Part 25 (1/2)

~225~~Here's Brother Blackmantle of Brazen-nose.” ”A speech, a speech!”

vociferated all the party. ”Yes, worthy brother _cracks_,” replied I, ”you shall have a speech, the very acme of oratory; a brief speech, composed by no less a personage than the great Lexicographer himself, and always used by him on such occasions at the club in Ivy-lane. Here's all your healths, and _Esto perpetua_.” ”Bravo!” said Eglantine;” the boy improves. Now a toast, a university la.s.s--come, boys, The Doctor's Daughter; and then a song from Crotchet C--ss.”{4}

BURTON ALE.

AN ANCIENT OXFORD DITTY.

Of all the belles who Christ Church bless, None's like the doctor's daughter{5}; Who hates affected squeamishness Almost as much as water.

Unlike your modern dames, afraid Of Bacchus's caresses; She far exceeds the stoutest maid Of excellent queen Bess's.

Hers were the days, says she, good lack, The days to drink and munch in; When b.u.t.ts of Burton, tuns of sack, Wash'd down an ox for luncheon.

Confound your _nimpy-pimpy_ la.s.s, Who faints and fumes at liquor; Give me the girl that takes her gla.s.s Like Moses and the vicar.

4 Mr. C--ss, otherwise Crotchet C--ss, bachelor of music, and organist of Christ Church College, St. John's College, and St. Mary's Church. An excellent musician, and a jolly companion: he published, some time since, a volume of chants.

5 A once celebrated university toast, with whose eccentricities we could fill a volume; but having received an intimation that it would be unpleasant to the lady's feelings, we gallantly forbear.

~226~~

True emblem of immortal ale, So famed in British lingo; Stout, beady, and a little _stale_-- Long live the Burton stingo!

”A vulgar ditty, by my faith,” said the exquisite, ”in the true English style, all _fol de rol_, and a vile chorus to split the tympanum of one's auricular organs: do, for heaven's sake, Echo, let us have some _divertiss.e.m.e.nt_ of a less boisterous character.” ”Agreed,” said Eglantine, winking at Echo; ”we'll have a _round of sculls_. Every man shall sing a song, write a poetical epitaph on his right hand companion, or drink off a double dose of rum booze.”{6} ”Then I shall be confoundedly _cut_,” said d.i.c.k Gradus, ”for I never yet could chant a stave or make a couplet in my life.” ”And I protest against a practice,”

said Lionise, ”that has a tendency to trifle with one's _transitory tortures_.” ”No appeal from the chair,” said Eglantine: ”another b.u.mper, boys; here's The Fair _Nuns of St. Clement's_.” ”To which I beg leave to add,” said Echo, ”by way of rider, their favourite pursuit, _The Study of the Fathers_.” By the time these toasts had been duly honoured, some of the party displayed symptoms of being _moderately cut_, when Echo commenced by reciting his epitaph on his next friend, Bob Transit:--

Here rests a wag, whose pencil drew Life's characters of varied hue, Bob Transit--famed in humour's sphere For many a transitory year.

Though dead, still in the ”English Spy”

He'll live for ever to the eye.

Here uncle White{7} reclines in peace, Secure from nephew and from niece.

6 Rum booze--Flip made of white or port wine, the yolks of eggs, sugar and nutmeg.

7 Uncle White, a venerable bed-maker of All Souls' College, eighty-three years of age; has been in the service of the college nearly seventy years: is always dressed in black, and wears very largo silver knee and shoe-buckles; his hair, which is milk-white, is in general tastefully curled: he is known ”to, and called uncle by, every inhabitant of the university, and obtained the cog-nomen from his having an incredible number of nephews and nieces in Oxford. In appearance he somewhat resembles a clergyman of the old school.

~227~~

Of All-Souls' he, alive or dead; Of milk-white name, the milk-white head.

By Uncle White.

Here lies Billy Chadwell,{8} Who perform'd the duties of a dad well.

BY BILLY CHADWELL.

Ye maggots, now's your time to crow: Old Boggy Hastings{9} rests below.

BY BOGGY HASTINGS.

A grosser man ne'er mix'd with stones Than lies beneath--'Tis Figgy Jones.{10}

BY FIGGY JONES.

Here Marquis Wickens{11} lies incrust, In clay-cold consecrated dust: No more he'll brew, or pastry bake; His sun is set--himself a cake.

8 Billy Chadwell, of psalm-singing notoriety, since dead; would imitate syncope so admirably, as to deceive a whole room full of company--in an instant he would become pale, motionless, and ghastly as death; the action of his heart has even appeared to be diminished: his sham fits, if possible, exceeded his fainting. He was very quarrelsome when in his cups; and when he had aggravated any one to the utmost, to save himself from a severe beating would apparently fall into a most dreadful fit, which never failed to disarm his adversary of his rage, and to excite the compa.s.sion of every by-stander.