CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY DATE DUE ■ ■■'• 1* InteniDfafy 1:0311 ^\[|^,^^^^fl miaiigi PMMMHlt itESST^ ^ M.^Jil m. inreTTtul an rxudi GAYLORO PRINT CD INU.5.A. LB2397 .FsT' ""'*"'"* '^"'''^ My college days : olin 3 1924 030 605 467 ^pM* *""^ 5 3K7 COLLEGE DAYS. The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://archive.org/details/cu31924030605467 MY fl^i..,^6-2^^^C College V^A^^^- The Autobiography of an Old Student Edited by R. MENZIES FERGUSSON, M.A. AUTHOR OF *' RAMBLES IN THE FAR NORTH," ETC. I » I ALEXANDER GARDNER PAISLEY; and 12 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON 1887 ■R -trsWrr d 73Zi. Of youth, and wit, and merriment. Of college freaks and jovial song, A story true to all intent Here draws its tedious lengfh along. It speaks of happy days gone by Ere crabbed age laid hold of me. Before the cold world made me sigh That I had left its jollity. Amid those scenes of thoughtless glee The wingid hours sped fast away ; Too fast they fled, like birds at sea Before a sudden storm in May. " Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit." — Virgil. PREFACE. A DEAR personal friend and fellow-student bequeathed to the Editor of these pages a series of Autobiographical Notes, for publication, if they were considered worthy of such publicity. The conditions attached to the MS. were as follows : — " I desire that, should he agree to publish these reminiscences, he will exercise his discre- tion in adding to or taking from the different chapters. Anything considered objectionable is to be deleted. Further, I enjoin him on no account whatever to divulge or otherwise hint at the name of the author of these pages. Should I seem to have spoken satirically of any one, I beg to assure him that every word has been written in good part and with no intention to oifend." In carrying out these instructions, the Editor has re- arranged one or two chapters, cut out a few paragraphs, and added some explanatory sentences here and there. He has also prefixed the poetical mottoes to each chap- ter. As the volume will explain itself, he does not con- sider it necessary to add more, CONTENTS. Page. Chapter I. ... ... ... ... ... g Biographical — School Experiences — A Red-Letter Day — The Beadle's Pig — A New Home — Beginning Life — In Quest of a Profession — The Law — Farming— Eldorado. Chapter II. ... ... ... ... ... i8 Leaving Home — " Our Own Romantic Town" — Strange Faces — Matriculation — ^A Rectorial Contest — Electioneering — Budding Orators — ^A Students' Procession— The Poll — A Party Skirmish —The Result— Edinburgh by Torchlight— A Rectorial Ditty. Chapter III. ... ... ... ... ... 40 Looking Back — " When all the World is Young '' — Professorial Chairs — Class Experiences — Logic — Classic Lore — Moral Philo- sophy — Calderwood and Herbert Spencer — Mathematics — Cramming for a Degree — Despair — Success at Last — A Student's Song — College Incidents — Professorial Wit — A Metaphysical Joke — A Volcanic Professor — " Dear old Blackie " in Egypt — A Lay of the Nile — An Outwitted Wag — Criticisms — An Ideal Roman — A Versatile Greek — Berkeleian Fire — A Rhetorician — A Genial Professor — Algebraical Formulae — Physics — The High- lander's Potatoes. Chapter IV. ... ... ... ... ... 59 University Life — Extra-mural Influences — Debating Societies — Lack of Esprit-de-Corps — The Dialectic — The Associated Societies — Distinguished Orators — The Diagnostic — The Philo- mathic — Debating Power — A Maiden Speech — Social Gatherings —The Battle of Culture— Evolution— " Awa, Whigs, Awa"— Carlyle, vi. Contents. Chapter V. ... ... ..■ ••• ••• ^9 Vacation— Side Lights of City Life—" The Still, Sad Music of Humanity " — One-roomed Houses— The Neglected Masses — Municipal Apathy— Truthful James— Rural Quiet— Village Char- acters— A Doubtful Advice— A Wag and a Wig— A Witty Fellow —A New Way of Finding a Dinner— A Sudden Fall— "A Motley Fool "—Country Folk. Chapter VI. ... ... ... ... ... 77 — Choice of a Profession — Officious Friends — A Change of Scene —St. Andrews— The Voices of the Past— "The College of the Scarlet Gown "—The Oldest University— The Faculty of Theo- logy^Professors — Principal Tulloch — Reminiscences — His In- troductory Lecture on Dean Stanley — Estimate of His Character. Chapter VII. ... ... ... ... 8g Kate Kennedy — The Professorial Veto — Kate's Annual — The Re- surrection of Kate — The K. K. Club's Examination Papers — Shafts of Satire — The Dying Student's Last Wish — Kate Kennedy's Day — The Procession — An Undignified Controversy — Conundrums — A Touchy Professoriate — Only Chaff. Chapter VIII. ... ... ... ... 102 Social Instincts — Students' Representative Councils — Student Life in Edinburgh and St. Andrews compared — The Gaudeamus and Solatium — Dangers of Excess — A Students' Social — The Song of the Bejant — College Friendships — The Lament of the Country Parson — Ben Baxter — The Goulden Vanitee — "Peter" and "Christopher North"— The Student Gay— Old Mother Hubbard — The Yang-tsi-Kiang — The Probationer's Farewell — The Phairshon — Sir Theodore Martin — A Memorable Night — The Mermaid— The Torpedo and the Whale— The Two Brothers — The Prof.'s Song — Undergraduate Memories. Chapter IX. ... ... ... ... ... 120 A Crase for Novelty— Metropolitan Divines— " Timmer to Tim- mer"— A Veritable Boanerges— The Liberton Lady and Dr. Andrew Thomson— Peculiar Christian Courtesy— A Favoured Contents. vii. Pastor— A Ladies' Minister— A Popular Divine— The Preacher ^ar excellenceSi. Giles in Old Days — Mr. Jamieson of the Tron — In quest of Robertson Memorial Church — A Disappoint- ment — Peculiarities of Taste — Scotch Episcopalianism — High Churchism — A "Stream of Tendency "—" A Consummation devoutly to be wished "— Plymouthism— Its Proselytising Ten- dency—A. K. H. B.— The Apostle of Neatness— The New Cult —The College Church— A World of Calm— The Late Principal Shairp— His Earnestness— His Spiritual Tenderness— His Life- Purpose. Chapter X. ... ... ... ... ... 136 The Theatre — First Impressions — "Hamlet" — Elocutionary Power — Henry Irving — Ellen Terry — Mackhn and Garrick — Mrs. Cibber and Miss Bellamy — First Experience of an Opera — The Students' Night — Toy Instruments — A Lively Prelude — ^A Rattling Solo — Signs of Syncope — A Touch of Comedy — ^Am- munition — Dramatic Art — Room for Improvement — "All the World's a Stage." Chapter XI. ... ... .„ ... ... 145 Landladies — Their Varieties — A Dirty Landlady — Her Weak- ness — Landladies' Daughters — An Experiment — A Love-sick Landlady — A Buxom Matron — Her Idiosyncracies — Wise Saws — Clandestine Movements — ^A Cold Bath — Matrimonial Instincts — Calm Soughs — An Ancient Athenian — Gi'en tae Clashes — Kettle-Drums — A Contradiction Still. Chapter XII. ... ... ... ... 156 Dreams of Oxford— Rugby and Dr. Arnold— The City of Palaces — First Impressions of Oxford — The Shady Cherwell — The Finger of the Past— Big Tom of Christ Church— The Far-ofif Curfew — Christ Church — Eminent Statesmen — The Cathedral — The Two Wesleys— Shrine of St. Frideswide— Peter Martyr- Cardinal Pole— A Suggestive Inscription— The Cloisters- The BroadWalk— Folly Bridge— Boating— Arnold's "Scholar Gipsy" — Cumnor Hall— Sir Walter Scott and Kenilworth— Meikle's Ballad— Constable and Scott— Magdalen College— May Day and 173 viii. Contents. the Choristers— St. John the Baptist's Day— A Magdalen Wag— The Chapel Service— Black Night at Merton— Oriel College and the Battle of Bannockburn — Balliol, the Scotsmen's College — The Snell Exhibitions — Distinguished Exhibitioners — Other Colleges — Brasenose— Keble — Holman Hunt's Picture — The Bodleian— The Radcliffe— The Union Society— High Street— A Good Friday Celebration in St. Barnabas Church — Ceremonial- ism — High Churchism. Chapter XIII. Country Rambles— Shelley ^t Oxford— Arnold's "Thyrsis"— Forest Hill and John Milton— Cuddesdon—Iffley — Littlemore and John Henry Newman— The Tractarian Movement — Blenheim Park — Woodstock — Queen Elizabeth's Imprisonment — The Queen and the Milkmaid— The Conservative Club— Anglicised Scotsmen— The Snobbery of Some— Warm-hearted Fellows— The Garden of Great Intellects — Departure. Chapter XIV. ... ... ... ... 182 Editorial— A Vanished Hand— Gathered Threads— The Genius of Poetry— Aletheia— The Idea of the Reminiscences— Univer- sity Reform— The Humours of Life— Almae Matres— A Poetic Supplement— Edina's Academic Halls — Bright Anticipations— St. Mary's Hoary Pile— The Castle by the Sea— Shipwreck- Golf on the Links— Journeying Westward— Oxford Days— Re- gret — Conclusion. Erratum. Page 80, line 4,/»>- 1141 read 1411. MY COLLEGE DAYS. CHAPTER I. " A youth in whom perchance youHl find a lack of wit P Who am I ? The question is a simple one, but, nevertheless, one of little consequence to the reader. When he reaches the end of this volume, if he be daring enough to accomplish such a feat, he may be able to answer the question for himself. If not, the loss he may thereby sustain will not be great. I was a gay young bejant once, and never can be that again. Although my early days may not have been " linked each to each by natural piety," still they did not go beyond the bounds of generous and chivalrous youth. I may have been wild ; I was never wicked in the modern sense of that word. So much for confessions. I am a student past my undergraduate days long ago, alas ! but still a learner in the school of the world. I have studied lo My College Days. some of those subjects a little which go to form the curriculum in three faculties of a Scottish university. I have passed through the arts course, and taken my degree at one university, studied theology at another, and sojourned for a time at a third beyond the border, even at Oxford, that great centre of culture and tradition. Of these student days I am to speak — ex cathedra, of course. The following narrative, as any reader of sense will without the least hesitancy admit, is true in every particular. Although I may be allowed to preface it by saying that a good deal of its matter takes the form of an obiter dictum, being " in the language of the law a gratuitous opinion, an indivi- dual impertinence, which, whether it be wise or foolish, right or wrong, bindeth none — not even the lips that utter it." I was born amid the Grampian hills, like Norval, who fed his father's flocks close by. Norval, by the way, was a very clever fellow, at all events he could herd sheep. My father was minister of the parish, a keen angler, and a ripe Celtic scholar. I remember my first day at the My College Days. \ \ village school. It was a red-letter day to me. I was about four years of age, an interesting child, my mother said ; very interesting I should think. One circumstance which fixes that memorable day in my mind was the killing of Duncan Menzies' pig. Duncan was the beadle, a bit of a character, and a little of the wag. The fat porker was let out of his stye, a sharp knife was rapidly inserted into his throat, and the poor animal galloped down a steep hill like the swine of the parable, with the blood gushing out and leaving a red streak behind. At the foot of the brae he toppled over and screamed his last. I can see it all yet as vividly as if it were a thing of yesterday. I didn't care very much for the school. It took me a full year to master the al- phabet, at least I am told so, and I have no doubt of the truth of the assertion; but most great men were a little stupid to begin with. Leaving the precincts of peat-reek early I found myself in the lowlands in the centre of Scotland. Our home for many years, until I had completed my university career, was in a picturesque village upon the banks of the Tay. Everybody who knew me said I was a clever 12 My College Days. fellow, and I knew they were right. They didn't know, however, that I had taken a year to learn my A. B. C. They came to the conclusion intui- tively. My schooldays passed away like all school- days, a mixture of happiness and pain. The pain was proportionate to the amount of pains taken with the lessons of the day. Some of my friends thought I would make a fine lawyer. Why they thought so I cannot say. " A gift o' the gab and a gude fist at the pen " were the necessary qualifications which they asserted I possessed. I tried it for a year. It •was enough. I wouldn't do for the law. Thus that luminous profession lost in me a man who, un- doubtedly, would have adorned the bar or the bench. I think I would have done for the bench. At times people said I looked as wise as a judge. What more could you desire? My own inclinations were towards farming. A friend undertook to train me in the mysteries of rotation of crops, stock rear- ing, and the science of agriculture generally. I got on well at this, because the pursuit was one con- genial to my tastes, and I began to understand quidfaciat laetas segetes. But the Muse must have My College Days. 13 cast her mantle over me, for it was at this time that I laid the foundation of my poetic fame which, as everybody knows, is world-wide. I began to have a longing after a college career, and so back to school I went ; got up my classics again, and set off to the university. Perseverance is a character- istic of Scotsmen. I am a Scotsman, and therefore possessed of perseverance. The preceding sentences are the result of my attendance in the class of Logic. It comes in useful sometimes. I walked fifty miles a week in order to get lessons in Latin and Greek. These were delightful days when the world of nature was opening up to me in new beauty and in new lights. At such a time we — " See in every hedgerow, Marks of angels' feet, Epics in each pebble, Underneath our feet." This period of my life was a peculiarly happy and interesting one. It was the time of day-dreams when the ardent youth builds his castles in the air, which, alas 1 are very seldom realized. There has come, I daresay, a time to almost every man when youth was just merging into manhood, in which the 14 My College Days. mind has gazed forth, as it were, into the infinitudes of the future. The development of thought brings with it at such a time dreams of coming greatness, or at least of some noble enterprise, which is to be carried on to a successful issue in these far-off days. Yet at the time the realization of such seems im- possible, though after years may see it fully realized. Such a time came to me when in youth's opening day I thought of what the coming years would bring. It is remarkable how men of genius have all had foreshadowings of what was to come, and so the poet Campbell could say — " Coming events cast their shadows before.'' But these early dreamings were rather unsubstantial things. They fed my vanity and demoralized my common sense — uncommon it must have been in my case. It was a fairy dream which became beautifully less and receded "Across the hills, and far away, Beyond their utmost purple rim.'' Somehow or other life appears to me now very prosaic, then it seemed romantic and poetic. My College Days. 1 5 Memory makes one almost burst out into that grandiloquent style which is such a favourite, with some young preachers and writers. It is a style generally employed to cover a dearth of ideas, and on that account I adopt it here. This transition from the romantic to the actual shows how gradual is the process by which all things resolve themselves into the practical, how the splendid vision of youth turns itself into something quite different, and — "At length the man perceives it die away. And fade into the light of common day." You see Wordsworth, like a wise man, felt that the whole thing was a kind of delusion. It is a good thing to be thus deluded. We could do with a great deal more of it. As I look back upon that past it seems encircled with a halo of romance. These simple days were coloured with the golden thread of imagination, which binds young hearts together, and which takes away much of the hard- ness that chills the youthful warmth of enthusiastic affection. Thus we are ever looking forward through the mist of years for the realization of many dreams that will very likely resolve them- 1 6 My College Days. selves in a way we little think of, far less expect. But " blessed is the man who expecteth nothing, verily, he shall not be disappointed." If that be so, then I am blessed indeed. At one time I was most wretched, for who has not once in his life enter- tained " great expectations." Eldorado has attrac- tions for many of us. It affected me long ago, and therefore "I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came." ELDORA.DO. Out of the town ere the sun went down, A youth sped forward with glee, And his eye was bright with the gleaming light Of a spirit wild and free. O'er mountain and stream he followed his dream. Which never grew dim in the shadow. For away in the west where the heroes rest. He was seeking the fair Eldorado. Through valley and lake where the wild fowls make Their melody tune with the sea. He tarried awhile where the waters smile Ere they kissed his feet in their glee. He heard the sigh of the winds that die, As the night comes down with her shadow. And off he sped ere the twilight fled, In search of the sweet Eldorado. Full many a day he roamed this way Yet, never could meet his quest ; For the golden gleams of the sun's bright beams Soon vanished along with the rest. My College Days. 17 So wearied with pain he returned again, To live in the light and the shadow ; For over the sea whatever might be, He never could find Eldorado. Now that's what I call good, solid poetry. The critics, I know, will say "dear me, what stuff!" They say it, however, because it is so much better than their own. My next chapter will lift the veil which has shrouded so long my first experiences of academic life. Sic transit gloria juventi ! 1 8 My College Days. CHAPTER II. " Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! All hail thy palaces and towers, Where once beneath a monarch's feet, Sat Legislition's sovereign powers." — Burns. Leaving home ! What mingled feelings these words recall. That home, round which there cluster so many happy memories, can never be the same again. It has been left behind. The simplicity, the sweetness, and the joyousness of rural scenes were left for the vanity, the bustle, and the weari- ness of the city. For the first time in my life I stood upon the streets of that grand old city so famous in Scottish history, and still so beautiful and romantic. I was a simple youth, and so felt somewhat affected by the change in my circum- stances. Every face, except that of my landlady, was strange to me. I felt alone in the midst of thousands. But my temperament recovered its natural elasticity and buoyancy. I wrote home, went out to post my letter, and deposited it care- My College Days. 19 fully into the private letter box of some gentleman's house down the next street. I imagined that it had been the letter-box or pillar which my voluble landlady described so gushingly to me. But in the morning, discovering my mistake, I found that the good people of the house had transferred it into the keeping of Her Majesty's Postmaster-General, who forwarded my important missive to the proper quarter. I never did the same again. It was a slight mistake, and who has not made mistakes ? Mr. Never-do-wrong is innocent of the charge, but then he is the exception which proves the rule. One cold November night in a year which I need not mention, I stood in Chambers Street, amongst many hundreds, young and hopeful like myself. The pulse beat of life was strong within us all, and we had come to hear " The deep pulsations of the world." The occasion which had brought us together on this cold evening was an unusual one. We were to have a great torch-light procession through the city. For two or three weeks a wonderful amount 20 My College Days. of excitement had developed itself in all the classes of the College from sober-looking divines down to the rawest freshmen. A Rectorial contest was taking place, and, as is usually the case in Scottish Universities, it turned upon party politics. The battle was a tough one, fought with much vigour and energy on both sides. The two candidates were men of high standing in the Whig and Tory party, being statesmen of the iirst rank. The Lord Rector of a Scottish University is the President of the University Court, and consequently a person of great importance in its deliberations. He is elected once in three years by the undergraduates, who record their votes sometime in the month of November, usually in the third week. Between the beginning of the winter session and that time both parties are thoroughly organised, election addresses are issued, squibs and cartoons are scattered broadcast, racy and popular songs are composed and circulated and sung. Meetings in support of the various candidates are held without number. For once the perfervidum ingenium Scot- orum is allowed free play, and the humours of an My College Days. 21 election are fully displayed. When the battle has been fought and won, both parties generally unite in forming a torchlight procession, in honour of their new Lord Rector, on the evening of the declaration of the poll, laying aside with all the generosity of youth the bitter party feelings which had run so high during the preceding days. As my impressions of that first, of the four Rectorial contests in which it has been my fate to take part are still vivid, it may not be out of place to recount a few of my experiences. The first indication which I received that this Session upon which I had entered was no ordinary one came to me in the following way. A day or two after I had inscribed my name — it was obscure then — in the College Register, paid my matriculation fee of one pound, and received my card, I was accosted on my entering the quadrangle by a fellow-student. He button-holed me right off, and before I could say " Jack Robinson " enquired in an insinuating way if I were yet pledged to vote for any of the candidates. Receiving an answer in the negative, he immediately produced his note book, asked my 22 My College Days. name, and said "You'll vote for Lord Havannah, the Liberal candidate ? " " I'm not so sure about that," was my reply, and then commenced an argu- ment which seemed unending as another canvasser for the same gentleman appeared upon the scene and added the weight of his testimony to that of his friend. When this discussion was progressing with the view to my conversion to their side another canvasser approached, displaying a piece of blue ribbon in his coat — not implying that he belonged to the Blue Ribbon Army, but that he was a true blue Tory, a quite different thing. I wonder if it is in memory of " the blues " that the badge has been adopted by total abstainers ? That is an " aside," however. The new arrival at once set himself to confound the enemy, and to my great amysement if not edification, the opposing parties bandied words for several minutes, each endeavouring to impress the raw freshman whom they held in their clutches that his man was ever so much superior to the other, and that they were the people, and wisdom would die with them. When so many people are called fools where are My College Days. 23 the wise to be found ? Echo answers, " where " ? I know. They are to be found next door to the fools. Carlyle said half the world were fools, but then he did'nt know. The tolling of the hour bell, however, summoned my tormentors to their respective classes, and I was set free like a bird from the snare of the fowler, to breathe once more freely and to bless inwardly the inventor of bells. Meeting after meeting was held by the two factions, and I believe by a third calling itself the Independent. But this last party seems to have died prematurely of inanition or from the effects of an overdose of verbosity. These meetings were not held within the precincts of the College, but in extra-mural halls hired for the occasion. Speakers were selected from amongst the senior students, who harangued the crowd of unruly youths that delighted in such gatherings where they could find vent for the superiluity of the animal spirits they possessed. The speeches were panegyrics or eulogies upon the candidate whom they were pleased to honour, and abusive or condemnatory of his opponent. Sometimes the speakers were 24 My College Days. listened to and applauded with much thumping of sticks and " ruffing," accompanied by a fusilade of peas, the orthodox ammunition for such festivities ; more frequently, however, the meeting was liable to a series of interruptions from a party of the opposing camp, who did their best to drown the voice of the speaker and to cast ridicule upon his arguments. On such occasions the opposition would be met with shouts of "put them out," " platform," " run them in," and cries of a similar kind, which only made the " confusion worse con- founded." On the whole, however, the meetings were conducted good humouredly, with a spice of horse-play to keep things lively. At the doors were stationed two or three of each party dis- tributing copies of favourite literature and canvass- ing as hard as possible. But the real hard work of the election was done by the committees, composed of men from the four faculties of Divihity, Arts, Medicine and Law. These committees met daily until the polling day, went over the lists of those who had pledged their support, and took counsel together as to the best methods for carrying on the My College Days. 25 campaign. Here is an account of a meeting held shortly before the election day. It is taken, verbatim of course, from one of the evening papers. Edinburgh University Rectorial Contest. A meeting of Tory students was held last night in the Waverley Hall, in furtherance of the can- didature of Sir Richard Ashley in the Rectorial contest. There was a large attendance, though the hall was not filled. Mr. Chatham, of the Law Faculty, chairman of the Conservative Committee, presided. In opening the proceedings, he announced that since their last meeting their pledges had gone on increasing, and now they had reached a very imposing total indeed. (Cheers.) He thought they might say they had secured a majority in every faculty, and no weakness at any point of their line. (Cheers.) Some things had happened out- side the University which, nevertheless, must be of interest to them at the present moment. On Tuesday last, his supporters and admirers had an opportunity of hearing one of the candidates speak- ing in this city, or of reading a speech delivered by him. He hoped they found his lordship's oratory and his English quite up to the mark. At the same time, he very much doubted it ; or at least, if that was the case, they were very easily pleased, for he saw one single sentence from Lord Havannah's speech in which there were no less than four mixed metaphors. (Laughter and cheers.) He went on B 26 My College Days. to refer to the meeting of the Independent students, and to criticise the address and status of Mr. Davie. He (the chairman) expressed some sympathy with the views of the Independent students, but claimed their support on the present occasion, on the ground that the Conservative candidate admirably met their views. Their opponents, he observed, had abandoned the old plea of the ineligibility of Sir Richard Ashley for the office. He referred to a rumour current about a Liberal student having written to Sir Richard Ashley, asking if he stood on political or other grounds, and about a certain hypothetical answer. This, he said, was not an accurate statement of the facts. But Sir Richard Ashley was communicated with. A gentleman took the liberty of calling upon Sir Richard to heckle him with regard to the election. This individual said he was a neutral, and did not belong to either party, and went on to catechise the hon. Baronet. He could hardly conceive a greater piece of impertinence, as if their distinguished candidate were a candidate for Parliament or some municipal ward. (Laughter.) He believed that gentleman was assured Sir Richard Ashley did not stand purely or mainly on political grounds, but that having been asked to allow himself to be put in nomination by a certain section of the students with whose opinions he did not disagree, he con- sented. (Cheers.) In concluding, Mr. Chatham said they were sure of carrying Sir Richard Ashley My College Days. 27 on Saturday, but warned his friends of the danger of over-confidence. Mr. Scott moved — " That this meeting is grateful to hear of the satisfactory progress in the candida- ture of Sir Richard Ashley, Bart., and the certainty of his return as Rector of the University." Mr. Goldie, who acknowledged himself a member of the Independent section of the students, seconded the resolution. He was not a Conservative ; he had less sympathy with that party on the whole than with Liberals, but it seemed impossible not to side with the Conservatives' candidate in this election. Mr. Davie, who supported the resolution, main- tained that personalities were a perfectly fair and laudable thing in a contest like this. Mr. Fergus submitted that the present was a time to put academical before political principles. None of them had come to the time of life — (oh, oh) — to be so positive in their political principles as Lord Havannah might be. It would be a lasting dis- grace if they put Sir Richard Ashley at the bottom of the poll on Saturday. After some remarks from Mr. Fraser, the resolution was put to the meeting and carried by acclamation. Mr. Steven proposed a resolution, which, he thought, was as strong as was ever proposed in any Rectorial contest,. but he sub- mitted it was warranted — "That this meeting regrets the factious opposition proposed to Sir Richard Ashley in the Rectorial contest." (Cheers.) This resolution was also supported by numerous 28 My College Days. orations from students, and at length carried en- thusiastically. The proceedings were then brought to a conclusion by the chairman giving sundry directions to the Tory forces as to the varieties of shot and shell that were allowable for Saturday, the line being drawn at rotten eggs and stale fish. The students separated with counter demonstra- tions for the rival candidates. It is surprising to observe how many budding politicians are to be found among the under- graduates of a Scottish University. The Scotch intellect is dogmatic. The Scotsman is an argu- mentative animal. During a Rectorial contest few students are permitted to exist without proclaiming themselves as attached to one political party or another. If they decline so to do, they are at once set down as bookworms of the most degraded type or else as belonging to that section of humanity which a great authority upon the subject has termed the section of fools. From all such, good Lord deliver us. Yet, perhaps, I may be one of the lot. The genial critic will at once say that I am ; but, then, we are not all critics, God be thanked. They are certainly the wisest portion of men of letters. My College Days. 29 But leaving such a deep and abstruse subject to be fully elucidated by the coming professor of critical literature I pass on to my interrupted narrative. The meeting at which the candidates for the Rectorship were nominated was held in the Humanity or Latin class-room, a few days before the time fixed for the poll. A medical graduate was voted into the chair, and assumed the respon- sibility of conducting the motley crowd of riotous students, who had met more for the fun of the thing than anything else. His task was anything but a light one. I once occupied a similar position ; I pray never to be in the same position again. The memory of that hour of agony haunts me still like some dreadful nightmare. I verily believe that the patch of grey upon my head is due to that dreadful night. But I digress. " I have now to call," says the chairman, " for nominations (hear, hear), of gentlemen whom you consider (interruption) whom you consider suitable candidates for the office of Lord Rector (cheers) of this ancient and learned University," (loud cheers, hisses, and groans, with thumping of sticks and 30 My College Days. showers of peas). " Really, gentlemen, I must ask your kind indulgence, (oh, oh, hear, hear), to allow the proceedings to be carried on with some con- sideration to order." (Cries of " put him out," hats off.) " Has any gentleman a candidate to propose?" (No ; yes ; go it old fellow). " I have very much pleasure,'' begins a tall member of one of the committees — who had gen- erally a habit of referring to himself as a man of high standing in the University — " in bringing under your notice (no speeches, and uproar), the name of a gentleman (question) a gentleman well known for the many qualities" (draw it mild, peas, and thumping of sticks, to which is added a verse of the song, " For he's a jolly good fellow," sung with great energy). After quietness is restored for a little the proposer proceeds, " I beg to propose as Lord Rector (never) of this learned University, the Right Honourable Lord Havannah, so justly celebrated for (being his father's son, and uproar in which the conclusion of the speech was lost amid the terrific din). Several minutes elapse before anything like order is restored, during which interval My College Days. 3 1 the candidate is formally seconded, and his name written down upon the blackboard behind the chairman. Another student, a member of the opposite party, ascends the platform, and protecting his face from the sharp fusilade of peas which is being kept up with intermittent ardour, endeavours to make his voice heard. Only those on the front benches are aware that he has proposed Sir Richard Ashley, an important official in the then Conservative Government. As soon as the name appears on the blackboard, a volley of peas is fired at the inoffensive chairman and those with him upon the platform who do their best to avoid such missies. The opposing factions cheer, and groan, and hiss, until they get hoarse, and, when voices fail, feet and sticks do the rest. Once more when this superabundant energy seems likely to quiet down for a time, the Chair- man asks if there are any other candidates — a question which is met with cries of " No," " Yes," " Fred Archer," " Blackie," etc. While this hub-bub is going on, a student advances to the rostrum, 32 My College Days. and, in a loud voice, proposes his friend Mr. Bradlaugh, which is met with a perfect storm of hissing, groaning, and thumping of sticks. Another proposes Charles Stuart Parnell, a name which is received with some cheers and laughter. It now becomes clear to the Chairman that the meeting is beginning to degenerate into a bur- lesque. He proceeds, therefore, to take the vote by a show of hands. Amid much confusion the votes are counted as correctly as it is possible in such circumstances. The result gives a small majority to Sir Richard Ashley, a fact that evokes great cheering, and an almost equal amount of groaning and hissing. A poll is demanded, and the third Saturday of November is declared the day of election. Good humour is soon restored by a few verses of "Polly Hill," and a vote of thanks to the chairman terminates the proceed- ings, and the assembled undergraduates pour out into the quadrangle, where two rival processions are formed to march through certain parts of the city. The peaceful citizens of " Auld Reekie " are aware that evening that this is a veritable student's My College Days. 3 j night, and the more timid of them hasten out of the way. Whoever has met such a procession must be well aware of the amount of horseplay that goes on. Door-bells are rung, and sometimes broken ; lamps are smashed, and the gas is turned off; the footways are cleared of passengers, and, if any refuse, their hats are knocked off, or squashed, without ceremony. The ladies are always treated courteously, and allowed to go " scot free." Pro- fessors' houses are visited, — the favourites are cheered, and those who are not receive a different kind of salutation, which, with a due consideration for their feelings, I will refrain from mentioning. After the Lord Provost's residence has been serenaded, the newspaper offices are visited, and party feeling is allowed free-play. When this rowdy spirit seems spent, the processions disperse with parting cheers for their respective candidates, "resolved," like Burns's "Twa Dogs," "to meet some ither day." The Saturday upon which the poll takes place is an eventful one. The polling hours extend from 34 My College Days. nine to half-past ten a.m. Several of the class- rooms are set apart as polling booths, with a pro- fessor, an assistant, and one representative from each committee as clerks and overlookers. While the voting goes on, a scene of a peculiar kind is occurring in the Quadrangle. The two parties form themselves into opposing battalions and muster round the statue of Sir David Brewster, where a battle is carried on. On this Saturday morning the head of Sir David was encircled with a wreath of Tory blue. The Liberals, some of whom wore red caps or red ribbons, charged the defenders of the Tory colours, and volley after volley of peas, accompanied sometimes with bags of flour, were discharged upon the foe. This com- pliment was, with all due regard to etiquette, returned, and a perfect melee ensued. Nearly a thousand were engaged in the skirmish, and the shouts soon became deafening. The mimic war- fare was witnessed by a crowd of civilians outside the College gates, many of whom appeared as if they also would have enjoyed the fray. At last one venturesome red-ribbonist managed to climb My College Days. 35 the statue and carry off the colours, an action which was greeted with a triumphant shout of victory. But in a few minutes the colours were replaced and the fight renewed. The crowding and jostling became rather unpleasant, and I for one was glad to get to the outskirts of the swaying crowd. One warrior was carried from the field in a swoon, and consigned to the more peaceful atmosphere of the reading-room, where he soon recovered conscious- ness. Hats were seen flying about in all directions, but it required a stretch of the imagination to recognise them as such, they were so battered and torn. Now and again you would hear the rending of some unlucky fellow's coat, and you at once became aware that Rectorial fights were good things for tailors and hatters. With slight variation the charge and counter charge went on, until it drew near the declaration of the poll, when the scene of contest was vacated for the south-east corner of the Quadrangle, where the yelling crowd awaited the declaration of the poll. The names of the rival candidates were greeted with cheers and counter cheers, groans and hisses, and a fusilade 36 My College Days. of peas. What a splendid business many a grocer did in peas that day ! Chapman might have made soup for a month afterwards out of the debris. Amid the hub-bub the Vice-Chancellor, Principal Grant, appeared upon the balcony above, and ex- hibited the numbers polled for each candidate, showing a majority in favour of the Liberal candi- date, Lord Havannah. The result was greeted with cheers and groans ; and as the Principal allowed the pasteboard on which the figures were written to drop into the midst of the crowd, another melee began, aud the cardboard was soon in pieces. A procession was organised, and in a few minutes the turbulent crowd had left the College almost deserted. The victory was celebrated by a torch- light procession in the evening. Both parties joined in this celebration, though of course the successful party predominated. I never saw a more romantic sight than that long line of enthusiastic students marching two and three a breast down the Mound to Princes Street. The glare of the burning torches — procured from Hume's — lit up the old town, and the burning of My College Days. 37 coloured lights added to the picturesqueness of the scene. The streets through which we passed were crowded with spectators who seemed to enjoy the fun. Popular songs were sung with right good will, and everything went "merry as a marriage bell." The song of " John Peel " was followed by "Gaudeamus" and that by "Polly Hill"— the production of a Scottish Probationer now no more. Everybody knew it was a real students' night, and the west-end belles and mashers mingled in the throng with the denizens of the Canongate and Cowgate to witness the unusual sight. What a cheering and singing we had ! Few throats were not as dry as a whistle, and ere the procession was over few faces were not unlike sweeps', they were so black with smoke and tar. Professors' houses were visited and properly saluted, that of Professor Blackie receiving special attention, and a few verses of " For he's a jolly good fellow," being sung. As the merry band progressed volleys of peas were fired now and again into the midst of the devoted crowd who attended us, and many were the jokes levelled at the unoffending policemeh. The 38 My College Days. carnival ended upon the top of the Calton Hill, where the remnants of the torches were piled, but not before we had a tussle with some of the Edin- burgh roughs who replied to our fusilade with showers of turf. A pretty bonfire, however, was made with the torch ends and a farewell song completed the proceedings. Many of the more boisterous kept up the sport to a later hour, but the great majority of us hastened home to astonish our landladies with our sooty faces and tarry clothes. Many a weary head and tired body lay down to rest that night, and in dreamland engaged again in similar encounters and processions. Oh, day of harmless frolic thou art but a thing of memory now ! The poetic effusions of these Rectorial contests are of varied quality. Here is the concluding verse of one of the songs, the author of which is now a Parish Minister. He may not thank me for thus rescuing from oblivion a fragment of his muse. It is a parody on a popular song at the time, " That's what puzzles the Quaker." My College Days. 39 " Sir Richard's the man to head the poll If Students wish to make a Man they know their Rector now, And that won't puzzle the Quaker ! So give a cheer (or this veteran bold, And leave Havannah out in the cold ; Learning is better than glitter and gold. And that won't puzzle the Quaker ! Verily ah ! verily hum ! What will you do with a staker ? Oh, the Rads. are awfully rum, They terribly puzzle the Quaker !" 40 My College Days. CHAPTER III. " Once more myself in College Halls I find. To grind philosophy and classic lore, To pore o'er books that students so deplore. And listen to Professors holding forth : Each one extolling high the use and worth Of what he teaches as the noblest theme Which man can study, and his mind esteem.'' There is a pleasure, and yet a sadness, too, in looking back upon days of old when all the world was fresh and fair to us. These glad days seem brighter now than they ever were then. The dark cloud is forgotten in the strong light that gilds those undergraduate days. There is, nevertheless, a pleasure in looking back on, and recalling, the past. This feeling is beautifully expressed by John Henry Newman. "When enjoyment is past," he says, " reflection comes in. Such is the sweetness and softness with which days long past fall upon the memory, and strike us. The most ordinary years, when we seemed to be living for nothing, shine forth to us in their very regularity My College Days. 41 and orderly course. What was sameness at the time, is now stability ; what was dulness, is now a soothing calm ; what seemed unprofitable, has now its treasure in itself; what was but monotony, is now harmony ; all is pleasing and comfortable, and we regard it all with affection. Nay, even sorrowful times (which at first sight is wonder- ful) are thus softened and illuminated afterwards." It is thus that we " remember the days of old," for we were all in that state which Kingsley pictures so well — " When all the world is young, lad, And all the trees are green, And every goose a swan, lad, And every lass a queen, Then hey for boot and horse, lad. And round the world away, Young blood must have its course, lad, And every dog his day. " But we were young then, and now, alas, we are growing old. In our young inexperience the dawn of College life appeared to be the most momentous, presaging a day of great and wonderful things. The very class-rooms seemed to be hallowed and haunted by the spirits of departed greatness, the 42 My College Days. Professors were the embodiments of the learning and knowledge of the universe, if not of its wisdom. At least we fancied so in the guileless hour of our innocency, but time and personal intercourse altered our idea somewhat. It is a weakness of humanity to expect too much of great men. The motto of the logic class-room perhaps fed the delusion — ' ' On earth there is nothing great but man, In man there is nothing great but mind." But men of small minds may sometimes be found in Professorial chairs. Such occupants can console themselves with the thought that the world is never conscious of its greatest men until they die. This, however, is no justification for suicide. We found ourselves enrolled amongst the future guides and rulers of our country, and that in itself made us feel that responsibility was resting upon our shoulders even then. We were privileged to enter the halls of learning and surely from us knowledge would demand some return. Such metaphysical questions did not trouble us much at that time. Even Professor Campbell Fraser did My College Days. 43 not make us feel enamoured of Metaphysics although we did swear by the mystic password of Des Cartes, Cogito ergo sum. No doubt it was our fault. We waded through much classic lore under the guidance of Professors Blackie and Sellar. We endeavoured to imbibe the vivacity and clearness of the Grecian intellect as it was exhibited to us from the rostrum of the Greek class-room, and to assume the grave manliness of the Roman as it was personified in its dignified teacher ; and so we plodded along the path of learning, fully realising that it was anything but a " Royal Road." We were introduced into tbe mystic labyrinths of metaphysics by its erudite Professor, who en- deavoured to instil into our minds some Berkeleian ideas regarding the theory of vision. It was, indeed, a visionary theme, and as for myself, I was very much like Peter Bell, of whom Wordsworth wrote : " A primrose by a river's brim, A yellow primrose was to him And it was nothing more. " 44 -^y College Days. Moral philosophy was expounded clearly enough, but whether our moral sense increased or became consolidated remains to be seen. We extracted conscience from its cranny amid the moral sentiments, dissected it with great delight and believed that it was an almost impossible task to educate it further in regard to matters of meum and tuum. In those days utilitarians were slaughtered fearfully, and Herbert Spencer, poor man, was tripped up right merrily by Calderwood, who very quickly disposed of him and his theories to his own satisfaction if not to that of the class. But now, when we think of it all we feel that we know as much about conscience as the poet did about the flower : " Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies ; Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower — but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is.'' And mathematics ! Oh shade of painful memory I cannot speak of thee save with the tear of sorrow in mine eye ! I confess that I entertain consider- My College Days. 45 able sympathy for the student who formulated the following conundrum : " Why shall we understand mathematical truths more clearly in a future state ? Because we now see them through a c(h)rystal darkly, but then we shall behold them face to face." I never had a taste for mathematics and do not expect ever to have. They were the bugbear of my College career. They haunted me like gaunt spectres and disturbed my sleep like some horrid nightmare ; and yet mirabile dictu ! I managed to scramble through the Degree examination with- out being "plucked." The evening before that dreadful day was spent in painful endeavours to understand something about trigonometry, conic sections and algebraical formulae. It was a sad, sad scene. My friend Mortimer who entertained the same deep veneration for the science, sat down to ■' grind " along with me, and we crammed away until we could cram no more. In despair we sallied forth at midnight into the solitude of Edin- burgh by night ; we paced up and down the empty streets and the deserted squares of the New Town. The very stars blinked upon us as if they were 46 My College Days. weeping with sorrow at our condition. Up and down the pavement we tramped, repeating aloud the necessary formulae, apostrophising the very moon to shine upon our dull and darkened intellects and to enable us to understand, if but for one brief day, those mystic symbols which were then tormenting us so much. The solitary "bobby" whom we met must have taken us for two escaped lunatics ; and probably he would not be far from the truth at the time. We felt as if we were really demented. But that dark night of sorrow passed and so did we ! The wild dance of joy in which we indulged upon the evening of our great deliverance was, I think, perfectly justifiable ; at least it relieved our pent up feelings, and in the privacy of my own room I sang with glee the following parody on Hood's " Song of the Shirt": — " With his mind all weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A student sat until the morn. When he ought to have been a-bed. Grind ! grind ! grind ! Through hours both weary and long. O'er books on science and mind, He sung his ' students' song.' My College Days. 47 " Cram ! cram ! cram ! While the wind is blowing without ! And cram ! cram ! cram ! Till the gas is all burned out ! A savage I would be Along with some Zulu chief, With no Profs, to. bother me, If I could find relief. " Cram ! cram ! cram ! Till the brain begins to swim ! Cram ! cram ! cram ! Till the eyes are heavy and dim ! Nerves, and sinews, and veins. Veins, and sinews, and nerves ; And what do I get for my pains, That this hard work deserves ? " Oh, wives ! with husbands dear ! Oh, maids ! with brothers and beaux ! Have pity on the students' lives. The cares a student knows ! Grind ! grind ! grind ! Through hours both weary and long ; Wasting along with coals and gas, A life as well as a song. " But why do I talk of life. If it be such a bore ? Exams, arise like ghosts, When will they be no more ? When will they be no more. And students shall be free To roam where'er they please And sing aloud for glee ? I ! " Cram ! cram ! cram 1 My stewing never stops ; V 48 My College Days. Oh, that there'd be a row ; I'd pitch into the fops ! But here I sit alone, And pore o'er musty books ; I am nigh skin and bone You'll see from my pale looks, " Cram ! cram ! cram ! From weary night to night ; Cram ! cram ! cram ! Until the morning light, Bones, and muscles, and nerves, Nerves, and muscles, and bones, Till the heart is sick and the brain benumbed. And voice gives vent in groans. " Cram ! cram ! cram ! In the dull December light ; And cram ! cram ! cram ! From morning, noon, to night. While on the frozen lakes The merry skaters glide. Here in this musty room I am compelled to bide. X. " Oh ! but to breathe the breath Of the country and the woods ; • I'd have a lighter heart, ■^nd less of mournful moods. Oh ! for the time that I W^S a merry boy at school, I'd thirife — "Coleshill." There was a man who had two sons, And these two sons were brothers : Tobias was the name of one. And Banchus was the t'others. Now these two brothers had one coat, They bought it on a Monday ; Tobias wore it all the week, And Banchus on the Sunday. It came to pass in course of time That these two brothers died ; They laid Tobias on his back. And Banchus by his side. Ii8 My College Days. They brushed the coat with reverent care, And many a choking sob : It grieved them to the heart to think 'Tvifould only fetch a bob. Of course the song par excellence is what is known as the " Prof.s' Song." Few social gatherings take place without this song receiving full justice. It has varied with the changes in the Professoriate, but the chorus of " Kai-ai-ai " remains always the same. It would scarcely do to give the song in full here, else, I am afraid, the publisher of these sheets might have an action of libel filed against him on the part of some thin-skinned member of the august Senatus. A verse here and there may be given as a specimen of the whole. Hurrah ! for the Rector come to see The students of this 'Varsity, Head o'er all the Profs, and we, The mightiest he of the 'Varsity. With a Kai-ai-ai, etc. Hurrah ! for the Prof, of Geometry, The latest expounder of a, b, o. But, oh ! that he and a -^ b Were sunk in the sea of nonentity. With a ICai-ai-ai, etc.. My College Days. 119 Huvrah ! for the new Prof, sent to we. To cram us with electricity, Rare boy he, and rare boys we. The best in all the 'Varsity. With a Kai-ai-ai, etc. But it is an almost unending process when memory recalls so many. The one suggests another, and thus they come flowing on — a stream of under- graduate memories, good, bad, and indifferent. The very existence of so many College lyrics is sufficient evidence in itself to show the kindly fellowship which has always existed in our oldest Scottish University. It is a fine feature, and one which does not pass away in after years. The one helps the other, when he can, in other and wider spheres, when the class-rooms and the Professors are far behind in the race of life. And this is needed in the hard struggle which faces so many. These golden chains of friendship are what bind the best of our humanity together, and make the different stages of life's journey sweeter and more pleasant than they otherwise would be. ISO My College Days. CHAPTER IX. ' ' When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought. " Shakespeare. In those days of bright and happy memory, when so many scenes rose up before me with all the freshness of novelty, I fancied that such could never pall. "Familiarity," however, as the old copy- books say, " breeds contempt," and in the natural course of things I was induced to seek " fresh fields and pastures new." To satisfy my craving after novelty I was in the habit, while a dweller in "Auld Reekie," of visiting Sunday after Sunday the churches of several divines more or less famous for their oratorical gifts. In this way I went the round of a large number of churches connected with all denominations. It might be considered an invidious thing were I to set down in order here my humble though pungent criticisms of some of those divines, after whom a certain section of the metropolitan My College Days. t2I religious public was in the habit of running. These pages may come to the light of public criticism so soon that the editor of these notes, whoever he may be, might consider some of my remarks too personal, or, at all events, too incisive. Still, to my mind, public men, who very often challenge that criticism by the very eccentricity of their movements, have no just or reasonable ground of complaint should they chance to read an estimate of their public appearances not altogether to their mind nor yet flattering to their vanity. In what follows I shall do my best to avoid those rocks of offence, lest in my rashness I might knock my head against a pillar of the visible church. In many cases I have a shrewd suspicion that in so using the rod of criticism I would only be applying "timmer to timmer." For some time I attended the ministrations of a veritable Boanerges in the New Town, whose massive eloquence charmed my ear if it did not always enlighten my understanding. Of him one might have appropriately used the expression of the old Liberton lady who, in criticising the once 122 My College Days. celebrated Dr. Andrew Thomson of St. George's, said, " There's ae thing aboot yon man, he's a grand roarer." But though the pulpit poured forth its due supply of perfervid oratory, there always seemed to me to be far too much coldness in the pews. The atmosphere of the congrega- tion, so to speak, appeared cold and repellent ; at least the occupants of the pews looked upon strangers with suspicion, and when anyone chanced to intrude into their holy privacy, it was not an uncommon thing to be quietly, if not politely, asked to vacate the pew in favour of worshippers who, in their own estimation, seemed to consider themselves of a higher caste. Doubtless they were exhibiting that Christian courtesy which may still be experienced in so many well-known taber- nacles in Modern Athens. For two winters I attended this church and heard many a good and stirring discourse. I took part in Sunday School work as well, and when I left it on account of its icy temperature I knew as much about the members as I did the first day I darkened its My College Days. 123 vestibule. No one called to ascertain why I was absent, and apparently no one cared. My next experience of congregational activity and sympathy was in connection with a north side church, where more personal interest was taken in the individual members, and where a kindlier feel- ing seemed to prevail. The quality of mental and spiritual food which was laid before the occupants of the pews was not always of the highest order, though interesting enough. But then people can't get everything. One feature of this congregation is worthy of remark, viz., the large number of female members, composed chiefly of old maids and widows. The pastor was a favourite, it seemed, with the gentler sex, and yet he had a wife and family of his own, a fact which ought to show the disinterested motives that influenced this section of his flock. Some people said that the sermons they heard here were too much of the " goody-goody " order, lacking pith and back-bone. To me the preacher seemed to be suiting himself to his hearers. I tarried here for awhile and then went on my way. 1 24 My College Days. Having basked for a little in the coruscations some lesser lights, I was fascinated by the eloquenci of the incumbent of a large church in the westeri part of the town. Like St. Paul, he was a man whom it might be said that his bodily presenci was weak. His voice, however, was powerful and hi preaching attracted great crowds — so great, indeed when he was the preacher, that it was with thi utmost diificulty that strangers could iind admission and when admitted secure a seat. Very often had to be contented to find a perch far up in a loft} gallery where I certainly had the advantage o looking down upon the orator. He was a man o travel, a man of wide sympathies, of deep spiritua feelings, and withal, possessing a consciousness o his own merits. I liked his style and on most occa sions his matter. He had a slight nasal twang but whether that arose from his having travelled ii the United States of America or from his Celti( extraction, I shall not pause to enquire. In mi day he was the preacher par excellence, whon having once heard was to have lived. Though tha may be, many have expressed the opinion that t( My College Days. 125 have heard him once was enough; a second hearing was sometimes apt to break the spell. Here I found a congenial haven in which to winter, and from which to issue forth like a gladiator thirsting for the fray. In my undergraduate days the Cathedral Church of St. Giles was not restored. It still existed in all the hideousness which the people in the beginning of this century seemed to think good enough for Presbyterianism. It was not always so, and it is not likely to be so again. Now, however, St. Giles is as it should be, thanks to the liberal restorer — the open-handed Chambers. Then, however, the roaming student, whom city ministers consider as pertaining to no man's care, was not tempted to enter its precincts in order to enjoy an interesting service, conducted with due decorum and taste amid artistic and time-honoured surroundings. Stiff pews, a cold service, and ungainly pillars were generally the reward of the unwary stranger. I had the satisfaction to see the present estimable incumbent inducted before I quitted the city, and felt with many more that the right man had come 1 26 My College Days. to the right place. Sometimes I slipped in t( hear the late Mr. Jamieson of the Tron. I gaze< with wonder at the lofty pulpit, which in thosi days seemed to me to be so high. The preache was worth listening to. His sermons were full good matter, and I have still many notes taken 01 such occasions. What surprises me now is that s( much material could be crammed into a singli sermon. Mr. Jamieson rushed along "in his dis course like a large river full of vessels of all sort and sizes. One could pick up gems of though here and there and still feel that more had beer passed over. His influence could ill be spared. I remember one Sunday setting out for thi Robertson Memorial Church to hear some specia services. I was at that time unacquainted witl the Grange district, and so had to speer my way I asked a certain cabman somewhere about th( foot of the Grange Road, and he very kindh directed me into a certain church close by Whether he did not understand what I said o not I cannot say, but I knew whenever I enterec the church that I had made a mistake. It turne( My College Days. 127 out to be a United Presbyterian Church, the name of which I don't know yet. The service was certainly not what I had come for ; but I did not like to retire. It was the most uncomfortable hour and a half I ever spent in any church. Perhaps my estimate of the character of that cab- man was undergoing a considerable change during the time, at all events I did not bless his stupidity. Who the preacher was I am unable to say. I never heard him before, and never since, and I have no desire ever to hear him again. I failed to reach the Robertson Memorial that day, and I have never reached it yet. Some day I may be more fortunate. I fre- quently entered the Parish Church of the Uni- versity, and heard there from time to time divines of note, who, on the occasion of addressing an audience partly composed of students, gener- ally, to use a homely phrase, put their best foot foremost But it is a wonderful thing to observe the peculiarities of people's taste in the matter of pulpit eloquence. In my sabbatical peregrinations I must have heard a specimen of almost every 1 28 My College Days. style, from the loud hour-and-a-half thunder- ings of a certain eminent Principal of one of the Colleges, to the refined milk -and -watery - fifteen-minutes' discourse of some of the shining lights of the Scotch Episcopal Church. One thing which struck me in reference to Episcopalianism in Edinburgh, was the supercilious way in which the disciples of Anglicanism referred to their be- nighted Presbyterian brethren. But, doubtless, they were merely returning a compliment in the same coin. Yet, to my mind, they were guilty of a gross error of judgment in the methods they adopted for popularising this system of worship and Church government. Instead of adopting Low Churchism, they aped the most pronounced High Churchism. Apostolic succession and all the other isms of their creed were pushed to an absurd extent. They will, of course, be perfectly justified in retorting that they themselves ought to be the best judges of what they should teach, and how they should carry out their apostolic pro- paganda. Yes, they are wiser than we thick- headed, dogmatic Presbyterians, who care not My College Days. 129 whether we have apostolic succession or not, but who look more to the kernel than to the husk. The genial Bishop who has been preaching union — on his lines, of course — for so many years, may be able to explain the " stream of tendency " which carries them onwards to ritualism and pre- latic pretension. They may comprise the true Scottish Church, but it will be a long time before the average Scottish mind will admit the proposi- tion. If with them it is " a consummation devoutly to be wished," a probable date may be given by way of encouragement — that date being the Greek Kalends. For myself, I have little fault to find with Episcopacy. I thoroughly sympathise and approve of it as understood by such men as Charles Kingsley, Dean Stanley, Lightfoot, and Hatch. In their exposition I can see reason and common sense, but in the current interpretation of the Scotch Episcopal school I fail to see very much of either. But then I am a prejudiced individual. Nevertheless, these are the impressions made upon my own mind in the course of a number of years 1 30 My College Days. during which I attended many of their chapels, and listened to much of their teaching. Another phase of religious fervour came under my notice in those undergraduate days. This was what is called Darbyism or Plymouthism. I attended many of their meetings and admired much of their brotherly feeling ; but I always felt that they presumed too much upon their own spiritual knowledge and considered all others outside their own select circle as not yet fully entered into the spiritual life. It appeared that they were the people and likely wisdom would die with them. Another feature of their system was its proselytising tendency. They seemed to me to work only amongst nominal Christians, ordinary church goers, whom they apparently put down as being very far from grace and spiritual truth. I never yet came across any of them in the slums of the city. They may have laboured there, but the places where they were most frequently to be found were the busy street corners or close by the doors of retiring con- gregations. It is a curious thing this Christianity of ours which includes so many sects — most of My College Days. 131 which consider those outside themselves as wan- dering sheep far from the true fold. Christianity is not to blame as a religious system, but the lack of that spirit of love, which the Apostle tells us covers a multitude of sins. Most people have as yet identified that spirit with self-interest. How- ever, I am no philosopher, and so I leave this nut for our theologians to crack when they are done abusing one another. When I entered St. Andrews I knew that I had come to the city of the prince of modern essayists — the worker in the field of literary trivialities — the apostle of neatness, and the advocate of the beauti- ful in the service of the sanctuary. Then there began to dawn upon my obtuse intellect that most peculiar of all curious mathematical problems which was propounded to me in all seriousness, but the statement of which was never fully completed. Let A. K. H. B. be a Rhom-boid ; my informant said rum-boyd, however. I repudiate all connection with the person who imposed that problem on me, and who endeavoured to take advantage of my innocence and inexperience. The only way in 133 My College Days. which I can relieve myself of my just indignation is by revealing to the eye of an impartial public this obnoxious attempt to perpetrate a joke at the expense of a dignitary of the Church, who deserves to be a Bishop. The service in the Church of St. Mary's is a favourable specimen of the tendency of the new cult in things ecclesiastical which is now coming to the front under the auspices of what might be called the High Church party in the Scottish Church. The read prayers, the responses, the chants and anthems, the short and pithy ser- mon, all helped to make an interesting and attractive service, in which the artistic and the spiritual were judiciously blended. One admirable trait which distinguished the senior minister's character as a preacher was his art of putting things — an art which, in his hands, might be said to have reached perfection. It was not so much the thing said, as the way in which it was said, that struck the hearer. With the majority of students, A. K. H. B. was a favourite. His colleague was more philo- sophical, and being a student of science more than an artful essayist, a comparison between the two My College Days. 133 would scarcely be just ; besides, " comparisons are odious," as the common-place philosopher re- minds me. The College Church was much frequented by the Arts Students, but I was only an occasional hearer of the genial incumbent. Why have the University authorities never insti- tuted regular University sermons in their own chapel ? The other clergymen of the " city by the sea" were men of good capabihties and fair oratorical powers. But of them my memory fails to render an account more than common -place ; and there recurs to me in this connection a good saying "least said soonest mended," — a saying whose advice I am inclined to follow. Here in this ancient town I found the quiet-going inhabi- tants influenced to a certain extent by the too common feelings of sectarianism, but upon the whole free and liberal in their views. They strove in their own way to carry out their principles conscientiously — "And lived, far off from the noisy mob, In a world of their own that was full of calm." In connection with things ecclesiastical it will not, 134 My College Days. I think, appear out of place to introduce the name of the late Principal Shairp. I had the good fortune for a short time to enjoy his personal friendship and to meet him from time to time on matters connected with the higher interests of student life. At all times he was anxious to for- ward by the best means in his power the moral welfare of the young men who came up to the United Colleges over which he so ably pre- sidfed. I do not think his efforts in this direc- tion were appreciated as they ought to have been Most students apparently failed to realise the very earnest nature of the man and the intense spirituality of his mind. No doubt the suppression of the Kate Kennedy Carnival had something to do with the prejudice which existed in the student mind, and perhaps the Principal himself failed to appreciate that love of freedom and dis-regard of collegiate control which is so strong an element in the Scottish student's character. But to me John Campbell Shairp was a fine example of that noble spirit of spiritual tenderness which shines so conspicuously in many My College Days. 135 of his lectures on poetry and the poets. His life and teaching exemplified the purpose which he has himself ascribed to the true poet, who " before men overborne by things seen, sets an ideal, which is real — an object not for intellect and imagination only, but for the affections, the conscience, the spirit, for the whole of man. When their hearts droop he bids them " look abroad, And see to what fair countries they are bound." His voice is a continual reminder that, whether we think of it or not, the celestial mountains are before us, and thither lies our true destiny.* * "Aspects of Poetry," p. 92. 136 My College Days. CHAPTER X. " Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific — and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — Silent, upon a peak in Darien.'' — Keats. Until I set foot in Edinburgh, I had never seen nor entered a theatre. I had read and heard plenty about the stage. Time after time I had heard the theatre reviled and termed " the sink of iniquity and the gate of Hell." These denuncia- tions only helped to whet my curiosity, as, I have no doubt, they had done that of many more. Reserving my personal judgment until I had seen for myself, I resolved to consider all such whole- sale condemnations of the stage as being pretty much the crude conclusions of ill-informed minds. When I first took my seat within the precincts of the Theatre Royal, I felt as if I had entered another world. The play was "Hamlet," and My College Days. 1 37 though I had often read that masterpiece of a master-mind, I never fully realised its dramatic power till that eventful night. The scenery, the acting, the realistic way in which scene followed scene, the tout ensemble, impressed me as nothing ever did before or since. I forget who took the part of the Prince of Denmark. It was not Irving. I witnessed his inimitable personation later. Who- ever he was, he did his part well. But what at the time struck me most forcibly was the beautiful enunciation of the " Ghost." The elocutionary power with which that famous passage was de- livered, gave me a completely new idea of the power of the human voice in public oratory. As I sat there entranced with the mellow richness of that voice, I thought that surely here many a droning clergyman might learn with profit for himself and advantage to his congregation. This may be heresy, but it is well-meant advice. I had often wondered at the character of Ophelia, but never until then had I understood the depth and beauty of Shakspeare's conception. The natural and life-like acting in the piece opened my mind 138 My College Days. to a wider and more just view of the drama, both as an art and as a means of livelihood. From that day I occasionally visited the theatre. Especially did I try to do so when any of Shaks- peare's plays were to be interpreted. When Henry Irving visited the Scottish metropolis, I formed one of the many who crowded to see his delineation of Hamlet, or Romeo, or Othello, or some other equally interesting character. Passing over his stage-strut and his mannerisms, I felt that it was impossible to surpass him in his carefully studied and perfectly acted personations. Ellen Terry was always charming, winning, and grace- ful. No one can be surprised that these two ex- ponents of the drama's highest art occupy the first rank in their profession. Macklin and Garrick could not have given a more realistic and natural representation of Shakspeare's great characters than Henry Irving does now. Mrs. Cibber and Miss Bellamy could not have won greater applause nor worn their laurels more deservedly than Miss Terry. My first experience of an opera was a memor- My College Days. 139 able one. It was the students' night. The very mention of that circumstance must call up in the minds of many a lively and peculiar scene. On the morning of that eventful day the " fiery cross " was passed through the class- rooms of the University, summoning the gay undergraduates, who were always ready for fresh fields and adventures new, to meet that evening at a rendezvous close to the Theatre Royal, where they would get into marching order and take possession of the gallery. A friend of mine persuaded me to join the ranks, informing me at the same time that there was sure to be some fun and lots of amusement — not in the opera, but among the students. His prediction was verified in every detail. He and I, like most of the seven or eight hundred who turned up at the mustering place, came provided with a supply of musical instruments. These were certainly not of the most elaborate type. My acquisitions in that line amounted to three small toy trumpets, a penny whistle, and a horn of a peculiar make and sound. My friend had a like number of similar instruments. 140 My College Days. When I ventured to express the opinion that we were taking a superfluous supply of such articles, he replied that they would be all needed. I found ere the opera ended that he was right. The piece was " Faust," an interesting and enjoyable opera as far as my judgment went, though that is not saying much. I never attempted to write an opera myself I once tried to write a play. It was a most success- ful effort, as I thought, but my critic said I had been born too soon, for it was beyond the com- prehension of the present generation. But to return to my tale, as the story-writers say. We filled the top gallery of the theatre half-an-hour or so before the curtain rose. The time was not allowed to hang upon our hands. We became merry. Each student appeared to be tuning his instrument. I fancied for the moment that they were exemplifying Professor Tait's definition of noise. But I soon saw my mis- take. They were merely playing the prelude to the evening's entertainment. After a vain attempt at harmony, which produced the most discordant and irritating of noises, the young musicians settled My College Days. 141 down to some good-humoured by-play. " Take off that hat," " Put off that white coat," " Turn that man out," and various other cries assailed the occupants of the pit-stalls and the dress circle as they quietly took their places. This and other kinds of " chaff" kept the audience merry until one of the leading voices amongst my student friends commenced a solo, the chorus of which was joined in more vigorously than harmoniously by the others, accompanied by penny whistles, flutes, fog- horns, and other less formidable toy instruments. The solo was sung well by an excellent voice, and as far as I could make out, it seemed to be the history of the adventures of two worthies who went for a sail in the Firth of Forth, encountered a whale, and nearly got drowned in consequence. The worthies must have been Highlanders, for the one was Donald and the other Dougal. This effort was greeted with great applause on the part of the audience and with a terrific blast of horns and trumpets on the part of the students themselves. As the opera itself proceeded there was compara- tive quietness, but the intervals between the acts, 142 My College Days. generally of some duration, were utilised to advan- tage by the noisy crowd aloft. A solo with a rattling chorus would be followed by an extem- porised interlude on the various instruments. Several College songs, e.g., "John Peel," "The Yang-tsi-kiang," "That's wh^t puzzles the Quaker," etc., gave an element of variety to the proceedings. Long before the opera was ended my toy trumpets had become useless, and the only weapon of war left was the penny whistle which gave evident signs of syncope. My friend was in the same position. A touch of comedy came in when an orange boy's basket was seized and, having been attached to a long string, was lowered over the front of the gallery. This feat was greeted with a cheer. Those below were in dread that some sudden mishap might send the whole thing crash upon their craniums. Such a calamity, how- ever, was happily averted, and the basket was restored to its forlorn owner, who speedily made himself conspicuous by his absence. A few of our party was supplied with ammunition in the form of peas, which were scattered here and there through- My College Days. 143 out the theatre during the evening. But upon the whole, the students conducted themselves with the decorum becoming citizens of a famous University. On emerging from the theatre a procession was again formed by those who did not immediately go home to their lodgings, and for a time the frequenters of Princes Street were aware that this was a students' night. This was the only occasion upon which I formed one of the merry and thoughtless band who periodically certify their love for the opera by adding their quota of discord to what would otherwise be a too harmonious entertainment. As I do not hold a brief for the stage, I do not intend either to defend or to put in a plea for it here. I believe it is unnecessary to do so. I think, however, that in many things there is room for improvement. But those who have studied the history of dramatic art in Great Britain during the last hundred years must admit that it has made very rapid progress towards a truer and more healthy tone than can be said to have prevailed in the days of David Garrick and Peg Woffington, 144 My College Days. There is, I understand, a Church and Stage Guild in England, which is surely one of the signs of the times. The people who condemn the stage would be engaged in a more worthy occupation did they instead endeavour to regulate and to elevate it. The .demand always procures the supply. If the public set their minds to have nothing but thor- oughly good plays acted, they may rest assured that good plays will be put upon the boards. Spectacular display and dramatic genius will always command the attention of a large section of the public. But when all is said, no one has ventured to contradict the great dramatist's assertion that " all the world's a stage." My College Days. 145 CHAPTER XI. " She keeps a jovial lodging-house, I ween, And none but single gentlemen are kept ; She is a cook, and thinks herself the queen Of landladies who e'er a parlour swept." Old Song. Everyone who has lived for any length of time in lodgings must have come across a few curious specimens of landladies. They belong to a remark- able section of society. Their circle is one peculiarly their own. My experience of them has been rather varied. I have lived with tidy landladies, with dirty ones, with gossiping ones, with lazy ones, and with cleaning-forever-ones. The acquain- tance which I have thus formed with this useful class has not tended to increase my respect for them as a whole, though, of course, there are a few exceptions which go, however, to prove the rule. With regard to one of the first landladies under whose control I unhappily fell the following short 146 My College Days. sketch, by a friend of mine, will suffice to hit her off exactly. " She did not get the prize at the show for clean- liness ; in fact, she didn't try. " Indeed, she needn't. She rather inclines the other way. 'Dirt' is said to be 'matter in the wrong place,' but it seems to be quite at home and in its proper place with her. I'm not sure what colour her Maker originally intended her to be. If white, she has been running clean (?) in the face of Providence all her days. If black, then she is striving faithfully to fulfil her destiny. "My Landlady, her mark, is indelibly printed on all my books on which she laid hands. When I lived with her, I ate the weight of myself in dirt every week. ' Every man,' it is said, ' has to eat two tons of dirt before he dies ; ' if so, my days are numbered. I may be called off at any mo- ment. Good bye." How I managed to live under her roof for a whole session, is a puzzle to me now, when I look back upon those early experiences. Perhaps it was difficult at the time to overcome the latent My College Days. 147 inertia of my being, and so things were allowed to slide. This landlady had a daughter, too, a young minx who was finishing her education somewhere. Most landladies have daughters. Occasionally they inveigle lodgers, and the consequence is seen in one of the answers to the Inquisitorial Circular lately issued by the University authorities : " I have married my landlady's daughter — one of the results of my career at the University." This girl sometimes consulted me regarding her lessons. Being always chivalrous to the gentler sex, I could not refuse. I looked at her tasks, gave her what aid I could, and there the matter ended. / did not marry my landlady's daughter. She may not be married yet, for all I know. There were other lodgers besides myself in the house. What they did I never enquired ; but one, I understood, was a commercial traveller. I only saw him once, and that was when I let him in at half-past eleven one Saturday night. He was unable to let himself in, for he was in the condition called tight. My next landlady was unmarried. She had been a female teacher at one time ; how long ago no 148 My College Days. one could give very accurate information. Four of us engaged three rooms, resolving to live together as a happy family. The experiment was tolerably successful. But one thing grieved us much. Some of the furniture was not of the strongest, and a broken chair once a week was no unusual occurrence. My landlady was certainly tidy, and one who did not entertain a low opinion of her own personal appearance. That would have been a point upon which we could certainly have differed, but I never risked the encounter. Two other students occupied the remaining rooms, and to one of these — the oldest amongst us — she was especially attentive. When I felt sometimes inclined to grumble about the dinner, or the cooking, I was always reminded by some of my friends that my landlady had been giving her attention to the occupant of No. 3. What else could I do than hum the tune : " There's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream,'' adding the conundrum "How long does it take until the dream is a reality?" "Five feet nine," My College Days. 149 was the unexpected reply. By the end of the session it was found that No. 3 was absorbing rather too much attention, and we poor souls, were being left out in the cold ; not that we desired more than the usual consideration ex- pected of landladies. I left that abode never to return. I afterwards heard that No. 3 did the same, but he left alone. More than I felt inclined to offer him congratulations. My longest stay was with a buxom landlady, also blessed with a daughter, who, it appears, had been jilted once by some student. This fact acted as a kind of safeguard. But my landlady was a char- acter. Sometimes she did not forget to wash her face, though a cook can't always be clean. She was a gossip. She dearly loved to stand in the middle of the room, with arms akimbo, and relate some interesting bit of news, or tell about her friends. Her mother, she often told me, was a Yorkshire woman, "but she's deid noo, puir woman." My landlady on this occasion was not a widow, her husband acted as beadle in the neighbouring Parish Church, and a very important 1 50 My College Days. functionary he was. His trade was that of a joiner and undertaker. He had very often to work late into the night, and when a merry band of students congregated in my room upstairs the noise was not always of the mildest description. One morning my landlady appeared a little flurried in manner, brimming over apparently with some admonitory communication. "Dear me!" she began, " you fellows maun hae been makin' an awfu' row last nicht, oor Sandy couldna get ony sleep, an' him up tae ane o'clock makin' coffins." Of course regret was expressed, and by and bye the storm blew over. She always spoke of herself and her husband as "me and Sandy." Me was rather deaf, but Sandy was " gey gleg o' the hear- ing," as a few of us found out occasionally. My landlady could give, when she had a mind, short biographical sketches of all her former lodgers. As she had been over twenty years at the business her supply was not easily exhausted. Her tales were wonderful and humourous withal, though she was not really aware of the humorous and ludicrous style in which she set them off It My College Days. 151 was a style peculiarly her own. But when she desired to point a moral, or to adorn her tale, she would add, "Aye, aye! as Auntie Kate used tae say, 'Promises are like pie-crusts, made tae be broken.' " That axiom appeared to call up some painful recollection. At such a time I always thought of the daughter. Auntie Kate was a great authority, and when she passed away her place must have been difficult to fill. She had been maid to Lady Pitcaithley, and had learned all the young ladies to knit stockings — a bio- graphical fact of which we were all reminded from time to time. She was a strict disciplinarian. Her door was always, save on special occasions, locked at ten p.m. But that did not prevent one or two slipping out by the window, and being pulled in again a few hours later. A student who occupied the ground floor made an excursion in this fashion now and again. One night he prepared for his customary exodus. Those of us who occupied the rooms above congregated at the window immediately oveflooking the one below. We armed ourselves 152 My College Days. with jugs full of water. We waited patiently. At last the creak of the rising window was heard, a head was slowly projected into the street, a stream of water succeeded and a smothered yell followed. The head was instantly withdrawn, and no one went out that night. My landlady got an inkling of the episode from some one, and enjoyed the joke as well as any of us. Upon the whole my landlady was a dear old soul — one who took a motherly interest in the welfare of her students, and was always anxious to know if any of them was "a b'und sack set by," an expression equivalent to engaged. Her matrimonial instincts were always active. She appeared to scent a love sick youth from afar, and was always prepared to give him a bit of advice. These were merry times. One pleasant memory rises after another, and the gaiety of student life comes over me once more. But alas ! it is all far away — a vanishing point in the dim distance of the past. My landlady was a great laugher. Any little joke was enough to set her oiif, when she would exclaim, " Losh preserve's, but ye mak' me poor- My College Days. 153 less !" Laughter is the sunshine of life audibly expressed. This is a new scientific axiom. But my landlady did not always laugh ; she was offended sometimes. On such occasions she would not speak to me for a week. As for me, I had just to grin and bear it. We used to call such periods the calm soughs. She was a little deaf, but, then, her deaf- ness was complete. Ah, well ! we have all our little eccentricities, and, I daresay, are liked none the less for them. The last landlady of whom I shall speak was a typical one. The ancient Athenians are described as people always ready to hear or to tell some new thing ; she was an Athenian. Gossip was her daily food. Her very nose appeared to be fashioned for the purpose of ferreting out information. She was a real "gad-about," and thought nothing of walking three miles to hear a new story. She possessed a wonderful faculty for finding out where you had been, what you had been doing, and what time of night you came home. Her neighbours said, "She was aye gi'en tae clashes." However that may be, they seemed always willing to listen to them. 154 ^y College Days. Curiosity is a strange thing, and a strong el in the feminine mind. Afternoon kettle-drw, tea parties are now called, are more mediur transmitting idle tittle-tattle and spicy gossij opportunities for improving and elevating th^ of society. Amongst landladies it is no exce Let a lodger do something very foolish, anc known to the whole class before the week i The electric telegraph runs a poor chance a a woman's tongue. The one transmits the m« as it is given ; the other embellishes and im] it. If I told a certain story to my landU might hear it next day so wonderfully altere it appeared to be a new tale altogether. ^ give her the first hint of anything was a r offence. But few stories passed her door. I that her heart was in the right place, thoug could not always keep her tongue there, being of a literary turn, she could not be exj to act upon Gay's couplet : " My tongue within my lips I rein, For who talks much, must talk in vain." I verily believe that the man is not yet bori My College Days. i $ 5 could thoroughly analyse the intricate and peculiar character of a landlady. With Pope we must make the humbling confession that "Woman's at best a contradiction still." IS6 . My College Days. CHAPTER XII. " A land of waters green and clear, Of willows and of poplars tall, And, in the spring-time of the year. The white may breaking over all." Andrew j Immediately on completing my course i Mary's College in that " little city, worn and I left for one more classic still. Oxford had a a charm for me. I had read of it, I had men talk of it, and now I determined to se hear for myself. And so I left " The drifting surf, the wintry year. The College of the scarlet gown," and journeyed south to fairer scenes and to a genial clime. I went to spend a month or t the City of Colleges — to read amid its ins] atmosphere, and to see a little of English aca( life. On my way I spent a short time wane about Rugby, thinking of its once famous hea My College Days. 1 57 Arnold, whom Stanley loved so much. To my Scotch eye the brick houses seemed very patchy and unsubstantial. The landscape seemed bald too, but then I had left the " Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood." Visions of " Tom Brown's Schooldays " came- up before my mind too, and "youth an hour came back to me." But Rugby was left behind, and the " City of Palaces " rose before my view. It was a new and strange experience for me. The lovely city, with its antique and hoary Colleges, lay peace- fully glittering here and there in the mellow tint of the setting sun. The shady Cherwell, with its elms and lilies, and the broad winding Isis, crept slowly onwards, as if loath to quit scenes so rich in beauty and hallowed by so many tender associa- tions. The first few days were spent in rambling through the town, and the more I saw of it the more delighted did I feel. With Wordsworth I felt that here was to be found a " presence " which "overpowered the soberness of reason." The finger of the past pointed me back through a long 1 5 8 My College Days. vista of historic scenes. The spirit of tradi came over me, and I found myself wandering a fairy scenes. The wealth of nature's riches v strewn around me ; the beauty of the world seei mine. A dreamy feeling came over me as I se tered down the Broad Walk or sat upon Cherw shady bank. As I sat there in the cool of evening thinking of the past, Big Tom, the bel the tower of Christ Church, would ring out at i his one hundred and one tolls, and Milton's li in which he describes the same occurrence, when the floods were out, came to my mind : " Oft on a plot of rising ground, I hear the far-off curfew sound Over some wide-watered sliore, Surging slow with sullen roar." Christ Church College attracted my wandering many times. The towered gateway, a masterp of Christopher Wren, forms the entrance to largest quadrangle in Oxford. In my ram through its courts and quadrangles I learned i some of England's most eminent statesmen studied here, Mr, Gladstone, Sir Robert I My College Days. 159 Canning, Lords Dalhousie and Elgin, and many more had been undergraduates of this College, the Cathedral of which is the Cathedral of the diocese. The two Wesleys studied here, and exercised a most beneficial influence upon their fellow-students. One could not help being impressed at even song in Christ Church Chapel, as I was more than once. The carved pendants in the vaulting of the choir are always objects of admiration. They were brought from Oseney Abbey, and look "like frost on drooping forest branches turned into pale marble." The shrine 9f St. Frideswide, which once attracted many pilgrims, is an imposing monument. A curious thing occurred in connection with this shrine. Peter Martyr, who was the first Protestant canon here, caused his wife to be buried beside St. Frideswide, but Cardinal Pole, on the accession of Mary, got the body dug up and buried beneath a dunghill. But this was not the completion of the affair. When Elizabeth ascended the throne the bones of St. Frideswide and the bones of Martyr's wife were dug up together and mingled i6o My College Days. in the same coffin, on which was the inscription, " Hie requiescat religio cum superstitione." The cloisters opening on the Broad Walk, through which I often passed, are more like cellars than anything else : they are so dingy and dark. The Broad Walk, which runs for a quarter of a mile from the new buildings to the Cherwell, is a magnificently arched promenade, lined with stately elm-trees. " Duly at morn and eve, with constant feet, To pace the long fair avenue be mine, A natural cloister ; when dear June divine Crowds with her music the green arches high ; Or when the hale October's passing sigh Rains down the brown and gold of Autumn leaves, While every breath of the quivering branches weaves A trellis of their shadows soft and fleet; Or later, when the mist's long dewy arm Creeping, dim twilight, from the river shore. Clothes the live oriel, not without a charm. With sombre drapery ; so evermore A shrine it seems where one may fitly raise A morn and even song of prayer and praise." From Folly Bridge one can gaze at the barges and fleet of boats which always lie there. Many a pleasant pull did I have upon the river in the bright afternoons. A graduate of Queen's and I My College Days. i6i generally manned an outrigger and pulled away down to Iffley, where we could roam about for a little before returning. There are few things so pleasant as a steady pull upon the Isis. Some amusement is generally afforded as the locks are being passed, and little spurts are made as one boat endeavours to outstrip another. But plea- santer far to drift slowly onwards past the drooping willows, whiffing the blue cloud of smoke from your lips, as you dreamily watch its fantastic course. Then you can moor your boat to the bank, and read or smoke or dream as it may suit you best. Matthew Arnold in his "Scholar Gipsy" paints a pretty little picture of the summer term: " In my boat I lie Moor'd to the cool bank in the summer heats, 'Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills, And watch the warm green-muffled Cumnor hills, And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreat. For most I know thou lov'st retired ground. Thee, at the Ferry, Oxford riders blithe, Returning home on summer nights, have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Bab-lock-hithe, Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet, As the slow punt swings round." Cumnor is within easy walking distance of Oxford, 1 62 My College Days. being only three or four miles away. To me, a Scotchman, it was especially interesting, for it was here that "The Wizard of the North" laid the opening scenes of one of his best historical tales, " Kenilworth." Scott intended to call his novel "Cumnor Hall," but Constable overruled this desire, and persuaded the novelist to substitute the name of Kenilworth, which the tale now bears. The latter name induced John Ballantyne, who strongly objected to it, to assert that the result would be " something worthy of the kennel." Meikle's ballad of Cumnor Hall was a special favourite of Sir Walter's, and, it is said, that on moonlight nights he would pace up and down the Meadows in Edin- burgh, beneath the shadows of the trees, repeating the first stanza : — " The dews of summer night did fall ; The moon, sweet regent of the sky, Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall, And many an oak that grew thereby.'' It seems that the publisher. Constable, was so proud of having the name he suggested adopted that when in his high moods he would stalk up and down in My College Days. 163 his room and exclaim, " By G — , I am all but the author of the Waverley Novels ! " This, however, is what will be called a digression — usually a bad thing in any writer. To me nothing appeared more lovely or more deserving of admiration than the prospect of Magdalen College which can be obtained from Cherwell Bridge. Its graceful tower rises majesti- cally above its ivy-covered walls, and corresponds perfectly with the beautiful bridge. Unfortunately, a few years ago, the bridge was widened, with the result that there has been an improvement no doubt as far as the traffic is concerned, but at the same time, the symmetry of the whole has been com- pletely destroyed. On the summit of this tower a Latin hymn is chanted every year by choristers at the dawn of May-Day — a custom which is four hundred years old. The hymn which is thus sung commences " Te Deum Patrem colimus, Te laudibus prosequimur." There was another old custom, which is now discon- tinued, connected with the stone pulpit, called St. 164 My College Days. John's pulpit, in the quadrangle. A sermon used to be preached from it on St. John the Baptist's Day, when the surrounding buildings were decorated with boughs to commemorate the preaching in the wilderness. Upon one occasion, which turned out to be the last, the sermon was delivered by one Bacon in a deluge of rain. A Magdalen wag utilised the event by propounding the following joke : — " The rain hath spoiled both the greens and the bacon." The President caught a cold, and subsequently died ; so also did the custom, but whether from cold or the effects of the above bon mot I cannot tell. The Chapel service was always to me a real musical treat. The vocal music was aided by a very fine and powerful organ. The altar piece represents Christ bearing the Cross. It is by Ribalta, and was brought from Vigo. There is a temptation here to talk too much of "Maudlin's learned grove," and to make this chapter look like a few stray leaves from some Oxford guide. But that is not my intention, and he who desires such information must turn to the My College Days. 165 rhetorical pages of such a book, if he be fortunate enough to come upon one. My time was not all spent in wandering round the old Colleges. Certainly I visited most of them. Like Dr. Johnson, I endeavoured to " feel emotion " at the magnificence of Merton College ; " pressing the same soil, breathing the same air, admiring the same objects which the Hookers, the Chilling- worths, the Lowths, and a host of other learned and pious men have trodden, breathed, and admired before." It must have been rather jolly to have participated in the enjoyments of the under- graduates when Black Night was fully observed. On this night it was the custom to break open the buttery and kitchen, and partake of whatever each one could lay hands on. It is said to have origin- ated when the famous Duns Scotus was Dean. A collegian named Ockham, who afterwards became the celebrated logician, asked him one night, "Master, what are we to do now?" The careless answer was, "Go and do whatever you like." Receiving what was considered a roving commis- sion, they immediately rushed off and broke open 1 66 My College Days. the kitchen and buttery, devouring its contents. This being an unprofitable custom, was in time abolished. Queen's, Exeter, and the New College received a cursory visit, but my impressions of them are not extremely vivid. Oriel and Balliol, how- ever, had more attractions. Curiously enough, tradition connects the founding of Oriel College with the battle of Bannockburn — a fact which ought to prove that England owes more than a defeat to the Scots. As Edward the Second fled from the fatal field of Bannockburn, he vowed that he would erect a religious house to the Virgin if protection was vouchsafed him. His vow was kept, and remains of this foundation are still to be seen in a certain groined crypt in Oriel College. Balliol is the Scotchman's College, as in it are to be found most of the students who come up to Oxford from the Scottish Universities. Glasgow sends up a number of talented men by means of the Snell Exhibitions, which were originally founded by an Ayrshire man. Amongst the distinguished band are to be found the names of Adam Smith, John Gibson Lockhart, the son-in-law and biographer of Sir Walter Scott J My College Days. i6^ Sir William Hamilton, Lord President Inglis, and the late Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Tait. I found two or three of my old fellow-students here, and sometimes breakfasted with them and other collegians. Occasionally I came into contact with Lincoln, Wadham, and Pembroke men. Brazenose recalled memories of Verdant Green; but College life in Oxford differs materially from what existed when Cuthbert Bade produced that amusing work of his. Keble is certainly unlike all the others. It is the youngest of the colleges, is built of white, black, red and grey brick, and forms a striking contrast to the hoary stone walls of the rest. The Chapel contains the celebrated painting of Hol- man Hunt, representing Christ as the Light of the world. It is certainly a striking work of art. I never happened to be in St. Mary's Church during the delivery of a University sermon, and perhaps the loss is not a great one after all. I sometimes visited the Bodleian Library, and through the courtesy of one of the librarians saw some of its treasures. From the Radcliffe one obtains a beautiful panoramic view of " the city of 1 68 My College Days. Colleges " and the surrounding country. " Gleams of ' bowery loveliness ' in the very heart of stately buildings, wide meadows bordered by walks where overarching trees make an ever lengthening arcade, reaches of fair waters whose broad silver tapers away in the far distance to a glancing thread of light, gardens with gay parterres and armorial gateways, clusters of pinnacles, tall spires, dim cloisters, turrets and embattled parapets, and, beyond these, hills and woods of historic name as a framework to the picture — these make up the glorious view from the Radclifife. But the pleasure of the observer will be greatly heightened if some Oxonian, filled with intelligent love for the fair city, is at hand to describe the different objects. There is the old Norman keep of the ancient castle ; there are the square towers or tapering spires of the city churches ; there is the curious spire of the cathedral ; there are the new chapels of Exeter and Balliol ; there Magdalen Tower, in its perfect beauty, ruling all its own landscape of watery glades ; close by the curious cupola of the theatre, and the towers of All Souls. The beauty My College Days. i6g of the view is indefinitely heightened when we learn to understand the historic and nnioral interest with which it is invested." All Oxford men are familiar with a certain lane a little beyond the Clarendon Hotel in Corn- market Street, which leads to the Oxford Union Society. Through the favour of a graduate I got my name upon the books and enjoyed the privileges of the members during my stay in the classic city. The Union was founded in 1823 and consists of a number of splendid rooms fitted up as a Library, Reading, Smoking, Writing, and Coffee Rooms, with a Hall for the celebrated debates. It is a great convenience to University men ; for here letters can be written, books con- sulted, friends met, and new acquaintances formed. Student life is brightened and intensified by such a club. In Scotland steps are only being taken to carry out a similar plan. The Scottish Univer- sities seem determined now to possess unions of their own. When they are erected the benefit will be incalculable to Scottish undergraduates. The great and felt want in my time was the absence of 1 70 My College Days. some common centre where men could meet one another like social beings, and enjoy that mutual intercourse which gives a polish that no lecture room can impart. The High Street is a favourite promenade, and in many ways it is peculiar and quaint. As one passes up " the stream - like windings of the glorious street " from Magdalen Bridge to Carfax, he cannot help admiring the College buildings of Magdalen, Queens, All Souls, and University which meet his eye as he proceeds. Many of the shops contain valuable prints, pictures, and works of art which have now obtained a world-wide reputation. On Good Friday I attended service in St. Barnabas Church, but cannot say that I was very much taken with it all. The Church was draped in black, the bell, which was muffled, was tolled from twelve o'clock till three, and a cross draped with crape was carried before the procession of the clergy as they entered church. It was I suppose an agony service. The short addresses delivered by one of the Curates, were good so far as they My College Days. 171 went, but I had the feehng that this sort of thing was not far from Rome. There was rather much " tomfoolery " for my Scotch prejudices. Yet the people seem to like ornate services and formal posturings. It may gratify their love for the sensuous, but whether it makes them better Christians or not is a different thing. The folk in Jericho, a name given to this part of the city, did not appear to me to be superior or more religious than those in other parishes. But then this might be owing to the existence of a Scotch Church in the district. As this Church has been closed through the apathy of the Church of Scot- land itself, important things may be expected of St. Barnabas. One thing I observed was the hearty way in which the clergy carry on their Parochial work, giving due and careful attention to the daily instruction of the young — a good point truly. High Churchism in England is generally most active amongst the rising genera- tion. It is a wise and farseeing policy. But I do not admit that High Churchism in itself is a desir' able thing even for the Church of England. It is 172 My College Days. a retrograde movement and one which cannot expect to outstrip nineteenth century culture in the race of Ecclesiasticism. Democracy can never tolerate priest-craft again. It has had its day. My College Days. 173 CHAPTER XIII. " The vale, the thin lone weirs, the youthful Thames." Matthew Arnold. Sight seeing did not occupy all my time. I man- aged to read for six hours a day, visit the most of the city, and explore the surrounding country ; and I was not two months altogether in Oxford. My friend and I walked long distances, rowed oc- casionally, and disputed of an evening over some theological points, so that it could not be said time hung heavy on our hands. My mornings were often taken up with a students' breakfast. Break- fasts seem to have taken the place of the too jovial wine parties of former days. The country rambles had great attractions for me ; for I had spent my boyhoo'd amongst rural scenes. The poet Shelley, while an Oxford student, was in the habit of roam- ing over the country side. He says, " The country near Oxford has no pretensions to peculiar beauty, but it is quiet, and pleasant, and rural, and purely 174 ^y College Days. agricultural after the good old fashion/' Matthew Arnold's " Thyrsis," written in commemoration of the poet Clough, brings many a memory back to Oxford men. " I know the wood which hides the daffodil, I know the Fyfield-tree ; I know what white, what purple fritillaries Tlie grassy harvest of the river-fields Above by Eynsham, down by Sandford, yields. And what sedged brooks are Thames's tributaries. Where is the girl who, by the boatman's door Above the locks, above the boating throng, Unmoored our skiff, when, through the Wytham flats Red loosetrips and blond meadow-sweet among, And darting swallows, and light water-gnats. We tracked the shy Thames' shore ? Where are the mowers who, as the tiny swell Of our boat passing heaved the river grass. Stood with suspended scythe to see us pass ? They all are gone, and thou art gone as well. But hush ! the upland has a sudden loss Of quiet ! Look ! adown the dark hillside A troop of Oxford hunters going home. As in old'days, jovial and talking, ride ; From hunting with the Berkshire hounds they come. Quick let us fly and cross Into yon farther field ! 'Tis done ; and see, Back'd by the sunset, which doth glorify The orange and pale violet evening sky, Bare on its lonely ridge, the Tree ! the Tree ! " My College Days. 175 Forest Hill is a pretty place, connected with the poet Milton. The leafy groves are frequented by nightingales, so effectively introduced in "II Penseroso." The cottage windows peep at the stranger " Through the sweet briar, or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine." To this pleasant village John Milton came, while still a young man, to court his lady-love, sweet Mistress Mary Powell, a daughter of an Oxford justice of the peace. Southwards from Forest Hill lies Cuddesdon, a small hamlet on a wooded hill. Not far from the pretty church is the Episcopal residence of the Bishop of Oxford. One day, while rambling in the neighbourhood along with my friend of Queen's, we came upon the sweet picturesque church of Littlemore, not far from Mey. It was here that John Henry Newman — the great leader of the Tractarian movement, and now one of the Cardinals of the Romish Church — had lived and laboured in days gone by. The church door was open, and as we were tired with 176 My College Days. our ramble, we entered and sat down amid the " dim religious light " which streamed through the stained-glass windows. As it was Easter week, the perfume of flowers added much to the effect produced. The obscurity around us was a wel- come change from the sun's glare which we had left. As I sat there in the stillness of that pretty church, amid those tasteful decorations of lovely flowers, and as I felt the obscurity all around me, I thought of Newman in those old days before he left the communion of the Church of England, and when he was anxiously looking for the light of heaven to guide him on amid the gloom ; and the words of that beautiful and touching hymn of his came to my memory, and I thought that the gloom which surrounded us in that little church must have been somewhat like the obscurity which had settled round him then : — ' Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead thou me on ; The night is dark, and I am far from home, Lead thou me on ; Keep thou my feet ; I do not ask to see The distant scene ; one step enough for me." My College Days. 177 The Tractarian movement had reached its height before Newman became connected with Littlemore. After the publication of the celebrated Tract XC, which brought the series to an abrupt conclusion, Dr. Newman saw clearly that his position of leader of this Anglo-Catholic movement at Oxford was gone ; and in the spring of 1841 the final struggle within began, which ended in his severance from the Church of England and with his admission into the Church of Rome. It was at this time that he formally retired from the movement and took up his residence amongst the peace and quiet of Littlemore. At first, departure from his Mother Church was not considered by Newman to be his next step. Such a result was not contemplated by him. "Littlemore was his Torres Vedras from which again he might advance within the Anglican Church. There were still points as in reference to the ' honours paid to the Blessed Virgin and the Saints,' on which he diiifered from the Church of Rome. It is unnecessary for us, however, to follow the 'history of his religious opinions' further. 178 My College Days. Everybody may read their further course in his own interesting narrative."* Like most visitors to Oxford, I made a point of performing a pilgrimage to Woodstock and Blenheim. Taking train to Woodstock station, a party of us set out to explore the famous Park, and to have a look round the Palace and the town. Blenheim Park is well deserving of a visit from any traveller, even though he may happen to be opposed to perpetual pensions. At one part the trees are grouped in such a manner as to represent the position of the troops at the famous battle from which the park takes its name. A lofty column commemorates the virtues and the achievements of that distinguished general, the Duke of Marl- borough. The nation gifted the park to the great Duke in return for his military services, but now-a- days the nation is apt to be forgetful of former benefactors. Woodstock was the scene of the temporary imprisonment of Queen Elizabeth when » "1 'Movements of Religious Thought," by Principal TuUoch. Longmans & Co. (1885), p. iig. My College Days. 179 a Princess. Holinshed says that it was " no marvell if she, hearing upon a time, out of her garden at Woodstocke, a certaine milkmaide singing plea- santlie, wished herselfe to be a milkmaide as she was, saying that her case was better and life merrier." Yet, perhaps, that singing milkmaid had sometimes longings akin to those which troubled " Maud Muller " as she " raked the meadow sweet with hay," and " When she glanced to the far-off town, White from its hill-slope looking down, The sweet song died, and a vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast — A wish, that she hardly dared to own. For something better than she had known." When the Princess Elizabeth became Queen of England she cherished kindly memories of Wood- stock, and in many ways benefited the town. We noticed there a conspicuous Conservative Club, which, no doubt, has resounded many a time to the eloquence of Lord Randolph Churchill. It seemed a quiet, sleepy place, and the cabby who drove us to the station was as sleepy-headed as a man could i8o My College Days. well be ; but perhaps he had seen little of his bed the night before. Many Scotch students who go up with scholarships to Oxford become in the course of time so much Anglicised that they are anything but favourable specimens of their class. They get snobbish, and think it a proper thing to run down the University which they have left, and which, by the way, has been the means of making them what they are. When they return full-fledged with their B.A. degree, they scarcely know their former class- fellows who have not been so fortunate as to receive the Oxford Hall mark. Such men are simply con- temptible. But these are the minority. Scottish nationality is a thing to be proud of with most of the distinguished sons which the Scottish Univer- sities send up to Oxford or Cambridge. Anglican influences may broaden their sympathies, but it does not spoil their natural good sense. It is only the narrow-minded and the vain who allow them- selves to be carried away by the stream of Cockney- dom. I have met more than one Scotsman whose English training appeared to have bereft him of any My College Days. common sense he might have had. I have no specia desire to cultivate their acquaintanceship. The Ox ford men I metwere warm-hearted agreeable fellows We spent many a pleasant hour together, and fel all the better for it. My only regret was that m; time was so short and that duty called me nortl sooner than I wished. But Oxford with all it charms was left behind, and many a warm heart a well. To me it had been a great and most enjoy able privilege to walk amidst the stately piles c the ancient University, to think of the illustriou dead who once paced these same quadrangles, an( to— "Pass Through the same gateways, sleep where they had slept, Wake where they waked, range that enclosure old — That garden of great intellects." The memories of these days are still fresh and fair- something to be cherished and dwelt upon — green oasis in the wide desert of life, and many time to me — " In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude." 1 82 My College Days. CHAPTER XIV. " nate mecum, worn and lined Our faces show, but that is naught ; Our hearts are young 'neath wrinkled rind : Life's more amusing than we thought ! " Andrew Lang. The last chapter completes my friend's notes. The manner in which the autobiography was bequeathed to me renders it necessary that his name should not be disclosed to the public. Alas ! he himself is now no more. I can never expect to hold sweet communion with him in this world again. In recalling the memories of the past I may have his spirit for a mental guest, but that is all. The happy days we spent as class-fellows together can return no more ; but although that be so, the bright memories of those days haunt me still, and many a time I repeat the heart-moving lines of our Poet- Laureate : " But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! " My College Days. It is a vain cry that meets with no return. Thi concluding chapter must be pretty much of th character of " gathered threads " — a winding up o the reel of a short life. The reader will no doub have observed that my friend was to a certaii extent influenced by the inspiring genius of Poetry His commonplace book is filled with fragmentar pieces, some good, some bad, and some indifferen! Upon the whole, however, he exhibited true poetic power. There is one piece which struck my fancy and perhaps the reader will pardon me for re-pro ducing it here. It betokens good promise, thougl it may appear somewhat juvenile in execution. ALETHEIA: TRUTH. " The beautiful one, with the large fawnlike eyes, and the soft sunny ways. '' He came amid the golden sunny weather, O'er fields of nodding grass and fragrant hay, From hills which bloomed so sweet with purple heather, That nature seemed aglow that summer day. He came unheeding toil and love together ; 'Twas Truth he sought, and Trieth he'd surely find, Though hard the task, he'd brave all sorts of weather To win the goal — to gain that maiden kind. For he had thought — but why he never says — That Truth would come to him a maiden fair, 1 84 My College Days. With fawn-like eyes, with soft and sunny ways, Pure hearted, loving, kind, with wavy hair. And in this quest he rambled many a year ; Yet when he thought that he had seen the one. He found her false ; for Truth was not found here : Thus was his weary quest again begun. But as he wandered on through many a scene. He felt bewildered, sad, and full of sorrow, To find so many hearts where Truth had been. And so he hoped that she would come to-morrow. To-morrow, and to-morrow found him still In search of what he looked for long ago. When one chance autumn day he crossed a hill And found that further now he need not go. He found the maid he sought those many days, Whose pleasant smile recalled the golden weather. With fawn-like eyes, and soft, and sunny ways. And now they're blest to live their love together. The root of the matter is here. The idea which resulted in the production of these reminiscences was a good one and will, no doubt, afford pleasure and amusement to old alumni of the Universities discussed. St. Andrews students will have old memories refreshed by seeing here those college songs which brightened many a social gathering, and the outside public will obtain a glimpse behind the academic veil that shrouds from view the social My College Days. 185 life of University men. It might have been advis- able to have added some remarks upon University Reform, but as that is a topic which must ere long come before the Houses of Parliament, it need not be entered upon here. Every one seems to be convinced of the necessity of some change in the present curriculum, especially in the Faculty of Arts. The mystic seven cannot now be considered the requisite number of subjects required to pro- vide a thorough liberal and classical education. Truth may still be at the bottom of a well, but knowledge is spreading fast. Had my friend been permitted to complete his narrative, I have no doubt that he would have had some valuable suggestions to offer. Still it is perhaps as well that he did not do so, else he might have anticipated some one of " light and leading '' who will ere long enlighten us upon these important points. It is sometimes better to wait for wisdom. The humours of life were more congenial to my friend, and it would not have been so satisfactory had his notes been burdened with pedantic criticisms of our University system. M 1 86 My College Days. Before these sheets went to press I discovered amongst his papers several verses upon his Almae Matres, written somewhat in the style of one of his favourite poets, Andrew Lang. As they are good in themselves, and supplementary of his own prose narrative, I introduce them here. A better ending could not be found. " Edina ! Scotia's darling seat I All hail thy palaces and towers, Where once beneath a monarch's feet Sat Legislation's sovereign powers." — Bums. Oh, rugged city of the North, Thy streets and spires are dear to me ! When first I gazed upon the Forth I came to learn and live in thee. From rural quiet to busy street, From rolling Tay to Forth I passed. And found the great world at my feet ; My youthful dream was real at last. And happy joy made ray heart beat. Within thy academic Halls I moved with others, young like me. Who met where Genius' mantle falls On those whose thoughts are bold and free. By Holyrood and Arthur's Seat We roamed in joy when April smiled. The hours flew by on golden feet, We drank in knowledge as a child Drinks in the milk from mother's teat. My College Days. iS; We lived in dreams of what would be, We spoke of what the years should bring ; Our College days were bright in thee ; But dreaming's no substantial thing. For so we found when years rolled by And changes came to each and all : It did not seem that sea and sky Were quite the same at every Fall, And even sorrow made us sigh. Four happy years Edina got. And many friendships came to me ; But some glad hearts, alas ! are not, Their work is done, their souls are free. Though years have come and gone since then, Thy tall grey spires are still as dear, And though I mix with other men. The memory of that past is near And of those hearts beyond my ken. II. " St. Andrews by the Northern Sea, A haunted town it is to me !" — Lang. Beneath St. Mary's hoary pile. The seat of dull theology, I've sat like others for a while And wondered at its mystery. Along the sands beside the sea Full many an hour we've paced along, And listened to the melody The sea was singing in its song — A song that sweeter grew to me. Forth from thy ruined castle bold I've gaz«d at the horizon dim 1 88 My College Days. Until I shivered with the cold, Yet gazed still at the ocean's brim ; For out amid the drifting sleet A vessel struggled with the storm, And 'gainst her sides the billows beat Until we could not see her form As o'er her deck the waves did meet. Oh, sad, sad sea that wrecked that bark. Thou too couldst smile and laugh with me. Yet many a night both cold and dark Some sailors found a grave in thee ! Oh, city with the minster old, Oh, College of the scarlet gown, I've golfed across thy sandy wold And wandered round thy ancient town, And climbed thy rocky cliffs so bold ! V Three winters sped : I tarried still. But yet it came that I must go To climb again Life's rising hill Through summer's heat and winter's snow. This city by the Northern Sea Was left for one by Isis' side. Where happy hours came back to me Amid those groves where still abide The echoes of our jollity. Yet though I journey westward now. Thy ruins grey seem like a dream. In which tall spectres rise and bow To vanish in the pale moonbeam. Thy sandy bay, thy College Hall Bring back the memory of the past. But all are gone ; yes, gone are all Those days we hoped would ever last. Gone are they now beyond recall. My College Days. iS III. ' And that sweet city, with her dreaming spires, She needs not June for beauty's heightening. " Matthew Arnold. 'Mid Oxford's quiet I lived awhile Admiring all her beauty rare, And on her streams full many a mile I pulled my skiff by lock and wear. And in the Union I would sit And smoke and chat with other men, And listen to their sparkling wit Or scribble with poetic pen. And make them laugh at rhymes a bit. Then we would stroll adown Broad Walk By Christ Church on to Isis' stream. And pass the hours in merry talk. Whose echoes haunt one like a dream, At Folly Bridge our skulls we'd take To paddle in an afternoon. Or pull as if our backs would break, Because exams, were coming soon. And to hard work we needs must wake. By Mey and by Littlemore, Where Newman laboured long ^o, And 'mid its peace laid up that store Of learning, growing more and more Till darkness settled round him so, That for the " Kindly Light " he cried. We wandered oft and thought of him Who lived so pure a life, and tried To see beyond the twilight dim Where angel hands had beckoned him, I go My College Days. By Blenheim and by Woodstock too, We drove through rustic by-lanes till The towers of Oxford broke the view. At other times by Forest Hill, Where Milton spent his courting days, We'd gaze until we'd got our fill Of meadows, trees, and rustic ways That led us down the sloping hill, By pretty farm and busy mill. Oh, meadows sweet and flowerets gay ! Oh, city with thy ancient towers, Amid thy peace I fain would stay, And spend again the summer hours ! But these are gone and far away From all those scenes so dear to me, I dream again as poets say, And hear thy music soft and free. Break on my ear this autumn day. FINIS. Second Edition (Illustrated), Crown 8vo., Price js. Rambles in the Far Norti BY R. MENZIES FERGUSSON, M.A. OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. "The author of this series of 'Ramhling Sketches' gives exhaustive and interesting description of Orcadian history — ancle and modern — of the scenery by land and by sea, and of the people, they were and as they are. . . . The most entertaining chapti are those relating to the romantic folk-lore of the islands, the even ni half-accredited superstitions of old. The stories of the vagaries of t ' trows,' or fairies, and of the enchanted ' selchies,' or seals, i amusing and well told." — WMtehail Meview, "The sketches are written in a vigorous and pleasantly discurs: style, and are full of curious and interesting information concern] the islands and their history, and the folk-lore, old customs, a latter-day characteristics of their inhabitants." — Scotsman, "The feature of the volume is the collection of folk-lore and fa: tales, which will be warmly welcomed by such students of comparat mythology as Gubernatis, Max Miiller, Sir 6. W. Cox, Ralstca, a Tylor. " — Courant, " In Mr. Fergusson's volume many things are told us with whi from our previous reading we were familiar, but then they are told a racy holiday style which throws around them a new charm, has, however, in the course of his Eambles, gathered up many floati traditions and many curious bits of information respecting individu and places which are new to us, which speak well for his industry, a greatly enhance the value of his work." — Orkney Herald. "As to the sketches, they are very entertaining, and much of ) information to be had in them will be new even to many Orcadians having been gathered from many oat of the way soaroes. The islai are all well described, as are also the various antiquities, and varic places of interest." — Orcadian. " The notices of the ancient system of agriculture, of the cultivati of the conmionfield, and the process of ' planking ' by which it v taken into severalty, are so interesting that we could wish them long The most valuable part of the book, however, consists of the ma records of folk-lore and local customs, collected partly, indeed, fr( books, but largely also at first hand. . . . 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