Part 8 (1/2)

”Perhaps you'll be surprised at our simple repast, Verdant,” said Mr.

Larkyns; ”but it's our misfortune. It all comes of hard reading and late hours: the midnight oil, you know, must be supplied, and ~will~ be paid for; the nervous system gets strained to excess, and you have to call in the doctor. Well, what does he do? Why, he prescribes a regular course of tonics; and I flatter myself that I am a very docile patient, and take my bitter beer regularly, and without complaining.” In proof of which Mr. Charles Larkyns took a long pull at the pewter.

”But you know, Larkyns,” observed Mr. Smalls, ”that was nothing to my case, when I got laid up with elephantiasis on the biceps of the lungs, and had a fur coat in my stomach!”

”Dear me!” said Verdant sympathizingly; ”and was that also through too much study?”

”Why, of course!” replied Mr. Smalls; ”it couldn't have been anything else - from the symptoms, you know! But then the sweets of learning surpa.s.s the bitters. Talk of the pleasures of the dead languages, indeed! why, how many jolly nights have you and I, Larkyns, pa.s.sed 'down among the dead men!' ”

Charles Larkyns had just been looking over the letter which

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 65]

Verdant had brought him, and said, ”The governor writes that you'd like me to put you up to the ways of the place, because they are fresh to you, and you are fresh (ahem! very!) to them. Now, I am going to wine with Smalls to-night, to meet a few nice, quiet, hard-working men (eh, Smalls?), and I daresay Smalls will do the civil, and ask you also.”

”Certainly!” said Mr. Smalls, who saw a prospect of amus.e.m.e.nt, ”delighted, I a.s.sure you! I hope to see you - after <vg065.jpg> Hall, you know, - but I hope you don't object to a very quiet party?”

”Oh, dear no!” replied Verdant; ”I much prefer a quiet party; indeed, I have always been used to quiet parties; and I shall be very glad to come.”

”Well, that's settled then,” said Charles Larkyns; ”and, in the mean time, Verdant, let us take a prowl about the old place, and I'll put you up to a thing or two, and shew you some of the freshman's sights. But you must go and get your cap and gown, old fellow, and then by that time I'll be ready for you.”

Whether there are really any sights in Oxford that are more especially devoted, or adapted, to its freshmen, we will not

[66 ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN]

undertake to affirm; but if there are, they could not have had a better expositor than Mr. Charles Larkyns, or a more credible visitor than Mr. Verdant Green.

His credibility was rather strongly put to the test as they <vg066-1.jpg> turned into the High Street, when his companion directed his attention to an individual on the opposite side of the street, with a voluminous gown, and enormous c.o.c.ked hat profusely adorned with gold lace. ”I suppose you know who that is, Verdant?

No! Why, that's the Bishop of Oxford! Ah, I see, he's a very different-looking man to what you had expected; but then these university robes so change the appearance. That is his official dress, as the Visitor of the Ashmolean!”

Mr. Verdant Green having ”swallowed” this, his friend was thereby enabled, not only to use up old ”sells,” but also to draw largely on his invention for new ones. Just then, there came along the street, walking in a sort of young procession, - the Vice-Chancellor, with his Esquire and Yeoman-bedels. The silver maces, carried by these latter gentlemen, made them by far the most showy part of the procession, and accordingly Mr. Larkyns seized the favourable opportunity to point out the foremost bedel, and say, ”You see that man with the poker and loose cap? Well, that's the Vice-Chancellor.”

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”But what does he walk in procession for?” inquired our freshman.

”Ah, poor man!” said Mr. Larkyns, ”he's obliged to do it.” 'Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,' you know; and he can never go anywhere, or do anything, without carrying that poker, and having the other minor pokers to follow him. They never leave him, not even at night. Two of the pokers stand on each side his bed, and relieve each other every two hours. So, I need hardly say, that he is obliged to be a bachelor.”

”It must be a very wearisome office,” remarked our freshman, who fully believed all that was told to him.

”Wearisome, indeed; and that's the reason why they are obliged to change the Vice-Chancellors so often. It would

[AN OXFORD FRESHMAN 67]

kill most people, only they are always selected for their strength, - and height,” he added, as a brilliant idea just struck <vg067-1.jpg> him. They had turned down Magpie Lane, and so by Oriel College, where one of the fire-plug notices had caught Mr. Larkyns' eye. ”You see that,” he said; ”well, that's one of the plates they put up to record the Vice's height. F.P. 7 feet, you see: the initials of his name, - Frederick Plumptre!”

”He scarcely seemed so tall as that,” said our hero, ”though certainly a tall man. But the gown makes a difference, I suppose.”

”His height was a very lucky thing for him, however,” continued Mr.

Larkyns; ”I dare say when you have heard that it was only those who stood high in the University that were elected to rule it, you little thought of the true meaning of the term?”