good faith nevertheless. Having completed the ceremony, by paying his fees, our hero hurried back home, without making any stay in Oxford. He had often passed through it, so that the city had not the charm of novelty for him, and he was anxious to get home; where, as he had never spent an autumn away from school till now, for the first time in his life he was having his fill of hunting and shooting.

He had left school in June, and did not go up to reside at Oxford till the end of the following January. Seven good months; during a part of which he had indeed read for four hours or so a week with the curate of the parish, but the residue had been exclusively devoted to cricket and field sports. Now, admirable as these institutions are, and beneficial as is their influence on the youth of Britain, it is possible for a youngster to get too much of them. So it had fallen out with our hero. He was a better horseman and shot, but the total relaxation of all the healthy discipline of school, the regular hours and regular work to which he had been used for so many years, had certainly thrown him back in other ways. The whole man had not grown; so that we must not be surprised to find him quite as boyish, now that we fall in with him again, marching down to St. Ambrose's with a porter wheeling his luggage after him on a truck as when we left him at the end of his school career.

Tom was in truth beginning to feel that it was high time for him to be getting to regular work again of some sort. A landing place is a famous thing, but it is only enjoyable for a time by any mortal who deserves one at all. So it was with a feeling of unmixed pleasure that he turned in at the St. Ambrose gates, and inquired of the porter what rooms had been allotted to him within those venerable walls.

While the porter consulted his list, the great college sundial, over the lodge, which had lately been renovated, caught Tom's eye. The motto underneath, _"Pereunt et imputantur,"_ stood out, proud of its new gilding, in the bright afternoon sun of a frosty January day: which motto was raising sundry thoughts in his brain, when the porter came upon the right place in his list, and directed him to the end of his journey: No. 5 staircase, second quadrangle, three pair back. In which new home we shall leave him to install himself, while we endeavor to give the reader some notion of the college itself.